So what happens when the music of one's pre- and teen years comes back for an encore? One, whomever that may be, begins to hum "Hangin' Tough" only to have his 22-month-old, again, completely anonymous, daughter hum along with him. That's what.

I've never been more embarrassed.

It's bad enough Emmeline will occasionally sing, "Running just as fast as we can; holding on to one another's hand" in homage to another '80s star, but I don't know what I'll do when she suddenly breaks out with "Don't worry about nothing cause it won't take long; we're gonna put you in a trance with the funky song" -- because I was older then and should have known better.

That's right, the New Kids are back. (So nice Timberlake agreed to rejoin them ... oh, what?) And I'm frightened I'll pass on my horrible pop genes to my kid. Does she really need to know dad was a fan? She's already doomed to be mortified by my un-coolness when she's in high school, middle school, elementary school, preschool, does she really need any more proof?

Oh, and I love you Joey!