Sometimes I wonder if I like the things I like because of the way I was brought up, or the things I was around as a child. I wrote the other day about an Alice in Wonderland book I still have from when I was little. On the cover of the book is a logo for the Dandelion Library, of which this book must be a part of. Probably some sort of publishing company or series of books made for children. Nevertheless, the word dandelion is on the book. And I’ve always grown up with a love for these tiny yellow flowers (yes, I said it, flowers…I won’t even get into the weed discussion yet.) I even had a puppet that was a knitted lion, and guess what his name was. Dandy Lion. I still have him, actually. He is in desperate need of a bath. I swear I’m not making this up.

I also grew up with a couple of cats in my house, Fluff and Zig-Zag. And I love cats. Even though they are driving me crazy half the time, I still want them around. There were always lots of books in my house, too. And I eat my corn and potatoes all mixed together. And I like salting watermelon. I know, it sounds weird, but it’s sooo good.

I don’t know why or how I got into thinking about this tonight. Maybe it’s because I’m trying to figure out who has influenced me in my tastes for certain things. I often have very unusual likes and dislikes. Some can be easily explained, but others are just plain weird. Like my taste in music. It’s all over the place. And I often wonder if other people are attracted to a wide variety of music that has no connection with one another. I love bluegrass, but not country. I like Nine Inch Nails, but can’t get into heavy metal too much. I love Weird Al, but hate Celine Dion. I love Beastie Boys and songs with a good beat and lots of bass. If I ever had to come up with a single genre or word to describe my musical tastes, I don’t think it could be done. Eclectic, maybe. Random.

And I don’t think that my musical tastes were acquired all at once. They must have developed slowly, over time, and maybe time is the key. Perhaps each time period of my life had its own songs, its own musical quality to it. I listened to Peter Cetera on the bus rides home from track meets when I lived in Texas, listening to my walkman as I sat in those uncomfortable green bus seats, thinking about my life and all the things one thinks about when they’re a teenager. In high school there was the Indigo Girls, Weird Al, Counting Crows, Bjork, Sarah McClachlan, Tori Amos, and whatever my dad had on in the car. Mostly Moody Blues and Pink Floyd. And mom played Jim Croce and the oldies radio station. And there were always the Beatles. Nine Inch Nails crept in a bit, and then it was time for college.

College brought Dave Matthews, Alanis Morrisette, Depeche Mode, the Cure. I finally went to concerts and discovered a whole new world of live music that I’d somehow missed out on as a teenager.

After college, I started to listen to more mellow music. Independent bands that no one had ever heard of. Songs that were written well and also had a nice tune. Bands that my friends recommended, or ones I’d found through Pandora or the radio.

When I think about it, even when I was little, there was always music in my life. At the age of 3 or 4, I was most likely singing church songs, like Jesus loves the little children, or Itsy Bitsy Spider. My mom claims that I was a constant singer when I was young. One day I must have thought the sound of my own voice was horrid, because for years I wouldn’t sing in front of anyone unless I was in a choir, where no one could single me out from the altos and sopranos. I still have some trouble getting enough courage to sing but I will do it, especially if Rock Band is involved. I would like to try karaoke, but I need the right song or else it just won’t sound good.

My grandmother sings and I think maybe that’s where my musical interests came from, in the beginning. I’m sure she sang to me when I was a wee little baby. And she sang all the time in church. I was her first grandbaby.

I can play the piano, and I have a guitar, but I have yet to really learn to play it well, or at all. It amazes me how much music there is in the world, and how different it all is. Millions, billions of songs, each with their own tunes, their own lyrics. And somehow, they’re each special, to someone, they each have a story, or a reason for being. Someone wrote them, as I write stories or poems, in order to say something. Or maybe they just like the way the words sound with the tune that they’ve created.

And so I marvel at finding other people who share my musical interests. Especially when we both like Weird Al. A lot. Did I mention I’ve met Weird Al? It’s up there as being one of the best nights of my life. Top 5.

What are your thoughts on music? What music influenced you as a child, and do you think it’s had any effect on the person you are today? I’m curious.