Still Rock N Roll to me
Published by charming, but single on 7.22.2006 at 7/22/2006 04:48:00 PM.
Apparently, I have official ceased being cool and have officially become old and crotchety.
I set out for my regular Saturday morning errands – the produce stand, various stores, returns, etc. I enjoy not having deadlines and meetings and conference calls and the fact that my most important task of the day today involved locating the new Snow Patrol CD.
So, with my face properly scrubbed free of all makeup and dirt (I wear only moisturizer and Burt’s Bee’s lip balm on Saturdays), I headed over to Best Buy to purchase said Snow Patrol CD because I am obsessed with the song “Chasing Cars.”
I ended up getting Gnarls Barkley, Julie Roberts and Snow Patrol and I was pumped that I had some new music to listen to. I immediately listened to “Chasing Cars” about a four times on the way to visit my parents.
“I have CDs you might want to listen to,” I offered to my sister when I arrived.
She looked at me like I was crazy. Because apparently since I don’t routinely listen to The Fray and Deathcab for Cutie, I have suspect taste in music.
“I know, CDs, like actual CDs. Not iTunes. I’m so, like, old school,” I said.
She looked at me like I should never say the words “old school” again.
She did seem pleasantly surprised with my purchases and moved to quickly put them on her iPod. (I swear, I’m the only living person without an iPod.) She was less impressed with my dancing to “Crazy” by Gnarls Barkley and looked away, embarrassed, like the entire junior class of her high school was hiding in the closet witnessing my dorkiness.
While she fiddled with her laptop, I strapped on her iPod to listen to some of this stuff the younguns like these days. I made it through about 10 seconds of Panic! At the Disco before my ears went into a state of Panic! And not in a good way.
“Oh! I love this song,” I exclaimed as I switched on “Buttons” by the Pussycat Dolls and danced seductively around her bedroom.
“You keep pushing all my buttons, baby,” I harmonized loudly with the iPod.
My sister looked at me like I was from some other solar system where they didn’t have MTV.
“What did you say?” she demanded.
“You keep pushing all my buttons, baby.” I punctuated the line with a groin thrust, just to completely mortify her.
“That’s not the words.”
“Of course it is, I have heard this song before.” I didn’t know where, but I had.
She put it on in iTunes and turned the volume up.
“It is ‘LOOSEN up my buttons,’” she said, like she was trying to explain addition to a first grader.
“No. It sounds like ‘PUSHING’.”
“[Charming] it is ‘LOOSEN.’ The way you sing it doesn’t make sense.”
“It could make sense.”
“Oh really? All of this time you though it said, ‘You keep pushing all my buttons’? HOW WOULD THAT EVEN WORK?”
“Well …” I didn’t want to have to explain anatomy or innuendo to my younger sister.
“I mean, seriously, what did you think?”
“I thought it was just a generic sexual reference.”
And then she laughed so hard that she actually fell over on her bed.
Then she made me a CD with songs by
