(Almost) Everybody Loves Pop Music.

Westlife.

It all started innocently enough. As I herded my girls into the car, ready for another (long) day of chauffeuring their lucky behinds to various summer camps and sports/music practices, I announced that I had downloaded a new song onto my iPod. This is a fairly unusual event, because I am pretty lost when it comes to new music. I just recently realized that I kind of like Kings of Leon. They are probably broken up by now. At least I actually have an iPod, and not just a Walkman (although I do still own boxes and boxes of tapes.) I was very excited about my new musical acquisition, and couldn't wait to share.

N: You downloaded a song? Really? What song? 

D: You better not have used the iTunes cards we got for our birthday.

After assuring them that no, I bought the song WITH MY OWN MONEY, thank you very much, I turned up the volume.

N: YOU DOWNLOADED THIS SONG???? WHAT'S WRONG WITH YOU? ARE YOU TWELVE?? (No, and you aren't twelve either. Not for another two years.)

D: MOM! UGH! Turn it off!!! It's too...bouncy! UGH! STOP!!!

And on. And on.

The offending song would not be a surprise to anyone that knows me well. (Ok, ok. I will admit it. "One Thing" by One Direction. Happy? Yes! Laugh! I'm used to it.) What can I say? I am an enigma. I gravitate toward darkness. I cried through The Dark Knight Rises. I YouTube the saddest parts of my favorite (sad) movies when I need catharsis (Look! It's Katherine dying in a cave while the Count walks across the desert, trying to save her! It's Harry, besieged by the spirits of loved ones who perished trying to save his ass! It's Viola saying goodbye to Will  before she is shipped off to the Americas!). A lot of times, the music I like induces suicidal ideation. I really do like a lot of different things, and am partial to moody singer/songwriters, loud rock, and Motown. But! The music I truly love, more than anything in the world, is pop (with a special place in my heart for boy bands.)

I don't know why. I can't explain it. Anyone who scrolls through my iPod is usually horrified ("Debbie Gibson?? WTF!???!!). I don't care. I really don't. It is cheesy, and horrible, and absolutely wonderful. My cooler friends shake their heads, perplexed. One of my younger brothers, an architect who gets to spend a lot of time discovering new music WHILE WORKING, is  thoroughly disgusted by me. "You don't even try!!" he laments. (Ok, Mr. Bel Biv Devoe. You weren't always listening to obscure Icelandic bands.)

Pop music, particularly recent stuff, is pretty formulaic. Just ask the Spanish National Research Council, which, in a recent study,  discovered the genre was too loud and all sounded the same. If that's what their scientists are working on, no wonder the Spanish economy is in the toilet. But I digress. "One Thing" does sound just like the 90's staple "I Want it That Way" by Backstreet Boys. But there is something comforting about that formula to me, something never-endingly endearing about the inane lyrics and catchy beats, something to while away the time and make you forget, just for a moment, that wars are being fought, most of us will never have the body of an Olympic athlete, and that people are using fried chicken as a metaphorical symbol of the decline of western civilization (Chicken as Text. As if I don't have anything else to worry about.) 

So I will soldier on. I'm counting on my children to introduce me to new musical horizons, eventually. I only hope they won't disown me before then. No matter. Juice Newton will comfort me in my perpetual state of uncoolness. 

One Thing - One Direction

If I Let You Go - Westlife

Twist and Shout - The Beatles

Shape of My Heart - Backstreet Boys

The One That Got Away - Katy Perry

The End of the Road - Boyz II Men

I Think We're Alone Now - Tiffany

A Heart Unfortified (A Mind Impatient).

(source)

This was an odd week. My car broke down and had to be towed, I couldn't seem to get everything together that I needed to (signed permission slips, lunch menus, the like), my brother found a strange man sitting under a tree in his front yard when he came home from work. When he asked the wayward gent WHAT THE F*&$K ARE YOU DOING?? the man (clutching an 18-back of beer) said, as if it were the most natural thing in the world, "I was waiting for my friend to show up so we could drink these beers!" (Well, at least he had a plan.) However, that was not the strangest or saddest thing to happen in the last few days. My niece's former preschool teacher, a 29 year-old with a very strange and memorable nickname, was brutally murdered along with her daughter and another woman at their home. The suspect is, as is heartbreakingly usual in these cases, the estranged father of the girl. After the act, he set the house on fire.

I just wanted to take a moment to stand on my soapbox, and send prayers and love out into the universe for the families of these lovely, lovely people, and to remind  you all - it could be someone you know - mother, brother, sister, friend - a classmate of your child's - who is suffering some sort of abuse or trauma. Don't be afraid to help the people you love find the help they need. We are all in this together.

Now! Back to the regularly scheduled program (because, as much as we miss those who have left us, the living have to keep living, somehow...). Thanks to Julie, Gypsy In My Soul, who has given me some fabulous awards!! (Clap! Clap!!) 

As part of this, I am supposed to tell you seven things about myself. So, away we go! In no particular order.

1. I love mayonnaise. LOVE it. I eat it on fries. And eggs. On poutine (I hate you, Canada, for introducing me to this delciousness!!!). I have never really had it on poutine, but I want to. On enchiladas (that dish is called Enchiladas Montadas, because I guess they are mounted?) I put mayo and eggs in the same category. I actually made up a sandwich in college that was quite a hit (perhaps more so among the crowd that spends their time in a cloud of therapeutic smoke, if you  know what I mean.). The Maggie Sandwich (I wish it was as titillating as it sounds) consisted of:  a fried egg, american cheese,  and fried bologna. The (white!) bread was buttered on the outside, and the whole thing was toasted in a skillet, like a grilled cheese sandwich. I could use one of those now! And the answer to your next question is yes, I was chubbier in college. And as for your second question? DO NOT EVEN TRY TO GIVE ME MIRACLE WHIP!!! You Brits though have a lovely thing called salad cream, and that is really tasty also. I could dedicate this post to all the things I love to eat, acually: fruit chutneys with cheese, a stack of chocolate chip cookies piled in a mug with milk poured on top and eaten with a spoon, peanut butter....

2. I pick up accents fairly quickly. It's embarrassing, because the cumulative effect is that I sound like I am mocking people. By far the worst was when we were in Ireland, because that little lilt? At the end of a phrase? That sounds like a question? Yes. That one. I also can do a pretty good Australian accent (on purpose) but I have to to be reading something out loud - it doesn't just come out. No alcohol required.

3. I tried to sell my next-youngest brother on a street corner when I was about five, and he was almost 2. I guess I was jealous of the new kid, so put a sign around his neck that said "Boy for sale, $30" and dragged him to the end of our street. It's that Arab blood you know. We're business people at heart! My horrified mother only realized what was happening when he got thirsty and came in for a drink of water. We still joke about it now, although mostly it is me saying,"Too bad that sale didn't go through" when he rankles me somehow. Thank God no creeps were out in the neighborhood that day!

4. I am afraid of the dark. I can sleep in darkness if there is someone next to me. If there is someone, but down the hall, it doesn't help. I need a night light.

5. In real life, I am like the second coming of Gandhi, and it pains me deeply to even kill bugs (except roaches, which are evil. And scorpions, which freak me out.). In my entertainment selections (books and movies) I want violence. Car chases. I don't like shooting, more mano a mano. Boxing movies. Fast and the Furious. Gladiator!!!!!!!!!!

6. I collect honeys and salts. My spice cabinet is brimming!! At least they are food products that I will use, I hope, one day. I also love dairy. Check out my fridge!

Rice pudding. Yogurts from Lebanon, Greece, Iceland, Australia. Sour cream. Milk. Mexican crema. Creme fraiche (which is like a French-style sour cream.) There may be buttermilk and fresh cream hiding behind the lemonade; I wouldn't put it past me. That's also not including the butters (French, Irish, Land o Lakes) or the cheeses (cream cheese, cheddar, pecorino romano, feta, whatever Baby Bell is, Gouda, parmesan, provolone.) I think I need a snack right about now.

7. I don't know how to play chess, and it embarrasses me. I tried to learn, but didn't understand it. Too much strategy for a fly by the seat of her pants girl like me.

And now, a random playlist!

The Dead Milkmen - Punk Rock Girl

The Clash - Should I Stay Or Should I Go?

Icehouse - Crazy

My Bloody Valentine - Sometimes

Morrissey - The More You Ignore Me, The Closer I Get

Hurry Back to Me (My Wild Calling).

Not that this is really news to anyone, but raising kids these days is hard. And by hard, I really mean OHMYDEARGODPLEASEHELPMENOTKILLMYSELFOROTHERSTODAYTHANKYOUVERYMUCH. It really is an age of unprecedented stimulation, and it's everything I can do to keep them occupied in healthy and productive ways.

Their birthday was recently, and as a gift, they received...well, iPod Touches. Before you judge, in my defense, they were chosen as gifts in lieu of a birthday party, and actually turned out to be cheaper than a fete at Chuck E. Cheeze or some other bastion of horror. I also made sure to load up exciting apps like Math is Awesome and King Lear For Grade Schoolers. No matter. My daughters asked if I had that song "about the boyfriend that looks like a girlfriend? By The Killers?" (This, I blame on their uncle, one of my dear brothers. Again, shirking responsibility, here.) Sigh.

The girls also received Target gift cards from one of their aunties, and off we trudged to redeem them. The little munchkins had assured me that they wanted to buy useful things, like clothes and shoes, but upon entering the retail paradise, changed their minds entirely. Although I had warned them there was a time limit, they spent ages looking at almost every single item in the toy section as I tried to keep track of where they were.

As they were shopping, I came across the above-pictured doll. The Perfect Boyfriend! Incredible! Just what I've always wanted! I doubt I have seen anything quite as disturbing in recent memory. Ken's shirt is emblazoned with the phrase "The Ultimate Boyfriend" in a plethora of different languages, in case you didn't get the hint. What makes him so great, besides the preternaturally blondish hair and sculpted abs? Ken already is missing his manly bits, and The Perfect Boyfriend has taken this castration to new heights. "YOU MAKE ME TALK!" So, utter any phrase into his diminutive little noggin, and he will repeat it to you in his own voice. Sweet Talker. Imagine the possibilities, if you could make your partner parrot things back to you! No disagreements, only perfection. And unrelenting boredom.

I think this doll is absolutely wretched for lots of reasons. Firstly, girls that play with dolls should not be thinking about boyfriends, perfect or not, at that age. Secondly, it gives a terrible touchstone for what a healthy relationship should be, showing that it matters not if your beloved has the brains of a boiled cabbage, as long as he does whatever you say. Also, that it's OK to have a guy's cojones, as we say in these here parts, crushed into oblivion, making him meek and submissive and unable to voice his opinion without further damage to his already fragile psyche. It's demeaning to boys, demeaning to girls, demeaning to society as a whole. I know, I know. It's just a doll, right?

I'm not the mom that banned Barbies because I thought they portrayed an unrealistic view of a woman's body (although I did nix cheerleading because I wanted them to PLAY a sport, not cheer for one, and I hate the skimpy costumes. Yes, cheerleaders were awful to me in school. Why do you ask?) There is just something about THIS particular doll that rubbed me the wrong way - if you could even be rubbed by a eunuch.

(Dislaimer: The above discussion does not mean that I am above berating my husband for his poor dishwasher-loading skills or his inability to listen to more than half of every sentence I utter. But that's another post entirely.)

Thankfully, the girls avoided the Barbie section altogether, and settled on Legos and a Harry Potter DS game and remote control cars. Now I have to contemplate the subtext of THAT....

The Cure - Boys Don't Cry

U2 -Stories For Boys
Fall Out Boy - This Ain't A Scene, It's An Arms Race
Backstreet Boys - Shape of My Heart
Pet Shop Boys - Always On My Mind