Hey, gang – Be right back; in the midst of drafting, rewriting, teaching, husbanding, fathering. You know–the standard. There are things I want to talk about–the new lovely issue of Lamplight that I guest-edited, why bad reviews are okay, why your instincts suck, but there’s also a stack of student notebooks eyeballing me and, when I’m not typing this, I’m eyeballing it right back. So, go check out my special super-duper guest edit, or read this review of Savage Beasts that I’m currently loving, or read on.
My daughter is going to have music tastes that I’m going to hate. It’s just the natural state of things. I’m getting older and popular music is paying zero attention to the demographic I’m now in. Being a teacher, I see/hear what’s popular and, yes, I’m becoming one of those old bastards who recalls the glory days. Of course, my glory days were the mid-to-late 1990s, so how glorious could they be?
But, for the past two weeks, my daughter, the Bug, has been demanding the “1,2,3, come back to me” song. No goddamn clue what she was talking about. My wife and I had narrowed it down to a female singer–but none of the female groups in my car–Garbage, theSTART!. It wasn’t until I had the radio on one day that I discovered it was this:
And, after briefly being horrified that my four-year-old is belting out lyrics about, at some points, coming…I actually kinda dug the song. As well as the album, when I heard it later.
Maybe I’m not too old. Or I’m going senile. One of the two.
Still, a catchy song.