Reflexin'

I have something to admit: last night, I listened to “The Reflex” by Duran Duran.  No, that’s not necessarily a problem.  It’s the number of times I listened to it that may be a little unsettling: roughly 20.  Ten of those twenty were in a row.  I don’t know why.  I wish I had a reason for you.  Hell, I wish I wish I had an answer for ME.  There’s just something magical that I hear in that song when beer is involved.  But even sober, the US single version of that song is probably the best song ever released in the 1980’s.  And yes, I’m being serious.  It’s a perfect embodiment of pop culture in the 80’s: synth-pop, catchy, mysterioso lyrics, sing-a-long-ability, the title being repeated constantly, etc.  Growing up, my mother’s Duran Duran song of choice was “Union of the Snake.”  Which in turn became my first favorite Duran Duran song.  It wasn’t until the invention of VH1’s Pop Up Video that I was able to explore other Duran Duran delightfulness, the first of which was “Hungry Like the Wolf.”  After recording that video off of said TV program and watching it a few hundred times I decided that IT was the absolutely best song of the 1980’s.  However, it would take a purchase of their Greatest Hits to convince me otherwise.  Of course, I listened to “Rio” and “Hungry Like the Wolf” repeatedly, because Pop Up Video taught me to like those songs in particular.  Having my fill of those songs, I began to explore the rest of the album.  “The Reflex” is the 2^nd song on the playlist and within the first fade-in echoes, I’m hooked.  I already know the rest of the song is going to be amazing.  And it does not disappoint.  I have absolutely no idea what Mr. Le Bon is talking about, but I don’t give a damn.  It’s catchy, I’m singing it in the shower, & I’ve decided that I’m going to marry Simon Le Bon.  (I guess I should remind you here that I was roughly 15 when I finally discovered this song.  All of the other girls in my age bracket at my high school were deciding which Backstreet Boy or which NSYNC member they wanted to marry; I had my eyes set on a middle-aged British man.)

But despite my love of & loyalty to “The Reflex”, something strange happens: I get a little older & decide to place my loyalty with a different Duran Duran song: “Come Undone.”  This will prove to be a problem when I reach drinking age, as it makes me depressed when mixed with alcohol.  “The Reflex”, though... “The Reflex” makes you wants to dance & sing along loudly when mixed with alcohol.  So I slowly crawled my way back to my favorite Duran Duran tune.

Now, to be clear, this isn’t exactly my favorite song of all time.  No, that distinction is reserved for a song by my favorite band, The Beach Boys.  But there is something about “The Reflex” that I just can’t leave behind, sober or otherwise.  I was too young to fully appreciate the 80’s but I am grateful to have been reared in a house where Duran Duran was played regularly.

And now, here I am, well into my 20’s-going-on-30 in 2012, having just found out that I am now officially a political scientist, one of my life’s goals.  And I’m having a few (translation-many) beers & all I can think about is how awesome “The Reflex” would sound to highlight the moment.

Mr. Le Bon, I don’t know what you’re singing about, but thank you for “The Reflex”.

A Blast from my Past

(An old draft I discovered today that I started two years ago)

During my midday break today, Halbastram and I were watching Anthony Bourdain: No Reservations and he was in L.A. sampling the fare at Roscoe's Chicken and Waffles. As a semi-stereotypical african-american, I do enjoy the chicken and waffle combination something fierce, as it is a southern tradition that made it's way up north to my family via various migrations.

But that's not what made me watch this episode. What Mr. Bourdain ordered after the chicken and waffles can only be described as pure food porn for me: fried chicken livers and gravy, grits and scrambled eggs. I nearly had an orgasmic moment when that plate flashed across my screen. As a foodie, I'm game for just about anything. The greasier, the better. And don't get me started on ethnic food. I'll take it all. (Except foie gras. Call me a bleeding heart, but the whole process of that meal just makes me shiver. It's a long discussion not worth mentioning in this feel-good blog)

The meal reminded me of holiday brunches that I would have with my family. A lot of our southern roots would shine through and with everyone bringing their own receipes to the table, I would be guaranteed no less than 6-7 different meal choices on my plate at any given moment. Cornbread, baked mac'n'chesse, collard greens, cabbage, salt pork, baked chicken, stuffing with cornish hens, homemade cranberry sauce, buttermilk biscuits from scratch, neck bones, etc etc etc. The list goes on. And it all goes in my belly.

Talented...at Something.

Today Halbastram and I went to the Big XII Equestrian Championship, as it was a most gorgeous day & because, let's face it: everyone likes horses.  Even people who say they don't like horses but still ride a fake one on the merry-go-round like horses.  I didn't fully get the gist of what was going on in the competition: there was some trotting, some show boating, perhaps some galloping.  But people were cheering & whooping & hollering & applauding, so I assume something was taking place.  Aside from my lack of knowledge about the sport, as I was watching the pretty girls on the pretty horses participate in an event that I'm sure they've been engaged in since they were little girls, it made me realize how sad I was to not have been given the opportunity to foster a talent in my youth.

Extracurriculars were not of the utmost importance in my house.  My mother was mainly concerned about my academics & she worked hard to ensure that I continued to get As on my report card.  Any extracurriculars, I had to seek out on my own, and only if they didn't interfere with schoolwork.  I played softball in grade school, but despite how much I loved it I was really quite terrible at it.  I hit well enough to get out at first, I fielded like shit & I hated to run.  Nevertheless, I always seemed to be placed on a team with stellar people.  So despite my lack of skill, I have three back-to-back-to-back championship trophies sitting at my mother's house.  I feel bad, since I didn't exactly earn them but whatever.  They're mine.

In the sixth grade, I joined a local gymnastics team & trained for a city-wide competition.  I came in second-to-last place out of about 50-60 girls.  So, there's not much more to say about that.

In high school, I wanted nothing more than to join the bowling team.  Bowling, much like softball, was just one of those things I liked doing but wasn't necessarily good at.  But I wanted a Letter for my jacket.  I attempted to tryout for the softball team, but after one at-bat (in which I discovered that "fast-pitch" was totally different from what we played in grade school), I became discouraged and never returned to future tryouts.  My best friend wanted to play tennis, so I decided to play tennis as well.  I had no idea how to play tennis, but I figured that we'd learn since we were going to be placed on the Frosh-Soph team anyhow.  After an undefeated season (2-0 as doubles with my best friend), my tennis coach gave me an ultimatum: pay $200 for tennis lessons during the off-season or I don't advance to Varsity.

So I quit the tennis team.

I was on the bowling team for three years of high school.  We were terrible, but it was the one sport where there were teammates who were even worse than I was.  So I stuck with it.

During my Sophomore year, I took band as I had a strong desire to learn how to play the trombone (keep the jokes clean, now).  I was quite terrible at it for the first three months, but I was given the opportunity by my band teacher to take my trombone home during Christmas break & practice.  And practice I did.  I came back not only having mastered the most basic songs (I'm looking at you, Hot Cross Buns) but had become so skilled that I was asked to join the advanced band at the beginning of the next school year & also asked to play at the commencement ceremony.  There were two of us playing trombone that day, but my 2nd trombonist stopped playing after five minutes so I played the rest of the song by myself & no one noticed that only one trombone had been playing for the duration.

Yeah, I was goooooood.

But, as high school was coming to an end, I realized I would have to give up the trombone as I did not have the funds to purchase my own.  I asked the music director at my future college if the school could supply me with a trombone & he replied, "well, other student-musicians supply their own instruments, but we'll see what we can do."

He never got back to me.

Yet another talent gone to waste.

Alas, at the present time, I have my writing as my new talent.  It doesn't require any expensive equipment, doesn't throw balls at your face & never makes you run (most of the time). 

I think the moral of this story is that I am fucking terrible at sports, but excel at the musical & literary arts.

(Does this mean I've been a geek all these years & didn't realize it?  Dammit!!)

My Lady

Let me tell you about my best friend.

No, this isn’t going to be one of those gushing, Lifetime: Television for Women, sharing a pint of Ben & Jerry’s while discussing boys type of story.

It’s more of a drinking whiskey while discussing people we dislike immensely type of story.

She’s an amazing gal.

She’s the type of girl who will warn you that Dr. Pepper & vodka don’t mix; and even when you ignore her warning & do it anyway, she will pick you up off of the bathroom floor and help you into bed.

She’s the lady who will grab a bowl of Corn Flakes & watch the M.C. Hammer biopic with you early in the morning while in Daytona during Spring Break.

She’s the gal who affixes a ton of funny & pleasant post it notes to your dorm room door when you go away for the weekend & sing impromptu songs about your terrible roommate on the ukulele when you return.

My lady & I met under the most convenient circumstances. During summer orientation before our freshman year, there was some bonding exercise we were required to do. And the two of us decided that it wasn’t for us. And thus, a friendship was born out of laziness. Or perhaps a hatred for cheerful group activities. At any rate, it worked. We formed a small group of five by the fall, but as everyone fell off & went cuckoo-bananas, we stuck together. My first roommate even disliked me because I was friends with my lady, and, as I was announcing my plans to move out to a less hateful room, I told her, “you can kick me out, but it’s not going to stop.”

Because I knew my lady...

Through ups & downs & falling outs & make-ups & silly boys & other weirdness, when Halbastram proposed, there was no one else I would consider as my Maid of Honor than my lady.

We wore pink jelly bracelets & pink 80’s dresses. Then we played “pass the cherry” with our closest friends & family at the reception.

My horrendous highway driving does not offend her. She just reminds me that I might want to stay in my lane.

When she moved away, I was happy for her but at the same time I was sad that I was losing one of the few non-lame people in the western suburbs.

We don’t always connect: I play a Sammy Hagar song & she asks, “why do you own this?” But she loves me anyway.

She flew in from L.A. to throw me a birthday party with our most awesome friends as well as some pretty awful people who segregated themselves to the other side of the party. But we didn’t care: we had alcohol, which made them somewhat tolerable.

We go dumpster diving, we watch Maury at the same time in our respective time zones, we text Seinfeld lines, we agree that there’s nothing “jolly” about Joliet, we started the yo-yo craze…no wait, that wasn’t us.

Anywho, we’re getting older but our adventures are just going to get better.

And I can’t wait.

Lottery Fever!

Everyone's got lottery fever.

And while there is a billion to one chance that myself & many of our friends will be thoroughly disppointed after the drawing, at least we have something to look forward to for the time being.  It'll be just like when we were kids & used to discuss all of the big wonderful things we would do & own as adults.  But then as we grew up, we realized that obtaining the riches to install a chocolate waterfall in our houses was a lot harder than Monopoly made it seem.  Much like struggling through or failing all of math & science classes made us realize that becoming an astronaut was NOT in the cards for us.  At least not in this lifetime.

I've purchased my ticket but haven't given much consideration on what I would do with the riches.  A lot of people give the "house, car, charity" combo.  I'm a little different.  Mine is "farm, animals, tractor, charity."  Since I was a teenager, I wanted nothing more than to raise my ten future children on a farm in Wisconsin.  But now that Wisconsin has gone somewhat askew, I may relocate to Nebraska for the time being.  And I'm not sure of the logisitics of installing a chocolate waterfall in a barn.  Plus, I'm not a big fan of chocolate, so that'll have to be dismissed anyway.  But I guarantee you that I'll have the biggest, baddest, chromed-out John Deere sitting on 48"s (or whatever size those gigantic wheels are).  The sun will hit the chrome & send a blinding reflection to my neighbors three miles down the road & they'll say, "that Tiny Elvis is out joyriding again."

I think I should also invest in some new clothes, as my habit of cutting up, outgrowing, washing incorrectly and otherwise ruining decent clothing has made my wardrobe somewhat limited.

I don't know how much material shit I want or need as I can barely stand the things I have already.  It's all fun & nice to go shopping for new furniture & vases & electronics until it's time to move.  Then you hate everything you own, unless someone else is doing the packing & unpacking.

I will buy my way onto the Board of Directors at MillerCoors.  That will happen.

Overall, money is nice, but happiness is delightful.  Just give me my farm, my man, my children & my beer and I will be the happiest person in the world.