My sister’s boyfriend is a band member: the drawer full of pocket-sized bottles of mouthwash in her room were freebies that came with a gig sponsored by Astring-o-Sol Ice Extreme.  There are fringe benefits to having a subservient sister who comes home at 1:00 in the morning, especially when you have a toothache.

   While I was there gargling mouthwash from one of the bigger bottles, I was looking at the posters from last year’s gigs.  My sister often argues with me whenever I call her boyfriend’s band “emo:” she insists on them being called “new hardcore.”  Maybe there’s really something derogatory or insulting about being called “emo,” no matter how much you like Fall Out Boy or Saosin (whoever the hell they are).  The names of the bands were rather interesting: Youthanasia, Sorry for Sorrow, Butter Like Jelly, Heart of Succubus.  The only band familiar to me was Saving Private Jimberly, who performs often in UP Baguio concerts: I didn’t know they were emo.

   No, I have nothing against emo people: I listen to Willie Revillame novelty songs, for crying out loud.

   Music is an acquired taste.  I was listening to some of my sister’s MP3s the other night and found myself quite pissed off: there was nothing “hardcore” about it.  Maybe it’s my recent musical milieu: nowadays I listen to more of The Doors, Alanis Morissette, and Crash Test Dummies… with a little bit of Boyz II Men thrown on the side.  Maybe I grew up to the music of OPM legends like Wolfgang and The Dawn.

   Or maybe it was just mouthwash.