Melancholy New Year

I'm sitting here contemplating the impending commencement of 2010 while listening to my Ipod. The random play setting serves as a musical conglomeration of every significant phase of my life. Better Than Ezra and Zox songs conjure images of Alec's Converse sitting on the steps of my Center Street apartment the first summer we met. New Found Glory makes me think of the long drive to Arizona for spring break freshman year of college, and the way the sun set over the mountains in Tucson. Dire Straights and "Shimmer" by Fuel still remind me of Phillip, Sublime will always be synonymous of my first kiss with Ezra, and any 2pac song immediately makes me want to cruise the loop with Leah again.

While attempting to take stock of my life and make resolutions-apparently what this day is all about-I can't help wondering if it's even worth the trouble. Why do we look forward with so much positivity when we know those resolutions will be out the window by Valentine's Day? As if there's any redemption in merely reciting platitudes of change. I'd like to believe I'll reign in my temper with the kids, start eating only organic food, and read more, but I know I'm still going to get pissed when the boys trash their room immediately after I've organized it, order greasy pizza once a week, and read the same Agatha Christie mysteries over and over.

Perhaps if I could regenerate rather than just remember the emotions associated with my playlist I could change the things I'm unhappy with. What would the feeling of burgeoning independence from my Arizona trip inspire if I could feel them again, authentically? If I could, rather than know then what I know now, feel now what I felt then? How life-changing would it prove if emotion could be embedded into mp3 format?

"Philosophical" waxing that inevitably follows a viewing of "This Is It"

So I might be in that half-drunken state that usually follows a movie theater movie, particularly when accompanied by Eric J, but I am feeling some serious MJ love right now. For as long as I can remember, I've been aware of Michael's music. One of my first memories is from when I was about 4 (the age of my oldest son right now-don't get me started on the idea that he might not remember any of his life thus far), wearing my '80's girl outfit and rocking out to Kids Incorporated. Even though "Beat It" was sung by "the kid", it struck a nerve. I still have a grainy VHS that includes, among other things, uncut versions of "Thriller" and "Beat It" with the original commercials. I don't watch it often, much like the Kids Incorporated tape, fearful the tape will snap and I won't be able to repair it. Everyone loves at least one MJ song-my fave is "The Way You Make Me Feel", and I know my husband has that one from Free Willy on his "emo mix" CD. Perhaps tomorrow I'll put on my History DVD and see what my boys think. I wonder where my sequined glove disappeared to...