When I stopped listening to just my parents’ “oldies” music and got into the pop that all my friends liked. That was 1997. That was :
Backstreet Boys ; Third Eye Blind ; Spice Girls ; Janet Jackson ; Sugar Ray ; Usher ; Notorious B.I.G ; Mark Morrison ; R. Kelly ; Monica ; LeAnn Rimes ; Savage Garden ; Elton John ; Robyn ; Aqua ; Paula Cole ; Celine Dion ; Sheryl Crow ; Chumbawamba ; Seal
I’m sure I’m vaguely knew contemporary music before, but this was the year that I committed to it. The year that I cared. This was the year that produced most of songs from NOW (That’s what I call music) Volume 1.
That was TWENTY years ago. Damn. I’m old. But I don’t even care. The late 90s are producing nothing but auditory ecstasy and endorphins.
Right where we are.
on my phone, while at work, and figured out my password, all in order to share this with you. (All two of you: Hi WR! Hi MA!) Because I literally spit citrus out of my mouth onto the keyboard when it happened. Let me set the scene.
R&B station on shuffle for the last 2 hours. Really deep into some new jams while I’m blogging for work. Like, actually kinda grooving at my desk. Peeling and eating some clementines. Next song comes on. Got some kind of slow 90s-00s crossover period Brandy/Monica/Toni/Janet vibes happening.
I won’t make you pull out
First line of the song. No fucking joke.
In the last month-ish I experienced some epically not-exactly-ready shit, but I was pretty unprepared to see someone beat Raphael Saadiq to the punch.
My favourite problem-solving archivist for the web archiving service I worked with the last four months just liked one of my tweets (about the company, not like I did something awesome to catch his attention).
I knew who that guy was. I got genuinely excited about it. I also said I have a preferred archivist. What the fuck has school done to me?
Me going to Morocco, a foreign country, where I speak little, poor French and do not have wifi or cellular service: Challenge accepted, I’mma be fine.
Me going to a US govt building in CA, where I live and we all speak English, but I can’t bring my cell phone so I can’t track my bus route there/back or keep an eye on the time: THE WORLD IS ENDING I CANNOT BELIEVE THEY’RE MAKING ME DO THIS OMG WHO NEEDS A PASSPORT ANYWAY?!
I alluded to my displeasure with the new degree courses, and I was right: 35 minutes into the first class I wanted to drink Canadian Club neat, which is something I would never sanely want to do. Despite how much I hate group work and everything that some of my classes entail, I do think it will be a good challenge for me.
Also, there are some interesting folk in the mix. Fairly legit. doppelgängers. There is a very similar long-haired version of Matthew Gray Gubler, a Warren Beatty (if he’d aged as-is in this photo with the same face and greying hair)*, and a Max from GREEK. Not even the actor, straight up Max with his smarts, awkward ways, and forced laugh. His wife reads my kinds of books so I already approve, and I desperately want to know if she looks like Casey, but I will refrain from further inquiry until we’ve known each other more than five hours.
There are six other men. This is a significant number of dudes. This has never happened in my adult life: Magazines, sorority, English, library shit… these are not exactly the place to befriend (or more) the men. Neither is this class, but after my last cohort, the mix in this crew is much appreciated.
An embarrassing fact about all this is that Max, me, and another guy who looks like he’s on rumspringa all wore green plaid shirts to class. And sat by each other. 😳
*Hot for TeAcher.
Today is my first day specifically toward my library studies degree. Lord save me from this uber politically correct, huggy place. I came in early to photograph a text book, and I already kind of hate it.
Hustle pays, though: I got so much scholarship for the year they are paying me $99 and 4 cents.