Your Guilty Pleasure: Say What You Want to Say

This was inevitable; I've had a crush on this sassy thing since the moment I first heard it. And I wonder if something else is inevitable, too. Since bright, jazzy pop songs from Britain that I liked two decades ago seem destined for Smooth Jazz radio, does that mean I am destined to be driving a new-used hybrid in, say, a decade (maybe entirely electric; god, let's hope so for our blighted Earth's sake), and listening to satellite radio--or the satellite radio chip implanted in my head, okay, maybe not that yet, maybe I am merely wirelessly connected to my "cloud" and my "cloud" contains a preponderance of what became in the last decade of the last century known as "Smooth Jazz?" Will I be ferrying who/whatever around X city listening to a personal mix of Seal and Sade and Swing Out Sister and Lisa Stansfield (and don't worry, that's gonna be an eventual YGP as well)?

I hope at least I am centered and making more money while I'm beating the steering wheel in time with "Time and Tide."

This anxiety about becoming no longer cool is pointless because I think that not being cool AND not giving a shit about not being cool is actually quite...cool.

This anxiety is actually about aging and not coolness. Or, rather, it's about coolness to the point that you become less cool as you age, but because you are aging you don't give a shit that you are less cool than you used to be, you give a shit about other things more endemic to aging. Like what kind of car you drive. Or aching.

So aging, for that reason, can't be all that bad.

Neither is this song. The Roots certainly thought so, and that's cooler than cool since Questo is my current favorite tastemaker. Until, that is, I am old enough to completely stop giving a shit about others' taste.