I meant to complain about bringing old bands out of retirement for some last hurrah lame half-time show, but hell froze over and the Saints won, so that kinda trumped everything

Having offered my morning prayers for Rosary Army (please help!) and for my sister (happy birthday!) and my niece (happy santo!), I found  the silence in the car deafening, so I popped in a Journey CD.

I then proceeded to crank up the volume and sing at the top of my lungs using as my microphone a spent Expo dry erase marker that was rolling around on the floor of the car. I’ve done this before and generated looks from my fellow commuters. I may be weird, but I have fun.

So, anyway, here I am singing my favorite song, which today happens to be “Loving, Touchin, Squeezin”, due to my angst-filled mood fueled by an uncharitable desire for revenge (or at least some measure of “you had it coming”), and I happily rocked the last 30 minutes of my commute.

I’d like to keep Journey where they belong — in my vinyl memories where I am 17.