Baby Hold On

I just remembered that I had a weird Eddie Money phenomenon about a month ago. I was driving down the road (this is back during my 3 or 4 or 7 hour commute to and from DC each week) and flipped on the radio instead of the iPod. As most folks know, DC area radio blows chunks in a large way, but I found some listenable music on 94.7, the classic rock station. (Where Rob's ears never tread, to make metaphor soup.) Anyway, they played an ad for a crappy 70's/80's tandem act, maybe Styx/Leppard or Foreigner/Journey or anyone and the Speedwagon, I can't recall. Whatever venue they were playing sounded like behind some horse track and I instantly thought of semi-washed up acts . . . and the Eddie Money story printed recklessly on the Jerry's Wheelhouse some time ago. (Read the comments in the post below to see what triggered this post.)

Anyway, I was then trying to recall which of the Wheelhouse/G:TB commentors -- an incestuous group in the best kind of way, I assure you -- had reeled it off for us, but blanked. I had thought it might be "Geoff," but I've since been corrected. Anyway, it began to bother me so much (hey, those drives can get awfully tedious) that I was a good 30 seconds into the next song -- "Baby Hold On" by Eddie Money -- before I realized it. And I freaked out, with nobody to tell. And there you are. Wild, wacky stuff.

It capped off a bizarre few months. First, I saw a guy driving his motorcycle down the highway . . . doing wheelies. Wheelies, for Pete's sake, in the right lane of the feeder road between I-66 and the Dulles Toll Road. A bunch of them, and grinning a huge, toothy grin all the way. Awesome. Then I saw a crazy guy in a suit talking to himself in Union Station, only to realize he was on one of those Bluetooth wireless phone things that was in his ear, only to realize that he wasn't, and he actually was a crazy guy in a suit spouting some disturbingly weird things to the row of caps in "Lids." And finally, I picked up my three-year-old daughter at daycare sometime last month and met a little boy with the sweetest mohawk you ever saw. Meticulously shaved on the sides, curly and pronounced right down the middle. In subsequent visits to daycare, I have learned that this wasn't a one-shot deal, like a bet or something -- the kid is maintaining it proper. Three years old.

I don't know what this world is coming to, and that's what makes it very interesting. Renew my subscription, please.