When I was in high school I had this visceral relationship with music. I blame it on all the hormones and my not-quite-fully-developed brain. It was a little like that Disney movie Fantasia, where music is represented by shapes and colors, but mostly for me music was about feel. Our house had hardwood floors and if I was in a particular mood I would come home and close my door and crank up my stereo (usually with a selection from Bush) and lie spread eagle on the floor so I could feel every note vibrate through the wood and into my body. Like I said - visceral. It's hard to put my finger on what the particular mood was that brought on this behavior - I wasn't quite depressed or angry or sad or anything else with a nice neat name. I was just in whatever mood that required this physical experience with music. It's kind of funny to think back on it, as an 'adult,' given all those stereotypes of teenagers slamming doors and turning up crappy music to drown out their parents' lectures. Anyway, the reason I bring this up is that I still have this, brought on by what I consider the 'sweet spot' with alcohol - I'm not drunk, but perhaps a bit tipsy, and I can't begin to figure out the physiological thing is happening, because hopefully my hormones are not still all totally out of whack the way they are during adolescence, but I still, from time to time, find myself pulling the car over on the drive home, throwing on the flashers, and risking blown out speakers while I revel in whatever happens to be on the radio vibrating through the entire car. Tonight's cover of Free Falling from John Mayer was particularly satisfying.