It's magic, you know?

Driving home from work is pretty shitacular. There are no good days for traffic in the bay area, just fifteen mile per hour, stop and go, certainty.

I'm sitting, and it's hot, and I'm listening to the local "alternative" rock station. And also, I'm looking in my rear view mirror at the guy in the car behind me, rocking out.

Then the D.J. plays a song by Weezer, and what can I do but sing along?

Say it ain't so, a woah woah.
Your drug is a heartbraker.
Say it ain't so, a woah woah.
My love is a life taker.

And I check on the guy again in my mirror and I see his lips are moving in synchrony with my lips. Sooo, a woah woah.

Except, is it really synchrony or is it just like when the clicking of your turn signals seems to match up with the flashing turn signal of the car in front of you?

Weezer ends and the next song starts.

Killing in the name of!
Killing in the name of!
And now you do what the toldja ya!

No, this really is synchrony, and he notices it too I think, because I can see him smiling as his eyes meet mine in the mirror. And we match each other for several more songs until I peel off to escape the hot, sticky mire of the freeway.

It's goofy I know, but as my car picks up speed and the wind starts to move the hot air out my car, I'm half tempted to flash him devil horns before he disappears from my mirror entirely. In celebration of a slightly less shitacular commute.