High Speed Dubbing!
Authored by: csimsy My first boombox was a Sony. It had a single CD player on the top, a radio tuner and two tape decks that supported high speed dubbing. I think I got it for my birthday in 7th or 8th grade. "Alternative" music was just becoming popular. Nirvana, Pearl Jam, Alice in Chains, and the Red Hot Chili Peppers seemed wildly adventuresome. Their music seemed to be a genuine expression of something, even if I didn't really understand what was actually being expressed (remember Nirvana's song "Rape Me?"). At the time, this music and the boombox that unleashed it into my room were probably my most prized possessions, a position they retained until I got a car when I was 16.

I set it up on a table right next to my bed. It became the focal point in the construction of my first personal space, a cave of independence in a house otherwise belonging to my parents. For hours on end I would sit on my bed and listen to music as I did homework. The door would be closed, the cordless phone would lay next to me just in case a friend called or I got bored enough to check in with someone. It was the first time I defined a place of my own: my music, my awkward style, my own ideas and dreams. It was a space constructed for and with my friends. They recommended music, helped inform my sense of what was cool, and were available for consultation on the other side of a phone call. I don't mean to suggest that my parents were absent from the equation. Of course I was still shaped by what my parents might hear through the door or see when they looked into my room. But it was the first step in my emancipation from their influence. I liked the fact that they didn't understand my music, didn't know what I talked about on the phone, didn't seem to really know my budding beliefs and values.

When I think about how many hours I spent in that relatively tiny and contained space I'm almost embarrassed. Until I started working after college I never spent so much time sitting in a single place. With the exception of eating and going to the bathroom I could get everything I needed without having to get up. In retrospect such a routine seems terribly confining; at the time it felt liberating and novel. The tiny universe of my room was the most expansive place I knew. It wasn't until I started driving that a much wider world of adventure and individual exploration opened up.

I can only partially imagine how today's teens construct these tiny universes. With a mobile phone and a networked computer at their fingertips the social worlds available from a niche within their home must seem wonderfully expansive. Instant messenger, MySpace and their very own cell phone must feel incredibly liberating. At times I feel like my generation missed out. But at the same time there was something magical about having to spend so many hours by myself, kneading through my thoughts, imagining my future, and, of course, longing for the next time I'd see my friends. It was only then that I would get a chance to share some of the confusions, hopes and general babblings that were rhythmically bouncing around my head.
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