I went to a concert on Tuesday night. I LOVE live music. Love, love, love live music!
And it’s because of this love that I’ve been to a number of concerts in my life. The problem is – I’m short. And the problem with being short at a live show is missing 90% of it because stupid tall people would stand in front of me. So I got good at “fists up”. I’d fight my way through the crowd, any crowd. And I’d take along whoever could survive it, but it wasn’t a feat for the faint of heart. Most people made it halfway up and then couldn’t take it - they'd turn back. Well, see ya later then. If I'd notice, I'd hardly care.
I’d get pushed and pulled and blocked and elbowed – by the time I got to the front I’d have a black eye, two broken toes, thirteen beers spilt on me and have lost at least one article of clothing, be it a hat or a shoe or whatnot – but I didn’t care – I WAS AT THE FRONT!!! Two feet in front of me – guitar strummin’, drum bangin’ talent. Raw, alive, real.
And in between me and that talent….Security. More bouncers than tattoos at a biker bar. And tough too – they had to be.
So, this is what I expected when I went to a concert on Tuesday night. But do you know instead what I found between me and that talent??
Twelve hundred teens and twenty-somethings……..texting. WTF?!?
Texting their facebooks and tweetering their twitters to tell their friends how awesome it was.
I felt the need to yell, "How the hell do you know it’s awesome kid?? You’re missing the whole thing!"
I didn’t see one security guy. Not one. And yet, no one got trampled, no one jumped on the stage screaming and tearing at the lead singers clothes, no one flashed their tat-tats. No one.
Kids sat civilly in their seats. Yes…you read that right – they had SEATS. It was the oddest thing I’d ever seen.
In my day, people with talent were supposed to stand on the stage and make us feel like we were witnessing something freakin amazing and we were there to make them feel like Rock Stars! That was the deal. It was a good deal.
And we still feel like that when we go to concerts. I went to a Glass Tiger concert only a few years ago. Now Alan Frew – hmmm, if you aren’t familiar with Alan Frew well, he wasn’t exactly a George-Clooney-look-alike back in the day, never mind now – anyhow, he came on stage – I think he was 60 or 80, but still dressed like it was 1986 (but a few sizes larger…yup – leather pants – yum). Anyhow – it was in a little hall in Regina. There were about a hundred people.
THEY had security.
And they needed security, cause about ten minutes into the show, people were flinging their panties and trying to rush the stage! Naturally….
I'll never forget that night. Just as we, that night, never forgot the passion.
So kids, if I could, a little advice – turn your stupid cell phones off and start flinging your gotch at the people on the stage in front of you. You’ll never forget the moment when your best friends underwear go flying past your head while you’re rockin’ out to “Don’t forget me while I’m gone…I have loved you for so long…”
Never.
happy friday!
tanya
Sunday, March 6, 2011
Friday, February 18, 2011
Willy Worm's Family Tree
So most of you are familiar with my issue with worms and the fact that if you cut one in half, and both ends live, they may later meet, fall in love, and mate. It’s a weird predicament, like the worst family tree ever –
Who’s your mom?
Me
Who’s your dad?
Me
Who are you?
Me
And then what if you cut that worm in half and it found it’s other half attractive and it had its own worm-babies again and then it’s grandparents and parents (and then if you cut it half again and it had babies, then it’s kids too) would all be itself.
And you wonder why worms are ugly. At least that’s what I wonder, but is it true?
Well, all the wondering will soon come to an end – I have someone who enlisted their child to do a science project on this.
I was very happy, but it made me realize that I missed my calling.
My calling was actually to be a junior high school science teacher. Imagine all the theories that I could have tested…my very own think tank!!
“Here’s a worm kids and a pair of scissors – go to work!”
sigh...my very own sweat shop!
happy friday!
tanya
PS. just so you are not left hanging - the research was done (not by 9th grade scientists) and in conclusion the same worm could not reproduce with itself in the above situation. In simple terms - if both ends did survive, the butt end couldn't grow a new head and therefore never figure out how to reproduce.
Also - 90% of the butt ends of worms die when split. They may wiggle away, akin to a chicken with it's head chopped off, but they will just shrivel up as soon as you stop looking. Please do not cut worms in half.
Who’s your mom?
Me
Who’s your dad?
Me
Who are you?
Me
And then what if you cut that worm in half and it found it’s other half attractive and it had its own worm-babies again and then it’s grandparents and parents (and then if you cut it half again and it had babies, then it’s kids too) would all be itself.
And you wonder why worms are ugly. At least that’s what I wonder, but is it true?
Well, all the wondering will soon come to an end – I have someone who enlisted their child to do a science project on this.
I was very happy, but it made me realize that I missed my calling.
My calling was actually to be a junior high school science teacher. Imagine all the theories that I could have tested…my very own think tank!!
“Here’s a worm kids and a pair of scissors – go to work!”
sigh...my very own sweat shop!
happy friday!
tanya
PS. just so you are not left hanging - the research was done (not by 9th grade scientists) and in conclusion the same worm could not reproduce with itself in the above situation. In simple terms - if both ends did survive, the butt end couldn't grow a new head and therefore never figure out how to reproduce.
Also - 90% of the butt ends of worms die when split. They may wiggle away, akin to a chicken with it's head chopped off, but they will just shrivel up as soon as you stop looking. Please do not cut worms in half.
Tuesday, July 27, 2010
Doodle
On Monday, I was meandering through my neighbourhood on my way home from work when I saw a sign taped to a lamp post – LOST Golden Doodle. Underneath there was a picture of a dog.
First I thought, 'aww.'
Second I thought, 'Well I’d run away too if you called me a Doodle.'
A doodle is the absent-minded squiggle your pencil leaves on your notepad while you are trying to think of an excuse to escape a terribly dull meeting in the boardroom, not what a breed of hybrid dog should be named. I know, someone thought it sounded cute. But that someone did not think that one day that poor puppy would be sitting up in doggie heaven around a table with other dog spirits - playing poker (of course) - and one dog would pipe up and say, “Back on Earth, I was a Great Dane. It was a glorious existence, my mere presence demanded respect, I stood tall and I was admired by the world.”
The spirit next to him would then say, “I was a Rottweiler. I wasn’t vicious, but I didn’t have to be – no one messed with me because they knew if the need arose I could tear them to shreds.”
The third dog-spirit would follow with, “I spent my days as a Golden Retriever. I rescued children and invoked great pride in everyone around me.”
And then, “I was a Doodle.”
"A what?!”
“A Doodle”
“A Noodle?”
“A Doodoo?”
“No, no, a DOODLE. Like a scribble, but more ferocious...”
Nothing more would be heard over the laughter.
Did the dog-breed-namer guy not think about this at all?
I thought about it.
A lot.
Then I took a crisp piece of stark white paper, drew a fancy doodle with a goldish yellow marker and delivered it to the address on the sign.
happy friday!
tanya
First I thought, 'aww.'
Second I thought, 'Well I’d run away too if you called me a Doodle.'
A doodle is the absent-minded squiggle your pencil leaves on your notepad while you are trying to think of an excuse to escape a terribly dull meeting in the boardroom, not what a breed of hybrid dog should be named. I know, someone thought it sounded cute. But that someone did not think that one day that poor puppy would be sitting up in doggie heaven around a table with other dog spirits - playing poker (of course) - and one dog would pipe up and say, “Back on Earth, I was a Great Dane. It was a glorious existence, my mere presence demanded respect, I stood tall and I was admired by the world.”
The spirit next to him would then say, “I was a Rottweiler. I wasn’t vicious, but I didn’t have to be – no one messed with me because they knew if the need arose I could tear them to shreds.”
The third dog-spirit would follow with, “I spent my days as a Golden Retriever. I rescued children and invoked great pride in everyone around me.”
And then, “I was a Doodle.”
"A what?!”
“A Doodle”
“A Noodle?”
“A Doodoo?”
“No, no, a DOODLE. Like a scribble, but more ferocious...”
Nothing more would be heard over the laughter.
Did the dog-breed-namer guy not think about this at all?
I thought about it.
A lot.
Then I took a crisp piece of stark white paper, drew a fancy doodle with a goldish yellow marker and delivered it to the address on the sign.
happy friday!
tanya
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