23 May 2012

bee bop a boo

Growing old is a pain in the ass. Don't get me wrong - most of the time I don't consider myself that old but I am definitely finding rust in the strangest of places.

Music is the worst for me. I remember how it used to drive me INSANE that my mom never got the words right to songs when she sang along with the radio so it kills me that I do the same thing now. I'm talking about songs I have known & sung along to forever.

And I am talking about even, gulp, U2 songs. I know, I know - all of you who have sat through one of my enlightening lectures about the meaning behind their lyrics (sample: "You see, U2 songs were predominantly a Christian band for the first two albums so you'll notice a lot of religious themes but even now, Bono sprinkles Biblical imagery throughout their songs ...") are probably very happy about this development but it breaks my heart.

The hatchet job of I Feel the Earth Move Under My Feet in my car this morning was brutal. Wherever Carole King is in the world, she probably dropped what she was doing & felt a cold tremor down her spine as I butchered her classic. Lots of bee-bopping was involved, people.

But it's not just lyrics either. There is some hip hop song I heard yesterday (hey, bonus points for me not saying "hippity hop" like some honky grandma in a movie) actually name dropped Gershwin & some classic painters. Could I just enjoy the song or turn the station? Nope, had this mental conversation instead:

Kudos to this guy. Maybe it will make young people check out Gershwin.
I could go for some Gershwin right about now.
I wouldn't mind seeing a Michelangelo either.
I need to get to a museum.
(singing) I got rhythm ...

See, I'm old.

Teenage Ashley would kick me in the rump if she had witnessed me turning off Radiohead's latest song this morning (is it actually new or did I hear the announcer wrong?), deciding I'm over them. They sound the same as they did almost 20 years ago.

Of course Teenage Ashley would hire a future hitman to take me out if she witnessed the soft spot I have for the idiots in LMFAO so maybe we should just ignore her opinion. Maybe my parents are right that Teenage Ashley was a pain in the ass.

Going in my favor is the fact that I've finally warmed up to Triple J, the radio station here in Australia with the more independent, more local, more hipster-hugging music. I will never stop wanting to give most of the presenters some electro shock to cheer them the hell up but the music is okay by me.

Seriously, this morning the lady I was listening to literally said the phrase "We're so excited to have them coming to Australia next month" with the exact intonation & enthusiasm I would use to say "I'm so sorry your grandmother died of the black plague." Cheer up, cool kids!! I know I'm probably too perky by Australian standards but Lordy those Triple J folks are cool/bored to the max. TO. THE. MAX.

Anyway, that's that - nothing I can do but count down the years (months?) until I start driving my kids crazy with my warbling voice butchering their favorite songs. Until then, I'm going to enjoy watching Evan devour every piece of food that crosses his path. That has nothing to do with the rest of this blog, I'm just actually feeding him while I type this. And by feeding, I mean fighting with him over the spoon, giving up & letting him have it & leaving chunks of food on his highchair tray to eat in any manner he would like.

Evan - 1
Mama - 0

He eventually somehow ends up with food & snot smeared in his eyes, crying with a couple of spoons on the floor, very little mess on his bib but TONS of mess on himself underneath (it's magic). Ah well, time to jump back in to comfort him.

Evan - 1
Mama - 1

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