March 22, 2002 | 10:29 PM

Tonight I listen to a tape of a radio show I DJ�d in March,1995 for �The Only Station That Matters, 90.5 FM WBER�.

I remember that day because it was right after my birthday, and on this show I talk about having seen Sebadoh play Buffalo the day I turned 18. I gush and giggle over accosting Lou Barlow. I recount the way I tugged on his shirt, politely begging that he play �Brand New Love�, and I confide to the audience that he bestowed a kiss upon my eager, pink, newly 18 year old cheek.

Ah. Such bliss.

I was a senior in high school clad in shiny high combat boots and a slinky pink thrift store dress, the top two buttons missing. Ripped fishnets baring scabby knees. Matted jet black hair. Blood red lipstick.

This was before the saga. Before everything.

On the show I played selections from the following:

Siouxsi and the Banshees

X

Stiff Little Fingers

The Cake Kitchen

Hole

Bratmobile

The Jean Paul Sartre Experience

Sonic Youth

The Sex Pistols

The Swirlies

Bikini Kill

Husker Du

Mary Lou Lord

Echo and the Bunnymen

PJ Harvey

The Go-Go�s

My in-between song banter is filled with good-natured (albeit self righteous) chiding about how nobody listens to good tunes anymore.

Little did I know how bad it would get.

Britney Spears anybody?

Blech. I don�t think so.

Them was the days I tell ya�.

This afternoon I sat on a concrete bench in Harvard Square, my wool coat open, I embraced the wind whipping through my skin and burrowing deep into my flesh, swirling through my veins, misdirecting the traffic.

I saw one lone gull sail across the skyline, the clouds throw away pieces of crumpled paper in the foreground.

And I listened to Joni Mitchell.

Help me I think I'm falling In love too fast

It's got me hoping for the future

And worrying about the past

'Cause I've seen some hot hot blazes

Come down to smoke and ash

We love our lovin'

But not like we love our freedom

I hear ya� sister.