Listening to Alanis Morissette (yes, I am up to M in my alphabetical CD-listening) regresses me. Well, not really regression. I never was an angry teen. I was an angry pre-teen, but I got over it by the time I hit 13. But yowling along to Alanis makes me feel like I was, and I still am. The sort of music that makes you mosh around the room, shake your hair, bounce on your bed, throw your stuffed animals. This is, no doubt, why almost every girl of a certain age owns it. It calls to us. Even if we were never there.