New Music!

I wish I had some super glamorous excuse for not posting last week but the truth is, I forgot. Normally, I start writing around 9 or 10 AM, but last Friday Ray LaMontagne tickets went on sale at 10 AM. I got such awesome seats (there may have been some very excited, very profanity laden text messages sent to my husband) that everything else sorta left my head.

Speaking of glamour (we were, weren’t we? oh well, just go with it), I stumbled on some new music! Driving to school the other day I heard this song and fell in love. Unfortunately, since I was driving I couldn’t write down the name of the song or singer , all I remembered was his name was Nick “something with two words” and thought it was Nick Hightower. After searching the internet for an hour for Nick Hightower, I finally figured out it was actually Nick Waterhouse (this may precisely be the moment I became my mother . She still calls Geraldo Rivera, “Grenaldo“). You’ve probably heard him, too, without knowing it, because the song “Say I Wanna Know” is in a really horrible Acura commercial. Seriously, it’s the only redeeming thing in that commercial.

Anyway, downloading the entire album, Time’s All Gone, I haven’t stopped listening. If you like any of the retro new soul singers like Raphael Saadiq, Amy Winehouse, or Mayer Hawthorne, you will love Nick Waterhouse. What does this have to do with glamour? Well, this whole album is so lush, full, confident and sexy that if it sprouted legs and started to walk around, it would look like this:

Click play at the bottom of the page and watch this gif. It’s hypnotic.

It made me want to wear my hair in an updo and wear a Joan dress everyday this week. Granted, I own no Joan dresses and the only resemblance I have to her is that we are human women inhabiting Earth, but let me have my dream.

Being me, I couldn’t stumble on new music and remake the album cover or a poster. So I went straight to Illustrator and Photoshop and made that opening graphic. It’s not my best work and the colors are inspired by my shower curtain, but I tried to make it look 60’s-ish and incorporate his glasses a little, which seem to be his trademark.

I hope you have a great week and I’ll try to remember to update next week (or at least have a better excuse). In the meantime, listen to Nick Waterhouse and get your 60’s glamour on.

*I updated the opening graphic a little later in the day. This one is a little more interesting, I think.


Gym Class Anti-Hero

All this Olympic talk has been giving me flashbacks to school gym class. You know that girl in gym who had cramps 26 days out of every month and couldn’t participate? That was me. But before I landed on that gem of an excuse, I had to participate in grade school gym.

I refuse to believe that all gym teachers are sadistic freaks who take great glee in seeing fat kids fall down, but mine totally were. My first memory of gym class is playing Duck, Duck, Goose in first grade. I remember thinking, “Please don’t pick me to be goose.” Of course, I got picked to be goose. So, in an effort to make it look like I was not phoning it in, I picked like the forth kid to be the next goose and as I’m running back to my spot, I tripped (don’t act like you’re surprised), my plastic headband fell into my eyes and I landed right in the middle of our Duck, Duck, Goose circle. Instead of, I don’t know, asking if I was okay or helping me up, our gym teacher yelled at me that I needed to stop making a spectacle of myself and sit down. I wanted to say, “All I wanted was to sit down in the first place!” But I was busy cleaning grass and rocks out of my knees.

This teacher was particularly adept at finding odd things for us to do. We spent several days learning a dance routine to “Celebration” by Kool and the Gang using a kickball as a prop. I’ve got as much rhythm as athletic ability, if that gives you an idea at how that went. Then there  was scooter hockey. There is a special place in Hell for whatever sick bastard thought of this madness. First off, the “scooter” was an approximately 2 inch by 2 inch block of wood on 4 metal casters. It would have been the correct size for an 18 month old , not a tubby 6 year old. If I moved just a little bit off of center, I’d fall off and chances were pretty good someone would run over my fingers. If that wasn’t enough, they gave us tiny wooden hockey sticks. I remember thinking, “This doesn’t seem safe” as I simultaneously fell off my scooter,  had my fingers ran over, and got whacked in the face with a mini-hockey stick

Maybe it was my inability to dance with a kickball to R&B hits of the 80’s or my lack of scooter hockey skills, but eventually I was pulled out of class once a week for extra gym. On paper it was called PMT, but we all knew it was really called Remedial Gym For Dopey Kids (this will someday be the title of my first book). Basically, whatever torture we were working on in gym, we did in RGfDK, but there was less screaming at us. In the future, my fellow RGfDK classmates would all go on to the math team, advanced science classes,  I’m pretty sure one kid was brokering a Middle East peace deal during recess and I was the slightly amusing idiot (some things never change). But at the time, we were all wondering why learning a somersault and square dancing seemed to be critical to our futures.

In 5th grade, I had moved on from The Dancing Queen and now had 2 male teachers who were really big on gymnastics. I was 5’2″ at 10 years old- I was not built for gymnastics! Not to mention that I’ve had ear problems that have effected my balance my entire life. But try telling those sickos that. It seemed like we did nothing but gymnastics and scooter hockey that year (my personal Hell). They split us into groups,  had us work on specific exercises at each piece of gymnastics equipment, then after 10 or so minutes would blow the whistle and we would rotate. On the rings, we were supposed to lift our legs into the rings and then flip out and on to the matt. Um yeah…okay. Big shock, I couldn’t do it. One day, both teachers called me over to the rings. Without telling me what they were doing, they both picked me up and attempted to stick my legs in the rings against my will. Apparently, all those years of teaching had deadened their ability to judge exactly how loud a 10 year old girl can scream. Chunky 10 y/o Beth: +1, Suddenly Deaf Gym Teachers 0. 

As an adult I can see that our teachers were trying to give us a taste of different sports so we would hopefully find some kind of physical activity we would like. Also, they were limited by the classroom environment. But I wonder if splitting the classes up by their strengths would have been better? For example, in a class with 30 kids, 5 like running, 6 like gymnastics, 7 like baseball, 6 like tennis, and 6 like basketball. Let’s be real, we aren’t talking about math and science here, so what is the harm in letting the kids do the activities they like instead of forcing them into something they don’t have any interest in? Being forced to do these things I had no aptitude for made me hate playing sports for the longest time. I was an adult before I realized I’m actually a pretty decent softball hitter. My life has not been harmed because I can’t do a cartwheel. Then again, I don’t have a job and am back in college, so maybe that cartwheel thing is the missing piece after all.  Hmm…