Rock 'N Role Models

The other night we took my 7 year old to the American Idol concert. I have to admit that I was looking forward to it as much as she was, maybe even more. American Idol is one of the few shows that all four of us watch together. And aside from the occasional too-revealing outfit or bleep-fueled rant by Steven Tyler, we can count it as “family television.”

I have been thinking about music a lot lately, more than usual, and its effect on us as we grow up. I recently saw Pat Benetar in concert, as I do every summer. I have already stated in this blog that I am a huge fan. She was my American Idol growing up. I also recently saw Journey, breaking my vow to not see the band post-Steve Perry, and I have in my possession tickets to upcoming shows by Blondie and the B-52s. (Note: Just read this morning that Debbie Harry is 66!!) None of these bands has had a hit song since I stopped wearing leg warmers. Yet, I, and many others my age, flock to see them (OK, how many of you out there immediately thought of Flock of Seagulls when you read that? Anyone but me??)

Music is not just about lyrics put to a melody. It’s about time and place. It’s the associations you make to songs. It’s about when concerts and going out dancing were the absolute best things you could spend your money on. Is Rick Springfield really the musical genius I thought he was? If his songs were on the radio now would I like them? Or is it all about timing? (and good looks…just sayin…)

There is good music on the radio these days. I listen to pop and rock music stations and hear all the latest songs (over and over…) But those artists are not the ones whose concerts I pay to see, theirs are not the CDs I buy. I can appreciate this music but it does not affect me like the music that is forever tied to my youth.

Going back to the American Idol show, I found it interesting that the contestants sang songs by Journey, Rod Stewart, Guns and Roses, Whitesnake, Elton John and Luther Vandross. The younger generation is now forming their memories of “our” songs thanks to shows like that and Glee. I am imagining 20 years from now; I’m in my battery-powered, ultra efficient car with my 27 year-old and “Here I Go Again” by Whitesnake comes on the radio. Will we both start to sing along, both having our own memories of the song? Let’s hope so, for no other reason than it will result in a lot less fighting about what to listen to.

I'm With the Band

This past Saturday my band and I had a gig. (I always feel funny using the word "gig" and I am not sure why. Anyone with a hypothesis on this please feel free to share.) Anyway, this particular gig day started out much like any other. Woke up nice and late to be well rested, took a leisurely walk around the neighborhood while listening to my band's play list on an ipod, had a protein-filled breakfast, did some yoga to loosen up my muscles, laid out four or five outfits and tried them all on to see which one looked the best, took a nap, took a very long and steamy shower to loosen the vocal cords, and then took my time getting ready. Left nice and early.

OK, now for reality.

Woke up to the usual fussing about breakfast, clothes, and life in general, went to White Post Farm and spent a small fortune so my youngest could take her long awaited photos with Wubzy and Max (if you have to ask, nevermind), went grocery shopping, fed the kids, cleaned up, and about an hour before I had to leave figured it was probably time to hit the shower, after which I hoped that the shirt I bought would work with whatever jeans fit the best. Left about 15 minutes later than I had planned (not half bad) and on the way did last minute cramming for the songs that I forget the words to. (For those of you wondering, the shirt worked with the jeans, gotta love black.)

Let's flash back for a moment to the summer of 2009. A high school friend and I had gotten back in touch through, what else, Facebook, and discussed starting a cover band. I have always been a wanna-be rock star. I grew up idolizing Pat Benatar (still do, that is a subject for a whole other blog). Growing up I was always in the chorus, the church folk group, and the high school musicals (which were nothing like the Disney versions.) However, I was always in the background, never the one to have a solo. I never even had one speaking word in those musicals. So, the idea of being the lead singer in a band, though exciting, was also a bit terrifying. Could I do it? Would they all laugh at me like Carrie at the prom? My friend and I didn't know much at first, including who would be in our band. We thought we might have to put an ad in a paper (scarey!!) However, the gods of rock were looking out for us. Three other friends from high school joined us, and the band was born.

Last summer we had our first gig, and we are still going strong. I am extremely thankful that I have gotten the chance to live out my rock 'n roll fantasies in my 40's, while at the same time showing my girls that it is never too late to do what you love and follow a dream. I love the fact that my 7 year old played harmonica with us at an outdoor show, and my 3 year old might be the only 3 year old who knows most of the words to Blondie's "One Way or Another." When we get in the car they will often ask for "mommy's music", and they get excited if we are out in public and they hear one of the songs the band covers. While this will certainly change once they hit those tween years, for now, their mom is cool, and I will bask in that glory for as long as it lasts!

I said a hip hop a hippity hop...

Tonight I went to a hip-hop class. To truly appreciate the humor in this, you must first know that I am 42 years old. While 42 is not old, at least that is what I like to tell myself, it's not the age where you suddenly realize that what has been missing in your life is hip hop dancing. But at my daughter's last dance class for the year, the teacher handed out a schedule of "Adult" classes. Hip hop fit into my schedule (the most important factor in deciding anything) and also fit into my decision to reacquaint myself with my sports bra and get some exercise. Plus, I would get to meet some of the other mothers.

So, there I went. The first thing that I noticed when I walked in was that the other people waiting were young. I don't mean 30's young, I don't even mean 20's young, I mean teen-age young. Great. I suddenly felt like one of those people that I made fun of at Malibu for being too "ancient" to be there.

We started with stretches. OK, I can handle that. Then push-ups. PUSH-UPS? Then ab crunches. CRUNCHES? I didn't come here to actually exercise, I came here to dance!! (said in my best Kevin Bacon as Ren McCormack rebellious voice.) But then we danced. Learned a routine to the song that I think may be called "Low".

I would consider myself a person with rhythm. "Back in the day" I spent every weekend out dancing and was fairly proud of my 80's moves. However, back in this day, I felt like a fish, flopping around while a bunch of other, much more coordinated fish, did all their best fishy moves around me. At one point the teacher, seeing the frustration on my face looked at me and said "it gets easier."

I do plan to go back next week. I did get a good workout. Hell, maybe I can inspire those young girls to keep doing stuff like that when they, too, become ancient.

God Bless America. And cocktails.

When I first started dating my husband, he told me that there are fireworks every 4th of July at the athletic field down the block from his mom's house. I went that first year, expecting a quaint little fireworks show. Well, this Grucci-style extravaganza is FAR from quaint. It is filled with spectacle and color.

While others in the neighborhood surely pack their bags and head out of town to avoid the crowds, noise and litter, my mother-in-law, who never met a spectacle she didn't like, embraced this event. She started the tradition of having a BBQ and inviting everyone she knew, and encouraging her two children to invite everyone that they knew, as well.

Driving home tonight, after the annual trek to Queens to drive home my mother and godmother, I thought about July 4th. How this annual event has turned into not just an event itself, but a way to remember milestones. I remember my dad coming before his passing 12 years ago. I remember the 4ths when I was pregnant (two of them-oy, the heat!), I remember my older daughter's first, as she watched the fireworks from her stroller as I knelt next to her. (OK, full disclosure, here, I do not remember my second daughter's first 4th. Now, this COULD have been the year that the town decided not to have the fireworks. OK, we will go with that. Either way, my darling angel, your future therapy bills are on me.) I remember last year, when we instituted the annual Cupcake Challenge, which requires participants to shove an entire cupcake into their mouths without dropping any and without chewing (we had a male and female winner this year who will square off in the ultimate cupcake challenge championship next year.)

I remember the friends who have made appearances over the years. I will always remember that this year my dear friends could not attend because they were in a far away land adopting a beautiful little girl. And I will remember the cocktails. You see, each year seems to be marked by a different cocktail. One year my sister-in-law's phenomenal margaritas, one year Absolute Mandarin, etc. This year I went with Black Russians. This may, at first, seem like a pretty unpatriotic choice, but I like to think that it represents the diversity in this great country of ours (nice, huh?).

So, after another year of eating way too much, I head off to bed thankful for this annual event. And wondering what next year's cocktail will be.

And here we go...

If you know me at all, you know that I am not technologically savvy. Yes, I can e-mail, I can upload (or is it download?) pictures, and I can text. But that is about it. Blogging, to me, was something unknown, much like baking the perfect potato or going a day without the TV on. But here I am.

I have to say that it has been my husband who has been encouraging me to do this lately. Is it cause he thinks I have interesting things to say? Is it cause he thinks people can learn from my daily trials and tribulations? Or is it cause of the NY Times article he recently read discussing a woman who turned her blog into a million dollar business? Well, I'll let you draw your own conclusions about that one. But, for whatever reason, I decided to throw my cyber-hat in the blogging ring (I do look pretty good in hats so what the hell.)

I think part of the reason I never did this is that my target audience is way too busy to read these types of things. I am a mother of two young girls, work part time, and, yeah, there's the band also. (as I type my 3 year old is being yelled at by daddy for hitting the 7 year old-sound familiar, people?) So, the question is, will anyone read this? Even if they don't will it be some sort of cathartic experience for me to get my thoughts out? Make me a more focused, fulfilled, stable person? Give me a sense of purpose? Give me an excuse to lock myself in the computer room every now and then?? Stay tuned...