(2011 note: This is my very first blog entry from early 2007, originally posted my old My Space site. As I was just a baby blogger, it’s not very good, and chunks of it have been re-written and re-purposed for later entries. I keep it as a historical curiosity.)
I have dedicated the past eight years to the field of education, and in doing so passed from a 24-year-old whose evenings out did not really get going until at least 10:00 pm to a 32-year-old whose Target bed-in-a-bag comforter is usually tucked up around his chin by 11:00. The second thoughts and repercussions of this life choice may fill a future blog or two, but is not the subject of tonight’s spiel. The subject of tonight’s spiel is music, and emotional ownership of music.
I am privy to any number of conversations carried on by high school freshman and sophomores when they are supposed to be engaged in whatever drivel I have assigned them. Recently, I heard one freshman lass make repeated references to a “Pete.” Playing the part of stern classroom disciplinarian, I reprimanded her to stay on task, and who was this “Pete” person anyway? Turns out, she was referencing Pete Wentz of the band Fall Out Boy. I made a disparaging comment about the state of young folks’ music, and went back to pretending to work. The freshman girl in question wasn’t even pretending to work, so I guess that puts her one up on me.
Having not heard a lick of Fall Out Boy’s music, but having seen a number of glossy hairstyle-oriented photos and read some reviews, I feel pretty secure in dismissing them as utter horseshit. But I am not the target audience, and the emotional investment of the girl who was discussing them was just as fervent as my own to my own music…a long time ago in a galaxy far, far away. No…actually about 15 years ago in the exact same dead-end town of Yuba City, California. Continue reading
Holy Bee of Ephesus 