Back in high school, I rebelled.  I didn’t swoon over popular boys found on the cover of Tiger Beat magazine.

I refused.  I saved my sighs for the boys I could see every day walking the halls.

But I loved music.  Challenge me on any 80’s tune and you will lose.  Lose I say!  I am the queen of 80’s music.  So do you have any idea how much fun I’m going to have tonight??  I’m going to see Duran Duran!

When I found I was going I thought first of my friend Andrea.  Poor Andrea was one of those girls who argued with others over which of the band members she was going to marry–lengthy conversations at the lunch table ensued. Why do I refer to Andrea with sympathy?  I wasn’t part of the conversation, and that pissed me off.  So one day I raged at Andrea.

“You’re never going to meet Duran Duran!  You will never marry any of them!  So SHUT UP!”

I still feel guilty about that today.

So tonight I will take my friend Deb to the concert with me, and you know why?  Because she told me she had a poster of Roger Taylor in her room throughout high school and she kissed him good night every single night of high school.  I can’t take Andrea because she doesn’t live close by, but Deb will enjoy the concert as much as Andrea would.

Tonight I will sing every word (okay to all the songs from the 80’s) and I will dance and I will scream and I will sigh over the boys I should have given my attention to in high school.   They would have gotten me in a lot less trouble.

I’m officially old.

No, I haven’t turned 40–yet, but it’s probably fair to say we’re bumping hips.

No, it’s not that I found my first gray hair. L’Oreal already sends me an annual thank you card.

And no, it’s not because I can no longer tell you who half the people are in my high school yearbook who promised they LYLAS and wanted to KIT.

Nope.

The reason I’m officially old is that I rode the elevator today, and during my ride down 15 floors, wafting through the mysterious speakers that fill the space with ambient noise (where are those speakers anyway? and is do they play that music so I won’t feel so alone while I’m in there?) were the soothing sounds of George Michael–set to MUZAK!

At first I didn’t recognize the ditty, but something felt familiar. My mind kept wanting to make sense of the hypnotizing tones that seeped into my ears like alien life forms in their liquid state.

Then all of the sudden it hit me.

“Do do do da da da dada…Somebody tell me (won’t you tell me) why I work so hard for you.”

NOOOOOOOOO!!!!

Images of crooning along with the pre-bathroom-hole-poking-George as I rode down 4th St. with my BFFs are crystal clear in my head.

But I have to face it. It’s time to grow up. When the music from your youth is set to a Casio keyboard, some strings and a bass guitar it’s time to admit it.

I’m old.

“My God. I don’t even think that I love you!”

Blogging friends, if ever there was a time I needed you it is now.

I had Live with Regis and Kelly on this morning as I was getting ready (Anderson Cooper was sitting in for Regis–he’s funny and I’ll admit here I’ve watched Kelly since she was on Dance Party USA) and Michael Bolton was on singing some Christmas tunes.

Here’s the problem.

When he was chatting with Kelly and AC at the end, I actually thought to myself, “Hmmm. He’s kinda cute. I can finally see what makes the girls swoon.”

OMFG!!!

I’ve hit a new low.

Kris and Kim–my girls–come hit me over the head now before I set up my own fan page.

I’m pretty sure I was the only 37 year old mom in my neighborhood standing in her driveway this morning at 3:10 a.m. with her reading glasses on her head, waving a dish towel and channeling Christina Aguilera through her iPod.

There may have been one other, but I think she’s only 35.

Ain’t no other man
on the planet
knows what you do…

The radio was on in the car as we drove down the driveway, on our way to where I don’t remember anymore. I was in the front passenger seat unable to see over the dashboard of our maroon, two-door Ford LTD. I probably wasn’t wearing a seatbelt not because my mom didn’t care about me but because it was 1977.

My mom brought the car to a stop at the bottom of the driveway before she pulled out to make a left hand turn. That I remember.

The radio was tuned to an AM station, most likely AM1240 out of Waterbury, CT. I remember because we had to change our phone number not long before because it ended in those same four numbers–1-2-4-0. We were forever answering calls for song requests. After a weeks of apologizing to the callers and letting them know they had the wrong number, we just said we’d get the song right on and hang up the phone.

As she nudged the car forward to see beyond the hedges that lined our front lawn, the announcement came through the speakers.

“Elvis Presley is dead.”

Her foot went back on the brake.

“Elvis Pretzel is dead Mom?” I never could get his name right.

“Yeah,” she said, and we were both quiet for a moment–both of us processing the information in our own way. Me contemplating the finality of death; wrapping my seven year-old mind around such a horrific thought; worried that if he could die so too could the person I loved most in the world–the woman sitting next to me. And suddenly I was afraid. He couldn’t be dead! He couldn’t be gone!

“Isn’t there something someone can do?! Can’t they turn back the clock?” I asked. “No,” she said as she explained that if he was dead it was already too late. She was a nurse, and my mother, so I took her at her word letting the information sink in.

I wonder now what she was thinking when she heard the news. Elvis was the icon she grew up with. She had watched him on the Ed Sullivan Show with her family–my grandparents not understanding the draw. The cameras focused in on just his upper body. She watched over the years as he aged. She saw how he had become bloated. She saw too his comeback. But now he was gone.

Was part of her childhood gone too on that day?

Once again she inched the car forward and then turned left down the road. To where, I don’t remember.

It was just a moment in the car, at the end of the driveway, on a warm August day in 1977, but it has stayed with me for thirty years.

First, because I just used the word “uncool.” Second, because I’ve been tagged for this meme by Karrie and Lotta, but if I fulfill the request well…you’ll see.

Guidelines: List seven songs you are into right now. No matter what they are. They must be songs you are presently enjoying. Then tag seven other people to see what they’re listening to.

So here it goes. I just hope you’ll still respect me in the morning.

Extra Ordinary by Better Than Ezra-Fun tune, they’re from Louisiana and Kevin Griffin is just plain hot! You should see him move when he croons. Mmmmm.

Joey by Concrete Blonde-Don’t know what it is about this song. Brings me back.

Take It Out on Me (third song down) by Fred LeBlanc-The drummer/vocalist from Cowboy Mouth and Dash Rip Rock has done some solo albums. Another Louisiana boy. An old boyfriend turned me onto this song and I’ve loved it ever since.

Grace Kelly by Mika-I have Kevin Charnas to thank for this one. It’s just so darn catchy.

Photograph by Nickelback-I’ve been a bit nostalgic for home lately. This song makes me think of…well it just makes me think.

Feeling Good by Nina Simone-Yeah the video here is from the promo for Six Feet Under, but I couldn’t find a better one. Talk about sultry.

Baby Girl by Sugarland-Sorry, there’s a brief ad in the beginning of this, but it’s worth it!! If I could sing, I might like to have this woman’s voice. Plus wait until you hear how she talks to her parents…a mother’s dream.

So that’s it. I’ve exposed you to a smattering of my musical taste. I really like almost all music. My iPod would make most people assume I suffered from a split personality. Come to think of it Shakey probably thinks I do.

I tag Canape as she’s a musician and all, MamaLee since she always has good songs anyway, Kevin because I know he’ll give us some nifty tunes, Slackermommy because there’s a shark in her photo, my british friend–let’s see if he can do it in 100 words or less, Dorky Dad just because I like tagging him and last but not least Mitch McDad because he might talk about vibrators.

Have fun!! Can’t wait to see your lists.

The powers that be that put on the Super Bowl need to offer Prince whatever he wants to perform at the halftime show FOREVER!!

Despite not being a Minnesoooootan, I’m a big fan! And he did not disappoint tonight!

Billy who?

The little man rocked!!

Did you catch the part with the big white sheet and the silhouette? It’s probably the tallest Prince has ever been. Shakey wondered aloud if the same trick would work to make one’s penis look bigger. Just as he uttered it, Prince turned sideways and proved the hypothesis true–oh wait that was his guitar.

I love Billy Joel. I’m so glad he’s getting back into making rock and roll. But what the hell was that version of the national anthem?

Are you watching the game? I’m sorry. You need someone who’s going to belt it out.

Day 19
Mood: ?

So today is the day. Thirty consecutive days of posts. I think I’m up to the challenge, though I can’t promise any level of quality for thirty days in a row.