Jonathan and Chuck started it, and it is a subject near and dear to me. I give you…the soundtrack to my life. Warning: I ramble on at length.

Age three or four. I dance around my grandparents’ house, on command, to early Elvis tunes.
My first live music show. Kenny Rogers at the State Fair at age five.
My Dad’s awesome reel to reel players. Alternately listening to Elton John’s Rocket Man, and The William Tell Overture. When the latter was playing my brother and I would gallop around the living room like horses.

Early 80s. I like the usual suspects…but I become completely obsessed with Duran Duran. I want to marry John Taylor…despite some confusion after learning he likes to wear women’s underpants.

5th grade. Finding a Quiet Riot tape on top of the trash can at the local gas station. The tape had been partially eaten, but I was able to get it working. Bringing it to school garners me about five minutes of fame with my classmates.

1984. Prince’s Purple Rain tour. We weren’t allowed to see the movie (too “racy”), but we’re taken to the show at the old Civic Center. The crowd seems to be comprised of scantily clad women wearing little but purple lingerie.

Junior high. My older step-brother is the guitarist for a local lycra-wearing hair band (their eventual claim-to-fame…peaking when they open for Warrant). I’m still loving the mainstream 80s music, but wanting something more. Somehow I discover KFAI 90.3 (how did I get the signal all the way in the burbs?) and tape their Sunday late night alternative show (sort of like a radio version of MTV’s 120 minutes). Discover and obsess over bands from the obscure to the better known. Screaming Trees, The Bolshoi, Ministry, Trip Shakespeare, Bauhaus, Joy Division, The Smiths, Throwing Muses, Siouxse and the Banshees, This Mortal Coil, The Cure, Violent Femmes, R.E.M. My bedroom walls are plastered with posters of Robert Smith. Discover local “club” that has a teen night. Spend Saturday nights dancing to Dead or Alive’s You Spin Me Round. Like a record, baby. Speaking of which…I discover Northern Lights Records (now long-defunct) and buy an Echo and the Bunnymen record. I’m taken to my first record convention and pick up some Elvis Costello. Listen to both on a crappy all-in-one stereo unit purchased from Best Buy with birthday money.

1987. The summer after 8th grade. Pivotal. I discover Suicidal Tendencies, The Circle Jerks, and Minor Threat. I go to my first show at First Avenue. Skatepunks Agent Orange headline. My life is changed. My goal now is to see as many live shows as possible. In the next couple of years punk shows become my favorite, though I don’t settle on a genre. I see The Mighty Lemon Drops with Love and Rockets at The Guthrie. Love and Rockets, again, this time at the Orpheum with The Pixies opening. Depeche Mode at Northrop. De la Soul on their 3 feet high and rising tour, at the St. Paul Armory, of all places. And there are several arena shows. The Cure’s Kiss Me Kiss Me Kiss Me tour, R.E.M.’s Green tour, Billy Idol (because Gene Loves Jezebel opened) and some INXS tour, all at the old Met Center. The Replacements at Roy Wilkins. A spectacular lineup of New Order, PiL (thankfully I was too far away to be spat on by Johnny Rotten) and the Sugarcubes at the old Civic Center.

Tenth grade. 1989. My brother is diagnosed with leukemia. Our lives are in limbo, each of us holding our breath. My time is split between the hospital, home, and hardcore. Sunday night all ages shows in the 7th Street Entry are my salvation. Local bands Blind Approach, Downside, Libido Boyz. Touring bands Judge, Naked Raygun, Gorilla Biscuits, Youth of Today. All that finger pointing, screaming, singing along. The raw energy is my release.

Junior and senior year. Some random shows. Gwar in close quarters in the entry (thankfully I was wearing black, the splattering fake blood was unavoidable). Public Enemy, sans Flavor Flav, at GlamSlam. Fishbone, also at GlamSlam. Around this time conditions form for the first post-punk/emo bands to thrive. I love Samiam, listening to their records repeatedly. Fugazi comes to town, but their smaller brethren play the Speedboat Gallery. I start drinking coffee at the Motor Oil Cafe. 25 cents a cup, a nickel for refills (that didn’t stunt my growth, I’d already attained my current height years before). I’m blown away by Jawbox (replete with cool female bass player!). My friend Spitty roadies for Green Day. When they play the Speedboat I hear one of them utter the lamest pickup line ever…”Wanna see the inside of my van?” It’s not directed at me. I am not a pretty girl.

Before alt-rock explodes. I get to see big bands play First Ave’s main room. Jane’s Addiction. The Red Hot Chilli Peppers. Nine Inch Nails with Meat Beat Manifesto. Soundgarden. Living Colour. Soul Asylum. After it all goes grunge I see many of the same bands play the first couple of Lollapaloozas, before I lose interest in standing around in the mud all day, watching frat boys burn pizza boxes and otherwise make asses of themselves.

Early to mid-90s. Various phases. From Harry Connick Jr. to Avail. New all-time favorite band becomes Unbroken (and still is) despite never seeing them live. Radio K launches. I wear my headphones at work and constantly request songs. The DJs comply (dance for me monkey, dance). I become a fan of Cibo Matto, Natacha Atlas and Bettie Serveert.

Late 90s. I still go to basement shows, but, despite being just 24 or so, start to feel long in the tooth…likely the only divorcee at these all ages shows. But I still look and act like a kid. After a stifling six-year relationship I start my life afresh. I meet new people, and take road trips to Chicago…to see shows at the Fireside Bowl. I drive to punk fests in Iowa, Illinois, Michigan, Ohio and Kentucky. Friends introduce me to Sleater-Kinney, Heavens to Betsy, Heavenly, Modest Mouse, Elliott Smith, Mary Lou Lord, The Magnetic Fields. Bauhaus reunites and I catch shows in L.A. and Chicago. My newly won freedom is short-lived. I become a single mother, but motherhood mellows me out. While in the maternity ward Cocteau Twins and Low set the tone.

Post-motherhood. I don’t get out as often as I used to. Shows are few and far between. Sigur Ros at the Minneapolis Women’s Club amazes. But Nick Cave is the best. The man is a powerhouse. The first lady of alt-country, Neko Case, opens the show. Her voice gives me goosebumps. I still exchange mix tapes (and now mix CDs) with friends, but I find new music in other ways. The web is crucial to this new phase of my life. For a while I work in a Napster-loving office and exchange mp3s with co-workers. Pitchfork perusal becomes a guilty pleasure. But more than anything, blogs become my main source (group hug, guys) for any and everything…from general amusement to parenting tips and movie reviews, but especially for new music. I find many like-minded individuals who give shouts out to their new favorite artists…many of whom become mine as well. This is how I find Manitoba, The Decemberists, The Thermals, Camera Obscura, Dressy Bessy, The Epoxies, A Guy Called Gerald, Imperial Teen.

Oh no, I think I’ve said too much. But I’m sure I left something out.

I think I’m finally on the mend from this cold/flu thing. Spent as much time as possible lazing about this week. Got around to watching Adaptation…and reading Anil’s Ghost. Unfortunately I headed out on a spontaneous shopping trip last night, something I generally don’t do with the little man. But I absolutely needed a bowl of wonton soup for dinner…on the other side of town, naturally. And while we were in the area I thought I’d pick up a gift certificate for my niece’s 16th birthday. Was surprised to find something for myself too…J Otto’s Alice in Wonderland pop-up book, on ultra-clearance. Yay! But not before the little man had jumped on every piece of furniture in the store, played hide and seek in the clothing racks, fondled numerous necklaces and backed into a display of sunglasses. That little excursion wiped me out. And to top it off, I agreed to work a full eight hours at the part-time job today, to cover for a co-worker. Hopefully it won’t kick my ass too much. A better night’s sleep might have helped prepare me. But round about midnight the little man woke up crying, stumbled into my room, threw himself down on the absolute center of my bed and promptly went back to sleep. Periodically I woke up to him nudging me closer to the edge, head-butting and/or kicking me. I could have carried him back to his room but a) he’s hella heavy and b) he looks so very sweet when he’s sleeping.

Fantastic foods is quite the misnomer. Trying to choke down this dehydrated (and rehydrated, of course) gummy gumbo soup paste is proving difficult. But it’s probably better for me than other options our kitchen has to offer. Since we’ve been together the husband has, inexplicably, forged ahead with an intensive ass-widening campaign. The ass in question being mine (despite his sweet tooth he has, rather unfairly, been losing weight). The most recent addition to his arsenal…snickerdoodles. He is relentless in the pursuit of his unusual objective, and I fear I’ll never have the strength of will to resist him.

1: Take child to indoor playground on rainy day. Have fun while being exposed to germs at the same time. Pay the price later, in the form of a lingering, crappy cold for both.
2: While sick drink morning coffee on an empty stomach, followed by a sudafed chaser.
3: Wear one of those ridiculous BreathRight strips on the bridge of your nose, to the amusement of your child (bonus points for neglecting to remove it before leaving the house).
4: Eat msg-laden ramen noodles for breakfast.
5: Follow that up with a big ole slice of cake.
6: While in the shower realize there isn’t a towel nearby (as your darling child has ripped the towel bars from the wall, and you’ve neglected to toss your towel onto the substitute - the radiator).
7: After showering, shake yourself off like a dog, inducing dizziness and nausea, then attempt to retrieve towel without slipping on the floor.
8: After drying one’s unruly mane reach for the styling creme and apply liberally. Panic after realizing it was not styling creme, but hand lotion.
9: In a hurry (and since you’ve neglected to do the laundry for too long) reach for an old favorite dress. Wiggle and wriggle into it. While at the bus stop realize said dress is now two sizes too small and wearing it is similar to being bound by a corset. Have panic attack that induces hyperventilation.
All right, so not all of these things happened on the same day…but they did happen. And we are sick. And cranky. You can be too, if you follow these simple steps. You can thank me later.

It was a thoroughly underwhelming weekend…and that’s all right. It’d been weeks since I’d lazed about properly, and in passive media consumption mode no less. Friday night the little man and I picked up some takeout and enjoyed a borrowed copy of Laputa: Castle in the Sky. On Saturday we watched it again (that movie features the coolest robots ever)…and it was one of those mysterious rainy days where both motivation and time are sucked away into some sort of black hole. Before I knew it the little man’s bedtime had rolled around, and I would have toddled off myself, but I got juiced up on some coffee and was able to stay up…long enough to watch Notorious C.H.O. with the husband. I’ve been a fan of Margaret’s for some time (I read her blog on a regular basis), but had never gotten around to seeing it. What a fool. I was laughing so loudly I worried I’d wake up the little man, but boy did I need that (the former, not the latter). Sunday I whipped up some french toast (from a good loaf of ciabatta) before dropping the little man off for one of those odd, impromptu visits with the bio-dad. On these rare occasions I usually treat myself to a movie, in a theater, with popcorn and everything. Sunday’s selection was one I’d been wanting to see for a while…and Goodbye, Lenin! did not disappoint. But afterwards I wasn’t quite sure what to do with myself. When finally given this chunk of me-time (that I get little enough of) I find the options overwhelming. So what did I do? I headed home, eagerly anticipating the return of my lad. Sigh. It was a delightful little reunion, but after he crashed out for the night it was time for mom to watch yet another movie. One that’s been likened to “an R-rated Hallmark version” of love. I enjoyed Love, Actually, despite myself. And I love, actually, the little gems that Ebert comes up with…like “At 129 minutes, it feels a little like a gourmet meal that turns into a hot-dog eating contest.” Heh. Today would have marked an end to this sloth-mode of ours…and a beginning to Monday night T-ball at the park, but, unfortunately, the little man is down for the count with a crappy cold…and I’m teetering on the verge.

So, it would seem Calvin Johnson slipped into town the other day. What’s most befuddling…not only was the show off my radar, I’ve never even heard of the venue. The entire event would have passed by, unnoticed (by me), if it weren’t for my delightful Duluth peeps. I am jealous, but happy that someone got to see Mr. Johnson in action. At least I knew about last night’s Sondre Lerche show, even if I couldn’t attend. Oh well. All right, enough living in the past. The weekend is upon us and it looks like it’s going to be a quiet one, thankfully. No solid plans have been made. Will hopefully meet up with the lovely ladies for coffee at some point. There’s a photography exhibit I’d like to check out. And we still haven’t seen Robots + Us at the Science Museum. But those are both ongoing exhibits. The one concrete plan we do have is to attend an event on Sunday. Friends for a Non-Violent World is sponsoring a rally to protest the US torture of Iraqi prisoners. Here’s a little more info:

This Sunday, May 23rd, at 4:00 p.m.
The south steps of the Minnesota State Capitol

A volunteer group comprising church members, new Americans, and engaged citizens is planning a non-partisan rally to protest the torture of Iraqi prisoners. The rally provides an opportunity for all Minnesotans to express their sadness and disgust; to demand that such actions never occur again in our names; and to call for full accountability throughout the chain of command.

Speakers are:
Phil Steger, Friends for a Non Violent World
Abdi Salam Adam, Dar Al-Hijrah Cultural Center
Grant Abbott, St. Paul Council of Churches
Doug Johnson, Center for Victims of Torture
Heide Vardeman, Macalester Plymouth United Church
Rob Eller-Isaacs, Unity Unitarian Church.

Rally organizers have conducted outreach through churches, locally owned small businesses, and nonprofit organizations. Any donations collected in excess of event expenses will be donated to the Center for Victims of Torture.

With the end of Angel I’ll have to look elsewhere for my super hero fix. I’ve been told by a few folks that I’d enjoy the relaunched Catwoman (another hero, or heroine rather, with a rather dodgy past) series. I’ll admit I’m intrigued, but I’m not sure what to make of the upcoming movie…which I saw a commercial for just last night. A little poking around shows they’ve changed her identity (name and entire persona) from the comics. In related news, I’ve been meaning to mention the upcoming Batman Begins. The previous films were a disappointment (yes, even my beloved Tim Burton’s take on it) but this project has a few things going for it…first, it’s based on a favorite story, Frank Miller’s Batman: Year One. And it’s being directed by Christopher Nolan, of Memento fame. But Christian Bale as Batman/Bruce Wayne? Puhlease. I still have a bad taste in my mouth from his soulless performance in Laurel Canyon…with his cold, dead eyes. But heck, maybe those qualities will actually make him a better Batman. Only time will tell. Now for more odd casting news… As a kid, Zaphod Beeblebrox was one of my heroes. My brother and I read and re-read the Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy books, listened to the BBC radio show and watched the mini series when it aired on PBS. I was saddened when Douglas Adams passed away…and can’t help but wonder how he would feel about the upcoming movie. Acetylenic has posted a good rundown of the casting. Oh, how I adore Zooey Deschanel (she’ll make a fine token sci-fi woman, and wouldn’t that be a great band name?). Yet he complains that the cast all seem too young, which I can understand, but I suspect that we’re just getting old(er). Like my pops says, it’s better than the alternative.

That’s it. It’s over. Or just about. Buffy went out with a bang. Feels like Angel is going out with more of a whimper. The show was just hitting its stride…when we found out it would killed in its prime. But it feels like the time to raise my tiny fists, railing at the WB (for their stupidity and shallowness), has passed. Now I’m just resigned…to losing the last vestiges of the Whedonverse on television.

Lately it feels like my life is stuck in fast forward mode, but I think I may have found the key to balancing work and play…I must eliminate sleep altogether (like Lorne did this, the last, season of Angel…except, oh yeah, he went crazy at the Halloween party). Anywho, it was another fun-filled action-packed weekend, balanced by a brick load of work.
Friday night: Had our favorite neighbor-friends over for dinner. In preparation for this event, however, the house needed to be thoroughly cleaned. Naturally I left this off until Thursday night, as the last week was particularly brutal…and I am a born procrastinator. Being that my motivation for such things is generally flagging, when the mood strikes, it does so in manic fits and starts. So Thursday night the mood struck…but not for your general house cleaning, oh no. For some reason I was compelled to spend two+ hours cleaning and organizing the front porch. You see, being a garageless family, our front porch is like the land of the lost. Things are often sucked into a black hole of sorts when moved between the car and the house. I hope to put an end to this by keeping the porch clean(er). Recycling day can’t come fast enough. I broke down boxes that had accumulated over the past two years, and threw out multiple bags of trash. And I did manage to recover all sorts of treasure. Multiple miniature soccer and footballs for the little man, an inflatable orca, a hopscotch play rug, my favorite sweater (and a bra, what the heck was my bra doing on the porch?!), a pair of my flip-flops, the little man’s waterproof mittens (that I’d been looking for all winter) and lovely yellow rubber rain boots that may or may not still fit him. Somehow I did pull it together enough to get the rest of the house in decent shape, with the husband’s assistance, and I whipped up a double batch of my famous bbq tofu and cornbread, and acquired corn on the cob, salad, fruit and lemonade. Phew. The neighbors spoiled us, as usual, by arriving with a beautiful vegan strawberry creme cake from the Whole Foods Bakery. Thanks again neighbors! The kids were already having a good time, but the husband came up with another brilliant idea. As daylight faded he busted out multiple glowstick bracelets. I let out my inner raver by taking far too many trippy photos.

Saturday morning: The next day was to be another busy one. My Dad was involved in a dedication ceremony at the new SPPD headquarters (he was even quoted in the paper). Efforts to get the little man to say “sesquicentennial” weren’t entirely successful, but certainly were amusing.

Saturday afternoon: We raced back to the house just in time to scarf down lunch, then rendevous with the fave neighbors again. We piled the kids into the car to head to the Art-a-Whirl Festival in NE Minneapolis. Unfortunately the kids were in bickering mode. The little man had brought along his hippo hand puppet (recently recovered from the front porch) and wasn’t going to share it with anyone for anything. The neighbor girl even offered her recently acquired tooth fairy money ($4/tooth! Talk about inflation…I think I got a quarter per tooth if I was lucky)…but the little man announced “I don’t like money. I like the hippo”. Well, allrighty then. Off to a fabulous start. The mood improved once we picked up Zophia, who had to wedge herself in between two very large booster seats, which managed to amuse and placate the kids. After some initial confusion we located the Anderson Building at just the right time and got ourselves front row seats at the Xelias Theater. We were treated to an amusing juggling performance (replete with balls, balancing, clubs, rings, fire, a unicycle, etc.) followed by the most amazing aerial arts performance. Afterwards we strolled through the Northrup King Building for a bit, where we bumped into my pal Cathy Camper. But the kids (and us moms) were obviously getting burned out so we headed home before long.

Sunday: The party’s over and it was back to business. The entire day (and night) was devoted to a labor of love…a project I’m working on for a non-profit that’s near and dear to my heart. The redesign needed to be rushed because of time sensitive materials…so we went live with the revamped site last night, even though it isn’t finished yet…and I know of at least one item that is broken…and I haven’t gotten to test it on a Mac yet. If any of you care to do so, you can click through it here, and lemme know if you find anything wonky.

The little man had, well, urgent business to take care of…so urgent that he popped the button right off his pants on his way to the bathroom. While re-attaching said button I noticed the label on the inside of the pants. It read “Urgent Gear”. My Dad would say the boy has got a case of “Frankenstein Hands” but I think he’s just a tough love sort of kid. Not in the disciplinary sense…but rather the punishment he doles out to his beloved. For instance, he shows us affection by frequently head-butting us. Hard. His prized possessions fare even worse. He gave his talking Buzz Lightyear a bath. Now poor Buzz is forever mute. Then there’s his favorite blankie, the one he’s had since birth. He’s never dragged it around, a la Linus. But it’s been a part of the bed time ritual for quite a while. Unfortunately he has been systematically pulling said blanket to pieces. The white cotton strands end up everywhere. Stuck to the last patch of carpeting in the house (in the upstairs hallway). Adhering to clothing and, sometimes, even to the cats. I’ve tried to explain to him that if he keeps this up there will be nothing of his blanket left. And yet he persists. The outlook is not good.