We’re speeding down the highway singing Bonnie Raitt. Ok, go on, make fun if you must (and if you’re an ex-boyfriend of mine, there’s no use because I already know you’re thoughts on the matter), but clearly if you’re disapproving it means that you’ve never flown down some Southwestern road (most likely lost) with your sisters and mother singing “Well I met you on a mid-way, at a fair last year” just about as loud as you can. And as far as you’re concerned you all sound just like the recording because the wind whipping through the open windows is too loud for any of you to actually hear each other. You know that no matter how sad the lot of you are and how angry at each other and how frustrated that you’ll never forget what you’re parents looked like kissing each other and how happy you were for a minute because you thought it meant they wouldn’t get divorced, you know that in spite of all this, there is this song, this album, and you all know it by heart. And for a minute you can all be together on something. And if you’ve never had this experience, I am sad for you and realize that you must find joy somewhere else and so I will permit you to make fun of us for still liking Bonnie Raitt.