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I don't really don't know the faintest bit about music. I couldn't name you the lead singer of The Strokes, or tell you what ska is. Heck, I can't even tell the difference between N'Sync (did I put the apostrophe in the right place?) and Backstreet Boys and it'd probably take me a whole five minutes to name my favorite band. I guess I know some about that "old time rock-n-roll." But that's just because my dad has drilled certain things into my head that I just can't escape if I tried. Sometimes I feel bad about not knowing. Not caring, really. I mean, come on, a young person not knowing music is like Christmas in July--it's just out of place. But, really, every once in a while I wish that I could sing along to all the popular songs and go through covers as though I actually recognized any one of the names. But, then I have nights like this and I don't really care so much. I remember, every so often, that it's not the music that I love so much, but more the sound of the music. Tonight I put on some good cd's and turned up the stereo really loud. And then you know what I did? I danced. And it was wonderful. I love dancing when no one is looking--Smokey doesn't count because he likes to dance with me. It's so liberating. It doesn't even matter that when I try to sing along I sound like an idiot, because it's so much fun. And, I love the beat. I think I'd do better if I was 70--at least with respect to music. So, I guess I know all that I need to know. About music, that is.