So, for those of you not paying attention, I'm an avid live music lover. A professional concert goer, if you will (although no one has yet to actually pay me to attend their gig). With years, nay decades of concert experience under my belt I have learned that there is a definite etiquette, or at the very least a set of unwritten rules, one should adhere to, especially when in a standing room only situation.
Recently my bestie E and I went to the Carnival of Madness tour at Rams Head Live downtown. It was one kick ass line up: Emphatic, Adelita's Way, Black Stone Cherry (my fourth time seeing these boys), Alter Bridge, and Theory of a Deadman. A good long night of modern rock. And it was here that I was reminded of a few of the aforementioned unwritten rules.....
- If you are 6' or taller, get out of the way: How many times have you gotten to a venue early in order to secure a prime viewing spot only to have some Jolly Green Giant dumb ass show up later and just walk right in front of you and fucking... stop. Stop. Right there, with no regard for the normal sized human beings behind him. I certainly have, too many times to count, so when it happened at Rams Head I said to the giant "Now I KNOW you did not just park you 7' tall ass right in front of me!" He turned, we made it into a bit of a joke, but no so much that he didn't get that I was serious. He remained mindful of his position the rest of the night. Yo, Amazons - the back and the sides are your domain. Stay there.
- Marge Simpson should NOT be any ones style icon: I shit you not, some broad showed up at this concert with her black hair pulled up, piled up, ratted, and back combed within an inch of its life on top of her head. It added a good 12" to her head, and of course where does she end up standing just before the headliner comes on? In front of E and I. Goddammit! Fortunately, this chick was on the flat floor and E and I were in our fav spot, on the ramp along the side of the sound board so Mrs. Simpson wasn't much of a problem. But still, she could have been, so she annoyed me.
- Overly wide is just as bad as overly tall: Marge had a boyfriend with her, whom E and I referred to as The Juicer. This dude was so fucking wide with pharmaceutical enhanced muscles that he looked like a damn steer. All night my purse had been hanging undisturbed on the short plexi wall that surrounds the sound and light equipment, until The Juicer showed up and clearly needed ALL the space around him. In no time his drunken steroid ass was banging into my damn purse, and then looking at it each time as if IT was in HIS way. Not to mention, my purse was also holding my iPhone and my Fuji camera. I could just see The Juicer's Marvel Comic-sized arms knocking my purse to the floor then spilling whatever concoction he was drinking all over it as he looked down. Space in a standing room only environment is like prime real estate, and those who get there early and claim it, own it. Don't show up late and try to claim some for your big ass. Take your 5' wide Jersey Shore wing span to the side or back with the damn Amazons.
- Oh and SHUT THE FUCK UP!!: Mrs. Simpson and The Juicer absolutely, positively had to have the most important conversations of their entire mixed drink soaked, spray tanned, retraining order filing relationship all during the Theory of A Deadman set! Are you fucking serious? Marge even had her back to the damn stage the entire time so that The Juicer could hear her! Which also meant that her voice was now coming in OUR direction, competing with the vocal of the lead singer. ARG!!! You chose to come here, you paid to come here, so shut the fuck up and watch the fucking concert!
I'm sure a lot of you can relate, probably having experienced some of this rudeness yourself. It really can bust your good concert groove. And if you have identified yourself in this post, do us all a favor - stay home. You're too stupid to deserve live entertainment.
Friday, September 16, 2011
Sunday, July 31, 2011
Shame On You, Tommy Lee
I don't think I have to explain to anyone here that I'm a big Motley Crue fan. Huge. Love them. Nikki Sixx, especially.
What I might have to explain is that I hated the 2nd year of the all day, outdoor music festival known as Outlaw Jam.
It was, yet again, disorganized and pretty poorly run. I won't go into details because that's not the subject of this blog, but suffice it to say that I'll never go back.
So the fact that I was there when the gates opened, and stayed all day suffering through an oppressive 98 degree day with little to no relief should indicate that there was a draw for me. And that draws name was Motley Crue. This date was to be their only MD area date on their 30th anniversary tour and Cruehead that I am, I wasn't about to miss it. Heat stroke be damned!
Both Tommy Lee and Nikki Sixx have a very active online presence, heavily utilizing Facebook and Twitter to communicate with their fans. They've used these sites since the start of the tour to psyche fans up before arriving in every city, thank them before moving onto the next, advertising contests such as the SixxSense/likeZebra sponsored one where you can win a trip to LA to sit in on the broadcast, and reporting the general antics and mayhem from the road. As an avid follower of both, I've found it to be really fun to watch and comment.
Saturday, however, I found Lee and Sixx unusually quiet online. Not much posted to us Outlaw Jam attendees past a cursory "Good Morning Frederick MD" and a schedule of the bands. Being the fan I am, I chalked it up to them being tired from just playing another state the night before, but as the day progressed and little was posted from either Crue member, and what was posted was entirely unrelated to the show or the fans, I thought it was weird.
Maybe I was having heat stroke but I really wondered - why the sudden "radio silence" from these two chatty men?
The SixxSense tour bus was also unavailable to the fans as well. It was secured behind fencing whose entrance was monitored by a very large security guard, who assured me that I was NOT getting access. I explained the contest and received zero sympathy. The rules are even printed on the bus, sir, look! But nope, sorry I wasn't getting in. So in addition to Lee and Sixx's silence, I found that no MD fan could even take part in the likeZebra contest. What the hell?! But since I know communication failures run rampant at Outlaw Jam, I chalked it up to no fault of Nikki's/SixxSense's/likeZebra's.
So, I shouldered through the day enduring the heat as best I could until finally - MOTLEY CRUE TOOK THE STAGE WITH AN EXPLOSION!!! Today's Frederick Post reported "At the sound, people left lines for food, beer, motorcycles and leather goods. They swept toward the infield stage at the west end, to rock on." And rock on we did! I forgave all as they kicked my ass and we kicked theirs. Hell, early on Nikki staged dived into the front row to grab a prohibited camera from a guy! The drum coaster?? Amazing! Many times I looked back at the crowd of vast ages and saw everyone up, rocking, head banging, and having a blast! An entire festival that was getting visibly beat down by the oppressive temps came to full rock and roll life! The energy was palpable. A good friend of mine said he loved seeing me so happy. What can I say? I'm a huge fan.
So as I left the show on cloud 9, you can imagine how excited I was to see what Nikki and Tommy would tweet or post to Facebook about us.
What I got was a big old e-bitch slap.
Sixx was basically? Silent. He went back to his luxury tour bus and picked up where he left off, over-mentioning his very young girlfriend and talking to his famous friends. It felt as if, to him, our concert didn't even happen.
Lee, however, was more expressive. Too expressive. In fact, he was insulting!
Tommy Lee's Tweet/Facebook post #1:
"Outlaws!? Hmm! How about weekend warriors! Yeah that's better!"
Tommy Lee's Tweet/Facebook post #2, moments later:
"Was it me or were there alotta old peeps there tonight? They might wanna rename that festival? OUTmother-in-LAW Jam!"
Wait, what?! Was he serious? Am I reading this wrong?! Or did this arrogant, unappreciative fucker just crack on all of the Outlaw Jam attendants, and then just for good measure infer that the women in attendance were hags?!?!! And ok really, Tommy Lee is 48!! That makes him 5 years OLDER than ME! What an ignorant, rude, stupid fucking thing to post!!
Wake up Mr. Lee! YOU are OUR age! That makes YOU one of the "old people" you referenced in your statement. Check your license, passport, and yourself. And let me remind you that being in a internationally famous band doesn't exempt you from being grateful and appreciative. And dating girls young enough to be your daughter doesn't make YOU young by proxy, it makes you foolish. It also now causes me to now wonder if rather than these girls rising to the level of maturity YOUR age should bring, that you have actually stooped to the level of immaturity THEIR age brings.
Now let me take a break here and say that maybe, just maybe, from the bands end, dealing with the Outlaw Jam promoters and organizers was a pain in the ass. I wouldn't be shocked if that was true. Maybe Motley Crue never wanted to play this festival in the first place. But you know what? Even if that was the case, those are issues to be taken up with their management company and business managers, not to be taken out on the fans who just wanted to rock.
Tommy Lee's thoughtless comments, and Nikki Sixx's silence were all I needed to completely have my ass quickly smacked down from my rock and roll high and make me feel like they've mistaken me for a idiot. Hopefully I'll recover soon and my love of music, and this genre, will eventually be restored.
What won't be restored is my Twitter and Facebook access with Tommy Lee. Mr. Lee, consider yourself dumped and blocked. I may be too old for you, but you are far too much of a jerk for me.
What I might have to explain is that I hated the 2nd year of the all day, outdoor music festival known as Outlaw Jam.
It was, yet again, disorganized and pretty poorly run. I won't go into details because that's not the subject of this blog, but suffice it to say that I'll never go back.
So the fact that I was there when the gates opened, and stayed all day suffering through an oppressive 98 degree day with little to no relief should indicate that there was a draw for me. And that draws name was Motley Crue. This date was to be their only MD area date on their 30th anniversary tour and Cruehead that I am, I wasn't about to miss it. Heat stroke be damned!
Both Tommy Lee and Nikki Sixx have a very active online presence, heavily utilizing Facebook and Twitter to communicate with their fans. They've used these sites since the start of the tour to psyche fans up before arriving in every city, thank them before moving onto the next, advertising contests such as the SixxSense/likeZebra sponsored one where you can win a trip to LA to sit in on the broadcast, and reporting the general antics and mayhem from the road. As an avid follower of both, I've found it to be really fun to watch and comment.
Saturday, however, I found Lee and Sixx unusually quiet online. Not much posted to us Outlaw Jam attendees past a cursory "Good Morning Frederick MD" and a schedule of the bands. Being the fan I am, I chalked it up to them being tired from just playing another state the night before, but as the day progressed and little was posted from either Crue member, and what was posted was entirely unrelated to the show or the fans, I thought it was weird.
Maybe I was having heat stroke but I really wondered - why the sudden "radio silence" from these two chatty men?
The SixxSense tour bus was also unavailable to the fans as well. It was secured behind fencing whose entrance was monitored by a very large security guard, who assured me that I was NOT getting access. I explained the contest and received zero sympathy. The rules are even printed on the bus, sir, look! But nope, sorry I wasn't getting in. So in addition to Lee and Sixx's silence, I found that no MD fan could even take part in the likeZebra contest. What the hell?! But since I know communication failures run rampant at Outlaw Jam, I chalked it up to no fault of Nikki's/SixxSense's/likeZebra's.
So, I shouldered through the day enduring the heat as best I could until finally - MOTLEY CRUE TOOK THE STAGE WITH AN EXPLOSION!!! Today's Frederick Post reported "At the sound, people left lines for food, beer, motorcycles and leather goods. They swept toward the infield stage at the west end, to rock on." And rock on we did! I forgave all as they kicked my ass and we kicked theirs. Hell, early on Nikki staged dived into the front row to grab a prohibited camera from a guy! The drum coaster?? Amazing! Many times I looked back at the crowd of vast ages and saw everyone up, rocking, head banging, and having a blast! An entire festival that was getting visibly beat down by the oppressive temps came to full rock and roll life! The energy was palpable. A good friend of mine said he loved seeing me so happy. What can I say? I'm a huge fan.
So as I left the show on cloud 9, you can imagine how excited I was to see what Nikki and Tommy would tweet or post to Facebook about us.
What I got was a big old e-bitch slap.
Sixx was basically? Silent. He went back to his luxury tour bus and picked up where he left off, over-mentioning his very young girlfriend and talking to his famous friends. It felt as if, to him, our concert didn't even happen.
Lee, however, was more expressive. Too expressive. In fact, he was insulting!
Tommy Lee's Tweet/Facebook post #1:
"Outlaws!? Hmm! How about weekend warriors! Yeah that's better!"
Tommy Lee's Tweet/Facebook post #2, moments later:
"Was it me or were there alotta old peeps there tonight? They might wanna rename that festival? OUTmother-in-LAW Jam!"
Wait, what?! Was he serious? Am I reading this wrong?! Or did this arrogant, unappreciative fucker just crack on all of the Outlaw Jam attendants, and then just for good measure infer that the women in attendance were hags?!?!! And ok really, Tommy Lee is 48!! That makes him 5 years OLDER than ME! What an ignorant, rude, stupid fucking thing to post!!
Wake up Mr. Lee! YOU are OUR age! That makes YOU one of the "old people" you referenced in your statement. Check your license, passport, and yourself. And let me remind you that being in a internationally famous band doesn't exempt you from being grateful and appreciative. And dating girls young enough to be your daughter doesn't make YOU young by proxy, it makes you foolish. It also now causes me to now wonder if rather than these girls rising to the level of maturity YOUR age should bring, that you have actually stooped to the level of immaturity THEIR age brings.
Now let me take a break here and say that maybe, just maybe, from the bands end, dealing with the Outlaw Jam promoters and organizers was a pain in the ass. I wouldn't be shocked if that was true. Maybe Motley Crue never wanted to play this festival in the first place. But you know what? Even if that was the case, those are issues to be taken up with their management company and business managers, not to be taken out on the fans who just wanted to rock.
Tommy Lee's thoughtless comments, and Nikki Sixx's silence were all I needed to completely have my ass quickly smacked down from my rock and roll high and make me feel like they've mistaken me for a idiot. Hopefully I'll recover soon and my love of music, and this genre, will eventually be restored.
What won't be restored is my Twitter and Facebook access with Tommy Lee. Mr. Lee, consider yourself dumped and blocked. I may be too old for you, but you are far too much of a jerk for me.
Wednesday, June 22, 2011
Being Elderly Ain't No Joke
This year one of my besties, Melinda, found herself to be unexpectedly pregnant. Which, really, is typically no big deal, right? Happens all the time. But the difference here is that she's 41.
Now, she's been engaged to a wonderful man, Kevin, for a few yrs now, and they bought a home together and rehabbed it to lovely perfection. So we're talking about a stable relationship here. A couple planning a future.
A couple who, between then, have four adult children.
I know, right?
Our other bestie, Elaine, and I shed tears of joy when she told us, and we simply cannot wait to meet and hold this precious little person. But it hasn't been an easy ride for Melinda thus far. This pregnancy has been vasty different than her first and there are days she's just miserable. But I have to admit we've had some fun teasing her; mocking is a form of affection in this group, and it's understood that laughing at less than perfect circumstances takes the sting out of them.
Yep, it was all fun and games until she learned from her OB/GYN that, in the land of obstetrics, she is considered an elderly pregnancy.
Dead serious, elderly. El. Der. Ly. Their term, not ours.
Melinda was quick to point out to the doc, and anyone else who would listen, that women who actually are elderly can't get pregnant. So yeah, maybe some terms need to be updated in some medical books.
With all these little insults being hurled at her daily in one form or another, she's coping by focusing on what glorious and expensive "Push Gift" Kevin will be getting for her. And as a result, this past weekend found us at the David Yurman counter at Nordstroms, and Melinda admiring this ring.
I know, right? Divine. And it looked stunning on her hand.
Her wonderful fiance walked up just then, and I leaned into him and said "Push." just to make sure he got the idea. He muttered some sort of noise indicating wallet pain, to which the sale woman said to him:
"We do have this ring in a smaller setting."
Three things happened then: one, Melinda's head popped up as if this woman just said something about her mama. Two, Kevin chuckled and said "Clearly, you don't know Melinda." Three, I laughed.
Being kicked awake at 4am, not being able to simply quick walk to catch her train to work, overly large boobs, absurdly expensive maternity clothes, and finally, being labeled as an elderly pregnancy pushed Melinda to her limit. Suggesting a smaller diamond ring as her push gift took her over it.
Melinda blurted out at the saleswoman, "Oh no! I am 41 and pregnant! I WILL have my big diamond ring, dammit!!"
Quickly Kevin and I laughed, to ensure that the mood was light. Which made the sales woman laugh. And Melinda laughed too. But then I saw her hand on the sales womans hand, and thought "Hm, maybe Melinda is really laughing... maybe she's contemplating snapping this woman's wrist...."
And off we went.
The David Yurman saleswoman wouldn't get a commission from Kevin today. But I'd bet my shoes Melinda will have that ring.
Now, she's been engaged to a wonderful man, Kevin, for a few yrs now, and they bought a home together and rehabbed it to lovely perfection. So we're talking about a stable relationship here. A couple planning a future.
A couple who, between then, have four adult children.
I know, right?
Our other bestie, Elaine, and I shed tears of joy when she told us, and we simply cannot wait to meet and hold this precious little person. But it hasn't been an easy ride for Melinda thus far. This pregnancy has been vasty different than her first and there are days she's just miserable. But I have to admit we've had some fun teasing her; mocking is a form of affection in this group, and it's understood that laughing at less than perfect circumstances takes the sting out of them.
Yep, it was all fun and games until she learned from her OB/GYN that, in the land of obstetrics, she is considered an elderly pregnancy.
Dead serious, elderly. El. Der. Ly. Their term, not ours.
Melinda was quick to point out to the doc, and anyone else who would listen, that women who actually are elderly can't get pregnant. So yeah, maybe some terms need to be updated in some medical books.
With all these little insults being hurled at her daily in one form or another, she's coping by focusing on what glorious and expensive "Push Gift" Kevin will be getting for her. And as a result, this past weekend found us at the David Yurman counter at Nordstroms, and Melinda admiring this ring.
I know, right? Divine. And it looked stunning on her hand.
Her wonderful fiance walked up just then, and I leaned into him and said "Push." just to make sure he got the idea. He muttered some sort of noise indicating wallet pain, to which the sale woman said to him:
"We do have this ring in a smaller setting."
Three things happened then: one, Melinda's head popped up as if this woman just said something about her mama. Two, Kevin chuckled and said "Clearly, you don't know Melinda." Three, I laughed.
Being kicked awake at 4am, not being able to simply quick walk to catch her train to work, overly large boobs, absurdly expensive maternity clothes, and finally, being labeled as an elderly pregnancy pushed Melinda to her limit. Suggesting a smaller diamond ring as her push gift took her over it.
Melinda blurted out at the saleswoman, "Oh no! I am 41 and pregnant! I WILL have my big diamond ring, dammit!!"
Quickly Kevin and I laughed, to ensure that the mood was light. Which made the sales woman laugh. And Melinda laughed too. But then I saw her hand on the sales womans hand, and thought "Hm, maybe Melinda is really laughing... maybe she's contemplating snapping this woman's wrist...."
And off we went.
The David Yurman saleswoman wouldn't get a commission from Kevin today. But I'd bet my shoes Melinda will have that ring.
Monday, May 30, 2011
You Say "Stalker" Like It's a Bad Thing
Those that have known me, and known me well, know that music is a large passion of mine. From the time I was small, my home was filled with music daily, from Elvis to Fleetwood Mac to Engelbert Humperdink to Jerry Reed to Hall & Oats. My mother encouraged a love a music in me, bought records for me often, and didn't sensor anything.
As I grew older, I began to find my niche and it came with screaming guitar riffs. Now, don't get me wrong - I love music as a whole and believe that if something moves you, the format doesn't matter (I have the Kenny Chesney, Andrea Bocelli, and Jimmy Buffett CDs to prove that). Art is for all. Art is personal and emotional. But there is just something about rock and roll that has spoke to my spirt all my life.
I remember the day I saw the video for "Livewire" by Motley Crue. I was 13 and hanging out in Daniel Urton's basement, who was a monster KISS fan himself. Being one of the first in our neighborhood to get cable, he had access to MTV and had been talking about this new band Motley Crue for days. Finally I saw them.
Holy fucking shit. The raw, gritty bad ass rock/punk sound was like audio heroin. Visually they were just overwhelming - they were all leathered up in black and red, had this spooky guitar player that totally shredded, a wild drummer with arms as long as my legs, a hot/pretty blonde singer that shook his cute ass, and a tall bassist with a gorgeous face who frickin' set his legs on fire! ON FIRE! That was it - I was hooked, and thus began my 30 yr affair with Motley Crue.
Specifically, that tall bassist who set his legs on fire - Nikki Sixx.
Tall guys with dark hair, pretty smiles, and chisled jaws have always been a weakness for me. So have bad boys. Nikki was both. Over the years however, as I slowly learned that bad boys are indeed bad, Nikki overcame his demons, dealt with his issues, and emerged as a good man. Who wouldda thought? I've met him twice and can report only positive things.
Over the last few years Nikki has been a very active, and interactive, presence on the internet, regularly using his Facebook and Twitter accounts, his own blog, and the blog for Sixx:A.M.. But what makes him an exceptional online celebrity is that he responds to/talks to his fans (myself and several friends among them). His online footprint isn't managed by a PR representative or a peon at some management company, but by him and him alone. He IS your friend on Facebook. He WILL reply to your Tweets. He ASKS for your input on his blog subjects. Not to mention the constant flow of personal photos he posts.
He wants to know who you are, what you think, what you feel. After years of being disconnected from people via the aforementioned demons, it seems he's now he's searching for all human connection he missed out on. He's made himself exceptionally accessible to fans, which when I was 13 was unheard of. And at 43 is a massive rush and privilege.
In this day and age where time and space has been shortened due to a million different apps running on a million different electronic devices, we are given the chance to get a glimpse into the lives of our favorite musicians and atheletes and actors. Now, all I have to do is log into Facebook or Twitter to see what Nikki, or Tommy Lee, or Joey Kramer, or Duff McKagan are up to. Hell, just yesterday I saw Joey Kramers' new dog! And we can comment to them about it (which I did). Could you even imagine in 1988 while listening to "Appetite for Destruction" that you'd one day be able to Tweet @DuffMcKagan64 and tell him that you loved the baseline in "My Michelle?" And have him reply?? It's crazy! In the best of ways.
As a result of this level of accessibility that celebrities are using, I have recently be accused of, by more than one source (all of which have been - interestingly - male), of "stalking" Nikki Sixx. In fact, judging by the tone of these people, I get the feeling that they're trying to shame me in some way. Well, to my accusers I say (in true Sixx fashion) - good luck with that, fuckers! As long as I am passionate about music, I will display that passion. As long as the people I admire make themselves available to their admirers, I will respond to and interact with them. If you don't like seeing my Facebook activity where Mr Sixx is concered, turn my newsfeed off. I won't change for you.
As I grew older, I began to find my niche and it came with screaming guitar riffs. Now, don't get me wrong - I love music as a whole and believe that if something moves you, the format doesn't matter (I have the Kenny Chesney, Andrea Bocelli, and Jimmy Buffett CDs to prove that). Art is for all. Art is personal and emotional. But there is just something about rock and roll that has spoke to my spirt all my life.
I remember the day I saw the video for "Livewire" by Motley Crue. I was 13 and hanging out in Daniel Urton's basement, who was a monster KISS fan himself. Being one of the first in our neighborhood to get cable, he had access to MTV and had been talking about this new band Motley Crue for days. Finally I saw them.
Holy fucking shit. The raw, gritty bad ass rock/punk sound was like audio heroin. Visually they were just overwhelming - they were all leathered up in black and red, had this spooky guitar player that totally shredded, a wild drummer with arms as long as my legs, a hot/pretty blonde singer that shook his cute ass, and a tall bassist with a gorgeous face who frickin' set his legs on fire! ON FIRE! That was it - I was hooked, and thus began my 30 yr affair with Motley Crue.
Specifically, that tall bassist who set his legs on fire - Nikki Sixx.
Tall guys with dark hair, pretty smiles, and chisled jaws have always been a weakness for me. So have bad boys. Nikki was both. Over the years however, as I slowly learned that bad boys are indeed bad, Nikki overcame his demons, dealt with his issues, and emerged as a good man. Who wouldda thought? I've met him twice and can report only positive things.
Over the last few years Nikki has been a very active, and interactive, presence on the internet, regularly using his Facebook and Twitter accounts, his own blog, and the blog for Sixx:A.M.. But what makes him an exceptional online celebrity is that he responds to/talks to his fans (myself and several friends among them). His online footprint isn't managed by a PR representative or a peon at some management company, but by him and him alone. He IS your friend on Facebook. He WILL reply to your Tweets. He ASKS for your input on his blog subjects. Not to mention the constant flow of personal photos he posts.
He wants to know who you are, what you think, what you feel. After years of being disconnected from people via the aforementioned demons, it seems he's now he's searching for all human connection he missed out on. He's made himself exceptionally accessible to fans, which when I was 13 was unheard of. And at 43 is a massive rush and privilege.
In this day and age where time and space has been shortened due to a million different apps running on a million different electronic devices, we are given the chance to get a glimpse into the lives of our favorite musicians and atheletes and actors. Now, all I have to do is log into Facebook or Twitter to see what Nikki, or Tommy Lee, or Joey Kramer, or Duff McKagan are up to. Hell, just yesterday I saw Joey Kramers' new dog! And we can comment to them about it (which I did). Could you even imagine in 1988 while listening to "Appetite for Destruction" that you'd one day be able to Tweet @DuffMcKagan64 and tell him that you loved the baseline in "My Michelle?" And have him reply?? It's crazy! In the best of ways.
As a result of this level of accessibility that celebrities are using, I have recently be accused of, by more than one source (all of which have been - interestingly - male), of "stalking" Nikki Sixx. In fact, judging by the tone of these people, I get the feeling that they're trying to shame me in some way. Well, to my accusers I say (in true Sixx fashion) - good luck with that, fuckers! As long as I am passionate about music, I will display that passion. As long as the people I admire make themselves available to their admirers, I will respond to and interact with them. If you don't like seeing my Facebook activity where Mr Sixx is concered, turn my newsfeed off. I won't change for you.
Wednesday, May 18, 2011
"What about prom, Blane?"
Prom made me drink.
Not my prom (although it should have since I took my future ex-husband), but The Teenagers prom. Junior prom to be exact, so it wasn't even The Big Show, just The Warm Up. But nonetheless, for months ahead of time the talk in my house was pertaining to this event, whether I liked it or not. I found myself devoting more time, mileage, thought processes, and funds to this event than I ever bargained for.
I'm a girly girl. I like clothes, makeup, hair products, shoes, accessories of all kinds. So initially gown shopping was fun. But I was quickly reminded that shopping for ANYthing with The Teenager is painful, because she must process everything. Ev. Re. Thing. There's no gut reaction with this kid, oh no, she has to gather data and think. After the third venture out into Formalgownlandia, I was kinda over it. So much so that I went over the very budget I made a big deal of announcing and repeating and got a dress she loved just to make it stop.
Then came the boutonniere. Then the pedicure. Then the hair.
I did hold my ground on not paying for acrylic tips, though. She got glue-on's from WalMart.
By the hour of the event, The Teenager was running around like a lunatic. In the middle of all this I txt'd one of my besties, Dorothy - her daughters prom was that night too (Senior, so The Big Show) and I knew she was feeling my pain. She quickly gave me advice - drink. She's wise, that one. But being that I had no "drink" in the house at the moment, I asked to join her at hers later. She agreed. And drink later, we did.
But I must say, even with all the stress and money spent, it was kinda fun. And she looked gorgeous. See:
And The Boyfriend also approved:
Kids: they make you broke, and stupid, and maybe an alcoholic, but it's moments like this that make it worth it.
Now, where did I put my Diet and Malibu.......
Not my prom (although it should have since I took my future ex-husband), but The Teenagers prom. Junior prom to be exact, so it wasn't even The Big Show, just The Warm Up. But nonetheless, for months ahead of time the talk in my house was pertaining to this event, whether I liked it or not. I found myself devoting more time, mileage, thought processes, and funds to this event than I ever bargained for.
I'm a girly girl. I like clothes, makeup, hair products, shoes, accessories of all kinds. So initially gown shopping was fun. But I was quickly reminded that shopping for ANYthing with The Teenager is painful, because she must process everything. Ev. Re. Thing. There's no gut reaction with this kid, oh no, she has to gather data and think. After the third venture out into Formalgownlandia, I was kinda over it. So much so that I went over the very budget I made a big deal of announcing and repeating and got a dress she loved just to make it stop.
Then came the boutonniere. Then the pedicure. Then the hair.
I did hold my ground on not paying for acrylic tips, though. She got glue-on's from WalMart.
By the hour of the event, The Teenager was running around like a lunatic. In the middle of all this I txt'd one of my besties, Dorothy - her daughters prom was that night too (Senior, so The Big Show) and I knew she was feeling my pain. She quickly gave me advice - drink. She's wise, that one. But being that I had no "drink" in the house at the moment, I asked to join her at hers later. She agreed. And drink later, we did.
But I must say, even with all the stress and money spent, it was kinda fun. And she looked gorgeous. See:
And The Boyfriend also approved:
Kids: they make you broke, and stupid, and maybe an alcoholic, but it's moments like this that make it worth it.
Now, where did I put my Diet and Malibu.......
Tuesday, March 15, 2011
I Used To Be Smart
Kids make you dumb.
Once upon a time, I was the kind of girl who planned things to the Nth degree, remembered conversations and events down to the scent some one was wearing or the color of their shirt, and obscure data about a song or movie. If you couldn't remember something, I was your go-to gal.
Those days are slipping away from me. I'm still very much a planner, and can still quote "Sixteen Candles" basically verbatim, but something has changed. Not overnight, but slowly. I believe the demise of my memory began 17 years ago on May 7th. That? Is when The Teenager arrived.
She was The Baby then, and a great one at that. But having children does something to you. You have to move fast, act fast, and place so much focus on these little creatures that some sense of your ability to retain information and speak intelligently erodes. Constantly having to ensure they're not swallowing something harmful, checking and rechecking that everything we could possibly need is in the diaper bag, and remembering to buy the exact right pacifier when the other was lost I think was the beginning of the deterioration. It's a hell of a mental bombardment if you think about it.
Some think this slowness of mind is due to age but I disagee. I have a bestie who will be 48 this year and never once have I known her to enter a room and said "Uuuhhh, wait. Why did I come in here?", or fogotten simple words when speaking ("I need those, uh... sharp, um, cutty things. What the hell are they?! Gah, the damn SCISSORS!"). What's the difference between her and I, besides the 5 years between our ages? She never had kids.
Once possessing a sharp and fast wit, I now find myself struggling for words and stumbling in my sentences. Fastidious scheduling has given way to forgetting the occasional appointment. Packing for every possible weather event during a weekend trip finds me leaving my damn jacket at home. As The Teenagers mind sharpens, I feel as though mine is dulling. And I just know that sometimes she thinks I'm a moron. I feel like shouting "I used to be smart!!" when she laughs because I can't remember her best friends name or what those things covering her feet are.
Maybe I'm in some way giving away my smarts to her, in some sort of parental osmosis. Maybe it's the years of listening Barney singing "the clean up song", being forced into action out of a dead sleep in the middle of the night by a puking kid, and having to repeat myself over and over a over just to get her to complete a simple task. Or maybe our aging brains just can't take it anymore and eventually rebel and betray us as a means to say "Ok enough is enough."
But all in all, I think...... that..... umm... wait, what was I saying?
Once upon a time, I was the kind of girl who planned things to the Nth degree, remembered conversations and events down to the scent some one was wearing or the color of their shirt, and obscure data about a song or movie. If you couldn't remember something, I was your go-to gal.
Those days are slipping away from me. I'm still very much a planner, and can still quote "Sixteen Candles" basically verbatim, but something has changed. Not overnight, but slowly. I believe the demise of my memory began 17 years ago on May 7th. That? Is when The Teenager arrived.
She was The Baby then, and a great one at that. But having children does something to you. You have to move fast, act fast, and place so much focus on these little creatures that some sense of your ability to retain information and speak intelligently erodes. Constantly having to ensure they're not swallowing something harmful, checking and rechecking that everything we could possibly need is in the diaper bag, and remembering to buy the exact right pacifier when the other was lost I think was the beginning of the deterioration. It's a hell of a mental bombardment if you think about it.
Some think this slowness of mind is due to age but I disagee. I have a bestie who will be 48 this year and never once have I known her to enter a room and said "Uuuhhh, wait. Why did I come in here?", or fogotten simple words when speaking ("I need those, uh... sharp, um, cutty things. What the hell are they?! Gah, the damn SCISSORS!"). What's the difference between her and I, besides the 5 years between our ages? She never had kids.
Once possessing a sharp and fast wit, I now find myself struggling for words and stumbling in my sentences. Fastidious scheduling has given way to forgetting the occasional appointment. Packing for every possible weather event during a weekend trip finds me leaving my damn jacket at home. As The Teenagers mind sharpens, I feel as though mine is dulling. And I just know that sometimes she thinks I'm a moron. I feel like shouting "I used to be smart!!" when she laughs because I can't remember her best friends name or what those things covering her feet are.
Maybe I'm in some way giving away my smarts to her, in some sort of parental osmosis. Maybe it's the years of listening Barney singing "the clean up song", being forced into action out of a dead sleep in the middle of the night by a puking kid, and having to repeat myself over and over a over just to get her to complete a simple task. Or maybe our aging brains just can't take it anymore and eventually rebel and betray us as a means to say "Ok enough is enough."
But all in all, I think...... that..... umm... wait, what was I saying?
Wednesday, February 2, 2011
To Quote or Not To Quote, or How Two Former 80's Teens Created Their Own Language
The other night, me and one of my besties Elaine were over our good pal Kate's house, talking, drinking, and having fun when Kate said:
"I want you both to know that you've ruined 'The Color Purple' for me."
"What? Why?" Elaine and I asked. We knew what was coming, but still wanted to make a good show of it.
Kate relplied "I watched it for the first time the other night, and all I could hear was your voices saying every line!!"
Needless to say, this prompted big belly laughs from Elaine and I, combined with a few fast and furious quotes from the movie in question:
"Oh dat's my own baby cryin'."
"You tol' Harpo t' beat me."
"Sophia, Sophia, Sophia... dat shore is a pretty name."
One of the things that originally bonded Elaine and I was our shared love of all that is 80's, with a special emphasis on the movies of that decade. We've basically turned it into our own language (although she and her husband already had the jump on this years before). In fact, I don't think there are many situations we can't use an 80's movie quote in...
When some one gets married:
"I's married now!" - Shug Avery, The Color Purple
"Married?" "Jes, married. Jeese." - Jake Ryan and Long Duk Dong, Sixteen Candles
In reference to any moment involving either wrestling or sports uniforms:
"I wear the required uniform." "Tights." "Shut up!" - Andrdew and Brian, The Breakfast Club
When encountering an odd, semi pretentious male name:
"Blane?! His name is Blane?! That a major appliance, it's not a name!" Duckie, Pretty In Pink
When confronted with attitude:
"What's your damage, Heather?!" Veronica Sawyer, Heathers (I used this the other night on The Teenager and was promptly called lame)
Upon hearing the name Bob:
"Uncle Bob!" - Bud, Urban Cowboy
Yeah, you get the idea. In a short quote we can convey a plethora of feelings, whether they be happy, sad, or just damn funny. We often encounter people who have no friggin' clue what we're saying... but maybe it's better that way. It keeps it between us, keeps it mine and Elaine's.
I think we'll speak like this to each other until we pass into that great movie theatre in the sky. But until then, I'm waiting for the pefect single combination involving a gay son, the name Claire, and having to tell some guy to fuck off.
And I'll bet only Elaine gets what I mean. :-)
"I want you both to know that you've ruined 'The Color Purple' for me."
"What? Why?" Elaine and I asked. We knew what was coming, but still wanted to make a good show of it.
Kate relplied "I watched it for the first time the other night, and all I could hear was your voices saying every line!!"
Needless to say, this prompted big belly laughs from Elaine and I, combined with a few fast and furious quotes from the movie in question:
"Oh dat's my own baby cryin'."
"You tol' Harpo t' beat me."
"Sophia, Sophia, Sophia... dat shore is a pretty name."
One of the things that originally bonded Elaine and I was our shared love of all that is 80's, with a special emphasis on the movies of that decade. We've basically turned it into our own language (although she and her husband already had the jump on this years before). In fact, I don't think there are many situations we can't use an 80's movie quote in...
When some one gets married:
"I's married now!" - Shug Avery, The Color Purple
"Married?" "Jes, married. Jeese." - Jake Ryan and Long Duk Dong, Sixteen Candles
In reference to any moment involving either wrestling or sports uniforms:
"I wear the required uniform." "Tights." "Shut up!" - Andrdew and Brian, The Breakfast Club
When encountering an odd, semi pretentious male name:
"Blane?! His name is Blane?! That a major appliance, it's not a name!" Duckie, Pretty In Pink
When confronted with attitude:
"What's your damage, Heather?!" Veronica Sawyer, Heathers (I used this the other night on The Teenager and was promptly called lame)
Upon hearing the name Bob:
"Uncle Bob!" - Bud, Urban Cowboy
Yeah, you get the idea. In a short quote we can convey a plethora of feelings, whether they be happy, sad, or just damn funny. We often encounter people who have no friggin' clue what we're saying... but maybe it's better that way. It keeps it between us, keeps it mine and Elaine's.
I think we'll speak like this to each other until we pass into that great movie theatre in the sky. But until then, I'm waiting for the pefect single combination involving a gay son, the name Claire, and having to tell some guy to fuck off.
And I'll bet only Elaine gets what I mean. :-)
Friday, January 21, 2011
Can You Die From Too Much Ed Hardy?
So I came down with some nasty ass bug Monday night. Your basic sinus nightmare complete with a low grade fever and lots of snot. Tuesday night I was semi-comatose on the sofa, too dazed and drained to do much else other than mindlessly watch tv. In fact, I reached a place where I was just too tired and out of it to even change the channel.
And then it happened.
And by "it" I mean the barrage of what can only be desscribed as white trash for the new decade. Suddendly an outpouring of big hair, fake tans, steriod created muscles, acrylic nails, hair gel, gold chains, over use of the word "bitch", and more Ed Hardy tshirts than you could ever want or wear spilled out of my tv, onto my floor, and assaulted my ears and eyes.
I'd been Jersey Shored.
I couldn't believe it. I'd heard about it of course; the inexpicable phenom that the show and cast have become, being famous for being tacky stereotypes of New York/New Jersey Italians. I'd just never experienced it. I felt like I was witnessing a train wreck, or a mugging, or a dog playing poker - I was freaked out but just couldn't look away.
Fortunately my daughter came in to the room. She looked at the tv, looked at me, then back at the tv, then back at me. A smile crept over her face, clearly bemused at this scenario. I turned to her and said, "Please, for the love of God, change this channel." And mercifully, she did.
I'm still nursing some syptoms of my illness. I blame Jersey Shore. I think being exposed to so much skank and douche prolonged my recovery.
And then it happened.
And by "it" I mean the barrage of what can only be desscribed as white trash for the new decade. Suddendly an outpouring of big hair, fake tans, steriod created muscles, acrylic nails, hair gel, gold chains, over use of the word "bitch", and more Ed Hardy tshirts than you could ever want or wear spilled out of my tv, onto my floor, and assaulted my ears and eyes.
I'd been Jersey Shored.
I couldn't believe it. I'd heard about it of course; the inexpicable phenom that the show and cast have become, being famous for being tacky stereotypes of New York/New Jersey Italians. I'd just never experienced it. I felt like I was witnessing a train wreck, or a mugging, or a dog playing poker - I was freaked out but just couldn't look away.
Fortunately my daughter came in to the room. She looked at the tv, looked at me, then back at the tv, then back at me. A smile crept over her face, clearly bemused at this scenario. I turned to her and said, "Please, for the love of God, change this channel." And mercifully, she did.
I'm still nursing some syptoms of my illness. I blame Jersey Shore. I think being exposed to so much skank and douche prolonged my recovery.
Saturday, January 1, 2011
The 2010 Wrap Up
Another year is gone and another begins, my friends. I think it's time for me to count my blessings, reflect on lessons learned, share my experiences, report my observations (in no particular order). Hey, it's my blog - I can write what I want.
A Not So Average Wedding: This year I experienced my first wedding held in a bar, and officiated by a drummer. Some might say that's weird, but I say - when it comes to weddings, to each his own. Personally, I found this one to be particularly fun. What I experienced was two people who are genuinely in love, sharing this important event in their lives with the people most important to them, in a cool rock and roll way. We should all be so lucky.
Are the Aliens Leaving? - Well, probably not entirely for about another 8 yrs or so, but this year found The Teenager actually turning into a real person. She began making some sense, listening to me, returning affection, and generally not being a massive moody asshole. So for all you parents with young kids, or kids entering the fresh hell that is puberty, know this - it's temporary. The Teenager an I are kinda diggin' each other these days.
Fun With Compulsive Liars - The best part about these special freaks of psychological nature, aside from the fact that they keep my fact-checking skills sharp, is that generally you can mock them right to their faces. Really, you can. Something about their pathology doesn't give them that switch that says "Hey, he/she is making fun of me." or "Hey, they're not buying my bullshit so maybe I should stop lying." It's great, try it. Mock away. It alleviates some stress of having to deal with them.
Ya Got To Have Friends - As many times before in this blog space, I give props to my steadfast group of besties. You bitches rock! And this past year brought a new one into my fold, and had me getting to know a couple of others better who were previously further removed. I tell, it's great to still be making new friends, rekindling old friendships, and continuing to enjoy the BFF's I've had for years.
Who Knew I'd Like a Compact Car? - You learned of the death of my Xterra in my last blog post, but what you might not know is that I found a car that's not a generic piece of blah. Yay me! The car gods brought me a black 2004 Toyota Corolla S, and here she is:
Cute, right? The night I bought her, I dubbed her The Rockin' 'Rolla. It really is a fun ride. It runs very well, handles very well, has that cool spoiler and under skirting, low mileage, an electric sunroof, very clean interior, very nice exterior, and the previous owner installed an XM satellite radio receiver. Best of all, the price was great! The RR is the perfect interim vehicle until I get the Camaro.
Speaking of Cars.... - So, I sold the Xterra to a young gear head chick who said that she's going to put a new engine in My Broom and give her a second life. I was happy about that; it was a good truck and should run again. Being that this was the first car I'd ever sold privately, I learned that there are two different kinds of titles - the title you get when you buy a car, which lists the lien holder information; and another when you pay the car off, which doesn't list the lien holder information. The latter is called the lien release title. I didn't realize that, but now I do. So there ya have it.
Private Citizen Slays Fraudulent Credit Card Company - Back in 2008 I opened a credit card with HSBC Bank. When I paid off the account that same year, I requested that it be closed. Once I did that, I never heard a peep out of them, as one would expect. Until around June of 2010. That's when I mysteriously started receiving bills from them for the same account I'd closed 2 years ago. Seems they reopened my account and were charging me various service charges (you know, that imaginary bullshit all credit card companies try to throw on your bill when they just get too tired of you making your payments on time and paying your balance down). Long story short, I learned that this bank is famous for this scam (I heart you, Google), so I sent them a letter telling them that they damn well better clear that balance and RE-close my account, or I'd be filing a complaint with the Maryland State's Attorney. Less than a week later, HSBC sent me a letter telling me I owed them nothing and my account was again closed. Suck it, HSBC!
High Efficiency Washers and Dryers Do Kinda Rock - My 25 year old dryer bit it this year so I went ahead and replaced it and the washer with the new HE front loaders. I really like 'em and recommend them. So, should your washer and/or dryer bite it in 2011, go treat yourself to the HE models. You'll like 'em. Oh, and just an FYI - I don't use the "made specially for HE washers" detergent. The Teenager is allergic so I have to use allergen free detergent, which isn't readily available for HE washers (unless I order it online from some crunchy hippie commune or some shit), so I just use less of the regular stuff, and employ the Extra Rise option. Works just fine.
I Can Spackle! - When the washer was removed this summer, the guy gouged out a chunk of my family room wall. For some dumb reason I went into Helpless Girl Mode and waited for any number of guy friends to make time to spackle it in. Finally, I thought "This can't be all that hard. Fuck it, I'm doing it myself." And off to Home Depot I went and got a tiny tub of spackle, a knife, and a fine grit sandpaper sponge thingy. It's all filled in and lovely now.
Ms. Pannell You've Got A Lovely Daughter - The Teenager started dating her first real boyfriend in 2010. And by real, I mean he's a senior and has a car. This has been an experience for me, as it's brought about a whole new set of worries and concerns. The Teenager is smart and pretty clear on where she stands on a lot of things, and I trust her, but I was a teenager once too. Enough said. Now, pass me the wine.
There's a lot more to my 2010, of course. And really, all of it was good, even the stressful and aggravating stuff because you learn from that. I continue to remain grateful and appreciative of my friends, my great kid, my career, my home, my health, and my sanity. I will continue to look for the lesson, the "Ah ha" moment in all my experiences in 2011, and hope that you do as well.
A Not So Average Wedding: This year I experienced my first wedding held in a bar, and officiated by a drummer. Some might say that's weird, but I say - when it comes to weddings, to each his own. Personally, I found this one to be particularly fun. What I experienced was two people who are genuinely in love, sharing this important event in their lives with the people most important to them, in a cool rock and roll way. We should all be so lucky.
Are the Aliens Leaving? - Well, probably not entirely for about another 8 yrs or so, but this year found The Teenager actually turning into a real person. She began making some sense, listening to me, returning affection, and generally not being a massive moody asshole. So for all you parents with young kids, or kids entering the fresh hell that is puberty, know this - it's temporary. The Teenager an I are kinda diggin' each other these days.
Fun With Compulsive Liars - The best part about these special freaks of psychological nature, aside from the fact that they keep my fact-checking skills sharp, is that generally you can mock them right to their faces. Really, you can. Something about their pathology doesn't give them that switch that says "Hey, he/she is making fun of me." or "Hey, they're not buying my bullshit so maybe I should stop lying." It's great, try it. Mock away. It alleviates some stress of having to deal with them.
Ya Got To Have Friends - As many times before in this blog space, I give props to my steadfast group of besties. You bitches rock! And this past year brought a new one into my fold, and had me getting to know a couple of others better who were previously further removed. I tell, it's great to still be making new friends, rekindling old friendships, and continuing to enjoy the BFF's I've had for years.
Who Knew I'd Like a Compact Car? - You learned of the death of my Xterra in my last blog post, but what you might not know is that I found a car that's not a generic piece of blah. Yay me! The car gods brought me a black 2004 Toyota Corolla S, and here she is:
Cute, right? The night I bought her, I dubbed her The Rockin' 'Rolla. It really is a fun ride. It runs very well, handles very well, has that cool spoiler and under skirting, low mileage, an electric sunroof, very clean interior, very nice exterior, and the previous owner installed an XM satellite radio receiver. Best of all, the price was great! The RR is the perfect interim vehicle until I get the Camaro.
Speaking of Cars.... - So, I sold the Xterra to a young gear head chick who said that she's going to put a new engine in My Broom and give her a second life. I was happy about that; it was a good truck and should run again. Being that this was the first car I'd ever sold privately, I learned that there are two different kinds of titles - the title you get when you buy a car, which lists the lien holder information; and another when you pay the car off, which doesn't list the lien holder information. The latter is called the lien release title. I didn't realize that, but now I do. So there ya have it.
Private Citizen Slays Fraudulent Credit Card Company - Back in 2008 I opened a credit card with HSBC Bank. When I paid off the account that same year, I requested that it be closed. Once I did that, I never heard a peep out of them, as one would expect. Until around June of 2010. That's when I mysteriously started receiving bills from them for the same account I'd closed 2 years ago. Seems they reopened my account and were charging me various service charges (you know, that imaginary bullshit all credit card companies try to throw on your bill when they just get too tired of you making your payments on time and paying your balance down). Long story short, I learned that this bank is famous for this scam (I heart you, Google), so I sent them a letter telling them that they damn well better clear that balance and RE-close my account, or I'd be filing a complaint with the Maryland State's Attorney. Less than a week later, HSBC sent me a letter telling me I owed them nothing and my account was again closed. Suck it, HSBC!
High Efficiency Washers and Dryers Do Kinda Rock - My 25 year old dryer bit it this year so I went ahead and replaced it and the washer with the new HE front loaders. I really like 'em and recommend them. So, should your washer and/or dryer bite it in 2011, go treat yourself to the HE models. You'll like 'em. Oh, and just an FYI - I don't use the "made specially for HE washers" detergent. The Teenager is allergic so I have to use allergen free detergent, which isn't readily available for HE washers (unless I order it online from some crunchy hippie commune or some shit), so I just use less of the regular stuff, and employ the Extra Rise option. Works just fine.
I Can Spackle! - When the washer was removed this summer, the guy gouged out a chunk of my family room wall. For some dumb reason I went into Helpless Girl Mode and waited for any number of guy friends to make time to spackle it in. Finally, I thought "This can't be all that hard. Fuck it, I'm doing it myself." And off to Home Depot I went and got a tiny tub of spackle, a knife, and a fine grit sandpaper sponge thingy. It's all filled in and lovely now.
Ms. Pannell You've Got A Lovely Daughter - The Teenager started dating her first real boyfriend in 2010. And by real, I mean he's a senior and has a car. This has been an experience for me, as it's brought about a whole new set of worries and concerns. The Teenager is smart and pretty clear on where she stands on a lot of things, and I trust her, but I was a teenager once too. Enough said. Now, pass me the wine.
There's a lot more to my 2010, of course. And really, all of it was good, even the stressful and aggravating stuff because you learn from that. I continue to remain grateful and appreciative of my friends, my great kid, my career, my home, my health, and my sanity. I will continue to look for the lesson, the "Ah ha" moment in all my experiences in 2011, and hope that you do as well.
Subscribe to:
Comments (Atom)