Meet my 13-year-old niece Ali.
May I present further evidence that Obama isn't the only bright light shining the way for our future generations...
Ali has a poster of Motorhead's Lemmy--in all his gnarly-mole glory--ripped out from Metal Edge and tacked to her wall.
She thinks "90s bands" like Pearl Jam and the Chili Peppers are overrated.
At an age when I was too chicken to dance to crap like "I Wanna Sex You Up" at a school dance (see here), she and her friends will perform a body rockin' routine to a Miley Cyrus song for the school talent show (she likes the beat and doesn't care if everyone thinks Hanna Montana is lame). Then, she'll pick up her guitar for an encore of "Paint It Black."
She has a pair of everyday-wear Chuck Taylors and a dressy pair that she hasn't doodled on.
Her favorite guitarist is sleaze metalist Slash.
While all my girlfriends over the age of 30 are pining after Robert Pattinson in Twlight, citing that his character's intense devotion to his girlfriend is the stuff of teenage romantic fantasies, Ali tells me that he's a terrible actor.
We played Rock Band for two hours and she humored me when I belted "Hungry Like the Wolf."
Okay, sure, her biggest crush is Pete Wentz, but when I was 11, I made my mom take me to see George Michael when he came through town on his Faith tour. (I thought his five o'clock shadow was rugged. I also though Kip Winger's eight o'clock shadow was rugged. Hell, I still think Prince is the sexiest man alive.) I'm not one to judge androgynous elfkins.
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