Thursday, February 12

We still have dreams

Working in an ad agency has its perks.

You get to dress pretty casually. You can turn the air blue by swearing and no one turns a hair. The scenery is usually quite nice (though your favourite author manages to dent that statistic). And punny jokes fly thick and fast. So, overall, not bad.

However, one thing that can stick in your craw, particularly if you entered the game a bit late and are right now over 30 is the age factor. Most of your colleagues will be at least 6 - 8 years younger. So they can drink you under the table without even trying. They're ├╝ber-thrilled about stuff you don't find mildly amusing or interesting any more. And, their musical tastes seem completely off your map.

For example, a couple of younger colleagues and I happened to be discussing music from the 90s. I mentioned Scatman John, Cotton Eye Joe and other worthies, only to be met with a blank look. This wasn't confusion, mind you. Just total incomprehension. For once, I felt old. The funny part is that my colleagues aren't fresh off the boat of adolescence either. Bizarrely enough though, a whole generation seems to have wiped off any music that wasn't totally contemporary or completely classic (think 60s, 70s) to them when they were teenagers. Quite unlike my generation, which has remained loyal to the sounds of the 80s, cringe-worthy disco-pop and all.  

Anyway, what triggered this post was the refrain in a piece of electroswing I was listening to today that seemed frustratingly familiar. Suddenly, it brought back memories of lying in bed, listening to a tape over and over. The moment is so crystal clear that I can actually see the brown brick wallpaper, myself wedged into a corner of the bed, the room lit only by a red night-light while the tape recorder played the song for the moment:

   
P.S: My colleagues haven't heard of these legends either. Ye gads!

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