Athena’s been in a bit of a gothy mood recently, as the above picture well illustrates. This is something I do not discourage; between this and, say, Hannah Montana, I know which I prefer her be into. That said, I’ve told her that in this house, we don’t do goth by half-measures; if you’re going to talk the talk, you have to walk the walk. Thus commenced an evening of Old School Goth Listening, featuring Bauhaus, Siouxsie and some choice selections from the early Cure oeuvre. Yes, yes, I know: When am I going to introduce her to Clan of Xymox and Fields of the Nephilim? To which I say: Hey. Baby steps, people. Baby steps.
Mind you, this isn’t the first time Athena’s indulged in goth leanings; it comes and goes around these parts. And I suspect that this too shall pass, since at the end of an hour of swirly goth moodiness, she asked if I wouldn’t mind playing her “All Star” from Smashmouth. As, I suspect, something of a palate cleanser. Which of course I did. She’s ten; she’s allowed extreme tonal shifts. And anyway, goth will be waiting for her, lurking, when she wants it. Because isn’t that what goth does? Lurk? Moodily? With lip piercings? Yes, indeed.