I can’t smile without you

There is something deeply soul satisfying about blaring Barry Manilow at inappropriate volumes on your car stereo. I really can’t put a finger on why I am absolutely tickled when I listen to Mr. Manilow in my car, sun shining, windows down, and with the bass treble pumped way up. Maybe it’s because I’m a good couple of decades short of his target demographic. Maybe it’s because if you check out the rest of my music catalog this one sticks out like a sore thumb. But if I really put some thought into it, I would say that it’s the twisted irony of pulling up next to an SUV with chrome spinners, my car pulsating with radio waves as I turn my head slowly to the right looking punk driver next to me in the eyes and give a nod to my apparent superiority. Yeah, that’s right bitches, Manilow is in the HOUSE and then I gun my engine and peel away as fast as I can because Manilow is badass.