Twofer Tuesday

The rock station in Hartford when I was in high school (at the time it was WHCN, it's probably changed formats 3 times since back around when good ol' Al was inventing the Internet) had Twofer Tuesday. They'd play 2 songs in a row by a band. Seems these days I always hear the same bands when my scan button lands on the rock station programmed into my radio at Q104. It's either Led Zeppelin or Rush. I like both Zeppelin and Rush, it's just sort of a disconnect for me that they are always on. Otherwise, I surf among three Top 40/adult mix stations. It makes me feel less old to know the top 10 songs on the Billboard chart. Saying that probably means I am. Way. Old.

We had a busy day today. We went to the bank, the car wash (which makes us both nervous...I have visions of the car being taken over by the machine and getting stuck, and my daughter is probably nervous because I am projecting "get me OUT of the car NOW"), lunch at McD's, and then the park where we didn't want to play with any of the kids there even though they were all these girls around 4-5 who were running around and playing on the slide. Was it a Moslem holiday today? There were a lot of them at the park in Piscataway on River Road. Probably about 30 men, sitting at picnic tables and about a half dozen women in their burkas with their daughters in tow. Piscataway seems pretty ethnically diverse, and usually when we go to that park there are extended Mexican families with their kids, usually the black and Asian women with their kids, occasionally a white single dad with kid. My daughter likes that they have animals and swings. Me, I like people watching, so a blend of cultures makes for interesting observation.

After the park, we drove to the farm stand in Somerset where we bought bananas (because I forgot to add them to the Peapod list) and artichokes (because Peapod ran out). As we got out of the car at the farm stand, my daughter said gleefully, "We are enjoying this beautiful day together." Now, really, I know she was just excited at the prospect of buying artichokes because she likes them, but for a moment I pretend this is a delightfully existential observation on her part. "You're right," I reply. "It is a beautiful day. And we are sharing it together."