"Everyone Is the Age of Their Heart." - Guatemalan Proverb

Ha-ha-ha, what a lie....

I think I might be having a mid-life crisis. All I know for sure is that I've been struggling lately, and I decided putting my thoughts and feelings down in words might help me sort it out. So please bear with me.

I've been feeling really nostalgic lately--not the good kind when you fondly remember past fun times, but the yucky kind when you feel not quite present in the present (if that makes any sense). I'm not nostalgic for any particular time or place or person, but rather I miss the way I used to be and feel and relate to the world.

Ahhh, those were the good ol' days. Too bad I didn't
appreciate it. "Youth is wasted on the young" as they say.

When I was younger, the way I looked played a big part in how I related to people--especially men, of course. A young woman's allure can be a useful and powerful thing. I wasn't one of those who used her looks to unfairly take advantage of a situation (unless the guy was a jerk and deserved it) but I certainly enjoyed the attention my appearance got me over the years. So shoot me. And there is no doubt a woman's allure can open doors.

Because the way I was treated was partially due to my appearance, of course how I looked became a significant part of my identity (as it does for most people, whether they admit it or not).

Now that I'm getting older, I feel myself teetering on the precipice of undesirable and this leaves me feeling a bit rudderless. While an older woman can "look good for her age," (and there's always that crushing "for her age" added on at the end) she will never again be a hot, young girl. An older woman is more experienced and (hopefully) wiser than her younger counterpart--and this is certainly something to celebrate--but it doesn't change the fact that she is no longer viewed as desirable by the world in general. And that sucks.

Nowadays when I walk past a construction site, I bristle in anticipation of the cat-call, but when it doesn't come, instead of feeling relieved I'm deflated. Life is more boring this way.

The questions I ask myself are these: What is my identity now? How do others see me (and do I really want to know)? What's my role in this world supposed to be? Yes, I'm a wife, mother, daughter, sister, etc., but who am I deep down inside?

All I know is, the girl I once was is no more and I miss her, hot mess that she was.

Does everyone have such problems as they age, or am I just vainer than most? My guess is it's about 50/50. Maybe it's especially difficult right now because it's only recently that I've started feeling, well, not old exactly...just not young anymore. Maybe, instead of getting worse as I age, I'll get used to feeling this way and it won't bother me as much?

I certainly hope so.

What I Miss Most About the 1990s Is....

There's an article in tomorrow's (8/7/11) The New York Times Magazine titled, "My So-Called Adulthood" about how Generation X--like every other generation before it--has become nostalgic for all things 1990s (the era of its youth), despite the fact that Gen X was famous for reviling the nostalgia it grew up with: the Baby Boomers fondness for all things 1960s.

Here is the link to the article.

The author Carl Wilson wonders how our generation can proudly embrace retromania when we grew up listening to the Baby Boomers talk about how great the 60s were: how their generation created the best music, ended segregation, were activists, and truly "believed in something, man." Back in the early 90s, didn't we hate the way they always reminisced about the good ol' days, then called us slackers and pointed out that by the time they were our age, they'd already marched on Washington five times and been thrown in jail for protesting something-or-another? They even insisted their drugs were better.

Yay! Beavis and Butthead are
coming back!

And now here we are, 20 years later, in the midst of a 1990s revival. Limp Bizkit, Faith No More, and Third Eye Blind (just to name a few) are touring this summer, plus MTV is bringing back some of its old programming, like "Beavis and Butthead" and "Pop-Up Video." It makes me laugh because we slackers are now the demo with the disposable income. HA! You love us now, don't you?

Mr. Wilson asks the following question in the article: "How does an anti-nostalgic generation deal with the human reflex to sentimentalize its youth?" Of course when I read that sentence, the only thing that popped into my head was, "The reflex...is in charge of finding treasure in the daaaark!"

Right Said Fred: Amusing
yet oh so embarrassing

The answer, according to Mr. Wilson, is mix-tapes. Apparently, some young musicians are creating music called "hypnagogic" or "hauntological" (I swear, I'm not making this up), with melodies that sound like pop songs from previous decades, but recorded to simulate old age by sounding fuzzy or staticky. And many of the artists are recording this music on the practically-extinct cassette tape. (I bet they are really proud of themselves, too).

I have a better idea: How about we Gen Xers join Facebook, post the original videos of all our favorite 80s and 90s songs, share comments about what that song means to each of us, and have fun honestly reminiscing about the good (e.g. Nirvana) and the bad (e.g. Right Said Fred) that our generation had to offer?

Oh, duh.

Talking to Girls About Duran Duran

One of the Christmas presents I received from my husband last December was Talking to Girls About Duran Duran by Rob Sheffield. I've admired Sheffield's music writing in Rolling Stone for years, and, as those who know me are well aware, I was a HUGE Durannie back in the day. So I was definitely looking forward to reading his latest book, which is basically a music memoir (as is his first book, Love Is a Mix Tape, which I have not read).

I'm enjoying Talking to Girls About Duran Duran and would recommend it--but mainly just to those folks who came of age in the '80s and will be able to appreciate all the era-specific references (Phoebe Cates, Soloflex Man posters, Square Pegs) and one-hit-wonder recording artists (Haircut 100, Kim Wilde, Tone Loc). If you didn't live it, I don't think you'll really get it.

Also, Sheffield's writing style suffers slightly in the longer format; he tends to repeat himself and over-explain things, as if he stretched 100 pages of material into a 274-page book. 

But that's okay, because it turns out Sheffield is even a bigger Duran Duran fan than I am, so I gotta respect that. I was a young girl when they made it big, and therefore my flame burned hotter (I doubt Rob wallpapered his bedroom with John Taylor photos). But his flickered longer: Sheffield still buys Duran Duran albums, while I stopped when the '80s ended.

One great thing Sheffield does is completely and utterly capture the way teenagers can infuse music with way too much meaning and importance. For example, this is what he says about Hall & Oates's "Maneater":

"But I love every minute of this song. The long, smoldering intro, building up tension beat by beat. The cheesy '80s sax solo to end all cheesy '80s sax solos.... And the way it warns me about those tough girls they were always singing about. The girl was deadly, man, but she could really rip my world apart? 

Why the hell didn't I meet any girls like this? Where did all these she-cats hang out?...Okay, so the beauty is there, but the beast is in her heart. Where's the downside, Hall? He wouldn't say. All he told me was, 'I wouldn't if I were you. I know what she can do.' And all Oates added was 'Watch out!' I have to admit, I was intrigued."

Clearly, Sheffield put way too much thought into each and every song he heard in the '80s. But didn't we all? Because, as Sheffield writes, these were the songs that "...warped my brain with dubious ideas, boneheaded goals, laughable hopes and timeless mysteries.... But I'm not tossing these songs into any kind of fire--I'm just shaking them to see what memories come tumbling out. And of course, a lot of those memories have to do with love, and learning about love through pop music." 

That's why these songs mean so much to us: because at the time, everything meant so much to us. We felt every aspect of life so deeply, and music was no exception. Nowadays, I can still occasionally get fired up about a song (like Adele's "Running in the Deep"), but it's not the same. I miss those days when I would rush out to the record store, babysitting money in hand, to buy an eagerly anticipated album the day it came out. Needless to say, that doesn't happen anymore.

Reading Talking to Girls About Duran Duran brought all that back to me. So thank you, Rob Sheffield, for the trip down memory lane.