Que Sera Sera

Old Lady Brown

The cover story of last week’s New York magazine annoyed me. Number one, I think it’s pretty effed up to turn your kid into a Mini-Me, which is exactly what most of these people are doing, no matter how much they protest. They are hoping their kids seem cooler than other kids as some messed-up reflection on their own coolness. Yeah, sure, when I have kids, I plan on playing the music I like for them. I used to do that with the kids I babysat for, and I was proud the day the 5-year old girl made a request for “The Good Life” by Weezer from the backseat by saying, “Play that ‘Shaking Booty’ song.” And I’ll admit I’ve daydreamed about putting my babies to sleep by playing “Havalina” by the Pixies on repeat in their room. But it’s not like this is the first generation of parents to expose their kids to their own music. Hello, were anyone’s parents hippies? I know I’m not the only one who grew up with Peter, Paul and Mary, or Simon and Garfunkel, or the Grateful Dead, and who still likes that stuff. But it’s one thing to expose your kids to cool stuff and another to just decree that’s What They Like.

No offense to children, who I think are some of the best people on the planet, but kids traditionally don’t have the most refined taste. They need a chance to grow into that. And not giving them any other options but your own “cool” taste is like stunting their growth. This is kind of like when I’d offer our dog my leftovers, and my mom would say, “Oh, he won’t eat that, he doesn’t like green beans.” Woman, if let alone, the dog would drink from the toilet. I know, I'm just rambling and cranky now, and sort of refuting my own argument. I guess, in summation, I’m saying: let your kids drink from the toilet a little, people. Otherwise you’re just raising a bunch of boring a-holes to be.

If I can be cranky and hypocritical for a little longer, the other thing that irritated me about the article was the cover photo, of all the guys of different ages wearing screened tees and hoodies and jeans and brightly-colored sneakers. I am so tired of that guy, the hoodie guy. I feel like Jon Favreau in Swingers, when he says, “And it’s like I’m supposed to be all happy because she’s, like, wearing a backpack?” The last three guys I’ve dated all owned this jacket. All in the same color. Granted, I’m hardly a fashion maven, and it’s not like I don’t own all the same shit too, but can we at least change it up a little? There’s nothing like a button-down, untucked, sleeves rolled up. Man. I love that. Or maybe take it out on a limb, try something new. I mean, I would totally go out with a guy if he was dressed all early-space program astronaut. And then settle down and raise a bunch of NASA babies who listen to nothing but Burt Bacharach. Keep your Death Cab for Cutie brats off my lawn!

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