Charka Blue!

So, I was down at Long Beach Island on vaction this summer. For fun I went to a psychic. Well, I knew she was a off when she said: A -- My middle name is after mygrandmother or godmother (no -- a nun), and B -- I am committed to one man,but in love with another (No and No).

Then she held my hands and was saying over and over again, "No -- this is all wrong. Have you had a cleansing before?"

Me: "My teeth? Yeah, last month."

Her:"No... a cleansing..."

Me: "Oh, yeah. Well, I eat a lot of fruit and fiber, so that's never been aproblem."

Her: "No, your chakras. I feel like you started a cleansing, but never finished. Your head chakra is open, which can let in some negative energy."

Me: "Nope, only cleansing has been my teeth and bowels."

Her: "Noooo, but your chakras are no good. Karmically, you are off. Were you supposed to be a twin?"

Me: "Are you high?"

Her: "Your chakras have been unaligned since birth. Your parents did not do right by you, karmically."

Me: "Whach you say about my mamma?!?!?!?!?!?"

Her: "I think I should do a cleansing now, finish what was started. You have 7 chakras .. . .$150 a chakra . .. that's only $1,050. A small pricefor to get your life in order."

Me: "Order!?!?!?!? Order this lady!!!!!"

Her: "When are you going to do something for yourself."

Me: "For $1,050, that cleansing better be on a beach in Maui and involvef ruity drinks and hot men!"

Her" "Well, let me do at least your pelvic chakra -- where all your problems are."

Me: "Will it get me laid?"

Her: "Yes."

Me: "Here's my credit card."

Concert Etiquette

Note: it's been awhile -- yes, I know. But no one reads this any way, so what's to miss?




Okay -- it's happened to us all. You are having a great time at the show, then someone or a group of somones kind of spoil it. And it usually comes down to a lack of respect for those around you. Usually do to an over use of alcohol.



I am usually sweet as pie. A nice person -- sometimes to nice, and I get a little advantage of. But not at concerts -- I turn into a raving bitch if some drunk turd interferes with my or a concert friend's concert experience. The worst was the Softy Boys, 2004, Bowery Ballroom. Two lads who mistook the 12-string, psychedelic love fest that is the Soft Boys for a death metal show, and moshed their ways into a near nose-bleeds.



I knew I was in trouble when the dark haired one said to the blond, "I'm not gay, but I would BLEEP Robyn Hitchock up the BLEEP if I could." I don't know, sounds pretty queer to me. (Not that there's anything wrong with that.)



So, these lads moshed and pogoed through the show -- and on my foot. It was so bad that folks who had a bad spot were not willing to switch with my primo spot right in Robyn's H's line of vision. I finally had to grab Dark haired lad and threaten him with bodily harm if he did not stop stepping on me.



BTW -- these were the same geniuses who -- after lighting up a doobie at sole Hitchcock show --did not catch on that the object of their non-gay gay lust was making fun of them. Hitchcock: "Smoking marijuana is like walking down a long hall lined with door and it does not stop it keeps going and you look at your watch and it has no hands. " Lads: "Whoo -hoo!!!" dumbasses.



Then there was the intoxicated lass (you could have started a car with her breath) who barged her way to the front of the Wilco stage and began to dance on top of the women who had waited hours in line for a primo, front row spot. Bad form.



So, if you want to sit and contemplate to music, or shake your thang, here are some suggestions I have to ensure that all people can have a great time. As the great Jeff Tweedy said, "It's not just you. You're part of a group of people in a really beautiful way. It's wonderful."



Let's keep it wonderful, folks!

1 -- No talking during solo acoustic shows (that's obvious)


2 -- Make friends! Friends make the long wait on line fun and interesting. Friends save your spot in the front row -- that you braved hours in the boiling sun, soaking rain, or freezing cold for - when you need a drink, snack, or potty.


3 -- If you want to get in the front at a General Admission show, get on line early with the rest of the die hards -- the folks who braved hours in the boiling sun, soaking rain, or freezing cold. I don't care if your sweet gray-haired grandma is in the front row, just don't do it. And just because your boobs are big and shirt is low, does not mean entitlement for the front. You have to work or pay for it.


4 -- Respect personal space. Feel free to dance and bop at will -- I do -- but no one wants you mashing up against them or stepping on their toes. Try what I do -- I don't move my feet. I bounce in place. A bonus -- this is a great upper thigh and ass work out. If I had 2 or 3 shows a week, my ass would be rockin!


5-- Respect the opening act. They are well aware that we can't wait for them to end, but if the bands we love like them enough to have them open, then they deserve our attention.


Those are my thoughts. Discuss.

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Songs You Can't Listen to at Work

Rock-n-Roll "N Word" Patty Smith (I can't even write it down!)

__________

Remember Bravo?

I was watching an advertisement for The Real Housewives of NJ and thought back to when Bravo was the thinking-person's channel. It even advertised that it was for a more intelligent audience -- showcasing movies and shows that had some art and weight to them. It used to show movies, like Heavenly Creatures, or the Les Mis 20h Anniversary Special, that were aimed at our minds. Now it's just the Real Housewives of wherever, showcasing blithering, self-absorbed idiots who we the people seem to love.

And A&E too. Remember Mr. Darcy? It's not as bad as Bravo, but it's seen it's decline as well. "Intervention" is sensationalism disguised as serious journalism. And how many murder mystery shows can guy guy Bill whatever host anyway?

Then TLC and my beloved John & Kate Plus 8. I thought I was above the crowd because this was the only reality show I watched. It was a show about trying to raise a family in unusual circumstances. Sure, that Kate is a bitch, but it was -- for a time -- real. Now it seems that they are all money and fame obsessed (Kate is, at least) that it's destroying their family. Time for them to turn off the cameras and turn their attention back to their kids. I don't think this is good for my little Aiden. And somebody get that Mady into therapy ASAP. She had issues before.

We're a nation that celebrates assholes -- that why all these shows are so successful. These are people who represent the worst of us -- maybe elevating them makes us all look better. We're snobs, and these shows just justify our arrogance. So, your middle manager in a large financial services corp. who will never reach the top because you are surrounded by colossal ass-kissers who will tramble their way over you to get to the top (when did this start being about me??) and watching some skanky hoe-ish type make the lowest of low battle for her love makes you feel better.

This is also why Wilco will never be on the cover of Rolling Stone. Like Bravo, A&E, and TLC, Rolling Stone has lost its focus. The cover sells and -- while many in the know consider Wilco to be America's greatest band -- they don't play em on the radio; therefore, they do not sell covers.

I rant, but I do not have a solution. Unfortuanately, it's the way of the world. I wish we could shine the light back on creativity, innovation, and talent -- but I am greatly outnumbered. I'm getting used to it, I'm always the odd gal out.

Anywho -- I know I was going to write about my stalker-like tendancies, this was just on my mind. Next time!

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R.I.P Jay Bennett -- wasn't the biggest fan, but grateful what you did for Wilco. I hope you find peace.

CRAP!

So -- I don't blog for a few days, and when I do, I write a nice, little reflective piece abut growing older. You would have laughed, you would have cried. Then it went poof and disappeared. I'm not inclined to try to recreate it, so this is it. Plus, another song your can't listen to at work.

Back tomorrow with this question . . . ."Am I Obsessed with a certain Chicago-based band?"


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Songs You Can't Listen to at Work

"Killing in the Name Of" by Rage Against the Machine

Beige is Not Titallating

The other day at work I could not concentrate -- all that consumed my mind was that my bra was showing. I chose to wear this scooped necked white shirt, and it dipped too low on the right side.


That shirt is notoriously low. I wore it to see Wilco at the Pines Theater in Northampton, MA. When I was not shaken ma thang to the glorious sounds of my boys, I was yanking that shirt back into place. Funny -- you'd think that I would not mind flashing Jeff Tweedy, but that dang Catholic School education has made me quite modest and demure.


So, since I envision myself to be quite the Holly Homemaker -- I decided that I could save my decency by making the straps a little shorter. It worked for the left side, which was adequately covered. But, the right side was no so good.


Last Monday during my mid-morning snack, I looked down and saw a bit of my bra peeping out. It was not a huge swatch, just a sliver on the upper left quadrant of my right boob. For the rest of the day, I was so distracted by this tiny piece of beige fabric that rose above the white shirt. During meetings, I would inconspicuously try to fix the situation. My hand would disappear behind my back, and all of the sudden my short would be yanked up to my neck. Or, I would close my dainty pink sweater.


The worst was in a meeting with a man that I'm friends with, but not close enough to discuss things like boobs and bras. During the whole conversation about strategy and implementation, I worried that he could see bra. If he did, I wonder if he found it titillating. God, I hope not.


I'm not sure what the worst part was -- that bra was showing, or that it was a BEIGE bra -- how boring, no wonder I can't get a man. Beige is very practical, but not very sexy. To quote someone I begrudginly like, it's time to bring sexy back. Add it to the shopping list -- blue, pink, green, maybe even some red bras. Old Sister Mary Catherine would be shocked!

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Introducing a new feature . . .

Songs You Can't Play at Work:

I Don't Wanna Fuck Off Any More

By the The Minus Five

You can find it on "I Don't Know Who I Am"

Barb's Blog - Day Two

Day Two of my blog, and I've no hits? What up?

So you may ask -- Why is this random office drone for a large financial services company blogging? Maybe because I sit in front of a computer all day at the office and need to vent.

Maybe because I always proclaim that I'm such a good writer, yet have nothing to show for it.

Maybe because I want a forum to proclaim my Wilco love?

But, really, it's all due to Spencer Tweedy -- 13 year old son of the Great Jeff Tweedy (or just JT).

See, young Spencer has a blog -- about music, computers, and other items that fill a 13 year old boy's mind. And I admit that I occasionally read it and scan it for the word "Dad." Which, he does not use that often (ya gotta commend the kid for not playing the "Hey My Dad's in Wilco" card.) Then I stopped reading it.

One reason -- kind of feel like a stalker, which I'm just one pair of night vision goggles away from. I should not know what's going on in the Tweedy home, even if it's just about homework. The other -- dang kid's a better writer than me. Very intelligent, well-written young lad -- and it makes my blood boil. Well, not really -- but does make me feel kind of down on myself.

So, to improve my self image, keep me from googling little Sam Tweedy, and curb my after-dinner snacking, I sit at my computer and spill my thoughts. Maybe just for me, maybe some one stumble over the chicken and bear. Who knows -- this may all be pointless.

Closing thought -- my 39th birthday is less than a week away. No husband, not boyfriend, no babies, not even a cat. Thank god I've got a Chicken and a Bear,

Okay -- who are the Big Bear and Angry Chicken? My first idea for a name for my blog was "She Lifted Up her Shirt at the Battle of the Bands," since I figure I'd be doing a lot of blogging on musics, concerts, and bands. (The line is taken from the live version of Wilco's "Heavy Metal Drummer.") But I thought that title would attract a somewhat unsavory following (i.e., guys hoping to see some boobs). Then I thought abut something to do with the cubicle life of a corporate drone -- since I may be going on and on about the absurdities of corporate life. But, decided that would be too limiting -- since I'm more than just a corporate drone. I wanted something ambivalent, that would not give me away. Kind of like R.E.M. -- a name they choose due to it's lack of meaning (except to people who study sleep patterns). Then I remembered the Big Bear and Angry Chicken. I had a dream recently that I was in my bedroom of the house I grew up in. Outside on the roof was this chicken who was trying to pull the cable line out. There this chicken -- pulling on the line with its wings, scratching at is with its feet. When I tried to schoo away, it went after me. I remember distinctly this thing clucking and scratching at me. I realized why it was so angry -- it was protecting his bear friend -- who was kind of big and slow, and sleeping on the corner of the roof. It was kind of a "Of Mice and Men" thing, with the bear as Lenny and the chicken as the other guy, can't remember his name, but Gary Sinise played him in a recent adaption for PBS. Any who -- I thought that would be a great name for a band or children's book. Or, a blog -- whichever comes first..

I will also use this as a count down to my 40th birthday -- which officially begins on Tuesday, May 12, 2009 -- my 39th birthday. It will be so exciting.

In the mean time, I'm going to look for a bear-chicken graphic to brand my blog.

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by Barb

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