Britney Spears and I Have Something in Common

Britney Spears and I finally have something in common. I think we all know how important that is. And, what it could mean for my future.

As I have previously discussed, I have shit for hair. And it was always being itself straight, fine in texture. It came with an inability to hold a curl and I have crazy head sweats – so ugly. On many an occasion I have thought, if I had some clippers, I would just shave my head. It would be so much easier than the shit I had. When Britney had her meltdown, I understood. I sympathized. I knew she was crazy – but, I understood – bad hair day. How many times did I come close?

Well.  My hair was falling out  at an alarming rate – so I did what I do – I rushed straight forward – I had my head shaved. Lest you think I am Britney shit crazy – my stylist verified that in the 2 weeks since I had seen her, I had lost ⅓ – ½ of my hair. It was time to shave it. Funny thing, when Britney shaved her head, there were smiles. All I had was nervous laughter, then tears of resignation. This is what I look like now. So, it was harder than I thought.

I probably should have gone home and had a bottle of wine. Instead I drove straight to the wig shop. I walked in, the sales girl said, what your name? I started to cry. Then I blubbered out my story. Then she told me how much a wig cost –  a synthetic wig starts around $300. WTF?. As I sat looking in the mirror waiting for my wig – I cried more tears. Would I ever feel normal again? How can I make positives out of this? Well, first of all – my sales girl was terrifically sweet and showered me with hugs and free shit.  And, the first wig she tried on – looked almost exactly like my hair had before it started to fall out. Now, I was crying tears of joy .

I love women. I always have. I am a girls girl. We can support each other in ways others can’t. On this day, as I was checking out, a very attractive blond came out with her $000 wig. We were standing right next to each other. Also at this time, an older lady with thinning hair who had come in for a wig and we were all clustered at the desk. The beautiful blonde next to me told me the wig looked great and actually – she hadn’t realized it was a wig. The older lady approached to hug me and wish me well in my future and whatever I was going thru. I showed her my one boobed self and she hugged me again and told me I was beautiful.

So – yeah it sucked to get bald. And it sucked to have to go wig shopping – but, you know. If I’m gonna have to shave my head and wig shop – well it couldn’t have worked out any better . I was smiling thru tears – which is a great emotion. But, man I would sure like to shut the tears down.

And, that is my confession.

 

But, I do have a P.S.  I’ve been bald a few months now. I don’t love how feminine it doesn’t make me look. But, I am so much cooler now.  When my head sweats now, any slight breeze cools it right off. I didn’t spend much time on my hair before – wash and go. But, this is even less time. Rinse my head in the shower. Dry my head. Hair is done! So easy. I think I am going to enjoy my baldness in the hot heat of ridiculous Northern Ca for the summer. It’s funny, I didn’t want to be bald. But, I haven’t worn that wig since I bought it. I will. But, for now, bald is easy. And, beautiful.

 

Hang In There, Lori Loughlin

I have had so many emotions about Lori Loughlin lately.  And, I can’t believe that my three favorite things – kids, education, and celebrities collided in such a ridiculous and huge way.  

Like some of you, I have grown up with her. She found her way into our hearts on Full House – the pretty, innocent foil to Jesse’s bad guy. Blah blah. I guess from that, we knew that she was honest, hard-working, and loaded with integrity. Why? What is our fascination with celebrities and why on earth do we think they have any redeeming qualities? I am not saying all celebs are idiots (although there are so many that fit into that category). I am just saying – why do we care what someone thinks whom we don’t know. And these are people who make their living pretending to be other people. We really have no idea who they are because they have no idea who they are.

At first, I felt that she was just doing what she could do to help her kids. Walking along, making every decision with their future in mind. There are so many decisions to make. So many. How do you know which will be the “One” that makes it all go the right way or the One that sends everything down the toilet. While I know that it isn’t one decision – my high levels of anxiety will tell you, I can trace the decision back on every fatal decision. We all just want to do everything that we can for our kids that will help them on their way. I was sure that all of these women were making these decisions with that one goal in their minds – their children’s success and future happy life.

When I sat down to discuss this over a bottle of wine (okay, I think she was on her 2nd bottle, but I don’t judge – except she didn’t share that 1st bottle with me and I was way behind) I started the conversation by lamenting that I thought it was so sad what she did – she basically said to her two girls – you are so fucking stupid, I have to pay half a million dollars to make sure you get into college.

What?  That is not what that means! She argued.  Yes, yes it is. I have a friend named John Smith. When I asked him about such a plain jane name, he said his parents named him that because it would be easier for him to spell.  So, I replied, your parents thought you were fucking stupid before you were even born? Wow! Do they like you now? He’s a millennial.

She still argued – it had nothing to do with her kids – it was about how this was about her, how here ego and her need to say, my kids went to USC or wherever……

Wow. So, whether she is a mom who puts holes in her kids buckets and calls them stupid; or, she is so self esteemed, that where her kids go to college is important to her as a status symbol; or she is just a mom doing what she thinks is right for her kids – but, she’s stupid about it. It could be none of these things….but, I kind of feel for her. She made a ridiculous mistake and is paying for it – twice. She has lost her job (I’m okay with this – I understand integrity in business) but, her job is public – she can’t just slink a few blocks over and get another job. Her daughters had to be summoned from a private yacht (i found this to be the most disturbing part of the story – her mom paid half a mill so her beautiful teenage daughter could party on the old man creepos boat (he is high paying college professional with a fucking yacht – he’s crusty he’s so old – ick.)

I think we need to let her figure her embarrassment out. We don’t need to help her. She made a mistake. A parenting mistake. How many of those have you made? I think now what I think when Britney Spears was being vilified for hers, I am so very thankful that none of my parenting mistakes will ever play out in the media in front of everyone. How horrifying.

While the worst thing I think she did (aside from calling her daughters fucking idiots) is to teach her kids that if you have money, you don’t need integrity.

What bothers me most is that my kids are competing against these same kids in school. Well, that isn’t a true statement, is it? I have friends across socio-economic lines. I have friends (they live way outta my neighborhood) who think that graduating high school is the goal! College is never discussed. Never. While there was a time I would have done just about anything to get my kids into college – I have changed my tune a little lately. I would have done anything, probably. Short of committing a crime. And, if I had half a mill, hmmm was there a crime? He probably told her and she convinced herself that no poor kids will be kept out because of this. There are spots available like this and if you don’t take advantage, someone else will. Some things make sense after a few drinks or if you aren’t really thinking it through and someone is trying to normalize it to you. Would I have done this? If I could throw half a mill around? Maybe. Who knows. Isn’t that how we do?  

I would have hired tutors, specialists, etc. to help my kids improve grades, activities, etc. anything to make them look pretty on paper. Is that elitist? Is that over the line? My friends who are just trying to get their kids thru high school – wouldn’t they say if kids didn’t do well – maybe school isn’t for them. Cuz, high school is the goal.  Are they right? Am I right being more in the middle? I have friends who basically are paying for their kids to go to private expensive universities (and all of the things they paid for to get them there) . These kids are starting out with fantastic jobs that my kids wouldn’t be getting, let alone my undereducated friends.

We want what is best for our kids. We are going to do all of the things we deem necessary to achieve this. The bucket holes that some of my friends provide, make me angry. But, maybe those stumbling blocks prevent spoiled brattism. I don’t know.

We are going to do whatever we feel is necessary and within our means to help. And, we are going to make mistakes because there is no fool-proof parent manual. We are all just amateurs.

Several people involved in this case – probably getting death threats; getting fired, kicked out of school; public humiliation and ginormous lawsuits. Maybe we should all calm down and direct the ire towards the universities that allow this to happen  and to ourselves who can get so caught up in what we think is important, we do dumb ass shit. Maybe it is time to overhaul the whole system.

p.s. – I think my kids’ generation are already working that problem. They are opting out of expensive schools. Getting credits from more than one junior college before transferring to the four-year. They are not going to be the kids loaded down with debt if their parents don’t have that half mill. Wow, we raised some smart kids.

 

This is My Warning

Everybody keeps asking me if I’m writing. You know, I always say I would love to have a few months off work so I could write and get my life together. I want to. I think about it all of the time.  I will capture some snippets of future blogs or quickly jot down interesting thoughts. But, I haven’t been able to complete anything that seems publish worthy. I didn’t know how to write about this. I don’t want to be the cancer blog writer – I was having so much fun being carefree. Plus, there isn’t very much funny about having cancer. Gallows humor doesn’t really count. No. I’m not interested in what’s happening to me, why should anyone else be? I don’t find it particularly interesting, either and if truth be told, I would like to just have it not be happening.  Also, I have the gamut of emotions – everything from RUFKM? I don’t want to die to hey – this is a gift. Not everyone gets a warning. Not everyone gets a reminder. Some just drip dead. That was supposed to say drop dead, but, I like the drip better. Either way, life is fucking short.

As much as I go on and on about how great I am at change – well. Maybe it’s only the good changes. Every day since my first chemo appointment, I run my fingers through my sparse hair. If you haven’t met me, you know that “sparse” is kind of a nice way to say that I have shit for hair. Okay, okay. For 45 years, I have had the SFH. It is fine in texture, doesn’t hold a perm (that was important at one time) and resembles baby hair most. I have a fair amount of it, but by no means has anyone ever taken one look at my head and said, I love you hair. I want your hair. It is stick straight. Was mouse brown, ‘til I highlighted it as I aged, A few years ago my stylist begged me to just quit coloring. It is the beautiful white/silver that is all the rage now. I spent forty-five years trying to make it look like dark, thick curly, rocker bitch hair. It is true. Back when I had goals and a plan, I had hair dreams. Hahahahaha. So funny now. When I finally accepted it for was it was, it was freeing and life changing. I save so much money and you would not believe the compliments. There are even the few who do not believe the color is my own. Even my daughter did not believe me. I had to ask a random hair stylist on the street for concurrence. The funny thing – I spend forty-five years hating my hair, and when I finally love and appreciate it – it is going to fall out. Probably. Every day the last eight days, I run my fingers through it. Instead of feeling like silk, it feels like straw. It doesn’t make me sad anymore – but, I am wondering what the final result will be.  And, I am so looking forward to picking out a sassy pink wig. I miss being pink.

I didn’t want this. At all still don’t. But, it was time. I had been whining about making some changes in my life – better diet, more exercise. To be fair – I was headed in that direction. But, nothing like fucking cancer to really commit to change. I have easily gone vegan. A choice I never thought I would make, but, am so very glad for now. Do you know – I have stopped snoring – even before I lost weight. I sleep better, I breathe better, I feel better. My skin is better, my gut is better. Everything is better. But, I miss shrimp. And, butter.  I really miss butter. I have found a bunch of healthy recipes and restaurants and not only am I improving my health – the kids are eating some meatless and veggie heavy meals. So, that is good.

So, I am making changes, accepting the ones that I cannot control and what else? Well, I cry a lot. A lot for me. I cried a lot when I was married and when Ii was divorcing. Since then, my tears are snow in Arizona. Lately, I cry a few tears almost daily. I am still trying to figure that out. I’m thinking it is my natural go to when I don’t feel well, I cry. And really, the list of complaints is long. Everything aches or hurts or feels different. That face that looked so great makeup free because of the new diet? It looks like the face of a fourteen year old awkward high school student. Some of it is tolerable. Some requires assistance.

This is my warning. My chance. I’m not going to squander it.

 

My Dirty Little Secret

I’ve got a dirty little secret. I am directionally challenged. Seriously. I get lost all of the time. I can be in a drive thru and look down at my phone to read a text and look up and not know where I am or even which drive thru I am in. I can walk in my neighborhood (I’ve lived here 9 years) and decide to take a different way and get lost. I have actually had to GPS my way home, in my own fucking neighborhood. I know what you are thinking – put the pot pipe down – but, that isn’t the problem. Have you seen that video about the lost girl starting a new job? That girl is me. Some of you are probably nodding. Feeling like you have met your spirit blogger. But, some of you might be thinking, “surely, that is an exaggeration. Nobody is that directionally challenged.”

I have been known to have full blown meltdowns when I get lost. This has been happening since the first time in my early 20’s when I was getting on the same freeway exit I got on every day. Halfway down the horseshoe, I had no idea where I was or where I was going. I started to hyperventilate and pulled over. I was bawling and shaking on the side of the road for what seemed like ever. Age has brought me some wisdom (or wise ass dom) and with practice, I hardly ever cry when I get lost anymore. You grin, but the anxiety is real.  

GPS has helped a lot. A lot a lot. Also, having a phone helps too. Looking for a working pay phone when you are already lost and having an ugly anxiety attack isn’t as fun as it sounds. Thank God for my ever patient father who was so used to me getting lost when I left the house, he used to answer the phone, “where ya at, Boo?”  He would calmly determine where I was and give me detailed directions.

When I got married, I married someone who could cite page and block in the Thomas Guide if you gave him a street name and general location. I was expecting the same loving patience. I didn’t get it. I got, “have you checked a map?”  Um, if I could read a map (and, I have tried) I wouldn’t be lost, asshole. The first time I drove by myself to his parents house I asked him for directions. He said, ‘You’ve been here twenty times.” Sure, but we went a different way each time. If I am going there, I go the same way a hundred times and still might get lost. But, I digress.

The funniest thing about this entire story is that I have lived in the same general area for 40 years. I can get places, but my path may seem so different from yours. Which is the 2nd point in this blog.  The first point is, we are all different. Just because you can read a map doesn’t mean everyone can. Just because you can go somewhere once and never forget it, doesn’t mean everyone can. And, just because you can then get there thirty ways, doesn’t mean everyone can.

The world would be a nicer place if we understood that. Some of us are great at math, some spelling, some art, music, you get my drift. We do not all possess the same skills and maybe we should be patient with those who do not possess ours. How awesome that my dad was patient like that. Worked for me.

The second point is really a corollary (maybe not officially, but I so wanted to use that word when it popped into my head). We have different skills, we are on different paths. We will all get to where we are going in the right time. And, we are not all on the same path. It’s okay if we are not doing the same things at the same time. But I still might judge you for simple spelling and grammar errors. Eats, Shoots, and Leaves. I am a work in progress.

 

Costco Rotisserie Chicken, Anyone?

Who am I kidding? I’m scared to death. Weird thing, nobody wants to listen and “I’m here for you” means – I will tell you to stay positive. I’m one of the most positive people I know, but fuck – I’m allowed to be scared and mad and freaked out and thinking dark thoughts – they go with the territory.

 

I really should have been typing my thoughts instead of writing in my head the last few weeks. There is so much I will forget. I am not sure anything in my head warrants sharing – but, so many things have changed since I typed that paragraph.

I was afraid. Until the next ugly thing happened. I was worried about my lab results. Those fuckers. Let’s just say – it’s in my nodes. (which I am delivering in Chloe’s panic and drama in Pitch Perfect)  I meet with an oncologist next week. Which is a sentence I never wanted to speak. So, either fear has given way to acceptance (and therefor fight) or I’m still out of my fucking mind. Which do you think is true?

Cancer isn’t funny. But, why all the support? What if I’d been told I had diabetes? Lupus? COPD? High blood pressure? A heart condition? None of these things need to sign your death certificate – but, most of them will. Cancer kills people too. But, we are living longer at an alarming rate. We are more worried about living longer and therefor running out of resources on our planet than we are about fixing it, but I digress.

First – the speed at which my medical insurance is responding is fantastic. My family and friends have been so amazingly supportive – I feel undeserving. My children. OMG my kids If you ever want to know if your little assholey teenagers love you – get cancer. Wow. The pit viper has beens sleeping with me. Wow!

Here is where I am: I’ve been given notice – life is short. You were on fire with your writing and goals a few years ago. Time to get back in gear. I’ve been slowly gaining progress in the health and exercise department. Well now, you know. I’ve got too much to do before I leave this universe. Also – the absolute worst part of having a boob removed so far? No hiding the fat. I used to look down at my big boobs and that was all I could see. I didn’t love looking in the mirror but, i was okay. Now. omg now, there is a dent where my boob used to be. I look like a Costco rotisserie chicken with one breast removed. And as my eyes glide over that pretty picture, I see my more than thin belly. I don’t like it. It is going away. It is long since time, anyway.

Something I am feeling now is that I am not really thinking I will reconstruct. I am not sure why that is where I am but, it is. I’m thinking super fucking cool tattoo. When I told my dad – my poor old dad – he was sure to let me know that I don’t need a tattoo.  Parents are so funny.

So – I was wanting to see my friends more especially during the holidays – guess what? I wanted a private secretary – got that too. I wanted to know if my kids loved me. Check. I wanted to eat better, be more focused on my health not that I’m older…check and double check. I could go on and on about all the things cancer has given me. But, I wonder what is really going to be the thing I take with me when this is over.

Or – I could be in the biggest state of denial there ever fucking was.

 

Baby, This is Ridiculous

So, they are calling to ban Baby It’s Cold Outside. As some of you know, I’m into music the way some people are into other things. I’ve been thinking that a lot of our songs are going to be on the banned pile. An old song (and maybe popular?) I have in heavy rotation is All American Boy by Y&T. Perhaps because they are local or because I may or may not have crushed on a past band member……mostly, the song reminds me of high school. But, every time I hear it, I recognize the dilemma.

The first verse is total high school

I‘ve got a 57’ Chevy with four on the floor, Glass packs, cheaer slicks, 454, Girls on the phone, girls at my door, They just keep comin’ back for more, I’m just a red-blooded, fun-lovin’ all American boy.

I was a boy crazy teen…I drove a cool old Cutlass with a 350 – I understand glasspacks and 454. If they had used Centerlines instead of cheater slicks….could have been about me. It was a bouncy and fun and reminds me of simpler music and simpler times.

I’ve got a big Stratocaster and my band is hot, Wild streak a mile wild that just won’t stop, Got a chain on my mirror made of beer can tops, A chip on my shoulder, better not knock it off,  ‘m just a red-blooded fun-lovin’ all American boy.

I had the same chain and one made out of gum wrappers. But, this boy sounded like everyone I knew.

Well her eyes are blue and her skin is tan, The girl looks to me, thinks that I’m all hands, And I’m gonna touch her everywhere I can, I’m just a red-blooded fun-lovin’ all American boy.

This, too reminded me of my childhood – although, I haven’t heard anyone call anyone all hands in the last few decades.  But, there it is, “I’m gonna touch her everywhere I can.” A lot of your dates in high school were fighting hands. And, some…..well, I welcomed those hands. Touching you, touching me. (see what I did there?)

I can name 5 worse songs:

  1. Walk on the Wild Side
  2. Brown SugarUnder My Thumb
  3. My all time favorite – Kung Fu fighting
  4. Everything by the Knack and most things by hard rock bands

And that is just off the top of my head….

I don’t think we need to ban anything. People should get to make their own choices. Those songs were allowed. Nobody cared about the lyrics then and the bands were just trying to get around the censors. Look how far we’ve come that we can recognize all the things wrong with these songs. But, please don’t take my childhood away. Wait until I’m dead and gone and then remove whatever you want – the way history continues to do. Plus, where will we stop? Why do we needs more legislation to tell us what not to listen to?

But, what do I know? I’m still angry with the PMRC.

Take My Boobs – Please!

Take them. I don’t need them. They are sooo big. I have been saying this for years whenever the topic of breast cancer came up. Talk about getting what you ask for. I have never been particularly proud of or in love with my breasts. They are huge. They get in my way. They are hard to dress and – they are heavy.

But, things sure change when the situation is real and not maybe or if. Soooo…..a few weeks ago, I noticed a flat spot on my right breast. I called the doc. They got me in immediately. Doc wasn’t worried, but it was time (actually a little overdue) for my mammo. So, I got a mammo on Friday. And a call from the doc on Monday – can you come in Tuesday for more images? Sure. Tuesday – mammo, ultrasound, and a biopsy. Wednesday – the call. “Are you driving?”  WTF? RUFKMRN? I have cancer? I have cancer? How in the fuck did that happen?

I really don’t live in the state of denial. I believe that knowledge is power and the more I have, the better my decisions can be. I also tend to be a worrier. Before the call, I was maybe 10% worried. Because – no other symptoms, no history in the family. But, I was not ready at all for the doctor to ask me if I was driving and then suggest I pull over. Well – the news should be fantastic, then – right?

Age has brought me many things – one is the knowing that things can change in a minute. A phone call can turn your life into “before the phone call” and “after the phone call” And the amount of crazy things that run through your head when you hear something like this….how will I tell the kids? What if they freak out? Chemo? Radiation? The doc just discussed lumpectomy and within a few hours, I was wondering if double mastectomy is what I needed. Wow….not so sure I was ready to get rid of my boobs. Life is a funny thing. Be careful what words come out of your mouth – you really might have to eat them later.  

I also was composing blogs in my head and wishing I had my laptop. I don’t expect to spend the next few months writing about this – but, you know, I probably fucking will.

Fuck. I have cancer. Life is just a series of experiences, right? This is one more I get to have. The first time I said that about an unpleasant situation was when i got a divorce. I told one of my closest friends – hey it’s just one more experience I get to have. Her reply? Yeah – some experiences, I would rather not have. Roger that.

You don’t always get a choice, do you? A few years ago, a friend had a cancer scare – I call it the ten minutes she had cancer. She had an abnormal pap and a hysterectomy. No other treatment. Now she is fine. Anyway – when she was telling people – she said – “I’m ready to die”. Hmmm that pissed me off then and now. I am not “ready” to die. But, my relationships are good and all words have been exchanged. But, I have way too much to do to be ready to die now. And at the very least – my kids need me.

The stages of growing up: I can’t wait to move out. I can eat ice cream for dinner. Buying appliances. Having kids. Divorce. And, then – the big effing C (or whatever life changing disease you may have.

A few things have been ridiculously hard since this whole thing started. One of them is telling people. It sucks. Knowing you are going to suck the wind out of their day. Told my dad – that hurt. Told one of my closest friends. She was having such a great, carefree day.  I blurted it out to a coworker today. She was irritated – “you can’t just drop this on someone like that.” I hear you – maybe when I have had a chance to figure it out, I will be better at it. I’ve been wondering how to get the news out. I’ve also been wondering when my friends might read my blog. Ha – I can kill 2 birds this way.

 

Killer Queen, Absolutely

Before I write a blog, I usually think it out, spit it out, and do research as I go.  When reviewing a band, musician, movie about a band or a song – I don’t read what others have written before me. I want my thoughts and conclusions to be my own. In this case, I am going to skip tradition. I have read several articles now on Bohemian Rhapsody. I took my kids to the matinee. I knew the girl would appreciate and have opinions. The boy – I was hoping to draw him into the music business that his parents and sister love but that he ignores and avoids. I hoped that he would appreciate the music and the genius of this band lead by a flamboyant gay man. The Liberace of rock n roll.

As the movie ended and we waited for the credits/performance of Freddie Mercury to end, we started to discuss the movie. I loved it. I wanted to buy tickets for the next showing. The girl, felt the same. The boy liked it, but wasn’t ready to sit through it again. Best movie ever! If we thought “ A Star is Born” was good, this took the cake.

I thought Rami Malek was fantastic, more smooth than Freddie – whose jerky movements onstage always bugged me. His voice you couldn’t match. Ever. Unrivaled in any genre and way above the rest in the rock genre. For the uninitiated – good lead singers are almost unicorns. The must sing well. Captivate the crowd, lead the show, cover any failures, be beautiful and dynamic, loveable, and fuckable.

FM was not all of those things. He was unattractive, had buck teeth that could open a beer you were holding 6 feet away. As a younger person, I wondered how someone so unattractive and not trying to fit in could lead a band that wrote great songs as well as creating anthems sung in stadiums across the world? I wondered, and then I moved on. The music, after all, stood alone. And, Freddie Mercury could look like whatever he wanted.

While I did some fact checking – so many things I wondered if they were true. The band members were shown and their individual contributions highlighted. Did they really write their songs way? Total collaboration? Maybe. My limited experience was different – usually one or two had a vision or a sound and everyone better follow that. How 4 individuals could put together a song like Bohemian Rhapsody would have been fun to watch. I’ve probably said it before, but I still cannot believe that song works. A real rock opera, that made no sense and could not be categorized. Maybe, that was the point. A song, like the band.

As some of us do when we are raised with it, we take things for granted. I had become bored with the relentless playing of We Are the Champions and We Will Rock You at stadium events. I wish for something new. Well, no more. I will always appreciate and say thanks for theme when I hear them. And, I will appreciate the Bohemian Rhapsody when I hear it on the radio.

The songs in my heart were Best Friends, Somebody to Love, Killer Queen (which I think would have been a great name for the movie) and some deep cuts. Those are the ones on my playlists.

Prior to seeing the movie, I heard that Freddie’s sexuality was down-played in the movie. Not so sure that is accurate. Or, I misunderstood the things I heard. The movie dealt with it pretty clearly, I though. Or maybe, I know way more about some bands than is necessary. I think we all know that is true. I remember when Freddie announced he had AIDS and then died the next day. I called my sister and said something about how I didn’t know Freddie was gay. Her response, “My God, Bianca, the band’s name was Queen.” Yeah – what seems so obvious now, was a secret back in the day.

Also – my favorite joke in the whole movie – the bass player’s room – hilarious!  Even with the two phenomenal bass riffs he wrote: 1 & 2.

Freddie Mercury is a voice that was silenced too soon. We always say that – but, in this case, it is true. Who knows what he would have done next. Rest peacefully, Freddie. Your legend and your music live on.

 

Tom Petty, I Still Miss You

I often wonder, as I sit down to spit out a blog – who cares? Who is going to read this? The minutia and ridiculousness of what is in my head doesn’t always strike me as something anybody else is interested in. And this blog is no different. As many of you know, when musician, Tom Petty, died. I took it pretty hard. It can still make me cry if I talk about it. It took months to listen to his music again.

A few months ago, I was notified (FB spying on me again? Or did I put my name on some sad list?) that there would be a boxed set of some previously unreleased Tom Petty material – from his archives. His wife, daughter, and 2 original members of the Heartbreakers (Mudcrutch, too) had mourned their loss by wallowing in their grief and every recording ever made by our fallen hero.

I immediately went to Amazon and pre-ordered. Why? Eff if I know. I don’t buy any music anymore. I pay a streaming service for 24/7 access to almost everything ever released. But, this was something else entirely. Plus, I was mourning. I don’t have to explain.

A few days ago, I received an invitation (FB? Sad list?) to attend the pre-release listening party. I have been to these before. For local bands. Of people I know. And nobody that anybody else knows. This is being held in a handful of places around the country. I almost deleted it. Couldn’t. I also couldn’t think of any reason to go hang out with a bunch of stranger weirdos to listen to some old second-rate music by some old guy who died.

Every time I checked my inbox – it jammed me. I came up with an excuse to go – check out the venue – ha! But, who to go with? The pit viper – has warmed up to me lately and agreed (enthusiastically, I might add) to be my date – which is great – and I am so happy she is willing to go. I asked her if she thought it would be weird – because, for some reason – I sure do. She doesn’t know, but she is up for the adventure. (Maybe my work there is done?)

I love music and musicians. I liked to go to shows. I liked to hang out at local venues and see and be seen. I will make a specific night out to see a certain band, but I am no groupie. And, going to a pre-release listening party of some old crap by some dead dude just smacks of groupie.

For the uninitiated (and everyone else), There are hierarchies in the music business. Kinda like high school. Which is why it is easy to spot and fun and stupid to discuss. I am always digressing. Anyway – the last thing I want to be is a groupie. They are possibly lower than roadies. Yet, here I am. Girl and I are going. I’m looking forward to it. Ultimately – I’ve never been. I have no idea what to expect. It is something new. I am all about new experiences these days. And, Tom is probably the only one I would do this for. 

I started this blog wondering if anyone cares. The answer is yes. Steve Hyden wrote this. About why the box set is so cool and other things Tom Petty related. It is a good blog. I read the entire thing, his crazy minutia and all. Steven Hyden is a music critic who has written for Rolling Stone. I’m in good company. He wrote it. I read it. We couldn’t be the only two. The listening party is tonight. Stay tuned.

 

 

Maria Shriver is One Smart Cookie, Except for that Ahnold Thing

Do you ever wonder why you get the news that you do? Why some stories are reported and others not. Why some stories catch fire and others don’t? Or, why some things are stories at all? I do. I think about shit like that all of the time. I have been thinking about this particular topic since I saw Maria Shriver on the Oprah show a million years ago. She was being asked (for the millionth time, probably) why she didn’t go into politics. She described how she helped on her Uncle Teddy’s campaign and spent a lot of time learning everything she could. The biggest thing she learned (my words, not hers) was that it is not the politicians with the power. The real power, she said, was in the reporter and journalists’ hands. It was the news media who decided what you heard. They are the ones who decide what a story is. They are the ones who decide what and how to cover a story. They are the ones who determine what sound bites, quotes, and excerpts from speeches you hear.

Think about that for a minute. A member of what is arguably the most political family in our country has announced that politicians aren’t #1 in terms of power. Our president can give interviews all day long and he does not determine what makes the evening news or headlines. The media does. My investigation, if you want to call it that, started in earnest when I thought my phone was spying on me. Which we now know is true. With the news it was more subtle.  A few months ago (when I started writing this blog) guns in the classroom was the talk of the town.

https://nypost.com/2018/03/14/teacher-accidentally-fires-gun-in-class-while-teaching-about-gun-safety/

This is the 2nd similar story that has popped up in my news feed. I thought the same thing I thought when I read the first one. -”of course I am going to see this, some idiot said we should have guns in the classroom. Some other idiots needed to demonstrate why this idea is idiotic.”

This happens more often than is coincidental. It happens with all kinds of stories.  Deciphering the news is difficult when you have no idea who or what to believe. This isn’t new or news, but, it sure gets me thinking.

I notice, for example, how both sides of the coin are flipped on controversial headlines. I wonder who is paying whom, who leaked the story to the press, whom the reporter knows, and just how people are connected in the story. I don’t want to know, really. But, it sure makes me doubt what I hear. And, it makes me doubt the dumb things other people report to me as “fact.”

Sometimes after a particularly emotional or touching story, my mind will wonder…what ever happened to…? And then a new story comes along and we are all diverted – like a tennis match. First we look this way, then that way.

Am I late to the party again? Or did I just not peel back all of the layers? Or worse yet – have I become my parents and their parents before them? Am I a crazy conspiracy theorist who trusts no one? Getting older sucks sometimes….