Enduring the coldest summer in 50 years has not done wonders for my psyche. There is a reason for the seasons and unless I’m living in LA where they are vaguely imperceptible, I crave the distinctions in weather and light. This past Sunday warmed up enough for bikini-clad yard work and a nap in the sun. Monday and Tuesday were oppressively hot, but made for the celebratory donning of dresses who have been lonely and sad cooped up in my closet. Today the wind kicked up, noisily pestering that she was bringing the fog and cold back, squelching plans for bare arms and legs the rest of the week.
Since it was so hot yesterday, I did not run. Here is the shaky evidence from my car’s thermometer. Note the time was 5:46PM.
Dogs especially do not fare well exercising in heat like that, so taking their health into consideration made it extra easy to justify taking the day off. I even drank a most refreshing beer! The only and likely last problem was clocking another night of fitful, overheated non-sleep, mostly due to my stubborn refusal to take my fan out from the bottom-back shelf of my closet because I knew I’d just be packing it back in today. 2 Days(No fan + hot half-sleep) = very tired by Wednesday. And I had to run tonight, no excuses or chilly beers to hold me back.
That wind was kicked up pretty fierce when I hit my route. I tried not to mind and be like the doggies, smiles on their faces, as opposed to the winced expression on mine, irritated that the wind was being so obnoxious and obvious I could not even hear my music. Once I got off the main road and onto the running and biking path, the wind had actually quieted a bit, enough at least to hear my tunes. I am extremely guilty of not updating my running iPod nearly enough, so I have heard those songs approximately 4 million times. However, there is one song that I never ever ever tire of, and almost never skip AND makes me feel like I am hearing it for the first time every time. That song is… “What A Fool Believes” by The Doobie Brothers. Yes, take that in for a moment. Michael McDonald crooning, synthesizer-y, dare I allude too soon, SMOOTH music, late-70s awesomeness that makes me smile every single time it comes on and not in an ironic tedious-hipster way. I FUCKING LOVE THIS SONG. Every time I love this song.
So it came on, natch, and I was loving it, and running, and singing out loud EVEN when I passed people, AND I paused it when Rocco had to pee, SO I WOULDN’T MISS ANY OF IT. And I realized I had to go public with it here.
I have totally done a cursory Google on it, but then got nervous I would know too much and get dragged down into how the Doobies started to hate Michael McDonald because he wanted to go more crooning/jazzy/poppy ballads and they just wanted to rock and funk and also how many rock bands’ cred was done in by the success of smooth music and ballads (Steve Perry and Journey, um, hello! Aerosmith… Guns and Roses… POISON for chrissakes. I could go on and on.) But Michael McDonald just went with it Doobies or no, and is, I think a total badass. He is in fact so cool he got Judd Apatow love in “The 40 Year Old Virgin” and please know, he was totally in on it! Anytime someone does not take themselves so seriously, they win. Can you hear me Axl Rose? Yeah, go get another nose job.
But perhaps my song-love was validated once and for all when my brother and his best friend turned me on to a series of short films about this very group of musicians and songwriters in the late 70s. I can’t even really do it justice, so please, spend then next four minutes enjoying the smooth.
I give you, Yacht Rock.