My new guilty pleasure site:
Pandora
What on earth is this, you ask?
I'll let the good people from the site itself tell you:
When was the last time you fell in love with a new artist or song?
At Pandora, we have a single mission: To play music you'll love - and nothing else.
To understand just how we do this, and why we think we do it really, really well, you need to know about the Music Genome Project®.
Since we started back in 2000, we have been hard at work on the Music Genome Project. It's the most comprehensive analysis of music ever undertaken. Together our team of fifty musician-analysts has been listening to music, one song at a time, studying and collecting literally hundreds of musical details on every song. It takes 20-30 minutes per song to capture all of the little details that give each recording its magical sound - melody, harmony, instrumentation, rhythm, vocals, lyrics ... and more - close to 400 attributes! We continue this work every day to keep up with the incredible flow of great new music coming from studios, stadiums and garages around the country.
With Pandora you can explore this vast trove of music to your heart's content. Just drop the name of one of your favorite songs or artists into Pandora and let the Genome Project go. It will quickly scan its entire world of analyzed music, almost a century of popular recordings - new and old, well known and completely obscure - to find songs with interesting musical similarities to your choice. Then sit back and enjoy as it creates a listening experience full of current and soon-to-be favorite songs for you.
You can create as many "stations" as you want. And you can even refine them. If it's not quite right you can tell it so and it will get better for you.
The Music Genome Project was founded by musicians and music-lovers. We believe in the value of music and have a profound respect for those who create it. We like all kinds of music, from the most obtuse bebop, to the most tripped-out drum n bass, to the simplest catchy pop tune. Our mission is to help you connect with the music YOU like.
We hope you enjoy the experience!
It's like aural crack, this Pandora. I've plugged in a number of my fave artists and poof! I'm tuned in and turned on to some new ones with similar or compatible sounds.
Problem is, once I hear a song I like, I'm off to iTunes for the $.99 download. But I can't help myself.
All this writing I'm doing lately needs a soundtrack -- don't you agree?
Justification. It's a good thing.
1.31.2008
...From Atop the Soapbox
Those who stay away from the election think that one vote will do no good.
‘Tis but one step more to think one vote will do no harm.
~ Ralph Waldo Emerson
Hey! You registered voter chicks in Alabama, Alaska, Arizona, Arkansas, California, Colorado, Connecticut, Delaware, Georgia, Idaho, Illinois, Kansas, Massachusetts, Minnesota, Missouri, New Jersey, New Mexico, New York, North Dakota, Oklahoma, Tennessee and Utah -- I have a pop quiz for you! (This also goes for any of y’all who live in a state that has a presidential primary coming up in the future...)
What will you be doing on February 5th?
(A) Good grief -- that’s next week! I don’t know what I’m doing in the next couple of hours, much less next week.
(B) The glamourous usual -- carpool, soccer practice, piano lessons, helping with homework, cooking dinner, laundry.
(C) Why do you want to know? What’s so special about February 5th? Is there some sort of fabulous function that day that I don’t know about? Do I need to book a babysitter? Get a new outfit?
(D) I’ll be speaking out and letting people know just what I think and how I feel about important issues and ideas facing our country and our community.
I’ll be voting.
Psst... the go-to answer is (D).
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Did you know...
... 22 million women on their own did not vote in the 2000 presidential election. This is the largest group of non-voters in our democratic process. Voting together, women on their own could determine who wins and loses elections.
Women don’t vote...
... because they felt before that they weren’t affected by the election process or its outcomes.
... because none of the candidates on the ballot met their “personal criteria.”
... because they’re “too busy.”
... because they didn’t think their votes would make that big of a difference.
When was the last time you cast your vote in an election? In this year’s primaries? In 2004 for the last Presidential election? In 2000? Can’t remember?
Guess what -- no worries about any of this. The great thing about voting is that as long as you’re a registered voter, there’s always another opportunity around the corner to let your voice be heard. It's kinda like getting a less-than-desirable haircut. Hair (usually) always grows back. Problem solved. Regarding this voting thing though -- the key is not to let the oft-infrequent opportunities constantly pass you by.
Here's what I've learned in my just-over-25 years as a registered voter: Voting is one of those things that may seem like a little gesture when in reality, it’s a big statement.
Vote early and vote often.
~ Al Capone
Granted, casting one’s vote can sometimes feel like an obligation, especially when adding a stop by the polls might mean shifting schedules and rearranging appointments. But -- casting a vote in any election is our right, our privilege and our chance to share OUR opinions in a venue where they will be heard and counted.
Think of it this way -- not voting lets other people make the decisions for you, and, speaking for myself, nothing pisses me off more than having someone speak for me without my consent or without an opportunity to put my two cents in. I can feel my blood pressure rising just imagining this. PS: By not voting, you forfeit the right to complain about whoever’s in office. Those elected officials aren’t really representing you, because you never spoke up and said what you thought should happen in the first place.
Muse upon that for a moment. That scenario more than kinda sucks, doesn't it.
Women, just a few generations before ours, were not able to vote; many had to literally fight to give us the opportunity to let our voices be heard. Our gender won -- and I do mean won -- the right to vote in 1920 with the passage of the 19th Amendment to the Constitution. This achievment took nearly 75 years to come to fruition, starting with the first Women’s Rights Convention held in 1848. Petitions, pickets and personal sacrifice -- many suffragettes were arrested, held illegally, and treated badly in prison -- were the hallmarks of the struggle that culminated in a quiet passage of the 19th Amendment on August 26, 1920.
If our fem-ancestors worked that diligently and passionately to secure something that we now consider a basic human right and often take for granted, the least we can do is to honor their dedicated efforts and take the time to share our opinions.
The very least.
The possibilities are endless for what could happen if our gender let its voices be heard. Look at Election Day as an opportunity to invest and educate. Find out what the issues are. Read about the candidates. Watch the debates. Ask questions. Spend time not just on candidate websites, but sites focusing on the objective side of politics. Think about what matters to you. To your family. To your community.
And come Primary Election Day, whether it’s next week, next month or whenever, after you have visited your polling site, put that “I VOTED” sticker firmly on your chest and headed out to tackle the rest of your day -- you can smile proudly with the knowledge that you have made a significant mark on your world.
Democracy... it’s a good thing.
Resolved, That the women of this country ought to be enlightened in regard to the laws under which they -live, that they may no longer publish their degradation, by declaring themselves satisfied with their present position, nor their ignorance, by asserting that they have all the rights they want...
Resolved, therefore, That, being invested by the Creator with the same capabilities, and the same consciousness of responsibility for their exercise, it is demonstrably the right and duty of woman, equally with man, to promote every righteous cause, by every righteous means; and especially in regard to the great subjects of morals and religion, it is self-evidently her right to participate with her brother in teaching them, both in private and in public, by writing and by speaking, by any instrumentalities proper to be used, and in any assemblies proper to be held; and this being a self-evident truth, growing out of the divinely implanted principles of human nature, any custom or authority adverse to it, whether modern or wearing the hoary sanction of antiquity, is to be regarded as self-evident falsehood, and at war with the interests of mankind.
~ Declaration of Sentiments and Resolutions
Woman's Rights Convention
Held at Seneca Falls, 19-20 July 1848
Constant Craving
Hear that sound?
No, it's not me still breathing hard over that Clooney/Obama YouTube.
It's my stomach growling.
Damn you NutriSystem. We are in such the love/hate relationship.
The love part is the fact that I think I'm actually losing some weight -- hoo-frickin'-ray. I don't own a scale (they are of the debil) but my clothes are looser. Especially my jeans. And I'm seeing my collarbones a bit more.
However.
I've still not completely adjusted to the food I'm able to have on this thing. Case in point: I was craving some protein this morning for breakfast. Specifically, a Sausage McMuffin with a side of hash browns (OK -- those are carbs. But still.) and a fountain coke. The Scrambled Soy Eggs with Veggie Sausage Crumbles did not satisfy this craving in the least. On the contrary -- it's making me look at the clock to see if I have enough time to race up to Mickey D's before they stop serving breakfast.
I've never had anything quite like this "egg" dish I just consumed out of sheer hunger and exhaustion. It sucks donkey balls. My first clue to how "unusual" they would be should have been the fact that I was required to mix the lovely yellow powder masquerading as eggs with 1/4 cup water. Uuuugh. The second should have been the fact that I had to scrape the little microwave container with a knife to dislodge all the eggy goodness from the packaging. After only 30 seconds in the microwave. Rubbery doesn't do this concoction justice as an adjective. I'm actually not sure what descriptor would, honestly. Where's Roget's when you need it.
I'm feeling all noble now. But nauseous. And still hungry.
I'm trying to be so good on this damn diet -- my poor little 1950s sized kitchen is overrun with NutriSystem boxes. Seriously -- they're everywhere, thanks to having NO cabinet space. But that's another rant for another day. I like the program -- I really do. The food overall isn't bad and the portion-controlled aspect is a major selling point. And I'm rather proud of myself for maintaining enough self-control to actually stick to the damn plan, for the most part. Last week was kind of a wash, with all of the Will health issues and all. But I'm cutting myself some slack for that.
I guess I'll just have to be content taking a hit off the air as I drive by the BBQ joint near Will's school -- I got totally turned on the other day just smelling the delightful aroma of hickory smoke and pork fat blowing through my open car window. Pulled pork as aphrodisiac. And I'm consoling myself with dreams of McMuffins and real Mac & Cheese and a bloody juicy rare steak with a loaded baked potato and a bottle of pinot noir...
Gives new meaning to food porn, doesn't it.
Now, if you'll pardon me, I'm going to go watch Food TV. Oh yeah.
No, it's not me still breathing hard over that Clooney/Obama YouTube.
It's my stomach growling.
Damn you NutriSystem. We are in such the love/hate relationship.
The love part is the fact that I think I'm actually losing some weight -- hoo-frickin'-ray. I don't own a scale (they are of the debil) but my clothes are looser. Especially my jeans. And I'm seeing my collarbones a bit more.
However.
I've still not completely adjusted to the food I'm able to have on this thing. Case in point: I was craving some protein this morning for breakfast. Specifically, a Sausage McMuffin with a side of hash browns (OK -- those are carbs. But still.) and a fountain coke. The Scrambled Soy Eggs with Veggie Sausage Crumbles did not satisfy this craving in the least. On the contrary -- it's making me look at the clock to see if I have enough time to race up to Mickey D's before they stop serving breakfast.
I've never had anything quite like this "egg" dish I just consumed out of sheer hunger and exhaustion. It sucks donkey balls. My first clue to how "unusual" they would be should have been the fact that I was required to mix the lovely yellow powder masquerading as eggs with 1/4 cup water. Uuuugh. The second should have been the fact that I had to scrape the little microwave container with a knife to dislodge all the eggy goodness from the packaging. After only 30 seconds in the microwave. Rubbery doesn't do this concoction justice as an adjective. I'm actually not sure what descriptor would, honestly. Where's Roget's when you need it.
I'm feeling all noble now. But nauseous. And still hungry.
I'm trying to be so good on this damn diet -- my poor little 1950s sized kitchen is overrun with NutriSystem boxes. Seriously -- they're everywhere, thanks to having NO cabinet space. But that's another rant for another day. I like the program -- I really do. The food overall isn't bad and the portion-controlled aspect is a major selling point. And I'm rather proud of myself for maintaining enough self-control to actually stick to the damn plan, for the most part. Last week was kind of a wash, with all of the Will health issues and all. But I'm cutting myself some slack for that.
I guess I'll just have to be content taking a hit off the air as I drive by the BBQ joint near Will's school -- I got totally turned on the other day just smelling the delightful aroma of hickory smoke and pork fat blowing through my open car window. Pulled pork as aphrodisiac. And I'm consoling myself with dreams of McMuffins and real Mac & Cheese and a bloody juicy rare steak with a loaded baked potato and a bottle of pinot noir...
Gives new meaning to food porn, doesn't it.
Now, if you'll pardon me, I'm going to go watch Food TV. Oh yeah.
1.30.2008
Day (or Night) Brightener
I've been watching this non-stop since my lovely friend one_muse shared it with me.
That heavy breathing you're hearing. All mine.
That heavy breathing you're hearing. All mine.
And the AI Homecoming Queen Is...
I'm think I'm a little in love with this guy... he totally reminds me of one of my gay husbands:
Go Leo Marlowe!
Go Leo Marlowe!
My Baby's Back
"Toot toot chugga chugga big red car..."
I hear this being sung LOUDLY from in the other room.
Will is planted in his bean bag chair, raptly watching those Wiggle people. Interacting with the show. Singing along.
Yesterday, he snuck up on me in the office, saying "You want to sing a song?" Which required at least six playings of "I'm Gonna Make You Love Me."
Last night, even though he said it was "time for night-night" he snuck out of bed, turned on his light and played quietly in his room for another half hour.
Will is himself -- all himself once more. Maybe still a little low energy later in the day, but that's to be expected. Not a big deal.
Hear that?
It's me. Letting all the air out of my lungs.
Finally.
Damn, does that feel good.
I hear this being sung LOUDLY from in the other room.
Will is planted in his bean bag chair, raptly watching those Wiggle people. Interacting with the show. Singing along.
Yesterday, he snuck up on me in the office, saying "You want to sing a song?" Which required at least six playings of "I'm Gonna Make You Love Me."
Last night, even though he said it was "time for night-night" he snuck out of bed, turned on his light and played quietly in his room for another half hour.
Will is himself -- all himself once more. Maybe still a little low energy later in the day, but that's to be expected. Not a big deal.
Hear that?
It's me. Letting all the air out of my lungs.
Finally.
Damn, does that feel good.
1.29.2008
GRRRRRRRR...
NOT happy with tonight's primary results. At. All.
However, this little statistical tidbit is a tiny ray of sunshine in the glum crap that's hovering over my stupid state right now... from Politico.com:
Looking at the MSNBC exit polls, 31% were absentee voters and they went 49-29 for Clinton.
Among those who decided whom they were going to vote for over a month ago or more, Clinton won 64-25.
But voters who decided within the last month? 46-42 Obama.
In the last week? 38-31 Obama.
In the last 3 days? 45-40 Obama.
There's momentum. To be sure.
On to Super Tuesday. It's certain to be an interesting week in this increasingly unpredictable campaign.
Go Obama.
However, this little statistical tidbit is a tiny ray of sunshine in the glum crap that's hovering over my stupid state right now... from Politico.com:
Looking at the MSNBC exit polls, 31% were absentee voters and they went 49-29 for Clinton.
Among those who decided whom they were going to vote for over a month ago or more, Clinton won 64-25.
But voters who decided within the last month? 46-42 Obama.
In the last week? 38-31 Obama.
In the last 3 days? 45-40 Obama.
There's momentum. To be sure.
On to Super Tuesday. It's certain to be an interesting week in this increasingly unpredictable campaign.
Go Obama.
1.28.2008
Just Do It.
Bad officials are elected by good citizens who do not vote.
~ George Jean Nathan
People often say that, in a democracy, decisions are made by a majority of the people. Of course, that is not true. Decisions are made by a majority of those who make themselves heard and who vote - a very different thing.
~ Walter H. Judd
I'm tired of hearing it said that democracy doesn't work. Of course it doesn't work. We are supposed to work it.
~ Alexander Woollcott
If you live in Florida, as I do, tomorrow is Election Day. Regardless of who you vote for, make sure you go to the polls tomorrow and let your voice be heard. It's our right, our privilege, our obligation.
Just do it.
~ George Jean Nathan
People often say that, in a democracy, decisions are made by a majority of the people. Of course, that is not true. Decisions are made by a majority of those who make themselves heard and who vote - a very different thing.
~ Walter H. Judd
I'm tired of hearing it said that democracy doesn't work. Of course it doesn't work. We are supposed to work it.
~ Alexander Woollcott
If you live in Florida, as I do, tomorrow is Election Day. Regardless of who you vote for, make sure you go to the polls tomorrow and let your voice be heard. It's our right, our privilege, our obligation.
Just do it.
1.27.2008
We. Want. Change.
Barack's South Carolina Victory Speech.
To steal a quote from a good friend -- I felt like Paula Abdul as I listened and watched his speech: chills, goosebumps, tears and seal claps.
And I'm not only enamored with the candidate, I'm also crushing on his speechwriters -- the word nerd in me is totally smitten.
To steal a quote from a good friend -- I felt like Paula Abdul as I listened and watched his speech: chills, goosebumps, tears and seal claps.
And I'm not only enamored with the candidate, I'm also crushing on his speechwriters -- the word nerd in me is totally smitten.
1.25.2008
Will Emerging
He's starting to act more like himself, that boy of mine. Still groggy and tired (wouldn't you be if you'd just had brain surgery?) but showing signs of the Will I know and adore. Singing. Laughing. Active.
He got the royal treatment this morning -- two neurosurgeons and two PAs made the rounds to see him. The CT scans look good -- improved even from the prior three or four or however many he's had over the past six days. I've lost count.
He's there overnight again -- which is fine. Professional eyes can watch him while I try to close mine in search of rest.
I'm slowly breathing out. Expunging my anxiety with the adrenaline on which I've been running for days.
That's a good thing.
He got the royal treatment this morning -- two neurosurgeons and two PAs made the rounds to see him. The CT scans look good -- improved even from the prior three or four or however many he's had over the past six days. I've lost count.
He's there overnight again -- which is fine. Professional eyes can watch him while I try to close mine in search of rest.
I'm slowly breathing out. Expunging my anxiety with the adrenaline on which I've been running for days.
That's a good thing.
1.24.2008
Waiting to Exhale
Shit.
That's what Will yelled as he received his third IV in as many days.
Shit.
That's what my immediate reaction was when Will's neurosurgeon confirmed that yes, there is a problem with his shunt.
Sigh.
That's what I'm doing right now as I sit in the family waiting room, scared for my son having brain surgery but relieved that after the longest five days in recent memory, we finally know what's wrong.
We've been through this before, so I know what to expect. The Beast You Know blah blah blah.
As long as my baby gets back to being his usual happy-go-lucky self, I can wrestle with this beast as long as necessary.
It's all part of the job.
Postscript
11:15 pm
Two hours, including diagnosis, pre-op, surgery and post-op, to rectify five days of hell. Will came through surgery, with, as they say, flying colors. I shall be eternally grateful forever to his neurosurgery PA, who has seen Will since his NICU days and just had a feeling that even though the x-rays were problem-free, something wasn't right. And to his gifted neurosurgeon and the team who moved quickly and efficiently, all the while making sure we parents were informed and comfortable with the process.
Will is sleeping now in his big old hospital bed. But I know that finally, he's at rest, as we've dealt with the beast. For the moment.
That's what Will yelled as he received his third IV in as many days.
Shit.
That's what my immediate reaction was when Will's neurosurgeon confirmed that yes, there is a problem with his shunt.
Sigh.
That's what I'm doing right now as I sit in the family waiting room, scared for my son having brain surgery but relieved that after the longest five days in recent memory, we finally know what's wrong.
We've been through this before, so I know what to expect. The Beast You Know blah blah blah.
As long as my baby gets back to being his usual happy-go-lucky self, I can wrestle with this beast as long as necessary.
It's all part of the job.
Postscript
11:15 pm
Two hours, including diagnosis, pre-op, surgery and post-op, to rectify five days of hell. Will came through surgery, with, as they say, flying colors. I shall be eternally grateful forever to his neurosurgery PA, who has seen Will since his NICU days and just had a feeling that even though the x-rays were problem-free, something wasn't right. And to his gifted neurosurgeon and the team who moved quickly and efficiently, all the while making sure we parents were informed and comfortable with the process.
Will is sleeping now in his big old hospital bed. But I know that finally, he's at rest, as we've dealt with the beast. For the moment.
1.23.2008
Normalcy Restoring
Homeward bound,
Home where my thought's escaping,
Home where my music's playing,
Home where my love lies waiting...
~ "Homeward Bound", Simon & Garfunkel
He's home. Cranky. Tired. Loud.
And minus one front tooth.
Glad to know the tooth fairy's not gonna have to visit the hospital tonight.
Love. To you all.
Home where my thought's escaping,
Home where my music's playing,
Home where my love lies waiting...
~ "Homeward Bound", Simon & Garfunkel
He's home. Cranky. Tired. Loud.
And minus one front tooth.
Glad to know the tooth fairy's not gonna have to visit the hospital tonight.
Love. To you all.
1.22.2008
Fears Manifested
Never underestimate the power of a mother's instinct.
Will has been admitted to the hospital for observation by his neuro team. After a night of no sleep and fitful behavior, we made a trip to the ER at 4:00 am. While his head and shunt look OK (ie: nothing seems to be amiss), he's running a fever and having little seizures as a result. Needless to say, I'm a wreck, but at least there's someone else watching him along with me. I have come to think of the hospital as the world's most expensive babysitter. The mister is in Boston, with plans to come home tomorrow, just because. Sigh.
I'm just so fucking sick and tired of this crap -- this roller coaster which is our normal. I'm over it. Plain and simple. My heart aches for my little boy, because he knows no other existence. It's not fair. But it is what it is.
Sometimes it ain't easy being me. This is one of those times.
Will has been admitted to the hospital for observation by his neuro team. After a night of no sleep and fitful behavior, we made a trip to the ER at 4:00 am. While his head and shunt look OK (ie: nothing seems to be amiss), he's running a fever and having little seizures as a result. Needless to say, I'm a wreck, but at least there's someone else watching him along with me. I have come to think of the hospital as the world's most expensive babysitter. The mister is in Boston, with plans to come home tomorrow, just because. Sigh.
I'm just so fucking sick and tired of this crap -- this roller coaster which is our normal. I'm over it. Plain and simple. My heart aches for my little boy, because he knows no other existence. It's not fair. But it is what it is.
Sometimes it ain't easy being me. This is one of those times.
1.21.2008
Vacation -- All I Ever Wanted
How's this for twisted: I am in dire need of a vacation from my vacation.
Confused? Yeah, me too.
What was supposed to be a restful, quiet long weekend at my family's river house an hour and a half north of here never quite played out the way I'd planned it.
Will had a seizure on Saturday night.
Nothing like the fears of your everyday life coming to fruition to put a crimp in your holiday plans.
He's OK -- as best I can tell. Most likely caused by a growth spurt throwing the balance of his twice-daily anti-convulsant out of whack. However, he, for some reason, threw up in the wee small hours of the morning -- a big warning sign of a shunt malfunction. Not knowing where the local hospital was, I called 9-1-1 and the mister rode with Will in the ambulance (singing all the way) as I followed along behind in our car, watching for any unusual activity through the glass in the back door of the emergency vehicle.
Three hours, one small additional seizure, a CT scan and a low-grade tranquilizer later (for Will, although I could have used one) we got the all-clear and those lovely discharge papers. The CT looked "alright" to the on-call physician and some other medical person who worked for a neurologist for seven years. And while the personnel at the hospital weren't totally prepared for a pediatric neurological case like ours, they were some of the kindest, most patient-friendly people I've ever encountered. And that goes a long way with a parent running on adrenaline at 3 o'clock in the morning.
It had been quite a while since I'd been in a "grown-up" hospital, so I was a bit startled to see adults as patients -- I'm more used to the kiddo variety. My favorite: the guy who'd cut open his chin tripping over a dude who had passed out in front of the men's room door in some local watering hole. Don't get that kind of action in a children's hospital, that's for damn sure.
I'm still not quite sure how I made it back to the house -- driving on the wings of angels, I suppose. After a fitful couple of hours sleep -- Slumber finally won the battle with Anxiety -- I woke up to find Will sitting at the kitchen counter, happily eating his yogurt. Balance had been restored. At least for the time being. He's still a little off plumb, with moments of crankiness and sleepiness lasting longer than usual. But I'm chalking all that up to residue from a tough 12 hours. As I write this, he's still not quite asleep. It would probably help the cause for me not to keep going into his room every 20 minutes -- but I can't help myself. It's a Mama Thing.
I'm reminded of the fact that even on holiday, my everyday worries seem to always find a way into the luggage. I was looking forward to this weekend as a chance to get some R&R from the craziness that was our cruise. Turns out that we got a dosage of a different kind of craziness. And while these episodes are never easy on any of us, they are just part of our normal. It is what it is.
And now I'm simply looking for a couple of hours when I can let my guard down and breathe a bit.
Any suggestions on how and when are most welcome.
Confused? Yeah, me too.
What was supposed to be a restful, quiet long weekend at my family's river house an hour and a half north of here never quite played out the way I'd planned it.
Will had a seizure on Saturday night.
Nothing like the fears of your everyday life coming to fruition to put a crimp in your holiday plans.
He's OK -- as best I can tell. Most likely caused by a growth spurt throwing the balance of his twice-daily anti-convulsant out of whack. However, he, for some reason, threw up in the wee small hours of the morning -- a big warning sign of a shunt malfunction. Not knowing where the local hospital was, I called 9-1-1 and the mister rode with Will in the ambulance (singing all the way) as I followed along behind in our car, watching for any unusual activity through the glass in the back door of the emergency vehicle.
Three hours, one small additional seizure, a CT scan and a low-grade tranquilizer later (for Will, although I could have used one) we got the all-clear and those lovely discharge papers. The CT looked "alright" to the on-call physician and some other medical person who worked for a neurologist for seven years. And while the personnel at the hospital weren't totally prepared for a pediatric neurological case like ours, they were some of the kindest, most patient-friendly people I've ever encountered. And that goes a long way with a parent running on adrenaline at 3 o'clock in the morning.
It had been quite a while since I'd been in a "grown-up" hospital, so I was a bit startled to see adults as patients -- I'm more used to the kiddo variety. My favorite: the guy who'd cut open his chin tripping over a dude who had passed out in front of the men's room door in some local watering hole. Don't get that kind of action in a children's hospital, that's for damn sure.
I'm still not quite sure how I made it back to the house -- driving on the wings of angels, I suppose. After a fitful couple of hours sleep -- Slumber finally won the battle with Anxiety -- I woke up to find Will sitting at the kitchen counter, happily eating his yogurt. Balance had been restored. At least for the time being. He's still a little off plumb, with moments of crankiness and sleepiness lasting longer than usual. But I'm chalking all that up to residue from a tough 12 hours. As I write this, he's still not quite asleep. It would probably help the cause for me not to keep going into his room every 20 minutes -- but I can't help myself. It's a Mama Thing.
I'm reminded of the fact that even on holiday, my everyday worries seem to always find a way into the luggage. I was looking forward to this weekend as a chance to get some R&R from the craziness that was our cruise. Turns out that we got a dosage of a different kind of craziness. And while these episodes are never easy on any of us, they are just part of our normal. It is what it is.
And now I'm simply looking for a couple of hours when I can let my guard down and breathe a bit.
Any suggestions on how and when are most welcome.
1.18.2008
You Shook Me All Night Long
Go ahead. Shake it baby. Shake it. You know you wanna...
TGIF, y'all!
(Poached from my divine pal thombeau over on Fabulon.)
TGIF, y'all!
(Poached from my divine pal thombeau over on Fabulon.)
1.17.2008
Musical Offspring
I often -- OK, pretty much all the time -- have my iTunes rolling on my computer. I can hear it in the garage (while I'm doing laundry) or in the kitchen (while I'm cooking or handling dishes) or naturally, right here in the office (while I'm writing or goofing off...) As a result, Will is used to having music playing while he's in the back of the house. It's not unusual for me to find him perched on the edge of my office chair, just listening to whatever's playing, even if I'm not around.
He just wandered in here and asked me if I "wanted to sing a song" -- which is Will Code for "play something I wanna hear, Mama." When I asked him what he wanted to "sing", he said, "(I'm)Gonna Make You Love Me." By The Jayhawks. Boo-yah! We're even working on playing some air acoustic guitar while we sing.
That's MY boy. I must be doing something right.
Next up: mastering the jangley air guitar of The La's "There She Goes."
Who needs those damn Wiggles, anyway.
He just wandered in here and asked me if I "wanted to sing a song" -- which is Will Code for "play something I wanna hear, Mama." When I asked him what he wanted to "sing", he said, "(I'm)Gonna Make You Love Me." By The Jayhawks. Boo-yah! We're even working on playing some air acoustic guitar while we sing.
That's MY boy. I must be doing something right.
Next up: mastering the jangley air guitar of The La's "There She Goes."
Who needs those damn Wiggles, anyway.
Best. Lazy Post. EVAH!
I am your brother!
Your best friend forever!"
Can't. Get. Enough.
This totally gets my vote to be the Coronation Song for the AI winner this year. Nigel, are you listening?
"We're brothers 'til the end of time
Together or not, you're always in my heart..."
Your best friend forever!"
Can't. Get. Enough.
This totally gets my vote to be the Coronation Song for the AI winner this year. Nigel, are you listening?
"We're brothers 'til the end of time
Together or not, you're always in my heart..."
1.16.2008
Off We Go, Sweethearts...
I do love my sporting events.
In the fall, it's football and basketball (let's hear it for the resurgent Boston Celtics, shall we? Ever since Len Bias died way too soon, the team has been a pale green imitation of its glorious self. But I digress...).
In the summer, it's baseball or in the case of this year, the Olympics.
In the winter and spring, it's American Idol.
And we had kickoff last night. Bam!
It's waaaaay too early to assess the playing field this year, after only one evening of auditions. But overall, it was a pleasant viewing experience -- the right balance of lunacy and delusion and talent. At least from the vantage point on my reclining sofa.
I have an early favorite, though -- it's the charming Angela Martin from Chicago.
We have something in common, Angela and I. We're both mamas to kids with developmental challenges. That right there is enough to put me on her team for as long as necessary. I started welling up with tears when I saw her support system of family and friends -- I love that sort of stuff. But when we learned about her daughter's health issues, I knew I was a goner. As I watched her go through the very familiar routine of putting the orthotic braces on her little one (which I myself can do with my eyes closed), I lost it.
And immediately started crossing fingers and toes and praying that she could sing. Because I don't think I could have stood it if she couldn't.
But she can sing, gosh darn it -- well enough to go through to Hollywood, despite her affectations acquired from being a wedding band singer. Which can easily be worked out. After she got her golden ticket, I think she said something about wanting this to help her maximize her daughter's potential. I'm not sure -- I was sobbing by that point.
So Angela, you've got a fan in your corner already. Not just for your talent and your labour of love as a mother -- but for your perseverance in going after something that will not only help to make a better life for your daughter, but that will help to define you as a person in your own right.
For that, you are already my hero.
In the fall, it's football and basketball (let's hear it for the resurgent Boston Celtics, shall we? Ever since Len Bias died way too soon, the team has been a pale green imitation of its glorious self. But I digress...).
In the summer, it's baseball or in the case of this year, the Olympics.
In the winter and spring, it's American Idol.
And we had kickoff last night. Bam!
It's waaaaay too early to assess the playing field this year, after only one evening of auditions. But overall, it was a pleasant viewing experience -- the right balance of lunacy and delusion and talent. At least from the vantage point on my reclining sofa.
I have an early favorite, though -- it's the charming Angela Martin from Chicago.
We have something in common, Angela and I. We're both mamas to kids with developmental challenges. That right there is enough to put me on her team for as long as necessary. I started welling up with tears when I saw her support system of family and friends -- I love that sort of stuff. But when we learned about her daughter's health issues, I knew I was a goner. As I watched her go through the very familiar routine of putting the orthotic braces on her little one (which I myself can do with my eyes closed), I lost it.
And immediately started crossing fingers and toes and praying that she could sing. Because I don't think I could have stood it if she couldn't.
But she can sing, gosh darn it -- well enough to go through to Hollywood, despite her affectations acquired from being a wedding band singer. Which can easily be worked out. After she got her golden ticket, I think she said something about wanting this to help her maximize her daughter's potential. I'm not sure -- I was sobbing by that point.
So Angela, you've got a fan in your corner already. Not just for your talent and your labour of love as a mother -- but for your perseverance in going after something that will not only help to make a better life for your daughter, but that will help to define you as a person in your own right.
For that, you are already my hero.
1.15.2008
It's Ladies Night -- And the Feeling's Very, Very Right
Girls' Night Out.
A bit hackneyed, thanks to Carrie B. and her pals.
A tad ubiquitous, thanks to those oft-photographed Hollywood posses of starlets and actresses and sycophants.
Completely riotous, thanks to the Goose of Grey, some tonic water and my capacity to attract interesting characters.
Went out last Friday night for what looks to become a regular monthly Girls Night Out gig with my best galpal and her "gay husband." Their mutual term. I also have a gay husband (actually, I have a couple, but only one is local.) However, he had a date with a dishy chiropractor, so he ditched us. C'est la vie.
My galpal and I planned our outfits meticulously -- I don't think I took this much care getting ready for New Year's Eve formal night on the cruise. Our hair was wild and fabulous; our makeup precise and fabulous; our breasts highlighted and yes, fabulous. We. Were. Smokin'.
Plan was to sup first at a restaurant that didn't feature crayons on the table and a kids' menu and then hit a gay bar for some dancing and fun. Dinner was nice and grownup -- fantastic chicken curry salad and adult conversation sitting outside on a patio watching the world go by. (For the record, that was my one "real meal" of the week -- still adhering to Living with NutriSystem, dammit.)
And then we hit the bar. Not the first time we'd hung out there -- it's actually a great place for us married gals out for a night. Great music, strong drinks, non-threatening cute gay boys to flirt with -- what more could a self-proclaimed hag ask for. Oh -- and there's also the go-go boys. The male dancers who alternately put on a show and mix, mingle and collect dollar bills. Rumour has it that a good number of said go-go boys are straight. But you didn't hear that from me.
On our past outings to this place, I'd encountered a whole array of interesting people: a self-taught non-dishy chiropractor who insisted on giving us an alignment right then and there just off the dance floor; one of Will's former doctors, who didn't recognize me and whom it took me a while to place; a gay fellow who instantly fell in love with my ample bosom and invited me to a naked pool party; some guy who walked up to me and asked me, as casually as a smoker asks another if he has a light, if I had any "rubbers."
And then there was the go-go boy who performed his special Halloween act, complete with candles and dripping wax.
I'm still not over that one. Can you say hot? I can.
This trip was no less eventful, I'm proud to say. My galpal ended up on the stage at the top of the dance floor with the go-go boy du jour, who was wearing what amounted to nothing more than two bandanas held together, front and back, with a couple of safety pins. I, on the other hand, made friends with a very drunk fellow named Russell who was there with his "boring ass" straight brother (his words, not mine) and insisted on laying his head on my arm and kissing me with pursed lips because that's how he kisses his sister. He left early, which was too bad, because I was in the mood to "social smoke" (yes, I know it's a terrible, awful habit, but...) and he was toting around his pack of ciggies, one of which I would have bummed off of him. Actually, maybe that's not such a bad thing in hindsight.
Oh, and then there was Tracy the Lesbian who was sorely disappointed to learn I was a very straight girl and tried to convince me to enter the Hottest Girl in the Bar contest with her, saying that she'd do all the work and all I'd have to do was stand there while she ground/grinded (I know that's not a word, but it's necessary for descriptive purposes) against me.
In other words, much fun was had by all.
It's a good place for a night out, this gay bar of ours. I feel very liberated when I'm there -- I'm not a wife or mother or sister or daughter or responsible community member or choir director or anything other than plain me. It's indescribable how wondrous and affirming that is.
There was a time when I could party like the rock star that I am and bounce back the next day with little to no difficulty. However, that is no longer the case, and I paid for my excess all day Saturday. Including getting back on the NutriSystem, which was not an effective booze-soaker-upper/hangover-helper, I'm sad to say. What I would have given for either a Little Asher (hash browns, scrambled eggs and cheese with a big old biscuit) from Gainesville's beloved, long-gone Skeeter's or a Primo beef burrito/double wrapped/extra sour cream with a side of chips and a Coke from Gainesville's beloved, still-kicking-ass Burrito Brothers. Funny how I reverted back to craving my most near and dear hangover food -- that of my college years.
And note the detail with which I describe each item -- it's food porn, baby. Mmmm. Mmmmmm. Mmmmmmmm.
Was it good for you? Let's see if we can bum a ciggy off of Russell...
So here's to Girls' Night Out, in whatever incarnation it takes. I'm just thankful that I'm not important enough to have paparazzi capture mine on film. The local paper is interesting enough as it is.
A bit hackneyed, thanks to Carrie B. and her pals.
A tad ubiquitous, thanks to those oft-photographed Hollywood posses of starlets and actresses and sycophants.
Completely riotous, thanks to the Goose of Grey, some tonic water and my capacity to attract interesting characters.
Went out last Friday night for what looks to become a regular monthly Girls Night Out gig with my best galpal and her "gay husband." Their mutual term. I also have a gay husband (actually, I have a couple, but only one is local.) However, he had a date with a dishy chiropractor, so he ditched us. C'est la vie.
My galpal and I planned our outfits meticulously -- I don't think I took this much care getting ready for New Year's Eve formal night on the cruise. Our hair was wild and fabulous; our makeup precise and fabulous; our breasts highlighted and yes, fabulous. We. Were. Smokin'.
Plan was to sup first at a restaurant that didn't feature crayons on the table and a kids' menu and then hit a gay bar for some dancing and fun. Dinner was nice and grownup -- fantastic chicken curry salad and adult conversation sitting outside on a patio watching the world go by. (For the record, that was my one "real meal" of the week -- still adhering to Living with NutriSystem, dammit.)
And then we hit the bar. Not the first time we'd hung out there -- it's actually a great place for us married gals out for a night. Great music, strong drinks, non-threatening cute gay boys to flirt with -- what more could a self-proclaimed hag ask for. Oh -- and there's also the go-go boys. The male dancers who alternately put on a show and mix, mingle and collect dollar bills. Rumour has it that a good number of said go-go boys are straight. But you didn't hear that from me.
On our past outings to this place, I'd encountered a whole array of interesting people: a self-taught non-dishy chiropractor who insisted on giving us an alignment right then and there just off the dance floor; one of Will's former doctors, who didn't recognize me and whom it took me a while to place; a gay fellow who instantly fell in love with my ample bosom and invited me to a naked pool party; some guy who walked up to me and asked me, as casually as a smoker asks another if he has a light, if I had any "rubbers."
And then there was the go-go boy who performed his special Halloween act, complete with candles and dripping wax.
I'm still not over that one. Can you say hot? I can.
This trip was no less eventful, I'm proud to say. My galpal ended up on the stage at the top of the dance floor with the go-go boy du jour, who was wearing what amounted to nothing more than two bandanas held together, front and back, with a couple of safety pins. I, on the other hand, made friends with a very drunk fellow named Russell who was there with his "boring ass" straight brother (his words, not mine) and insisted on laying his head on my arm and kissing me with pursed lips because that's how he kisses his sister. He left early, which was too bad, because I was in the mood to "social smoke" (yes, I know it's a terrible, awful habit, but...) and he was toting around his pack of ciggies, one of which I would have bummed off of him. Actually, maybe that's not such a bad thing in hindsight.
Oh, and then there was Tracy the Lesbian who was sorely disappointed to learn I was a very straight girl and tried to convince me to enter the Hottest Girl in the Bar contest with her, saying that she'd do all the work and all I'd have to do was stand there while she ground/grinded (I know that's not a word, but it's necessary for descriptive purposes) against me.
In other words, much fun was had by all.
It's a good place for a night out, this gay bar of ours. I feel very liberated when I'm there -- I'm not a wife or mother or sister or daughter or responsible community member or choir director or anything other than plain me. It's indescribable how wondrous and affirming that is.
There was a time when I could party like the rock star that I am and bounce back the next day with little to no difficulty. However, that is no longer the case, and I paid for my excess all day Saturday. Including getting back on the NutriSystem, which was not an effective booze-soaker-upper/hangover-helper, I'm sad to say. What I would have given for either a Little Asher (hash browns, scrambled eggs and cheese with a big old biscuit) from Gainesville's beloved, long-gone Skeeter's or a Primo beef burrito/double wrapped/extra sour cream with a side of chips and a Coke from Gainesville's beloved, still-kicking-ass Burrito Brothers. Funny how I reverted back to craving my most near and dear hangover food -- that of my college years.
And note the detail with which I describe each item -- it's food porn, baby. Mmmm. Mmmmmm. Mmmmmmmm.
Was it good for you? Let's see if we can bum a ciggy off of Russell...
So here's to Girls' Night Out, in whatever incarnation it takes. I'm just thankful that I'm not important enough to have paparazzi capture mine on film. The local paper is interesting enough as it is.
Lazy Post 2: Electric Boogaloo
Speaking of beloved things remembered... put Bloom County at the top of that list. Opus is a deity amongst penguins and I think I dated Steve Dallas at least once in 1985.
I could wax poetic on this subject ad infinitum, but I think, for the moment anyway, I'll just let this strip do the talking for me:
I could wax poetic on this subject ad infinitum, but I think, for the moment anyway, I'll just let this strip do the talking for me:
Lazy Post
I just had one of those Oh! Em! Gee! moments -- I inexplicitly loved this song back in the day (even had a poster of Neil with these guys on the wall of my room in the sorority house) and for some reason, just now remembered it. I tracked this down on YouTube and am indulgently putting it here, so I can watch it whenever I want. You're welcome to join me.
BONUS!
Elvis needs boats.
Elvis needs boats.
Elvis Elvis Elvis
Elvis Elvis Elvis
Elvis needs boats.
BONUS!
Elvis needs boats.
Elvis needs boats.
Elvis Elvis Elvis
Elvis Elvis Elvis
Elvis needs boats.
1.11.2008
My World and Welcome to It
The world in which I spend my everyday life is so weird...
(How weird is it?)
Well, I'll tell you.
(Apologies for the Match Game reference/indulgence)
I shop at what is literally my neighborhood grocery store. It's so close that if I just need a couple of easy-to-carry items, I'll just walk three blocks, cross a street and bam! I'm there. No need to fill the air with fluorocarbons just for that. (Here's to you, Al!) However, it's also the grocery of choice for many of the more affluent neighborhoods which surround my more modest 'hood. So imagine my surprise yesterday, as I wheeled my cart out of the store like a bat-out-of-hell because I was running late to pick up Will from school, when I caught a whiff of pot, lingering 'round the front door. I know I laughed out loud, because I got a couple of interesting looks. And then I did a quick scan of the area, trying to figure out who might have been toking up outside our fancy-pants Publix. Made my whole day.
I've already shared the sordidly weird tales of my local post offices, which just add to the lore of my world. I'm thankful each time I run by there and have an incident-free experience.
And then there's the weird merchant marine/drug dealer across the street. He's apparently off on another "mission", as his truck's not in the driveway. There is, however, a motorbike of some sort there instead, with a protective cover on top. I can only assume he's off doing whatever it is he does on these ventures. However, the weather's been really nice here lately and I'm disappointed he's not around to set up his front yard leisure land.
Speaking of front yards, the guy three doors down from me was washing his car this morning -- he'd pulled it up into his yard and was wielding that hose. So, so classy. The Gladys Kravitz of the 'hood is doing something in her front yard involving what looks like lots of brick. I can't quite figure it out, but I'm hesitant to go ask her about it, as that will involve a long conversation about shit I don't care about. So I watch and speculate.
My immediate next door neighbors have a pop-up camper in their back yard. Again, I have no idea why. It's just there. I didn't think they had out-of-town guests at the moment, but again, I'm more content to speculate.
Maybe it's just because I'm a hyper-observant (read: nosy) person, but I can't imagine that I'm the only one whose everyday world is filled with these idiosyncratic things. Or maybe I'm just a weird-item magnet. That would totally explain some of the dates I've had in my life and times.
Regardless -- I'll keep you posted. There's never a dull moment 'round here.
(How weird is it?)
Well, I'll tell you.
(Apologies for the Match Game reference/indulgence)
I shop at what is literally my neighborhood grocery store. It's so close that if I just need a couple of easy-to-carry items, I'll just walk three blocks, cross a street and bam! I'm there. No need to fill the air with fluorocarbons just for that. (Here's to you, Al!) However, it's also the grocery of choice for many of the more affluent neighborhoods which surround my more modest 'hood. So imagine my surprise yesterday, as I wheeled my cart out of the store like a bat-out-of-hell because I was running late to pick up Will from school, when I caught a whiff of pot, lingering 'round the front door. I know I laughed out loud, because I got a couple of interesting looks. And then I did a quick scan of the area, trying to figure out who might have been toking up outside our fancy-pants Publix. Made my whole day.
I've already shared the sordidly weird tales of my local post offices, which just add to the lore of my world. I'm thankful each time I run by there and have an incident-free experience.
And then there's the weird merchant marine/drug dealer across the street. He's apparently off on another "mission", as his truck's not in the driveway. There is, however, a motorbike of some sort there instead, with a protective cover on top. I can only assume he's off doing whatever it is he does on these ventures. However, the weather's been really nice here lately and I'm disappointed he's not around to set up his front yard leisure land.
Speaking of front yards, the guy three doors down from me was washing his car this morning -- he'd pulled it up into his yard and was wielding that hose. So, so classy. The Gladys Kravitz of the 'hood is doing something in her front yard involving what looks like lots of brick. I can't quite figure it out, but I'm hesitant to go ask her about it, as that will involve a long conversation about shit I don't care about. So I watch and speculate.
My immediate next door neighbors have a pop-up camper in their back yard. Again, I have no idea why. It's just there. I didn't think they had out-of-town guests at the moment, but again, I'm more content to speculate.
Maybe it's just because I'm a hyper-observant (read: nosy) person, but I can't imagine that I'm the only one whose everyday world is filled with these idiosyncratic things. Or maybe I'm just a weird-item magnet. That would totally explain some of the dates I've had in my life and times.
Regardless -- I'll keep you posted. There's never a dull moment 'round here.
1.10.2008
Greatest Thing I've Read Today
From the girls at Go Fug Yourself, in a feature about Katie Holmes:
... Parenthetically, though, wouldn't it be awesome if Bea Arthur appeared out of the blue? Like if she could combine Passions and Pop-Up Video, making her disembodied head appear randomly to add color commentary for every situation? Her eyebrows would, I feel, sternly disapprove of the back of this dress resembling nothing so much as a giant satin tube top and a split zipper. And if I've learned anything in life, it's to fear the deployment of her mighty furrow.
I would die of happiness to see this pop up, spewing commentary:
... Parenthetically, though, wouldn't it be awesome if Bea Arthur appeared out of the blue? Like if she could combine Passions and Pop-Up Video, making her disembodied head appear randomly to add color commentary for every situation? Her eyebrows would, I feel, sternly disapprove of the back of this dress resembling nothing so much as a giant satin tube top and a split zipper. And if I've learned anything in life, it's to fear the deployment of her mighty furrow.
I would die of happiness to see this pop up, spewing commentary:
Well, It Beats the Hell Out of "I Love You, You Love Me..."
Music is a BIG part of life around here -- we play it, we sing it, we listen to it. I've never been one to listen to a lot of kids' music -- Will is growing up listening to what we do. Which has its good points and its bad points.
Example: My mother was working on some basic information with him, such as his name, where he lives, etc.
Take One
Nana: What is your name?
Will: My name is Will.
Nana: Where do you live?
Will: In a yellow submarine.
Take Two
Nana: Where do you live?
Will: Electric Avenue.
Gotta give him points for originality.
So, in that spirit, here's a partial list of Will's favorite songs (excluding those damn Wiggles, of course):
"It's The End of the World as We Know It" -- REM
"Shiny Happy People" -- REM
"Roxanne" -- The Police
"Hungry Like the Wolf" -- Duran Duran
"Don't You Want Me?" -- Human League
"Livin' on a Prayer" -- Bon Jovi
"Birdhouse in Your Soul" -- They Might Be Giants
"Closer to Fine" -- Indigo Girls
"De Doo Doo Doo, De Da Da Da" -- The Police
"Yellow Submarine" -- The Beatles
"Feelin' Groovy" -- Simon and Garfunkel
"Octopus' Garden" -- The Beatles
"Roll Over Beethoven" -- The Beatles
"You Are My Sunshine" -- Ray Charles
"Electric Avenue" -- Eddy Grant
"Take Me Home Tonight" -- Eddie Money
PS: Much like me, my son loves television and frequently gets his music cues from it. So imagine my reaction when I saw the latest Chips Ahoy commercial, featuring a chocolate chip cooking singing Rod Stewart's "Da Ya Think I'm Sexy?" Should he add that one to the repertoire, I just pray that he doesn't bust out with it one morning in Sunday School...
Example: My mother was working on some basic information with him, such as his name, where he lives, etc.
Take One
Nana: What is your name?
Will: My name is Will.
Nana: Where do you live?
Will: In a yellow submarine.
Take Two
Nana: Where do you live?
Will: Electric Avenue.
Gotta give him points for originality.
So, in that spirit, here's a partial list of Will's favorite songs (excluding those damn Wiggles, of course):
"It's The End of the World as We Know It" -- REM
"Shiny Happy People" -- REM
"Roxanne" -- The Police
"Hungry Like the Wolf" -- Duran Duran
"Don't You Want Me?" -- Human League
"Livin' on a Prayer" -- Bon Jovi
"Birdhouse in Your Soul" -- They Might Be Giants
"Closer to Fine" -- Indigo Girls
"De Doo Doo Doo, De Da Da Da" -- The Police
"Yellow Submarine" -- The Beatles
"Feelin' Groovy" -- Simon and Garfunkel
"Octopus' Garden" -- The Beatles
"Roll Over Beethoven" -- The Beatles
"You Are My Sunshine" -- Ray Charles
"Electric Avenue" -- Eddy Grant
"Take Me Home Tonight" -- Eddie Money
PS: Much like me, my son loves television and frequently gets his music cues from it. So imagine my reaction when I saw the latest Chips Ahoy commercial, featuring a chocolate chip cooking singing Rod Stewart's "Da Ya Think I'm Sexy?" Should he add that one to the repertoire, I just pray that he doesn't bust out with it one morning in Sunday School...
1.09.2008
Battle Cry
Taken from Barack Obama's speech last night in New Hampshire.
Gracious. Uplifting. Powerful.
...But in the unlikely story that is America, there has never been anything false about hope. For when we have faced down impossible odds; when we've been told that we're not ready, or that we shouldn't try, or that we can't, generations of Americans have responded with a simple creed that sums up the spirit of a people.
Yes we can.
... Yes we can to justice and equality. Yes we can to opportunity and prosperity. Yes we can heal this nation. Yes we can repair this world. Yes we can.
And so tomorrow, as we take this campaign South and West;... we will remember that there is something happening in America; that we are not as divided as our politics suggests; that we are one people; we are one nation; and together, we will begin the next great chapter in America's story with three words that will ring from coast to coast; from sea to shining sea - Yes. We. Can.
~~~~~~~~~~
I'm behind this man. Have been for nearly a year now, ever since he declared his candidacy. And I was chomping at the bit to get involved with his campaign on the state/local level. But party politics got in my way, with the Florida Democratic Party and the Democratic National Committee at odds regarding the timing of the Florida primary, scheduled for January 29th. Cardinal sin: it's prior to the magic February 5th date set as the starting point for all but a few chosen states. Per Howard Dean, my primary in my state will amount to nothing more than a straw ballot. And no candidates on my team have campaigned here at all.
Frankly, I think both sides have shot themselves in the foot -- the state, for bucking the system and the DNC for refusing to budge. Which is ridiculous on a lot of levels, considering that Dems have a real chance to take the White House this go-round, sporting some very viable candidates. It's not like Florida's a low-key, low-action battleground... anyone remember the chaotic brouhaha of 2000? I thought so. Honestly, there's a bigger picture here -- winning the election -- that should supersede any of this party posturing and infighting. At least in my opinion.
I have family members (none of my friends, ironically, are on the same political team as I am -- they refer to me affectionately as their tree-hugging hippie friend. Evs.) who are so fed up with this Democratic pissing match that they're considering re-registering as an Independent in a "screw-you-guys" (tm Cartman) protest. I'm not there yet -- maybe because my idealism is showing and I continue to believe that things will eventually work out come convention time.
I am pissed, though, that I haven't been able to work for a candidate that I fervently believe in -- haven't had this passion for a candidate and what he/she stands for since 1992. And I'll leave it at that.
Maybe I'll get my chance to do more than just send an e-contribution as the year progresses. Although I do have to say that I'm not missing the proliferation of political ads that seem to glut the airwaves this time of year. But with the writers' strike still in effect, I'm not watching all that much TV now as it is... yet another irony.
Regardless, I'll stay tuned to CNN and CNN.com and read the pundits and hope that when I do cast my ballot on January 29th, that it won't end up being for naught anywhere along the line.
Let me leave you with the political concept I hold most dear -- it's a critical time in our country. Regardless of where you stand politically or ideally or whatever... vote. Just go to the polls and hit that touch screen. It's our privilege, our right, our obligation. And casting your vote gives you the right to complain about the outcome, the results, the government. If you don't vote, you forfeit that right, intangibly anyway -- as far as I'm concerned.
So just do it. It's a good thing.
Gracious. Uplifting. Powerful.
...But in the unlikely story that is America, there has never been anything false about hope. For when we have faced down impossible odds; when we've been told that we're not ready, or that we shouldn't try, or that we can't, generations of Americans have responded with a simple creed that sums up the spirit of a people.
Yes we can.
... Yes we can to justice and equality. Yes we can to opportunity and prosperity. Yes we can heal this nation. Yes we can repair this world. Yes we can.
And so tomorrow, as we take this campaign South and West;... we will remember that there is something happening in America; that we are not as divided as our politics suggests; that we are one people; we are one nation; and together, we will begin the next great chapter in America's story with three words that will ring from coast to coast; from sea to shining sea - Yes. We. Can.
~~~~~~~~~~
I'm behind this man. Have been for nearly a year now, ever since he declared his candidacy. And I was chomping at the bit to get involved with his campaign on the state/local level. But party politics got in my way, with the Florida Democratic Party and the Democratic National Committee at odds regarding the timing of the Florida primary, scheduled for January 29th. Cardinal sin: it's prior to the magic February 5th date set as the starting point for all but a few chosen states. Per Howard Dean, my primary in my state will amount to nothing more than a straw ballot. And no candidates on my team have campaigned here at all.
Frankly, I think both sides have shot themselves in the foot -- the state, for bucking the system and the DNC for refusing to budge. Which is ridiculous on a lot of levels, considering that Dems have a real chance to take the White House this go-round, sporting some very viable candidates. It's not like Florida's a low-key, low-action battleground... anyone remember the chaotic brouhaha of 2000? I thought so. Honestly, there's a bigger picture here -- winning the election -- that should supersede any of this party posturing and infighting. At least in my opinion.
I have family members (none of my friends, ironically, are on the same political team as I am -- they refer to me affectionately as their tree-hugging hippie friend. Evs.) who are so fed up with this Democratic pissing match that they're considering re-registering as an Independent in a "screw-you-guys" (tm Cartman) protest. I'm not there yet -- maybe because my idealism is showing and I continue to believe that things will eventually work out come convention time.
I am pissed, though, that I haven't been able to work for a candidate that I fervently believe in -- haven't had this passion for a candidate and what he/she stands for since 1992. And I'll leave it at that.
Maybe I'll get my chance to do more than just send an e-contribution as the year progresses. Although I do have to say that I'm not missing the proliferation of political ads that seem to glut the airwaves this time of year. But with the writers' strike still in effect, I'm not watching all that much TV now as it is... yet another irony.
Regardless, I'll stay tuned to CNN and CNN.com and read the pundits and hope that when I do cast my ballot on January 29th, that it won't end up being for naught anywhere along the line.
Let me leave you with the political concept I hold most dear -- it's a critical time in our country. Regardless of where you stand politically or ideally or whatever... vote. Just go to the polls and hit that touch screen. It's our privilege, our right, our obligation. And casting your vote gives you the right to complain about the outcome, the results, the government. If you don't vote, you forfeit that right, intangibly anyway -- as far as I'm concerned.
So just do it. It's a good thing.
'Tain't Nobody Here But Me!
A winter's day
In a deep and dark December;
I am alone...
~ "I Am a Rock"
Simon and Garfunkel
Solitary confinement. What a glorious concept.
For the first time in over two weeks, I am alone in my house. No one here but me.
Shh... listen. Nothing but the sound of the television and the click*click*click of the keyboard.
Bliss.
Will has gone back to school, finally. The faucet that was his little nose has stopped running. My head cold has accepted a transfer to my chest and now I sound like I'm expectorating a lung with each and every hacking cough. But I feel better. Which is something.
I like being alone sometimes. I relish not having to be responsible for anyone or anything, just for the moment. That's not to say that I check out of my responsibilities completely -- part of me is always at the ready should the school call with an issue about Will. *knock on wood*
But for right now, it's just me and myself and I. I've always been like this -- one to relish time alone. Maybe it stems from living without a roommate for the 10 years between college and when I got married. There's just something liberating about being by myself in my house. I don't do anything weird during these times, like run around naked or engage in subversive habits. Which is kinda disappointing, now that I think about it -- I sound so dull. Hmmm.
Regardless, I do think that a nap is on the agenda for today, if for no other reason than to try and shake the Cold That Wouldn't Die. That might be as wild and crazy as I get. There'll be time for other more interesting solitary pursuits.
Hooray for that.
Footnote. circa 3:30 pm: Apparently Will had a little trouble re-focusing today in school -- two weeks off is a long time for a kindergartener. And now he's having a post-school meltdown in his room for some unknown reason.
Sigh. It was grand while it lasted. The silence, that is. Back to Mama Duty.
In a deep and dark December;
I am alone...
~ "I Am a Rock"
Simon and Garfunkel
Solitary confinement. What a glorious concept.
For the first time in over two weeks, I am alone in my house. No one here but me.
Shh... listen. Nothing but the sound of the television and the click*click*click of the keyboard.
Bliss.
Will has gone back to school, finally. The faucet that was his little nose has stopped running. My head cold has accepted a transfer to my chest and now I sound like I'm expectorating a lung with each and every hacking cough. But I feel better. Which is something.
I like being alone sometimes. I relish not having to be responsible for anyone or anything, just for the moment. That's not to say that I check out of my responsibilities completely -- part of me is always at the ready should the school call with an issue about Will. *knock on wood*
But for right now, it's just me and myself and I. I've always been like this -- one to relish time alone. Maybe it stems from living without a roommate for the 10 years between college and when I got married. There's just something liberating about being by myself in my house. I don't do anything weird during these times, like run around naked or engage in subversive habits. Which is kinda disappointing, now that I think about it -- I sound so dull. Hmmm.
Regardless, I do think that a nap is on the agenda for today, if for no other reason than to try and shake the Cold That Wouldn't Die. That might be as wild and crazy as I get. There'll be time for other more interesting solitary pursuits.
Hooray for that.
Footnote. circa 3:30 pm: Apparently Will had a little trouble re-focusing today in school -- two weeks off is a long time for a kindergartener. And now he's having a post-school meltdown in his room for some unknown reason.
Sigh. It was grand while it lasted. The silence, that is. Back to Mama Duty.
1.08.2008
¡Queso de la Musica!
I was treking through my iTunes library and came across a couple of really cheesy songs that I'd forgotten about but I love... a trip to YouTube helped me to bring them to life:
Here's Melissa Manchester (sporting a haircut remarkably similar to one I had at the same time) with "You Should Hear How She Talks About You"
You should hear how she talks about you,
You should hear what she says
She says she would be lost without you,
She's half out of her head (out of her head)
You should hear how she talks about you,
She just can't get enough.
She says she would be lost without you,
She is really in love.
(spoken) She's in love with you boy
Love Melissa's hot-to-trot red dress in that clip... it just sums everything up.
----------------
And here's Barry Manilow, with a recent performance of my favorite song of his (Shut. Up.) -- "Even Now"
Even now when there's someone else who cares
When there's someone home who's waiting just for me
Even now I think about you as I'm climbing up the stairs
And I wonder what to do so she won't see that
Even now when I know it wasn't right
And I've found a better life than what we had
Even now I wake up crying in the middle of the night
And I can't believe it still could hurt so bad
Even now when I have come so far
I wonder where you are, I wonder why it's still so hard without you
Even now when I come shining through, I swear I think of you
And how I wish you knew, even now
So sappy yet so poignant. Even as a fourth grader, listening to my Barry Manilow cassette on my bright yellow Panasonic player, this song got to me. Still does.
----------------
It's techno-disco Liza! with "Losing My Mind" -- my favorite Sondheim number all dressed up in sequins and sample beats:
...All afternoon,
Doing every little chore,
The thought of you stays bright.
Sometimes I stand
In the middle of the floor,
Not going left,
Not going right.
I dim the lights
And think about you,
Spend sleepless nights
To think about you.
You said you loved me,
Or were you just being kind?
Or am I losing my mind?
This is not my preferred version of this song (that honour goes to Julia McKensie on the Side by Side by Sondheim OCR), but I love Liza so very much -- and therefore it works for me on a purely entertainment level.
The question now is: Have I consumed my NutriSystem daily allotted dairy servings, thanks to the cheesy goodness of these songs...
Here's Melissa Manchester (sporting a haircut remarkably similar to one I had at the same time) with "You Should Hear How She Talks About You"
You should hear how she talks about you,
You should hear what she says
She says she would be lost without you,
She's half out of her head (out of her head)
You should hear how she talks about you,
She just can't get enough.
She says she would be lost without you,
She is really in love.
(spoken) She's in love with you boy
Love Melissa's hot-to-trot red dress in that clip... it just sums everything up.
----------------
And here's Barry Manilow, with a recent performance of my favorite song of his (Shut. Up.) -- "Even Now"
Even now when there's someone else who cares
When there's someone home who's waiting just for me
Even now I think about you as I'm climbing up the stairs
And I wonder what to do so she won't see that
Even now when I know it wasn't right
And I've found a better life than what we had
Even now I wake up crying in the middle of the night
And I can't believe it still could hurt so bad
Even now when I have come so far
I wonder where you are, I wonder why it's still so hard without you
Even now when I come shining through, I swear I think of you
And how I wish you knew, even now
So sappy yet so poignant. Even as a fourth grader, listening to my Barry Manilow cassette on my bright yellow Panasonic player, this song got to me. Still does.
----------------
It's techno-disco Liza! with "Losing My Mind" -- my favorite Sondheim number all dressed up in sequins and sample beats:
...All afternoon,
Doing every little chore,
The thought of you stays bright.
Sometimes I stand
In the middle of the floor,
Not going left,
Not going right.
I dim the lights
And think about you,
Spend sleepless nights
To think about you.
You said you loved me,
Or were you just being kind?
Or am I losing my mind?
This is not my preferred version of this song (that honour goes to Julia McKensie on the Side by Side by Sondheim OCR), but I love Liza so very much -- and therefore it works for me on a purely entertainment level.
The question now is: Have I consumed my NutriSystem daily allotted dairy servings, thanks to the cheesy goodness of these songs...
And The World Spins Madly Round...
True confession: I am an information junkie. Gotta be in the know, at all times. First thing I do upon waking in the morning -- check the e-mail. Check the headlines.
CNN.com. Check.
SportsIllustrated.com. Check.
RollingStone.com. Check.
eonline.com. Check.
TVGuide.com. Check.
BarackObama.com. Check.
This need for news is a matter of frustration for the mister -- he isn't wired like this. At all. My checking of the internet whilst we were on the cruise was a bone of contention between us: he wanted to totally disengage from the outside world; I had to know what was going on to feel calm. My mind is weird in that it never really shuts off -- a blessing and a curse and most likely the subject matter for a therapy session to be discussed later.
We had a TV in our cabin (a nice one, too -- flat screen with a DVD player.) However, our channel selection at sea, as you might imagine, was limited. Satellite versions of CNN, ESPN, TNT, TCM and The Discovery Channel. What really interested me was seeing my country -- the good old USA -- portrayed by the world media, as opposed to the homegrown coverage I'm used to. The CNN broadcast was, as best I could tell, out of Hong Kong. The Bhutto assassination was the big, ongoing story, with coverage from every angle. I learned about the rise in champagne consumption in India. And the latest rankings in some European soccer league. Plus I was well-informed about all the rain plaguing the Asian continent.
It was jarring, but appropriate, to hear the Iowa caucuses referred to as the American Presidential Elections... to an international audience, it was just one more item for the world news section -- for me, it was much more than that. We did get the local/US feeds on caucus night, complete with Anderson Cooper and Wolf Blitzer and pundits-a-go-go. But the saturation I'm used to wasn't there. And honestly, it was refreshing. I would have liked to have seen more about Obama's victory (YAY! WHOOPEE!), but then again, I'm very biased in that area.
I'm coupling this with my port visits to Guatemala and Mexico, which also provided perspective for me. Guatemala, especially. We docked in the port of Santo Tomas de Castilla -- which is basically a commercial shipping port. Lots of big land-to-sea metal containers as far as the eye can see. No frills, no fuss, nothing fancy -- even the little "market" set up for cruise tourists like us was simple and streamlined. We took a tour bus about an hour and a half out from the port to visit the archaeological site of Quirigua -- one of the smallest Mayan cities, but one of the most notable due to its splendid series of monuments. The site itself was totally fascinating and whet my appetite to learn more and see more of the Mayan world.
However, the bus ride was more enlightening than I could have imagined. The starkness and utilitarianism of the port was but a mere precursor to what we would see riding through the countryside. Simplicity. Tarnished pastoralism. A third-world country. Ramshackle buildings serving as homes and businesses and meeting places. Tangible residue of ventures and perhaps dreams long gone. But in the midst of what my American eyes saw as impoverished chaos, I saw people. All ages, shapes, sizes. Hard working adults, wielding machetes of determination. Young men toting wood on carts attached to bicycles. Children running through fields with joyful abandon. Multi-generational women using the laundry line as a coffee klatch. I'd never seen anything quite like this before. I hope it's not the last time I'm witness to it. My church sponsors mission trips on a regular basis to Central and South America -- might be time for me to clear the schedule and participate. I suspect that it would be a life-changing experience for me -- to give some of myself and to get so much in return. On the other hand, there is so much to be done here at home, where our areas in need are of a different flavor but still no less needy.
I forget sometimes that the USA does not the entire world make -- it was a good object lesson for me to see that we're not the only dog in the hunt, so to speak. It was also enlightening to see my country through the eyes of others. And in turn, see a tiny piece of the world without the frills and adornment designed for tourists with travelers checks burning holes in their wallets. That's not to say that I didn't do my part to help the local economy by shopping (not having to pack to travel by plane helped me to legitimize many purchases) -- but I think that I can do more. Maybe here, maybe there.
I'm still a very proud American -- only now, I'm a more respectful one.
Which hopefully makes me a better world citizen.
CNN.com. Check.
SportsIllustrated.com. Check.
RollingStone.com. Check.
eonline.com. Check.
TVGuide.com. Check.
BarackObama.com. Check.
This need for news is a matter of frustration for the mister -- he isn't wired like this. At all. My checking of the internet whilst we were on the cruise was a bone of contention between us: he wanted to totally disengage from the outside world; I had to know what was going on to feel calm. My mind is weird in that it never really shuts off -- a blessing and a curse and most likely the subject matter for a therapy session to be discussed later.
We had a TV in our cabin (a nice one, too -- flat screen with a DVD player.) However, our channel selection at sea, as you might imagine, was limited. Satellite versions of CNN, ESPN, TNT, TCM and The Discovery Channel. What really interested me was seeing my country -- the good old USA -- portrayed by the world media, as opposed to the homegrown coverage I'm used to. The CNN broadcast was, as best I could tell, out of Hong Kong. The Bhutto assassination was the big, ongoing story, with coverage from every angle. I learned about the rise in champagne consumption in India. And the latest rankings in some European soccer league. Plus I was well-informed about all the rain plaguing the Asian continent.
It was jarring, but appropriate, to hear the Iowa caucuses referred to as the American Presidential Elections... to an international audience, it was just one more item for the world news section -- for me, it was much more than that. We did get the local/US feeds on caucus night, complete with Anderson Cooper and Wolf Blitzer and pundits-a-go-go. But the saturation I'm used to wasn't there. And honestly, it was refreshing. I would have liked to have seen more about Obama's victory (YAY! WHOOPEE!), but then again, I'm very biased in that area.
I'm coupling this with my port visits to Guatemala and Mexico, which also provided perspective for me. Guatemala, especially. We docked in the port of Santo Tomas de Castilla -- which is basically a commercial shipping port. Lots of big land-to-sea metal containers as far as the eye can see. No frills, no fuss, nothing fancy -- even the little "market" set up for cruise tourists like us was simple and streamlined. We took a tour bus about an hour and a half out from the port to visit the archaeological site of Quirigua -- one of the smallest Mayan cities, but one of the most notable due to its splendid series of monuments. The site itself was totally fascinating and whet my appetite to learn more and see more of the Mayan world.
However, the bus ride was more enlightening than I could have imagined. The starkness and utilitarianism of the port was but a mere precursor to what we would see riding through the countryside. Simplicity. Tarnished pastoralism. A third-world country. Ramshackle buildings serving as homes and businesses and meeting places. Tangible residue of ventures and perhaps dreams long gone. But in the midst of what my American eyes saw as impoverished chaos, I saw people. All ages, shapes, sizes. Hard working adults, wielding machetes of determination. Young men toting wood on carts attached to bicycles. Children running through fields with joyful abandon. Multi-generational women using the laundry line as a coffee klatch. I'd never seen anything quite like this before. I hope it's not the last time I'm witness to it. My church sponsors mission trips on a regular basis to Central and South America -- might be time for me to clear the schedule and participate. I suspect that it would be a life-changing experience for me -- to give some of myself and to get so much in return. On the other hand, there is so much to be done here at home, where our areas in need are of a different flavor but still no less needy.
I forget sometimes that the USA does not the entire world make -- it was a good object lesson for me to see that we're not the only dog in the hunt, so to speak. It was also enlightening to see my country through the eyes of others. And in turn, see a tiny piece of the world without the frills and adornment designed for tourists with travelers checks burning holes in their wallets. That's not to say that I didn't do my part to help the local economy by shopping (not having to pack to travel by plane helped me to legitimize many purchases) -- but I think that I can do more. Maybe here, maybe there.
I'm still a very proud American -- only now, I'm a more respectful one.
Which hopefully makes me a better world citizen.
1.07.2008
Post Rewind
A fabulous but lazy friend (and I say that with all love and affection) was trying to hunt down this ancient post of mine, buried in the depths of my ramblings and lunacy. As a favor, I dug it up, blew off the cobwebs, and am "reprinting" it here. This one's for you, darling...
When I hear music, I fear no danger. I am invulnerable. I see no foe. I am related to the earliest times, and to the latest.
-- Henry David Thoreau
Picture this: carpool-driving-road-warrior mom (call her LP) is on her way to pick up her Toddler-in-Residence from summer school. Radio playing. Loudly. Natch. A familar guitar riff pops out of the speakers, followed by a driving beat. Meat Loaf’s “Paradise by the Dashboard Light”. LP drives circles around the school, singing along lustily, as is her habit, until the very long-ass song is complete. She is late to collect her young charge as a result. But the disapproving stares were worth it.
__________________________________
I was discussing the impact of the music of one’s youth on a internet forum recently with some lovely bright folks somewhat younger than I. Discerning music fans all, they were rightfully bemoaning the fact that the hallmark songs and sounds of their generation are poppy, cotton candy-esque and ultimately disposable. I feel for them, as the music of my youth had a profound influence on me -- and honestly, on who I am today. So, in that spirit, I took a little walk down memory lane.
During that time in my life -- those young adult years -- it was the early 1980s.
At that time, I experienced...
...Prince wowing everyone with Purple Rain;
...Michael Jackson and Thriller (which is arguably one of the great albums of all time, despite the fact that he's descended into disturbing madness and deviant behavior, effectively destroying any relevance he might have had today);
...the Commodores being funkycoolsoulful;
...the Rolling Stones still being relevant -- Tattoo You is splendid, even the ubiquitous "Start Me Up" -- a song I must crank up to eleven, even to this day;
...Genesis and Abacab changing how I listen to music, hearing the nuances;
...my eternally beloved Police, also changing how I listen to music -- with my brain in addition to my ears;
...the emergence of my too-cool-for-school R.E.M. and their fellow Athens musicians, the B-52s (who I saw on a bill with Tom Petty and the Heartbreakers and the Who. Strange combo, great concert);
...the intelligent timeless songwriting of Billy Joel. Although I haven't listened seriously to anything he recorded after 1986, those early albums -- The Stranger, Glass Houses (my favorite overall, I think), The Nylon Curtain ("Where's the Orchestra" is my beloved) -- still hold up and get a lot of play on ye olde iPod;
...my re-introduction to the classics of the 1960s, thanks to The Big Chill. I went through a brief phase when I didn’t listen to anything released after 1970 -- not a conscious choice, but just the frame of mind I was in. The Kinks. The Mama and the Papas, The Beatles. The Stones. The Monkees;
...the igniting of my appreciation of classical music thanks to Amadeus;
...the birth of my passionate love of jazz overseen by Al Jarreau and his seminal Breaking Away album and cemented by Harry Connick and the soundtrack for When Harry Met Sally;
...a young woman named Madonna who made some damn catchy dance music while capturing the attention of a nation with her brash style and cheeky attitude (and oh! those big-ass hair bows, skirts paired with leggings and jellies with ankle socks -- man, did I think I looked cool as shit in that getup...)
...the unexpected treasures found on college radio, where cutting-edge, inventive, experimental music was played, current mainstream trends be damned. I don’t live in an area where such a station exists at the moment, so I have to work a little harder to seek out those bands and artists who aren’t overexposed on Top 40 radio but whose fresh approach to music I crave. Never would have discovered Squeeze if not for college radio. And my life would have been just a smidge less complete.;
... the birth of MTV. When it was a renegade channel playing nothing but music videos. And what I watched religiously. Even while studying. (Which explains a bit about my GPA.) Duran Duran. The Fixx. Michael Jackson. Culture Club. Men at Work. Hall & Oates. The Go-Gos. The Bangles. We could actually see the music, sometimes portrayed in a very no-nonsense fashion, sometimes presented cloaked in the abstract, obscure or just plain weird. Anyone remember the Wall of Voodoo “Mexican Radio” video, with the guy’s face emerging from the bowl of beans? Who thinks up this stuff? And why didn’t they share what they were smoking when they were in the “creative” process?
Video didn’t kill the radio star.
It just forced him to hire a stylist.
I often think in music. I live my daydreams in music. I see my life in terms of music.
-- Albert Einstein
Memories intertwined with music are everywhere, especially during those impressionable young adult years. I was thrown out of a high school dance for singing, along with my incorrigible buddies, all the words to Jimmy Buffett’s “Why Don’t We Get Drunk and Screw?” very, very loudly. Acapella. My long-time boyfriend liked to listen to Kenny Rogers (sad but true; can't hear "Lady" to this day without feeling a little twinge of first love) while we made out and steamed up the windows of his Honda Civic. I hear Joe Jackson’s “Breaking Us in Two” and instantly go right back to my freshman year dorm room.
The opening notes of Hall & Oates’ “Out of Touch” reminds me of the boyfriend of a sorority sister of mine with whom I shared a fairly intense mutual crush complete with lots of lustful, knowing glances and some serious, serious flirting. (Oh, how I love to flirt. Still do.) Sheila E’s “The Glamourous Life” puts me in the backseat of my college roommate/best friend’s vintage diesel Mercedes sedan, motoring down the road for a weekend away in Jacksonville. The Psychedelic Furs’ “Love my Way” sends me straight to a late night alterna-dance club called The Vatican which reigned for a short time as the place-to-be-after-2-am in Gainesville in 1986.
"(Keep Feeling) Fascination" by the Human League reminds me of a Friday afternoon spent dancing on a wall in the front yard of a neighboring fraternity house located on one of Gaineville's main drags, beer in hand, the other hand waving to cars (many with people I knew in them) as they rolled by. Springsteen’s “Glory Days” has me sitting on a bar stool at my favorite watering hole, drinking a Killian's Red out of my special numbered bar-regular mug, eating a chicken salad sandwich and waiting for Jeopardy to come on at 11:30 pm, after spending the evening typing away at the Journalism School. Sting singing “If You Love Somebody Set Them Free" reminds me of spending a Saturday afternoon during a Labor Day weekend in that same bar, spending my laundry change on beer, casually waiting for Hurricane Elena to hit the west coast of Florida.
INXS’s “What You Need” takes me back to late nights working on an intense Student Government campaign, where I was the communications guru whose primary job was tailing a bright but totally unfocused candidate in hopes he that wouldn’t say or do anything stupid. Especially after a couple of beers. And Heart’s “Alone” reminds me of the unspoken, unrequited love I had for said fellow, about which I always suspected he knew, but never did anything about.
Music is nothing separate from me. It is me... You'd have to remove the music surgically.
-- Ray Charles
For every connection I just made, I’ve got a least a dozen more. Music is so much a part of me. I’m not the greatest musican or music scholar. I just know what I like. And am passionate to a fault about it. And I keep music around me as much as possible. My iTunes is rolling right now as I write this. Love & Rockets' “So Alive," to be precise. Hypnotic song with a very sexy underbeat. Oh yeah.
I now realize how much of my life is defined by music -- where I was when I heard a song; what was playing when thus and such happened; why a set of lyrics can instantly make me happy or melancholy or thoughtful or joyous. And my musical tastes were truly defined during that critical young adult period in my life. When I was figuring out who I was, what I wanted, where I would go, the songs around me became ingrained. And I still listen to them today. As well as innumerable other songs discovered since. My iPod is a bottomless well, ready to hold any aural pleasure I can find.
And as I review the songs of my youth, the melodies of my soul, the lyrics of my psyche, I also can see the Bright Young Thing I used to be, just briefly. But just long enough to recognize her. And like what I see. Long enough to remember who she is and to subsequently motivate me to reaquaint myself with her. She's still here, in me. Never left. Hate how long it took me to realize that. I just gotta find out where's she's been hiding and make her relevant again (and hip... always gotta be hip.)
The cliche of the soundtrack of one’s life is strikingly accurate. At least in my experience.
And just as characters in a musical spontaniously break into song, so do I.
Doesn’t everyone?
And if they don’t, they should.
They’re missing out on one of life’s greatest joys if they don't.
Na nanana na nanana na na
na na na na nana.
Ah ah ah...
(“Dyslexic Heart” by Paul Westerburg)
Music is the vernacular of the human soul.
-- Geoffrey Latham
When I hear music, I fear no danger. I am invulnerable. I see no foe. I am related to the earliest times, and to the latest.
-- Henry David Thoreau
Picture this: carpool-driving-road-warrior mom (call her LP) is on her way to pick up her Toddler-in-Residence from summer school. Radio playing. Loudly. Natch. A familar guitar riff pops out of the speakers, followed by a driving beat. Meat Loaf’s “Paradise by the Dashboard Light”. LP drives circles around the school, singing along lustily, as is her habit, until the very long-ass song is complete. She is late to collect her young charge as a result. But the disapproving stares were worth it.
__________________________________
I was discussing the impact of the music of one’s youth on a internet forum recently with some lovely bright folks somewhat younger than I. Discerning music fans all, they were rightfully bemoaning the fact that the hallmark songs and sounds of their generation are poppy, cotton candy-esque and ultimately disposable. I feel for them, as the music of my youth had a profound influence on me -- and honestly, on who I am today. So, in that spirit, I took a little walk down memory lane.
During that time in my life -- those young adult years -- it was the early 1980s.
At that time, I experienced...
...Prince wowing everyone with Purple Rain;
...Michael Jackson and Thriller (which is arguably one of the great albums of all time, despite the fact that he's descended into disturbing madness and deviant behavior, effectively destroying any relevance he might have had today);
...the Commodores being funkycoolsoulful;
...the Rolling Stones still being relevant -- Tattoo You is splendid, even the ubiquitous "Start Me Up" -- a song I must crank up to eleven, even to this day;
...Genesis and Abacab changing how I listen to music, hearing the nuances;
...my eternally beloved Police, also changing how I listen to music -- with my brain in addition to my ears;
...the emergence of my too-cool-for-school R.E.M. and their fellow Athens musicians, the B-52s (who I saw on a bill with Tom Petty and the Heartbreakers and the Who. Strange combo, great concert);
...the intelligent timeless songwriting of Billy Joel. Although I haven't listened seriously to anything he recorded after 1986, those early albums -- The Stranger, Glass Houses (my favorite overall, I think), The Nylon Curtain ("Where's the Orchestra" is my beloved) -- still hold up and get a lot of play on ye olde iPod;
...my re-introduction to the classics of the 1960s, thanks to The Big Chill. I went through a brief phase when I didn’t listen to anything released after 1970 -- not a conscious choice, but just the frame of mind I was in. The Kinks. The Mama and the Papas, The Beatles. The Stones. The Monkees;
...the igniting of my appreciation of classical music thanks to Amadeus;
...the birth of my passionate love of jazz overseen by Al Jarreau and his seminal Breaking Away album and cemented by Harry Connick and the soundtrack for When Harry Met Sally;
...a young woman named Madonna who made some damn catchy dance music while capturing the attention of a nation with her brash style and cheeky attitude (and oh! those big-ass hair bows, skirts paired with leggings and jellies with ankle socks -- man, did I think I looked cool as shit in that getup...)
...the unexpected treasures found on college radio, where cutting-edge, inventive, experimental music was played, current mainstream trends be damned. I don’t live in an area where such a station exists at the moment, so I have to work a little harder to seek out those bands and artists who aren’t overexposed on Top 40 radio but whose fresh approach to music I crave. Never would have discovered Squeeze if not for college radio. And my life would have been just a smidge less complete.;
... the birth of MTV. When it was a renegade channel playing nothing but music videos. And what I watched religiously. Even while studying. (Which explains a bit about my GPA.) Duran Duran. The Fixx. Michael Jackson. Culture Club. Men at Work. Hall & Oates. The Go-Gos. The Bangles. We could actually see the music, sometimes portrayed in a very no-nonsense fashion, sometimes presented cloaked in the abstract, obscure or just plain weird. Anyone remember the Wall of Voodoo “Mexican Radio” video, with the guy’s face emerging from the bowl of beans? Who thinks up this stuff? And why didn’t they share what they were smoking when they were in the “creative” process?
Video didn’t kill the radio star.
It just forced him to hire a stylist.
I often think in music. I live my daydreams in music. I see my life in terms of music.
-- Albert Einstein
Memories intertwined with music are everywhere, especially during those impressionable young adult years. I was thrown out of a high school dance for singing, along with my incorrigible buddies, all the words to Jimmy Buffett’s “Why Don’t We Get Drunk and Screw?” very, very loudly. Acapella. My long-time boyfriend liked to listen to Kenny Rogers (sad but true; can't hear "Lady" to this day without feeling a little twinge of first love) while we made out and steamed up the windows of his Honda Civic. I hear Joe Jackson’s “Breaking Us in Two” and instantly go right back to my freshman year dorm room.
The opening notes of Hall & Oates’ “Out of Touch” reminds me of the boyfriend of a sorority sister of mine with whom I shared a fairly intense mutual crush complete with lots of lustful, knowing glances and some serious, serious flirting. (Oh, how I love to flirt. Still do.) Sheila E’s “The Glamourous Life” puts me in the backseat of my college roommate/best friend’s vintage diesel Mercedes sedan, motoring down the road for a weekend away in Jacksonville. The Psychedelic Furs’ “Love my Way” sends me straight to a late night alterna-dance club called The Vatican which reigned for a short time as the place-to-be-after-2-am in Gainesville in 1986.
"(Keep Feeling) Fascination" by the Human League reminds me of a Friday afternoon spent dancing on a wall in the front yard of a neighboring fraternity house located on one of Gaineville's main drags, beer in hand, the other hand waving to cars (many with people I knew in them) as they rolled by. Springsteen’s “Glory Days” has me sitting on a bar stool at my favorite watering hole, drinking a Killian's Red out of my special numbered bar-regular mug, eating a chicken salad sandwich and waiting for Jeopardy to come on at 11:30 pm, after spending the evening typing away at the Journalism School. Sting singing “If You Love Somebody Set Them Free" reminds me of spending a Saturday afternoon during a Labor Day weekend in that same bar, spending my laundry change on beer, casually waiting for Hurricane Elena to hit the west coast of Florida.
INXS’s “What You Need” takes me back to late nights working on an intense Student Government campaign, where I was the communications guru whose primary job was tailing a bright but totally unfocused candidate in hopes he that wouldn’t say or do anything stupid. Especially after a couple of beers. And Heart’s “Alone” reminds me of the unspoken, unrequited love I had for said fellow, about which I always suspected he knew, but never did anything about.
Music is nothing separate from me. It is me... You'd have to remove the music surgically.
-- Ray Charles
For every connection I just made, I’ve got a least a dozen more. Music is so much a part of me. I’m not the greatest musican or music scholar. I just know what I like. And am passionate to a fault about it. And I keep music around me as much as possible. My iTunes is rolling right now as I write this. Love & Rockets' “So Alive," to be precise. Hypnotic song with a very sexy underbeat. Oh yeah.
I now realize how much of my life is defined by music -- where I was when I heard a song; what was playing when thus and such happened; why a set of lyrics can instantly make me happy or melancholy or thoughtful or joyous. And my musical tastes were truly defined during that critical young adult period in my life. When I was figuring out who I was, what I wanted, where I would go, the songs around me became ingrained. And I still listen to them today. As well as innumerable other songs discovered since. My iPod is a bottomless well, ready to hold any aural pleasure I can find.
And as I review the songs of my youth, the melodies of my soul, the lyrics of my psyche, I also can see the Bright Young Thing I used to be, just briefly. But just long enough to recognize her. And like what I see. Long enough to remember who she is and to subsequently motivate me to reaquaint myself with her. She's still here, in me. Never left. Hate how long it took me to realize that. I just gotta find out where's she's been hiding and make her relevant again (and hip... always gotta be hip.)
The cliche of the soundtrack of one’s life is strikingly accurate. At least in my experience.
And just as characters in a musical spontaniously break into song, so do I.
Doesn’t everyone?
And if they don’t, they should.
They’re missing out on one of life’s greatest joys if they don't.
Na nanana na nanana na na
na na na na nana.
Ah ah ah...
(“Dyslexic Heart” by Paul Westerburg)
Music is the vernacular of the human soul.
-- Geoffrey Latham
Docked and Disembarked
When marimba rhythms start to play
Dance with me, make me sway
Like a lazy ocean hugs the shore
Hold me close, sway me more...
~ "Sway" (as sung by Dean Martin!)
Terra firma is now once again under my feet. We are home from a weird, weird week on the high seas. And I do mean high. The cruise log, so thoughtfully provided by the ship's very efficient staff, showed that during our roller coaster time in the tropics, we at one point, were moving through winds of Gale Force 9. A quick run through Google took me to the Beaufort Wind Scale, which indicates that Gale Force 9 winds range from 47-54 miles an hour, producing waves of 23-32 feet. Here's the little drawing that accompanied the data:
Ai yi yi.
It's no wonder I still am having some serious balance/equilibrium problems even now, after being off the boat for over 24 hours. My lingering cold *coughhackcough* might have something to do with that as well. El yucko. However, it's better to be sick in gale force winds on a lovely cruise ship than at home in Florida, watching the Weather Channel and checking my home owner's insurance policy. I don't have people to bring me Bloody Marys at home during such situations. Unfortunately.
And now I'm about the business of Cruise Aftermath Cleanup. The bonus about driving to the port, rather than flying, was that I didn't have to worry about packing the suitcase(s) and all the souvenirs for plane transport. Packing liquids and gels in my carry on luggage -- how daring and liberating! But I've got loads and loads of laundry and piles of dry cleaning to tend to and where did I pack my book that I was reading... not that I have time to pick it up, now that I'm back to my real life.
But when I drink a cold one out of my Sloppy Joe's bottle coozy and make the sope recipe I learned on my cooking excursion for friends and tote my stuff around in the gorgeous Guatemalan tote I bought, I can remember what it was like to be a lady of leisure, trying to keep her balance through tropical stormy seas. And that, in turn, might help me keep my balance here in reality.
I'll drink to that.
Dance with me, make me sway
Like a lazy ocean hugs the shore
Hold me close, sway me more...
~ "Sway" (as sung by Dean Martin!)
Terra firma is now once again under my feet. We are home from a weird, weird week on the high seas. And I do mean high. The cruise log, so thoughtfully provided by the ship's very efficient staff, showed that during our roller coaster time in the tropics, we at one point, were moving through winds of Gale Force 9. A quick run through Google took me to the Beaufort Wind Scale, which indicates that Gale Force 9 winds range from 47-54 miles an hour, producing waves of 23-32 feet. Here's the little drawing that accompanied the data:
Ai yi yi.
It's no wonder I still am having some serious balance/equilibrium problems even now, after being off the boat for over 24 hours. My lingering cold *coughhackcough* might have something to do with that as well. El yucko. However, it's better to be sick in gale force winds on a lovely cruise ship than at home in Florida, watching the Weather Channel and checking my home owner's insurance policy. I don't have people to bring me Bloody Marys at home during such situations. Unfortunately.
And now I'm about the business of Cruise Aftermath Cleanup. The bonus about driving to the port, rather than flying, was that I didn't have to worry about packing the suitcase(s) and all the souvenirs for plane transport. Packing liquids and gels in my carry on luggage -- how daring and liberating! But I've got loads and loads of laundry and piles of dry cleaning to tend to and where did I pack my book that I was reading... not that I have time to pick it up, now that I'm back to my real life.
But when I drink a cold one out of my Sloppy Joe's bottle coozy and make the sope recipe I learned on my cooking excursion for friends and tote my stuff around in the gorgeous Guatemalan tote I bought, I can remember what it was like to be a lady of leisure, trying to keep her balance through tropical stormy seas. And that, in turn, might help me keep my balance here in reality.
I'll drink to that.
1.02.2008
Aboard the High Seas ... the REALLY High Seas
And now I know how the passengers on the Minnow felt.
We're bobbing around in the Caribbean, somewhere between Belize and Guatemala. In the midst of a stormy cold front (who knew those things even existed in the tropics...)
Gale force winds. Rain. And whitecap-crested surf. Up, down, all around. It's crazy. Our stop in Belize got canned because of the inclement weather. Which is disappointing and also OK. I'm nursing a cold. Damnit. It's either the same one that felled my family on Christmas or a new germ-ridden delight. Regardless, I feel yucky. So it's probably not a bad thing for me just to hang out on the ship, read, watch America's Next Top Model on the iPod and chill.
The highlight of the trip so far was my overwhelming victory in the pop culture game show. The second place contestant: 1900 points. Me: 10,300 points. I came, I saw, I kicked ass and took names. Next stop: World Series of Pop Culture (anyone want to form a team with me?)
It's been a fun time so far -- did some drinking and poking around in Key West. Found an independent bookstore that I could have easily spent hours in. Drank at Sloppy Joe's, in honour of Papa H.
Next stop: Guatemala. Here's hoping I don't encounter Thurston and Lovey somewhere along the way.
xoxoxo
We're bobbing around in the Caribbean, somewhere between Belize and Guatemala. In the midst of a stormy cold front (who knew those things even existed in the tropics...)
Gale force winds. Rain. And whitecap-crested surf. Up, down, all around. It's crazy. Our stop in Belize got canned because of the inclement weather. Which is disappointing and also OK. I'm nursing a cold. Damnit. It's either the same one that felled my family on Christmas or a new germ-ridden delight. Regardless, I feel yucky. So it's probably not a bad thing for me just to hang out on the ship, read, watch America's Next Top Model on the iPod and chill.
The highlight of the trip so far was my overwhelming victory in the pop culture game show. The second place contestant: 1900 points. Me: 10,300 points. I came, I saw, I kicked ass and took names. Next stop: World Series of Pop Culture (anyone want to form a team with me?)
It's been a fun time so far -- did some drinking and poking around in Key West. Found an independent bookstore that I could have easily spent hours in. Drank at Sloppy Joe's, in honour of Papa H.
Next stop: Guatemala. Here's hoping I don't encounter Thurston and Lovey somewhere along the way.
xoxoxo
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