This is really a band for everyone, beloved by fans of punk, new wave, dance music, indie rock, and us dinosaurs who remember ‘college rock” as a genre unto itself.  I always felt like they were a true dichotomy, equal parts minimal pop group and pre-programmed dance machine.

The opening strain of “Love Vigilantes” always brings a smile to my face, and now that she’s smiling for real (and not just because of gas), I can say that it seemed to make our little girl happy too. Not surprising, since it’s got a pretty cheerful and infectious hook, the morbid lyrical theme of ill-fated love notwithstanding.  The impact of the song is magnified by its contrast with “The Perfect Kiss,” which comes next. The transition from the organic (bass, drums, guitar and harmonica) to the mechanical (sequencers and drum machines) and back again is a tough, potentially awkward thing to pull off even in the most capable musical hands, but it seems like the most natural thing in the world when it comes from New Order.  It made me think of the paradoxes, the sharp contrasts, the experiences defined by apparent contradiction, that we’ve run into so far as parents.  In a lot of ways, parenting has presented us with a reminder that life is filled with opportunities for play, for unmitigated joy, for feeling and acting ridiculous and seeing things through innocent eyes.  Relating to this 7-week-old little girl, playing on the floor, staring at the ceiling, trying to figure out what makes her smile and what makes her afraid, seeing her respond to all these new sensations, these sights, sounds, and textures, we can’t help but be enchanted by everything, as if we’re experiencing the world as something totally new through her.  I can’t tell you how many times in the past month I’ve wished for an adult-sized bunny suit to match the one she has, or made up ridiculous songs to try to entertain her (try rhyming “hippopotamus,” with “fight the misogynists”).  On the other hand, being a parent requires a degree of seriousness that is new for both my wife and I, and not yet entirely comfortable.  What seemed like a minor fever led to a New Year’s Day emergency room visit and 2 days in the hospital, and our house, which I’ve always thought of as a safe, gentle, inviting place, now seems filled with sharp corners and other potential hazards.  Until a few months ago, I would have least five unexplained bruises on my body at any given time, presumably from playing shows or accidentally smashing into things as a result of being severely uncoordinated. Now I move around our home slowly and with utmost caution, fearful of dropping my baby girl or banging her head on the arm of a chair or a protruding cabinet door.  Hours spent scanning the environment for possible choking hazards.  I’ve spent more time thinking about, and being preoccupied with, safety and potential dangers in the past month-and-a-half than in my entire life before our daughter was born.  Case in point, a dream that my wife had earlier this week:  We are living in her old house, but the living room has been turned into a swimming pool, and one of the many drunk kids jumping into and climbing out of the pool informs us that there’s both a manatee and an alligator residing in it.  “We don’t really worry about the alligator, dude,” the kid says, “he’s too old to bite anyone.”  Later, upstairs in our room, I lecture her, “Now that we’re parents, we need to think about safety. So I got this gun for me (I pull out a big black semi-automatic pistol), and I got this gun for you (I point to an English bulldog in an electric blue lucha libre mask with a hunting rifle affixed to his back).”  The dream is funny, our sudden preoccupation with safety is not.

Caution.  Prudence.

Words I always associated with the overly anxious adult, always someone older or more uptight than me, someone who thinks about consequences at the expense of living in the here and now.

Joy.  Wonder.  Awe.

Words to describe the experience of seeing something beautiful for the very first time, as if through a child’s eyes.  Experiences that sometimes seem out of reach to the jaded adult.

I go back and forth several times in the space of a single hour.  Life is good, but increasingly strange.

Hot Track: “Sunrise”

Words to Live By: “ We might be your black sheep, but you forgot us a long time ago. We might be your lost sheep, but it’s time you remembered us now.”