Music Has Been My Life …

As long as I can remember, music has somewhat dictated my life. My earliest memories involve music. Whether it was my Mom singing along to the radio, a record, being dragged by my Mom to a “festival” in the middle of a field in northern Maine or by my Grandmother to a concert of her liking (usually country before the age of 7); every memory involves music.

But do I really know as much as I think I do?

It’s no wonder I eventually ended up married to a former musician-turned-engineer/record producer in my early 40’s. We divorced after 5 years but we remain extremely close friends. A testament to the fact that we probably were meant to be just that, best friends.

Tonight I finally began the Netflix documentary, “Pop Music”. I got as far as the 3rd episode, which touches upon the “Country Music” genre. While growing up, I had the fortunate experience of being exposed to a large variety of music. My family listened to everything from standards, to traditional Country & Western, to R&B and Soul, to Rock and finally honed in upon the Elvis and The Beatles.

My Mom was a bit young when she had me, so we were kind of “friends” as I grew up. I also became my Nana’s little “bestie”; she took me everywhere. From movies, to weekend yard sales and flea markets, to films I had NO business seeing; she was the shit. I still think about seeing “Grease” in the theater with her and my Great Grandma to this day; and how embarrassing that “Blue Moon” scene must have been for them with their 4 year old great/grand-daughter in tow…

But, the other thing that everyone on that side of the family had in common was a deep, deep love and appreciation of music. While I was a latchkey kid, I was also the child of a music obsessed woman. I learned to turn on the radio as soon as I woke up in the morning and turn it off at dinner, just before retiring to the living room to watch TV, or put it on at a low volume in my bedroom so I could fall asleep. Music became the center around which my family began to revolve.

I loved it.

I have spent the majority of my spare time over the last 20 years enjoying live music in one form or another. When COVID hit, it really took a toll on my psyche. When things began to open up again, one of the event profs groups I belong to circulated a rally to buy concert tickets for some of the first few shows that went on sale. I didn’t have to have my arm twisted, I bought tickets and it almost felt naughty. That was March.

Fast forward to August, the show date finally arrived and of course it is one of the hottest, most humid days of the year. I take the boy I’ve been seeing with me to the show. I’m expecting rain, which I actually welcome, because the tickets I have are under the canopy at the venue. Of course, it didn’t rain … the slight breeze stops and I suddenly feel as though I might die. There I was, finally back at a concert after nearly two years, and I was going to have to leave early…

The boy was gracious. When I asked if he would be ok leaving early he immediately replied that he wanted to ask me to leave earlier because he knew I was in distress, but he also knew how much I was looking forward to it; so he didn’t want to do anything to make me feel worse than I already did.

He’s a good one.

We got heard the majority of the set. The sound sucked anyway. It’s been said that one of the members of the group refuses to participate in sound check and as a result, now, often throws tantrums on stage (that happened) and gets pissy about the sound (three times before we left).

I felt bad for having to leave and was already thinking about what to purchase tickets for next so I could redeem myself, when my old “concert” buddy texted the next day to invite me on an adventure upstate to see Brandi Carlisle ….

That would end up being quite a weekend …


The World: Cancelled & Self-Quarantined

COVID-19 hysteria peaked (let’s hope) this week, and what a week it was.

Every project I was working on from sports, to music to awards show red carpets – all cancelled but one. Coachella was moved to October and so far, SDCC remains in place, thankfully. I’ve joked about it for years, but who knew that people could really be so stupid? If we didn’t believe it before, there’s no reason not to, now.

Forests will suffer for centuries from the baseless TP and paper towel hoarding that took place this week. Fuck, even Amazon ran out of toilet paper. That’s when you know shit’s serious. I understand, people assume they will have to stay in their homes for two weeks and won’t want to go out, so the “smart” thing to do is buy a 10 or 70 week supply of bathroom tissue, all the hand soap they can carry, hole up and practice schadenfreude.

Now, I enjoy the dark gems in life as much as the next guy; hell, I spent most of last year consuming ALL of the foreign language crime/suspense series that Netflix could serve up and still wanted more, but this level of panic rivals that of Orson Welles’ 1938 Radio Broadcast of The War of the Worlds.

The radio play was extremely realistic, with Welles employing sophisticated sound effects and his actors doing an excellent job portraying terrified announcers and other characters. An announcer reported that widespread panic had broken out in the vicinity of the landing sites, with thousands desperately trying to flee.

At least these folks had a somewhat legitimate reason to be spooked, though. There’s no excuse for the way we’re acting right now. We’re supposed to be advanced, intelligent, informed and resourceful; aren’t we? For Christ’s sake, if extraterrestrials came upon us now, they’d think we were morons!

People, we have a very serious issue in this country, we DO NOT LIKE TO WASH OUR HANDS. That alone has probably caused far more illness than we like to admit. Because we have issues with handwashing and subsequently began getting sick so often, our society started to demand “a pill” to treat everything whether it could actually help or not. Our doctors threw antibiotics at us for years to appease our miserable asses. As a result, we have incredibly dangerous antibiotic-resistant bacteria, highly transmissible, lethal viruses which seem to appear every few years and just the latest in pandemics: novel coronavirus COVID-19.

It’s funny, SUDDENLY you close-talkers don’t want to stand too close, don’t want to touch anyone, you can’t bear to think about jamming into clubs elbow to elbow and sweating all over each other, or going into a public restroom, Where you once may have run your hands over every freakin’ surface in which you encountered, you force yourself to keep your hands in pockets.

Oh, so … NOW you want to bump elbows with me to mitigate possible germ transfer?

*Queue maniacal Ginger laughter*

Please. I’d rather just flip you the bird, exchange NO pathogens, release a bit of my pent up aggression in the process and call it a day.

And of course, this furnishes just one more reason for all those women who have absolutely no business hovering over a toilet, (oh, and you know who you are) to justify spraying urine 10 ft. in every direction when using a bathroom outside of their home. (Honestly, some days I’d rather put my ass in a urinal than attempt to find one useable toilet in a woman’s restroom.) You know you don’t have the thigh muscles, so just lay down a few layers of toilet paper, sit and save all of us that must come after you the trouble!

I mean, you just bought 300 cases of toilet paper; if there was ever a time you could afford to carry a roll with you, this would be it.