Shake the Room.

It's kind of hard to believe I've only been in Mexico a few weeks and I do feel terribly naughty for not having blogged much. I've been inspired by this delightful blog to sort myself out and blog again. The good news which you will all, no doubt, be pleased to hear, is that I have mastered the delicate arts of topping up my phone credit, and indeed eating lunch. I've also managed the gym (where I stand out because I'm wearing neither makeup nor Sketchers shape-ups) which, as a bonus, does feature some extremely good looking football teams. And perhaps most importantly, I am now dominating the hour-long walk to and from work every day. It was my enlightening experience with The Black Keys that did it. No longer am I the shy little blondie... I don't walk to work, I strut. The trick is in finding the right music, turning it up loud, and totally owning it. 

 

Mexico continues to charm and surprise me. There's something simultaneously cringeworthy and delightful about hearing your karaoke go-to song blaring (and I'm not talking elevator music here, I'm talking full-throttle, 2-bottle-BYO, do-it-justice blasting) through the lobby of your workplace as you depart for the evening.  The music here makes make me smile slightly ruefully, in that "what were we thinking?" kind of way. Apart from Cher Shoop Shooping her way through the lobby of one of Mexico City's nicest corporate workplaces, I can, for instance, right now hear Alice DJ's 1998 "Better Off Alone" pumping up from the street to my office. It is only marginally better than yesterday's mariachis. 

 

This place is confounding and charming and delightful all at once. It is home to some of the most sophisticated restaurants and bars on the planet. It is a sprawling, crazy mad City with some beautiful, offbeat neighbourhoods. It has more culture and history than I could ever hope to absorb. And last weekend the local radio played Joan Osborne's "One Of Us" (1995) not once but twice within the space of an hour. This alongside "Barbie Girl" (1997) and, inexplicably, The Naked and Famous. (Still think they're great, still hate that single.) 

 

Given this obsession with music that should never have been in fashion, let alone still be popular, I decided recently before walking home from work: if you can't beat 'em, join 'em. I searched through the deepest, darkest depths of my iPod to find the cheesiest playlist I possess, thoughtfully put together by an old flatmate made for a party. (Yes, this is my excuse as to Meatloaf's presence on my iPod.) Cheesey, for sure. But honestly, how can you not strut it to Bat Out of Hell? What's not to love about a bit of Ace of Base? And can you honestly tell me you could walk a tree-lined street to the dulcet tones of MC Hammer without getting a little wiggle on? Didn't think so.

 

Soon I'll go back to normal music, my saviour in this wonderful city where the moustache is permanently in fashion and, musically at least, the 90s live on. But for now I've got a hot date with DJ Jazzy Jeff and the Fresh Prince. Boom.