Paul discovered my old favorite radio station I listened to back in high school, KISS FM, while blazing down Sunset Blvd in his compact economy rental car, windows down. Right now he is nestled on the couch, lap top on lap, playing DJ on i-tunes, and saying things like, “listen to this great song, honey!” Everything he is playing is on the Billboard top 40 list, and every song is new to us.
We have become totally “out” when it comes to pop music. We used to be in. I remember making the ultimate mixed tapes in college and requesting songs at school dances. I remember when Cindy Crawford got her own gig on MTV. Now the only rock stars I can name either have their own show on the Disney Channel or were in American Idol’s top 12.
When I questioned how “kid appropriate” some of these new hit songs were, Paul pulled up their chipmunk equivalents on YouTube. Click here for a good laugh. Somehow, everything turns hilarious when you kick it up two octaves.
But I don’t mind being behind the times when it comes to rock. Classic rock never dies. And it seems pop stars today are just scandalous time bombs waiting to implode, and I certainly don’t want my daughter idolizing them in the mean time. Right now I’m just hoping Selena Gomez has the wherewithal to resist the Hollywood pressure to “become a woman.” (Cough, Vanessa Hugdens, cough cough.) Come on, Selena, we’re all rooting for you.
I just picked up “Charlotte’s Web” audio book from the library the other day. I’d much rather pass the hours in the minivan with that over this Kei$ha girl any day. Who spells their name with a dollar sign anyways?
This is Mar$gare$. Gotz to giz-o. Out.
(Ya, I’ll never be cool again.)