I used to be much more into music than I am now, meaning when I was single and in my 20s, especially, I went to see bands with my roommate every Friday night. I was a faithful SPIN magazine subscriber, and I wouldn’t have dreamed of willingly going to a Wiggles concert and singing “Toot toot chugga chugga big red car” at the top of my lungs.
Of course, as the cliché goes, I had kids.
And then, because I have no shame and I knew my daughters would absolutely love it, I agreed to review the latest Kidz Bop CD.
Any threadbare remnant of cool that I may have been clinging to from more than a decade ago (and trust me there wasn’t that much “cool” to begin with) unraveled into tiny individual threads like a nap deprived two-year-old in the candy aisle. There is something ever so slightly creepy about hearing a Pink song which is basically about starting a bar fight that’s been Kidz Bop’d but all I can say is thank God it’s not a Chipmunks CD or I’d lose my ever loving mind. But I do remember my trusty stereo my dad bought me at KMart when I was little and my record collection. The technology has changed, but it’s still the same idea.
Since the CD arrived in the mail, we’ve listened to “Bom Bom Dee Dum Bom Bom Da Dee Dum” (“Disturbia” by Rihanna) 8 million times: in my car, in the karaoke machine, in my car, in the karaoke machine. Last night the girls were dancing and singing their little hearts out to their new CD while I was making dinner and before I knew it they were topless.
I have no shame, and apparently neither do my girls.