Results tagged "Music"

I saw Scott Weiland perform last night on some new fangled neomaxizoomdweebie music cable station called Palladium. It was a performance highlighting a new Stone Temple Pilots album — a staple of ‘getting the band back together’. Still fairly rockin’ – they sounded very much the same as they did in 1992 — when they were stumbling around in Wicked Gardens…. although very much sober and comfortable in their psychosis of depressed grunge movement survivors.. They even sang a new tune about “when I used to take drugs”…

But while I watched, it was really hard to get over the sudden feeling that I kinda like my rock stars on drugs — as Scott leapt about the stage in painfully skin tight jeans — on his not-so-much skin and bones… lacking in heroin, but still making me question his sexuality as he french kissed his guitarist and wiggled around in a v-neck tee saying “Oui! Paris!”. It seemed like only yesterday that I was at Jones Beach thrashing about to this same man sans receding hairline and what appeared to be the beginnings of a gut… Not to mention stalking him through the wilds of Greenwich Village while shopping the thrifts for the grungiest of grunge…. And then it hit me. In 15 days I will be 35.

That’s 5 years shy of 40… And, while we are adding up — 10 years before 45.

I know. I can hear the combined thoughts floating about having read that statement. ‘How, in the name of GAWD, is THAT possible’… ‘So What.’ and ‘Get Over yourself’. But really. 35 is something to think about, right? I mean 10 years ago I was the exact same person… boozing slightly harder, but always acting about 5 years older than I actually am although not in any hurry to get through life as fast as possible while avoiding every possible status symbol pointing to my actual age. In summation, most things about me are older than my age… taste in music, humor, friends, husband, hobbies, expectations… not to mention a sincere appreciation for hanging out with my parents… who I consider to be (gasp) FUN. AND, it has nothing to do with being mature… I find at times that I am unbelievably immature — like the other day when I received a Facebook friend request from someone I knew in grade school that was clearly not my friend… but then went ahead and looked through ALL of her personal photographs, taking note of some serious weight gain before eventually deciding to “ignore” her. You know, Facebook being the very symbol of mature etiquette and all things PROPER.

I’m not that young.
But I’m not that old either.
I’m pretty irreverent about the whole situation, actually… seeing how there really isn’t anything I can do about it. I don’t feel very happy about it — like YAY! GETTING OLDER ROCKS! But I don’t really see the point in mulling about and feeling sorry for myself. So while Mr. Weiland has relaunched his musical career — sweating all over the predictions of his demise… I think I’m doin’ alright for almost 40… I might just eat the entire cake myself.   

This past week was a strange one.

My phone has been ringing off the hook due to my ad placement for help–the cobwebs shaking off the receiver… Hundreds of calls–and I had the paper take the ad offline. It’s been interesting to talk to so many people about what I want and need… One woman actually said that she was answering the post because of the economy… not necessarily that she has childcare experience… I told her to come right over…. Just what I’m looking for–Desperation in the name of Watch my Child. Are you kidding me? But then the weather warmed up and melted everything… only to have Mother Nature open her blind eye and demand MORE SNOW. And you should see my me when I say MORE SNOW, because both of my eyes start blinking wildly and every hair on my head stands up perfectly straight for about a half second…  Because no one is talking about MORE SNOW… so I won’t either…

I had a client request this past week.. A complete and total 180°. “Abandon my Blog. And take me off of Twitter.” But why? And the reasoning made more sense to me than most topics these days… “Because,” said the Big Man on Campus… “Because I see what you and others do with your blogs and…” The explanation went on but it was a matter of upkeep and anonymity. And then it made even more sense. It is easier to be followed — easier to be sought after if you aren’t right there. It was only a few months ago that this same individual NEEDED to be connected.. But that was then and this is now… Now, where it’s cooler to be hard to get – difficult to track down… a pedestal height that can be considered an achievement… I can hear the words now — “He’s not EVEN on Facebook”–but he never really was. The experiment tried and tried… but in the end – SOCIAL MEDIA FAIL. 

So now what? Is this the new wave of been there done that? As we are faced with even more tools to push ourselves more out there? Follow, Connect, Do it, DO IT NOW, What are you doing now? Why? HOW? 

Tools like this one:    

Because we’ve all gotten ourselves into this ball of internet wax – and it isn’t going to melt anytime soon…. And although the bleacher seats are shiny and new — they are still outside and, if I’m not mistaken, I do believe the forecast for next week just might call for snow.

Last week I was out walking with my son and parents in my hometown. It wasn’t too cold and it was before the storm of the century — which just turned out to be a snow storm anyway… We walked over a familiar bridge that crosses over the local train line to Manhattan, and when we came to the top of the stairs to descend… it happened again. Dizzy, ears ringing… pull it together… you’ve stood in this same spot hundreds of times in your life… pull it in.. vision focused. Whew, panic attack averted… but for what?

A few years ago… wait, no – many years ago.. because, right? who am I kidding… We went to Bermuda in the off season. It was Marchish and the island was empty… with the exception of the locals–WHO HATED US. But being full of ourselves we were immune to noticing the discerning “WHAT ARE YOU DOING HERE NOW” glances. Blame it on ignorance – we were on vacation and dammit, that island was OURS.

One night we were strolling along looking for a nice restaurant when we found the perfect establishment… through the windows we could feel the vibe pulling us in… a tiny little hole in the wall bistro.. people were laughing, the food looked awesome… it was as if there was a vacuum sucking us off the street–we read the menu outside… FIVE STARS — And, open in March(ish). We entered… We entered only to be met by a woman that quickly escorted us out… “I couldn’t possibly seat you without a reservation”, as we eyed the many open tables.

Now. Mr. Sal did not care…  I, however, felt that if we didn’t eat at this restaurant before leaving the island that the island would have defeated us… and please bare with me because I swear this post is going somewhere…  Clearly, we were not from there. Clearly, we were Yankees stomping the English land. But clearly we were not traipsing about in matching “BERMUDA!” tee shirts. Several calls were made – no answer. Time was desperate as we were flying out in a day or two. I felt severely NOT at ease. Finally, a man answered… “They don’t take reservations because they are only open on a limited basis.” WHAT? Firstly, what is with the word “THEY” as I quickly reeled back with dominate rapport — the exact words the woman had tossed at us while showing us the curb. “What did she look like?” Oh — and my tone softened as I described her as if she were standing in front of me. “Okay, I will make an exception – how about dinner at 9pm”. SUCCESS.

That night, after a few cocktails, we floated down the cobbled street to what had been built up in my mind to be the most amazing eatery in the entire world… We entered… only to be greeted by the same woman glaring at us… “oh YOU“. “THE GUESTS of HONOR“. “We Saved our BEST Table for you!“… the sarcasm froze the room. Literally. The other diners stared… the wait staff froze mid-spoonage. Platisicized, we were lifted onto one of those music video conveyor belts and unwillingly displaced from the doorway to our table. “What CAN I GET YOU“… “Anything for YOU.”  We wanted to get up and run out of what had now become Mrs. Lovett’s pie shop on Fleet Street. But then… sigh… but then the chef appeared and explained that we had walked into a private party the evening before and that in her excitement, the owner — that was leasing the space from another proprietor, had breached an agreement by uttering the word “reservation”. That, in fact — the restaurant was opened just for us — hoping to fill the rest of the tables in the off-season month. DEFEAT.

The next day, having barely touched the food that we were sure had been laced with meth, we decided to do a bit of sight seeing… the air was crisp–sky bluer than blue. We climbed the lighthouse stairs to the small opening–Mr. Sal went straight out while I froze at the door. All I could see was the thinnest of thin wrought iron railing at about knees height… I envisioned myself falling… I couldn’t breathe. I couldn’t move. I pulled myself back inside and sat on the floor. Frozen. What was happening? I was not afraid of heights.

From that day forward I have had panic attacks at ranging heights… from the top of the stairs at the train station.. to cathedral ceilings… to mall escalators… to dunes. It had been only a few years before this experience that I enjoyed climbing numerous cathedral domes and leaned daringly over ledges while traveling in Europe… As I kid I freely leaped off cliffs into miniscule bodies of water… “Bowls” if you will. So, after evaluating and talking to the experts that seem to think that “vertigo” is a made up word that only pertains to the planet Mars… I have decided that I need to go back to Bermuda to apologize. Come full circle. Find the woman that I know is still damning me to this day… and explain the confusion. Lift her curse… This is the only way. 

Okay, so he’s chocolate, not blue.

But, he is Blue… Blue as in a state of mind. Blue as in calm and tranquil. Blue as in True, Rhythm and Blues… Blue as in “Chill”. Blue as in Vishnu.

Blue after a swim: