Proof, if anyone needed it, that I have a twisted sense of humor.

Saw this on a forum I frequent; the context in which it was posted is irrelevant here.

Suffice to say, it made me absolutely howl with laughter.

Twisted? Moi? Surely, you jest.

Just when you think it can't get any sillier

I mentioned the Eurovision Song Contest briefly in a recent post. I realized when I wrote it that if you've never heard of Eurovision, you'd be baffled by my passing reference to it.

There is an exhaustive Wikipedia entry about it here, but in its simplest terms, think American Idol meets the Grammy Awards. European countries that are members one of the Europe-wide broadcast networks send entrants to compete at a contest, which is broadcast live throughout Europe over 3 nights. Most countries hold a contest to determine who will represent them, and have very specific rules about who can and can't enter.

In Sweden, they hold a contest called Melodifestivalen, quite literally, the Melody Festival. I remember almost nothing about Melodifestival, so I looked it up, on the ever-reliable Wiki. Turns out it wouldn't matter if I remembered how it worked, since they changed it in 2002. I have no recollection of who won while I lived there in 1992, but it appears that the final of the whole Eurovision was in Sweden that year, as 1991's winner was Swedish pop artist Carola. Hmm. No memory of that, either. Clearly, this made a big impression on me.

Or - y'know - not.

Melodifestival is a big damn deal in Sweden, as is Eurovision.  I'm not sure why, although perhaps the facts that the contest begins in Sweden in February, when sun is in short supply, the nights are long, and the weather is crappy probably have a whole lot to do with it.

This year's contest for all of Europe was held while I was visiting Sweden. I watched the first of two semi-finals live with my Familjen Svensson, and the second I ignored. The final was on a Saturday night. Mr. & Mrs. Svensson took me with them to a stand-up comedy show that night, and so we only saw the end of it.

Watching the first semi-final had me in hysterics. Poor Daughter Svensson. She's 15, and this all matters a great deal to her. Her mother and I laughed our way through it, especially after the first act, Gipsy.cz.

If I'm supposed to take that seriously, sorry. Not so much. The superman costume was just too much. Once back home, though, I've been reading about the artists involved in Eurovision, and it turns out the Gipsy.cz has been influential in opening a dialog with the Romany people in the Czech Republic, and are highly respected there. Huh. In'trusting.

Although much of this contest is sung in English, the songwriters are mostly not native English speakers.  So there are hilarious song lyrics that rhyme or work into the rhythm of the song, but make absolutely no sense.  Or, even better, there is a blend of English and whatever the native language happens to be, just like "Aven Romale" above.

This year's winner, Alexander Rybak of Norway, is absolutely adorable, although it wasn't my favorite song of the contest by a long shot.  The opening riff on the violin is unmistakable, though, and very catchy.

I liked several others much better, among them Turkey with the very silly Dum Tek Tek, Portugal's Todas As Ruas Do Amor, Iceland's Is It True?, Romania's The Balkan Girls, which was just as silly as Turkey's entry, and my favorite, Armenia's Nor Par (Jan-Jan), sung brilliantly by sister act Inga & Anush.  I like listening to them sing, and shocker, they are actually classically trained musicians.  Plus, check out the costumes.

Jan-Jan doesn't have any more intelligent lyrics than the rest of the bunch, but even better, it has a dance.   I wish I had instructions in English, but there's only Armenian.

How can you not like a song that has its own dance?  Nor Par (Jan-Jan), by the way, translates to New Dance (My Dear).

As if that wasn't bad enough, hustling through the Copenhagen airport to catch my flight home, I stopped in an electronics store and bought the Eurovision CD, with every song in the contest on 2 discs.  To the tune of 221:-SEK, or roughly $30.  Who was I saying was silly?  The Europeans for getting all wound up in the contest, or me, for spending $30 on a CD full of trashy pop with no real redeeming qualities.  Tough call, that. 

Art/Life/Life/Art

I went to the opera the other day.  I suppose that liking opera is yet another bit that does not fit with my mostly liberal persona, but like it I do, quite a lot.  

Once upon a time, I had aspirations of a career on the operatic stage.  I studied with a retired soprano from The Met.  I remember thinking after my first lesson with her (at the ripe age of 12) that our little town in Oh-hia-ia was an awfully strange place for a former opera singer to reside.  After I'd studied with her for a while, I asked what had brought her here; love, she said.  I know that I probably rolled my eyes, but also joked that I was glad she was here so that I could study with her.

I don't sing in public any more, and haven't for a very long time.  Perhaps because I have not, I was surprised all over again at how much physicality operatic singing requires.  The male performers especially impressed me.  I was very moved by the performances, had to search for my tissues in the car on the way home.  

It was in a small hall, and was a dress rehearsal.  I can't go to the performance due to a schedule conflict, so I whined to the company director until he agreed that it would be OK for me to sit in on the dress rehearsal.  Like I said, this is a small place; not only do I know who he is, but I work with him in his other day job.  Two degrees of separation, remember that part?  No one wore microphones, and I sat more than 1/2 way back from the stage, far enough back that I couldn't tell if one of the tenors was a college friend of mine or not.  I could hear, though.  With no problem.  They're LOUD.

As I sat in the darkened hall, I thought about the old saying that 'art imitates life' (or is it 'life imitates art'?) and I wondered; when was the last time YOU sang an entire conversation?  Opera is a very odd art form in that respect.  I can see why it is an acquired taste.  My parents were not classical music fans, in fact the closest thing I think they ever had to classical music in their 8-track collection was this thing that I can't remember the name of right now, it was something like Bach on Rock, and it was symphonic music digitized in the only way possible in the 70s; by organ, I think.  I developed the taste for it myself, over time.

I never turn down the opportunity to attend the opera, despite the oddness of the art form.  In some ways, it is a true immitation of life; comedy and tragedy, drama and love.  

Nostalgia for the musical past

Once upon a time.....

My dating history (what little there is of it, since I met DH when I was 19) is filled with musicians.  DH is not a musician, although he was a band geek.  No harm there, all of my friends were band geeks, and I was nuts about choir.  Music has always been a central part of my life.

In high school, I dated a guy who introduced me to BritPop, specifically new-wavey sort of stuff, Squeeze in particular.  He gave me a tape that he had dubbed of Squeeze's Play album, and I played it over and over and over in the tape player of my first car, a two-seater.  I loved that car, and there are a few bits of music that remind me of being 17, driving like a maniac down the highway in my cute white sports car, sun roof open, long hair blowing all over the place, music blasting at top volume.  Mostly the bad pop of the day, (En Vouge, I'm looking at you!) but a few gems like Prince's I Wanna Melt With You, Modern English, Tori Amos's Take To the Sky, and this Squeeze tape.  

Because the tape he gave me was one he'd taped from the original album on a dual tape deck, the sound was pretty crappy, and I had no idea what the name of the album was, or what most of the songs were.  I mean, you can usually guess with pop songs by the chorus of the song, but not always.  There were two songs in particular, Crying In My Sleep and Wicked and Cruel that I really liked.

Teh interweb is great for being able to vomit up the title of a song, the name of the album, and the artist's name from a few poorly remembered lyrics.  (Sorry for that imagery.)  iTunes is great for tracking down old stuff too, and I've written before about finding The Stone Roses on iTunes from the same process....type the lyrics into Google, hit enter, and within the first few hits from the search engine is the information you're looking for.

I knew that the old tape that the old boyfriend gave me was by Squeeze.  I no longer have the tape, much like my entire Janet Jackson catalog, it has disappeared into the sands of time.  I found two other Squeeze tracks I liked on iTunes, Black Coffee In Bed and Tempted, but there was no locating Crying In My Sleep.  Maybe I didn't remember the name of the song correctly.  So I searched.  I HAD remembered it right, it just wasn't out there on iTunes.

I've run into that a time or two before, but been able to locate the music I wanted digitally through begging friends to search their collections.  But with one or two exceptions, most of my online friends had never heard of Squeeze.

Amazon it was, then, et voila there was an import copy of the Play album, new, never played, from an import CD store.  Woooot!  

I have not purchased a CD for years.  Years and years and years, probably around 8 or maybe even 10 years.

So when it came (finally!  how on earth is it that something takes 10 days to get from California to Ohio?) I promptly popped it into the computer, uploaded it to iTunes, and spent the rest of the day playing the disc over and over.

One of the kind of fun things about Obsessive Compulsive Disorder, or my particular manifestation of it, anyway, is that I can listen to something over and over and not necessarily get bored with it.  I can re-read novels, or watch a particular movie, and not have it be super annoying.  Music in particular, though, I get particularly OCD about and have been known to put one song on repeat for an entire day.

It doesn't annoy me.  But it does annoy most of the rest of the world, and I know that, so I try to not inflict that obsession, the obsessively repetitive listening, upon others.  

I have long since stopped trying to analyze this behavior.  Why do I listen to something repetitively?  I don't know.  I just roll with it until the urge passes; I'm perfectly happy usually with the music just in the background.  It doesn't interfere with my ability to concentrate on other things, or rule my life.

But it does make me wonder.....on a scale of one to insane, where, exactly, am I?

Off & On & Up

Even though my depression is mostly regulated thanks to modern medicine, I still have days here & there that are difficult.  Sometimes I know what triggers it.  Sometimes I don't.  When I'm having a difficult day, I often say that I'm "a little rough around the edges."  I picture single-celled organisms from my high school biology days, with spiky outlines.  Usually the meds soothe this; the meds make it easier to deal with things that would otherwise be catastrophes of epic proportions.  When the meds weren't quite right, or before I sought treatment, something as mundane as losing my keys could send me tail-spinning.

These days, it doesn't have to be anything in particular; I've decided that hormonal surges can account for days when I'm sarcastic and snarfy and snarky with everyone and everything.  (Yeah, yeah, yeah, how would you be able to tell the difference from any other day, Luce?  There, I beat ya to your snark!)  

Today is one of those rough around the edges days.  I looked in the mirror this morning whilst getting ready for work, and I noticed the bit of weight I've gained in my face.  That bummed me out.  Then it is an overcast day, rainy and miserable, and it is going to be like that for a few days around here.  That grey, oppressing sky!  It makes me feel like the clouds themselves are pushing down on me, dark forces un-named making it hard to see out of the gloom.  

I frequently get songs stuck in my head, and this morning I woke up humming the harmony from a Dave Matthews Band song, #41.  I know I mentioned it a few weeks ago, but the sax player from DMB died recently, far too young, and there's an evocative solo he had in that song, and thinking about it made me sad.

Add those three things up, and bam, not such a good day in the offing.

Folks who haven't walked down Depression Way will say very un-helpful things like, "Snap out of it.  Its just the blues." or "C'mon, how bad can it be?  Get over it."  Which, as I said, isn't helpful.  Because then you feel guilty for feeling this crappy.  How difficult, truly, is my life?  A roof over my head, enough to eat, I get out of bed every morning, put my feet on the floor and walk.  So much more than so many others, that I shouldn't feel crappy.  That somehow, I ought to be able to 'snap out of it.'  

As I drove to work, I kept saying things to myself like, c'mon, you're going to a job you love.  You're doing well there.  You like it.  Little mind games, to, indeed, try to snap myself out of it.  A little coffee with chocolate (have I mentioned Bellagio sipping chocolate?  Milk+ Bellagio + coffee = yum.) and avoiding listening to the news, instead listening to my "happy" playlist on my iPod, and yeah, it is going to get better.  But I wish it didn't get to the low end of the spectrum in the first place.

Clutter

My sis in New York introduced me to Pandora, well named indeed for its addictive properties. Once opened, you can't put it back in the box and ignore it. Pandora is Internet Radio, done finally the way that all of this technology we have at our fingertips should have long allowed us to do.

You create your own radio stations on Pandora. Like an artist or genre? Tell Pandora, and she will find like-minded (or -sounded) things. If the song she pulls up wasn't what you were seeking, give her a thumbs-down, and she moves on to the next thing.

My sister has also been nagging me to find my old cassette tapes, where I had such diverse things as Janet Jackson's Rhythm Nation 1814 to Poison's big 80s album, whatever that was called. They're around somewhere, and sis wants me to get the assorted Janet Jackson stuff I have on to a digital format and share it with her.

Of course, this nagging has reminded me that I loved Miss Jackson back in the day, and as I have no desire to spend a fortune on iTunes buying back her catalogue when I've got it somewhere 'round here, just not in a digital format, to Pandora I went to give a listen to some of that old stuff.

Is it any surprise that I can still sing every single song that Pandora plays? No, I suppose it isn't. Music was a fundamental part of my teen years, and as I ran around in both high school and college with a bunch of music geeks, it is no surprise, really, that each bit of music evokes a time, a place, a memory.

As much fun as that is, wouldn't be nice if we could do a memory purge and get rid of some of the clutter running around in our heads? I don't need the lyrics to every single top 40 song from 1986 until the mid-90s running around in my head. At some point, I stopped paying attention to top 40 radio, and expanded my already schizophrenic music collection to the "eclectic" level where it currently resides, adding music from small indie labels, stuff I heard on reviewed on NPR, (which tended to be world beats) opera, jazz, (for which I can thank my ex, a die-hard jazz-lover) and then along came the sugar-pop revolution with Britney et al, and I stopped paying any attention to popular music, instead seeking stuff outside of the mainstream.

I think it would be better, for example, if I could remember more html coding and less En Vogue. Or maybe the ability to remember my other sister's phone number, she who is first in my alphabetical phone book listing on the phone. Since she changed her phone number in 1999, I've never bothered to remember it, because clicking the phone book button on any phone I've had since then brings up her name. I'm just sayin. There's got to be room up there for stuff other than "Every Rose Has Its Thorn."

On the other hand, if you're playing 80s/90s music trivia, you want me on your team.

And let's not even talk about the clutter in the house that I'd have to dig through to find those old tapes.....

Listening to: my Janet Jackson Pandora station

Trouble in Shangri-La

and you, you got in my way
stood between me and my friends
It was my sin, it was my shame
You were unconscious to the pain I was in

~Stevie Nicks, "Trouble in Shangri-La", from the album of the same name, 2001

I just finished reading Storms by Carol Ann Harris, former consort to Fleetwood Mac's Lindsey Buckingham. Carol Ann and Lindsey were together through the Mac's Rumours tour until 1983/1984.

My parents listened to Fleetwood Mac, and then I spent a lot of time listening to classic rock in my late teens. Fleetwood wasn't quite the same as zoning out to Led Zepplin, but I always loved the way the band harmonized, how Stevie Nicks sounded so different from Christine McVie, and yet their combined voices rival any opera duetta by any great duo of opera singers you care to name.

When Bill Clinton was elected to the presidency in 1992, I was in Sweden, and paying no attention at all to the ruckus surrounding the election. I was not legal to vote. It wasn't that I was apathetic to politics, it was that I was apathetic to anything that was happening in the United States; the world stage was opened to me for the first time, and the nightly news in Sweden was more about the unrest in Yugoslavia than it was about what was going on in America. Which was far more "real" to me, the fact that people were dying in the cities and towns that my host parents grew up in than Gennifer Flowers and poll numbers.

(If I've never mentioned it before: my Swedish Mama and Papa emigrated to Sweden in the 1960s from Croatia. Yes, its a bit confusing.)

So when the band reunited to play Don't Stop at one of his inauguration balls, MTV Europe said *yawn*. When they released The Dance later in the decade, though, I loved it, and played it a lot. The songs didn't hold deep meaning for me as some other artists that I admire, I just loved singing along to it.

Carol Ann's book has an old picture of the band on the dust cover, and I picked it up on one of my periodic ramblings through the bookstore. I will read almost anything, and biographies have held an interest for me since I was about 9. Quickly, I was sucked in to the backstory of the end of the Rumours album recordings and the subsequent world tour. After I finished reading it, I went searching for reviews of the book, and I discovered that many book critics find all sorts of fault with her delivery, her prose, and her side of the story.

I can't agree. This is the story of a woman, like so many of us, with almost no self esteem, fragile, beautiful. Her twist is that she was living in the public eye, and caught up in a vortex of drugs, rock & roll excess and an abusive relationship.

She did a fair degree of foreshadowing that I found annoying, but that is one of my personal kvetches; I don't approve of foreshadowing as a literary device.

I was struck over and over how she was living in such a different era. Lindsey wouldn't "let" her work, something that baffles me. She felt it her obligation to just be there for him, even when he spent weeks at a time during their relationship locked in his home recording studios, that she would subsume all that was Carol so that Lindsey could be Lindsey.

The time period can't explain all of this away this for me, though. Women's lib began in the 60s, and by the mid-70s, there were plenty of women balancing career and family. By the time the two split up in the early 80s, the idea of the career/family superwoman was a part of the dominant culture. Lindsey was not at all supportive of Carol's modeling in the late 70s. When she began acting classes, and then studied costume design with folks who were on the cutting edge of music video production in the 80s, he was nasty, demeaning, sarcastic about her excitement about what she was learning.

The book brought a deeper understanding of many of the Fleetwood Mac songs I've loved over the years, given me insight here and there to the music that I wouldn't have had otherwise, but the end of the book left me hurting, physically aching for this girl who had no idea, at least until the bitter end, that being the muse for this tortured musical genius and class-A asshole was going to be the death of her unless she walked away.

There are very few "unforgivables" when it comes to the relationship between two partners, no matter the sexual preference, in my book. Things that might be able to be overcome, given enough time and counseling, but that are deal-breakers for me. Number one is infidelity. Once a cheater, always a cheater. I think that if someone gets away with cheating the first time, they're only going to do it again and again, a cycle of heartbreak-in-waiting for the person being cheated upon. Number two in my list is abuse, be it psychological, physical, emotional, what ever. When that happens, walk away. Don't look back. Don't make excuses for the abuser. Don't blame yourself. Just walk away.

She did eventually walk away, but not before he'd nearly killed her at least three times, strangling her, and once even punching her in the face in a Los Angeles nightclub.

!!

My parents, over the years, have often pointed out as friends parents got divorced, or other long term relationships crumbled, that there are two sides to every story. Sometimes there are more than two sides. I don't know Buckingham's side of the story. I've never read so much as an interview with him, and so I don't know his twist or take on it. I don't care to, either, but I sincerely hope that he's gotten some therapy.

I also think about how in this age of cel-phone cameras and Perez Hilton, there's a good chance that Buckingham's behavior just might have been noticed by the paparazzi.

Harris paints a fairly unflattering portrait of Stevie Nicks as well, but ultimately, Nicks comes off as far more sympathetic a character than Buckingham.

You know how sometimes we read more into something than is reality? I think that perhaps I'm hearing more into Nicks's Trouble in Shangri-La album after reading the book. Seems to me the title track is about the demise of Buckingham and Harris's relationship, about a lost little girl. The last line of the song, show me the way back, speaks to me of finding yourself again after coming out of a particularly difficult time.

Even though the ending of the book isn't particularly "happy," as the focus of the story is the relationship which ultimately dies, Harris is a survivor. I think it took incredible courage and strength to tell this story. I'm sure she knew when she was writing it that the blame-the-victim mentality of the popular press was going to be excruciatingly painful for her. I admire her grace and restraint; she never denigrates into name-calling or finger-pointing throughout the entire book.

Talent

Recently, I've been spending a lot of my online time on Ravelry, a knit and crochet website, kind of like a MySpace for folks in the fiber arts. But comparing it to MySpace isn't a particularly good description of the site, because it is so much cooler than that. It is a place to store lists of projects, yarns, things I want to knit, things I already have knit. Do you see why this appeals to me? Organization of all of my knitting. It makes lists. It even does math for me. How much cooler than that does it get?

{Editor's note:OMFG, you are such a dork.}

The only thing that's been a hassle about Ravelry is that they use Flickr for photo-sharing and I prefer Picasa, 'cause I'm such a Google fanatic. If that's the biggest complaint, well, then, there's not much of a problem, is there?

My whole family uses Picasa, which makes it very easy for the sisters in NYC and CA to post pictures of their adventures and then the rest of the fam can take a look and see what they're up to. I posted recent NYC pics the other day and sent my mother a link so she could see us playing in traffic on the bikes.

The parents are living in Flo-reeeda these days, and I don't like them being so far away. So I talk to them nearly every day, just to check in, to allow them to harass me about how much better the weather is there, to keep them up to date with the trouble that I'm causing. I mentioned the recent spate of frenetic knitting I've been doing to my mum, and then sent her a link to the Flickr photos so that she could see the hats and scarves I've been making like a madwoman.

She shot me back an e-mail, praising the beauty of the things I've made and telling me, "You're very talented."

Will I ever get to the point in my life where compliments don't make me uncomfortable? Will I ever get over the urge to devalue myself? Because my gut reaction to that was a snort, an eyeroll, and the thought 'talented? not really.'

Knitting is a learned skill. You don't come out of the womb with the ability, but then, anyone who does have an innate talent, like a prodigal harp player, also has learned the skill. They may have been born with the ability to play the harp better than you or I, but someone had to show them how to pluck those strings just so to make beautiful music.

I have told this story so many times in real life that I don't know if I've ever written about it, so if I have told it to you, interweb, sorry for repeating myself. I learned how to knit at a yarn store, an upscale boutique that caters to a very special breed of needle-craft nutcases. Walking in there is sensory overload; the tactile pleasure of plunging your hands into yarns that are displayed in cubbyholes, the textures of which are soft, rough, smooth as silk or scratchy stiff wools. I find it soothing, the vibrant myriad of colors, the way things are organized into yarns for specific projects.

My first knitting class was a disaster. Unmitigated disaster. There were about 8 women in the class, two of whom were deaf and read lips. Everyone in the class left that first two-hour session with a square knitted potholder. Everyone, that is, except me. Even the hearing impaired were able to follow the spoken instructions well enough to comprehend and make something. I cried the whole way home, an hour plus drive. I was so frustrated! The instructor and I just weren't communicating at all during that first lesson. It wasn't a personality thing; I really like her. I just didn't get it that first day.

I worked diligently on the needles they gave us over the next week, and somehow, eventually, I figured it out and was able to knit. Something just clicked at one point. Good thing, too, because I had been feeling like I was obviously some kind of moron for not understanding.

Over the years since, sometimes I'm really into the knitting, and sometimes I don't touch it for months. I'm like the moon that way; waxing knitting or waning knitting. Currently waxing, of course. You wouldn't have EVER guessed that, would ya? Considering the amount of time I've spent writing about it lately. Usually when the weather gets nicer, I lose some interest, because knitting something made of a heavy wool isn't all that appealing in July when the temperature hovers around 28C or 85+ F. We'll see what happens this year, because ATM? I feel like I'm missing something if I don't have a project to hand that I can work on. I knit while watching TV. I knit while riding in the car. (Not while driving.) I knit while BS-ing with friends. I did some knitting in the subway in NYC. I'd knit during meetings if I could get away with it. I feel compelled, driven to it, a sense of urgency. So many things to do, patterns to try, things I want to make.

Is that talent? Or just my usual OCD-ness? I'm voting for OCD.

Something that I do honestly believe is that I have an affinity for learning languages, an innate talent to make the connections in my head that make it easy for me to pick up a whole new set of vocabulary. But again, learned skill. If I hadn't been an exchange student, I would have never known this about myself; living as I do in the midst of the Midwest, there just isn't all that much opportunity or need for the ability to be bi-or-trilingual.

I'm not very good at my present job. At all. Part of the reason I want to find another job is that I'm not excelling at this one. I'm enough of a type A personality that I want to be the best at everything I do, try, or touch. The job too is a learned skill. I understand how to do it, I'm just not doing well with it. I want to do fantastic with it, but I'm beginning to think that it just isn't all that possible for me to do well at this particular job. It is a bad fit, all around. I disagree with the employer about nearly everything, from politics to procedures the office follows. I think that the ability to excel at this work has to be an inborn trait, one that I don't have.

Urgh, I can't do this online. Getting way to close to writing solely about work, got to stop doing that.

The Discovery Channel has a commercial that I've been entranced with lately, the backing music fascinated me the first time I heard it. So I googled some of the lyrics and discovered the name of the band, Mute Math, and the name of the song, Typical. The lyrics are relevant to this post, and my feelings about my job; can I excel at it? Can I stop being 'typically' bad at it, break the spell?

Everyone has some talent, something that they're good at, something they can do better, smarter, faster than someone else. Breaking out and finding that something is the trick.

I'll leave you with the lyrics.


Come on, can’t I dream for one day
There’s nothing that can’t be done
But how long should it take somebody
Before they can be someone

‘Cause I know there’s got to be another level
Somewhere closer to the other side
And I’m feeling like it’s now or never
Can I break the spell of the typical

I’ve lived through my share of misfortune
And I’ve worked in the blazing sun
But how long should it take somebody
Before they can be someone

Cause I know there’s got to be another level
Somewhere closer to the other side
And I’m feeling like it’s now or never
Can I break the spell of the typical, the typical, the typical, uh huh

I'm the typical
I'm the typical
Can I break the spell of the typical

Because it’s dragging me down
I’d like to know about when
When does it all turn around

I'm just the typical
I'm just the typical

Yeah I know there’s got to be another level
Somewhere closer to the other side
And I’m feeling like it’s now or never
Can I break the spell of the typical
The typical, the typical, uh huh

Of the typical
Break the spell (of the typical)
Break the spell (of the typical)
Can I break the spell of the typical, of the typical
I'm just the typical
I'm just the typical
I'm just the typical
I'm just the typical

Wi'chew

I apologize most sincerely for inflicting this upon you, because you will leave this post with an obnoxious pop song stuck in your head.

I'm also putting on my Spinster Aunt Grammar Police hat.

You got me trippin', stumblin' flippin, fumbling
Clumsy cuz I'm fallin in love
You got me slippin, tumbling, sinking, fumbling
Clumsy cuz I'm fallin in love
So in love wit you

That's the chorus to Fergie's latest pop song, Clumsy. I've seen the video twice, randomly surfing the TV channels, and I am hearing the bass line in my head for hours afterward. I like Fergie's music, understand that. But that last line, "so in love wit you" has me all fired up, for a couple of reasons.

First, it is miserable grammar/pronunciation. Folks who don't enunciate make me nuts. "Wit" instead of "with" is really one of my pet peeves. Another one is people who mispronounce the word frustrate, but that's a story for another day. Wit is intelligence. Wit is savvy. W-I-T is not an appropriated shortened form of with. Grrr.

The other reason this irritates me requires a bit of backstory. You already know I'm a music geek. I don't think I've ever talked about my singing here; I no longer sing in public, but to not sing would be to not breathe. I sing all the time. With the iPod. Without the iPod. With the radio. Not with the radio. With the muzak in department stores. At full fortissimo or as quiet as a church mouse. I have a halfway decent voice. I'll never be Maria Callas or Mariah Carey, with their astonishing ranges, but I can carry a tune, and carry it well. From the time I was 12 years old until I left for Sweden at 16, I studied with a vocal coach, in addition to singing in my school's choirs.

My coach had been an opera singer with the Met, once upon a time. She taught me wonderful things about breath support and projecting volume. She was also at considerable pains to teach me how to sing the words 'with you' so it didn't sound like you were singing the word 'chew.' The choir director at school was the same guy from 6th grade all the way through graduation; this was one of his fussy things too. Thanks to both of them, this is something I notice in popular music, and when it is done incorrectly, it makes me grind my teeth. It isn't that hard to do; any singer should know this little trick. All you do is soften the "t" sound, almost as if you were going to drop it off all together, and emphasize the 'you', being careful not to introduce too much of your Midwest twang into it and making it sound like 'yew'. Oh, wait, that Midwest thing would just be me. Anyway.

Fergie-Ferg has a lovely voice, is a talented songstress, and produces extremely entertaining music. This just makes ME nuts, it is a psychosis, I know. The song really sticks with you, which speaks well for it being a major hit for her. And that means that I'll be hearing it everywhere.

If you need me, I'll be over there in the corner in the fetal, rocking and grinding my teeth.

clumsy 'cause I'm fallin' in love..in in love
so in love
wit you

grrrrrrr

Evolving Tastes

Professional sports aren't my thing. They never have been, and that's OK with me. Football? Meh. Baseball? Meh. Basketball? Meh. NASCAR? Meh.

But then there's hockey. I like hockey; that's due to living in Sweden. I challenge anyone to spend any time at all living in Scandinavia and not become a hockey lover. One ex in Sweden took me to several games of a minor-league team in his home city, and he painstakingly explained the rules to me. So unlike football, which makes little sense to me, I know what's going on down on the ice during a hockey game.

I've been at several hockey games lately, and the team has cheerleaders. Which is laughable, really. Can't have a team without cheerleaders, right? Seems to me that's a pretty uniquely American oddity. Anyway, I think it is a requirement that all hockey arenas must play a few particular songs during the match; The Hey Song, Unbelievable (by EMF), Everybody Dance Now (C+C Music Factory), to name a few. Stuff that I forget about until I hear it played again, which brings it back up into the forefront of my thoughts.

When I got in front of the computer after the most recent hockey game, I started searching iTunes for a few 90s dance hits that I liked back in the day, a few things I was reminded of at the games.

Itunes is a ginormous time-suck, have I ever mentioned that? As bad as the web; maybe for a music addict, worse than the web. C+C Music Factory took me to The Hit Crew, which then led to browsing of the entire dance genre on iTunes, and before I knew it, more than two hours had flown by.

Once upon a time, I adored dance, techno, rave, trip-hop, drum & bass. Isn't it funny how our tastes change over time? At one time, all I listened to was electronica. Stuff that to the uneducated ear is repetitive computer-created crap. I remember another ex, who bitched incessantly about the prevalence of techno in the early 90s. He claimed that any three-year-old with a computer could compose any one of the hits that swept through the European dance club circuits back then; I disagreed vehemently, but because I was a shy little pushover in those days, I kept my mouth shut.

When I was living in Europe, I was spellbound by the DJs in the dance clubs. The way that they'd take songs and blend them together, looping back to the original melody, flowing to the next song, I wondered a lot about how difficult that was, and what you needed to accomplish such amazing technological feats. And how much music each of them must have owned; seemed to me like they had every note of music ever recorded.

As I wandered around iTunes, listening to bits of old techno, a trip(hop) down memory lane, I wondered what had ever happened to my copy of The Prodigy's Experience CD, or the CD-Maxi I had of Das Boot, or anything I owned by The Chemical Brothers. I've never been one to toss music, even when I no longer like it. I own an embarrassing lot of music, and when you add DH's collection in to mine, there's quite a bit there that could be cringe-worthy.

Watching that vid of Das Boot over on YouTube brought back a flood of memories. I thought that the video was frightening back in 1992, showing as it did clips of the epynomous movie which is about a German sinking submarine during WWII. I still find it disturbing, but I also find that I can't sit still while the song is playing, it makes me want to hop up and dance. That's disturbing as well, on some level.

A fangirl friend gave me an mp3 file of Blue (Da Ba Dee) by Eiffel 65; another early-90s hit that I can (and do) listen to over and over.

I like dance music for working out. I hate to admit it; there's so much out there that must be better to listen to. But for motivating me to move faster, there's nothing like something that comes in at over 150 bpm.

There was a while that I wouldn't listen to the tech/electronica/dance at all. Other times, I've cringed about the classic rock in my collection, or been embarrassed that I own opera. These days, I shrug and smile if someone harasses me about something on my iPod or on my computer. It is your problem if you don't like it, not mine. I tell people that my music tastes are just eclectic. Besides downloading a remix of Das Boot, I've also recently snagged Eminem's Lose Yourself, (rap) Men in Hat's Safety Dance, (80s) Pink's I'm not dead album, (Pop/Rock/R&B) Lifehouse's new single, (Rock) an older Finger 11 song (Alternative) that I like....and I'm working on getting my entire CD collection digitized. Yeah, eclectic. That's my story, and I'm sticking to it.

Rediscover

My father collects clothes. So much clothing does he own that he has a closet of his own, plus the entirety of a guest room closet and the storage area in their basement also has a rack full of clothes that are his alone.

DH collects movies. At last count, more than 250 films of every genre reside on shelves in our media room. Most on DVD, but some on VHS too. Although opposites attract, and we are opposite in many, many ways (politically, socially...I could go on) but we share some OCD tendencies, and there is an Excel spreadsheet list stored on his laptop and on mine that lists all of the movies. One worksheet has them listed alphabetically by title. The second worksheet lists them by genre.

For me, it is neither clothes nor movies, but music. When I was razzing my father a few weeks ago about the amount of clothing he owns, he took it stoically for a few minutes; then he asked how much music I own. Guilty as charged. The only proper answer to that question is LOTS.

I will listen to almost anything; from hip-hop to opera, alt-country, trip-hop, dance hall, pop, classic rock, folk, bluegrass. About the only thing I don't really like is country, but that's not a hard and fast rule.

I use iTunes to digitally store my music. When I got my new computer, I divided the hard drive, portioning off a section to dedicate to music storage. I keep increasing that section, because it keeps getting too close to being full.

I subscribe to a handful of free podcasts on iTunes, and one that I listen to faithfully is DJ Steveboy's Podrunner. I've written about Steve Boyette before; I discovered him on iTunes by searching for music to run to. Using words like awesome, amazingly talented, and unbelievable don't come close to doing justice to describing him. Subscribing to the podcast on iTunes means that whenever he uploads a new one, I get it automatically whenever I log in to iTunes. And he does these things weekly.

Some of the mixes I like more than others, of course. House and dance hall stuff can be annoying if it isn't your thing. But I have yet to find one that I don't like at all. He categorizes them based on number of beats per minute (bpm) which range from 130 to 170. I tend to use the slower end of the spectrum for my runs, as I'm not a world-class marathoner, but using the high speed ones sometimes kicks up my workout a bit.

I couldn't work out without music. I've been known to leave the gym if I don't have at least headphones with me; most of the cardio machines have headphone jacks so that you can watch TV, and without at least that, I just can't face more than about 3 minutes of cardio. I have forgotten the iPod from time to time, and as long as I can listen to something that is all right, but of course I'd rather have my own music.

I owe DJ Steve a debt of extreme gratitude. (Ooo, he blogs, too.) Without several of his more recent mixes, among them "Radiant Dark," "Beat Cathedral," and "Step Sequencer," I wouldn't have been able to get back in to the groove of running. I skipped about 2 weeks total of the gym as I've settled into the new job, 3 days here, 2 days there. Not going a few times makes it easier to not go at all. But then those numbers on the scale creep up, and I can't stay away from it, no matter how hard it is to drag my ass out of bed to get to the gym in the mornings.

I've claimed throughout this process that I don't like working out. And I don't, really. I don't like to sweat. I don't like being too hot. I don't like my clothes sticking to me when I'm done. I don't like that I think *I* sweat more profusely than other people. I used to say of running, when I was a teenager, "The only good thing about running is when you stop." But I don't really feel that way anymore.

When my time on the elliptical was winding down today, I felt so exhilarated, so energized, that I couldn't believe my time was up. I've been so cautious about running, with the shin splints causing me so much pain. I don't like not being able to run, but neither do I like the idea of stress fractures if I'm not careful. But since I didn't feel "done" today when my time was up on the elliptical, I ran a few times around the track, to the "Beat Cathedral" mix, feeling so strong.

It is so very hard for me to put into words how much 'feeling strong' signifies major change for me. I didn't use to be. Strong, that is. Running a few blocks to catch a bus in NYC would have had me gasping for air like a fish out of water. Carrying baskets of laundry up the stairs in our old apartment building had me heaving and panting. No longer.

In fact, I'm actually considering signing up for several upcoming 5 and 10 K races. I must be out of my mind.

I'm NOT the only one.

I have not ever, to date, had a post that was just song lyrics. Yes, I'll print bits of songs, a chorus or a few lines that I think are appropriate to the situation.

But.

I saw a video while I was on the elliptical at the gym and it brought me nearly to tears, so I'm going to embed the video and print the lyrics, and let that speak for itself. Watch the video. Spend the four minutes that it would usually take you to read one of my long-winded posts.

I can't imagine that someone would not find it deeply moving.




Dear Mr. President,
Come take a walk with me.
Let's pretend we're just two people and
You're not better than me.
I'd like to ask you some questions if we can speak honestly.

What do you feel when you see all the homeless on the street?
Who do you pray for at night before you go to sleep?
What do you feel when you look in the mirror?
Are you proud?

How do you sleep while the rest of us cry?
How do you dream when a mother has no chance to say goodbye?
How do you walk with your head held high?
Can you even look me in the eye
And tell me why?

Dear Mr. President,
Were you a lonely boy?
Are you a lonely boy?
Are you a lonely boy?
How can you say
No child is left behind?
We're not dumb and we're not blind.
They're all sitting in your cells
While you pave the road to hell.

What kind of father would take his own daughter's rights away?
And what kind of father might hate his own daughter if she were gay?
I can only imagine what the first lady has to say
You've come a long way from whiskey and cocaine.

How do you sleep while the rest of us cry?
How do you dream when a mother has no chance to say goodbye?
How do you walk with your head held high?
Can you even look me in the eye?

Let me tell you 'bout hard work
Minimum wage with a baby on the way
Let me tell you 'bout hard work
Rebuilding your house after the bombs took them away
Let me tell you 'bout hard work
Building a bed out of a cardboard box
Let me tell you 'bout hard work
Hard work
Hard work
You don't know nothing 'bout hard work
Hard work
Hard work
Oh

How do you sleep at night?
How do you walk with your head held high?
Dear Mr. President,
You'd never take a walk with me.
Would you?

Five Fine Questions

A few months ago, a blogging friend had the most unusual meme posted on his blog. It was an interview of sorts, and it intrigued me a great deal. The way is works is you leave a comment on the interviewee's (in this case, my) blog, and they come up with five questions which you then answer. So instead of getting tagged with a meme that you may or may not want to do, you volunteer for this one.

I volunteered. But John has a life outside of the computer, unlike me, so some time went by before he was able to get the questions to me. And in the intervening week, I've actually had a life outside of the computer; among some personal drama, I also had.....drumroll, please....a JOB INTERVIEW! Since we don't talk about work or potential work on this blog, I'd feel more comfortable if we moved on, wouldn't you? Thought so.

Here are John's five questions and and my answers.

1. You are a self-described hemorrhaging heart liberal. I am a hand-over-my-heart conservative. Why should people like us "waste time" talking to each other?

Because you can't shake hands with a clenched fist. We may never convince one another to change our personal point of view, even though we passionately hope to, but we can't fix a single problem by shouting at one another. Sane, respectful, rational, polite dialog never hurt anyone that I've ever heard of. And there's a lot to fix; we're agreed on that. Healthcare, Education, Poverty, the HIV crisis, the gaping holes in the deficit and the ozone layer...methodology and philosophy may differ, even be vehemently opposed to one another, but you have to start somewhere. A conversation is a good place to begin.

2. You have been convicted of a crime (hypothetically, of course!) and your judge passes the following sentence on you for your crime..."You can only eat one meal, watch one movie, read one book, and listen to one album for the rest of your life." What are your choices and why?

Ouch! Depriving me of musical and reading choices is like taking my oxygen away. Alright, begin at the beginning; one meal.

Pasta, with a tomato-basil-garlic sauce, and a glass of Syrah or Shiraz. I'd gain a ton from the carbs, but I could eat pasta 7 days a week and not get tired of it.

One movie; The Shawshank Redemption. Morgan Freeman's monologue at the end makes me weep every time I watch it. It is about hope.

One book; as I type this, I'm looking over the edge of my loft at my library below and the hundreds of books shelved there. Pick one? ONE? I think I could sooner choose one limb to lose. I'm sure most people pick something serious, some weighty tome, scholarly and pedantic in tone; I don't think I could. Although I'm tempted to say an unabridged dictionary, for the love of learning new words. The questions I'm struggling with here are: something I've read already and know and love, or something I haven't read and want to? Fiction or non-fiction? In English or Swedish or German? Argh! Much too difficult to answer for someone who has loved to read since her earliest memories!

Steven King's The Stand because it is very long and being a horror novel would take me a long, long, long time to read with my overactive imagination.

One album; again, very, very difficult. I have over 1200 songs stored in iTunes, and that isn't all of my music collection by a long shot. I listen to everything from opera to hip-hop, alt country to jazz standards. There isn't much music that I don't like. I think I'd choose Miles Davis's, Kind of Blue, because it was my first exposure to jazz, a memory I hold dear, and because every time I listen to it, I hear something new.

3. You spent some time in Sweden as an exchange student. What are the lingering life-lessons you carry from this experience?

Funny you should ask, I was also asked this question in that job interview.

The biggest lesson was that I can do anything. I forget that lesson from time to time, but I figured out at 16 years old that if I could learn a completely new language in 3 months then there probably wasn't much I couldn't do, if I was determined enough. Another lesson was that families, the world over, are far more similar than they are different. Our similarities have the potential to bring us closer together, to solve conflict. That's what the exchange program is about, really, is fostering peace. I learned that I could get up in front of an audience of any size and not die of terror on the spot; I've used that a lot over the years. Many people fear public speaking. I not only love it, I'm good at it. I learned to treasure time alone and solitude; some of my meditation practice takes me back to sitting on the shore of Lake Malaren in my hometown in Sweden, watching the waves, listening to and feeling the wind. The link shows a map of my Swedish hometown; look at the right side of town and a spot on the lake that says Skillingeud; that's where I went when I wanted some solitary time. I would also be freezing my rear end off most of the time, frankly! Which brings me to my last two life lessons....how to dress in layers to keep warm and that saunas are a woooonderful thing.

4. Name 5 simple things that bring joy to your day.
Every day or any day? I'm going with any day.
1. Sunshine, because we see so little of it here in Oh-hia-ia.
2. Laughing with my sisters so much that my abs hurt. The three of us need to be together for that one, but it is a joy.
3. My DH snoring loud enough to shake the roof. No, really. If he's snoring, that means that he's here, with me, and if the noise bothers me, I use earplugs. I'm lucky to have him , and even when the snoring bugs me, it reminds me that he's always there, solid, dependable, a source of strength for me that has never run out.
4. Deep breaths of crisp, cool air. I don't know if anyone who does not have asthma can appreciate this in the same way that an asthmatic can. Usually a sharp inhalation of cold air brings on an attack, so when it doesn't, that's a great thing.
5. My friends and family, without whom I would not be the imperfect person I am.

And now I've got John Denver singing "Sunshine on my shoulders" stuck in my head.

5. You enjoy cooking. My Beloved and I are coming over. What's for supper? (Spare no details. Make our mouths water.)

And what an interesting dinner that would be!

The true question here is do I start with dessert and work my way backwards or begin with the traditional first course and work my way forward? I had to look up the proper courses per Emily Post; but since I think a entree and roast course are both redundant and far too much food, I've trimmed it down to fewer courses than a formal dinner. Working (mostly) within my abilities, here we go!

1. Hors d’oeuvre~small rounds of fresh French bread, soaked with olive oil and covered with a blend of feta cheese, garlic, and spices, (oregano, salt, pepper, parsley) broiled in the oven until the bread is crispy and the feta is soft. Very messy to eat, as the olive oil runs all over everywhere, but worth the mess.

2. Soup~my host mother's soup, for which I have no English name. She calls it juha, but that's a phonetic spelling of a Croatian word that I know is just 'soup.' It is a clear broth, made from soup bones in a pressure cooker, and is simplicity itself. Seasoned only with salt and a very small amount of pepper. Tiny, tiny, tiny pasta is added for some bulk. Although I said I was working within my own abilities, I have yet to be able to re-create the exact flavor of her soup here in the States. I suspect this is due to the difference in the way cattle and chicken are raised (more organically) there.

3. Entrée~an Emeril Lagasse recipe that I've stolen and adapted over the years; beer-brined chicken. A whole chicken is submerged for 24 hours in a brine made of lots of salt, a little bit of water, and a whole lot of Guinness. Other beers or ales also work, but the Guinness just adds something unquantifiable to it. Plus some other secret seasonings. When it comes out of the brine, the cavity of the chicken gets a stick of butter and a whole head of garlic stuffed inside, and it is roasted. The most moist and flavorful thing you've ever had. Served with small new potatoes every color of the spectrum (purple ones from Prince Edward Island are pretty) and fresh green beans that have been steamed just until they're hot, still crisp.

4. Fish~Basa, a Vietnamese fish, steamed in packets made of parchment paper, seasoned with sesame oil, dill, salt, pepper, a hint of lemon juice and lemon zest. Served with crisp edamame.

5. Salad~one of my Kitchen Sink salads. Called so because everything but the kitchen sink is in it! Baby greens, all sorts of wonderful lettuces as the base. Sweet and spicy, things like arugula, endive, Boston lettuce, you get the idea. To that I add shredded carrots, diced celery, English cucumbers that have been halved, seeded, and chopped in to chunks, toasted almond slivers, dried cherries, golden raisins, small grape tomatoes. The salad is served naked, with no dressing on it to allow each diner to add the amount of dressing that they like. I make a vinegarette from scratch, using fresh squeezed lemon juice, lemon zest, fresh cilantro, sea salt, fresh ground black pepper, sesame oil and olive oil.

6. Dessert & Coffee~knowing that you are a coffee lover, I would have to serve coffee that my parents brought back from Nicaragua when they visited several years ago. I have no idea what it was called, where it was grown, or how the beans were roasted, but it was the best coffee I've ever tasted. Or a true Hawaiian Kona, not the 'Kona Blend' you find in the stores.
Dessert would have to depend on the season; in the depths of winter, a decadent chocolate delight, rich moist chocolate cake layers with dark chocolate ganache between the layers, frosted with chocolate mousse and garnished with sliced strawberries and white chocolate shavings. I think I gained ten pounds typing that sentence!! In the spring, a lighter cake, butter cake, which isn't chocolate, with raspberry filling, and a honey buttercream frosting, decorated with vines piped in a buttercream tinted green. In the summer, a chocolate angel food cake, lighter than air, with the addition of a swirl of chocolate sauce to grace each plate. Fresh strawberries, blueberries, and raspberries served on the side with whipped creme. In the fall, apple dumplings made from Honeycrisp apples, which ErinCee will tell you are the best, most wonderful fall apples. Apple dumplings, for those not in the know, are made rather simply; a pate sucre (sweet dough) is wrapped around a peeled and cored apple. Just before sealing the square of pastry around the apple, a bit of cinnamon, a tiny bit of nutmeg, and a dab of butter is placed inside. They're then baked in a glass dish containing a simple syrup (sugar and water, boiled together) to which cinnamon, nutmeg, and butter has been added. Apple dumplings are traditionally served with ice cream; I like mine without, but for those who like the al a mode version (including my DH) a homemade vanilla gelato, far richer than any ordinary ice cream. Gelato has many, many eggs in it, is a colossal pain in the ass to make, and worth every second of the effort. I'd make it with whole vanilla beans so that the tiny specks of vanilla seeds could be seen.

Anyone who left the table hungry would have to do the dishes.


If you would like to be interviewed follow the instructions below!

1. Leave me a comment saying “Interview me.”
2. I will respond by emailing you five questions. I get to pick the questions.
3. You will update your blog with a post containing your answers to the questions.
4. You will include this explanation and an offer to interview someone else in the same post.
5. When others comment asking to be interviewed, you will ask them five questions.

Ancient Music

Well, OK, not ancient in the strictest sense. But in the world of pop music, positively ancient; from the early 90s or earlier.

I wrote a post a while back about an old mix tape that I have held on to for a long, long time. I've spent some time listening to it and trying to figure out just who the various bands are. This is a listing as best as I can discover of all of the songs on the tape.

Unfortunately, there are a few that are NOT available from iTunes or any other source I can discover. DH tells me that yes, it is possible to get music from analog tapes to mp3 format, but the gadget guru does not have the needed hardware. Yet.

Without further ado, here's the listing. This has taken forever to dig up all the links and to track down the names of the bands...and I'm not done. There are still two that I can't track down. Which in the age of everything in the whole world available on Google is as irritating as heck. The song title links to the lyrics (usually) and the band title links to the band's website, if they have one, and a fan site if they don't.

1. Hello~The Beloved
2. Come Together~Primal Scream
3. Candleland~Echo & The Bunnymen
4. All Together Now~The Beatles
5. Only Tongue Can Tell~Trash Can Sinatras
6. Scarborough Fair~Simon & Garfunkel
7. I'm Free~The Soup Dragons
8. Unknown
9. That's a lie (remix)~Too Much Joy
10. Theme from Twin Peaks(no lyrics)~Angelo Badalamenti
    
11. Laura Palmer's Theme (no lyrics)~Angelo Badalmenti
12. Right Here, Right Now~Jesus Jones
    
13. Hippychick~Soho
14. Wicked Game~Chris Isaak
15. Peek-a-Boo~Siouxsie & The Banshees
16. Give Peace A Chance~The Peace Choir
    
17. Deeper Shade of Soul~Urban Dance Squad
18. I Saw Red (Acoustic)~Warrant
19. Put It There~Paul McCartney
20. Imagine~John Lennon
21. Waterfall~The Stone Roses
22. Then~The Charlatans UK
    
23. Here Comes The Sun~The Beatles
24. Elizabeth My Dear~The Stone Roses

As I've said before, just about my favorite song of the bunch is Waterfall by the Stone Roses, but there isn't much I don't like. Track #8, the unknown one, is one that I've spent about 3 hours trying to find the name of the band and the song title. I'm pretty sure it is Britpop, but I've had no luck at all finding any information. The chorus of the song is as follows:

every beat of the heart
brings me closer to the start
takes me further away from you
brings me closer to the truth


If you know who sings this, what the title of the song is, please let me know. It is going to drive me crazy.


If I was super tech-savvy, I'd post a playlist with an MP3 player so you could hear all this ancient music, but I'm not that cool. Plus can you imagine the bandwith that would eat up?

Mix Tape

Back in the dark ages, before music was on computers and long before I was aware of the Internet, we made and traded mix tapes. Mix tapes were compilations of music, usually along a particular theme or just songs that you were fond of.

Over the years, from probably the age of 10 until 19, I probably made a hundred or so. I traded them with friends, shared them with school-mates, listened to them for hours at a time. These were the precursors to playlists.

I made them with a dual tape deck, or later, when CDs came along, taped from a CD. In the late 80s, though, I didn't have any CDs or a CD player. A good friend of mine, V, had several players and hundreds of CDs. She made great tapes.

Before I left for Sweden, she made me one that was full of Brit-pop and alternative music. I listened to it on the train, traveling around Sweden, on the bus back and forth on the way to school, at home, while riding my bike.

One of my favorite songs on the tape was by The Stone Roses, a song that I almost felt had been written for me. I identified strongly with the lyrics. But there were many other songs on the tape that I loved.

I liked the tape so much that when I tossed all of the rest of my analog tapes, having either replaced them with CDs or no longer caring about the music on the tapes, I kept that one. When DH and I moved house, the tape came along to our new domicile too. For at least the last 3 years, it has sat on a shelf with about 4 other tapes that survived the purge of old technology.

I'm not sure why, but just the other day a bit of the lyric from that old Stone Roses song popped into my head, and while I could remember that the song had been on the tape V gave me, I could remember neither the name of the song nor the band. I spent some time Googling the lyrics as I recalled them, but couldn't find it. I even looked for the mix tape, but didn't find it.

After a while, I remembered more of the lyric and eventually located the name of the song and the band, and I was satisfied with that, especially when iTunes provided me with the song for $0.99. (It is "Waterfall," from The Stone Roses self-titled album, should your own curiosity overwhelm you.)

Then DH and I watched a few movies last night and I changed the the DVD when one ended. While standing in front of the DVD player, I noticed the shelf of tapes, and sure enough, there was the mix tape from V.

We no longer have a tape player, except in my car, which is a 1999 and has a factory-installed tape player instead of a CD player for some reason. So when we went out today, I slipped the tape into my back pocket and popped it into the player.

The resulting stroll down memory lane made me very happy. As each song came on, I remembered long-forgotten things, including the lyrics to almost every song on the tape. While it is predominantly Brit-pop that I promise you've never heard of, there's also some Simon & Garfunkel, and a few things that were wildly popular at the time. Strangely, although V and I were both into a bit of heavy metal, there's only one song from a metal band, and it is a ballad.

I don't generally write posts of lists, even though I'm a compulsive list-maker, but as I eventually rediscover the names of the bands and the songs on the tape, I will make a list with links to the various band's websites and post it in the interest of fun and archaic music.

I haven't talked to V in more than 7 years. I'm not sure where she is these days. But listening to all that music again has prompted me to try to track her down and see how she's doing.

When I'm forced to admit my sisters are right, yet again.

I love saying "I told you so." Just love it when I'm right and you're wrong and I'm vindicated. Love it. It must be genetic, because I know that both sisters enjoy doing that as well.

All three of us have eclectic tastes in music. Everything from opera to trip-hop is in my music library. My sisters and I have a few intersecting interests; Dave Matthews Band, U2, O.A.R., the Red Hot Chili Peppers. But we've each developed interests of our own. From time to time, we will each try to get the other two to fall in love with a band that we've discovered.

Case in point? Babysis has been telling me about a musician named Xavier Rudd for about a year. I ignored her, not because she's ever steered me wrong in the past, but because I just didn't bother to go check him out.

Babysis's computer has been here at my house, so I've helped myself to stuff in her iTunes library that I've wanted for a while, from Jay-Z to some Dave Matthews Band stuff that she had and I didn't.

*Warning, geek content to follow!!*

I used an 8 gig thumb drive of DH's to transfer the music files from her computer to mine, and it couldn't have been easier or quicker. I now have far more music on the computer than will fit on my iPod, which will require a reformatting of how the iPod syncs to the computer. I haven't gotten around to that yet. ITunes will do this all by itself, but if it does, IT chooses what will be synced to the iPod, and yes, I'm a control freak and *I* want to choose what goes on the iPod.

*End geek transmission!*

She had 4 of Xavier Rudd's albums on her iTunes, and I decided that I'd copy it all. I'm really glad that I did. He's a one-man band, and I imagine seeing him live is quite the thrill. He plays a steel guitar, sings, plays the didgeridoo, an array of other instruments as well. He's kind of like Jack Johnson, kind of like Ben Harper, kind of like Dave Matthews Band, and yet different from them all as well. I'm loving it.

The first time anything of his came up in random shuffle, as DH and I were both doing computer stuff, he looked up and said, "What the HELL is that?" and I looked at iTunes and informed him it was stuff I'd copied from Babysis's machine while he's fixing it up to send back to Cali for her. "Weird." he remarked. And it is, a bit. This isn't really like anything you've ever heard before. But good. Good!

Right yet again, kiddo! One week's free gloating is yours!

Still my favorite summertime show

It is never officially summer to me unless there's been a Dave Matthews Band concert. I've gone to see them every single summer since around 1995. See, there ARE things that I'm a fangirl about other than Supernatural and Jensen. Really.

I love the band, and it started with the first show I went to. I liked their music before then, but a live show with DMB is an experience not to be missed. The energy at the shows is amazing. The band's musicianship is fantastic. It is clear that they love what they do.

Usually I go with a friend from college, and it is about the only time the whole year that we actually see one another. In more recent years, friends from high school have met up at the shows, and DH tags along from time to time.

Last night DH and I took a road trip and saw the the show in Pittsburgh. The complete set list is posted on the band's website and can be seen here, so I'm only going to talk about a couple of the songs they played.

When I was writing yesterday about albums that I like every track on the album, I didn't list a Dave Matthews Band CD because there are, believe it or not, Dave tracks that I don't like. Only a couple, the vast majority of them I love. I'd be hard pressed to choose one and only one Dave Matthews Band song that is my favorite. But among them would be "Die Trying," "One Sweet World," and "Grey Street."

They opened with "Seek Up" and then immediately went into "Die Trying." The first time I heard "Die Trying" was at a live show a few years ago. The song has a very heavy bass line, solid drumming, a distinctive guitar hook. The next day, I looked up the set list and realized that the song was from the new album at the time, Stand Up. The song is on my iPod's list of top 25 most played tracks. I haven't seen them do the song live since that summer of 2005, so I was thrilled to see it performed again.

Higher up in the list of most played songs, though, is "Grey Street." The song is about a suicide attempt, following the theme of death that many Dave Matthews songs have. Dave himself seems a bit preoccupied with the idea of death and dying, his solo album was full of songs that made reference to death-related things. "Gravedigger," and "Save Me" being the prime examples of that theme. "Grey Street" resonates with me. Not necessarily because of the suicidal theme, although I do like the lyrics a great deal. I never get tired of watching the band perform the song.

Dave sang "Sister" with Carter, Butch, and guest trumpet player Rashawn on backing vocals and no instrumentation other than his own guitar. The song brought me to tears. I've seen it done live before (hardly a surprise, since at my own count I've been to more than 20 shows) but last night it was particularly poignant. He introduced the song by saying, "Me and my sister were kinda tight, growing up. We're still kinda tight."

My love of the band is shared by both of my sisters; I took my youngest sister to her first live show when she was 14, it was of course DMB. The band opened with "Don't Drink the Water" that night, and I'll never forget her gripping my arm (squeezing so hard that she nearly broke it) and shrieking as the band took the state.

The year I got married, the Dave show was a few weeks before my wedding. It was at Three Rivers Stadium, which has since been demolished. The three of us went together, had 9th row seats on the stadium floor. That night the band played "Long Black Veil" and their version of Jimi Hendrix's "Watchtower," a fan favorite.

The three of us have been to other shows together. So it is only natural that I should think of them at the shows. I sent a text message to both of them last night which said, "@ DMB show tonight. Wish you were here. <3 you." I miss them both so terribly much.

DH and I left before the show was over, trying to avoid the insanity of 30,000 of our closest friends leaving at the same time. I was ready to head home, but unfortunately we missed the band playing "Watchtower" as part of the encore. That's OK, I have tickets to another show in a few weeks, another chance to see it again. I'm hoping that they play "One Sweet World" as well.

Sister, I hear you laugh
My heart fills full up
Keep me please
Sister, when you cry
I feel your tears
Running down my face
Sister, sister, you keep me

Thinking music

Over the last few days I've been obsessively listening to Maroon 5's "Songs about Jane" which I purchased on iTunes several months ago. There isn't a bad song on that album.

That got me to thinking about other albums that I liked the whole thing, where there isn't a bad song in the bunch. There just aren't that many; Los Lonely Boys 2004 self-titled album was another one. Dave Matthews Band's Everyday, Incubus's Light Grenades...just a few I can call to mind quickly. Considering that I own probably somewhere on the order of 300 CDs, that's kind of a sad state of affairs, isn't it?

I discovered the other day that I have purchased more than 100 songs from iTunes since January, when I got the iPod. Perhaps I have a music addiction in addition to my internet addiction. Ach, there's no perhaps about it. I am addicted to music. Even before the iPod, I had music surrounding me all the time. The iPod has only exacerbated the "problem." I have it on all the time, often even when I'm running errands.

But I could stop anytime, really. Riiight.

Good enough.

"There are two types of people in this world, good and bad. The good sleep better, but the bad seem to enjoy the waking hours much more." ~Woody Allen

I have Google set up with a bunch of different gadgets, so when I'm signed in to my Google account (which I use for e-mail, instant messaging, here on Blogger and to write the book...) and I click on Google, I get a personalized version of Google. Which is nice. But the quotes gadget has been making me laugh a lot lately and occasionally sparking some creativity.

I think that most people think of themselves as "good people." I do; don't you? There are times and places where I say, "I'm not a nice girl!" but overall, I think of myself as a good person. I wonder lately how strong of a person I am since I apparently need an anti-depressant to function, but that's really a separate issue.

I haven't been able to run lately with the shin splints getting worse instead of better, so I've been back on the elliptical machine. The running websites that talked about the "psychic pain" of not being able to run? So right. But my gym has some pretty high-tech elliptical machines, so while I don't love it, I don't hate it either. It does burn more calories, for whatever that's worth. Today I was watching a Kanye West video while moving along and I plugged in to the headphone jack to hear the lyrics and it was as if I was smacked in the face by a snippet of the song:

To whom much is given, much is tested

and I think that's a biblical quote, or at least it sounds as if it should be. But I searched a few bible websites and came up empty. Googling the phrase just gets me results about Kanye West. I decided that it doesn't matter where it comes from, I find it helpful and inspiring.

Have I been given a lot? You bet. Stable two-parent family, close siblings, a roof over my head, enough food to eat, a good relationship, great friends, (online and off) clothes to spare, enough money to play around with...and I don't have much to complain about, do I?

Without the support of the people around me, I wouldn't have survived the winter's depression. Another bit of another Kanye West song:

That that don't kill me, can only make me stronger

which is hardly original to Mr. West, but is timely and pertinent to what's been happening to me. And if I wasn't a good person, I would hardly get the support of those I love and those that love me.

So why can't I sleep?

Listening to: Kanye West "Stronger" and "Can't Tell Me Nothin'"

We Can Work It Out

In the 1980s, my mother was a huge Michael Bolton fan. She tortured my sisters and I for unspeakable hours by forcing us to listen to his music. I wasn't a fan then, and am still not a fan now.

Hearing his music on the radio, though, brings back memories of being about 13 and Mum blasting the music on a stereo that only played cassette tapes, and my mother and babysis singing at the top of their lungs. Me, I can sing. Decently well. Middlesis too. Mum and babysis? Not so much. I remember trying to suggest gently that maybe they ought to let Michael sing it himself, or better yet, that I had Def Leppard's "Hysteria" right here, really, I could pop it in the second cassette deck and play it right now, wouldn't everyone like that better? I knew I sure would.

As both sisters and I cruised around in an old Jeep that my dad has purchased as a summertime toy, babysis plugged her iPod in to the radio and announced that she was going to play her favorite song on the iPod, her mostest favoritest song on the whole 30-gig hard drive. Wait for it, she said, wait! Beginning a few seconds later were the first few cords of "How Can We Be Lovers If We Can't Be Friends." I am not at all surprised to find that I still remember every word. Nor am I surprised that babysis's singing skills haven't improved in California.


Babysis's poor friend B. He was with us, and subjected to all three of us singing along to the delightful Mr. Bolton at top volume. In case you've forgotten (and I am SO SORRY if you truly had for giving the dreadful song back to your memory) there's a quick 4-5 seconds in the song where the music stops and Bolton sings a cappella for just a second in that horrible voice that sounds like he's straining for every single note (seriously, dude, it is called breath control. Look in to it.) where he screeches, "We can work it out!"

That line, indeed the song's entire lyric, provide endless hours of fun for us, where we'll say the words to one another in very serious tones of voice, before we end up breaking down and rolling on the floor.

Again I say poor B. He watched this circus of his own free will for about 4 hours on Sunday. When he left, I asked if they thought we'd tortured him unfairly.

"Whatever, dude, we're more entertaining than any other three people I could name. Fuck, no," middlesis declared.

I love it that she's even more foul-mouthed than I am, and that both parents roll their eyes at her for such vulgarity rather than attempt to get her to clean up her act. And she's right. We are pretty darn funny. We entertain ourselves, anyway.