Booger and I are driving south. We are going to visit our grandmother and our mother. At the same time. That don’t happen too much. March first cherry blossoms are everywhere on both sides of the highway, a gradient of white to pink exploding beneath central California’s lethargic white-blue sky. The night before I tell Booger, “Booger, you better put some bumpin shit on the ipod or I’ll kung-fu your ass.”

The playlist she made is called “good?”. With the question mark. It’s great. Nick Drake just came on. “Been smoking too long” from Time of No Reply.

Oso: Dude, I just found the raddest Nick Drake b-sides on TorrentSpy.
Booger: Really? I … love … Nick Drake.
Oso: Yeah, he’s cool. Too bad he killed himself.
Booger: Isn’t it true that he killed himself when like the record industry was trying to make his songs all pop or something and like, he couldn’t handle the stress?
Oso: Dunno.
Booger: It’s true brother, the industry killed him, ok.
Oso: OK boogs.

Then Fleetwood Mac, “Never Going Back Again.”

Oso: You know who Stevie Nicks is right?
Booger: No.
Oso: Oh, she was the lead singer of Fleetwood Mac. And she totally hooked up with both of these guys.
Booger: Oh yeah, you told me that already brother. Aren’t there like songs about it?
Oso: Yeah.

And next, The Mama’s and Papas, “Dedicated to the one I love.” Booger’s singing along, but I don’t know any of the lyrics. How did this happen? How does she know all the lyrics of a Mamas and Papas songs and I don’t?

Booger: “I seriously like think that so much of my brain is wasted on song lyrics. I know so many song lyrics, but I don’t know … um, so much other stuff.”