I find the soundtrack to my life back in 2008 completely fascinating compared to what I believe the soundtrack to my life is right now.

I was a victim to Screamo—shrieked along with The Calvary Kids when feeling especially unruly. I was a fool for Ke$ha’s Bratty Pop genre back in high school—the kind of tunes we all engaged in our first inappropriate activities to.

In middle school, Rihanna’s “Umbrella” was my best friend and I’s unofficial anthem that revolved around our budding friendship. I remember her scrawling down the lyrics onto the back of my notebook sealed with a heart and smiley face.

We had the privilege of experiencing Justin Timberlake and 50 Cent’s “Ayo Technology” and Soulja Boy’s “Crank Dat”—they were the first few vestiges of turning up music.

Now most of the songs we thought made us seem cool like Chamillionaire’s “Ridin’ Dirty” are considered retro classics that everyone throws their heads back and smiles to if you ever hear a pair of speakers thudding around campus blaring the song that belonged to the playlist of a preadolescent or teenage life.

Songs from the 90’s have been carefully preserved and are particularly venerated during a very specific time in the midst of college nightlife. These artists usually roll in, in two’s or three’s—also known as our nostalgic fix for the night.

You’ve got your vintage rap—the unforgettable gangsters slurring and swinging to “Gin and Juice.”

Additionally, of course, at least one of the three most iconic band boy groups of the 90’s have to be thrown into that playlist. For about two songs, we sway to the angelic, smoldering voices of the prettiest boys straight from the 90’s: 98 Degrees, Backstreet Boys, and ‘N Sync.

To finish the nostalgic period of the night strongly and with a bang, the DJ might toss in a pinch of the fathers of Grunge rock themselves: the incomparable Nirvana.

And so the swarm of young, wild and drunken bodies will cry out in an angry chorus, arms high in the air—only their forefingers and pinkies protruding, aggressively poking the sky to, “With the lights out, it’s less dangerous! Here we are now! Entertain us! I feel stupid and contagious!”

I have mixed feelings about enduring and growing with music since the golden Boy band era all the way to One Direction, Fetty Wap and Tove Lo.

Sometimes I feel about as blessed as Drake and his fast-spitting friends, and other days I wish some of these artists never existed—even the ones I might have jammed to once upon a few years back.

I can’t help but wonder if I would or could hang out with the old me who had a different perception about her life’s soundtrack, or if the old me would be able to tolerate my tastes now.

Marge Clemente is a senior English  major and she can be reached at denopinions@gmail.com.