iPod, reshuffled

An occasional feature where we see what's on my iPod

A-ha? Oh yeah!

"Take on Me," A-ha: When you're ranking the best Grammy-nominated Norwegian '80s pop trios, A-ha is definitely in the Top 30. "Take on Me" makes me feel old because a decade ago, I could hit the song's famous high note, even at (or especially at) the end of a night out in college.

Now, most times when I go for "In a day or twoooooo!", I sound like the Gingerbread Man from "Shrek" getting punched in the stomach.

But I'll keep trying, much to the neighbors' dogs' chagrin. Because if Morten Harket taught us anything, it's that it's no better to be safe than sorry.

"Push," Matchbox Twenty: When I was in middle school, there was a girl I liked named Kristen who had cut her hair fairly short. One night, we were at a friends' house and the music video for this song came on TV.

(Yes, kids, there was a time when people watched music videos on TV. It was the Stone Age, or at least the Stone Temple Pilots Age.)

Anyways, as "Push" was playing on TV, I mentioned to someone that Kristen had hair much like Matchbox Twenty lead singer Rob Thomas. Word got to Kristen and she was not amused. And that's how I learned a valuable lesson: If you tell a girl in middle school she has the hair of a twentysomething dude, you better hope the bottle lands on her when you spin it because that's the only way you're going to kiss her.

"I Can Love You Like That," All 4 One: While "I Swear" is the group's best-known song, I always liked "I Can Love You Like That" better. As I was driving with Belle one night when we first started dating, she requested some music. So, of course, I began singing, for some unknown reason choosing this song.

When Belle threatened to jump out of the moving car, I turned on my iPod. The first song? "I Can Love You Like That."

We both sang along to the song about two years later during the first dance at our wedding.

"Go All The Way," The Raspberries: The song my dad says he wanted this to be his first dance at his wedding. My mom rejected the idea but still married him.

"The Rubberband Man," The Spinners: I turned on the TV early one morning a few months ago and stumbled across an infomercial for "Soul of the '70s." It was one of those offers for a 23-disc, 17,000 song collection where they show snippets of live performances of many of the songs, interspersed with gems of dialogue such as:

Host: Platform shoes! Big hair! Crippling inflation! The '70s were a crazy time!

D-List'70s starlet with a face that's only 20 years old: Ha! Ha! You are so right! And speaking of crazy, here's Wild Cherry with "Play That Funky Music."

Naturally, I watched the entire infomercial. One of the video clips was for "The Rubberband Man" and it is amazing. True to their name, The Spinners do a lot of spinning in their shiny, blue suits. The lead singer moves at times as if there is a bee inside his ruffled shirt, and the backup singers don't dance so much as shuffle behind their microphone stands. The group also is backed by what appears to be a 64-piece band.

Then, just when you think the video can't get any better, it happens -- the backup singers bring out giant, elastic bands as props while they dance. That's right, THEY BECOME RUBBERBAND MEN! One guy even ropes an lady onto the stage to play with his rubber band, and that's not a euphemism.

I had to watch this video multiple times just to take in everything. Now I know why The Spinners warn you to prepare yourself.

"Hold My Hand," Hootie and the Blowfish: I thought of a great joke about this song involving a fantastic, late '90s pop culture reference. But it's totally slipped my mind. Perhaps I'll remember it IN A DAY OR TWOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!

In with the Old Guy

I'm a big believer that age, much like 690,131.42, is just a number. But now that I'm officially out of my 20s, I've started to notice certain signs of getting older.

Not my ear... yet.

It began a few months ago where most of my life-changing moments occur -- in the barber's chair. (I still maintain I was just waiting to be discovered to join a boy band in the early aughts when I was rocking the frosted tips.) Maria, who has been cutting my hair for years, was finishing up with the razor when she gently ran it over my outer ear, almost apologetically.

"Better on the outside of the ear than on the inside," I said with a laugh.

"Just wait a few years," the hair follicles in my ear replied with a laugh.

It was my first Old Guy Moment. And while I don't think I'll be needing adult diapers anytime soon, recently I've been paying closer attention to Old Guys to see what's in store for me.

One of the first things I do when I come across an Old Guy is look down, where I inevitably notice white tennis shoes. And not just any sneakers -- these always look beat up, like they've been on a Saturday errand run from hell. Do Old Guys buy the shoes already used? And where, exactly, do they get them? I swear I've never seen white tennis shoes at a shoe store. Maybe they are a dog whistle to an Old Guy. I guess I'll find out if and when I hear the siren's call.

The white tennis shoes on an Old Guy are often accompanied by tucked-in shirts, no matter the outfit. I get tucking the dress shirt into slacks, or a polo shirt into khakis. But do we need to tuck the old T-shirt into the bathing suit? For some men, maybe the tuck/untuck decision comes down to how to best downplay the size of the gut. The simplest solution might be some exercise which, on the plus side, means more time wearing the white tennis shoes.

Speaking of the gym, that's about the only place where you see an Old Guy with messy hair. Let's stipulate that many Old Guys don't have much hair to mess up. That will not be an issue for me, however, since I come from a line of men with full heads of hair. In fact, one of my great ancestors, Josephus Jacobus, had a thriving business in Babylonia selling hairshirts made straight from his scalp.

When it comes to modern-day Old Guys with hair, I've noticed very few use hair products and yet nary a follicle is out of place. When they walk in a breeze, the hair moves with the synchronicity of a rowing team and then immediately falls back in line when the breeze stops.

Right now, the front of my head is trained well but the sides and rear flank remain a Wild West without some hair paste, so I have some work to do (and some years to age). On the other hand, the Old Guy with perfect hair probably has to go to the bathroom every two hours while I'm in the prime years of bladder control, so maybe it all evens out.

The thing about all of these Old Guy traits is, I'm not exactly opposed to them. Maybe they are the Boy Scout badges of advanced manhood. Maybe, when you reach the age when you tuck a T-shirt into your jeans, you don't care that you tucked your T-shirt into jeans. We should all be as comfortable in our skins as an Old Guy.

Which is why I'm kind of looking forward to the journey, as long and filled with bathroom breaks as it might be. That just leaves one question: How long after turning 30 do I receive the Old Guy fannypack?