Of Cabbages & Kings … And Taxes, Cinnabon, & Pop Music
Wednesday 04.15.09What came first, the music or the misery? People worry about kids playing with guns, or watching violent videos, that some sort of culture of violence will take them over. Nobody worries about kids listening to thousands, literally thousands of songs about heartbreak, rejection, pain, misery and loss. Did I listen to pop music because I was miserable? Or was I miserable because I listened to pop music? – High Fidelity
At the beginning of the year, I did not make a resolution. Resolutions are something that I find myself wanting to sneak around, squiggle out of, avoid at all costs. Because resolutions are supposed to be *good* for me: and why would I want to do something like that?
Instead, I put out a request: “Self,” I said, “I would like to have some form of physical activity almost every day. Working out, walking, pedometering the steps, etc. It’s supposed to make us healthy, wealthy, and wise; and dude, I really dig those endorphine thingies.” My self found these thoughts acceptable, and since then exercise or daily movement has been fairly consistent. Normally I would get up before the little monkeys, turn on my happy lamp, and walk it out with Leslie (“pulling those blessings down from heaven!” Bless her little, and so healthy, heart).
And then “someone” decided to get competitive by getting up before the mama. Like an hour before the mama. And even Leslie‘s positivity can’t pull this tired patootie out of bed at 4:30am. So these past couple of days I’ve been trying to squish concerted physical effort in where I can: breakfast times, naptimes, or today the blissful “One child at school, and the not-as-needing-of-social-engagement child at home: sweet freedom!” time. Yesterday we The Firmed together, but apparently someone is a gear head and did *not* want to share the other dumbbell, and I didn’t know, but we had assigned fanny lifters that were *not* to be shared. My bad.
Today we went for a walk around our park. I had a goal: we met half of it before Abe started to doze off. And naptime in the stroller: not cool. That creeps into his other Times of Containment which are meant for sleeping and letting Mama sit on the couch and eat bon bons and watch The Dr.’s to figure out which prostate exam is the most effective (for future reference).
I needed to move about more, and I didn’t want to accomplish it by lugging laundry up and down the stairs: it’s an option, but not a good one. So I flipped to the ol’ Itunes to find some dancey music.
Today I’ve been craving dancey music since I read about Cinnabon giving away free Cinnabites in honor of tax day. Obvious correlation on all fronts, yes? See, in college, when my roommates and I had done all our homework and were good little college students, or at least mediocre college students, we would wake up late Sunday morning, throw on our pajama pants and slippers and hoodies, pile into a car, haul off to the mall to the “Good Entrance.” Within 15 feet of the entrance we could access Starbucks (venti Mocha Frappuccino), Jamba Juice (really big Aloha Pineapple with immunity boosters), and Cinnabon (extra frosting, please). I didn’t say I was necessarily at my *heathiest* time of my life, and we usually made up for it by cooking a “proper” chicken and salad and bread dinner (never made the correlation why I felt so much better after dinner and notsomuch in the morning …).
To and from the Good Entrance, we would listen to music: loud music: loud pop music. Because we could, and because it was a wholly new experience for me: happy music, bouncy music, music that wasn’t written by goth boys with moppy dyed-black hair to match their all-black ensemble that blended into their sinister tomb of dark madness (aka their parents’ garage) as was my previous listening preference (oh, Robert Smith, you’ll still always have a place in my heart). There were dance moves involved in this happy, peppy music experience, dance moves that I learned, and now have the pride (the privilege, nay, the pleasure) of bestowing them upon the next generation (of course, while their father is at work. But it’s not like he’s not going to teach them to get their Warren G on: regulators, mount up).
- So we dance to a little of this.
- And this.
- And he *really* liked this, talking back and waving to the screen.
- And we danced to this, so he could find something that’s more “his generation” (but we didn’t watch: those shoulder pads are just a little too graphic at his tender age).
Yesterday I was complaining to a friend that Elmo and his orchestra was about to get booted out of my home. He reminded me of some good kids music, but the pop music, the happy peppy baddy pop music, finally leveled me out. Of course now I’ll need to temper that with either some Beastie or Vivaldi: really, it’s a toss up between the two.
Daily Drivel, Entertaining Evidence, Random Remarks, Uther Urls | 2 Comments »
, I do find a certain humor and empathy in looking at some of the horrific ensembles that are out there. Thank goodness my friend didn’t make me wear the pregnant prom dress when I was 8/9 months pregnant in her wedding.