I'm here to tell you that growing up the way we did was not a long-term favor or blessed accomplishment. Let me be clear that I don't blame my parents. No, my disdain for nostalgia has more to do with cold, hard facts and unpleasant anecdotes than personal issues.
Though it's taken three decades, Jimmy Somerville is finally ready to realize his musical dreams. As he celebrates the 30th anniversary of massive breakthrough "Smalltown Boy," the singer prepares to unveil an upcoming disco album.
Our parents saw us off from Angie's driveway, and we waved until we couldn't see their faces anymore. Armed with travelers' checks, cash, maps, snacks and the best mix tapes we could create, we headed east.
When you think of innovation, whether it be technological or otherwise, the pace is generally unnerving. Even though breakthrough drugs are less common these days, it was a bit of a shock at how young something so ubiquitous as Advil actually is.
Some days my brother and I put in a full workday in front of the tube, complete with tray tables so we could watch through breakfast and lunchtime. Based on conversations with friends, their homes were also full of many hours of television as well. And guess what? We're all fine.
When the first crappy music makes it into our house, I will sit my kids down, play the entire Pink Floyd discography, then The Beatles, then Simon & Garfunkel. And Bjork. And Death Cab for Cutie. And Arcade Fire. Then The Velvet Underground. Then Talking Heads.