The day the music died

Do you ever have those moments when you think: wait a second, why don't I ever listen to music anymore?!

It happens to me all the time. I get so caught up in my podcasts that I forget the rejuvenating, mood-altering power of music. Even when I do decide to turn on the radio, I stick to Top 40. I switch between STAR 101.5, KISS 106.1 and HOT 103.7, choosing whichever one's not playing 'Shut Up And Dance'. Often it's all of them and I have to switch over to NPR.


I blame this music drought on two things:

1. The end of the CD.
2. Getting older.

The end of the CD

All great art is born of restraint. Much like the human child, it needs boundaries to flourish. That's why Twitter's140-character limit is so genius. It forces people to be creative and edit their thoughts down until they're the most concise and impactful. Not a word wasted. Polonius said it first—"Brevity is the soul of wit."

So it makes sense that the end of the CD was the end of me taking an active role in my music consumption. Back then, being constrained to 18 tracks, I was forced to put thought into my playlists. Each song required careful selection to ensure it fit the mood and flow of the mix. Nowadays, I'll just hit shuffle on the iPod and zone out to the same 200 songs that have been on there since 2007.

Getting older

An study came out recently saying that people stop listening to music once they turn 33. Maybe I'm just four years ahead of the game. I've always been mature for my age.

My one saving grace may be following young celebrities on Instagram. Two days ago Kylie Jenner introduced me to this song, which I think is decent.

Image by Gary Luck via Wikimedia Commons

OK, I gotta go! I promised myself I'd hit the hay early tonight.

Remember to treat yourself tomorrow (Mondays are for treating yourself).

Love,
Margaret

P.S. Don't get me wrong. I'm no luddite! I'm mostly happy that we've moved on from CDs. The scratches and skipping was beyond annoying.

Britney's new song

Have you heard Britney's latest single 'Pretty Girls'?

Image by Glenn Francis via Wikimedia Commons

It came on in the car today and I couldn't wipe the smile off my face. And no, not because it's the feel-good song of the summer we've all been waiting for (although it actually probably is). But because it's a hilarious caricature of a pop song, performed by a 33-year-old-going-on-14 mother of two.

I'm fairly certain Ja'mie King wrote the lyrics.

All around the world, pretty girls 
Wipe the floor with all the boys 
Pour the drinks, bring the noise 
We're just so pretty! 
All around the world, pretty girls 
Jump the line, to the front 
Do what we like, get what we want 
We're just so pretty!

Britney's nasal croaking is in full force, but they had the nerve to autotune it! I mean, go ahead and autotune some hack like Xtina, but don't get in the way of Britney's natural gift.



A few times, in Edinburgh, I came across things in pop culture that I just didn't understand. My friend Igor would explain, "It's for teenagers, Margaret. It's for teenagers!" (please read that in a Spanish accent - emphasis on the second syllable - teenAGERS) 

Ah, no wonder I don't understand. I no longer belong to the target market for Top40 music. Britney, four years my elder, certainly doesn't belong either, but it behooves her to fake it. What's the alternative for her? Release an 'adult contemporary' album? I don't see that working. It makes you think, in terms of career longevity, 12-year-old Celine Dion was smart to start off singing songs for the middle-aged. Maybe it was René's influence.

That's it.

TTFN,
Margaret

P.S. Just gave it another listen. I like it now.

What are YOU doing next February?

Doesn't matter. Whatever your plans are, cancel them.

We're going to the Seaside Jazz Festival!

My parents happened to be in Seaside, Oregon for the annual jazz festival this year and they've been raving about it ever since. Best thing to happen to Seaside since Bagels By the Sea moved into the old First Interstate Bank building.

Who would have guessed that Lewis' and Clark's old stomping grounds would become the New Orleans of the Pacific Northwest?

Of course, nothing about the jazz fest even remotely interested me until I saw these videos, recorded on Rich Kay's iPhone.

(Hey. Don't give into that short attention span. Watch BOTH videos in their entirety. I dare you.)






INSPIRING.

Almost as good as the best old lady dancing video on the Internet.

Seriously, if I had half the moves these Elks Club members have, I'd quit this content marketing racket and become a cruise ship entertainer (or something equally as glamorous).

Actually, I did take jazz dance lessons when I was 10. The best part was getting to order our outfits from the dance costumes catalogue. Now that's a lucrative industry. We spent so much on our star spangled leotards for the summer recital (set to Neil Diamond's 'Coming to America') that we had to wear basic black leggings and an XL brown shirt for the Christmas dance (set to 'Run Run Rudolph' by Chuck Berry).

And would you look at that—it still fits!

LYMI,
Margaret

P.S. No leotards were harmed in the making of this blog post.

Real talk

Easter is a time of rebirth. It's a season of new life and fresh starts. To honor the occasion, I'm going to lay bare my soul and share with you my innermost thoughts. Well, my innermost thoughts from the past five minutes.

In college, working at the Ultimate Bagel, my friend Barbie and I used to play the game 'Deepest Darkest Secret of the Day'. As the name implies, it involved admitting our biggest secret of that day only—anything from "I'm wearing the same socks as yesterday" to "The fire alarm went off in the dorm, but I hid in the closet instead of going outside in the snow".

Today's post is a twist on that beloved bagel shop pastime. Instead of sharing with you my deepest darkest secret of the day, I'm typing out my deepest darkest thoughts from the past five minutes. 

Here goes it...

Iffy music taste

Is it wrong that I enjoy Maroon 5 and John Mayer as much as I do?

I feel like that really dates me. Kids these days probably don't even know who John Mayer is—or they at least don't sing his song "Neon" in their head every time they use a highlighter.

It could be worse. I could be a huge Jack Johnson fan—or what about TRAIN!?! Omg, Train. Almost forgot about Train.

Still, I'm honest enough to admit that I think Maroon 5 and John Mayer were two of the greatest contributors to pop music during the early 2000s. I can't help what I like!

The reason I feel weird about this is that both John Mayer and Adam Levine are very unlikable human beings.

Classic Mayer face.
Image by Patty Keigan via Wikimedia Commons

Ear zit

I have a zit in my left ear. It hurts, but I'm fascinated by it more than anything else. I can't stop touching it and thinking about how gross it is that I have pores in my ear—and that one of those pores is clogged! FASCINATING.

Mad Men

The new episode of Mad Men was good (first episode of the second half of Season 7). SPOILER ALERT: lots of moustaches, but no real 'holy cow!' moments. I was hoping I'd have a reason to shout "holy cow!" at least once, but the episode was fairly uneventful. It was good, but I was disappointed.

New phone

I synced my email with my new phone, but then un-synced it after a few hours. I wasn't ready. Too much too soon. 

LYMI, 

Margaret

P.S. I'll explain LYMI again, but this is the last time I'm going to do it. So, listen up. LYMI stands for "Love ya, mean it!" Take it, use it, spread it to your fellow man. 

Treat-or-Treating: How old is too old?

We could pass for elementary schoolers, right? Wrong. 

I'll see your #ThrowBackThursday and raise you three 15-year-olds about to embark on a night of trick-or-treating. 

Let's start with the costumes. We didn't even try to disguise our age. Smarter, more self-aware teenagers would have at least thrown on some masks, leaving the neighbours to assume they were just abnormally tall for their age. But no, we had our pride to think about. What kind of self-respecting person goes trick-or-treating in a plastic mask from Bartell's? Like we would ever do something so expected—so, as Nina Garcia would say, pedestrian. Yeah right.

I, always the drag king never the bride, was dressed as Harry Potter. I bought the wig and glasses, but the robe (Anna's graduation gown), tie (my Dad's), shirt (Max's?) and badge (old dish rag + sharpie marker + glue) were all from around the house. The first Harry Potter film was coming out a few weeks after Halloween, and I planned to attend the premiere as the 'Boy Who Lived' himself. Going as HP for Halloween just made good, economical sense. Two birds, one stone.

Centre stage is Erika, in a panda costume that my Mom had sewn several years earlier for Francie when she was in 4th grade. As is clear even in this grainy photo, the panda costume was far too small for Erika, the tallest of all my friends. I believe the white belly section was supposed to extend down past the knees like a dress, not end at the waist like a bizarre, wooly wifebeater. And I remember working up a sweat trying to squeeze the hood part over Erika's 15-year-old head.

Then there's Connie, the jar of Carmex. This was another one of Francie's old costumes (amazing costume decisions btw, Francie) and we managed to convince Connie that it was the perfect choice. "You know, because you love Carmex so much!!" "I do? Yeah, ok. Sure!"

After this photo was taken, I'm sure we ran straight to the Arrowhead Point neighbourhood where, as years' of experience had taught us, it's pretty much bowl city. You see, rich people go to rich people parties on Halloween. Time is money, and they don't have time to hand out fun-sized Snickers like commoners. Instead, they leave a bowl full of candy on the front porch with a note that says: "Happy Halloween! Take one or two." Take one or two. Yeah right.

Perhaps I should be embarrassed that I trick-or-treated past the socially-acceptable 6th grade mark. And I suppose I should be ashamed that I grabbed handfuls of candy from every bowl I came across. But I'm not! I look back on those years and all I can think is, "Get it, girl. You do your thang."

Because being a teenager is hard. Suddenly, you're not a kid anymore. One day you're adorable, the next day you're awkward. When it comes to emotions—sadness, fear, excitement, joy, etc.—you're expected to conduct yourself like an adult. But when it comes to freedom and responsibility, you're still completely beholden to your parents.

As a teenager, I was hyperaware of my low status in society. I totally got it. I knew that I wasn't young enough to be cute, I wasn't smart enough to be interesting, I wasn't witty enough to be charming, and I didn't even have enough life experience to be useful. I was just in this horrible age purgatory, somewhere between blissful childhood and respected adulthood.

In those transitional teenage years, you're continually confronted with things that are too young for you and things that are too old for you. You're either secretly watching 'Wishbone', the time-travelling Jack Russell Terrier, on TV in your basement, or you're at a friend's house watching 'Cruel Intentions' and feeling really uncomfortable. Other than the odd junior high dance, teenagers have nothing to claim as their own!

So, when I was faced with the choice of 1) going trick-or-treating with my friends or 2) staying at home and passing out candy with my parents, I made the decision to go with Option 1. Can you blame me?

Cheers,
Margaret

P.S. Have you entered the #TurkeyHat giveaway yet? Do it before it's too late! I ordered the hat on Amazon today, and then I'll ship it out to the lucky winner.