He’s never heard of Billy Idol.

I present to you the lovely Susan, of Trout Towers fame. I met her because…drum roll…her sister is E’s preschool teacher! E’s wonderful teacher said in the carpool line one day, “I think you and my sister would have a lot in common…her husband is a sound guy and goes on tour sometimes,” and I said “Oh yes we would.” And then we had coffee in real life, even though she lives 9 hours away, (she was in town) and we do. We really really do. Susan, you’re the first blogger I’ve met in person and I puffy heart you…AND your blog.

Here she is!

Ever since I became a mom I began preparing myself for the inevitable moment when my kids are embarrassed for me. Yes, for me. I am totally okay with them being embarrassed by me. I rather thrive on that. But I’m not looking forward to relinquishing my status as a reasonably all that human being.
I have always found comfort in the knowledge that as my wardrobe, my mind and my sense of humor go, at least I’ll have my music. We have a reasonably cool music life here at Trout Towers, with bands coming to record, talented friends, and a diverse music collection that rivals any college dorm.

Or at least I thought my music was safe. The other day I was driving along with my 15 year old nephew and we were talking about music. He mentioned bands he likes, which I had never heard of. I mentioned bands I like, which he had never heard of. I had a brain storm and asked him if he likes Gwen Stefani. He does. And then I very nearly launched into a tale of No Doubt but stopped myself because in my head I heard some old dude telling me that if I liked Clapton I should have heard Derek and the Dominoes.

I’ve become that old dude.

How did this happen and what do I do about it? Start listening to Amy Winehouse, Britney and Estele? Ew. No, better to stay the course. My kids will sing Beastie Boys, Green Day and Fat Boy Slim the way my friend Alison sang Lawrence Welk. By that I mean MOCKINGLY. Still, those Beastie Boys do make for some timeless classics.

I’m okay with being a timeless classic, I suppose. After all, I’ve gotten used to the idea that short, tight and trampy is maybe a look I should no longer rock. Hemlines change, and so perhaps shall my search for new music.

My music collection, then, is the audio version of “looks good, doesn’t itch” – with a little Flock of Seagulls thrown in to embarrass the kids. I can’t wait.