Nancy Davis Kho's Blog, page 52

Mortification with a K

Back in October I did a reading as part of Lit Crawl on the topic “The First Time,” along with five fellow alum from LitCamp’s inaugural conference*. The reading was held at Laszlo’s Bar in the Mission, and the nonexistent lighting and hubbub of the overflow crowd meant that the video of the reading I’d hoped to be able to share with you guys didn’t materialize.

I thought about posting the piece here but, what with the long segment where I imitate German people speaking English, it’s really best heard rather than read on the page.

So I’ve recorded “The First Time” (now titled “Mortification with a K”) and posted it over on the website for the NPR program Snap Judgment, a themed, weekly storytelling show. Click through here if you’d like to listen (just scroll down and press the > button, although the text is there too if you’d prefer it.)

And if you like the story, would you consider leaving a comment over there saying so? Snap Judgment chooses pieces to include in its weekly show from submissions like mine, “based on community response and how much we love your work.” I can’t control whether they love my work and I’m not sure how they measure “community response,” but I’m sure having some comments over there is better than having no comments.

A warning: Snap Judgment’s CAPTCHA technology, designed to discourage spammy commenters, almost broke me. While reading other submissions and trying to leave comments, I apparently mistyped the string of letters and numbers every time; it took me three tries before the CAPTCHA system believed I was not a robot. Beep beep boop boop. So if you get a message that you typed it wrong, hang in there and try again. If you don’t have any problems at all, gee, that was easy, what are you talking about Nancy? then I don’t really want to know.

After you’ve listened to it, you may be amused to know that at the end of the LitQuake reading, a young man with a huge grin on his face approached me and said, “Hallo, my name is Simon and I’m from Chermany!” AWKWARD.

*The application deadline for LitCamp 2014 is January 15 – if you have ANY interest in applying, do it. I can’t recommend it highly enough.

                   
CommentsGerman people speaking English is HI-LA-RI-OUS! by Tinne from Tantrums and TomatoesHilarious! by Susan MohlerI love this piece. Chermany is the best! by WendiFor whatever weird reason, Germans aren't all up in the Sound ... by Nancy Davis KhoPlease tell me you at least once said, “Rolf, please!” just ... by EllenPlus 2 more...Related StoriesForeign-Word-Learning-JoyWhere to Read (and Submit) Music Writing on the WebStill in Rotation: Purple Rain (Prince) 

Cleaning Debasement

I just wish my latest ailment came with a better back story.

A few months ago I told you that I had a new strategy for getting on top of the clutter and detritus of eleven years in this house: I was going to pretend to move. This meant going through each room methodically and deciding, for everything in our possession, whether I would pay a mover to haul it. If the answer was no, I would get rid of it.

For weeks this fall, I was en fuego. The garbage can filled up, and the Salvation Army truck was at my house more often than the pizza delivery guy. The ladies at the consignment store began to greet me by name, as I lugged in armfuls of outgrown clothes. I was ruthless, and it was cathartic. I even achieved the Holy Grail of home ownership: an empty drawer in the kitchen, under the window seat. EMPTY. Look!

And then, a month ago, I planned to tackle the hall linen closet before leaving for the late church service on Sunday morning. But first, I thought I’d just switch over to the flannel sheets in the master bedroom, and as I groped around for them on the over-stuffed, disorganized shelves, I hit our black Mag Light with my elbow. You know those Mag lights, the big heavy metal ones that can double as a billy club? We keep it front and center in the closet so we’ll be able to find it in an emergency, whether of power loss or home intrusion.

With a helpful assist from my elbow, gravity, and the flashlight’s heft, that thing crashed down onto the second toe of my left foot and cracked the bone.

Because the kids were awake and nearby, I did that furtive Lamaze breathing, internal cursing, rocking in the fetal position thing that you do when you’re trying to be stoic in the face of blinding pain. This still created enough noise to invite my younger daughter to investigate why her mother was splayed across the hallway cradling her foot and screwing her eyes up tight. That was the morning I learned that you shouldn’t ever try to convince a ballerina that your feet hurt more than her feet. You. Will. Not. Win.

My older daughter, with her deep affinity for TV shows featuring crime investigation and the supernatural, was much less worried about my toe and far more interested in determining whether it was the same Kho flashlight that broke the nose of a cabin mate of hers last August at camp. (My daughter was not attached to said flashlight at the time – her friend managed to flip it into her face all by herself.) My rapidly swelling and purpling foot was of little consequence to someone much more interested in the evil intent of the flashlight itself.

As I got to my feet, I figured the toe was bruised, not broken, and I’m nothing if not a martyr. Ask my husband. So I forwent the recommended RICE treatment (Rest, Ice, Compression, and Elevation) in favor of the FCtSGtCAHW approach (Finish Changing the Sheets, Go to Church Anyway, Hobble, Whimper.) A week later, the bruising had come and gone; the painful hobble remained. My friend Neil, the industrial tape salesman, suggested buddy-taping the toe to the one next to it, not that he has a vested interest or anything. It helped. But two weeks later, I was still gimping around.

Finally, I went to the doctor for an X-ray just before Christmas. Broken toe. Buddy tape for four more weeks. (My doctor may have an agreement with Neil, I’m not sure.)

I always suspected that housecleaning was dangerous, and now I have my proof. Whether or not I’ll continue the Great Purge remains to be seen; if I’m going to break other limbs and digits, I’d prefer to do so during some activity preceded by the word XTREME, so I can hold my head a bit higher. I do, however, finally know what to do with the empty drawer in the kitchen.

Solitary confinement for that homicidal flashlight.

Marshall: when you’re done with yours, can you come over and work on mine? Please?

                   
CommentsThanks for the cautionary tale. My bedroom closet has stuff in ... by tomwiskThat visual of you lying in the hallway made my whole day. I ... by dusty earth motherOuch, Ouch, OUCH! I could attempt humor and say “that's ... by KirOnly an industrial tape salesman would split hairs about which ... by Nancy Davis KhoIndustrial Tape salesman? We've been friends since 2003 and in ... by NMRelated StoriesGrammy CountdownGetting Toasty In Defense of Middle Aged Music FansFavorite Music Books of 2013 

Midlife Mixtape Concert Review: Martha Davis and the Motels

The Band: Martha Davis and the Motels, December 27 2013. The Motels were MTV stalwarts in the years when that channel was mother’s milk to me, when they took the “L” out of “Lover” then kissed altogether wrong, no intention. The band released five albums during the ‘80s and then throaty, ax-grinding Davis went solo. The 60-something songstress now plays with a much, much younger backing band as Martha Davis and the Motels. (Side question: if they were to form today, would they be Martha Davis and the AirBnBs?) They mix a bit of new stuff with all the Motels songs that the crowd knows and loves.

The Venue: Red Devil Lounge, San Francisco. I’ve been on the mailing list for the Red Devil for ages but this is the first time I’ve been to a show there – and I am kicking myself for not going before, because tomorrow, January 1 2014, the Red Devil is no more. The owner is closing it and it’ll reopen as a restaurant – because San Francisco needs more restaurants like it needs more Google glassholes. (That is SUPER sarcasm in case it doesn’t translate to print.) Funky venue, great bartenders, a stage where the audience can pretty much climb up and take a spin on the keyboards: and now it’s gone. Sniff.

The Company: My husband swore off concerts years ago – something about how they interfere with his early morning bike rides – but once or twice a year he likes to blow my mind by actually saying “yes” when I do the courtesy ask. His only stipulation was that we stop for some food first, so we hit one of the eighteen restaurants scattered in the two block radius around the Red Devil. Make that nineteen, soon.

The Crowd: Over 50 and overamplified. Martha first got together with the Motels in the mid-seventies, when the majority of the people in last Friday’s crowd were in high school and college. Lately when I go see Eighties bands play, there’s a significant Gen Y presence but, with few exceptions, this looked like a reunion of the high school class of ’78. And they evidently had a lot to catch up on, talking nonstop through Martha’s set.

The Opening Band: Luce. They’re a San Francisco band and they drew a HUGE hometown crowd; we were surrounded by people shouting insider-joke heckles at the band who responded by cracking up. Again, the husband blew my mind by saying, “I know this band,” when I had no idea who they were, at least until they started playing “Get a Dog” which gets a lot of play on San Francisco radio. By the time they built up to their big hit, “Good Day,” there were audience members playing guitar on stage and the whole place was rockin’. It was a pretty good night, to see Luce play the Red Devil.

Age Humiliation Factor: ZERO.


Well into his forties, my husband was still carded for buying beer. So I was there with the most youthful looking guy in the joint, up until Martha took the stage with her backing band.

Cool Factor: High

The fact that I managed to wedge in a concert with my husband midway between Christmas and New Year’s was remarked upon repeatedly by my friends who were still in a tinsel coma and wearing pajamas on their “working from home” days. That that we hooked up two sleepovers for our kids and managed to get both dinner AND a concert in felt positively decadent, like we were back in the halcyon courtship days.

Worth Hiring the Sitter? Yes. And also buying orthopedic inserts.

Luce rocked– super fun, high energy set and I’m going to add them to my Songkick alert list to find out when and where they’re playing next. It’s nice when national acts play the Bay Area; it’s even nicer to support national acts from the Bay Area. It’s the locavore approach to music appreciation.

And Martha was great. That emotional, raw quality of her voice has just deepened with time. As an over-forty woman myself, it was a thrill to watch her on guitar, confident and precise at the helm of a band full of much younger dudes. The old stuff sounded great, but the new stuff was just as catchy.

But I have to admit: while we loved the vibe of the Red Devil Lounge, there was no seating to speak of (all the tables seemed to have been reserved by Luce’s cousins, neighbors, and elementary school classmates) and we suffered the Agony of Our Feet. I have a broken toe and the husband has a bad hip thanks to a long-ago car crash, and as we entered hour three of standing near the stage, we were both groaning like sumo wrestlers after an all-you-can-eat buffet. Because even when we have the opportunity to recreate a date night from our twenties, our bodies scream out in protest: “Take us back to the couch!”

Still, I’m  glad we went and showed our solidarity with a live music venue in our part of the woods. Because if patrons stop doing that, the clubs will close. Simple as that. If you want to continue to see live music played in funky clubs near where you live, you have to go frequent them frequently. (Red Devil Lounge will continue on in spirit as “Red Devil Presents,” hosting shows at other Bay Area venues. Get on their mailing list, huh?)

Consider this an admonishment to go buy tickets for a January show in your town, any January show (Martha and the Motels are still on tour for a bit!) and report back.

Next review: The Grammy Awards, Jan 26 2014

***

Happy 2014 to One and All!

                   
CommentsNo shows in Jan. yet but a couple in Feb. lined up – does ... by JillAmen to that. by Nancy Davis KhoIt's always my back that gets to me. If the crowd would move, ... by EllenThis is my kind of concert. My wife and I would've have fit in ... by LanceRelated StoriesGetting Toasty In Defense of Middle Aged Music FansMidlife Mixtape Concert Review: Book of LoveChristmas Eve Playlist 

Grammy Countdown

Almost a year ago, I won a contest sponsored by Hilton Hotels and as a result, my husband and I are going to the Grammys in exactly one month. THE GRAMMYS, PEOPLE. Even after all these months it still hasn’t quite sunk in.

At first it was fun to think about what I’d wear, and who would watch our kids while we’re gone, and what bands would play at the show. (Answers: Betsey Johnson tutu, my niece and her boyfriend, and holding out hope for Vampire Weekend and Lorde.) We are probably the first people in the history of contest winning who, when contacted by the PR agency charged with making our flight reservations to LA, said, “Is it ok with you if we don’t fly? We’d rather drive.” We’ve always been fans of the long road trip, but haven’t been on one sans kids for sixteen years. Six hours, a good playlist, and a couple stops at In N’ Out Burger along the way: that’s our idea of a dream date.

But the Grammys are now only a month away. And it’s about to get real, my friends. Because I react badly when I see famous people.

I want to be cool. I want to simply ignore celebrities, or at the most give a slight acknowledgement with an eyebrow. Intellectually I understand, in the words of Jemaine from Flight of the Conchords, “You’re a person, I’m a person, that person over there is a person.” There’s no need to lose your bananas simply because you’ve encountered another carbon-based life form.

And still: there was an Emilio Estevez incident. There were numerous Bill Clinton incidents when we lived in DC. Most recently, there was the moment I came within a few steps of So You Think You Can Dance star Jasmine Harper, and my immediate impulse was to scream “Hi Jasmine! I am also from Rochester! Hi!” while waving. From 18 inches away.

My secondary strategy is to become so aggressively not-impressed that I end up just being rude, like earlier this month when I was all, hey, Missy Franklin Olympic Swimmer, you may have won my country an armful of gold in 2012 in the London Summer Games but don’t think that means I’m going to let you get past me on the plane we’re both boarding here at O’Hare. Those medals don’t count for anything when it comes to overhead space.

My husband is much, much cooler around celebrities, but that is mostly because he only reads cycling magazines and wouldn’t recognize Rihanna if she put a blunt out on his arm. (His behavior around pro cyclists? Well, you don’t want to see that.) But his hearing isn’t as sharp as it used to be, so stage whispering is now lost to us as a means of communication.

So picture the two of us next month, encountering a Grammy nominated singer at our fancy contest-approved hotel in the heart of Beverly Hills, or at the award show itself, or– and they may regret the decision to include this in the prize package–the official after party. I will undoubtedly be stammering “Ohmygodohmygodohmygod I love your album!” while my husband bellows, “Who is that? Who is that? Who is that?”

We need to lock this down, pronto. And that’s why my New Year’s Resolution is to Be Cool Around Famous People.

I need your help. If you are the type of person who doesn’t freak out around celebrities, how do you do that? Are you picturing them in boxer shorts or something? Seems like that would make it worse but what do I know? Tell me. I need some strategies.

And if that doesn’t work, there’s always my new purse. After deciding to go with the gold tutu, I figured since I was wearing an old albeit fabulous dress I could at least get new accessories. That’s when my friend Kimmee sent me a link to this beauty.

Rock n’ roll, right? Perfect contrast to the delicate dress, right? And every time I am tempted to hyperventilate, all I need to do is squeeze the sides to distract me with blinding pain and snap myself out of it. Like a dog prong collar, but for people.

Wish us luck.

                   
CommentsWhat did you do back in college when you were working backstage ... by EllenHi Nancy, how exciting about the Grammys! Can't wait to see ... by JillI'm incredibly jealous. You're one of three people I personally ... by LanceSo exciting, Nancy! As for advice on how to be cool, I have no ... by KatrinaWhat a great card! I think I'd buy that in bulk… by Janine KovacPlus 5 more...Related StoriesEight Things I Wish I Didn’t Know About Other PeoplePoo-pooing This TrendGetting Toasty In Defense of Middle Aged Music Fans 

Christmas Eve Playlist

I’m sure you’re too busy wrapping, eating, and watching Love Actually for the fifty-third time this month to read a blog post today, so I’m keeping it simple. Just wanted to send along some choice video selections for your holiday listening enjoyment.

Whatever your faith is, I hope you have lots of it. And I wish you good music in the year to come. (Feel free to add your festive faves in the comments section…)

Erasure with “Bells of Love” from their brand new Christmas album

Missy Modell with a variation on “Ho Hey” by the Lumineers

Bastille in the BBC1 Live Lounge with a Christmas Mash up

RunDMC and “Christmas in Hollis” – it’s a ill reindeer!

Dolly Parton with “Hard Candy Christmas” – a blue Christmas selection suggested by reader Jill.

and finally, Australia’s only Christmas song, which I got to see performed live by Paul Kelly during Hardly Strictly Bluegrass: “How to Make Gravy.” May you never have to send a Christmas card from jail….

                   
CommentsOutstanding! Wishing you and yours a lovely, fun and very ... by Anna LeflerLove this! Thanks! And Joyeux Noel!!!! by Tiffany KRelated StoriesSong Sung BlueA Music Mix GiveawayTurn Down the Music and Read: Rocks Off 

Song Sung Blue

This is a hard time of year for a lot of people. Whatever struggles and challenges and sorrows you may have during the other eleven months get pushed through a sieve of forced cheerfulness in December, which can just make things worse. I’m a big believer in acknowledging Blue Christmas, taking some time to sit still with reality, and feel it, and maybe even have a good cry over it until you feel a bit better. Or until someone feeds you a Christmas cookie.

When it comes to triggering a good crying jag, I turn to music. I cry when Sarah McLachlan sings to shelter dogs, when Heart sings to Led Zeppelin during the Kennedy Center Honors ceremony, and when old men sing tenor on church hymns. When I go to concerts, I pack tissues alongside my ID and beer money because you never know.

There are three sad songs that stand out for me because they function like the simple on/off circuits we all made in middle school science class. They start, I cry. No buildup necessary. I’m sharing them today in case you need to get things moving. Feel free to add your own songs sung blue in the comments.

Take care, and have a a cookie.

1. “Adagio in G Minor for Strings and Organ, on Two Thematic Ideas and on a Figured Bass by Tomaso Albinoni,” Remo Giazatto

Gallipoli, made in the days before we knew that Mel Gibson was crazy, was my favorite movie in high school because it was full of horseback-riding Australian men, the perfect vehicle with which to bridge my tweenage horse love into something more grown up and worldly. I will give nothing of the World War One era movie away except to say that there is a scene of an evening before a battle that the movie audience and worse, all the characters on the screen, know is pointless. The tough C.O. with the heart of gold sits in his plain canvas tent and put this adagio on the Victrola, then sits down to write a goodbye letter to his beloved wife.

And every time I see this movie I think, oh my god, this guy has such a heart of gold that he actually brought his record player to the front? Now I love him, too, even if he’s neither cute nor on a horse, and I’m weeping, his offscreen wife and I both drowning in our tears over the threat of losing him. The violins, string, and sad, sad organ play on as the camera lingers lovingly on all the scared cute Australian soldiers, now horseless but not like that was going to help them much anyway given the odds, and also who wants to see a horse die in battle. It all adds to the exquisite pain inherent in this song.

2. Breathe Me, by Sia

Four words: Six Feet Under Finale. If you watched it, you know that the last five minutes of the HBO series, scored to this song, both telescoped and tied up the story lines for the characters we had grown to love during its five seasons.  Each quick vignette on the screen was timed to perfectly to leverage the quiet inhalations in the song, the plunk plunk plunk moments where tension builds, and finally the orchestral sweep that brings it all home and had fans thinking, now what will I do on Sunday nights?

My husband and I watched the show together religiously, but he was travelling for work during the finale and it was before we had installed the technology to capture and view important cultural moments on our own timetable. I watched the finale alone, on my couch, in the dark, sobbing and throwing used tissues on the ground until I had my own little paper snow pile of sorrow.

When it comes on the radio these days I listen, thinking: oh, Nate. Oh, David. And oh, Ruth, flawed matriarch who despite her shortcomings loved her children so hard. Sob sob sob.

3. Somewhere Over the Rainbow, Israel “Iz” Kamakawiwo’ole

The moment: kindergarten graduation, 2003. The venue: our eldest daughter’s kindergarten classroom, where we parents were wedged uncomfortably into chairs that only came up to our kneecaps. Just looking at the assembled group of 22 children, with their jack-o-lantern smiles and bedhead and tiny shoes had me feeling sniffly, aware our kids were already on the downhill toboggan ride that is growing up. When the teacher instructed the kids to hold up folded paper on which they’d drawn Hungry Caterpillars, forty-four parents and guardians smiled. She then recited an original poem that echoed the Eric Carle children’s book, talking about all the knowledge the children had gobbled that first year of school.

Then she said, “And now you are all butterflies flying away to First Grade,” and the adorable kids unfolded their caterpillar drawings to reveal the colorful, loopy butterflies they’d drawn inside, and fourty-four parents and guardians, plus one teacher, fell into catatonic states of weeping. THAT was when the children started not just singing, but using American Sign Language, to sign Somewhere Over the Rainbow, the Bruddah Iz version. When my second daughter performed the same ritual three years later, the only thing that made it any easier was that I had packed my purse with tissues in advance.

By the time the first “oooooo-ooo” of this song hits my ear drums, all I can see is how fast my children have grown up, flying like butterflies into middle school and high school and beyond. It sends me into paroxysms of grief.

Although, let’s be honest. Once they leave the nest for good, it’ll be nice to be able to weep in peace without fear of them catching me and saying, “MOM! Are you seriously crying again?”

***

Here’s another song that makes me cry this time of year, but not for the reasons you may think. I’m over at NickMom this week, talking about the results of overexposure to Mariah Carey’s “All I Want For Christmas Is You.”

                   
CommentsFor me, it's Barber's Adagio for Strings. We were in London in ... by RisaOkay, I'm sitting at the laptop checking e-mails. I'm getting ... by tomwiskYes, it has been rough, but every Tuesday and Friday I smile ... by K.FeeKirsten, I am so so sorry for your brother's loss, he sounds ... by Nancy Davis KhoOh, Karen. As soon as I saw your name, I started tearing up. ... by Nancy Davis KhoPlus 5 more...Related StoriesTurn Down the Music and Read: Rocks OffStill in Rotation: Slippery When Wet (Bon Jovi)Life Lessons from the Nutcracker 

Turn Down the Music and Read: Rocks Off

Here’s how I came to own my one and only Rolling Stones album. A cute, trouble making, athletic guy in my high school (he was the closest thing we had to Tim Riggins, in case anyone’s a Friday Night Light fan) asked me out of the blue one day what album I wanted him to steal for me from the local radio station, where he had an internship. Given my big chance with Pseudo Tim, I choked, stuttered, and managed to cough, “I don’t know, you choose.” And that’s how I got “Hot Rocks: 1964-1971”– the album, also the condition for a little while until we went back to the status quo of Pseudo Tim ignoring me, and me admiring the Rolling Stones, but only from a certain remove. I liked them on the radio, but I never added another album to my record collection.

And I think that’s why Rocks Off: 50 Tracks That Tell the Story of the Rolling Stones by Bill Janovitz (St. Martin’s Press, 2013) was so interesting to me. It may seem squarely aimed at Stones Super Fans, but there’s a lot to love in this book, even for the uninitiated like me. Janovitz, simply put, knows everything there is to know about the band. He’s a musician, to boot—singer, guitarist, and songwriter of alternative rock band Buffalo Tom—so his spot-on, detailed descriptions of what’s happening, note by note, in the songs I’ve heard for years caused me to appreciate the technique and impact in a whole new way.

Moving in basic chronological order with a chapter for each of the fab fifty, the book starts with “Tell Me” from 1964 all the way through to “Biggest Mistake” from 2005 (with one last surprise tune at the end.) Janovitz does a terrific job weaving in what was happening with the band mates, their influences, and their management as each song evolved and was recorded, as well as diving deep into how the specific sounds were achieved. For me, the chapter on “Gimme Shelter” was the most riveting, covering as it did both the tragedy at Altamont and the recording process that yielded that spine-chilling vocal break by Merry Clayton at the 3:02 mark on the song, a performance that ostensibly led to personal tragedy for Clayton.

But this isn’t a book for someone interested in the personal drama of the Stones (i.e. Keith/Anita/Mick/Marianne/Biana/Jerry etc.) or their abundant drug use. Some if that is included here, but only insofar as it affects the development of a song or the band’s musical direction. The focus starts and stays on the music.

If you’re a diehard Stones fan, this book is a no brainer to recommend–you’ll love it. If you’re simply a music fan and wonder about how the sausage is made by iconic bands who made it look so easy, it’s a fascinating read.

My only advice, if you fall into the latter category like I do, is to NOT read this on a plane like I did, last weekend. Because with each new chapter title, I’d think, now, which song is this one? I couldn’t look it up on YouTube or Spotify because there was no Wifi at 36,000 feet. So then I’d think, wait, I think I know this song, and I’d hum it, and it would always turn into “Jumpin’ Jack Flash,” no matter what I started with. As soon as I got home again, I had to spend time backtracking through the book and playing each song. It’s much more efficient if you just read it near a wireless signal the first time.

(My favorite video to rediscover after I landed. Note: it is not Jumpin’ Jack Flash.)

So if you’ve got a Stones fan on your holiday shopping list, or just want to dig into how some of the most enduring songs of our time got made, this book is sure to (insert tragically obvious but musically appropriate cliché here: “give you some ‘Satisfaction’,” “put ‘Time On Your Side’,” “fit ‘Under Your Thumb’,” etc.  Feel free to add your own in the comments.)

 ***

Last month my husband and I took our kids for Africa for 25 hours. Seriously. Well, to the Serengeti in Sonoma, anyway. If you’d like to read about our getaway amidst the giraffes and wildebeest, check out my post today over at 510Families.com. Quick takeaway: if you’re looking for a way to break the ice with your kids about the birds and the bees (and one very ambitious antelope,) Safari West could be just the spot.

                   
CommentsThank you for this! I too, am a casual fan at best, though I ... by SeanGimme Shelter is my all time favourite Stones song, although ... by mosey (kim)Related StoriesStill in Rotation: Slippery When Wet (Bon Jovi)A Music Mix GiveawayGetting Toasty In Defense of Middle Aged Music Fans 

Still in Rotation: Slippery When Wet (Bon Jovi)

Still in Rotation is a feature that lets talented writers tell Midlife Mixtape readers about an album they discovered years ago that’s still in heavy rotation, and why it has such staying power.

So I’m at BlogHer’13 in Chicago and someone introduces me to Kristin V. Shaw, the blogger also known as Two Cannoli. And I’m thinking, oh, this young mom is just the sweetest, she is so lovely and demure. And then I ask her to write a guest post, and I find out that her college nickname derives from the band Megadeth, and she’s a midlife metal head. Appearances can be so deceiving.  Read on for the full story.

SLIPPERY WHEN WET (1986)

I was an MTV addict practically from Day One. Which was a problem, since my parents weren’t too excited about that new-fangled cable stuff. We had a three-channel TV with rabbit ears and no remote (the horror of it all). No wonder I was able to eat Zingers at will – I had to get up and change the TV station.

I had to create a plan to get more MTV. I WANTED MY MTV, and I wanted it bad. I moped around, catching glimpses of Martha Quinn and Nina Blackwood and Adam Curry’s awesome hair when I could, but my sister really and I got our fix during Friday Night Videos. I started babysitting in the summer of 1982, and I discovered that MTV was a fantastic fringe benefit for a job that only paid a dollar an hour. SHHH. Kids, I can’t hear Kevin Cronin singing “I Can’t Fight This Feeling.”

By the time Headbanger’s Ball came into rotation, both my sister and I were deep into the hair band craze. Bon Jovi released Slippery When Wet (cue the snicker at the obviousness of the title) in 1986, and my family was all about the New Jersey pride. I reminded all of my teenage friends that I was born in New Jersey, so Jon and I were practically related. We went to The Shore with my cousins, and I bought a t-shirt emblazoned with “Jersey girls… best in the world”. It was no wonder that every lifeguard on the beach stopped me to talk. I was giddy with naïve visions of popularity, not having any idea what the t-shirt really suggested at age 15. I grew up with a cheeky mother who wore a shirt with a cartoon of two sets of feet sticking out of the back of a van with the slogan “Do it in a van” (Oh, those fantastic 70s). So she wasn’t any help.

I sat, mesmerized, every time “Livin’ on a Prayer” played on MTV. That hair! Those frosted highlights! Richie’s hat! Tico’s soul patch! And they COULD FLY. They were long-haired superheroes.

It wasn’t long before a Jon Bon Jovi poster was tacked up on the wall in our hallway. The catch was: neither my sister nor I put it there. It was my five-foot-tall super-cool mom who wanted to ogle Jon every time she stopped by one of our bedrooms.

I had to buy the article of clothing of the year: the denim jacket with white fringe. I wore the hell out of that jacket, and it showed up in a lot of photos in that year. OK, maybe two years. FINE. Three years. And my mom may still have it in her closet.

The string of hits this album generated seemed never-ending, at the time. “Livin’ on a Prayer”, “You Give Love a Bad Name” and “Wanted Dead or Alive” brought out our inner karaoke singers before karaoke was cool. Every school dance included some air guitar and our hands in the air, shouting “Whooa-o! We’re halfway there!” I still know every single verse by heart; I don’t even have to think about it, the words just fly from my mouth.

By the time I got to college, my Slippery When Wet cassette was worn out. The New Jersey album was going strong, and “I’ll be There for You” was on my lips as I left my childhood friends behind in 1989. This was the year my parents finally decided to get cable, incidentally. Thanks a lot, Mom and Dad.

My new friends were a mixture of clean-cut sorority girls and friends who loved the hair band genre as much as I did. When I joined the rowing team my freshman year, the word spread that I was a head-banger and spent my evenings going to concerts at Bogart’s on Vine Street. A senior rower decided that my crew nickname would be “Megadeth” in honor of my musical tastes, and it stuck. To this day, my friends from the rowing team call me Mega. It does sound better than Bon Jovi as a nickname, I suppose. Then the novices would have thought my name was “Bon” instead of “Megan” as they often did. Long story, I would say, without much more explanation.

The boys I dated looked a little like Jon Bon Jovi in my early college years. Well, if you squinted and looked at them from afar and just noticed that they had long hair, they looked a lot like him. Hair bands were riding high, and my best friend and I made it our mission to see and meet as many long-haired rockers as we could. I have photos with Enuff Z’nuff, Dangerous Toys, Mr. Big, Skid Row, Danger Danger, and other various obscure one-hit wonder bands. No, I’m not going to show them to you.

In the early 90s, Nirvana came along and wrecked my rock-music… uh… nirvana. Grunge replaced metal, and brother bands to Bon Jovi like Cinderella and Winger and Extreme died a quiet death. Most of those bands still tour, by the way, for middle-aged metalheads like me.

My four-year-old son prefers country above all, living in Texas, but every once in a while a song I’m listening to catches his ear and he starts to dance. While he likes particular songs by AC/DC, Motley Crue, and the Honeydrippers, the song “Beth” by KISS is his lullaby.

I promised my husband I wouldn’t hang a Jon Bon Jovi poster in the hallway, though.

♪♪♪Kristin Shaw is a writer, wife, mama, car fanatic, sports lover, head banger, dessert addict, and Listen to Your Mother cast of 2013.  Featured blogger for HuffPost Parents at http://www.huffingtonpost.com/kristin-shaw/   and her own blog, Two Cannoli (www.twocannoli.com).  Find her at her Facebook fan page at www.facebook.com/twocannoli or Twitter at @austinkvs. 

                   
CommentsNo, I still do not have that jacket in my closet. No one else ... by GinnyAppearances can totally be deceiving! I love this part of you, ... by Leigh AnnRelated StoriesStill in Rotation: Born to Run (Bruce Springsteen)Still in Rotation: Purple Rain (Prince)Getting Toasty In Defense of Middle Aged Music Fans 

Life Lessons from the Nutcracker

 

For civilians, the first strains of Tchaikovsky’s famous ballet started leaking out of store Muzak and into your consciousness the day after Thanksgiving. For ballet parents like me, it’s been in constant rotation since September, when the two underage dancers in my house started rehearsing for the big performances, coming up December 14 and 15. You think YOU’RE sick of hearing Waltz of the Flowers by December 10th? You have no idea.

Still, I love this ballet, and I love the entire time-consuming, repetitive, dramatic project that is staging a student performance of the Nutcracker every year. Because it’s taught our entire family a thing or two about a thing or two.

1. Reaching your full potential takes bold vision. During the “House” scene in Act 1, Herr Drosselmeyer opens three big boxes to reveal a dancing bear, a dancing dog, and a dancing cat who proceed to act out a sweet if vaguely disturbing interspecies love triangle. I liked that scene fine, until a dad who had clearly been volunteering backstage for a few hours too many confessed to me, “Just once, I’d like to see the bear come out of the box, look around, and then just freakin’ maul Marie and her entire family.” Now that I have a vision of what could be, I just can’t be satisfied with what is.

3. Be polite to everyone. In that same first house scene, three children are given Nutcrackers. Only one, Marie, really gives a sincere thanks to the admittedly creepy guy who wears a cape and character shoes. Ninety minutes later, that same child has taken a psychedelic journey to Candyland and is being feted by Bon Bons, Spanish dancers, Arabian dancers, and a slew of men in tights, while the less effusive siblings are stuck home in bed snoring away. Good manners always pay off.

2. Sometimes it’s not you. It’s the ass costume. My eldest daughter is playing Mother Ginger this year, the lady in the big skirt under which tiny dancers flow like sand fleas. The costume is a big architectural challenge to put on and dance in, and one of the teachers cryptically explained to my daughter, as she struggled into it, that it’s an “ass costume.” The meaning was left unexplained. But I interpret it as follows, on behalf of my daughter and her lovely, strong dancer’s figure: sometimes you will try something on and no matter how lovely and strong you are, it’s just not going to fit comfortably. Don’t take it personally: it’s not you, it’s the ass costume.

4. Everyone’s got a story. For a few years, my friend Glynis and I worked at the ticket booth. She sold new tickets, I handled distribution of Will Call tickets. We looked forward to this because, in theory, it gave us four or five hours over a single weekend to sit together and chat. The problem is that no one ever said, “May I have my tickets? Thanks!” Instead, every single person who bought or picked up a ticket felt compelled to explain to us why they bought it, where they had driven from, how their friend they were picking up the ticket for might be a little late, what they’d just eaten for lunch. They must have mistaken the ticket table for the StoryCorps booth. Still, they always seemed pleased to be heard.

5. You can’t pick your kids’ passions. I took ballet for a year, when I was six, in the basement of a bowling alley in Rochester, so it never really occurred to me that my kids would be dancers. When they were little, we cycled them through various sports and activities, as you do, waiting to see what stuck. Then one summer day, Glynis’ twins’ invited my kids to try a free class at the dance studio where they were both so involved. Five years later, Glynis’ daughters are long gone onto other pursuits, and our kids are there five days a week (seven days a week in the month before the Nutcracker.) It’s amazing to see what they’ve accomplished, considering how clueless their parents are about the entire artistic dance form.

6. It takes hard work to make something look easy. Right now, my kids are dancing through pointe shoes at a rate of a pair every two weeks. Point shoes could be used to hammer nails in walls when they’re fresh, so dancing them into softness and then actually wearing holes into them takes hours and hours of work. All the kids are working their butts off, well past the point of it being fun anymore and far into the Magical Fairyland of overtired goofiness and bunions. These girls may look like delicate snowflakes onstage, but they’re tough as torn toenails underneath.

In fact, I think they’d give a rampaging bear a run for the money.

Who doesn’t love a good old-fashioned ballet in the produce section? Here are a few dancers from the Oakland Ballet (the company, not the school) dancing a selection from the Nutcracker at Whole Foods.

                   
CommentsAh, the “good” old days. The memories. Tea, Snaps, who's in ... by GlynisYay for the girls! That is so much hard owrk. by WendiMy daughter dances (lyrical / jazz / tap / hiphop), but has no ... by LisaThe girls have stuck with it despite me – they get all the ... by Nancy Davis KhoWas it a Nutcracker flash mob or a command performance? When ... by EllenI have a much better understanding of your December, the girls' ... by Sara EvingerRelated StoriesPremature ObsolescenceVideo from Listen To Your Mother 2013In Praise of the Other Mother 

A Music Mix Giveaway

This is going to surprise you, but I love making music mixes. When I was supposed to be compiling The Family Mix I spent way more than my allotted time putting together the video playlist at the back of the book. And with the memoir I’m polishing and tweaking right now, I inevitably decided to add a playlist at the back, and pretty much that’s where all my polishing and tweaking energy is channeled right now.

You know what else I think is pretty boss? You guys. You are so kind to stop by and read this blog week after week, to leave comments here, to share my posts on Facebook and Twitter. I don’t take it for granted, not a second of it, because I know you all are busy and being pulled in twenty directions. I’m really grateful that you make the time in your day to read my nattering.

So I was thinking about an appropriate way to wrap up the year and it came to me with all the deliciousness of a Reese’s Peanut Butter cup: two great tastes that taste great together! My readers, and a music mix.

I’m going to make a personalized music mix for a Midlife Mixtape reader.

Here’s how it’ll go down. If you’re interested in entering, leave a comment below with your top three favorite artists. That way I won’t send you something full of rap when you’re all about Kenny G (although to be fair, I don’t know WHAT I’d send a big Kenny G fan.) I promise it will be eclectic; it’ll have some new stuff, some old stuff, and something to make you shake your rump-a. Beyond that, I await inspiration from your Top 3 List.

I’ll take entries until Tuesday, December 10 at 5 pm PST. Then I’ll start mixing.

Ready, set, go!

Oh, the lovely, lovely trumpets in this piece. Make sure to listen to their dulcet tones.

                   
CommentsOoh, tough to pick 3 but I'll go with: Prince The Police ... by LouisaOh how I love Toad the Wet Sprocket, Crowded House, and Dave ... by Lisa HillhouseOoh man, this is very difficult, but in a fun way. 1. Rolling ... by SallyI'm SO tempted to put Kenny G, just to see what you come up ... by Liz @ PeaceLoveGuacYou are the BEST! So, I love the already listed ... by JTPlus 5 more...Related StoriesGetting Toasty In Defense of Middle Aged Music FansFavorite Music Books of 2013Still in Rotation: Born to Run (Bruce Springsteen)