Frosted

As I sit this morning--after our first frost last night-- in sweats, with a blanket on my lap, hot cup of home brewed Starbucks nearby, enjoying the scent of my pumpkin spice candle, it seems the perfect time to get something off my chest. Last year, after a bizarre foot of snow in October, we barely had a winter. At all. Not a single snow day! And, well, I'm still a little frosted about it....

But something tells me, this mid-October morning, to let that anger go, because this year will be different. 

Rocking On

The other day I was mentioning to my sister Liz that I wish I had kept a running list of concerts I’ve gone to in my life. We are both devoted list and journal keepers, but way back when it never occurred to us to start a list of concerts we’ve attended. I think I could name everyone I’ve seen—from AC/DC to Pearl Jam, Peter Frampton to Earth, Wind and Fire—but I know I’ve seen some performers/bands/artists multiple times. I’m just not sure how many. And although I probably have all the ticket stubs—some taped in journals, others in various memory boxes or old wallets—I don’t have a list to which I can refer. I would guess a hundred or so total, but I cannot assign for certain a number to the Peter Gabriel concert I am going to tomorrow night.

I know.

Peter Gabriel.

O.M. G.

I can tell you I saw him about ten years ago—at the same, small venue—and it was one of my favorite shows. So I’m really, really looking forward to seeing him again tomorrow night. He’s one of my favorites. And while I would give anything to see John Cusack come out on stage with a boom box to begin “In Your Eyes” as he did at the Hollywood Bowl (I know, didn’t that just give you chills?) I will enjoy every song he performs from So on this tour of its 25th anniversary.

Yep. And that’s how long I’ve been going to concerts. And then some. But it has been a while since I’ve been to one.

Long enough that I needed to download a Zippo lighter app last night.

Yeah, I did.

So I can rock on.

I Love It, I Love It Not...Kids at a Bar

I'm not naive. I'm not a prude. And I'm not anti-kid, even though I'm a PWOK. I'm just an adult who chooses to sit at the bar for grown-up time.

So it's more than not wanting to have to give your a kid a compliment. Oh, how precious, Or precocious.  My nieces and nephews know their way around a menu too and can politely order their meals with please and thank you--in the dining room. It's just that I don't want to eat my meal and sip my wine to the thump-thump of your kid banging his foot against the bar or to need to censor my language after a stressful (more often than not) day at work. Moreover, I feel for the parents who have paid for babysitters so they can have a grown-up night out and end up sitting near your kids instead.

So I'm not judging you or telling you how to raise your kids. Not really anyway.

I don't go to Chuck E Cheese and expect a quiet, peaceful evening. I don't go to Chuck E Cheese at all. I know that as an adult without kids to chaperone, it's not where I belong. I wish, then, that you would understand that your kids don't belong bellied up to the bar where one is required to be twenty-one to order a drink.

Politics, Polls, and Proms

For those of you who know me personally, or who were reading four years ago, you already are aware I am a political junkie. I cried when Tim Russert died as if he were a personal friend (meaning I wept) and I love Chris Matthews as much as I loved Tim. Eugene Robinson? Michael Isikoff? Dream dates for a midlife prom. Rachel Maddow? C'mon, now! She's brilliant and she mixes a mean cocktail.

I read and a get a laugh daily from Elinor Lipman (fellow Simmons alumna, writing teacher and favorite author/hero) and her rhyming political tweets (200 of which are now available in paperback as Tweet Land of Liberty: Irreverent Rhymes from the Political Circus), and text with my friend Candyce (also a Simmons College alum, fellow political junkie and long time friend) multiple times a day.

When Brian Williams signs off at 6:59, I tune into msnbc. I watched the conventions, respond aloud to political ads the way people talk get worked up about football games, have the debates scheduled on my iCloud calendar, and will be glued to the TV on Election Day. After, of course, I get home from the polls.

So tonight just after I put down my cell phone (having signed off from a text conversation with Candyce during which we planned a FaceTime debrief on Thursday after the Wednesday night debate), when my house phone rang during The Chris Matthews Show I wasn't sure I wanted to answer. So I glanced up at my TV to check caller ID. I saw this: Quinnipiac University.

OMG!!! Me?! You want me to respond to your poll? Well, yeah, of course! I think I just died and that midlife prom got rescheduled to heaven!

I didn't say that to the pollster, of course. (Well, not all of that.) But I did answer each and every question truthfully, honestly, and proudly. Now I can't wait to see the next, latest Quinnipiac Poll results.

May as well hand over that sash and tiara, because it feels about the same.