La la la la la la la la

Bereft of creative content, the clowns at the Chronicle's Datebook section picked their favorite road music in and around the city. I am deeply offended by the selections of Geary Boulevard, having driven, cabbed, and walked that stretch for 15 years in all states; shame, intoxication, anger, lust, and pride. Herewith is the essential road music to counter that beast and all its vile ethnics and 38 behemouths:

Iggy Pop, The Passenger -- For some reason after a dozen pops with warz we thought it was fine to drive home from edinburogh castle. Iggy came on and we sang like idiots. cops probably thought we were just in high spirits.

Nirvana, Smells like teen spirit -- I no longer abide Nirvana, but when the record first came out, my college roomy ditched his Rush records and became born again grunge. We had just made some wonderful girls at tim simon's 12th night house party, and we put the top down in his convertible, blasted this, and made it home in one piece.

the Jam, Going Underground -- warz called me one morning a couple years ago when i was on the drive of shame; ie, taking a girl out for breakfast after a wild night of pornography. i couldn't talk with the girl alongside, but he knew what was up and laughed like satan as i tried to be upstanding. kusf saved the morning and explained everything except the hickey i had to walk around with for a week.

mazzy star, look on down from the bridge -- last week of june 2005, angling out of the city with joss en route to WA. a picture perfect morning, maudlin, moving, and misty eyed.

bush, glycerine -- like nirvana, completely stupid song and band, but it set off the finnish girl like nothing else in the world. car sex near 3rd ave is not underrated.

the busted lives, dirty alcoholic -- a theme song for the dot com years. 6th ave and perhaps some ton kiang dim sum to assuage the dog. what a riot.

led zeppelin, that's the way -- for the early SF years, the theme song of morning beers at the Pig and Whistle, then a 10am bar (now 11am). Coupled with that english breakfast of theirs (including beans and toast) it worked its magic.

danny boy -- always ready for the rendition piped out of o'keefe's juke. hanging a right on 5th ave to retrieve whatever leave behinds from the night before; wallet, keys, a girl or two. annie would simply nod when we'd come in and say, 'aye, me boys are back. welcome!'

rod stewart, gasoline alley -- early morning/afternoon rod is always appreciated on the ocean bound stretch. it makes one wonder what the hell happened to him and to you.