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!!)