I don't like drama.
Well, I don't like drama outside of a really good television program. I like things simple, happy, contagious of only the fabulous... I like peaceful. It gives me time to think.
I like thinking.
I've been taking time to revisit things I once loved, and in the midst of that loving remembrance I am finding myself so easily on edge with annoyance of the things that don't seem to fit. Or what has become even more annoying is that the things I once thought were a match are no longer, and I am revisiting, as I always do, the prospect of where fear fits into it.
I've been listening to music from my teen angst years. It's been terribly amusing and mildly disturbing, but quite enjoyable none the less. I can see now, as a ::gulp:: adult how our parents used to criticize the music we used to listen to, the suggestive nature of the lyrics we were singing along to without ever really paying attention to the actual meaning of the words. Why would we?
So the other day I was listening to the 90s station, something I do quite often when I'm taking a break from the 80s and feel like taking a walk down memory lane. Here I was listening to it with my daughter, just singing along and enjoying the memories... and then, despite "knowing" these lyrics all these years, I actually *listened* to them. I was shocked. Shocked.
The dirty words coming out of my mouth... no wonder my parents were horrified! Lyrics like... "somebody rockin' knockin' da boots" (which I admit I just figured hearing the word 'boots' meant it was about shoes...).... I have a myriad of lyrics floating through my head relative to things that I am shocked I sang in front of my parents. It's hilarious, and almost dating, to think that I will probably find shock in the music my daughter will be listening to, especially where I think the music today is a sad comparison to that of my time. Then again, don't we always think that?
It reminds me of one of the characters of "Clueless" where he says to the teacher that he was thinking how the way he feels about the Rolling Stones is how his mom feels about Nine Inch Nails so he should really stop torturing his mom. Hilarious... but now that actually means something to me, as an adult. Granted my daughter loves my taste in music... she has no real choice, she hasn't be exposed to anything else but the 80s and 90s, with the exception of local musicians who I am friends with and want to expose her to some incredible songwriting. But what happens when the day comes and she discovers, possibly, that... that... Culture Club isn't cool?
My husband would be tapping me at this moment to whisper, "Honey, they were never cool." Then I would have to take time to stop typing to club him over the head, repeatedly, and then ask him if he'd be willing to cross dress and let me put makeup on him like Boy George, and then he'd probably divorce me, or tie me up in a non sexual way and I would be left to listen to Elvis or something of his preference. I may have lost sight of my point along the way...
On the flip side of amusement with music of my past, it also has this amazing ability to connect me to a time that brings both sorrow and joy. It's amazing to be in the middle of this music and feel yourself instantly transport to a time when you were younger, perceivably safer (or not as the case may be sometimes), thinking you were brilliant when really you were a little naive shit who knew nothing of true pain and sorrow... still, that connection, that instant transportation through time has always fascinated me, and there are still days where certain CDs stare me in the face wondering if they'll ever get their play time, knowing full well I reserve them for only the lowest points in life. Somehow that is therapeutic.
So while I never thought I would one of those people who stepped into the realm of new technology (after all, my "boom box" works perfectly fine!)... I'm going to sit here, rocking out to the 90s... on my savvy iPod, that I might have finally figured out how to use. Maybe.