Who needs a time machine when you've got music?

Driving to work today, I was listening to music when a song by Craig David came on, to my glee. (Please note, however, that my musical tastes are wide-ranging and not exclusive to hip-poppy British pretty boys.)

As much as I enjoyed rocking out to the dance-worthy stylings of Mr. David, I have to admit that I truly love the song because of who it reminds me of: my best friend Murielle.



Murielle is awesome. She and I have been best friends for more than eight years, and I feel lucky and blessed and many more sentimental, glittery adjectives to be her friend. I can be, and all too often am, completely ridiculous and immature and hysterical around her. And we have a great time! (Frequently, our version of a "great time" involves the choreography and rehearsal of an elaborate dance routine, punctuated by paralyzing fits of giggles.)

So, because all Craig David songs remind me of Murielle, I have no choice but to turn up the radio whenever I hear one and add a little oomph to my lip-synching. So if you ever see me in my car, singing and shaking it like a crazy person, you'll know "7 Days" is on the radio. Or "Naughty Girl". Or "Overprotected". Or...you get the point. We've danced a lot.

My real point is that music always makes me feel as if I've been transported back to the most significant time I heard it. That's why in my head I always slow-dance awkwardly to "Save the Best for Last", sit in Berkeley traffic with my sister to "Missionary Man" and hunt for apartments with Corey to "Carino". Maybe some of the songs I love are lame. Fine. I accept that. I just know that, like so many other things in life, a song doesn't have to be good for you to love it anyway.