The title is a reference to a Billy Joel song. Lately I've been listening to a lot of the music which used to make my speakers vibrate in my teenage bedroom in the basement. (Greg Brady got the attic; all we had in ours was the inevitable pink insulation and sad dusty boxes made concave by time and gravity.) Bits of my soundtrack to those years have been rediscovered online and greedily downloaded into my iThing, where there's always plenty of room for nostalgia. These are the sort of tunes which make me happy just because they
do rather than because they should: YMCA! Historically suspect
Schoolhouse Rock! Come Sail Away!
The past really is a foreign country. Then, cycling was the fastest way to do my
paper route; now it's the mainline to bliss - and agony, which adds salty spice to the memory. Then, I was casually cruel; now I see that what goes around is not guaranteed to come around, but occasionally does with eerie accuracy. Then I worried about getting older and counted the extra rings on other people's trees with satisfaction; now I enjoy my middle ages and don't sweat the years even though I'm only 1 away from the big 4 0.
Yesterday I revisited
Tiffin People. Today, to wrap up this trip down memory lane, I'm inviting you to read
my teenage poetry.
clickable pic. the horror!
