What I Remember About... Disco

Mostly I just remember being very, very embarrassed. And not for myself, for all those who didn't know enough to be embarrassed for themselves. I wasn't old enough to be part of that whole travesty of a social experiment. I was old enough, however, to recognize that it was an AM-radio phenomenon in an FM-radio world.
   Kids, radio is something your parents used to listen to before smart people invented MP3 players. AM radio used to be all there was until God showed FM radio to some hippies, which gave them a place to play Stairway to Heaven while they slipped outside for a toke. These days AM is for talk radio and ketamine-addicted hypocrite announcers, while FM is still a place where a laid-back guy can put on the live version of Freebird and go indulge in a little herbage.
   One horrible, scarring memory: back when I was nine and my sister was seven, we took a family trip to Pennsylvania. I'll detail the whole driving-cross-country adventure some other time, but while we were visiting my grandmother, I was forced to endure my cousin's dance practice, in the freezing drizzle of a Poconos July, where as the girls learned their steps they played The Hustle over and over and over and over and OVER AGAIN.
   This is why even to this day I have a phobia about bell-bottoms.