Stars

So I was listening to Spotify at work today, checking out my Discover Weekly playlist (a great feature) when the song “Stars” came on. I know all the words

While I readily admit there aren’t that many of them, I had no idea who the band was. I looked it up and Hum are there name and the song first came out in 1995.

I have no recollection of that, and this was at the height of my interest in new music, for the sole purposes of having great playlists for Cost Parties. So how do I know all the words and not the band?

It’s not like, oh right, that band did that, and I knew who they were. I feel like I’ve never heard of Hum in my life. I mean I don’t know everything (don’t tell my girlfriend I admitted that, I have her convinced otherwise), but to not know the name of an alt-rock band from the mid 90’s while knowing all the lyrics to their song feels like I’ve broken one of my generation’s ten commandments (a story for another day.)

In the wake of my father’s death getting older has seemed more significant. Now I’m not changing my life or anything like that or at least I haven’t yet, but this little incident is just the type of thing that makes me feel even older than I did a month ago when my Dad was still alive.

Why?

Because I HAD to know the name of the band Hum. I must have. How could I not have? It really doesn’t make sense, but apparently my brain has scrubbed any possible thought of them clean. To be fair Hum isn’t very good, so maybe my brain has been just doing me a favor for 20 years, but I still remember that The Verve Pipe did The Freshman. Similar type of song, similar type of one hit wonder, similar type of shit and yet I still remember all those words, as if I were still a Freshman. Oh wait, I was a senior when that song came out. Regardless, why can’t I choose the shit I forget?

But the feeling that shit has been scrubbed or sort of refragged from my brain is far more noticeable of late. It’s certainly not as drastic as Silicon Valley’s Gilfoyle taking a drill to my brain, as he would a hard drive, but it sure feels like there are some corrupted data fragments in my brain. Maybe my sense to it is heightened because of my Dad’s passing and all the inevitable questions about mortality that come with such a significant event. But at times words have escaped me, not the concept of the idea of the word, just the single best word to describe it. Not going to lie, that’s sort of a terrifying thing for a guy who writes, even if I don’t publish or post as much as I want to.

I certainly don’t feel like this is the beginning of my end or anything, and my awareness of it is likely just a phase or adjustment period to life after my Dad. In the meantime I’m just going to be a Flagpole Sitta, TubThumping, The Impressions that I Get.

How did this turn into a 90’s one hit wonder, plus the Bosstones post?

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