JACK SILVERMAN: Oh, Jesus. Don’t tell me you like Bob Seger.
JIM (bristling): Well, yeah. Don’t tell me you don’t like Bob Seger. You might as well spit on troops and burn the flag and drive some freakish foreign electric car.
JACK: I got enough of that garbage in Ohio. Seriously. You want me to drive flaming bamboo ramrods through both eardrums? Put on “Turn the Page.”
JIM: Dude, you’re talking about my entire musical adolescence right there. I can hear “Against the Wind” playing in my wife’s high-school Chevy Nova. I can hear “Feel Like a Number,” “Hollywood Nights” and “We’ve Got Tonight” on the boombox in my ’65 Dodge. Seger made it safe to love Springsteen back when jocks were telling me “Born to Run” was freak music! Seger was covering Tina Turner in 1975!
JACK: Don’t tell me you’re one of those people who danced in your underwear to “Old Time Rock ‘n’ Roll.”
JIM: (guiltily silent)
JACK: I rest my case.
JIM: What can I say? I miss somebody like Seger who had broad appeal before rock music splintered into a million solipsistic factions. I miss songs that speak to common experience, like pudgy guys fumbling in cars with hotter-than-they-deserve dates. Hell, I miss songs. What can I say, except to paraphrase the man himself: He gets to me, somehow … even now.