So Alisa and I are watching The Sound of Music last night and wrapping gifts. It’s the tender scene in the garden where Maria and the Captain are finally professing their love for one another:

Me: They should have us as a special commentary track on the DVD for this.
Her: He looks like he’s romancing a Roman in a toga.

We had a stereophonic record player in a nice bench-type cabinet when I was growing up. In the ’70’s, they still used the word “stereophonic” when describing audio components to elicit ooohs and ahhhs. They spelled it out too - instead of just saying “stereo” like they do now - because it sounded more like a technological marvel back then. Nowadays, they make greeting cards with stereo sound.

Maybe someday our kids, with their 20th generation iPods, will think Dolby Digital 7.1 Surround Sound is quaint in the same way. Seriously, “digital” is my generation’s “stereophonic.”

“Ummm, Dad, did you guys really need to call everything “digital” back then? Isn’t it kind of assumed?”

Anyway, I’m playing a continuous shuffle of Christmas music on the laptop, piped in through the receiver and it occurs to me that something is missing.

I kind of miss the click of a new record dropping on the stack and that initial scratchy audio while the needle found the first track on the record. My parents didn’t really play too much on that record player save for the occasional Helen Reddy or Manilow album (I love, by the way, that the official Manilow Web site refers to itself as “The Barrynet.”). Because Christmas is when the records really came out for hours upon hours at a time, I associate the sound of records dropping on the stack and playing, with Christmas. Someone needs to churn out a little audio sample that can be interspersed in an mp3 playlist for nostalgia heads. This is kind of promising for people who use Pro Tools but it’s more for processing songs themselves.

Another thing that I recently realized is how my holiday memories are entirely limited to a certain small set of Christmas records for pretty much 20 odd years. Because these records were part of Christmas for me, I can’t really relate to people with other holiday music preferences. So my generation, in some odd way, has a certain language of Christmas albums with which to identify with others. It’s like some odd holiday loyalty to certain holiday performances.

For instance, I’m comin’ at you with a Julie Andrews/Andre Previn Christmas Treasure, Andy Williams Christmas, Time-Life Treasury (but the record set allowed you to open the case to make a popup house which kicked so much holiday ass), Alvin & The Chipmunks, kind of holiday flavor. It’s difficult for me to “get” how you even had a Christmas if one of these wasn’t on your family’s playlist. Oh sure, maybe you had “Christmas” but you didn’t have Christmas.

I’m all for progress though. I guess an iTunes crossfade between tracks is the new black so my family’s holiday tradition will be queing up 4.7 days worth of no-repeat holiday audio joy on shuffle and we’ll call it good. Deck the halls!

These last two mornings, I’ve seen a vanity license plate that reads:

PRMSKPR

“Prom Skipper,” I thought yesterday. That makes sense in a way. This guy was too good for his prom and he’s proud of it because he’s extreme or something.

So I saw it again this morning and thought about it some more. Prom Skipper? Why would anyone put that on their plate?

“Ohhhhhh. Promise Keeper.” That makes more sense. Remember those guys?

Then I thought, “Wait a minute. Knowing what the plate is really supposed to be now, my first reading is probably still applicable.” It’s a two-fer!

The way I figure it, on any given day, 3 of my 5 senses are unwillingly hijacked on my way to or from work.

With driving being such a visual activity, I imagine sight was the first sense to be assaulted while driving. First there were cars and, almost immediately to follow, there were advertisements to look at on the side of the road. It only followed that, by the time World War II rolled around, bumper stickers were already well on their way to telling others in view how to think, what to say, and for whom to vote.

It’s a little known fact that the modern day “My kid is a so-and-so at so-and-so” stickers got their beginnings in the forties with stickers like “My corn is as high as an elephant’s eye at Windy Acres farm.” Since then, it seems the goal of bumper stickers has been to progressively be more in another reader’s face than ever before. Stickers of a Democratic donkey in between crosshairs? Stickers that tell me about choices and children. Stickers that tell me how crazee the driver in front of me is.

I’d like to see more stickers with positivity and a focus on the simple things in life. Here are a few I’d like to see:

Mmmmm… Cheese!
Good Morning! And How Are You?
Honk and Smile

Here’s a real one I’ve been seeing lately: I <3 My Wife

Now that’s the right idea. Maybe I should be encouraged. Maybe not. Have you seen one of these on the road yet? Scrolling LED license frames? A programmable interface on which to spew your views for all to see. Just try to avoid looking at a scrolling band of bright LEDs in front of you in traffic. By the time you get home, you’ve memorized this person’s political views. My retinas are the cattle to this Ford Expedition’s hot iron.

Not being in control of one of my senses is enough but let’s just add hearing in there. These damn iPods and the FM Transmitterfication of American roadways! It turns out that FM Transmitters killed the radio star as it’s damn near impossible to listen to the radio on the road without hearing the slow fade-in, quick peak, and slow fade out - all in a span of 5-10 seconds - of someone’s iPod playing through their car radio with an FM Transmitter.

And aren’t iPods supposed to be loaded up with good music? Their ads will have you believe that you’re only allowed to have good music on them. Not so, not so. Apparently, iTunes and the Innanet empowers people to do better at having sucky music. I’m well aware of how elitist that comes off but Hoobastank? Come on! Someone in a blue VW Passat - shiny and newish mind you - drove by me and I heard fade in and fade out Hoobastank.

Come the hell on. Look pal, there are many things I wish you didn’t do, too. Listening to Hoobastank being one of them.

And last, in the trio of senses I’m not in control of while I drive, is smell. This one doesn’t need much of a description. Who, I ask you… no, I plead with you to tell me, who smokes a fat stogie in the 8 o’clock hour of the morn? “Arghhh, nothing like my mornin’ cuppa joe and a nice White Owl to start my day off right!”

So, the way I figure it, we’ve got two unspoiled senses left to ourselves while driving. Two senses that no one can take from us. Taste and touch. Ain’t nobody gonna force taste and touch on me while I’m driving either. Unless Hammacher Schlemmer comes out with some kind of Go Go Gadget Arms for the car. Some kind of roadway slappy face extension arms contraption.

And power locks are still an option, not a standard item, on new car sales? I need a car with locks more like those vaults you see with the spinny, ocean vessel steering wheel, locks. You know, for when I need to defend the last two strongholds of my sanctuary.