You know grey is my favorite color...

My favorite radio station, Lighting 100, is celebrating their 16th anniversary this month. To celebrate, they play a string of songs from a year in their history every morning. I really enjoy it, because sometimes it’s a little nostalgic, and sometimes it’s a glimpse of what I would have been listening to if I hadn’t been so lame at that point in my life. This morning, the year was 1994. In 1994 I was in 8th grade at Kimbrough Middle School, and slowly making the musical transition from the music that defined my junior high years (Boyz II Men, Shai, Mariah Carey) to the more rock-oriented tastes of early high school. I had a boyfriend named Randy who I broke up with after a few weeks because our names rhymed. I played volleyball, ran track, and played percussion in the junior high band, something I would quit after that year because sports were cooler. So. Year: 1994. Song: Mr. Jones by Counting Crows. I remember the first time I heard that song. I was at the 8th grade spring dance. I had just finished slow “dancing” with a guy named Lance, who I had only danced with because my friend who had a crush on him dared me to. (How do I remember these things? I also remember that Lance rode his bike to school and drank milk at lunch while the rest of us were chugging giant sodas.) Mr. Jones started, and everyone went crazy. Clearly, I was missing something. I loved it. It became my new favorite song on the spot. I went out the very next day and bought the cassette, and drove my parents crazy listening to it over and over and over again. It occurred to me this morning that August and Everything After has been in my regular rotation for twelve years. TWELVE. I can’t think of any other music that has consistently been a part of my life for that long. I pulled it out at work today and have already listened to it twice. It has some of my very favorite songs: Anna Begins, Sullivan Street, A Murder of One. But Mr. Jones, while possibly overplayed to many, will always be special to me. That opening guitar will always make me want to turn it up, roll the windows down, and sing at the top of my lungs.