I was driving by myself last night (a rare treat) with the windows down and the music cranked a bit. The radio station I had tuned in was taking requests and allowing the listener’s to dedicate the song to whoever. It was one of the moments that feels like you’re getting sucked backwards at 200mph down a tunnel of memories. I went right back to when I would sit and listen to the radio show dedication hour. I would usually spend an hour in the bathroom doing my hair so I could hear the entire thing uninterrupted. Except, that was 1994. And this is 2007. (And fortunately, in 2007 it only takes me 45 seconds to style my hair!)
“To John, Sarah, Mindy, Jack, Lizzy, Cameron, Luke and Lisa. I love yooooouuuuu!!!” this girl said at an unbelievable speed. I was suprised she even remembered her friends names calling them out so quick.
The caller immediately following her was cued up and ready to go at the same speed: “This is for Jenny, Laura, Blake, Ryan, Joe and Carol. You rock!!!”
These people sounded like they were 13. And I started to squint my eyes and tilt my head 45 degrees to the left when I remembered that I used to do that too. So I straightened up and continued on down memory lane while they called out names faster than I could even compute what they said.
Back in the day (1993ish, give or take 3 years), one of the hot songs to dedicate to your current or former flame was Bryan Adams, Everything I Do (I Do It For You). It was from the movie Robin Hood or something. I remember a girl in my class who would cry everytime she heard it, thinking of her boyfriend, sometimes even clutching his picture while leaning up against the wall. We were a dramatic bunch. (No, it was not me).
I on the other hand would lay in bed and listen to Chicago’s Greatest Hits. Then I went through a phase of girl power or something when I listened to Violent Femmes over and over. and over and over. The Beastie Boys were pretty much it for me though in 1997. Every morning I would pull into the student parking lot blasting “Brass Monkey”. I had no idea what it was about, but as I explained to my parents repeatedly, “I don’t listen to the words. I just like the beat.” That was mostly true. My club mix cds are still around because I love to dance, except now I find myself completely disturbed by the lyrics to most of them. I guess having children opened my ears to more than a beat.
Somehow I thought the days of dedicating songs faded away with button down silk shirts,
padded bras, tight rolled jeans and big hairsprayed bangs. But, I’ve been wrong before. And now I have Bryan Adams on my ipod instead of a cassette tape. Among others. He’s in good company.