Time passes… the bastard
: I get in trouble with my kids everytime I buy a CD.
I got the new Cyndi Lauper album. Now I understand why the album itself might have driven them crazy, since she’s singing classics (well, what today qualify as classics: Walk On By, Don’t Let Me Be Misunderstood). But when my son whined, I said:
“Hey, it’s Cyndi Lauper. She was there at the start of MTV!”
And he replied:
“Daaa-ad, that was twenty years ago!”
I was aged.
Today, when I turned on the car, the stereo started blasting Outkast.
My son said, “You’re scaring me.”
I said, hey, I’m a hip dad, as dad’s go.
I started a really hip magazine.
I blog.
I work on the Internet.
I listen to Howard Stern (well, I left that out, but it counts).
“You’re not supposed to be hip,” he said.
Why not? I asked, plaintively.
“It’s creepy,” he said.
Aged again.
