Ironic Jukebox

The song that has epitomized my post-graduate school experience over the past two years has been Hall & Oates immortal “Rich Girl.” It started innocently enough, with a simple, non-ironic love of that iconic ’80s group, passed along to me through many a childhood viewings of the video for “Maneater” on MTV, and grew later in life with a burgeoning karaoke obsession (the song was one of the first I took to the mic). But last year, as my part time job prospects and adjunct teaching schedule began to put a strain on my pocketbook, and on more than one occassion I had to call my parents in tears for help with a university fee or utility payment, my connection with the song began to take on a supernatural force.

It all reached a fever pitch last May. I had headed home for Father’s Day, and brought along with me my financial woes and a mix-CD for my dad. The featured songs that reminded me of him and the songs he favored playing around the house while I was growing up. It was suggested by my boyfriend, in light of these recent money troubles, that I include “Rich Girl.” So I did, because at the time, I thought it would be funny too.

My father was very happy to receive the CD. I was happy to give it to him. However, before he had a chance to play it, we got into a serious “state of Lauren” conversation in which he suggested I move home for a time to save money and pay off debts, and I burst into tears, accused him of being a fascist, and said something like “Over my dead body!” before storming upstairs to my room like an adolescent. I stayed in my room lamenting the shambles of my life for an hour or more until…dinnertime.

First, you should know that my younger brother’s girlfriend was visiting my family for the first time. She was uninitiated, at this point, to the high strung tendencies of myself and other members of my family. Not wanting to frighten her, I pulled myself together, washed my face, and went downstairs prepared to eat my pasta in peace and make amends with my father.

But the Fates had other plans. Probably with the same idea on his mind, my dad made me a peace offering by playing the Father’s Day CD I’d made for him during dinner. This was a nice gesture, as he typically commandeers the stereo during mealtimes like a five star general or a brain-surgeon, as if selecting the proper songs for digestion is an art that takes years of practice and precision to get right. As if you pick the wrong song, dinner will go horribly awry, and dysentery, or worse, will ensue.

So we listened and ate. We listened to James Taylor sing “Up On The Roof” and we listened to Seals & Crofts. We listened to The Who and Kenny Loggins. I ate silently, sniffling a little, smiling a little, pretending there had been no drama whatsoever (my house has acoustics that carry arguments well, I’ll have you know that no one was ignorant of the fact I’d been in hysterics just an hour earlier, but they didn’t know the cause of said argument). They were about to find out. When the opening strains of “Rich Girl” started up on the speakers, my dad started laughing because it was ironic, as we’d just had a Father-Daughter argument about the old man’s money. My mom started laughing. Suddenly everyone was laughing–my two brothers, my sister, my brother’s girlfriend, even me. Isn’t Hall and Oates funny? Aren’t we having fun? What a funny song to put on a Father’s Day mix!

Then. I couldn’t help it. I start bawling. Which is sad. I was trying to laugh but in reality, I was still down about being twenty-five and flat broke and though I was happy that everyone thought this song was a funny choice for my mix, I was utterly bereft that this song was describing me. Where had I gone wrong in life? Where was I going? What was wrong with me? I tried to laugh through my tears but my sixteen year old sister noticed that I wasn’t quite laughing right.

She turned to me and said, “Oh my god, Lolly (this is my nickname), what’s wrong?”

And my mom, at the head of the table said, “Stop looking at her! She’s twenty-five, she’s having a hard life!”

And that is the funniest/saddest thing that has ever happened to me because of a song – my mother asking my family to avert their eyes from my tear-stained face because Hall & Oates was singing my song.

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