When Did the Oldies Station Start Playing MY Music?

On a recent trip back home to NY, I made a startling discovery. Yes, I said back home. California may be where I live, but NY will always be home to me. But I digress. Something horrifying happened in the car and I still can barely think about it, much less talk about it. Flipping through all the stations of my youth, searching for some good car music, I happened upon some fine tunes from the 80s. Perfect for cruising through Queens on a freezing winter's day, I left it on and began singing along as I am known for doing. In that moment, I was transported back to my youth. I was a teenager, driving around with friends, singing and laughing, not a care in the world. A drama nerd enjoying life, not minding the numbing cold, and wondering where to go next. There I was seat-dancing and having a grand old time. Little did I know the emphasis would be on the word OLD. Partying like a rock star as each song came on, I was rudely interrupted by the voice of a DJ. The voice of pure evil. Telling me that the station I landed on...the station I was grooving out to...was CBS 101. For those of you who aren't from NY, let me explain further. CBS 101 isn't the cool kids station. It isn't even the soft rock station. It's the fucking OLDIES station. The station we all listened to on car rides with our dads back in the day.

The beginning of self-realization, your own mortality, the truth about one's age...it should not happen this way. Not in the car, not on vacation, not at Christmas. But really, when IS a good time? In the shower while shaving and noticing a varicose vein or two have snaked their way across the back of your knee, the spot you always miss while shaving but not this freaking time? While brushing your teeth and glancing in the mirror at the once taut neck you loved and seeing the start of actual chicken neck? Perhaps looking down at your hands and seeing your mother's? No, there is no good time for this to happen. It's a fucking nightmare. I know I am not speaking only for myself when I say that on any normal day, I still feel like I am in my 20s. I can actually trick myself into believing it. I don't act old, I don't dress old, I have energy (most of the time), and if I'm not wearing my progressives, I look fairly young in the mirror from an appropriate distance. So, when did this transformation occur? When did I become middle aged? Who moved my fucking cheese? I mean it. I'm lacking the full understanding of the time lapse and the turning into my mother thing. There's no warning, no preparation, no guide book to give you the actual time frame. What the fuck?

Oldies. Seriously. When you hear the word, does Duran Duran come to mind or do the Platters? Come on, age yourself. Tell the truth. Never in my life did I think the stuff I listened to in high school would become the genre for the "dad" station. However, being a total nerd and doing the mental math only serves to prove that the same amount of years exist between my high school music and now that do between my parents high school music and the time it was on CBS 101. That's right. Somewhere between 25-28 years. Where did the time go? It was only yesterday that I was a carefree teenager. The memories are still fresh in my mind. The friends, the homework, the laughter, the songs that punctuated every moment. Wearing leggings, three shirts layered perfectly, black rubber bracelets, and singing Madonna songs with friends till the wee hours. Wasn't that just last week? Did I miss the memo? The one that says I must grow up and grow old? Yet, I am fully aware that my own daughter is now 19...19 1/2 if we are being specific, and in the throes of the youth I am now missing. She is that girl I used to be.

The question I ask myself now is would I want to be a teenager now? In 2015? Hell, no. I am grateful to have been a teen in the 80s. The era of excess and Boy George. The days of The Breakfast Club, Pretty in Pink, Wham!, Band Aid, Hands Across America, fingerless lace gloves, Garfield, and drinking the most disgusting drink of the time, Tab. Yes, I am a product of the Eighties, the best generation to come across the US. Proud of it. Wouldn't change a thing. Well, maybe one thing. I'd have them come back along with my thick hair, perfect vision, tight skin, and true youth. Not this thing I have falsely imagined still existed. Bring it back along with the feeling of being able to conquer anything, change the world, and do it all with "Bizarre Love Triangle" playing in the background. Am I as young as I think? No. Do I still feel as young as I think I am? Are you friggin kidding me right now???