Driveway Moments

NPR introduces you to all kinds of stories, books, people, movies, and musicians you'd probably never hear about otherwise. I don't really listen all that often anymore. It's too risky when the kids are in the van because every once in a while they'll drop a story in there that isn't really fit for young ears. And when driving alone, a true rarity, I find that, more than not, I prefer the sound of silence. Between teaching and home there aren't all that many quiet moments to be found. My drive to and from USC on Monday and Tuesday nights are pretty much it. These two drives account for the two hours each week when I don't have to solve a problem, move children from one place to the next, answer a question, or correct a behavior. It's not that I mind any of these things - I don't - but it is refreshing to enjoy a moment of absolute silence and not worry about whether or not I should be making plans, reading assigned texts, writing newsletters, researching articles, writing papers, or assessing student work.

That's not to say I never turn on the radio anymore. In fact, while I avoid auditory stimulus on the way to class I actually look forward to it on the way home. That's because I know when I get into the car around 7:20 Terry Gross will be on. Fresh Air is my favorite of all the NPR programs. Terry Gross is far from being a great interviewer - in fact, she can be quite awkward at times. Still, she brings in people I rarely, if ever, hear about anywhere else and I somehow find myself becoming completely engrossed in their story.

This past week she interviewed Tom Waits about his new CD, Bad as Me. I'm no Tom Waits fan. I can't even begin to imagine how others can stomach his gravelly voice. As I got into the car Terry was introducing a track in which Waits uses a falsetto voice. I'm not sure if this was better or worse than his natural  growling. Yet I still listened the whole way home.

The week before, I listened to an interview with Tom Irwin who found a diary written in 1893 hidden away in his Pleasant Plains, Illinois farmhouse and set the words he found inside it to music. He created an entire album of these songs (hear it here). It was an odd story but, again, I didn't want it to end. It was fascinating.

About a month ago I learned of chef Grant Achatz who charges diners at his Chicago restaurant, Alinea, more than $200 to enjoy an ambitious 23-course meal. Achatz is one of the "leading members of the molecular gastronomy movement, which uses unexpected flavor combinations and exotic laboratory tools to create foods based on the molecular compatibility of ingredients." He has a machine that can capture the aroma of an item. He places this gas into a bag, pricks tiny holes in it, slides it into a pillowcase, and puts it under the plate just before it is sent out into the dining room. The weight of the plate pushes down onto the bag, slowly forcing out the aromatic gas. It's the combination of this aroma (say, leather or grass) and the food that helps to elicit memories and feelings in the diner never before imagined in a dining experience. The hook on this piece was the fact that Chef Achatz has lost his ability to taste after being diagnosed with stage four tongue cancer. How ironic.

These are the types of stories that make you sit in the car for an extra minute or two after you pull into the garage. They're far more interesting than an interview with Russel Crowe, Barack O'bama, or Paul McCartney. They're even worth giving up those coveted moments of silence.