i’m twenty-three, for Christ’s sake

So the response to my Christmas Card list has been overwhelming. Here’s what else I learned… most women read my site at night, and most men read it in the morning. What’s that mean? I don’t know. And a whole bunch of ’em are from California.

Eric has an interview for a teaching position this afternoon. Let’s all wish him Squishy thoughts, okay?

I updated my links page yesterday. Perhaps you would like to take a gander and wander around in your spare moments.

I have a terrible headache this morning. Awful. I’m starting to think that if I have half of a glass of wine after my dinner my entire next day is ruined. This makes me angry, since I also drank 3 liters of water yesterday, so I would think they would balance out. Maybe I should stop drinking cheap wine.

So, today outside, if you are interested, it is raining and 75 degrees. This is nothing like Christmas, I tell you, nothing. Well, at least there’s some precipitation, that’s a small perk.

Okay, so there’s a new radio station in town, and I was rocking out last week listening to it. It played “I Will Survive,” followed by “Wanna Be Startin’ Somethin’.” So I’m mama-say-mama-sah-mo-ma-coo-sahing all over the place and the station identification jumped in and said, “You’re listening to the Jammin’ Oldies station.”

And a small piece of my heart shattered.

Oldies? Oldies? Michael Jackson is not an oldie. Excuse me. “Mr. Sandman” is an oldie. “Enter Sandman” is not. I got a little feverish. Every song the station played was one that I grew up loving. Then they’d throw in “My Girl” or something to really confuse me. “Endless Love” is not an oldie!

Look. I just got used to being called “Retro” or “Way-Back” or whatever… but come on… Oldie? I told my mother about it. She cackled gleefully. Her skin took on a greenish hue and she peddled her bicycle over to me and put Taylor in the basket in the front. “Face it dear,” she grinned, exposing her teeth, “You’re getting older, older, OLDER! First it’s Michael Jackson, and next it’ll be those Beastie Boys you love so much! Ah-ha-ha-ha!” She wiggled a bony finger at me and began to hum Billy Idol’s “White Wedding.”

And she peddled away. As I watched her get smaller and smaller through the clouds I thought to myself…”When my mother was my age I bet no one tried to tell her that her music was an oldie. And I had this image of her in front of the radio screaming, “Al Jolson? What do you mean Al Jolson’s an Oldie! This is ridiculous!”

I remember when I started listening to the Doors back in high school (when everyone wanted to either be or date Val Kilmer), my mother was terribly upset. “No one liked the Doors when I was growing up! They weren’t that popular!” Now, I take this statement with an incredible grain of salt, since my mother was living about thirty minutes from Woodstock when it happened and she didn’t go because she “didn’t like that kind of music,” and my father, who was about an hour away didn’t go because he “had to study, and besides, it wasn’t supposed to be a big deal.” So when my mother says no one liked The Doors, I feel that she must mean her small section of Bridgeport friends much preferred Frankie Valli and the Four Seasons.

But I think about when I get older, and the children of our generation start rummaging through our music collection. What did I take from my parents? I took their Beatles albums, their Simon and Garfunkel; Peter, Paul and Mary; Neil Diamond…(shutup… you love him too, you know you do); and the Shaft album. I couldn’t believe my parents didn’t have anything else. People are always amazed that I don’t know much Led Zeppelin or the Rolling Stones, but it’s because my parents didn’t listen to them. But if you need some Anne Murray sung to you, I’m your gal.

But what if my kids like the crap I can’t stand from my generation? What if they just have to have that New Kids on the Block album or Vanilla Ice or Expose or Tiffany and I’m standing in their room screaming, “We didn’t really like them! They were mistakes! Put that Taylor Dayne album down this instant and put on some Jane’s Addiction! No, I’m not buying you Color Me Badd for Christmas. Why can’t you just listen to Radiohead? What’s wrong with Radiohead, huh? They have good songs. They aren’t trying to sexx you up.”

I fear for the next millennium.

Best part of last night:

watching television, a preview for You’ve Got Mail comes on…

I think I’m going to get another beer, do you want one– Oh! I just wish Tom Hanks and Meg Ryan could be in every movie!

I love that boy, I really do.

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