Bluejinjo's_StyxHut

My 2 Cents

2009-07-18T01:24:00.000-07:00

If you knew me between 1983 to 1985, you knew I was a Michael Jackson freak. I had a calendar that hung on my wall and I often was playing Thriller even when it was no longer popular. I don't bring this up like "Haha I stayed a true fan" because I didn't. I didn't want to believe any of the negative stuff about him, but as I grew older I just realized he was human as the rest of us and hoped there was nothing true about the allegations. The pain and solitude must have been horrible. But I'm not here to talk about that.
In third grade I was in an advanced third grade/fourth grade combo. Half way through the year the third grade class was separated and scattered to other classes. It was like being an new kid in a new school. My teacher Mrs. Lomax was a young, very progressive and idealistic teacher. After lunch she would put on thriller, march us around the room through Beat it and Billie Jean and then rest us during Human Nature. That was fall of 1982 when I knew who the Jackson 5 were but no comprehension that Michael Jackson was the same guy who I had heard singing Rockin' Robin.
As the summer of 1983 came, my life began to change quite a lot. To start off I met my best friend Stephanie and later my other best friend Shannon. I did know then something remarkable was happening, but I did not know that these friendships would last to today despite fights and moves.
All that summer, the radio seemed to never shut off. As much as I loved the music then today, there was one album that followed us whether or not we were hanging out in Steph's room or yard, or if we were at the skating rink. It was the summer of Michael Jackson. And even I tried to do the moonwalk.
The next year had so much promise and potential. A repeat of 1983 was in my future, until I had to fly to Germany to help my mother with my dying Grandmother. A million miles away from my friends and all alone, I tried to be friends with the kids there. They had a definite bias against Americans and I often took the brunt of their transferred parents frustration. That was until the day I began quoting lyrics from Thriller. The kids gathered around me and asked me to teach them the words to all the songs, and I did. Although Thriller was old news in America, it was still hot in Germany. And they realized I wasn't so bad.
When I had come home, I felt like the world had moved on while I was gone. Wham! was the new fad (One all-ready dead and gone in Germany ironically) and Michael was no longer around. I still clung to him though in hopes of some big comeback or maybe to try and not let go of one more thing from that golden summer of 1983. But the truth is, I grew up and I realized what ever connection I had with MJ was gone as well.
Three days before he died, I impulsively bought a collection CD. I remember sitting on the couch thinking "Why did I buy this?" No answer came to me until I was sitting in a restaurant and heard the news and all I could think was "Oh."
I don't really care if Michael Jackson was a joke to most people or that some people saw him as a god. Crazy, gay, pedophile, genius, drug addict... the list continues and will. All I know is the summer of 1983 was the last time I truly felt young and carefree and the summer of 1984 was when all that changed. During the best and worst of times, it was Michael Jackson who sang the soundtrack of my life. And I suppose that it was what Michael meant to me. I would later find or rediscover other musicians that would become new soundtracks of my life, but I would sometimes find myself wanting to hear Thriller and remember the magic.

What the crap happened to Wade?

2009-02-21T18:19:00.000-08:00

I went on vacation this weekend. My first non-funeral or wedding or baptism thing in a long time, so it was all about me and friends. It was cool, I had a lot of fun. Sitting on a bench on the Santa Monica pier, I couldn't help but think "I could just spend three days sitting here staring at the clouds and the water."
I have been all over the US and Germany. I like hiking and camping and walking around little places and museums. But something about the ocean has always drawn me to quiet reflection.
We arrived home as the sun was setting. Normally Vegas after a good rain and night is spectacular. This time it was just ho-hum. Back home.
I settled back into my routine of work, Internet, and trying to write. Finally I printed my latest book out, gave it to my friend Jen, and she greedily took it to edit. I told her to be brutal. She laughed evilly and I realized all those years of hill-billy jokes were going to bleed all over my manuscript.
While avoiding writing I was surfing the Internet only to run into the pictures of the new figures for the upcoming Wolverine movie. Now for a little update: Love Hugh Jackman. Hate Wolverine (as a Marvel character). I was excited to see this movie because Wade "Deadpool" Wilson would be in it. I even accepted that Ryan Reynolds would be playing my main guy. Then I saw the figure.
I'm sure you can look it up for a picture, but don't waste your time. The figure is some bald guy with weird red markings, no shirt, brown pants, bandages wrapped around his wrists and forearms, and a single claw on each hand. Yeah, claws. How could they do this to my Deadpool! Don't these people understand what they have done? That's like giving Superman a machine gun. That's like giving Captain America web-shooters. Wolverine has like 10 comic books and god knows how many clones/relatives are in the Marvel U. Why do they need to "Wolverine" Deadpool? Most of DP's fans are heartbroken and outraged. In the Ultimate universe, they made Deadpool a bigot. In the new movie they're turning him into a bad Wolverine copy. The worst thing is that to many people who go see this movie, this will be their first exposure to Deadpool. To the fans that have tried to keep his comic going, this is a slap in the face because he's probably going to come off as some hack bad guy no one cares about. While Wolverine or Spidey are destined to have multiple books, all us Deadpool fans want is one. And we want our favorite Merc with the Mouth to be crazy, funny, dangerous, and wielding his normal arsenal of Katana's and firearms.

PS I know he's not real and I'm not obsessed. Just take your favorite character from a show/book/life and mess everything up. See how you feel

My addiction

2008-12-07T22:43:00.000-08:00

When I was about three years old, I started my first band. Grover played bass, the Pink Panther was the lead singer and electric guitar, my teddy bear (Teddy) was the drummer and I of course played keyboards. Unlike most children, I had an actual Bontempi organ where instead of notes you played numbers and chords. I was pretty good at it and by the time I started first grade in New York, I could read music.

But I digress. I wrote my first song: Bunny Bunny. It started off as an Easter prayer to the Easter bunny because silly me thought the Easter bunny was a saint or something. Yeah, my CCD teachers loved me...

My mom had asked me what I was doing and I told her "I'm practicing to be a rock star, because that's what I want to be."

My mom had responded: "People don't really do that."

I know there are things every child wishes their parents would have done differently. I know that someday, if it's in the cards, I may have a child and I know the things I would do differently.
The big thing with me is they never supported me in my music. When it no longer was a "phase" I was going through, my father especially began to restrict me. At first I could no longer practice at home. I stayed after school and practiced at lunch. Then he wanted me to drop band because it was taking up too much of my time and taking away from my studies (I graduated with a 3.75 40th in a class of almost 700). Then college came and they agreed to pay my first semester as long as I wasn't taking "basket weaving" classes. That meant music.

Now I don't want to paint my parents as bad in anyway. It was just that we define success in two very different ways. The older we get, the more they seem to understand. I lived about ten years of my life in a totally self-destructive way trying to achieve their version of success.

When I was 17, I devised a plan to get a biology degree so I could start a job to get enough money to go to Berkeley Music college. My band teacher had sat me down one day and told me I could not go any further on my own. I had received two scholarship offers for music, but could not take them.

Somewhere along the way, life happened. I finished school with a history degree. Was married. Was in a career position. I stopped writing. I stopped playing music. In some ways, I stopped living.

I had to change my life. I quit my job. I began to write again. Then, I started playing again. Now I'm in a band. Last Friday we blew the roof off the place we played at. The audience was on their feet truly excited and invigorated. Our band had to learn 10 pieces in two weeks and when we finished, chills ran down my spine. Sure there are nerves, but there is no other feeling to describe being a part of a band. The smiling audience singing along and dancing in their chairs. The little kids staring at us in awe. It all brings me back to elementary school sitting "Indian style" in the cafeteria watching a band and thinking "I want to do that". God I could never have too much of that feeling.

9-11

2008-09-11T23:25:00.000-07:00

I woke up that morning to the phone ringing. My mother in law was in full panic and yelling "we're under attack..." My first thought was "Who would attack Las Vegas." I made out trade towers and TV and handed the phone to her son.

I was out in the living room and had the TV on by the time Bryan had calmed his mom down enough to repeat what she had told me. On the TV was an air shot of New York City. A plume of smoke filled the air where the twin towers had stood.

Bryan came out of the room switching phones and telling me to turn it to where the trade towers was as if I was on the wrong channel. Very calmly I had told him it was on and he wanted to know where the towers were.

"They're not there anymore." Nothing more could be said.

A week before I was ready to quit my job. I was at the end of my rope and exhausted. An emergency happened at one of our other stores and my supervisor was headed there to fix it. For three weeks, my entire career was going to be scrutinized. Our quotas and sales would determine if I was to go any further in the company. I was on the edge of promotion or quitting and the first week of my trial would be my first vacation in 3 years.

My in laws to be flew in and we set out for Colorado. The entire trip I worried and stressed over what was happening at work. That week was agonizing and we ended up coming back a day early on the 10th. Lucky us.

My in laws were leaving on the 12th, so we decided to play tourist in Vegas for the last night. I sank $20 into the Frogger machine in the old Sega arcade at Luxor and stayed out late.

After my mother-in laws call was done and everyone was accounted for, Bryan went to work because of the high alert and his parents came and lived in our tiny apartment for a week. As more details became known and the planes grounded, It was decided that we would sell one of our vehicles to his parents and they would drive home. The plane that went down in Pennsylvania originated out of Newark and was the same morning flight they had flown in on.

I remember the pain and anger. President Bush's calm but reassuring voice. McCarran airport a parking lot of planes. The hidden racism revealed in people I knew and never thought would be bigots. Everyone in my family threatened with layoffs, and my company promising not to fire anyone. I was stuck in my job.

The next year would be hard. My dad had a stroke and a bypass. My job got worse. The world was different. I was different. On the first year anniversary, half of New Jersey and my Uncles from Germany all flew down to Vegas. As the country went to high alert, I stopped postponing it and I finally I married my husband.

I didn't want to get married so close to such an event, but it happened. He missed his bachelor party and almost our wedding do to his security job. People were scared to fly down. My wedding will always be tied to that date now, because it is impossible for me to separate the two. A year had gone in a blink of an eye, and there I was married and still stumbling in the dark.

We all have stories of where we were and what we were doing that day. I see footage of it now and still don't understand it and it seems so surreal. I think: my kids will never know what it's like to greet people as they tiredly get off the plane. I think about looking up at the towers when I was in first grade and seeing them disappear up into the clouds. How eerie and magical New York City was from the eyes of a little me. I remember the empty feeling every time I fly into Newark and not see the towers and how lucky we were that the family and friends in New York and Washington DC were okay. But most of all I think: What have we learned? Where do we go? How do we close the chapter on such a horrible story? How do we finally get some kind of closure? More deaths? How much blood needs to be spilled to heal us? Why did this happen?

Maybe we won't know the answers ever. I just know that we need to keep asking these questions. The alternative is just accepting and I refuse to.

Saying no thanks to Congress for my bridge to pigs in lipstick

2008-09-10T19:16:00.000-07:00

Okay, so each time I've gone to my rehearsals I have had to play by myself in front of everyone. I hate doing this with a passion. My throat closes up, I can't count, and any repair I need on my horn acts up. Well, last night I ended up having to play a solo on this song called Russian Christmas Music. The part was written for an English horn, but the director pointed at me and said "you play it". Just like that. Now to anyone familiar with a concert band, a saxophone and an English horn are not the same. For my ninth grade year I was stuck playing French horn parts on my sax. Do you have any idea how hard it is to make a sax sound like a fricken french horn?

I do have a really good tone ear and as a result, my tone is good. So last night I filled my lungs up with air and tried to make my little Frankenstein sax sound like a regal horn. I ran out of air 3 notes into the last whole note of the solo and missed an f sharp, but hey, it went okay.

Afterwards I was pondering why the band directors had kept signalling me out to play stuff. It then occurred to me I had better practice more then I had if this trend would continue.

Anyway, at the end of the night, one of the directors came over to me and told me that I almost sounded like an English horn. He had said my tone was incredible and he said it was very hard to find players who could get solid brass like tones out of a sax.

I felt a little better, but went home and bought a copy of the song on Rhapsody and played the solo over and over. Something else to obsess about I guess:)

New Horizon's band

2008-08-27T19:48:00.000-07:00

Well, my first day in the realm of music in an ensemble came and went. I arrived at 6pm for my 7pm class and waited outside the building for almost an hour. When I went in I was really nervous. My hands were trembling and I was a little winded, but it thank god didn't lead to a panic attack.

I don't normally do well with new environments. I mean, I am all for change but I don't really like to step out of my comfort zone. Upon entering the building I ran into one of the librarians at my branch. It was very cool that I knew someone but I was still very nervous. That didn't change when I just saw a tenor sax player and no altos.

I stumbled over and put my instrument together and tried to calm down, because by that point I was shallow breathing and my hands were trembling even more. I went to the sax section and looked at the two stands. 1st alto or 2cnd? What do I pick? I did not see anyone else so I sat at the first alto spot.

A few minutes passed and another woman sat down next to me and I asked her if she wanted to play first part. She said "Naw, if you think you can handle it, do it."

I felt a little better and then a guy sat down next to me and I moved over to make room. His name was Joel and had just moved here. He hadn't sightread music in 20 years. I assured him it had been a long time for me.

We were really rusty, but it's amazing how much and how fast it came back. We even got a couple of compliments. Most of the music was fun except one piece called "Russian Christmas". The director said it probably is the hardest piece we had ever played, but I hated to tell the guy my high school band was performing the hardest class of music in high schools. That's why we kicked ass in competitions. Anyway, the song is really heavy and depressing and ugly lyrically. The smart ass in me kicked in and I turned to Joel and said: "This song in so festive, I just want to go out and deck the halls and fa la la la la all day."

At break I joked that playing was like falling off a bike instead of course like riding a bike. But I really did not do that bad. My jaw hurt like hell and I need to do a little maintenance on my sax, but I have been playing all these years and the sight-reading went very well.

Bottom line, it was fun. I think I would like to stick with this a little while. We have a concert on Nov. 5 and Dec. 5 so we should be able to get a handle on the music. I think it's a strong group, but we need more people to join, so if you live in Vegas and want to play. It's $20 bucks at UNLV, and it is fun.

Saxophone Simone

2008-08-13T16:01:00.000-07:00

Well, after about four years of talking about it, I finally signed up for the UNLV New Horizon's Band. Yep, I am returning to the world of music and particularly band albeit with little steps. The band is organized to "re-introduce adults to music" after "a long break." Well, I never really stopped playing and there hasn't been a real break, but I can tell you I haven't read music since I took piano in college quite a few years ago. I do have a problem though. I play the Alto and Soprano saxophones and I think I would have to choose which to play. Honestly, I am more comfortable with my alto, however I have never played soprano in a band setting and would like to work on the tone. Problem is the soprano is used more in jazz then anything. I also am a little apprehensive about being on my own. I have no idea who is in this band and I just would like to go with a friend or something, but everyone who I know gave up music years ago or are tone deaf.

What it all boils down to is I really miss playing music. It seems like it has been absent from my life for a long time. I miss playing with other people. I miss the feeling when you play a concert or just jam with people. I don't have Ray living down the hall to jam out some cheesy blues, or some of my other college friends I use to play with and I really miss it. Hopefully it will go really well and everything will be okay.

Simone's weekend bender

2008-08-05T17:32:00.000-07:00

Okay, for the first time in a long time I hung out with my friends over the last weekend. No, I'm not a shut-in nor a hermit. I normally work on weekends and it just so happened that my friend Shannon is getting married in Dec. and it was dress weekend. This meant Stephanie and Karla were coming into town to scope out dresses.

The day went well and dresses were found and purchased in record time. It was strange at how the memories of my shopping experience seemed to well up and I suddenly felt the need to go home and look at my dress. Of course I got over that nostalgia quite quickly when I remembered how I had just thrown it back into the bag and hung it in my closet:)

The day wound down to a bar-be-Que and Karaoke. Yes Karaoke.

To add to the festivities, a casual glass of wine resulted in 6 1/2 bottles gone by the end of the night. I refrained largely do to having driven everyone to Kevin's house. Never the less, I still enjoyed belting out the songs and watching my drunk friends' concert.

Now I have known Stephanie and Shannon since I was in third grade, but I learned something new about them over the weekend.

Shannon is a Karaoke Nazi. It's her way or the highway which made a very interesting scene. Her demanding and commanding take-over of the mic was amazing to me. The level of violence and profanity exceeded any if at all limits I had ever seen from her. It was so cool yet frightening at the same time the most entertaining night I've had in a long time with drunk friends.

Stephanie never ceases to amaze me. She knows every Journey song better than me. My sister and brother tortured me with Journey and yet, Stephanie knows all the lines. I am in awe. I had no idea her vast musical knowledge fringed on the very outer boarders of arena rock.

Above all, I got to meet Kevin's roommate and spend some quality time with Karla. It was quite a fun experience, even being sober. Next time, I'll get Bryan to drive us:)

Rehab is for quitters part2

2008-07-23T23:43:00.000-07:00

I have always struggled with weight. Bad genes and eventually bad habits lead to my weight going crazy. When I was 10, my grandmother was diagnosed with cancer and my parents sent me to help my mom out because I didn't know my grandma as well as my two older siblings. I knew this was a bad decision. Even before I left my friends I knew things were changing.

If you knew me back then and you know me now, it's almost like two different people. I was fearless. Pushy. Opinionated. More self involved. I don't think I ever was a bad kid, but I just had to get my way a lot. I had to walk out in front of everyone. I had to be the leader. Sometimes I locked horns with my friends over ideology and I'd make these outlandish statements and concocted these ridiculous stories. When it came down to things though, I was fiercely loyal to my friends and underdogs and I never lied about important things.

I wasn't the greatest athlete, but I was Evil Knievel on my bike. I walked over five miles to just go to record stores. I kept active and my weight teetered. The stress of that summer and the change that came to me in the next couple of years would just exasperate my weight problem.

I was in trouble and I did not know it. I isolated myself from my true friends and they resented me for it. The truth was, I just did not want to fight anymore. I thought my friends would be happier without me. I had no one to talk to and to be honest, I did not know what was wrong with me.

The first panic attack came in seventh grade quickly followed by migraines about every two weeks. Then the insomnia hit. Seventh grade was hell and I gained a lot of weight with not knowing why. I'm not a stress eater. As a matter of fact, I stop eating when I'm stressed and my parents almost never bought fast food.

Eighth grade came and I patched up my relationship with my friends and began writing. Migraines, panic attacks, and insomnia lessened and I began to get out more. But then I fractured my spine. For six months I wore a back brace and was in extreme pain. But I kept pushing myself making things worse.

Entering High school and marching band camp, I found myself winded easily. By then I had put on quite a lot of weight just because of my inactivity. My mom and brother would just harp on me about my weight. By this time I was eating only one or two meals a day, marching a lot, and walking the 2 miles home everyday. I was hovering for 4 years.

I stopped eating in college. A series of bad jobs and stress of money got the better of me. My senior year I had a nervous breakdown. I was so bad at one point that going anywhere public or crowded would throw me into a panic attack. That semester I had been sick the entire time getting only a couple of hours asleep a night and bombing 3 of my 6 classes and finishing with me going to my sisters in Oregon for the winter break with pneumonia. I was a mess.

When I came home I was focused on getting better. I just kept gaining weight. A new job after graduation and the stress got worse. I ate salad for a year and had no soda at all. I gained even more weight. I watched shows and they talked about portion control and impulse eating and eating healthy. I went to the doctor. They told me when I was eating, I was eating all the right things. I still gained weight.

Then my back gave out on me. It had never healed right. The wear and tear set in and for awhile I just could not do anything. I spent a year in therapy, but I remember how it had limited me. Not only was going out in public like drowning slowly, but now just going out with my friends was physically hard. I just could not keep up. I still have problems with stairs and when the weather changes, but I have to be really careful about things and I'm okay now, but I just feel like some of my friends really did not understand how badly I felt when I had to cancel out on things.

Eleven weeks ago, my father returned from the hospital after losing his foot to diabetes and told me that he should never have sent me to Germany with my mother. I had never spoken to my family about that decision. My dad then told me I had never had problems managing my weight until I came back from there and he always suspected a lot of my stress manifested in my weight gain. Neither of my parents know about my panic attacks. The insomnia and migraines were harder to hide, but I don't think they ever realize how bad they could be. He wrote me a check to go to weight watchers, something I had been wanting to do for a long time but could not really budget. 12 weeks ago I would just forget to eat all day. I stopped having hunger pains and only knew I needed to eat if I was a little light headed or when my husband yelled at me.

To anyone on weight watchers, I have 44 points a day and that's about 22 points too much. When I leave points, I gain weight. By nightfall I have like 30 points left over and I'm not hungry. I'm developing OCD with counting points. I am going crazy counting and I feel like I'm eating every 30 minutes. I'm scared to eat anywhere not in my little book and have snapped at my husband like 40 times to make sure he measured my food out exactly. I have only used 4 of the 35 bonus points (in 11 weeks) and those were days I added wrong. So far I have lost 26.6 pounds in 11 weeks and only gained 1.3 pounds (probably just retaining water and the gallon of cough syrup I had). My problem is not eating too much or even the wrong things, but just eating my points. There are other people with my points who are eating them and the bonus points and I understand that their weight gain and my weight gain are different. I just haven't met anyone like me at weight watchers. I was talking to a couple of the leaders the other day and they only told me of a couple people who gained like I had. I guess this has been the most frustrating thing about weight watchers because it is geared towards people who have trouble stopping. My group is really great and supportive. I just don't really see the value in going to the meetings and getting tips on how to cut my points or overcoming temptation. The only advice I have gotten was to "add mayo or use regular salad dressing or regular bread" but I don't see how adding fat to my diet will help me loose weight. I know part of the problem is that I want the weight off now and I just can't seem to get use to this point thing. I swear in the last eleven weeks I have been eating more then I have in a year. When I tried to speak to one of the other leaders (my normal one was out) one of the members of the group was there and rolled her eyes at me. I really felt bad, because I was not gloating about points, I was just trying to get advice. I am loosing weight though and when I reach my goal, I will be at about 21 points. I know I can be fine on that. Right now I just feel like I'm stumbling in the dark.

History lessons learned and yet to write

2008-06-26T01:40:00.000-07:00

When I was in high school, (prior to the first Gulf War), I remember asking my father why we support Saddam Hussein. My father always had a very keen way of summing history up, if not a little biased. Born and raised a staunch Democrat, my father became a born again Republican because of one man: Ronald Reagan.

In this case, my father answered: he is the lesser of two evils. He is a staunch dictator who has ruled his country with an iron fist and kept down the ethnic and religious problems of the Muslim world. Oh, and they are against Iran and Iran is financed by the Russians.

In the coming months, Kuwait would be seized, a war begun, and a legacy born.

When the Junior Bush decided to invade Iraq, we were faced with a much different world then when his father set out to "free Kuwait." This time nobody wanted to be held responsible for letting a tyrant get his way. The problem with that of course was the world knew better. American bravado seemed to override common sense and we went in to battle a foe we never knew or understood. I remember standing in front of the courthouse with my two best friends since third grade and listening to a humanitarian speak of how bad Saddam was. Most of me wanted to see him gone. Not through a war however. It seemed like a really bad idea to send troops to a part of the world that disliked us. What really made me angry is how we can stand by and watch Africans being slaughtered by ruthless dictators, students killed in China, and many other monstrosities that the world seems to ignore all in the name of diplomacy and peace. The truth is, Africa and these other countries have nothing to offer us, that's why the world lets the dictators block or steal aid instead of using the UN to benefit the oppressed. But I digress...

When every senator and representative who cast their vote for the war committed troops to the war, they and they alone became responsible for every death and injury. The awesome responsibility of sending Women and Men to war rests on those who voted "Yes" regardless if they agree with the war then and now do not. It was not a decision to take lightly and when you hear detractors of the war who voted for it, they sound like kids pointing their fingers at each other.

I do not like Junior Bush. He was a lame duck president who other then gave a lot of aid and money to Africa (more then any other president) has done little. He's an idiot and arrogant. Had he been more straightforward with the problems of gathering intelligence and data, perhaps things would have been better. However, I do have to defend him on one count: The results of this war are not yet written. It's neither a win or loss at this point. The actions of this president and Congress are more far reaching then simply the war is lost or won. This may be the spark that leads to something really great. It can also be the spark that blows everything to hell. There is no clear cut winner or loser in this war. No one surrendered. There will be no victory day. World War I was suppose to be the war to end all wars. It lead to WWII. Korea, Vietnam, the cold War, Afghanistan, terrorism... They are all linked. The truth is, the history of the second Gulf war has not been written yet. Fate has not yet judged this Presidency in that respect. Will Bush be known as a great president: No way. Will the second Gulf War be cast aside as a huge blunder: We don't know yet.

Harry Reid, senator of Nevada did a great disservice to say the war was lost. Yes, I agree the troops need to come home ASAP. The problem is, Reid and Clinton and the many others who voted for this war have no right to write history for their own political gain. It's just as atrocious as what this President and Congress has done to our rights with the Patriot Act. The people of Iraq are not children who need our constant babysitting. Give them their independence and let them sink or swim. Hell, it was only a little over 230 years ago when we were struggling over our freedom. It took us a long time to get there (1920 women's vote, the civil rights movement of the 40's and 60's, Equal rights bill of the 70's). They will figure it out. If they need help, let the UN step in. That's what they are for. Then maybe we won't give a stupid wannabe cowboy and the "we didn't want to seem unpopular" congress so much power and give them something to think about next time they want to play cops and robbers with other peoples' lives.

Rehab is for quitters...my first week

2008-05-26T01:19:00.000-07:00

Okay, so again I find myself at the mercy of the tide of life. I can't control everything, but this week I got a little control back and then SLAM! Hit by a rogue wave. With my dad having problems, my life has been divided between sitting with him and trying to keep my house in order. I'm loosing that battle badly. It's like living in between homes and I don't want to do it anymore. Problem is, no one will be there for my dad if I were not there. My mom is at her breaking point, and having her get even more stressed out is not good for any of us. The one week I wanted to have off for my nephew's first birthday is a wash. Not only is he turning one, but my new niece is getting baptized in New Jersey that weekend. That means my husband gets to fly back home without me and I will miss everything yet again.

I feel so bad that I just don't know what to say to my friends. My dad is very independent and is getting better, but right now, he needs me to give him I.V.'s and stuff. The only break I get is on Fridays and when I'm working. I spend all day trying to get my father to do things, but all he'll do is watch TV, roll around between the kitchen and living room, and play solitaire on the computer. I even tried to get him to go to the movies, but he doesn't understand that there are ways to do things even if you are handicapped. It's not an issue of vanity. It's more an issue of obstacles. I try to tell him that there's ramps and seating and other things that he's never noticed before.

I just try to stay positive. I just want things to go back to normal. I want to see my friends. I want to just get away for a weekend. As I look at the month of June I know that it won't be then.

Until then, I just guess I'll have to do what I can.

Cruel Cruel World

2008-05-02T18:44:00.000-07:00

I worked in the mail room on my college campus and quickly developed a need to buy by mail order. There is just something about receiving packages that just feels so good. My husband was the guy who got a weekly package. At first we were just jealous, but then we became worried and wondered why he was getting so many packages from a metal finishing company and what could he could be building:) It just turned out his mom missed him a lot and of course we all benefited in that he always shared goodies.

Anyway, skip ahead to the now, the Internet is fabulous for shopping. Not only can I buy crap from a store and get it mailed to me, but often it comes in bubble wrap. Sweet Sweet Bubble wrap.

I ordered something recently and yesterday it came. The box was like ten times bigger then the stupid thing so I gleefully tore into it like it was Christmas. I giggles as I found a bounty of bubbles protecting my shipment and carefully set aside my bubbly mess.

Once I had finished unwrapping my order and setting it aside I grabbed my first sheet of bubbles and happily began pinching and twisting away, but much to my horror....NOTHING HAPPENED.

The bubbles simply diffused into little pop proof pockets and filled back up again as I released pressure. I sat and twisted and pulled, but I could not get one little pop out of the many sheets.

I soon gave up. Defeated and poppless I wondered idly what kind of creature would develop pop guarded bubble wrap and how some helpless landfill animal might suffer some hideous death from the thousands of sheets of unpopped bubble wrap this will produce. What kind of a cruel world is this where someone says: you know, it annoys me when people pop those sheets, lets take their fun away.

Just say no to this abomination. Write your senator. Tell John McCain and Hillery and Obama we won't stand for this.

Why we blog

2008-04-04T08:22:00.000-07:00

The Internet, to modern surfers, is just a little kid in comparison to TV and Radio. Prior to this medium, self expression was reduced to writing, art, and music. The average opinion reduced to editorials and forum discussions and represented by an elected official who was suppose to be your voice.

We see the problem of this instantly. Not only are your opinions and views no longer your own, but unless you are some great writer/musician/artist, the chances of you expressing who you are and someone listening are almost zero.

What the Internet has allowed through web pages and cams, myspace, and blogs, has given everyone with a computer the chance to stake a claim in this world. You don't have to be Garrison Keillor to talk about fond memories of your hometown. You don't have to have your paintings in the Louvre to display it on your web page. You don't have to be someone of "importance" to editorialize on a subject or even a rock star to get your music out there.

In some ways, I think self expression through the internet, whether it's through blogging or your myspace page, is the ultimate form of freedom of expression. People who otherwise do not enjoy the freedom of self expression have been able to find an outlet here, and maybe they have found a global community of people they can relate or simply interract with that they cannot find elseware.

Footprints on a beach

2008-04-02T23:32:00.000-07:00

Okay, no, I'm not really referencing the poem where all along Jesus was carrying the person. I'm more or less talking about mortality. Spending a lot of time dealing with my father's bad break in health has really forced me to look at how fragile life is and how fleeting it can be. But there is a flip side too. The strength of life itself. How much a body can take before it is broken beyond repair is remarkable, but you never want to see it go that far.

People suffer and die everyday. Some people never get the chance to live. Some never learn how to live. But there are the lucky ones who both know and understand what life is and boldly have lived their lives always to the fullest extent they could.

Some people are scared of death. I'm not. I don't believe it is the end. I don't think about dying because there is no point to it. It will happen. I would prefer if it happens 70 or so years from now, but until then, you can't live counting down the seconds.

What I'm scared of, I suppose, is not death, but at the end of my life, those footprints I left behind will simply wash away. Erased off the face of the earth.

Now if you think about it, that's a rather pompous and self-important kind of demand. People have forgotten many people who did far more important things than I'll ever do. I will never free the slaves or separate hemoglobin from blood. I won't invent some handy contraption or come up with many ways to use a peanut.

I do try to do the right thing though. Sometimes at my expense I'll admit. I don't think of it as being a good Christian, but it's about just being a better person. Human kindness and compassion are not in short order in this life. I refuse to believe that. It's just not popular to talk about or to broadcast. Richard Branson and Bill Gates are not going to be remembered for their charity. It will be all about airlines and computers when they pass. Their footsteps in cement just like the Hollywood walk of fame.

The ultimate judgement on ones life comes when the living stand up to speak about the dead. When the loved ones speak about that person. How they will remember that person. Their legacy. I know this sounds rather preachy and believe me, I'm no saint and am definitely not the poster child for perfection. I wonder what impact I am making on this world (other then killing it with my carbon footprint). The people I leave behind, will they keep my memory alive?

Nobody wants to be forgotten. I just think that sometimes we loose track of what is really important in this world. You see all the negative and never see the positive. Seek it out. Look for the good that happens in a day. Make the news broadcast when someone does something good. Always thank someone. Always find a reason to thank someone. Thank you is the most important two words you can say to someone. Listen and try to understand. No one has died in a battle of words. Walking a mile in someone else's shoes will make you stronger and it will make the world stronger. Diversity is a strength. Change is good. These are not just cliches if you believe and practice this. Can you just imagine what people could do if we just all stopped and started to appreciate not only our lives, but people around us? Maybe then being remembered will not be that important to egomaniacs like me:)

The Blahs

2008-03-20T03:56:00.000-07:00

I've got the blahs. Yeah, it's not really depression or anything serious. Maybe it is a mid thirties crisis or something. I know it stems mainly from dealing with my father and his battle with bad health lately.

Although I am working part time, I am basically paying for the power bill and the truck payment. Not exactly my share of the bills, but my schedule is perfect in that when I'm not at work, I have pretty much moved home with my parents and sleep at my own house. The worst thing is, my father went back to the hospital and it has been like a mini vacation to me, but of course it hasn't been fun. I've spent most of my time trying to get my neglected house in order and the rest of the time sort of half-assed looking for some job I don't even know if I can take because I don't know if my father will loose his leg or not or how much care he's going to need when he does finally come back home.

Then I got sick. Sinus infection that actually started to paralyze the side of my face. Two shots in the bum, x-rays, and a whole regiment of pills cleared it up and a check up proved me well, except I screwed up my blood sugar test by eating and drinking before my blood was taken. (I wasn't expecting a blood test and a big glass of OJ looked really good:) Now I have to have them take more blood from me and I just got called for jury duty (which is a whole other blog).

The good news is, Monday I'm having some lawn work done in the front so my mom can finally get off my back about that:) Also I passed my probation at work and got a raise. I still only cover the two bills, but hey, power bill just went up:)

WARNING: BEWARE OF ILLEGAL CHEESE

2007-11-22T01:18:00.000-08:00

So I was driving to work about three weeks ago and was listening to the radio when the two DJs began discussing a strange story in the news. The gist of it is this:

A couple was arrested for manufacturing illegal cheese in their home. Apparently, this couple was making cheese in their bathtub and a sizable amount was confiscated.

While discussing this, the DJs were commenting on how the neighbors would have called it in to the police and such not. Now I know with meth labs, there is normally an odor or heavy traffic, or even waste canisters that could hint illegal action. How do you know if your neighbor is making illegal cheese in their home?

Suddenly, this very humorous story began to freak me out. The last time something cheese related freaked me out is when they came out with SPAM with cheese. (I'm talking about the processed stuff in the can. Greasy formed ham infused with chunks of cheese)

Could my neighbor be secretly curdling milk and adding enzymes in his bathtub as we read? How would I know? A steady stream of dairy trucks parked outside? Even worse was this thought: There must be a market for illegal cheese. I mean if someone is making it, who's buying it? I've heard of food addictions but this is crazy. Can I walk to the corner and confront some cheese gangsta and ask for a nickle bag or eightball of illegal cheese? And what makes illegal cheese better than legal cheese? Are they selling to restaurants who don't make you add the extra 10 cents when you add cheese or are they just making a 7 cent profit off of you?

What else is there to create illegally in your bathroom? What type of bacteria did they use to make the cheese anyway? What's next? Toilet Pickles?

Outsiders turns 40

2007-09-29T02:56:00.000-07:00

When I was in high school, I wrote my first serious novel. I really wrote the thing for myself and had no real ambition to publish or be a writer back then. Now, I'm not sure. Writing has just been a part of life and now I am trying to see if it can be a way of life.

I never really did well in English class. I received A's but I did a lot of extra work and never seemed to be anything more than mediocre at poetry and Shakespeare. I always felt outclassed in these classes because I did not read the stuff like other people. It wasn't until college when I was singled out when I became aware that my interpretations were not wrong, but before that, I just felt stupid because I didn't seem to understand.

I hid my writing. Like an alcoholic I did it behind closed doors mainly or when I felt no one would ask. Only my closest friends knew, but they wrote too. I wasn't really afraid of being called a geek or a nerd, because that all-ready was the story of my life. I guess I was afraid people would read it and think I was an idiot.

Like most teens, I read and admired S.E. Hinton's "THE OUTSIDERS". Like me, she wrote her first book in high school and wrote it for herself because "there weren't any stories out there for me." I carried my copy with me for two years as a sort of security blanket. I took comfort in the fact that my book was longer and that a teenager could break through the academic wall. My life wasn't filled with gangs and violence, but the characters were more real to me than Romeo or Hamlet or anything out of Dickens.

I had loved to read when I was younger. A lot of mysteries and Shel Silverstein. As I got older it was mainly Cynthia Voigt and then Stephen King. Of all the books I read and admired, THE OUTSIDERS to this day remains perhaps the most influential piece of literature in my life. I have not modeled my style or storytelling on it, but I can say the spirit of the storyteller has guided me in many ways.

So, on the 40th anniversary of this classic, go out and read it again or for the first time.

Long time, No me

2007-09-23T23:55:00.000-07:00

Okay, so I'm MIA. Between my 12 hours of work and job hunting and sleepless nights, I've been busy. I'm on the verge of writing another book and have dropped off into this weird hybrid world that I can only describe as half life/half surreal life. I managed to go to a movie Friday with a friend and fell asleep. It was Resident Evil. Some crappy movie that knocked me out in under an hour. Granted, I was tired, but there was not much of a story and it was all just shoot em up kill em all trash. My friend cowered as zombies jumped out and gore expunged from slimy wounds. I yawned and fell asleep. Been there, done that. As a fan of cheesy horror and Zombie films, I think I'm Zombied out. I'm sure the people who saw it raved. The guy behind us wrote one of the songs and I was excited for him. He was so freaked out and I couldn't blame him. It was cool seeing someone from Vegas make it into a film.
I woke up Friday morning with a sore back (it was raining) and my mind on writing. I started mentally writing the story and found myself narrating in my head as I took a shower and made lunch for my husband. I would have sat down at the computer, but I have two books I'm all-ready working on to try to submit. My friends have been very busy and I haven't talked much with them lately. I finished rewrites on my last book, but again, no one has time to read. In desperation I sent my sister a copy, but I have yet to get a response. Her garden has taken over her yard though and the last I heard she was canning like crazy.
Instead of writing I went to the movies like I said. At work, I'm still invisible. I broke down and bought an ipod shuffle on ebay. I have to say, I love the little thing. It does store a lot of music on it and it's so tiny. I have like four hours on it and can put more on it, but I've been kinda lazy about putting music on my computer. All total I have a good mix going and I'm pretty happy with it. Best thing is I got it for like 40 bucks and it's got a warranty and is new, so I'm happy with it.
The new season of Curious George started and William H. Macy is not narrating anymore. It was still funny, but the new narrator is like on lithium or something. I made Bryan get up early and watch it all week:)

It's Not Rocket Science

2007-08-21T02:16:00.001-07:00

I can't seem to avoid jobs in which the primary function is to put things in alphabetical order. Months ago I put in a job at the library district as a page. This was one of many applications I put in to attempt to penetrate those solid fortress walls. I did get a call back and an interview. I seemed to have passed it, but then I was left swimming in the pool of eligibility. Apparently, I treaded water for several months and just two weeks ago was offered a part time position. Well, my first week has come and gone and I am shaking my head in disbelief. Why? Because in the last week:
1. No one has asked me one personal question. The only question people have asked was if everything was okay. (approximately five times)
2. Everyone seems to think they need to tell me to put things into ABC order instead of alphabetizing a cart. This is the only real direction I have received and received it three times the first day and once after)
3. I was walked around the library once then given a piece of paper showing how to alphabetize and put things in Library of Congress order. That was my training.
4. I gave career advice to a fifth grade volunteer who does the same job I do, but for free. Afterwards, I almost threw up at the thought because I am a college graduate and she's more experienced in my job than I.
5. The first book I shelved was "Curious George Get's a Job" (yes, it is true. Totally unplanned. If you know me, then you know the irony)
6. I hate non-fiction. I have dyslexia and I'm pretty good with letters because I write a lot and my last job involved a lot of alphabetizing. Numbers are a pain in the ass though. Do not read numbers to me or make me hurry when dealing with numbers. I get really anxious and start to have panic attacks. Today, I had to do a whole cart and it took forever to just put in order. I can tell you if you go to section J QL 666, it will take you to snakes and reptiles. Hmmm....666.

So it's not rocket science and I keep busy. No one bothers me or hovers around. It's a lot of bending and getting down on the ground, but my poor back is doing fantastic. I can't complain, because God knows it's just part time and hopefully I will be able to quit soon. If not, I can stick it out and just hope I can find something else on top of that.

So, until then, if you have kids, please do not let them randomly take books off the shelves and throw them around. You can leave them on the table when you're done, but please do not let them rearrange them.

Please don't tell me how Harry Potter ends

2007-07-22T23:43:00.000-07:00

Okay, I use to read a lot of books when I was younger. I remember what a treat it was for me to go to the library, check out a new book from a favorite author, and just vegetate for a couple of days. I'm not one to read on the fly. I get motion sick over weird things like reading or lying down in a moving vehicle and I have to read with minimal distractions. As I began to write more, I began to read less, almost until I was reading about five books a year for entertainment. Pathetic, I know.
When I was in college, I spent winter break with pneumonia. It was the sickest I have ever been and my sister had taken me to Powell's bookstore in Oregon. I hate going there because within five minutes, I always have a couple hundred dollars worth of books that I have to put back. I put everything back but the first three installments of Stephen King's Gunslinger series. I got to the end of the third and in utter frustration hurled the book across the room. The book just ended right in the middle of everything. Then there was a small apology from the author.
I waited several years to find out what happened and now there are three more books I still have to read. But thank God no one has told me how it ends.
This leads to Harry Potter. My friend Jenifer referred Harry to me sometime before book two came out. I had every intention to read them, but school reading took precedent and as I got working and stuff, I found I had little time to read. With each new book came someone spoiling the story for me. I held out with the 6th one almost a month before I found out the secrets.
I went down this weekend to buy the new book (my husband has read them all and is up to date while I'm still trying to read Order of the Phoenix before I see it tomorrow). While standing in line, there was a young woman and her two little kids and some older 25-30 year old guys. The guys were talking loudly about all-ready reading most of the story having bought their copies at midnight, and were teasing one of their friends about just getting it now (it was 10am). Then it happened. One of the guys started spilling the plot. The two little kids looked to their mom in panic. They clearly did not want to know either. The mom hesitated to say something, then the guy said "Guess who is behind everything". At that point I interrupted angrily "The Butler did it!"
The guy glared at me for spoiling his fun and the mother just gave me a grateful look. At that time it was his time to go up to the cashier and the lady whispered back to me about how anxious her kids were to read what happens and how all summer that's all they could talk about. I explained that every time a new book came out I always ended up finding out everything, and it really bothers me.
It is hard enough to get kids to read these days. I know, almost all my friends are teachers. Harry Potter is one of those books that you should be careful when you discuss in public, because it's one thing to reveal a plot twist, and it's another to crush someone's curiosity, especially a kids.
I do not know if I will get to the last Harry before I find out what happens, but I hope I do. Until then, I could only hope that people think about the kids who want to finish the book on their own. That's what writing is about. It's about taking someone on a journey, not just a destination.

On Writing

2007-07-17T06:22:00.000-07:00

When I was ten, my friend Steph, tired of hearing me whine about being bored, suggested I write a story. At the time I thought it was quite absurd that in the middle of the summer I would write something not school mandated. But as that hot, muggy day became hot muggy night, I began to write. That was 1983.
All of us wrote. When I mean all, it means all the people who I stayed friends with throughout school and into our adult life. I was always in awe of Steph's writing. It was not the kind of writing I was into reading, but it was so mature and smarter then what I wrote about. Shannon had that sort of reachability and was very visual. She had a way of taking the most mundane and making it hilarious. Even today, I always look forward to hearing how her day went or what was on her mind. Jenifer was incredible in how she could pull you into a fantasy. She researched like a scientist looking for a cure and when you read her stories, you believed.
My parents had no idea I wrote until I was finished with my first book my junior year of high school. I had gotten an idea in August of 1986 and three drafts later and about four years, I finished THE EPIC, as it had been nicknamed. The final draft took 93 days to write and those 93 days were a complete blur to me of school, band practice, and late night writing.
I kept it from people. I only let Steph and Shannon read what I had written and basically just hid it away. One day, while writing in the band hallway, a girl named Donelle sat down next to me and asked what I was doing. Donelle was a popular flute player in my high school band and part of the cool people club I never really was a part of. I was considered a nerd in Junior High, with my grades exposed to everyone, so by High School, I just wanted a low profile. I just mumbled to her I was doing homework. To that she laughed and asked why I was lying to her. She had always seen me writing in my little black folder and knew I was writing a story. I had explained that it was nothing, and she let me off this time. Two days of pestering me ensued, then she stole my folder.
This was the first time someone outside of my two best friends had ever read my writing. She had my folder for a day, and brought it back to my house later that night. I had my first audience and Donelle became the first person to read my final draft of my first book. Jenifer the second. (I met her as I started the final draft and once we discovered we both wrote, began to share our stories)
Only ten other people have read it. No one from my family yet.
Now I have almost a 1000 page sequel, several started novels that just need finishing, a collection of short stories, over 100 poems and songs, and a new novel I wrote in 20 days when the floodgates of writing opened and the muse took command. I am faced with the new challenge of publication. The biggest obstacle is me, I know this. I never intended most of my writing for an audience, but now that I have decided to move on this, I find I'm stumbling in the dark. I did not realize how important having an audience was in my writing. Writing was always a solitary thing for me, and as my friends have gotten busy, I have sort of lost the audience. There are only so many times you can read something before it just becomes words.
Fresh eyes are so important.

Excuse me, can I talk to you a little about God?

2007-07-14T20:17:00.000-07:00

My sister always use to joke that I was the flower of the family: The Blooming Idiot. Ha ha Yuck Yuck. It was always a running joke and never anything serious because if anyone knows me, I tend to over think things a bit, but please do not mistake that for intelligence.
I have a mean streak of "blond" in me however that tends to defy logic. This normally comes out whenever I am approached by the people you are trying to avoid. Normally I just react and at the end of the event, I just realize what had happened and I have a Homer Simpson moment (DO'H!!!!)

Example 1: One very late night in the Residence Housing of my college, I received an obscene phone call from some pervert. I talked to him for ten minutes before I realized it was an obscene caller and talked an additional 10 more minutes because I did not want to be rude and hang up on him.
Example 2: I was asleep on the couch and the phone rang. On the other line was one of those annoying phone companies asking me to switch services. Upon asking me if I had the power to switch my phone over, I reached deep into my childhood and remembered my HE-Man. I replied in a booming voice I HAVE THE POWER!!!!! They promptly hung up on me.
Example 3: About two weekends ago, an elderly black lady and her grandson knocked on my door. They were dressed in Sunday clothes and obviously knocking door to door to get church recruits. Years ago, my sister had become a Jehovah Witness and given my very Catholic parents some books. Instead of throwing them out, I convinced my father to give them to me. I have this thing about throwing out books. I figured I would be able to give them to good will or something. Anyplace but a landfill, right? Anyway, I know how hard it is to go door to door thanks to high school band fundraisers. I can only imagine the rudeness you can get when trying to push your religion, so I always make a point of being polite. Once they become pushy, that's a little different. But anyway, these two people were in no way pushy and I was extra polite and thanked them for their flyers and sent them on their way. About two minutes later, I actually looked at the flyer and low and behold, they were Jehovah Witnesses!
I quickly grabbed the books from my cabinet, threw on my shoes and went outside. They were almost at the end of the street and getting ready to join some other people to leave, so I quickly began to run down the street towards them.
Now if you can picture this in your head: A heavy-set woman in her thirties with two volumes of books trying to wave down the people as she sort of shuffle runs because she really should not be running. Yes it was quite comical. I'm sure my neighbors think I'm insane.
The lady stopped and came over to me with her grandson and I suddenly realized I had no idea what I was going to say.
"Are you Witnesses?" I asked a little out of breath, but nervous as all get-out.
"Yes, we are."
"My sister was-er-is too. We have these extra books and if you want to keep them or give them to someone who needs them, you can have them."
At this point, the Grandmother and grandson's faces lit up and she turned to the other man who was in the car and showed them to him. They thanked me and I walked back to the house.
I opened my door and it had occurred to me at that moment that I had just run down a bunch of Jehovah Witnesses to give them literature about their own church.
Yeah, these things really happened.

Dennis DeYoung has a new album

2007-07-14T00:45:00.000-07:00

My name is Simone and I'm a Styx fan. No, not this new version without Dennis DeYoung, but most of you out there who do not listen to Styx or follow the soap opera, would not know or care what the difference is between the two. (Just think stadiums to state fairs if you really want to know the difference). Anyway, Dennis DeYoung is the original keyboard player and one of the lead singers of Styx and after being kicked out of the band and having a pretty successful solo career playing concerts with and without a 50 piece orchestra since then, has come out with his first full record of original music since 1989. It has not come out yet in the USA, but first in Canada where he and Styx had always enjoyed success. It is currently the #2 album in Quebec and the #2 single.
Most of my friends do not appreciate Styx like I do. I guess I would not like them either if my friends forced me to listen to them too:) But anyway, I did have friends who were into Styx, but the years have passed and I no longer have anyone to talk to about them.
Adam Sandler, Eric Cartman, the many Simpson references, old VW commercials and the California cows have made Styx somewhat of running pop culture joke. There was even an episode of That Seventies Show where Eric was trying to get to the Styx concert and Hyde was mocking him mercilessly. Oh whoa is the plight of us fans...
But seriously, if you liked Styx before 1984, Dennis DeYoung's new album is kick-ass. BUY IT NOW! Or just wait for the US release then BUY IT. I know I'm somewhat biased, but I haven't been this excited about an album in a long time.
1. One Hundred Years From Now: Duet with a French singer. Great rocker. Anti-war. Great lyrics. The US version will be all in English. This is sung half in English and half French.
2. This Time Next Year: Upbeat, you're depressed now, but a year from now, things will be cool. Really good addictive tune. Kind of reminiscent of "Why Me?" from Cornerstone.
3. Rain: Heavy rocker about Katrina and the desperation of loosing everything. Kind of has a Broadway feel at first, but then transitions back to rock. Great chorus. Lots of really cool seventies sounding keyboards. Great Beatlesque bridge.
4. Save Me: My favorite of the album. Very contemporary. Starts off with soft piano and quickly transitions. Excellent lyrics. Great music. I love the bass line. Very reminiscent of bass line from Babe which fits very well with this song.
5. Breath again: Starts off with a "Prelude 12" and "Ballerina" acoustic guitar, then slips into a light Beatlesque "Fixing a hole" sort of tune. It's a love song to his wife thanking her for everything. (note: There's always one of these on his albums. This one is pretty good. Not my favorite on the album, but catchy)
6. Crossing the Rubicon: Wow. This song just rocks, and I think it's one of the slower songs. Think Castle Walls meets Pieces of Eight meets Pink Floyd. Great psychedelic guitar sound mixed with keyboards. The intro to guitar solo is awesome. Gotta love the "Oberheim" sounding keyboard patch. Very beautiful Styx moments in this song. Great intelligent lyrics.
7. Respect me: Great fun, blues type song. I love this because it's all about the basics.
8. I believe in You: A good solid tune. I hum this one a lot.
9. Forgiveness: I liked this song, but it is kind of heavy-handed in some ways. It's the kind of "You better get on your hands and knees and beg forgiveness" song you like to sing when you are pissed at someone.
10. I don't believe in anything: Dennis DeYoung singing country and being really sarcastic. I would say this was the weakest song on the album because I hate country, but this is actually amusing.
11. Turn off CNN: Very similar in the vein of Music Time, but it's all about turning off the CNN. (FOX or MSNBC could be easily added if it just rhymed better. No political one sided crap here)

Okay, you survived this blog with only a minimal amount of blood loss. I do not intent this to be a Styx central blogging sight, but be warned, from time to time, it may come up.

HELLO OUT THERE?

2007-07-11T00:50:00.000-07:00

Okay, this is my first blog. As you can tell, it is not very exciting. No deep political discussion or witty travel story. Nope. Not here. Just me. Now that we have that established, in the coming days perhaps I'll submit stories or coments that will blow your mind and cause world peace. (or maybe its destruction?)
So until I figure this out, it may be a little rough.