Daft Punk – “One More Time”

When: January 2001
Where: Garfield Avenue, Monterey Park, my Bubby’s car
Who: My Bubby
Weather: Overcast

2001 began on a very anticlimactic note. Not only was I listening to, let’s be honest, one of Daft Punk’s lesser works, but it was in a drab car on a drab day in Little Taipei, and the repetitiveness made me somewhat carsick. That car is now mine. I kind of hate it.


Next: Train attempts to inspire; results are mixed.

Madison Avenue – “Don’t Call Me Baby”

Embedding disabled by request.

When: 15 October 2000
Where: The 10 westbound through Ontario.
Who: My mother and bubby
Weather: Warm, dry

Two days ago, I mentioned my carpool mate Elizabeth; at the time this was her favorite song, but for our purposes that’s irrelevant.

One week, my mother did something she only did again once (about which more way later). She got me out of school a day early for purely recreational purposes.

Well, it might have been recreational for me, but she and my bubby still had to go to my cousin’s wedding. My cousin was Marilyn Wilson, ex-wife of Brian and mother of Carnie. But it was in Palm Springs, which was nice because I’d never been. The high desert is all dust and scrubs, air bases and mining towns. This was the low desert: white sand, date palms, casinos, and lots of old gay Jews. Altogether it was fascinating.

But all vacations come to an end, and the following Sunday we were headed through the featureless scrub somewhere around Declezville when we hit traffic. Mindblowing traffic, like Times Square in the ’70s. Like the Bowery in the 1870s. We were stuck under the 15 interchange when this song came on. My mom and bubby were arguing and I was trying to listen to the song, which got me nowhere. It’s funny what you remember.

An insult to crushing post-holiday traffic

Next: Nelly Furtado makes her debut before gettin’ dirty (and nowhere).

Technotronic – “Pump Up the Jam”

When: December 18, 1999
Where: My mother’s car, eastbound on Woodbury Road
Who: My mother
Weather: cool, clear

Before we move on, let’s say goodbye to my mother’s 1988 Toyota Corolla. This is the last time we’re going to see it.

“Hey kids, here’s a song that goes good with peanut butter– Pump Up the Jam!”

–Mickey Mouse

For my 10th birthday, I really wanted to see Bicentennial Man. I was a sucker for all things futuristic, and 10-year-old boys were among the last people in the world who still liked Robin Williams. We went to see it, and what followed was a long, dull, silly movie. I wanted to like it, but there was nothing there.

We went to drop off my friend Toran, who had his birthday the next day, and on the way back we heard this stupid song on the radio, made worse by my headache from the film and a special introduction by Mickey Mouse.

Stop, just stop.

Next: A new decade (but not a new millennium) dawns. And the results are not encouraging. The year 2000 starts this Monday!