Can We Listen to Hot Mix Now?

Every day when I pick them up from school, either my son or his friend asks, “Can we listen to Hot Mix now?” If it’s coming from the child I did not birth, there’s a “please” in there somewhere. As in please, oh please, can we listen to the station that will likely play at least one of the hot-hot-hot mixes two or three times during the time it takes to get from school to home.

But my daughter, she’s still impressionable. She might have better taste. The other day as we drove up to the middle school, The Girl and I were listening to a super cool 80s mix-tape CD a friend made for my 40th birthday last year. When the boys got in the car, my son’s friend asked, “What IS this?”

“It’s my mom’s oldies music.”

“Oh.”

“It’s like from the 50s or something.”

And then we did a steering wheel sock hop to The Cult. That’s the oldies now, She Sells Sanctuary. And what’s cool? Justin Bieber.

Me and Mt. St. Helen’s

Thirty years ago today I heard Mt. St. Helen’s blow it’s top. From a state away, the explosion served to encapsulate a moment. There I sat, in front of a mirrored wall at the base of the wrought iron spiral staircase that led to my room, where I watched Solid Gold (and later, the wedding of Charles and Diana) on a 10-inch black and white TV, where I taped magazine pictures of models to the wall and learned to measure the circumference of my thighs.

Did you hear it too?

Pass the Bubbly: Kirk, Michael, and Me

by on June 30, 2009
in Random Amusements

One of my favorite things to do on this blog is introduce you to other writers. (And then hope you’ll still love me best!) I’d do it more often if I didn’t get lost for half a day doing it.
Candance, the Crazy Texas Mommy is like an outspoken Jill Connor Browne (the Sweet Potato Queen), Jessica Bern needs to move here so we can be friends and tape the Real Housewives of Benton County (you SO don’t have to be a housewife to be on that show), Coffee House Mom is like a nice version of me who will probably take over all my local print gigs when I finally round the bend and just start peppering everything with expletives, and without Mary Ann’s encouragement, I think I’d still be filling out IRS Form 1120S.

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