I'm at IHOP because it is across the highway from Seattle Cycle Center, where my dear Layla is having her rear tire replaced. The last one had a whopping and dangerous 19,687 miles on it. Unacceptable by any standard. Washington State has both a tax on tires in addition to sales tax, which is 8.8% already, so the tire, installation, disposal fee (which I'm all for) and tax came to $252.76. I could buy four car tires and a steak dinner for that!

This morning, IHOP has selected a menu of seventies hits for the patrons' edification and enjoyment. What's funny is that everyone in this restaurant is either younger than Generation X or in the Greatest Generation (thanks for that humble moniker, Tom Brokaw). Nary a Boomer in sight. What I've listened to over IHOP's soothing music system in the last half hour or so:

Crazy Love (Poco, not Van Morrison)
Sex Machine
Boogie Oogie Oogie
Turn to Stone
Swingtown
Rock Your Baby
My Life (Remember "Bosom Buddies"? Ouch!)
Boogie Wonderland

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Wow. Right back to my childhood. D's Drive In's jukebox. KJR AM. Sunshine Stickers. Bell bottoms. Seasons in the Sun. I'm waiting for Afternoon Delight, or Wildfire. That would be a complete experience.

Some would call it torture, and in a way it is. But the pain is exquisite.