“I run this land you understand, I make myself clear!”
The first time I saw this album CD cassette cover it was hot off the presses in the fall of ’86. I was a high school junior listening to it in the little red (was it a Datsun?) pick up truck of a senior who I had a mad crush on. It was basketball season and he was a basketball star and so it was working out for me (JB would taunt me endlessly on the days we went to AP Calculus, sitting behind me: “N.I, N.I., N.I., N.I…” he would hiss) that aside, I remember being absolutely enthralled by every song on the cassette that would play on repeat as N.I. and I sat in that inconvenient little truck. One more reason to put up with N.I., I suppose. That “relationship” made it through the basketball season, about all one could have hoped for, but me and the Beasties lasted much longer.
We were white kids in the suburbs, stuck in a decade whose music would go from entetainting early 80s music to the shittiest era of music known to man. (I think our prom theme song was White Snake, or it could have been Bon Jovi – which has a little more retro-panache, but either way: Ouch.) I was always trying to find the next cool thing (or the next cool-all-over-again thing), musically speaking (well, with regard to boys too…) Some of my favorites at the time included The Cure, The Violent Femmes, Run DMC, The Rave-Ups, OMD, the Beatles, the Stones, and maybe a little Madonna.
Remember those? Not a bad sampling relative to what we were dealing with (and I still listen to almost all of of them – True Blue requires alcohol), but geneerally speaking, we were ready for something new.
The song I liked the best right away was “She’s Crafty” and then my next favorite was “Girls” (hey, it was 1986.) Then it was “Paul Revere”. Eventually I loved every song on the record except for “Fight for your right” – don’t know why, I just never liked that one. The whole album was a riot. And by riot I mean the entire denoted meaning: a noisy, violent public disorder caused by a group or crowd of persons, as by a crowd protesting against another group,a government policy, etc., in the streets, a disturbance of the public peace by three or more persons acting together in a disrupting and tumultuous manner in carrying out their private purposes, violent or wild disorder or confusion, a brilliant display, something or someone hilariously funny. I recall my dad saying that it was a joke record. “They don’t play instruments,” he said. “I hope they are in on the joke,” he commented.
I think so.
License to Ill was hardly their best work. Paul’s Boutique and Hello Nasty may be my favorites. But then again, Check your head and Ill Communication are pretty awesome too. Suffice it to say, I just love the Beastie Boys.
In 2009 I won tickets to see them headline at Street Scene in San Diego thanks to a Twitter contest – it was the best prize I ever won. But then they had to pull out of the tour because MCA (Adam Yauch) was too sick to play. I was terribly disappointed, but mostly just relieved to know that MCA seemed to be pulling through by the fall of that year.
The Beasties would come up time and again in my life… last year succumbing to popular demand, a colleague and I lipsynched “Paul Revere” for our freshman, there is a video of it somewhere floating around YouTube. One of my seniors in AP Lit chose “Brass Monkey” for his song analysis as part of his culminating assignment for our unit on poetry analysis. I think he was trying to stick it to the man – the man being the teacher – by choosing the most nonsensical song he could. Who was laughing when I could school him on all the finer points of not only the album it come from, but the general evolution of the Beastie Boys, and their influence on hip hop? Well, really, we all were, but score one for the teacher. Most of my friends and I still make Beastie references with regularity: Hey Ladies!!
So on a sunny spring day when I hear that MCA was finally taken away by Cancer, I am overwhelmed with myriad emotions. One of the authors of the soundtrack to my high school and college years, MCA is indelibly imprinted on my musical heart and soul (probably my parents’ too as they had to listen to the music on constant reply for at least the last two years we lived together) is gone. It makes me a bit sad, somewhat nostalgic, totally Intergalactic, overly pensive, yell Hey Ladies, wonder Watcha Want, and overwhelmed with Gratitude.
But mostly it makes me wanna take a Slow Ride.
Thank you MCA. You made so many things so much more fun.
RIP Adam Yauch
Another holiday that serves to stir up some confusion, but in the end, it is about gratitude.
Father’s Day (more correctly meant to be written Fathers’ Day) lands squarely on the third Sunday in June every year. Today is that day. It should be a fairly uncomplicated concept: a reciprocal day to match Mother’s Day occurring a month or so prior, and honoring… Thy Father. But, it is not so simple. Not because I have uncertain parentage, or horrifying “Daddy Issues”, or because “it takes a village…” But more because I have been truly blessed with good parents, of the mother and father types. To specify a single day to recognize this seems like a very trite, and narrow, sentiment.
Still, for those of you who do know me, you may know why the day brings up issues for me that do not parallel the feelings I have surrounding Mother’s Day. [I have an alpha-momma, and I recognize and honor her everyday.] But I have two very different men who share responsibility for me. I hope they are okay with this… I have tried to make them both proud.
I have a dad. He reminds me of this song. I know him – really know him, and acknowledge him and appreciate him. I love him.
But I also have a step-dad. I hate that term, it is so… secondary. And my step-dad is not. He reminds me of this song. Don’t ask, somethings just are what they are. (T, I resisted using Edith Piaf, you can thank me later.) Though I put him through the paces that all (or maybe not all, but at least the strong-willed among us) six-year olds would, he stuck around. Always. In every possible way. And I know him and acknowledge him and appreciate him. I love him.
There is no way that I could have, or would have ever, in a million incarnations or efforts, become the person I am today without either of these men, though obviously through completely different contributions and means.
And so here I sit. Amidst a slew of cards that have never ever reflected any bit of what I have seen as “fatherly.” Ties? The Home/Office Depot™? Golf? Beer with the dudes? Who has these kinds of dads? Hallmark™, WTF are you even talking about?
Who decides if you are Second Best?
My high school coach used to call me Avis. He did this in an obvious play on one of my other nicknames, as one of his myriad ways of teasing me. At the time, all of his teasing fell into the same category for me: cruel. I was an overly sensitive teenage girl after all, so of course, I let it all get to me, in the wrong way. In hindsight (as it always happens) I see a lot more of the subtext to the seemingly harsh words Coach J had for me. I think I get it.
Or at least I thought I did.
My coach never gave me shit for coming in second unless he knew I should have won. In one sub par performance against Analy High School, a meet that mattered far more for team points than personal glory, I remember telling him that I had been the meet’s top scorer with my second place finish the 100 meter hurdles. He raised an eyebrow and said second was the first loser. I was outraged. But he was right. The girl who beat me was lame and the only reason she had beat me was that I had been all upset about Josh Ingalls not asking me to the prom and it was all I had been talking about for days. I remember being flabbergasted when Coach told me to get a prom date already and be done with it. He had known all along.
He mostly called me Avis during the basketball season. And I couldn’t stand it. Basketball teams are so small, and even if they are completely dysfunctional, they are tight-knit. Add to this that our group was really competitive in all the best and worst ways. So when he started adding the tagline to my nickname (you try harder!) I took it really personally, as if I had to try harder than the other girls because of some deficiency. It made me furious. Again, looking back, his tactics seem not only obvious, but effective. He knew I cared and that in fact I did try harder, and that I would always try harder regardless of, well, anything. He did not see this as pathetic, he saw it as tenacious, honorable, and a work ethic he could respect.
As a sixteen year-old, mired in the 80s where one could never be too rich or too thin (as Piaget borrowed Wallis Simpson’s famous quote over and over to remind us…) and the worst possible thing one could ever do was look like they were trying, I just hated it.
And what of it, being second best? What does it mean? I recently was given pause to consider this on a wholly new level. It was like being called Avis all over again. If you are someone’s second choice, does that make you second best?
Of course, my initial response to being relegated to second place is “Fuck you,” because I am klassy and tolerant like that. Like, really? I am a back up plan? But it comes back to that whole lens of subjectivity concept: why does the way I see myself have anything to do with the Avis-colored lenses of another? There is no harm in trying hard. Or harder. As long as this is not wholly to serve someone, or something, else. I am not going to try any harder to right this current situation by somehow suggesting that, in fact, I am far more likely to end up being the Hertz in this analogy. If that is the case it will become evident, and at that point, someone else may be behind the wheel.
I don’t mind being a little Avis-like. If it means you are nice, honorable and responsible, I am cool with that. I will be nice because I am, and I will not take people for granted, because I don’t. But I am not going to pander for your business. And if you decide that perhaps you made the wrong decision, someone else may have already figured that out. Most significantly, me.
Coach, I may have finally worked it out.
Thank you.
ps: Although, Coach, if you ever read this, the flies on dung simile never really made me feel all that much better. Just sayin’.
Word to your Mother.
Word(s) to my mother:
strength, bravery, compassion, wisdom, love, support, creativity, generosity, optimism, humor
When I was a young(er) and (more) cantankerous girl, I made a proclamation: I don’t want to have kids. Frankly, I was like 13, so really, in terms of what I “wanted” I did not know shit, but I made the assertion. With vehemence and regularity. When I try to recall the inspirations behind my younger thoughts I am often met with a sort of hazy familiarity that suggests with deeper concentration I could pull myself back to that earlier consciousness, but I think that is probably pretty unlikely. Sometimes I wonder if I was just saying it to be “alternative” or if it was a response to my understanding of what a pain in the ass I might be… or if really, I sort of knew that I was honestly not compelled to breed. Make no mistake, I adore kids. I am constantly blown away by the amazing little people who my friends have created and encouraged and allowed me to be a part of in myriad ways. But try as I might, I can never muster up some sense of absence or lack or an incompleteness when I think about the fact that I do not have my own children.
Perhaps I was a smarter 13-year-old than I thought and I just used the wrong verb, saying ‘want’ when I meant ‘need’. [However, I also do not think that (everyone) has kids because they feel a need or compulsion to do so.] Regardless of my own maternal status, on Mother’s Day I am always very grateful for all the mother’s I know, especially my own.
On Mother’s Day, I remember how lucky I have been to have the mother I do, the grandmother’s I have, and the other mom’s who have been there for me over the years. I look at my friends with immeasurable admiration and love for the wonderful parents they are. I recall the lessons these women have shared with me about all the ways we can be a woman, a mother, a sister, an auntie, whether we have children or not.
Mother’s Day reminds me to grateful, but most of all it makes me very proud to be a woman and somehow a part of this sisterhood without which, we’d have nothing.
Thank you, mom.
I love you.
This is dedicated to my momma, my grandmas, my aunties and, among many others, Marcia J., Carol C., Cynthia, Jill M-K., Rennie, Anna M., Erica P., Mara, Kerry, Adele, Amy Z., Kelly C-W, Joan, Nickie A., and a new generation of moms, my students: Celia C., Danielle W., Tamie T., Liz A., Danielle A., Laura A.
Happy New Year!
It seems impossible to believe that 2010 has come to an end. I remember Gust Proutsos, back in my first year at Procter Hug High School in Reno, told me that I was going to be absolutely blown away at how fast the years would speed by. I was unsure if this was a comment on age, perception, or working in a profession that is so totally locked into a temporal relativity. Regardless, Mr. Proutsos knew what was up. I cannot believe that I started this year in Bali, still a Hong Kong resident, then meandered through Burma and India, then found myself Stateside again in the exact circumstances I had abstractly described as a goal in September of 2009.
It is nothing short of fascinating.
Everywhere I look I am hearing people talk about how they cannot wait for this year to end. They are so over 2010. 2010 was so bad/hard/unfair/miserable… I guess, again, I am an anomaly. Sitting at the Latin American Club last week enjoying a cold beer on a rainy night with a very cute and inappropriate compadre, I was considering things, my life and the like. He looked at me and said, “You are such a positive person. I mean, you love your job, your house, your family. You really love your life.” He kind of chuckled and I smiled.
Yes. Yes, I do.
Thank you very very much.
Last year a friend from home suggested posting something on your chosen social media outlet, for which you were thankful everyday in November up until Thanksgiving. I took the bait. I was going to be working through my fifth Turkey-free holiday in Hong Kong. Literally. Working. Straight. Through. In fact, the week of Thanksgiving tended to generate some of my busiest work days. It sucked. But the act of consciously contemplating what I was thankful for was really cool.
This year everything has shifted for me. And even though I did not do daily posts about what I am grateful for, I certainly have been aware of my gratitude. The way 2010 shook down for me was nothing short of amazing. Do not make the foolish assumption that this means it was easy; but phenomenal shit doesn’t really seem like it should come easy, now does it?
This year I am so thankful that I get to spend the holidays with my family for the first time since 2004 – or maybe even 2003. That is too long to go without a family holiday, no matter how crazy (wonderful) or unpredictable (interesting) your family might be. We have had some doozies too. Some high/low-lights include:
- Wisdom teeth removal over Senior year Christmas and looking like a total chipmunk, and my last with Willy.
- Santa Fe, 1989 – “The Driest Christmas I’ve Ever Had” [Thank you Frances] add to that the vomit, drugs and Gramma ordering eggs it was pure holiday bliss.
- Every Thanksgiving my dad’s ex-wife cooked for: NO ONE LIKED YOUR OYSTER STUFFING. DEAL WITH IT.
- Tofurky at Bodega Harbour.
- And many many more – but in the interest of protecting the semi-innocent…
This year I am so glad that I will not be working through the day and calling my family from 15,000 miles away and a day late to play pass the receiver and wistfully dream of the food.
And how did I get here? Most of you know the story. I wanted it all to happen. And it did. I keep hearing all these people bitch about everything from the gigantic things totally out of their control to the minutia that they have created for themselves and I wonder, have they never taken the words of His Holiness the 14th Dalai Lama who tells us in no uncertain terms: “If you have fear of some pain or suffering, you should examine whether there is anything you can do about it. If you can, there is no need to worry about it; if you cannot do anything, then there is also no need to worry.” And when they say they are not worried they are just pointing out how lame everything is, you gotta wonder why there is nothing better going on up there. At least you could be Alfred E. Newman about it and STFU.
The other day at the beginning of my yoga practice the instructor asked us to identify and share something that we love in our life. One person said cappuccino. Another said her job. I thought for a minute and the only answer I could think of just came out:
“Everything.”
I love everything about my life.
Again, I would reassure you that I am not some daft Pollyanna about this and I do not think that my life is perfect, but at the same time, there is not one part of it that I do not love. I really could not think of one thing. And the more gratitude I acknowledged the more obviously rad my life appeared.
Through a rather pragmatic lens, one has to ask, what is the alternative: bitching? To what end? My BFF quit Twitter this year because she said that she was just sick to death of the negativity and the bitching. I was a little surprised. When my mom began to share more of her spiritual practice with me, I remember being very concerned that she was no longer going to be funny (a key element of her multi-faceted personality) if she was all concerned about being so bloody nice. I understand both of them now. When I look around and see how everyone is just so bent on waiting for the next week, month, year, job, boyfriend, girlfriend, carping on every situation, circumstance, potentiality… they are missing not only the point, they are missing the opportunity to live. And really? They are not that witty either. Just redundant. Plus, I have it on good authority, when shit goes wonky… it’s hard to know who to blame.
And so, yeah, that sounds totally all hyperbolic and syrupy sweet. But really, I am not worried about it. I am just acknowledging.
- I am thankful for my family and being able to spend time with them
- I am thankful that I have a job that I love
- I am thankful that I have a place to live that I adore in a city I love even more
- I am thankful for the ability to afford to do the things I want to do
- I am thankful for the teachers in my life who manifest in very surprising forms
- I am thankful for my friends right here and around the world
- I am thankful for the love of my small, bossy cat
- I am thankful for plenty of good food
- I am thankful for a body that does all the things I want it to
- I am thankful for 40 years of a life so interesting
- I am thankful for the shit which has made me stronger, but not bitter
- I am thankful for the opportunities that I have had and then ones that will come
Happy Thanksgiving.
Ahhhh…. Carbohydrates: Thank YOU.
Alright… so it is winter in Hong Kong now. I think I wrote about it being fall last week, and that was nice. For a minute. Now it is winter and it is cold. Before you go telling me what a thin-skinned baby I must mention that when it gets into the forties here, with the damp and the lack of insulation and floor to ceiling tile… it is cold. Like colder than San Francisco summers cold. Colder than Incline winters cold. For real, because at least in Incline my Audi had heated seats and stylish warm boots were on my feets.
Here, it is just cold. And I do not have my cold weather clothes. And the cold came without warning. I very well may end up in one of the hats pictured above; a really popular item on the street today, by the way… Along with full length down parkas.
It is 52 degrees out there today. [My aunt visiting from Portland thinks it is all a bit funny.] It will be 44 tomorrow. Brr.
To be fair, the weather has been a bit harsh, huge winds and spitting rain last night on my walk home, a sampan was out due to the sea conditions. And my cats are going mental because I am not leaving their in-and-out window open because if I do I cannot get my apartment warm enough at night. So last night when I got home it looked like someone had tossed my place. But no, just cat mayhem. And I was too tired to deal with it. I was up at 5 a.m. yesterday to go to early yoga then less early yoga, then to get my nails done, then to lunch then to work, then to another appointment, then to the ferry, then home. At 10:30 p.m. Consequently, this morning I was exhausted on awakening at 6:00 a.m. and looked outside at the seriously blustery day.
The sky was grey.
The sea was black.
The trees were getting whipped.
The wind was really howling.
All I wanted to do was to crawl back into bed with a book, some hot coffee.
And a truck load of carbohydrates.
For real: all I want these days consists of baked goods, bread, muffins, croissants… you name the carb – I want it. It is a good thing it is winter and I have to wear every item of clothing I own simultaneously because for now at least it will disguise my irresistible urge for carbo-loading that the cold weather has induced. At least until it gets hot again – likely to be in a week or so.
And so in keeping with the Thanksgiving gratitude thing… yesterday I was very thankful for hot coffee and yummy hot soup, and today I want to say thanks for the change in the weather which makes everything seem a little more cozy, and the November 1 Christmas decorations slightly less sacrilegious… and the carbohydrates that much more delicious.
Oh, and thank you thank you thank you for the yoga practice that will also help to stave off the effects of scandalous carb consumption.
Okay… Okay! Okay!!! I get it! There is a lot to learn.
I realize that learning is infinite. I accept this fully. I generally even really appreciate this and advocate for embracing this as one of life’s greatest gifts.
But Holy Hell! Can a kid get a break once in a while? I am so tired of *%$*%)@!*^ learning lessons lately.
My brain is F-U-L-L.
I have no idea if the lessons have been here to learn all along and I have been too obtuse to notice, or if there is in fact, something major going on. But Oh. My. God. It is full on. I often watch my friend Adele’s amazing young son with awe as he is taking in all the world has to teach him. And he, my little B.F.F., has much to learn. He knows this and is okay with it most of the time. But there are those moments, like the moments I had today, when you can see the emotion welling up in him because it is all just too much to comprehend and yes, too much to freaking LEARN, sometimes. Of course, unlike me, he is five. He is supposed to be immersed in life lessons. Where is the justice here?
Sometimes I wish it could just be easy. For my L.B.F.F. and for me.
In the course of a few short hours today I had so much to take in. I think I managed. But it was exhausting. Flexibility, patience, chillaxing. Sometimes those are the only things you need.
And yoga, of course. Thank whoever I need to thank for that.
So yeah, in keeping with the Days of Gratitude leading up to Thanksgiving, I am thankful for the lessons, but still, man, I could use a break for just minute.
How about tomorrow?
Do you thank your family much?
I spend a great deal of time talking about my family. Among friends, old and new, in countries near and far: My family resonates resonance. In my classrooms they become models, examples, heroes, metaphors, motifs, sages, symbols; paragons of all the things that combine to make up the complex conglomerate of a family such as mine.
But they do not become these things through my words. They are these things through the way they live their lives.
I am thankful for my family.
And sometimes it is especially important to thank the ones who are the hardest to reach.
And today?
Today, I am very thankful
For the realization that
The grass
Is so rarely greener,
Elsewhere.
Saying thanks…
A person I know from a long time ago posted something on that notoriously annoying social networking site today that I really liked. It said:
Every day this month until Thanksgiving, think of one thing that you are thankful for…
Of course, there were some other requisite instructions I am going to ignore because that is how I am, but as an exercise, this is a good one. So, to start with, thank you Lance.
Today I am thankful for the return of my slightly distracted mojo courtesy of these two Tweets from the LA Times Books and the brilliant Lizz Winstead. [I mean if Sarah Palin and Carrie Prejan can write, come on...]
Hey, uh huh huh, hey hey hey…
Amanda’s Epic Tour de Force of America ’09:
What I like about you, you really know how to dance
When you go up, down, jump around, think about true romance, yeah!!
- Anna – I love it that you know exactly what I need when I need it. You go, Flamer Flav.
- Ian – I love it that you really do have the most fun where ever you are… that is straight skillz.
- Sean – You called like you said you would… well played.
- Ivan, Alex, Jarad – You hung with the older generation and remained cool. And you took me to Jimboys. Nice!
- Michael V – I love it that you are totally real. In every way. Complete awesomeness.
- Annie – I love it that you were a ‘virgin’ with me and brought perfect weather! And thank you for reminding me to wash my belly button!!
- Uncle Reecey – I love it how you embraced all that was unexpected. Your efforts were unsurpassed.
- Mom – I love it that you made everything how it was and is.
- T – I love that you stay you ’cause you rock.
- Rennie – I love your humor and grace at a Wonder Woman pace.
- Tres – I love that you continue to have hope in the crazy that is me.
- Eric B – I love it that you know that a shout out from HST would pretty much be the pinnacle of existence for me.
- Aunt Nancy – I love it that you identify (and kind of embrace) the hypocrisy that is everywhere and show me how it is okay.
- Aunt T – I love it how you are still the hottest thing going and still swoon for Jackson.
- Andy – I love watching you be a dad.
- Lowell & Claire – I love that you were so psyched to see and make time for your long lost cousin.
- Mara – I love that you handle everything, and time and distance aside we are still Amos and MPFW.
- Dee – I love your authenticity and sense of humor and that you get all the quotes. (Amy’s Chinese Take Out? Really nice.)
- Mollie – I love that you were so generous with your time and space and up for meeting all the wonderfully crazy people I surround myself with.
- Will & Cynthia – I love that being with you was just perfect; from first birthdays to ninth birthdays to 39th. Solid love.
- TJ & Marcia – I love all the millions of ways we are family.
- Ned – You rock! Thanks for sharing September 22nd!
- Ron – You truly are the Brother from Another Mother. There is not time or space to list what I like about you. And since you are going to call me a giant kiss ass for all this I am including your picture (in our Target shoes.) (more…)
Amanda
