Bb-BANG, callused hand goes crashing into your bedroom door at 6am. “ROADTRIPPP” bellows dad as he heads to the garage to wait eagerly in the car. Your eyes stay glued to the ceiling. You know what time it is. You know what waits next to the driver’s seat. Dad’s got stacks on stacks…of mistake CDs for you both to listen to. Dad kind of remembers that you like Coil and Lil’ B, which is why for the next seven hours you’ll have to hear Lacuna Coil and Katy B, sucker. “Hey,” he chuckles as he nudges your ribs. “Hey: ‘Dad Can Dance.'” He smiles your way, and as you frantically roll down the window he begins to say it again in a louder voice. This newsflash is on record: never go on road trips when dad wants to be cool.