Posted in Culture, Music, Personal, Television

39 Days

It occurred to me today that I have 39 days left of being 39. I was born March 30, 1975, the Year of the Rabbit, and coincendtally, I was born on Easter Sunday. I started thinking about how cool it is that I was born in 1975. The Vietnam War ended and SNL began. We were the graduating class of 1993 along with ‘Beverly Hills 90210’ and ‘Saved by the Bell.’ We were latch-key kids with moms in power suits and shoulder pads. We wanted our MTV and we fought for our right to party (sort of.) If you read the birth certificate of our cabbage patch kids, you’d see they’ve been of legal drinking age for years. We grew up during the Cold War when the USSR was our enemy, Red Dawn was a possibility, and Ronald Reagan was a god among men. We perfected ridiculous hairstyles and ruined the ozone layer with our hairspray. When we were tweens, we were mall rats and roller skaters. Boys on a BMX bikes were “fine” and boys on skateboards were finer (nod to my dude.) When we were teens, we embraced new wave and shoe gaze. Much like The Jesus and Mary Chain, we tried so hard, we looked so good, and we lived our lives in black. (Okay, maybe we didn’t look THAT good, but we thought we did.) We got a little older and suddenly we were punk rock, stage diving and crowd surfing. (Maybe that was just me and my gang, whatever.) Generation X wore many hats and our ever changing personas (and styles) molded us into the eclectic yet confident people we are today. I’m ready to face my 40’s head-on, but happy to remember the glory days from bubble gum pop, to hair metal and heavy metal, and everything that is now played on the “classic” radio stations. And I’m not only content, but thrilled to be what Jane’s Addiction calls a “classic girl.”

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