Wednesday, April 18, 2012

Music Time Machine

Today at work we heard a co-worker turning on the air conditioning. Another co-worker said “There’s (co-worker’s name) turning on the AC”. I said AC/DC? Dirty Deeds Done Dirt Cheap! He in turn made a Hell’s Bells reference which took me 5 seconds to get. After he returned to his office he mumbled about being on the Highway to Hell. This gave me a giggle. Obviously we have an AC/DC fan on our hands.

I was on my way out to lunch, so my mind wandered to the first AC/DC song I ever heard, which was Shook Me All Night Long which I heard at a school dance held at The Zone when I was in Grade Eight. This took me to the moment that we heard the first few chords of the song and my friend Stef started screaming, jumping up and down, and singing along indicating her love of the song. In listening to the lyrics, I became similarly enamoured with the song.

I made it to my car as I mused about this memory, when what was playing on the radio, but GO! By Tones on Tails. The first time I ever heard this song was also at The Zone.

It’s amazingly awesome how music can transport me to a time and place. It’s like Dr. Who’s police box. All I have to do is close my eyes and I’m there all over again. I love music for its’ tranportative powers. (Yes, I just made that word up).

I have previously blogged about The Zone here.

The Zone was THE cool "alternative" teen dance club in my area when I was growing up. It was the majorly rebellious and super cool thing to ditch a stake* dance and head over to The Zone and dance there instead. I would never be able to catch my ride home if I ever did that, so I never got to ditch a stake dance. The stake dances weren’t that lame anyway, it’s not like I NEEDED to ditch.

Our school dances were held at The Zone. Something about our school being in a neighbourhood and not wanting damage done to the school gym or property prevented us from having dances held at the school. That was super fine by me as I yearned to be able to go to THE cool dance place. I neither had the funds nor the resources, nor the friends to enable me to go to The Zone for non-school related functions, so the regular school dances had to suffice. By the time I was old enough to drive or have friends that drove, The Zone had fallen out of favour with they who choose what is cool and what is not, so I only rarely went to The Zone when I was old enough.

Last I heard, they had changed The Zone into a motorcycle dealership. This comes to mind:

Part of my childhood died.

*A stake dance is a dance put on for the youth of my church for you non-mormons out there. They were held monthly. Some of you non-mormons out there have attended these with me and can attest to their non-lameness.

Tuesday, April 17, 2012

What really actually happened.

Over Easter weekend my Darling Husband and I were having a Facebook war regarding an accident that happened on Good Friday.

Since my Husband has eleven billion friends on Facebook and everyone (with the exception of my mother, bless her) seems to be on his side, and this is my forum, I choose to present My Side of the Story.

The week previous to Easter was Spring Break week. We usually take a family vacation during Spring Break week, so I had scheduled my vacation for that week. For whatever reason, DH had to work for part of Spring Break, so we didn’t plan a holiday. I had decided it would be a great time to get caught up on some much needed house cleaning and maybe perhaps paint a bathroom or something.

Each morning I would get up, let the dog out and feed him, drink my water, and get caught up on some relaxing television watching – something I do not get to do during the week or on the weekend or ever. Every morning, my DH would arise three hours later* and make the comment “Is this what you’re doing today?” I was on VACATION. I was trying to take a break and get caught up with housework. I work hard, I desperately needed a break, and who is he to judge me, I don’t work for him! Let me tell you, internet, if DH was my boss, I wouldn’t work for him. He is a tyrant. I would quit so fast and file a harassment lawsuit. He is the worst boss.

So Friday rolled around and the depression set in because I didn’t get nearly enough accomplished, my to-do list seemed just as long as it was at the beginning of the week and my vacation was basically over. DH was on vacation too, and he kept nagging me to do something with the family. I had wanted to participate in family activities, but justified my not participating in I had hung out with the boys all week in addition to my cleaning during the week and DH needed to do things with the boys alone too and give me a break.

Badass Doc Martens
It had been snowing/raining all day so poor Orso had been cooped up inside. Being an outside dog, he was going nutty, and I had wanted to take him on a long walk every day of my vacation and had not done so yet, so I took him out for a 2 mile walk. I had left my Sorrels at work, so I wore my mostly new 14-hole oxblood Doc Marten boots to walk him in as it was still pretty cold. On the way home, I saw my friend Ashley and she commented on how huge Orso had become and I crossed the street to have a chat with her. Feeding off my excitement, Orso jumped up and barked in Ashley’s face and scratched her arm in the process. I felt TERRIBLE, as Orso’s bark is not a friendly one and he appeared to be attempting to eat her face (he was just really saying ‘hi’ but it did not appear friendly at ALL). I apologized profusely and made him say he was sorry, which he did and let her pet him and he licked her and our other neighbour and her little daughter to whom he was a perfect gentleman.

In the process of walking the dog forever and a day in relatively non-broken in boots, I had developed a rather nasty blister on my heel. DH had concocted this plan to go to Temple Square and the new City Creek Center in downtown Salt Lake City to spend some quality family time. I had wanted to go and see it as they have been working on this for years, I had heard it was beautiful, and I was dying to see some cherry blossoms and other spring flowers. Temple Square is the perfect place to see the things I desired.

I was exhausted from my walk, my heel hurt, and I was still reeling from the mortification Orso’s rudeness had caused, but I let DH guilt me in to joining in on the Quality Family Time. I should have just stayed home, as Karma was not quite done with me yet.

We were walking along (me limping) South Temple street, right in front of the Salt Lake Temple, when Huey kicked me in the butt. “What was that for?” I questioned. “Daddy told me to pass it on” was the reply. DH and Dewey had been playing this game of kick each other in the butt and somehow Huey got involved, who in turn, involved me. Since DH was the instigator of the butt kicking, and I was still wearing my badass Doc Marten boots, I decided to join in and kick DH from behind. As I raised my foot and kicked DH in the rear, DH had taken his right foot to kick Dewey in the behind. As I brought my foot down, it got tangled in DH’s leg and foot and he tripped and fell, hurting his wrist.

Correction: BROKE his wrist.

The rest of the evening consisted of me rolling my eyes, DH whining about the pain in his hand, the one spot of blood on the heel of his hand, and his skinned shins and my legs and heel hurting like a son of a gun.

City Creek Center is beautiful and amazing, but I don’t think any of us had an enjoyable evening. DH and I were in pain and at war, Huey was bored, and Dewey was tired.

DH wouldn’t even drive home. He was being so dramatic. I had fallen off my shoes weeks earlier and tweaked my ankle and my wrist, it hurt for a day, but I put ice on it and I was fine. I was thinking his situation was much like that.

If I had paused the eye-rolling and actually took the time to look at his wrist, I would have know it was broken, having broken several fingers, toes, an arm and the occasional collarbone; but I didn’t - shame on me.

The next day, after a night of pissing and moaning and not feeling comfortable, DH took himself to InstaCare. The doctor took one look at him and ordered x-rays only to come back four seconds later to confirm that it was indeed broken, put him in a brace, and gave him the number to an orthopedic specialist to call on Monday.

DH and his cast
He is now in a cast for three weeks. They will take a look after that and determine whether or not he will need surgery.

In my defense, DH told me he too felt like he was wussing out by going to the doctor, but he couldn’t take the pain anymore, Advil wasn’t touching it, and icing wasn’t working; so my assuming he was acting like a wuss was mutual.

Since that time, DH has been milking it for all it’s worth. He has never broken a bone and I have ruined his perfect body.

Folks from all over are accusing me of spousal abuse in jest. I am not loving it. I feel terrible, AND it was an ACCIDENT for crying out loud.

For the record, DH is 6’2” and around 200 lbs. I am 5’ 7” and 160.

So if you see me coming, look out; I can take you down: with or without my attack dog.

*he works late, I rise early, it's no big.

Friday, April 13, 2012

Happy Jason Voorhees Day!

Growing up as a teen in the late eighties was not good for a girl with an imagination like mine.

I absorb myself in works of fiction/art and they live in my head for years and years and years. Whilst reading Anne of Green Gables, I was a spirited red-head living on Prince Edward Island at the turn of the century; when reading Pride and Prejudice, I am a strong-willed yet shy and penniless woman in Edwardian England; during Harry Potter, I think in an English accent and have magical powers, and while in the Twilight world, I am ensconced in the awesome green, gray, and soggy world of Forks, WA.

Movies stick with me for days. I hear the dialog in my head and live in the world where they take place over and over. After seeing The Adjustment Bureau, every door was a new possibility to tempt fate, as long as I was wearing a hat. Seeing Titanic had me floating to new adventures only to end up flooded, freezing, and nearly drowning. The visuals presented in William Shakespeare’s Romeo and Juliet (the Baz Luhrmann one with Claire Daines and Leonardo DiCaprio) still spin around in my brain.

I can’t look at disturbing works of art and enjoy them because they stay with me forever. I see them when I close my eyes. The works of Emily Carr make me dizzy even when I’m not looking at them. I hate Pablo Picasso’s paintings because they are too jarring and disturbing to me. They echo in my brain and give me nightmares.

On the other hand, Vincent Van Gough’s bright colours energize me. The works of impressionists like Claude Monet calm and soothe me. I think that Andy Warhol is a genius.

Characters and visuals stay with me, live with me and are my friends. They come to me in my dreams. They dance and bounce around in my head when I close my eyes (and sometimes then they’re open).

When I was a teen, horror movies were enjoying a very popular run. Freddie with his dreams, Jason with his hockey mask, and Michael Myers were stars. The Lost Boys ran amuck. My mum would remark that the only reason they were popular when she was young was so that the guys could get the girls to jump in their laps at the drive-in.

The cool thing to do was to go and see these horrible movies in the theatre. We would go in a huge group as one of us was usually seventeen (old enough to get into an R rated movie) and would buy all of our tickets and then we would all go in and get our faces scared off. Invariably, I would end up in the lap of one of my friends with my face buried in his shoulder, only rarely peeking through my fingers when things were a little too quiet. I guess my mother was right.

For the weeks following I would sleep with the light on, my door open (so I could see them coming to get me), my closet door closed (so they couldn’t get me), and the blankets over my head (so they couldn’t see me or touch me). I would have to read benign stories and listen to the radio to drown out my imagination so that I could actually fall asleep. Closing my eyes to fall asleep was NOT an option because I would only see the monsters coming to get me. I had to pass out reading.

When my sister was trying to convince me to read the Harry Potter books, one of the reasons I gave her for not following the masses was that they were about witches and magic and my imagination runs away with me too much. I can’t read books like that because they live in my head and mess with my psyche. Her response was a) these books are definitely NOT like that (I know that now, as the Wizarding World of Harry Potter is permanently etched in my mind and Hermione Granger Weasley is one of my best friends), and b) “but you watched all those horror movies when you were a teenager! I always thought you were so cool when you would go and see them.”

That was just it. I did it because it was cool. I put up with the no sleeping and looking over my shoulder and horrible dreams for weeks because everyone else was doing it or because there were cute guys there. (for me to jump in their laps) The motivating forces in my life from ages Thirteen to Twenty-five were mostly either; 1) it was fun, 2) it was cool or made me cool or look cool, or 3) it involved impressing boys. I look back and CRINGE at the things I did in my youth because of these motivations.

Thank goodness I have become a grown up and have moved on from those motivations. Well, at least the third one.