Driving down 95 south just now my head was full of scattered thoughts.
“What’s that smell? Is that my car? I really need to get an oil change. What am I going to eat for lunch? What should I write my thesis on? I really need to get started on that. What am I going to write my 5-page paper on? Did I take Lil out this morning? I hope she hasn’t been barking all day. I need to get that paper out of the way so I can enjoy the afternoon. Such a beautiful day… such a horrible song!”
I jumped out of my scattered brain for a moment and reached down to the seek button that is cleverly placed right next to my rad tape player in my 2003 door wedge, I mean, Dodge Intrepid. The station jumped and an old familiar song was playing. I giggled. Savage Garden’s “Truly Madly Deeply.”
This was the song that led to my crazy Backstreet Boy obsession back in the day.
I remember it clear as day. I was a wee little girl spending the day with my mom. We were listening to her god-awful country music station, The Bee, or something like that, on the radio. I turned the station as a means to save myself from inevitable suicide, which would certainly occur if it continued to play.
So, yes, Savage Garden “Truly Madly Deeply” came on the radio. I don’t remember what car we were in–I’d like to hope it wasn’t the mustard-yellow “Titleist” truck as I’d like to erase its existence from my brain completely, but it very well may have been.
I told her I really liked this song–like really really liked it. It was so beautiful according to this little midget riding shotgun.
We were driving down Gananda Parkway at the time in the middle of summer. The trees were green as can be, the sun was high and shining at least for the time being. It was Rochester (or Walworth, if you want to get specific) after all. We were pulling around the second bend, coming out of the trees to the open area. We headed to my sister’s apartment in Evergreen Hills. I asked my mom who was singing it. She had no idea. She sort of shrugged me off and told me to ask my sister. Jaime would certainly know. She knew everything.
We got to Jaime’s place, and I don’t even think I said hello. I had to find out who sang that song.
She wasn’t sure either. Frick. She thought it might be this up and coming boy band, The Backstreet Boys. BOZINGA!
From that point forward, my mind was made up no one would ever be as awesome as the Backstreet Boys.
Of course, as it turns out, Jaime was incorrect in naming the Backstreet Boys, but that simple mistake went on to shape my entire childhood. Backstreet Boys ruled my entire existence from that point forward or at least for a few good years. Ask anyone who knew me at that point in my life. Obsessed.
Teeny-bop mag posters lined every square inch of my bedroom.EVERY. SQUARE. INCH. I even had a BSB board game. I was convinced Nick Carter was my soul mate. I asked for an American Girl doll with blue eyes like his for Christmas. Her name was Abby Carter. I used to create dance routines with my friends in the backyard to their songs. My first concert was 5th row seats to their concert in Buffalo. When Nick touched my had, I swore I wouldn’t wash it for my entire life. Thankfully, I didn’t make true on that promise, but goodness I was so flipping cool. They were so flipping cool. Eventually, Nick Carter got fat and AJ went to rehab, Kevin quit and Howie was still a reject as always. Then, Pierre Bouvier came into my life…
Just a little something from my day that made me giggling. Giggling is good.
Hope you have the opportunity to giggle some today.