“The message may not move me/ Or mean a great deal to me/ But, hey, it feels so groovy to say.” (Peter, Paul and Mary)

I’ve been filling my ipod with all kinds of music from itunes (I’m afraid to see my credit card statement); mostly with songs that I’ve grown up with and remember. And I think that’s the most compelling thing about music. I often wonder, “What is it about music that we love so much that sparks our most intense emotions?” It makes us dance with happiness and joy; it makes us cry with sadness and insecurity; it can encourage us positively and negatively and we go unafraid to take on the world. Why? Or better yet How? How does something so seemingly unassuming be so powerful? I believe it goes back to when we were younger…
My first memory of music was when I was 4 years old. I went into Rainbow Records with my mother and I remember asking her if she would buy me Michael Jackson’s “Thriller” album. She told me, “If they don’t have Kenny Rodgers, then I’ll buy it for you.” Two minutes seemed like a lifetime to me as she asked the sales clerk about her album, I even remember saying a little prayer like “Please don’t have Kenny Rodgers.” And they didn’t. I went home with my very first record. I also remember taking a lot of long road trips with my family and the music of The Beatles, Led Zepplin, Yes, Heart, etc. etc. constantly played in the background. Sixteen hours to Seattle or eight down to San Diego, this was the soundtrack of our journey; and me in the back seat with nothing to do but look out the window and dream. Of course I also have an older sister to thank for her influence on me. I wanted to do everything she did. She listened to a lot of Brit-pop,”Post-Modern”, College rock and some punk music. So I did too. But by the time I was 8 years old, she and I were listening to two completely different genres, and I was OBSESSED! She introduced me to bands like Squeeze, The Talking Heads, INXS, The Pet Shop Boys and of course…R.E.M. But I felt bands like The Sex Pistols and The Ramones spoke more to me. My most favorite band at the time though was INXS. Yes, they are very talented musicians but mostly, I had a crush on the lead singer.

Ok…My top 5 bands in no particular order: 1. Violent Femmes 2. Beastie Boys 3. The B-52’s 4. Steely Dan 5. Patti Smith….How did I come to this conclusion? It’s just my opinion. These musicians have proven to me their talent, creativity and individuality when it comes to their craft. I don’t actually own a Beastie Boys or Steely Dan album (well, my dad does). But I can appreciate these artists ability to infuse different genres of music and make it work; being able to bring different fans together and create a common bond. I’ve seen Patti Smith in concert 3 times and she puts on a damn good show!! She is the only person I will continue to see live in concert. I don’t even know all of her songs but she doesn’t make me feel like I’m left out. The B-52’s: Two singers and an announcer? Come on! A four string guitar and bass keyboard? What’s not to love? And the Violent Femmes? Pure genius…

” And you may ask yourself, Where does that highway go to?/ And you may ask yourself, Am I right? Am I wrong?/ And you may tell yourself, My God! What have I done?/ Letting the days go by, let the water hold me down/Letting the days go by, water flowing underground/ Into the blue again, into the silent water/ Under the rocks and stones, there is water underground” (Talking Heads)

“I changed by not changing at all/ Small town predicts my fate/ Perhaps that’s what no one wants to see/ I just want to scream ‘Hello’!”/ My god it’s been so long never dreamed you return/ But now here you are and here I am/ But hearts and thoughts they fade away.” (Pearl Jam)

“I’ve taken my bows/And my curtain calls/You’ve brought me fame and fortune and everything that goes with it/ I thank you all/But it’s been no bed of roses/ No pleasure cruise/ I consider it a challenge before the whol e human race/ And I ain’t gonna lose.” (Queen)

Sometimes I forget that I have a whole different part to my family…

I have aunts and uncles, cousins, second cousins, third cousins, nieces and nephews by marriage, great-aunts, second-cousins-twice-removed-by-a-half-nephew-in-law-etcetera-etcetera, (I don’t even know if that’s possible). The reason I keep forgetting I have this extended family is because, I never see them; I never hear from them. I didn’t grow up around or remotely near them; which is fine because to me they don’t really exist. I only hear about them when someone dies, someone is sick, or in financial straits. I just got off the phone with my aunt, and she told me about the latest drama going on on that side of the family. Throughout our conversation, I started thinking about “family” and what exactly does it mean.
You can look up the word in dictionaries and it’s pretty much all over the place. Some define it as being related by blood. Others say no, you don’t have to be related but if you follow only one person then you are a “family”. I found another definition stating you must live under one roof. Then a few other definitions down, it states that living under one roof is not a imperative to be considered a family. I just finished watching one of my favorite movies, “Eat, Drink, Man, Woman” for the millionth time. And I think movie’s interpretation of the word “family” is the clearest and most unambiguous definition of the word. In it, the father states, the family is “all under one roof but leading separate lives” But yet they “worry for each other”. And it is “this worry that makes us a family”.

When I was younger, I never understood my parents decision for not living closer to family. My mother’s side mostly lives in Seattle. And my father’s side mostly lives in Southern California. As far as I knew, both families approved their marriage to each other, although it was unconventional. The story I’m told is that my father was stationed in the Bay Area, this is true. My mother got a job at a nearby hospital, this is also true. By the time my father retired from the military, my mother had too much seniority to give up at the hospital. Eh..I don’t know if I completely buy that as an excuse. But so it was; my sister, my brother and I grew up without knowing the rest of our “family”. We only met during holidays, long weekends, and such. It’s strange trying to get to know people like that. One minute you’re running around with them; getting dirty; playing rough. The next time you see them, they’re 3 feet taller than you, developing EVERYWHERE, and drives. Then the time after that, they’re getting married or are engaged, is having kids or had kids, buying houses, and settling down. The time with them was always short. It’s like meeting a different person for the first time, although you both know you’ve met before. What’s even stranger is that you’re related; eternally bound by blood. Every time I would see my cousins or other family members, I always left feeling sad and unsatisfied. I felt like an alien in my own family. Then finally after another failed attempt to make some sort of connection with my cousins, my sister said to me, “I don’t know why you keep trying.” When she said that to me, it was as if someone pushed a magic button inside my brain. I reached a moment of clarity and agreed. Why was I trying so hard? What have they ever done for me? What do I need them for? Have I ever needed them? I finally accepted the fact that I had nothing in common with these people and most likely never will.

I worry for my parents and I worry for my brother and sister. I also worry for my friends. These are the people I think about constantly. My friends know me better than I know myself, which is scary to me. Did I choose them? Or did they choose me? How can a person not related to me know (and accept) all my quirks and idiosyncrasies as if we’ve met before? Maybe we have…. I don’t have a lot of friends but I think I chose wisely in the company I keep. I don’t even think the rest of my “family” knows about my mood disorder and taking medication for it. I don’t think I’ll tell them. I don’t see the point.
I do see the reasons my parents chose not to live near their family and I am grateful to them. My parents made a HUGE sacrifice for their children by not having their families closer; their own parents included. My mother finally admitted that if they chose to live near either family, they would have meddled in our upbringing and that was something my parents didn’t want. My parents wanted to raise us the way they saw fit. I thank them for that and I think they did a pretty good job, if I do say so myself. Don’t get me wrong, there are members of my extended family that I do feel a connection with; not many but I do have some.
As my aunt continued her rant about my other uncles and aunts and cousins, I can’t help but laugh a little to myself. My aunt concludes by saying, “But thank god, for your mom and dad”. With a big smile on my face, I thank them too and I can’t help but ask myself, “Are we the best family out of our whole family?” Yes. I think we are.
Unfortunately, you can’t pick your family but they do make good fodder for blogs and gossip…

” I don’t ever want to leave this stage/ I am a Superhero these days/ And I don’t ever want to leave my age/ I am a Superhero these days” (Garrison Starr)

It’s a constant quandary for me. I went to the mall today. It’s been awhile since I’ve been there, and I have to say I’m not too impressed with the current fashion trends for women. But that’s another blog.
I need a reason to go shopping, because I don’t like to spend too much time at the mall. I went in there to browse through the formal dresses, find a pair of nice black pants and withdraw some money. Those were my objectives and I planned on sticking to them; in and out. I have to do this because there are lots of distractions at the mall: shoe stores, video game stores, Cinnabon….
I could end up wasting a lot of money if I’m not careful. Anyways, there were slim pickings in the formal dresses at all of the major department stores. Maybe that has something to do with the hideous so called “fashion” plaguing women’s clothing. I found a pair of nice black pants but I don’t really need them till the end of the month; they can wait and so can I. I put them back. I walked up and down that mall several times, walking from one store to another, each time resisting the urge to go into Hot Topic. Hot Topic is a chain store with “alternative” fashion for “alternative” type people. It’s marketed toward teenagers and young adults. I’m definitely not a teenager and I think I’m well past young adult status; but I can’t help but gravitate towards the store and the clothing. Of course my tendency to do so stems from when I was younger.
A conversation with Raz and Robbie, recently, touched lightly on the subject of being young. I don’t wish to be young again. I don’t long for those feelings of immortality or wish to re-live those care-free days. Sure it was fun and yes I think about them, but having the memories with which I can reminisce with friends and laugh about over good drinks (legally, I might add) is more than satisfying. Here is where my dilemma lies: When do you become “too old” for this (see picture)? When do we become grown up?

While browsing through the formal dresses, I wandered into the casual women’s wear. Knowing I would need some “professional” clothing for my job during the summer months, I rifled through them and found some that appealed to me. I tried them on and even tried on a suit. They looked nice and they fit well, but I looked in the mirror and I didn’t recognize myself. I instantly felt uncomfortable. It’s actually kind of funny, when I was younger I always imagined myself in some sort of “power suit”, walking quickly through the office and giving orders to my minions. But now that I was actually wearing such a suit, I felt old and I thought I looked it to. And this is how it went, throughout the entire mall. I physically felt like I was between a rock and hard place. The women’s clothing looked too “old” to me and boring (and what’s with all the pastels?) but I felt I was too old and too big to be shopping in the junior department. There are actually a lot of people my age that wear “the suit” very well. They embrace it, wear it and it looks age appropriate on them. I don’t understand. When I look at them, I don’t think they look any older than me, but why does “the suit” seem to fit them so well (and I’m not just talking literally).

I’m not a fashionista by any means of the definition. I like to think I’m fashionable. I look at clothing more like uniforms. I wear different “uniforms” for my different lives. I try not to let them define me but let’s face it; people judge. We can’t help it. I guess this subject torments me so much because I would like people to look at me and see a serious professional. In my line of work, I deal with a lot of teachers. When I meet them for the first time, they look me up and down continually and they always say the same thing, “Oh! You’re so young! You could be one of my students!” They act like they don’t know how to talk to me until I actually put on my chef coat, an actual uniform. Same goes for my co-workers, and that’s where I really want to be taken seriously.