Shameful Admissions (Why Rainy Days And Mondays Don't Get Me Down)

I'm not sure if it's a benefit of aging, or being married, or both, but at age 51 (and in year 9 of marriage), I'm finding I no longer have a problem admitting that I like things that simply aren't (or weren't) cool to like.

My wife, Peri (who's much better at being cool than I ever was), summed up this philosophy in what's now become a classic response, at least in our house, to various uncool or unattractive admissions: "That's OK. You already have a wife!"

I had an epiphany about this several years back while listening to the 60s channel on my XM Radio. A Carpenters song came on and I found myself singing it at the top of my lungs, and it suddenly hit me. "Holy S**T. I LIKE the Carpenters. I LOVE the Carpenters!". "Haaangin' around .... nothin' to do but frown ... "

Understand that I grew up in the golden age of rock 'n roll, when it was very cool to like the Beatles, Doors, Led Zeppelin, Kinks, and any number of happening rock bands. And I did (and do) like them (you haven't lived until you've heard me sing "When The Music's Over" at top volume in the car.)

But having watched American Bandstand starting at age one (you can verify this with my 82-year old Mom in Florida) and grown up listening to classic radio stations like WABC and WMCA, I like all sorts of hit music, from Buddy Holly to Neil Sedaka to - yes - the Carpenters and Barry Manilow. Yes, Barry, too. (I made this admission in the Squawk Box control room at CNBC recently, and our director looked at me and said, "Please stop. You're scaring us.")

When I got to the college radio station in 1974, it was the height of the progressive rock era, and if a band wasn't played on WNEW-FM, you couldn't possibly admit you liked it. I took grief for liking Creedence Clearwater Revival, for goodness sakes, so even admitting to myself that I liked the Carpenters was unthinkable. Barry, too. Over time, I convinced myself that I only liked "cool" bands, and bought into my own self-deception with a vengeance.

Except once in a while, my true nature would come out. During an all-night show on our station, I actually played Bread's "Everything I Own". It's a good song. It's a GREAT song. But it didn't belong on progressive rock radio in the 70s, and in reviewing my playlist for the evening, the program director wrote one word next to that song. "No."

But my Carpenters epiphany was one of the most liberating experiences of my recent adult life.

Within short order, I realized I didn't care what ANYONE thought of my tastes in music, movies ("Diner" is one of my favorites), TV Shows (reality junkies, you have a friend in me), clothing - or pretty much anything. In short, I decided it was cool to be uncool.

But that's OK. Because I already have a wife. And she likes Barry and the Carpenters, too!