Awesome mix-tape #6

So, as you know, part of the reason I have been absent from blogging of late is the driving, but there’s actually more to my unexplained silence that relates to the driving and I'll go out on a limb here and say it's perhaps the most difficult task that comes with the road rules: creating the virgin mix-tape.

Figuratively stacked a mile high on my PC desktop right now are records from Creedence, Cat Stevens, Stars, Spoon, Bowie and the always soothing Sufjan Stevens (along with about 10 gig worth of porn, but that that's neither here nor there), but alas, all this great music alone does not make a great mix tape. Oh, you think it does, do you? Well, i'm sad to report it doesn't, my friend, and let me tell you why.

It takes work.

It takes concentration.

It takes calling into work sick because you need more time to effectively render a smooth changeover from Side A to Side B.

I know what you're thinking, "Mark, you're crazy! Bowie and Creedence, how can you go wrong?" Well, you've got a there point, Folks, but placing great tracks next to one another, let's say "someday never comes" followed by "the man who stole the world" may seem like a nice mix, but I'm here to tell you it doesn't always work that way. It can be dangerous. People can get hurt. Sometimes two great tracks next to one another may react not unlike two positive ions placed together, and you know how crazy that can be.

I haven’t even mentioned the health risks that can be involved in making such a tape. Case in point, you're driving along, enjoying life, following the road rules, thinking to yourself "gee, I wonder whatever happened to Garfunkel?" and then maybe track one from Dark Side of the Moon comes on. You start feeling relaxed. You start to think about your place in an ever expanding universe, while Floyd keeps the airways at a comfortable 22 degrees. Life's good. You're calm. For a brief moment you are one with the universe and all that inhabits it. Then a soft fade out...

KABLAMO!

You hit a badly painted green Volkswagen head-on, killing the 17 nuns inside and all you can tell the officer who pulls you from the wreckage is that you're sorry, but you didn't realise the dangers of following up a Pink Floyd song with a track from Who's Next. Well, you know what? They hang people for mixes like that in some South American countries. So before you start whipping out your awesome mix tape think of the consequences, because you could end up in a TAC commercial for dangers of combining psychedelic rock with power cords of The Who one day.

You know, a dear friend of mine moved to the city around two years ago and gave up his car in the process. Sure, no need for a sedan in an urban environment, I agree; but that's not the reason he gave up his car, not at all. It was the stress. It was the health risks. Knowing the madman chances he liked to take with his mixes (The Stone Roses into Snoop Dogg) and knowing what peak hour traffic can be like on the corner of Burke and Swantson St. my friend thought it wise to keep the mix-tapes and the driving separate. Now, two years later, he's still alive and he listens to his mix-tapes everyday, but he leaves the driving to the good men and women of the public transport system, who, as a matter of interest, are all screened for mixes exceeding 60 minutes and 128 BPM before every shift.

So, with all this weighing on my mind, you can imagine the stress I've been dealing with in attempting to make my own mix-tapes. It's taking work. It's taking concentration. I finished one which I thought was perfect last week: a little dance with Daft Punk, a little nostalgia with the boys of NKOTB and the apparently harmless, Mr. Billy Joel; and within the first 10 minutes of play I hit a garbage can. Too bold. Too reckless.

Maybe I'm being too over the top about all this, but just to ensure that my new tape is road safe, I've taken the next seven days of work. Yes, because I'm lazy. Yes, because I want to get drunk on five of those days. Yes, because I may or may not have sexually harassed a female co-worker and been asked to take the week off, but also because, with lives on the line, there has to be a safe way to bridge "everything is everything" by Phoenix with the Fab Four's "when I'm sixty-four" and dammit, I'm going to find out what it is if I have to drink the rest of this London Gin to do it.

playing it safe: awesome mix-tape #6

Lessons in Driving #101

So, part of the reason I haven’t blogging like a mofo of late is that I’ve been working on my driving skills. Perfecting the art of the old hook turn, three-point turn and the miscellaneous turn, which relates to any right turn, from a left lane, through a red light, to honk at a pretty brunette as she crosses a non-residential street, which can be more difficult than it sounds, because as brown is the new blonde it’s often hard to tell the difference between a natural femme fatale and a “good for multiple washes” impostor, but I think it’s all starting to come together.

Of course, I can’t take all the credit from my unique and often improvised driving methods, most of the accolades belong to my teachers, great people with great patience, but above all others, I've probably learnt more from my pops, or as many of you who have met him already know him as the villain from Schwarzenegger’s 1985 Commando.

I was planning to provide as list of his most unique observations while in the passenger seat, but I thought I'd let you in a little more and supply an abridged transcript from several outings, which, if you're ever lucky enough to meet the old bean, can all often be heard within a five minute dialogue him.

(Upon stopping a tad too quickly when approaching a red light)

“...you know, I’d have failed you for that. No questions asked, get out of the car, ‘I don’t care where you live; you can catch the bus home’ no second chances either – that’s it. I’d even ban your kids from driving, I know I'd be their Grandfather, but if you can’t stop properly, I don’t want your kids on the road.”

(Upon being asked about the conditions of taking the driving test)

“...just keep your head and stay calm, it’s easy. Your sister passed, didn’t she, and she’s a terrible driver (simulates my sister changing lanes and cutting someone off on the freeway with accompanying sound effects). You know, I drove for two years in England before I got my license. True story, when I actually went for my license I drove to the test in my Capri, I’d had a drinks beforehand for the nerves, but the c*** instructor failed me nonetheless…so, I pulled over and kicked him out of my car (profanities altered for publication).”

(Upon driving past a school between 8.45-9.15am and 3.15-4pm)

“If you never listen to anything I teach you on the roads again, please listen to this: women drivers are crazy! Don’t be fooled, they will kill you given the chance and it’ll be your fault. Well, it’s actually not woman drivers, but mothers. They’re insane, son. They have their own system of communication on the road that is different to everyone else’s. You go to a school before and after it starts and you’ll see what I mean, it’s a whole new system of driving (again he provides audio and visual aides as he illustrates trying to pick up my step brothers from football practice). I won't give fifty yards near a school at those times, not for love nor money."

Lastly, and this is my favorite…

(Upon a random driving tip which is interrupted by the sudden appearance of a mid-twenties starlet crossing the street)

“So, the best way to stay safe is to keep in the left lane, if they want to over take you they can FUC… (catches sight of girl) - You know, if I was your age I’d go crazy. The girls in this country are magnificent. When I was growing up there were a few, but here it’s ridiculous. If I were you, I’d never stop having trying to have sex, I’d be great.”

Now, I imagine of the three readers I have out there, that one or two of you might be thinking this is a rather lucid, if not a rather indulgent, retelling. I assure you, it’s not. And if you’re still suspicious about the authenticity of my transcript, please read through it again, but this time try to imagine the following image gruffly dictating in a Mancunian accent. This is actually one of the only photos I have of my pops outside of courtroom renderings and newspaper stills:

Note the striking resemblance we have to one another.

coming soon...I promise