Memories I don't have
I recently spent quite some time watching music videos from the '80s and early '90s. It's an interesting pastime if for no other reason than it's the adolescence I didn't have. At that time I was listening to Cleo Laine and George Winston and Michael Franks, and (to my later embarrassment) Barbra Streisand.
I don't know if my parents would have kept me from such music, but I wanted nothing to do with most of it, for reasons I don't care to describe. I don't remember when we finally got cable, but we certainly didn't have MTV. Yet some of the tunes seeped in anyway; between ambient sound and my rocker best friend in college, enough was laid down to create a little nostalgia.
So watching these things is an adventure in amusement, befuddlement, and occasionally wistfulness--I wouldn't have had any idea what to do with the ideals put forth in the things, but a small part of me wishes I'd had the opportunity to try.
Conclusion: According to the Eurythmics, sweet dreams are made of cows.
I don't know if my parents would have kept me from such music, but I wanted nothing to do with most of it, for reasons I don't care to describe. I don't remember when we finally got cable, but we certainly didn't have MTV. Yet some of the tunes seeped in anyway; between ambient sound and my rocker best friend in college, enough was laid down to create a little nostalgia.
So watching these things is an adventure in amusement, befuddlement, and occasionally wistfulness--I wouldn't have had any idea what to do with the ideals put forth in the things, but a small part of me wishes I'd had the opportunity to try.
Conclusion: According to the Eurythmics, sweet dreams are made of cows.