It Feels Like the First Time

Thanks to Facebook's "People You May Know" feature, I feel so almost famous (circa 1980-something). I'm hot blooded. Unless I have double vision, or Facebook is playing head games, I have eleven friends in common with the lead singer of Foreigner. He's a juke box hero. A dirty white boy. He's probably waiting for a girl like me. It's urgent.

Check it and see . . .

In other news, I want to know what love is.

Destined for Stardom

Made it through a whirlwind weekend and now need a rest but, alas, I'm back in the saddle again.

Friday night, I worked until after eight and then took the kiddos, while I was in a state of utter exhaustion, to see local teen band 441. These talented kids write and play mostly originals (except for some notable songs like Jet's Are You Gonna Be My Girl?) and the crowd is chock full of youngsters dancing and holding giant poster board signs. I felt like I was at the filming of teevee's fictitious Big Time Rush except that people actually like 441. Band aside, I loved watching a) the break dancing elementary school boys and b) the pseudo-hipster parents rockin' out (i.e., a pathetic mirror to my own aging soul).

After taking the boys to swimming on Saturday, I finally made it with my girlfriend Gretchen to the George Eastman House to see the Taking Aim: Unforgettable Rock 'n' Roll Photographs Selected By Graham Nash exhibit just before its run in Rochester ended. I'm so glad I made it! As Gretchen said, every museum should have The Clash playing in the background. I couldn't agree more. The photos were fascinating. I even liked the quotes on the walls . . .

I want to get a real camera and spend a year recreating all of the photos with my kids and girlfriends. I think I'll start with my favorite Neko Case picture (taken by Alice Wheeler); but, it'll star me and my boyfriends -- when they're old enough to drive.

It was nice having a girlie day. Shopping at the Parkleigh Pharmacy (buying nothing), lounging at Starbucks on Monroe, looking for fun stuff at Archimage and finally buying a delicious chocolate ganache cake for Grannie Annie's birthday at Goodness Cakes.

On our way home, we stopped to take more pics of the snow monsters. Note the one from last week is now fully colored and in the process of eating someone!

Rock n' Roll behind the Suit

Yesterday, one of my favorite clients, who is roughly my age, was telling me that he couldn’t schedule our next conference call for Friday because it conflicted with his guitar lesson which is sacrosanct. I shared that my hubby played lead guitar in a bunch of bands and asked him if he, too, had guitars and amps in his living room (i.e., not bearing the Martha Stewart seal of approval). Nope, he built an entire studio/band pit in his basement, complete with drum set, so no one would have to lug gear to his house in order to jam. Must be nice, huh!

Client: I bet your husband and I would get along great.

Me: What kind of music do you play?

Client: My son plays in an alternative band but I think our band is leaning toward Christian rock.

Me: Christian rock? Yeah, you haven’t met my husband. I don’t think he and you would get along that famously . . .

Client: Well, I also play a lot of Rush, Led Zeppelin, The Stones and The Who.

Game, set, no match. 

On a related note, this song never gets old. Never.

Perfect Situation

Hey Weezer, if you're wondering if I want you to, I want you to!

And by that, I mean "play longer."

Sure I had a 7:30 a.m. meeting the day after your show but that didn't mean that I needed to be home, in bed, before 11:00 p.m. Especially when your show didn't kick-off until 9:15 p.m. Egads.

Regardless, I am grateful that my friend Paul and I made the trek out to CMAC in Canandaigua last Sunday night because the Weezer concert was outstanding. Those little nerds can rock. The Weezer Snuggie wearing crowd loved 'em. We loved 'em. Every song is a hit. Photograph. Island in the Sun. Buddy Holly. Perfect Situation. Beverly Hills. The Sweater Song. And on and on. Such amazing talent including frontman Rivers Cuomo's ability to jump repeatedly from a trampoline to the drummer's platform like a little wood nymph.

What I learned:

• If you touch your thumbs together to make a W with your two palms outstretched and then lower your pinkie and ring fingers, you can rock out Weezer-style. Peace out wingman.

• Weezer fans are in a class of their own. I guess that's where the term "fanatic" comes in. The girlfriends of the dudes in front of us were rendered superfluous. Pushed aside mid-concert as these guys put their arms around each others' waists and swayed. They fist and chest bumped between each and every song. And  they sang every single lyric with finger pointing emphasis. (Apparently it's not impolite to point menacingly and scream at rock stars.) They were more excited than little girls at a Jonas Brothers concert. I felt bad that Paul was stuck with me when he could have experienced extreme male bonding with another species of male that even Jane Goodall would enjoy studying. (Next time they're sighted, I plan to put a tag on their ears. Here we go.)

In closing, I don't intend to quit my job and follow them anytime soon. It would conflict with my Wilco and Cracker tour plans. But I'm really glad I went.

Orr Not . . .

My coworker/friend Jennifer gave me the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame Trivia Challenge calendar a few weeks ago. It's a short, daily challenge that we rarely get right.

Case in point -- today.

Me: Sandra Dee received a divorce from what Rock and Roll Hall of Fame inductee in 1967?

Jenn: Bobby Orr?

Me: Bobby Orr?? No, Bobby Darin.

Jenn: Bobby Darin was a hockey player?

It's been confirmed: I'm not the only one having a long week.

Pack Rat

While sorting through an old box of stuff in the basement, I came across heaps of mementos including a photo of my mom on a date in the 50s in a frame that says, "Souvenir of Moroccan Village: The Gayest Spot in the Village" and "Slumming in Greenwich Village." Inside that frame was also the front page of The AMBAssador 25th Anniversary Issue (October 1953) which I'm guessing was the internal newsletter for employees of Alexanders. My mom was apparently an Alexanderite (posh name for a salesperson?) and was pictured with four other women alongside an article that states, "Alexanderites strutting proudly down the aisles of our two Bronx stores and at White Plains recently had ample reason for thrusting out their chests and boasting a bit." You go girl!

Speaking of strutting themselves, I also unearthed a picture of my dad circa 1945 with a bunch of other guys in the Navy all dressed up like (I think) girls? They're lifting their skirts (yes, you read that right) to show their boxers but also are wearing hats, garter belts on their thighs, and scarves around their necks. I'm thinking that they may have fit in better at Moroccan Village than on the U.S.S. Richmond. What happens at sea stays at sea?

In the pile, I found a bunch of my old concert tickets including the Who, the Stones, Rush, Santana, the Dead, the Lounge Lizards, Elvis Costello, UB40, Joe Jackson, Janes Addiction, Simple Minds, the Call, Tom Petty, Cheap Trick, the Plasmatics and more.

And I found a receipt from Marine Midland Bank dated March 16, 1983 where I ran into the Thompson Twins at the ATM and they all signed my bank balance ($311.68)! I also have an REO Speedwagon ticket signed by Gary Richrath and Kevin Cronin. Ah yes, you can tune a piano but you can't tuna fish.

My least favorite ticket? The Cars. I'll never forget them singing, "Can I bring you out in the light?" and flooding the War Memorial with stadium lighting. Unbelievable buzzkill. Worst ending to a concert ever. Not just what I needed.

Lastly, I found a copy of Playbill magazine circa 1984 in which Aaron Sorkin (an SU grad with whom we used to stay on our weekend trips to the city) wrote, "It was great sex! Come live with us." Aaron S. For whatever reason, his S looks more like a backwards dollar sign. (Note to mom: We didn't really have sex. It was his roommate who hit on me at the time but I feigned death. It worked.) In any event, Aaron was convinced that he would be famous one day and I believed him. Back then he was a talented writer living in a walk-up in Hell's Kitchen; now he's a talented gazillionaire living presumably in some heavenly mansion in California. Maybe I'll take him up on his offer now?!

I Dare You to Vote for Me!

According to Political Calculations, it's time for me to "Fire up the spin machine, you're ready to kick off your campaign this week! It's time to start courting donations from lobbyists and to put underlings to work deciding what you believe!"

Actually, this site calculates my "qualifications" based not on my experience in office (or lack thereof) but rather on whether or not I've ever toured with a rock band which I have not -- yet. Oddly enough, it doesn't ask race, gender or whether or not I'm a total babe. It's also more focused on my current bio. Holding all values equal, I'm still qualified for office if I am married with two sexual partners vs. in a relationship with only one. Yee haw! As I said to my brother, this doesn't account for my millions of past affairs or the fact that I'm one step away from rehab next week. As long as I'm clean and perceived to be sober today, all's well.

Not to mention that I can strangle moose barehanded . . .

Carry Me Home to My Kin

Having spent a number of years in NYC and a brief 18 months outside of D.C., I know firsthand —and can fully appreciate—that the Rochester airwaves are much more compelling than those in some of the major broadcast markets in this country.

For a relatively small city, we have great radio stations and world-class programs including: Friday night soul on WRUR, Saturday morning Memory Lane (R&B) on WDKX, Bad Dog Blues midday Sunday followed up by a Whole Lotta Shakin’ on WITR, New Wave Wednesdays on alternative music’s WBER, and the homegrown jazz station that my hubby favors, WGMC.

This is why it came as a bit of surprise when my five-year-old and I were in a local pizzeria recently and he screamed, “Sweet Home Alabama” after three (maybe four) notes of Skynard came on the air. Everyone turned to us and laughed.

Turn it up.