Picture this: 14-year-old Sisiggy, sitting on the couch: striped denim jeans, red tank top, loooong brown hair (NO HEAD BAND because Sisiggy wasn't allowed to wear a headband because her mother said that would make her look like a hippie whore. So she only wore a headband one timewhen her mother, in response to 13-year-old Sisiggy referring to the household as "the Third Reich," threw up her hands and said, "That's it! I give up! Do whatever you want! You want to go around like a putana, go around looking like a putana," resulting in 13-year-old Sisiggy going to her friend's house dressed in the aforementioned outfit, only this time with a 3-inch suede band -- that was actually a choker necklace -- tied around her forehead; something which she never did again since the suede caused her forehead to break out so much that it was a week before she could appear in public without her bangs covering her face). So don't picture the headband.
But, in case this escapes you, I was still dressed cool. Of course there were no witnesses to confirm this other than, perhaps, Dark Garden, who probably doesn't remember, and John Boy, who wouldn't have noticed.
Still, I insist that in 1972, I had my cool moments, brief as they were...
So there I am...cool.
On the television comes an advertisement: Time Life Records. They're hawking the Sound of the Big Band Era. It's hilarious. Old people songs; "Remastered!" Glenn Miller plays while photos, c. 1940s, flash on the screen. It's so campy. They've even wheeled out some of the ancient musicians to give musical credibility to artists who hadn't been heard from for over 30 years. It was kind of sad, really, that these people who were once at the top of the music field, were now hawking these nostalgic compilations during the cheapest advertising slots on local TV.
I am laughing. John Boy comes in and joins me in laughing. Dark Garden comes in and joins us in laughing (though, because he's only 6, he's not quite sure why). We are making fun of the fact that old people like my parents might be interested in all this campy music and that it would conjure memories of all those silly photos flashing before our faces.
You know where this is going...
So today, picture this: 53-year-old Sisiggy, sitting on the couch: baggy pants, over-sized shirt, looong brown hair (who's got money for a haircut?) -- not cool. Not cool and not caring a flying flip that it's not cool; because there is nothing cool about 53 years old, baggy pants, over-sized shirts, looong brown gray-flecked hair, and not caring a flying flip about it.
So there I am...not cool.
And there they are: Dewey Bunnell and Gerry Beckley from America hawking Sound of the 70s, which is basically every single I had in my hot pink 45-rpm record carrying case (adorned with yellow smiley-face stickers) -- along with campy photos of people who looked way cooler than I ever did. Let me repeat that with a different perspective: Dewey Bunnell and Gerry Beckley from America hawking music by Bread. If you are over 50, that's one of those Things That Make You Go, "Hmmm..."
I had a brief moment of nostalgia, during which I thought, "Well, it was nice to hear those again............................................................once."
Except, perhaps for Hotel California. That song should just stay retired.