I was driving home from work one day last week and felt like a mint, so I opened the glove compartment and gasped in horror. If there was a package of Mentos® in there, it was buried beneath five years’ worth of crap.
I suppose that’s how it is with glove compartments, huh? They become repositories for all kinds of shit. It’s easy to just shove something in there and forget about it. Out of sight, out of mind, ya know? The problem is, one something turns into many somethings, and next thing you know, your glove compartment is stuffed with so much crap, you can barely close it.
I’ve decided the glove compartment is really just a junk drawer for your car.
Long-time readers might recall that Tara refers to glove compartments as “jockey boxes,” by the way. Between that and the whole sock-shoe-sock-shoe bassackwards way she goes about getting dressed, I’m convinced my wife is slightly insane, but I love her anyway.
When I got home, I pulled everything out of the glove compartment and dumped it onto the basement floor. It was like sorting through an archaeological dig, but instead of finding cool things like Native American arrowheads or Tyrannosaurus Rex bones, I unearthed about three dozen half-crumpled napkins from Dunkin’ and Starbucks. Multiple bags of tissues and dental picks. A straw. A mostly empty tube of hand sanitizer. A South Dakota auto registration with a 2021 expiration date. A scentless air freshener. No fewer than five Covid-era face masks. And, fittingly, a pair of gloves. I have to point out there was nary a jockey to be found, so, Ha! Take that, Tara.
Oh, and at the very bottom of that pile? Beneath an ice scraper, new tire receipt for no-longer-new tires, and 2021 Hyundai Kona SE Owners & Operators Manual? The long-lost package of mints that kicked off this whole crazy quest in the first place.
Geez Louise, those better be the best damn mints I’ve ever had! (I’m not too worried about this. They are “The Freshmaker,” after all. Or were marketed as such in the ’90s, back when people used to throw them at Dave Grohl during Foo Fighters concerts, thanks to the “Big Me” video.)
He hated getting pelted by mints, by the way. Came to regret the video. Can’t say I blame the guy.
At least now my glove compartment is neatly organized and empty save for a few essentials. I just need to resist the urge to toss a handful of napkins in there every time I swing by the drive-through for coffee, and hope and pray another global pandemic doesn’t strike.
Unwrapping my Spotify Age
I walked into my supervisor’s office recently for our weekly 1:1 meeting and found her looking rather glum.
“What’s wrong?” I asked.
“I just found out my Spotify age is 70,” she replied.
True story. And I couldn’t help but smirk. Even though we’re basically the same age IRL, when it comes to music, she could be my grandma.
I kept this my little secret, though. Didn’t want to make her feel any older lest she drown her sorrows by cranking up Lawrence Welk’s Greatest Hits instead of doing her job.
And yes, I know that most people stopped talking about Spotify Wrapped a month and a half ago, but I was holding out for the right moment. That moment is now, my friends. Why am I so young from a musical standpoint? Because my top genre is indie rock, by a landslide. But there is one notable exception to this, a legendary rock ‘n roll artist who remains in heavy rotation even though I’ve been listening to him for decades.
The one. The only. The Boss.
I’ve been a fan since The River. Born in the USA turned me into a super fan. I have every essential album on vinyl, from Greetings from Asbury Park to Letter to You. I’ve seen him in concert twice. Hell, I hugged the man. It’s safe to say, few people are bigger Bruce Springsteen fans than Mark T. Petruska.
Last weekend, we watched Springsteen: Deliver Me From Nowhere, the biopic about the making of Nebraska, Bruce’s spare but hauntingly brilliant 1982 acoustic album. Great film, though I think you have to be a hardcore fan to truly appreciate it.
After the movie, I thought to myself, It’s only a matter of time until Bruce releases an anti-ICE song. I don’t claim to be psychic, but two days later, this happened.
Fuck ICE and anyone who supports them. And thank you, Bruce, for calling out the evil fascist dictatorship (yes, they are) that is so hell-bent on destroying every last fabric of democracy. You’re a beacon of light in a very dark world. There are too many cowards unwilling to stand up to this national travesty, but not you, my guy. Stand tall and rock on. Not since Crosby, Stills, Nash & Young recorded and released “Ohio” days after the Kent State shootings has a protest song had such a resounding impact.
Predictably, right-wing fans are in an uproar. “Why are you suddenly bringing politics into your music?” I’ve seen them comment on various sites. Obviously, they have never paid attention to Springsteen’s lyrics. These are the folks who think “Born in the USA” is a chest-thumping anthem of national pride, I guess. Let ’em go listen to Kid Rock or Ted Nugent instead.
Have patience. A reckoning is coming, folks. I feel it.
Is your glove compartment a mobile junk drawer? What’s your Spotify listening age? Are you a Springsteen fan?
Mark My Words 
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