Prince on Saturday

Probably the best 8 minutes of music televiosn, EVER! This is 8 years old and I still love it. Why? When all the ladies sing Chakka Khan's "Sweet Thing." LOVE. THAT. SONG.

I think there are commericals in this. I can't control that. They are only 20 seconds though. Sorry.

When Prince went on tour in 2004, I was living in Chicago. My brother was coming in to see me because I had scored rather good seats for the Prince concert and I wanted him to go with me.  See in high school, there wasn't an inch of inside-locker-space that was plastered with Prince's face. Most of my bedroom was covered with him too, save for my Cure poster, my Fine Young Cannibals poster and The Smiths poster, natch. I also had my Harvey Edwards ballet framed print (I considered this very fancy, indeed) that I still own. It's hanging in my studio. I guess I'm still a 15 year old at heart.

Anyway, my brother was a FULL ON Dead Head in high school. Hair as long as mine is now; gorgeous, naturally curly locks that mimiced the costly spiral perms that were all the rage at the time. There was a lot of tie-dye happening. Anyway, ALL he listened to were The Dead. Different damn versions of the same fucking song over and over and over. God, I wanted to blast my brains out. Of course, he scoffed mightily at my musical selections. Prince was a faggot. Faggots only listened to Prince. And I'd be all, "Well then I guess I'm a fag then, because Prince freakin' ROCKS!" I'd storm off in my lace-up granny style boots, black fishnets and the gold lamé dress circa 1960 that I picked up at the consignment store. I'd stomp right into my room, slam in the cassette, hit play and CRANK that mini boom box, bitch. Parents be damned, we were going to listen to some MOTHER FUCKING PRINCE UP IN HERE.

A few years prior, my brother had come to Chicago with some chick he was seeing. She let the beans spill that my brother actually secretly LOVED Prince, but that he was too embarrassed to listen to him because of all his Dead Head buddiesor whatever. Stupid teenage shit. So the cat was out of the bag that Austin loved Prince and I thought it fitting we should go together.

The buzz-kill was that the DAY BEFORE the concert, the drummer's daughter passed away and the show was postponed for a future date. Alas, we did not get to go see Prince together. However, we did go to the Crosstown Classic instead: White Sox vs. The Cubs (GO CUBBIES!) at Wrigley Field (also the best baseball field EVER) and got bleacher seats that we paid WAY too much money for. We drank lemonade sluggers, cheered the Cubbies on to victory and went to see a live blues band. The trip was not a waste.

When Prince finally made it back to town, I took a girl I worked with, who incidently now lives here in Charlotte. And we're still friends. We got to our seats, all giddy. As soon as the lights went down and Prince stepped out on that stage? It's like I went zooming backwards in time and slammed right into my 15 year-old self. I think the same exact thing happened to my friend because we turned from the stage, looked at each other, clutched hands in some sort of weird solidarity and screamed at the top of our lungs. We screamed like the teenagers we felt like inside.

And it rocked.

Closing in on 30.

No, not me. Puh-lease. I clearly passed that ages ago. But do you know who's turning 30 on Monday? MTV, that's who. THIRTY!

Wait. Thirty? You have got to be kidding me. I mean I feel like it wasn't all that long ago when I sat with my across-the-street neighbor Jeff and his younger sister Jenny, all of us cross-legged on his mom's king size water bed in anticipation of the first MTV video.

For those of you not in the know, MTV first aired on August 1st, 1981 at midnight. Midnight in NYC was 4pm in Kailua, Hawaii. Cable was new and there was no such thing as time delay.

I was always over at Jeff's house. His mom worked all the time and was never home. It was me, Jeff and Jenny and sometimes their older brother John. Jeff and John cooked dinner for themselves, which I thought was fascinating. Jeff taught me how to make banana bread from the bananas we picked out of his back yard. Jeff tutored me to the highest final exam grade in our Alegra class - even higher than him. Even higher than the smart kids who took special classes at the high school. Booya.

Jeff was the second boy I ever smooched, on a dare from his sister Jenny. The first boy was a creepy friend of my brother's. I was invited by his friends to play a game of Spin the Bottle at a party at our house (my mother, tucked discreetly and quietly back in her room). I thought I was with the Cool Older Kids. It turns out to be kinda weird playing Spin the Bottle with your brother there. Simply awkward. I got a nano-second smooch from the boy who was NOT Zane Syden, who was totally the boy I would have been happy to kiss. He was hot. But I smooched the creep and ran. I high-tailed it outta there, buddy.   

But the kiss from Jeff was just more funny than anything else. It was a dare, in front of his sister Jenny, in the evening dark of my front yard. I have some strange memories of that moment: the hum of the TV playing inside my house. The tickle on my bare arm of the hibiscus plant leaf, a neat row of them growing up the length of our porch. I remember holding my breath, the smell of Jeff's warm, slightly oily skin and the flush on my face when we parted faces and laughed at ourselves. How brave we were and how silly his sister was for even thinking of daring us.

But all that happened after those first videos that aired on 8.1.81. We had just met, really. Our family moved onto their street that very summer. School hadn't started yet. We were still young enough to play outside all day. We weren't quite old enough to start getting into a little trouble, like stealing kisses on a dare. Or sneaking out into the street after our parents had long been sleeping, just to stand under the street light and whisper and try not to laugh too loudly. Sometimes his siblings were there, sometimes my brother came out too and the five of us would sit on Jeff's lava stone wall and just talk. Talk away the night- of what? I have zero recollection. No, that's not true. I remember talking about that all new girl band The Go-Go's....they all played their own instruments! COOL! And how super-cute Simon LeBon was, but like, totally not as cute as the boy Brooks who I had a totally rad crush of for like, all of eighth grade. Fer sure, like y'know? 

The first video ever played on MTV was, as most people know, "Video Killed the Radio Star" by the Buggles. What most people can't seem to recall is the second. I always do. It was "You Better Run" by Pat Benatar. I remember sitting there with Jeff and Jenny watching this second video in awe. Pat Benatar was a woman and she was strong! Not a hippy like Janis Joplin or a country singer like Loretta Lynn or a folks singer like Linda Ronstadt. Pat Benatar was a Rock Star. My rock star. A rock star for the girls who wanted to be just as strong and fierce and as unabashedly wear red lipstick. Yeah, I wanted to be just like her. Still do. 

I miss the innocence of that time in my life. Sometimes a little too much, methinks. But when I do, I just listen to a few songs from back then and that feeling fades. I listen to songs like "Saved by Zero" by The Fixx. "Time After Time" by Cyndi Lauper. "Sexy and 17" by The Stray Cats. "Girls on Film" by Duran Duran. "Love is a Battlefield" by Pat Benatar. "Open Arms" by Journey. I love those songs. 

Today the TV is playing all kinds of crazy retro, 30 year old MTV clips on VH1 Classic. Martha Quinn was so cute. The music and the videos remind me of so much. It brings a smile to my face. It made me look up my friend Jeff on Facebook, just to see what he was up to. We've remained friends, though distant ones, after I left Hawaii in 1984. I kept up with him as I tended to do: an always-moving Marine Brat made me an excellent pen pal. Now Jeff is a tall, tan and chiseled athlete. He's successful and attractive and has been together with his partner Jeff, for longer than I can remember. Jeff and Jeff. It's kinda too cute. 

This vintage TV has me in a remeniscent sort of fuzz today. I won't tell The Candyman though because he has no patience for my little girl tales, no patience for youthful longing. It's okay though, because it's the music that I need in times like this, nothing more. So in honor of these 30 years since that king sized water bed at Jeff's house, I give you the coolest chick I knew in 1981. Happy Birthday, MTV.

My Southern Man

The Candyman is a Southerner, born (on this day 37 years ago) and bred. He’s lived outside of The South before, but never for long and not happily either. My roots are Southern, though I’ve lived all over the damn place. Both of my parents are from South Carolina. I was born in North Carolina. Family vacations were spent in Myrtle Beach. The Candyman spent summers on his uncle’s shrimping boat in Wilmington. I’ve wondered more than once if our paths ever crossed when we were younger. Did I ever go into the beach shop where he worked when he lived in Myrtle Beach? Did we ever stand in the same concession line at The Pavilion? Doubtful, but I like to think we did.

Today is my Southern Man’s birthday. I love birthdays. And Christmas. I get really excited about them and have to nudge The Candyman into that excitement at times. His family isn’t really big on all the gift giving. This is contrary to every belief I have about presents. Presents are a necessity. Big or small, inexpensive or fancy – it matters not. The gift of giving is big on my list of favorite things.

I’ll tell you what though, figuring out what to get for The Candyman is no easy task. He doesn’t like clothes with fancy labels or anything, so it’s not like he craves those. I can’t buy him ties or belts or anything other than socks, boxers and t-shirts because he can be rather picky. He doesn’t wear or like jewelry. He doesn’t read for leisure because he reads constantly for his job. He likes food. He likes music. I’ve already given him an iPod, dinners out….it’s tough to find new stuff that he doesn’t need. No one wants freakin’ socks for their birthday.

So this morning I gave The Candyman his present. A banjo.

What? Doesn’t every guy want a banjo?

It’s a used Oscar Schmidt, but it’s in pretty good shape. The Candyman plays by ear, which amazes me as I am one who has to play note by note off of sheet music that sits right in front of my face. This morning, The Candyman and I sat in bed as he immediately just started picking away, saying, “I’m not sure how to do this” all the while playing a tune. I’m all, “Sounds like you know just fine!”

The Candyman loves bluegrass, so I figured it was time he had a banjo. I mean, he’s already got a dobro. Why not just add to the collection of Things The Candyman Can Play? We’re starting to run out of room now though.

Maybe we should have a couple of kids so we can start our own bluegrass band? Or maybe not. At any rate, please help me wish The Candyman the happiest of birthdays.

Love you, babe! 

Musical Youth (not of the dutchie variety)

In our house, we have one desktop computer and one laptop. The Candyman owns the laptop and I command use of the desktop. The iTunes is on the desktop, yet we have two separate iPods. The fact that Apple has yet to figure out a way to have separate iTunes on the same computer baffles me. Yes, yes, yes, I know we can make separate folders and playlists and shit, but it’s a pain in the ass. When The Candyman and I started dating he didn’t have an iPod. I got him one as a gift and since then, we’ve shared our iTunes. I already had thousands of songs downloaded and to try to separate his music from my music was just too daunting a task. After several years of combined musical purchases, we gave up ever trying. One of the reasons we’d like to separate the tunes is while The Candyman and I have the same appreciation for music, we definitely don’t listen to the same kinds of music.

As a Marine Brat born in the 70’s, I grew up listening to the 8-track player in the Chevy station wagon as we drove from state to state every year or so. We had the following on heavy rotation: CCR, Simon & Garfunkle, Linda Ronstadt, John Denver, The 5^th Dimension, Gordon Lightfoot, The Fendermen, Peter, Paul & Mary, Merle Haggard, Crosby, Still, Nash and Young and Johnny Mathis. The first cassette tapes I ever owned were Donny & Marie’s Goin’ Coconuts and The Best of Captain and Tennille (I still have them). I know, hot to death, right?  I was a teenager in the 80’s (for which I thank God constantly) and for the early part of that decade I was obsessed with The Stray Cats, The Go-Go’s, Duran Duran, The Fixx, Pat Benatar, The Style Council, The Police, U2 and Oingo Boingo. The summer between freshman and sophomore year of high school I was introduced to Midnight Oil and that band opened up a whole different genre of music for me. I discovered Siouxie and The Banshees, The Cure, The Smiths, The Jesus and Mary Chain, Echo and the Bunnymen, Love and Rockets, Joy Division, The English Beat. I leaned hard for a few years getting into the DC punk scene with Bad Brains, The Faith, Iron Cross, Scream, State of Alert (featuring Henry Rollins), Government Issue, Void, and Youth Brigade.The music of the 1990’s just passed me right on by. Grunge was NOT my scene and I avoided plaid flannel at all costs. As my focus turned towards my career in the early 00’s, I basically stopped paying attention to music.  I listened to the radio and maybe bought a CD here and there if I really heard something I liked.

Moving to Music City (that would be Nashville) in 2005 got me back into a local music scene. It was all kinds of fun as I made friends with musicians and often got to watch them play amazing live music. When I met The Candyman, I felt like I had a pretty good repertoire of musical history and taste under my belt. Sadly, The Candyman doesn’t agree with this sentiment. He grew up in the 70’s too, but had older brothers who were way into the rock music scene: lots of Skynard, Led Zeppelin, The Rolling Stones, Aerosmith, and Black Sabbath coupled with the blues of the South: Muddy Waters, Buddy Guy,Howlin’ Wolf, Ma Rainey and Ray Charles. He despises the 1980’s and I often wonder how someone who hates 80’s music so vehemently can love me so soundly.

So now that we’ve co-mingled our lives and our iPods, I’m exposed to all sort of music that I’ve never heard before. A lot of it I don’t care for. I feel like I’m constantly fast-forwarding through Johnny Cash (how much of one artist can one man have?), Mother Love Bone and The Black Keys to try to find my bubble-gum pop songs that just make me want to get all dance-y. I can’t get enough of Lady GaGa’s Born This Way or Pink’s Raise Your Glass. For reals.

There are times when I let the iPod just do its shuffle thing and I’ll hear a song I’m fairly certain I don’t want to hear, but end up listening anyway. What I’ll find interesting is a hook or a lyric that I just know resonates with The Candyman and I get why he listens to that song. One of the songs Howlin’ Wolf is famous for is called Louise.  He loves that song (go figure). He used to listen to Zero 7’s Destiny when I would go overseas. I would listen to that too, and think of him.

On a clear day
I'll fly home to you
I'm bending time getting back to you
Old moon fades into the new
Soon I know I'll be back with you
I'm nearly with you
I'm nearly with you

When I'm weak I draw strength from you
And when you're lost I know how to change your mood
And when I'm down you breathe life over me
Even though we're miles apart we are each other's destiny

I'll fly, I'll fly home
I'll fly home and I'll fly home

So this past weekend, we were driving somewhere and one of “his” songs came on. I was in no mood for the twangy, bluesy nonsense I heard, but resisted the urge to jab the fast-forward button.  I had never heard it before and I can’t even remember who or what it was, but there was a line in the song about a good woman bringing her man coffee. I looked at The Candyman and said, “This is why you like this song, isn’t it? It reminds you of me when I bring you coffee in the morning.”

And I was right. He’s so squishy and sentimental. That moment in the car last weekend has stayed with me and I’ve been rolling it around in my brain. I’m trying to figure out if it meant something. Should I listen harder for the sentimental cues? Will three to four minutes of patience through a song that’s not “mine” further reveal to me the man my husband was, is and will be? I wonder.

And is the comingling of music reflective of the comingling of our lives? Sometimes we should be able to listen to our hearts desire. Other times it’s more appropriate to let someone else have their heart’s desire. I am still learning how to share: my life, music, money, closet space. The Candyman and I were talking recently about his ability to break through the barrier that I built around my heart and he smiled and started singing Higher Than the Wall from The Steel Drivers:

There are walls made of paper, and walls made of stone
and some that are made out of livin' alone
I built a wall no one could break down
locked up my heart where it couldn't be found

You saw past my shackles and let love unfold
showed me the truth from the lies I'd been told
my heart was a prisoner like no heart at all
till your love reached higher than the wall

I smiled at him and he said, “Brick by brick, baby.” And maybe that’s the lesson. This whole love thing we’ve got going on is a process. Maybe it’s an un-building and rebuilding of ourselves.

You know, if Apple ever does figure out how to separate iPods on one computer, I don’t think I’ll sign up for it. Let’s just keep it all mixed up together. It’s better that way.

Finding My/Your Wedding Mojo

So I've been frantically working on all sorts of hair toys and bridal accessories for some bridal blogging partners in crime as well as for a few others (Jenn C., I swear, you're next!) . It's been going well, but I get very nervous when I do custom stuff. Don't get me wrong, I love to do custom stuff. On one hand, it's really easy because you get to hear exactly what the bride wants and I really enjoy creating something with a particular person in my head. On the other hand, it's completely nerve-wracking because I've got this insane need to please and I want people to be happy with what I do for them.

And it's weird (or maybe it isn't, I need some artists to chime in here) because I'll have an idea for something and start working on it. And then it won't come. Or rather, it won't come all the way. The creative juices just halt. The thing that I had in my head sort of becomes this fleeting image that I'm suddenly chasing around the corners of my right brain. If I can't see it, I can't do it. The same thing used to happen to me when I was designing lamps and home decor. I'd be overseas, all excited to go play with product and I'd have all these ideas and visions dancing around in my head and I'd get to a factory to work and my brain would go SCREEEEEECH and I'd be standing and staring at a project like a freakin' deer in head lights. Most times, I'd ask for a Diet Coke (assuming the lost creativity was due to jet lag) and wander around looking at old projects or rejected projects for the thing that goes "SPARK" and gets me up and running again.

Over the years, I taught my Asian vendors tons of American slang, one of them being the word "mojo" and how one could lose it. Most of them knew that if I went for the Diet Coke, my mojo was in hiding. My vendors would bring out pretty things to spark my interest, or make a suggestion to the design I was working on, or just generally distract me. Most times, that's all I would need: a diversion, another voice. I'm not one of those people who think that my ideas are the best, most creative out there. In fact, I second guess myself so much that another voice puts me at ease, whether the feedback be praise or constructive criticism.

So now that I'm doing these custom things, I find myself emailing pictures of possibilities to brides along the way, and getting their feedback. I don't know if that's the "right" way to go about this new venture, but it feels most comforting to me for now. I certainly don't want to make something for a bride that they don't like or is somehow "off", even just a little. I don't want to be the regret a bride has after all is said and done. Perhaps this is undue pressure I am putting on myself. I'm just not certain at this point.

So I have been trying to come up with a new designing diversion without success. Diet Coke only appears to work in China. Last week I was taking some pictures of a lace shrug to email to a bride. I needed to try it on to show the bride where the length would fall, etc. and to do so, I needed to show the shrug with a strapless dress. I put on my David's Bridal $40 wedding gown I bought on sale some time last year, snapped some pics and emailed them off. I took off the shrug, took down my tripod and organized the bride's goodies. I cleaned up my work space a bit and put away some folded laundry. All in the wedding gown. I didn't purposely leave it on, I just got side tracked with activities. I sat down to attend to more emails and realized I was still wearing the gown. So I kept it on. A few nano-seconds later, the radio started playing the dreaded,

Baby, baby, baby ohh
Like baby, baby, baby noo
Like baby, baby, baby ohh

And I got up and started dancing. Just like that. To Justin Beiber. In my $40 David's Bridal wedding gown. And then I had an epiphany! "No! It is NOT Justin Beiber that I should be dancing to!" and I ran to my iPod and found, played and danced to "Forever" by Chris Brown. I swear, I cry a happy cry every single time I hear that song. Ever since those crazy kids, Jill and Kevin, danced their way down the aisle, it's all I can envision in my head when I hear it. And it makes me so freakin' happy. Their video came out in July of 2009, less than 8 weeks before my own wedding. It was my go-to video when I was feeling stressed. That video took me to my happy place when I was overwhelmed by tasks, drama (usually self-induced) or just plain ol' nerves. So I danced. I danced up and down the hallway and got funky to "Forever." Afterwards, I changed out of the gown and banged out some crazy bridal accessories. And just like that, I found my mojo. Is my $40 David's Bridal wedding gown and a little Chris Brown my new Diet Coke?

When it comes down to it, we all are pretty much obsessed when it comes to our planning, right? I certainly didn't expect to care or plan or DIY as much as I did. It all sort of just happened. I wasn't prepared for it, that's for damn sure. I think every bride needs a little go-to for de-stressing in the throws of wedding planning, don't you? Do you work out? Imbibe? Listen to Justin Beiber (don't worry, I won't tell anyone)? What's your tactic for getting your wedding out of your head?

And just in case you've been living under a rock, on another planet or in a general state of internet ignorance, here's a repeat performance of my favorite wedding de-stresser ever.

Over 61 MILLION people have watched this video and nearly $35,000 has been raised in donations to the Sheila Wellstone Institute to stop domestic violence. If that doesn't make you feel good, I don't know what will!