Things were really heating up between me and my future hubby, Stix. It looked like this relationship might be pretty darn serious, as in walking down the aisle serious. So I did what any respectable girl about to get engaged would do. I grabbed a tent and booked a flight to Baja! How these notions grab a hold of me I'll never know. But, Lord Almighty they do. And ignoring them is the equivalent of trying to wrestle a bull to the ground.
I can't really account for these impulses, but in their defense, my travels and experiences have never seemed impulsive to me. They have all felt like very carefully, well-thought out chess moves. Ya know, free form, jazz-infused chess moves. But, hey, I was strategizin'!
And Baja was my next move. Kowabunga! Mexico here I come. I have a friend who used to travel to Baja each year with her surfer boyfriend. They would camp out, watch whales migrating and live off of the wild avocados, papayas and mangoes that abound there in a place called Todos Santos.
Todos Santos is a village on the Pacific side of the Baja peninsula about 45 miles north of Cabo San Lucas. You know, as in "Cabo Wabo", Sammy Hagar's bar where the tequila flows freely as "I Can't Drive 55!" plays on and on. Thinking back on this trip, I could have changed up the itinerary. Maybe just called up a couple of my girlfren's. Headed on down to Cabo. Chillaxed at a hotel and sipped margaritas while rockin' out to The Hagster, Poison and other hair metal bands at El CoboWabster.
But this journey was pretty much the complete polar opposite of that scenario. Somehow, communing with nature won out over jello shots. Hindsight, what can I say?
The plan, see, was to fly into Cabo with my guitar and tent and drive just north of Todos Santos to reach my destination, the magical oasis that my friend had waxed poetic about so many times.
Me and a hoard of sunblock toting tourists deboard the plane. It's warm and breezy. A white VW Bug with no roof, AT ALL, awaits me at the rent-a-car lot. Not the modern, cutesy-tootsie, dot-comer version, either. Just the OG, old school kind. Too cool, I'm thrilled!
Now, to the beach! Maps shmaps! Who needs them when you have directions that read something like, "drive about 5 miles, past the village, continue past the goat farm, make a left after the 4th mango tree, and drive til you see the ocean". No Problemo!
After a coupla hours of driving through a barren desert, Todos Santos appears. It's a really pretty town. It looks inviting and charming. I take mental note of a few bed and breakfast signs and keep on truckin' to be one with Mother Earth.
In a jiff, I'm counting one, two, three, four avocados trees and making a left. I see the ocean, I see the beach and uh, that's about it. There is NO ONE there but me. Cue the record scratch. Cue the cricket soundtrack. This was NOT the scenario that I had "planned" for. I assumed this beach was one big ol' year round, surfin' safari spot. I expected a sort of outdoor youth hostel filled with cool peeps and a communal campfire where we would all roast marshmallows and share our stories. W-T-F was I thinking!?
This was not at ALL how envisioned my last hurrah of singledom going down. I never thought to ask my friend if there was a high season here. I figured I would pull up to a magical oasis filled with people just like me! Pitch my tent and strum my guitar while gazing at the frolicking whales in the sea.
Come to think of it, even that idea was completely ridiculous! This place was not the My Little Ponies world of Unicorns and Sparkle Dust that I had imagined. It had a powerful ominous mojo vibe. It was creepsville, in a "Planet of the Apes" desolate kind of way. Like when Chuck Heston sees the Statue of Liberty's crown poking out of the sand.
Okay, what now?
Secretly, I wanted to do a donut in the "parking lot" and drive 55 right back to the airport. No one would ever have to know.
Oh, alright! I'll at least walk down to the water. It is gorgeous here and I felt obligated.
The waves in and around TS are known for there greatness and hugeness, and man, they did NOT disappoint. I'm no Laird Hamilton, but I don't mind big surf at all, I love it! Even in it's wild moments, the sea always seems spry and full of frivolity. Not these waves. This ocean was monstrous.
With surmounting fear and a side of vulnerability, I was both mesmerized and scared you-know-what-less, knowing a pack of rabid banditos would surely come running out of the bushes to get me or a rogue wave would swallow me whole or both!
I was sure that any minute the massive swells in front of me would gather into big scary arms and pull me under. So much for My Little Ponies. Get me the freakin' frack outta here!!
With the sand kicking up behind me, I high-tailed out of there in record time. No Bandidtos were gonna get the best of me! I still had yet to record my hits and walk down the isle!!
I jumped into The White Stallion and of course "click, click, click" the engine was not gonna start. Oh great! Just great.
This is where primal screams and channeling Sammy Hagar come in handy. I yelled that damn motor into starting, and she did. Thank you Jesus! Thank you Sparkle Dust! I knew you were looking over my shoulder the whole time! :)
The sun was setting as I drove back into the village of Todos Santos. I drove directly to the home made sign posted in the yard of a farm-like property that I had eyed on my initial ride through town. It read "Bed and Breakfast; Campers Welcome".
It was late, but luckily one of the proprietors was up. He greeted me with a friendly "Good evening" and allowed me to pitch my little yellow tent on their grounds for five clams a night. The next morning, over eggs and coffee, I mentioned that I wanted to surf. The husband, a hippy-ish ex-patriot, said he could take me to a spot that he liked. I borrowed a chewed up foam board from him (I still had my surfer training wheels on) and we were off.
It was one of those picture perfect days, sun shining and the crispest, blue-est of skies. We pull up to an absolutely stunning spot, where majestic mountains horse-shoe themselves around the ocean. The tealy-turquoisey sea was alive and back to her frivolous ways!
The B&B owner paddled way out to where some of the surfers were wearing helmets, can you say ominous? Not me, I played it safe and paddled out half way, to the happy, ankle-biting waves. Wow-wee, what fun! I caught myself giggling out loud with child-like glee. And get this, thousands of tiny fish were leaping out of the waves and bouncing off of my blue board. Every time I caught a wave there was a shimmering diamond-like explosion in the suns rays. Can you say "magical"?
I had gone from one extreme to the other in less than 24 hours, I was having my Unicorns and Rainbows moment after all!
Later that day I called Stix from a pay phone in town. I said "Hi honey" he greeted me with "You nut!". He watched me hatch this "plan" and carry it out without ever saying "Do you really think this is a good idea?" He knew me too well, he knew I'd survive and come back with a tale for the vault. What can I say, the guys gets me, that's worth a walk down the aisle.
But next time, when and if we ever re-new our vows, it's gonna be Margs and Vegas all the way Chicas y Chicos!!
4/6/10
3/24/10
Born To Be a Wild CEO
Get your motor runnin'. Head out on the HIGHWAY! Lookin' for adventure, or what ever comes OUR WAY!
According to Stix (my hubby) I was born to be wild but maybe I was really born to be a Wild CEO and I just made a wrong chess move or two (hundred...thousand). Perhaps, I coulda had it ALL! I coulda been a CONTENDA'!
Ahh, the sweet aroma of smelling salts and BAM! I'm back to reality. Hi! So, where am I going with this one?
Just sit back, put your feet up, pour yourself a drink and crank "Da Wolf" (Steppenwolf that is). We're going all the way back to 1994!
I'm fresh out of college and cradling an ever-so-useful theater degree in my arms (I mean really, should they even allow that as a major?!). I gaze upon my newly hatched B.A. and pray and then pray hard that it will somehow transform itself into a magical crystal ball with all the (right) answers.
As I await divine intervention, I'm thinkin' "Okay, AMG, you've gotten yourself into this mess, now what?" I KNOW! I'll be an actor!! I"ll gather up the tools one needs for this profession, humility and a head shot n' resume and go for it!
This story begins with my resume and ends with a wild motorcycle ride around a D.C. hotel ballroom featuring moi and the Head Honcho of a lil' ol' corporation some lovingly refer to as The Golden Arches. I prefer The Golden Gates of Freakin' HELL! But hey, one person's gut-expanding, artery cloggin', just say "Super Size Me!" eatery is simply an other's way to stretch a buck. I mean can ya blame 'em? You? Us?
I've been hatin' on The Big Macster and all his "is that even food?" deep-fried friends since age 13, when I was handed a bowl of plain yogurt sprinkled with wheat germ and black strap molasses and yum-a-roo! I liked it!
Okay, so, how did I wind up there, rolling with my homey, McDee-lite on a Harley? That's easy! At the bottom of my resume in a section us thespians like to call "Special Skills" right after "Sword Fighting" and "Speaks French" is stated "Can drive a motorcycle".
I had taken a week long class held in a DMV parking lot, et voila! I receive a 100 on both the written and riding part of my test! Woo-hoo! I'm a pro! I have the whole "shift gear with foot, let out clutch with hand" down. Well kinda, I mean, man! who designed that part of driving a motorcycle anyway? Can you say corn-husker-fusing (confusing). No worries, I've got it down, like a true nature's child, I am red-to-roll!!
A coupla weeks pass and I get a call from my agent asking if I am available for an appearance at a downtown Washington DC hotel convention? She non-chalantly mentions this appearance will include me driving the CEO of McDonalds around a huge ballroom a couple of times on a Harley and dropping him off by the stage. Wowee-ka-zowee, what an entrance! How do these corporate types dream this stuff up?
Who cares! I'm in. I'm available. I mean there is like seventy-five bucks at stake, how could I say no?
But wait, I've forgotten everything! In a panic I immediately call my middle sister who has (no lie people!) driven her BMW motorcycle across the US of A and back. I tell her what I have agreed to do. Long pause. I assure big sis that I can pull this off. No lectures please, I just need a re-fresher lesson! Realizing I'll be doing this stunt with or without her, she agrees! I show up at her place and we ride her really cool Beamer over to yet another parking lot to practice. I hop off and she shows me a coupla tips. Now it's my turn. I hop on, put the helmet on and then nothing. The bike has gone kaputsky. My sis tries a to revive it several times. The engine is flooded and the bike never starts up. Yikes! The gig is tomorrow. Ruh-roh.
The following day, I show up at the loading dock of the hotel where a guy named Randy with a spider web tattoo on his elbow is wheeling a rather large bike down off a truck. It's big. Wow, it makes the bike from my class look like Italian Barbie's moped.
In a panic I grab Randy by the shoulders and say "Help me! Please, help me". Non-plussed by my desperation, he gives me some pointers. I practice for like three minutes on the sidewalk, then a girl with a clipboard and headset appears on the loading dock and yells "Hey, motorcycle chick, you're up next."
I freeze, I'm terrified, I wanna hand the reigns over to SpideyTatts and make a run for it! But Miss Clipboard intervenes and leads me to the hallway outside of the packed ballroom. A gospel choir of 100 is on stage singing.
And then here he comes, The Wild CEO, Mr. Mc-freakin'-Donald's himself. He's 50-something, graying and wearing a really stiff leather jacket. He's all super-uber-confident in a I Rule the World! kinda way.
Maybe some of his corporate confidence is wearing off on me. I shake his hand extra firmly and say "Let's go for a ride". If he only knew, peeps, if he only knew. I'm rattling off a bunch of meaningless pointers as both ballroom doors burst open. The room is dimly lit and filled with a huge applauding crowd. I see 100 blue robes sweeping off stage left. Then I rev the engine A LOT. Boy that gets every one's attention. All eyes turn to the double doors. There we are, me n' Bobby McGee, silhouetted, engine revving. The crowd erupts into cheering, as we begin our maiden voyage.
The next few minutes are all a blur. The McDster is doing specifically what I asked him not to do and that is leaning way over to shake the hands of his adoring fans. With each shake, I feel myself about to lose the bike out from under me. Then miraculously Mr. Arches would see a familiar face and reach out to the other side and with a "Hey! How ya doin'?", I would right the bike again. We rode this crazy wave for well what seemed an eternity. It was all one big wink and nod fest. I have to admit the guy was good. After two laps, I bring him up to the stage and this time as he leans way, way over for one last handshake, that's it I can't hold this Hog up anymore. I'm gonna drop it. But just at that moment my passenger hops off. Whew! I right the bike and hightail it outta there.
Randy is there to gather up his baby. As I dismount he is smiling ear to ear. He knew that I was completely winging it in that ballroom. I'm smiling too, but for a different reason. I realized that me and Mr. CEO actually have at least a little bit in common, gumption. And having gumption's just another way of sayin' Born to be Wild, Baby!
According to Stix (my hubby) I was born to be wild but maybe I was really born to be a Wild CEO and I just made a wrong chess move or two (hundred...thousand). Perhaps, I coulda had it ALL! I coulda been a CONTENDA'!
Ahh, the sweet aroma of smelling salts and BAM! I'm back to reality. Hi! So, where am I going with this one?
Just sit back, put your feet up, pour yourself a drink and crank "Da Wolf" (Steppenwolf that is). We're going all the way back to 1994!
I'm fresh out of college and cradling an ever-so-useful theater degree in my arms (I mean really, should they even allow that as a major?!). I gaze upon my newly hatched B.A. and pray and then pray hard that it will somehow transform itself into a magical crystal ball with all the (right) answers.
As I await divine intervention, I'm thinkin' "Okay, AMG, you've gotten yourself into this mess, now what?" I KNOW! I'll be an actor!! I"ll gather up the tools one needs for this profession, humility and a head shot n' resume and go for it!
This story begins with my resume and ends with a wild motorcycle ride around a D.C. hotel ballroom featuring moi and the Head Honcho of a lil' ol' corporation some lovingly refer to as The Golden Arches. I prefer The Golden Gates of Freakin' HELL! But hey, one person's gut-expanding, artery cloggin', just say "Super Size Me!" eatery is simply an other's way to stretch a buck. I mean can ya blame 'em? You? Us?
I've been hatin' on The Big Macster and all his "is that even food?" deep-fried friends since age 13, when I was handed a bowl of plain yogurt sprinkled with wheat germ and black strap molasses and yum-a-roo! I liked it!
Okay, so, how did I wind up there, rolling with my homey, McDee-lite on a Harley? That's easy! At the bottom of my resume in a section us thespians like to call "Special Skills" right after "Sword Fighting" and "Speaks French" is stated "Can drive a motorcycle".
I had taken a week long class held in a DMV parking lot, et voila! I receive a 100 on both the written and riding part of my test! Woo-hoo! I'm a pro! I have the whole "shift gear with foot, let out clutch with hand" down. Well kinda, I mean, man! who designed that part of driving a motorcycle anyway? Can you say corn-husker-fusing (confusing). No worries, I've got it down, like a true nature's child, I am red-to-roll!!
A coupla weeks pass and I get a call from my agent asking if I am available for an appearance at a downtown Washington DC hotel convention? She non-chalantly mentions this appearance will include me driving the CEO of McDonalds around a huge ballroom a couple of times on a Harley and dropping him off by the stage. Wowee-ka-zowee, what an entrance! How do these corporate types dream this stuff up?
Who cares! I'm in. I'm available. I mean there is like seventy-five bucks at stake, how could I say no?
But wait, I've forgotten everything! In a panic I immediately call my middle sister who has (no lie people!) driven her BMW motorcycle across the US of A and back. I tell her what I have agreed to do. Long pause. I assure big sis that I can pull this off. No lectures please, I just need a re-fresher lesson! Realizing I'll be doing this stunt with or without her, she agrees! I show up at her place and we ride her really cool Beamer over to yet another parking lot to practice. I hop off and she shows me a coupla tips. Now it's my turn. I hop on, put the helmet on and then nothing. The bike has gone kaputsky. My sis tries a to revive it several times. The engine is flooded and the bike never starts up. Yikes! The gig is tomorrow. Ruh-roh.
The following day, I show up at the loading dock of the hotel where a guy named Randy with a spider web tattoo on his elbow is wheeling a rather large bike down off a truck. It's big. Wow, it makes the bike from my class look like Italian Barbie's moped.
In a panic I grab Randy by the shoulders and say "Help me! Please, help me". Non-plussed by my desperation, he gives me some pointers. I practice for like three minutes on the sidewalk, then a girl with a clipboard and headset appears on the loading dock and yells "Hey, motorcycle chick, you're up next."
I freeze, I'm terrified, I wanna hand the reigns over to SpideyTatts and make a run for it! But Miss Clipboard intervenes and leads me to the hallway outside of the packed ballroom. A gospel choir of 100 is on stage singing.
And then here he comes, The Wild CEO, Mr. Mc-freakin'-Donald's himself. He's 50-something, graying and wearing a really stiff leather jacket. He's all super-uber-confident in a I Rule the World! kinda way.
Maybe some of his corporate confidence is wearing off on me. I shake his hand extra firmly and say "Let's go for a ride". If he only knew, peeps, if he only knew. I'm rattling off a bunch of meaningless pointers as both ballroom doors burst open. The room is dimly lit and filled with a huge applauding crowd. I see 100 blue robes sweeping off stage left. Then I rev the engine A LOT. Boy that gets every one's attention. All eyes turn to the double doors. There we are, me n' Bobby McGee, silhouetted, engine revving. The crowd erupts into cheering, as we begin our maiden voyage.
The next few minutes are all a blur. The McDster is doing specifically what I asked him not to do and that is leaning way over to shake the hands of his adoring fans. With each shake, I feel myself about to lose the bike out from under me. Then miraculously Mr. Arches would see a familiar face and reach out to the other side and with a "Hey! How ya doin'?", I would right the bike again. We rode this crazy wave for well what seemed an eternity. It was all one big wink and nod fest. I have to admit the guy was good. After two laps, I bring him up to the stage and this time as he leans way, way over for one last handshake, that's it I can't hold this Hog up anymore. I'm gonna drop it. But just at that moment my passenger hops off. Whew! I right the bike and hightail it outta there.
Randy is there to gather up his baby. As I dismount he is smiling ear to ear. He knew that I was completely winging it in that ballroom. I'm smiling too, but for a different reason. I realized that me and Mr. CEO actually have at least a little bit in common, gumption. And having gumption's just another way of sayin' Born to be Wild, Baby!
3/19/10
The Comedian Next Door
So, with our rock n' roll fantasies under our belts, a babe in arms and a coupla carrots dangling from a sun-drenched palm frond, Me, the Hubbers (ya know, Stix) and the Kid find our little happy family back in Lalaland, USA.
We have traded in the rural nocturnal primal screams of Bedford, New York (coyotes, foxes, and spring peepers) for the late night primal screams of another genre, Venice Beach's night-owl shenanigans.
BTW..."What are spring peepers" you ask? Well spring "peepers" (don't let the name fool ya!) are tiny-whiny, wittle fwoggy-woggies who have a "Frogz-in-heat-a-Palooza" each spring. And, well, you do the math; One peep x one million peeps=Fuh-reak-ing LOUDDD!!
Can you tell I'm sensitive to sound? Especially night time sounds? Well, here-in lies "la raison". Rewind to...me preggers, 30-some weeks go by as I grow and glow n' grow some more. The bun is done, the stork is alerted and down floats Junior on a white puffy cloud right into my arms (or something like that. Man! what were they givin' me in el hopital?! me want more!)
Okay, so, cue the sobs of joy! Cue the awe-induced stupor and then, WHAM! While I'm distracted by alternating thoughts of "Holy sh*t! Yikes!" and "OMG!! How cute!", out of the corner of my bleary eye, something mysterious is floating away saying "Sayonara Sucka!" All my nights of good sleep have just lept upon that puffy cloud and and drifted away until further notice. That's okay, I'm too busy (and incoherent) to notice.
Cut to: 3am, on like a Tuesday by the way! Our bundle of joy is catching about his millionth "z" of the day, Stix is sawing logs, and hey I am sleeping too!
Then, kinda like a mosquito in your ear or a tell tale freakin' heart under the floor boards, a faint noise begins to grow louder and you guessed it, LOUDER.
First one eye snaps open, then the other, then five little words leak out of my mouth "W-T-F is that!?" Oh, and the "W" is for "Who" not "What" in this case.
At the exact moment that I realize that a) I am awake and b) it AIN"T junior in the next room that's waking me up. Uh-oh, look out! I scramble outta bed and pull on pretty much anything I can find. Oh, I will get to the bottom of the really bad doonce-doonce track that's blasting outside my window, at 3am on a Tuesday!!
Wait, take a beat Anne, breathe. I calm myself by thinking, "Ya know, this dude (I just know it's some "dude") will drive away soon". He's just dropping his buddy off after yet another late night at the Roxbury. No worries, I'm cool wit dat. I had a life too ya know.
But nooooo people, the techno-pop plays on. And on, and...That's IT!! Look out you Roxbury freak, you just woke a sleeping bear!
Looking for back-up, I announce that I am going to go tell this idiot to be quiet! My husband mumbles something about pineapples and rolls over-that guy can sleep through anything!! I tromp downstairs (in time to the disco beat!). I grab a big, black flash light step into hubby's boots. I'm a crazed Ma Kettle (is there any other kind?) ready for battle!!
I march outside, across the lawn towards the nice white beamer with the very blacked-out windows. Now what? The music is still really loud, where are the other neighbors? Jeez-lah-weez!
With an "Okay Mister!" attitude I shine the big ol' mag light's beam into the abyss.
I literally stumble backwards in disbelief but I somehow manage to keep the big bright beam shining away. I am illuminating a hot n' steamy, racy make-out session between two partially clothed young adults. Whoa! The Dude woke up me, the sleeping bear but I have just stirred up a hot n' horny hornet's nest! Now what?
My neighbor is yelling something at me like "What the hell are you doing!! I live here!!" Why should I back down now?
I just keep repeating the same thing "Turn down the music!" and "If you live here, then go inside fer chrissakes!".
With that, I tromp back across the lawn, realizing that some unintended and definitely unsequestered rite of passage has just occurred in my life on my neighbor's lawn at 3:15am on a Tuesday.
I had just traded in the girl who blasted her music too loud, drove to New York city at 2am on whims, escaped arrest by the Portuguese Police on a dusty road with friends searching for a party, snuck into GWAR, drove a darn Geo Tracker across the United States by herself, surfed Baja by herself and thousands more adventurous moments, I had traded in that free-wheelin' spirit for a "Turn that music down!!" Mama." Oy.
Ah well, what the hell are ya gonna do? Several days after that fateful evening, my neighbor found me literally crouching on all fours in my front yard, hiding from him out of major embarrassment. He peered over the white pickets and introduced himself. I fessed up to my mind-numbing level of embarrassment and explained my sleep-deprived maniacal state. He laughed and said he would "take it inside" next time. We became friends, me and Chris, the comedian next door, he is hilarious!
We have traded in the rural nocturnal primal screams of Bedford, New York (coyotes, foxes, and spring peepers) for the late night primal screams of another genre, Venice Beach's night-owl shenanigans.
BTW..."What are spring peepers" you ask? Well spring "peepers" (don't let the name fool ya!) are tiny-whiny, wittle fwoggy-woggies who have a "Frogz-in-heat-a-Palooza" each spring. And, well, you do the math; One peep x one million peeps=Fuh-reak-ing LOUDDD!!
Can you tell I'm sensitive to sound? Especially night time sounds? Well, here-in lies "la raison". Rewind to...me preggers, 30-some weeks go by as I grow and glow n' grow some more. The bun is done, the stork is alerted and down floats Junior on a white puffy cloud right into my arms (or something like that. Man! what were they givin' me in el hopital?! me want more!)
Okay, so, cue the sobs of joy! Cue the awe-induced stupor and then, WHAM! While I'm distracted by alternating thoughts of "Holy sh*t! Yikes!" and "OMG!! How cute!", out of the corner of my bleary eye, something mysterious is floating away saying "Sayonara Sucka!" All my nights of good sleep have just lept upon that puffy cloud and and drifted away until further notice. That's okay, I'm too busy (and incoherent) to notice.
Cut to: 3am, on like a Tuesday by the way! Our bundle of joy is catching about his millionth "z" of the day, Stix is sawing logs, and hey I am sleeping too!
Then, kinda like a mosquito in your ear or a tell tale freakin' heart under the floor boards, a faint noise begins to grow louder and you guessed it, LOUDER.
First one eye snaps open, then the other, then five little words leak out of my mouth "W-T-F is that!?" Oh, and the "W" is for "Who" not "What" in this case.
At the exact moment that I realize that a) I am awake and b) it AIN"T junior in the next room that's waking me up. Uh-oh, look out! I scramble outta bed and pull on pretty much anything I can find. Oh, I will get to the bottom of the really bad doonce-doonce track that's blasting outside my window, at 3am on a Tuesday!!
Wait, take a beat Anne, breathe. I calm myself by thinking, "Ya know, this dude (I just know it's some "dude") will drive away soon". He's just dropping his buddy off after yet another late night at the Roxbury. No worries, I'm cool wit dat. I had a life too ya know.
But nooooo people, the techno-pop plays on. And on, and...That's IT!! Look out you Roxbury freak, you just woke a sleeping bear!
Looking for back-up, I announce that I am going to go tell this idiot to be quiet! My husband mumbles something about pineapples and rolls over-that guy can sleep through anything!! I tromp downstairs (in time to the disco beat!). I grab a big, black flash light step into hubby's boots. I'm a crazed Ma Kettle (is there any other kind?) ready for battle!!
I march outside, across the lawn towards the nice white beamer with the very blacked-out windows. Now what? The music is still really loud, where are the other neighbors? Jeez-lah-weez!
With an "Okay Mister!" attitude I shine the big ol' mag light's beam into the abyss.
I literally stumble backwards in disbelief but I somehow manage to keep the big bright beam shining away. I am illuminating a hot n' steamy, racy make-out session between two partially clothed young adults. Whoa! The Dude woke up me, the sleeping bear but I have just stirred up a hot n' horny hornet's nest! Now what?
My neighbor is yelling something at me like "What the hell are you doing!! I live here!!" Why should I back down now?
I just keep repeating the same thing "Turn down the music!" and "If you live here, then go inside fer chrissakes!".
With that, I tromp back across the lawn, realizing that some unintended and definitely unsequestered rite of passage has just occurred in my life on my neighbor's lawn at 3:15am on a Tuesday.
I had just traded in the girl who blasted her music too loud, drove to New York city at 2am on whims, escaped arrest by the Portuguese Police on a dusty road with friends searching for a party, snuck into GWAR, drove a darn Geo Tracker across the United States by herself, surfed Baja by herself and thousands more adventurous moments, I had traded in that free-wheelin' spirit for a "Turn that music down!!" Mama." Oy.
Ah well, what the hell are ya gonna do? Several days after that fateful evening, my neighbor found me literally crouching on all fours in my front yard, hiding from him out of major embarrassment. He peered over the white pickets and introduced himself. I fessed up to my mind-numbing level of embarrassment and explained my sleep-deprived maniacal state. He laughed and said he would "take it inside" next time. We became friends, me and Chris, the comedian next door, he is hilarious!
3/12/10
Why, Oh Why is This Song SO GOOD??
Collective Consciousness, Stars in Alignment
How is a great pop anthem created?
Note from author; Better read with said song blasting in background.
"Empire State of Mind"
What a great (insert expletive of choice here) song! What the heck?! Thank you Miss Keys and Mr. Z. Thank you Angela Hunte and "Jnay" Sewell-Ulepic for writing and producing it! And a special shout out to the music Angels above for letting at least one iconic R&B, hip-hop, pop song from 2009 be unleashed upon the airwaves without a hint of the over auto-tuning technique. Robots-shmo-bots!! Enough already! We get it. Blame it on the juice and just say "NO" to the auto-tune buttons people!! (Ahhh, I feel better now, and yes, uncool and OLD, that's how I roll, 'nuff said).
BTW, scouts honor, as I write this and make sure I'm getting all the facts rock solid (thank you Wikipedia!) I Googled "who produced..." and guess what Google's magic genie auto-filled in for me? "who produced...empire state of mind", it was the absolute first auto-fill text in Google's line up, in the drop down menu next was "who produced Avatar" and third is "who produced Lady Gaga". Say what? No way! Way!! I guess I'm not the only one digging this anthem. And yes, I do realize I'm so 2000 and late with this review, but hey people are still critiquing Will.i.am S. (aka Shakespeare). King Lear, comedy or tragedy? Discuss!
Here is how I envision the making of this great song going down. JayZ calls Alicia Keys, (ah, the life of a pop star!) and says "Hey, Aleesh, I have this song I'd like you sing on". She says "Sure, Jay". Cut to, Alicia and JayZ in a studio somewhere. Cue the drum beat. Cue the "bum, bum, bum" piano chord progression. JayZ, you're up. Love the rap, love the build. Miss Keys, now you're up, here comes the whispers, "C'mon, c'mon" then..."in Newww Yorkkkk!! Concrete jungle where dreams are made of, there's nothing you can't do"! Wow-wee! It's BIG it's Bold, it's fun and it makes me wanna drive my car very fast!
But guess what! It didn't happen just like that. A writing team of two women, Angela Hunte and "Jnay" Sewell-Ulepic-you go girls!! wrote it and produced it. On a wing and prayer they sent it to Roc Nation, JayZ's music publishing and entertainment company and, oh the drama! "Empire State of Mind" was met with negative reviews. The horror! Someone didn't have their "listening" ears on that day.
Perhaps this demo, oozing with potential, had reached the end of it's road, but not so! "Big Jon" Platt of EMI heard it at a BBQ, fell in love with it and said "JayZ would love this". P.S. A BBQ?! I thought music moguls only consumed caviar and bubbly! Who knew!
The rest is history. JayZ heard it and recorded it that same evening. He even almost called the ever so powerful and fabulous Ms. Mary J. Blige to sing the vocals. But the phone was put down. Whew! And Alicia with her keyboard abilities scored the part and we, the general public scored the privilege of participating in an ever so uplifting song's rise to the top.
"Put your lighter's in the air! Everybody say "Yeah, yeah, yeah". There's nothing you can't do."
Say "yes" people, there's nothing you can't do!
*** If somehow you've escaped this song, run! don't walk to the first illegal download you can find or better yet, be totally radical and subversive and BUY the damn song!! It's a $1.29 fer chrissakes people! and be prepared to be swept up in moment. Watch those speedometers!
Love Ya! Anne
How is a great pop anthem created?
Note from author; Better read with said song blasting in background.
"Empire State of Mind"
What a great (insert expletive of choice here) song! What the heck?! Thank you Miss Keys and Mr. Z. Thank you Angela Hunte and "Jnay" Sewell-Ulepic for writing and producing it! And a special shout out to the music Angels above for letting at least one iconic R&B, hip-hop, pop song from 2009 be unleashed upon the airwaves without a hint of the over auto-tuning technique. Robots-shmo-bots!! Enough already! We get it. Blame it on the juice and just say "NO" to the auto-tune buttons people!! (Ahhh, I feel better now, and yes, uncool and OLD, that's how I roll, 'nuff said).
BTW, scouts honor, as I write this and make sure I'm getting all the facts rock solid (thank you Wikipedia!) I Googled "who produced..." and guess what Google's magic genie auto-filled in for me? "who produced...empire state of mind", it was the absolute first auto-fill text in Google's line up, in the drop down menu next was "who produced Avatar" and third is "who produced Lady Gaga". Say what? No way! Way!! I guess I'm not the only one digging this anthem. And yes, I do realize I'm so 2000 and late with this review, but hey people are still critiquing Will.i.am S. (aka Shakespeare). King Lear, comedy or tragedy? Discuss!
Here is how I envision the making of this great song going down. JayZ calls Alicia Keys, (ah, the life of a pop star!) and says "Hey, Aleesh, I have this song I'd like you sing on". She says "Sure, Jay". Cut to, Alicia and JayZ in a studio somewhere. Cue the drum beat. Cue the "bum, bum, bum" piano chord progression. JayZ, you're up. Love the rap, love the build. Miss Keys, now you're up, here comes the whispers, "C'mon, c'mon" then..."in Newww Yorkkkk!! Concrete jungle where dreams are made of, there's nothing you can't do"! Wow-wee! It's BIG it's Bold, it's fun and it makes me wanna drive my car very fast!
But guess what! It didn't happen just like that. A writing team of two women, Angela Hunte and "Jnay" Sewell-Ulepic-you go girls!! wrote it and produced it. On a wing and prayer they sent it to Roc Nation, JayZ's music publishing and entertainment company and, oh the drama! "Empire State of Mind" was met with negative reviews. The horror! Someone didn't have their "listening" ears on that day.
Perhaps this demo, oozing with potential, had reached the end of it's road, but not so! "Big Jon" Platt of EMI heard it at a BBQ, fell in love with it and said "JayZ would love this". P.S. A BBQ?! I thought music moguls only consumed caviar and bubbly! Who knew!
The rest is history. JayZ heard it and recorded it that same evening. He even almost called the ever so powerful and fabulous Ms. Mary J. Blige to sing the vocals. But the phone was put down. Whew! And Alicia with her keyboard abilities scored the part and we, the general public scored the privilege of participating in an ever so uplifting song's rise to the top.
"Put your lighter's in the air! Everybody say "Yeah, yeah, yeah". There's nothing you can't do."
Say "yes" people, there's nothing you can't do!
*** If somehow you've escaped this song, run! don't walk to the first illegal download you can find or better yet, be totally radical and subversive and BUY the damn song!! It's a $1.29 fer chrissakes people! and be prepared to be swept up in moment. Watch those speedometers!
Love Ya! Anne
3/1/10
We Made a Rock Video!!
After recording their first LP “love Goes” in a home made recording studio in a converted dairy barn on a bucolic 4 acre farm, D&A flew to lovely (it’s all relative-right?) LaLa(La)Land
To shoot our very first rock video for our hit song(like I said, relative baby, relative.) “AngelMan”.
Now, me and “D” aka known as “Sticks Wagna” thought to ourselves,how long could making a rock n’ roll video take? a day or two or three? We know! Let’s grab a camera and just go for it dudes! Kowabungaaaaa stlye!
Welllllllllll........we put in a call to our friends, ya know, in “the biz-Baby!” Annnnnd....
Next thing we know we were being emailed treatments. Locations are being scouted. People who knew people we’re even getting permits! Like, whoa, there went our under the radar, guerrilla film shoot, but hey! We were thrilled :). Thanks to the lovely and amazing dynamic duo; Tracy & Michael Blum of Riverstreet (bad-ass) Productions, AngelMan the music vid was born.
Two weeks and an endless stream of caffeinated drinks later,
We found ourselves in front of a Bolex camera, (too cool!), which was in front of the totally, excellent D.P., Scott Hendrickson.
There was a make-up artist and everything, well first there was then by Friday afternoon, there wasn’t and Lord have mercy, Saturday was the shoot. The shock, the horror! at least pour moi, “A”, the chick. Screw the “devil may care” approach, give me some damn eyeshadow, mascara and more importantly layers of concealer, pancake and powder! And they did (give it to me) well Kokeeta did, the angel & make-up artist who showed up on Saturday- et voila! I was a “natural” beauty! The camera don’t lie- but the make-up do... (insert maniacal laughter here) she’s awesome!!
Did I mention choreography? Just when we thought we couldn’t get more professional! Cue the spot light, the jazz hands, black leotards, the winking at the audience over my left shoulder...oops! I digress. I was a theater major damnit!! (insert a wide-eyed Gloria Swanson, a la “Sunset Boulevard” 1950, here).
Choreography, right. Now, even though rock music has been pulsing through my veins since seated in the way back tiny crawl space of a 1970 VW bug (car seat!? What car seats? or seat belts for that matter!). Back there, I rocked out to Janis, Led Zep, the Beatles and more. So, one would just assume (I did!) that rock god moves were also pulsing through this kid of the early 70’s veins as well. Especially since each day after elementary school with a Brooks Brothers tie around my head (sorry dad!) and a wooden tennis racket (yep, wooden!) I put in hourzzz of air-guitaring my ass off to entire legendary rock albums (both sides! Twice!) Damn, I was good!
So where am I going with this? Oh right! the shoot, the shoot people! Choreography... SO, with emphasis “elementary school” and “air guitar”, D&A hired a choreographer, the fabulous Cecily Garcia, to show us how to rock the mike and guitars and well, ourselves. Dang, the girl’s got moves!! Move over Fergie, humps or no humps, thanks to Cecily’s major talent, I pulled off a good hair flip or two. So what if my back-flip hand-spring wound up on the cutting room floor (owww, I’ll be fine, really.)
Okay, enough about da band memba’s, let’s get to the cast...Jon Gries, a real bonafide actor, played our AngelMan. What talent, it’s all in the subtleties really and Jon, “homes”, you got mad, mad skills. Go ahead, IMDB him, the list of his film roles will blow your mind and keep you scrolling down for days. BTW one of D&A’s favorite role’s of Jon’s is that of Uncle Rico in Napoleon Dynamite. Haha! he’s hilarious and so is the movie. Like, Gosh! Go rent it! Jeez! Rent Real Genius while you’re at it. Don’t ask, just trust me on this!
D&A had a blast! The shoot was so much fun. The whole entire crew made it such a great experience! They are and were all AngelMen and AngelWomen in our book. They rock and they rocked it!
We love you!! Love, D&A
To shoot our very first rock video for our hit song(like I said, relative baby, relative.) “AngelMan”.
Now, me and “D” aka known as “Sticks Wagna” thought to ourselves,how long could making a rock n’ roll video take? a day or two or three? We know! Let’s grab a camera and just go for it dudes! Kowabungaaaaa stlye!
Welllllllllll........we put in a call to our friends, ya know, in “the biz-Baby!” Annnnnd....
Next thing we know we were being emailed treatments. Locations are being scouted. People who knew people we’re even getting permits! Like, whoa, there went our under the radar, guerrilla film shoot, but hey! We were thrilled :). Thanks to the lovely and amazing dynamic duo; Tracy & Michael Blum of Riverstreet (bad-ass) Productions, AngelMan the music vid was born.
Two weeks and an endless stream of caffeinated drinks later,
We found ourselves in front of a Bolex camera, (too cool!), which was in front of the totally, excellent D.P., Scott Hendrickson.
There was a make-up artist and everything, well first there was then by Friday afternoon, there wasn’t and Lord have mercy, Saturday was the shoot. The shock, the horror! at least pour moi, “A”, the chick. Screw the “devil may care” approach, give me some damn eyeshadow, mascara and more importantly layers of concealer, pancake and powder! And they did (give it to me) well Kokeeta did, the angel & make-up artist who showed up on Saturday- et voila! I was a “natural” beauty! The camera don’t lie- but the make-up do... (insert maniacal laughter here) she’s awesome!!
Did I mention choreography? Just when we thought we couldn’t get more professional! Cue the spot light, the jazz hands, black leotards, the winking at the audience over my left shoulder...oops! I digress. I was a theater major damnit!! (insert a wide-eyed Gloria Swanson, a la “Sunset Boulevard” 1950, here).
Choreography, right. Now, even though rock music has been pulsing through my veins since seated in the way back tiny crawl space of a 1970 VW bug (car seat!? What car seats? or seat belts for that matter!). Back there, I rocked out to Janis, Led Zep, the Beatles and more. So, one would just assume (I did!) that rock god moves were also pulsing through this kid of the early 70’s veins as well. Especially since each day after elementary school with a Brooks Brothers tie around my head (sorry dad!) and a wooden tennis racket (yep, wooden!) I put in hourzzz of air-guitaring my ass off to entire legendary rock albums (both sides! Twice!) Damn, I was good!
So where am I going with this? Oh right! the shoot, the shoot people! Choreography... SO, with emphasis “elementary school” and “air guitar”, D&A hired a choreographer, the fabulous Cecily Garcia, to show us how to rock the mike and guitars and well, ourselves. Dang, the girl’s got moves!! Move over Fergie, humps or no humps, thanks to Cecily’s major talent, I pulled off a good hair flip or two. So what if my back-flip hand-spring wound up on the cutting room floor (owww, I’ll be fine, really.)
Okay, enough about da band memba’s, let’s get to the cast...Jon Gries, a real bonafide actor, played our AngelMan. What talent, it’s all in the subtleties really and Jon, “homes”, you got mad, mad skills. Go ahead, IMDB him, the list of his film roles will blow your mind and keep you scrolling down for days. BTW one of D&A’s favorite role’s of Jon’s is that of Uncle Rico in Napoleon Dynamite. Haha! he’s hilarious and so is the movie. Like, Gosh! Go rent it! Jeez! Rent Real Genius while you’re at it. Don’t ask, just trust me on this!
D&A had a blast! The shoot was so much fun. The whole entire crew made it such a great experience! They are and were all AngelMen and AngelWomen in our book. They rock and they rocked it!
We love you!! Love, D&A
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