Mirror, mirror, in the car...
Alternate title: Why I Hate My Daughter
Alternate-Alternate title: Why I Hate Pop Culture
Alternate-Alternate-Alternate title: If Ashlee Simpson Ever Enters This House In CD Form, Heads Will Roll -or- I Really Like To Make Generalizations About Bands That I Know Nothing About
The Peanut has been singing a Killers song.
WHY, GOD, WHY? WHAT HAVE I DONE TO OFFEND THEE? HAVE I NOT SPENT THE LAST 6 FUCKING YEARS TRYING TO MOLD AND SHAPE AND SOMETIMES CONTORT THIS LITTLE BEING INTO A FACSIMILE OF MYSELF BY FORCING MY VIEWS AND PREFERENCES ON HER? IT HAS BEEN HARD AND LARGELY THANKLESS WORK, LORD, AND THIS (MOTHERFUCKING THIS!!) IS HOW YOU CHOOSE TO REWARD MY CAREFUL OVERBEARANCE?
Come fucking on, man.
We have tried so hard to pass our incredible hipness on to the youngsters. My older children can tell Amon Tobin from Mr. Scruff, and although they really enjoy themselves some Laurie Berkner they balance it out with a deep admiration for Gorillaz. (side note: No, I don't actually play them the Gorillaz. Anymore.) I have tried so hard to protect their little systems from harmful wuss pop and tweener whining. Husband seems to be ok with gay euro-pop.
Harmless enough, right? And also: awesome.
The best thing that happened last week? I played them Josephine Baker singing "Don't Touch My Tomatoes". Oh. My. God. It was like they had just seen a bunch of guys dressed as wolves do a song-and-dance number. (Or maybe a man box a kangaroo.)
And the thing is: I don't even know where she heard the Killers. I don't play it. Husband doesn't play it. She's in a pretty creepily protected environment at her school and all her friends are too. It's like the song just seeped into her consciousness and took root. Like it was just drifting in the breeze of pop culture and somehow the music and words materialized in her brain and it was catchy and she started to sing it. Next thing I know they'll be wanting to know who Kelly Clarkson is and wanting tickets to see the Arctic Monkeys. That's when I know that I have failed and that they're no longer under my control. (Note to self: must invest in large boxes with air holes where I can keep the children through their tween years.)
edited to add: Ok, The Killers really aren't that bad. I mean, in the scheme of things, Peanut could be doing a lot worse. It's just that...I don't know....over produced earnest-rock just doesn't cut the mustard around here. That's all.
Alternate-Alternate title: Why I Hate Pop Culture
Alternate-Alternate-Alternate title: If Ashlee Simpson Ever Enters This House In CD Form, Heads Will Roll -or- I Really Like To Make Generalizations About Bands That I Know Nothing About
The Peanut has been singing a Killers song.
WHY, GOD, WHY? WHAT HAVE I DONE TO OFFEND THEE? HAVE I NOT SPENT THE LAST 6 FUCKING YEARS TRYING TO MOLD AND SHAPE AND SOMETIMES CONTORT THIS LITTLE BEING INTO A FACSIMILE OF MYSELF BY FORCING MY VIEWS AND PREFERENCES ON HER? IT HAS BEEN HARD AND LARGELY THANKLESS WORK, LORD, AND THIS (MOTHERFUCKING THIS!!) IS HOW YOU CHOOSE TO REWARD MY CAREFUL OVERBEARANCE?
Come fucking on, man.
We have tried so hard to pass our incredible hipness on to the youngsters. My older children can tell Amon Tobin from Mr. Scruff, and although they really enjoy themselves some Laurie Berkner they balance it out with a deep admiration for Gorillaz. (side note: No, I don't actually play them the Gorillaz. Anymore.) I have tried so hard to protect their little systems from harmful wuss pop and tweener whining. Husband seems to be ok with gay euro-pop.
Harmless enough, right? And also: awesome.
The best thing that happened last week? I played them Josephine Baker singing "Don't Touch My Tomatoes". Oh. My. God. It was like they had just seen a bunch of guys dressed as wolves do a song-and-dance number. (Or maybe a man box a kangaroo.)
And the thing is: I don't even know where she heard the Killers. I don't play it. Husband doesn't play it. She's in a pretty creepily protected environment at her school and all her friends are too. It's like the song just seeped into her consciousness and took root. Like it was just drifting in the breeze of pop culture and somehow the music and words materialized in her brain and it was catchy and she started to sing it. Next thing I know they'll be wanting to know who Kelly Clarkson is and wanting tickets to see the Arctic Monkeys. That's when I know that I have failed and that they're no longer under my control. (Note to self: must invest in large boxes with air holes where I can keep the children through their tween years.)
edited to add: Ok, The Killers really aren't that bad. I mean, in the scheme of things, Peanut could be doing a lot worse. It's just that...I don't know....over produced earnest-rock just doesn't cut the mustard around here. That's all.
posted by Emily at
8:33 PM
1 Comments:
See how not tweener I am, that I have no CLUE what you're talking about? But I think my husband would flip out equally as much if they started liking country...
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