Free Internet Radio in my kitchen? Yes, please. I’m a sucker for it, even if it is sporadically punctuated with commercials about ‘epic’ nail polish, acne cream, or something so ultra youth-oriented I openly mock it as I rinse off dirty dishes.
My shuffle goes from Bach to the Beatles, Coldplay to Johnny Cash while I wrap my cocktail smokies in Pillsbury Crescent rolls. I know it’s a lame dinner, but at least I try. My twelve-year-old will eat it, but she can’t stomach my music.
She says I need some new music and changes the channel to YouTube, which I have no patience for because after every video the music stops.
I interpret YouTube as an all-request version of MTV which I danced to in the 80’s in Christy’s basement. I remember breaking down Janet Jackson’s moves, in our colorful Reebok high-tops.
That was then, and this is now. My tweener daughter kicks me off weenie duty, while I throw some leftover chicken into a blender to make some adult filling for the second can of rolls I pop open like the ol’ can of trick snakes.
Girl pop is now blasting while me and my girl get dinner done. She keeps pushing play in between Meghan Trainor and Ariana Grande, until Taylor Swift begs me to slide over our hand-scraped laminate floor in my socks to get an eye and earful of her catchy song, “Shake it Off.”
“Yes, haters gonna hate, hate, hate, hate, hate…baby, I’m just gonna shake, shake, shake, shake, shake. Shake it off! Shake it off!”
How is it her lyrics resonate with me?! I think of that ridiculously rude student in fourth period today– I’m over it. How about my eye-rolling stiff-backed teenager– I’m gonna keep on grooving. I can’t stop, won’t stop (enjoying this video).
Swift’s aerial leaps and lifts are astounding, and I am in love with the dude in the red chino pants! He’s a beautiful spasm of elbows and knees. “It’s like I got this music in my mind saying, It’s gonna be alright.” When the music ends after 4 minutes, 2 seconds of reckless abandon, I push repeat, because I’m lightning on my feet!
My daughter chides once again, “You need some new music.”
I wag my finger and hips in unison emphatically, because I don’t even care, mmm-mmm. No, I don’t even care. Yeah, ohhh.
Grateful and Guilty prompt at The Daily Post