So, we all have secrets--things we don't want everyone to know about us. I don't know anyone who doesn't have at least one guilty pleasure. Aside from food and shopping, I guess most of my guilty pleasures involve music.
For the most part, my favorite music taste falls into the "alternative" category--whatever the word alternative means. You won't get into my car and hear Britney Spears blaring. Kings of Leon (even though considered alternative by some) won't be "using somebody" on my iPod. That said, there are a few things that worm their way under my musical skin. I'm often ashamed to admit these intruders have found a place in my music collection.
It all started a few years back with a New Year's Eve special featuring Maroon 5. "This Love" was being played on the radio at a rate of frequency that produced infectious annoyance. But there was something different that clicked with me when I saw them play it live. And yes, the fact that lead singer Adam Levine is freaking geeky hot doesn't hurt. I picked up the album "Songs About Jane," and was obsessed with it for months on end. I still think it's one of the best pop/rock albums ever.
I think my soul swore that I wouldn't let anything else in, but my ears are weak. Most recently, Lady Gaga and Katy Perry chewed their way onto my iPod like vermin. I'm scared Ke$ha might end up there too. Oh, the shame of pop music! I blame my parents.
Growing up, my mom and stepdad were music junkies. Their music collection ranged from Kiss, to Neil Diamond. One of my good friends loves "classic rock." When I grew up, "classic rock" was pop music. It was what everyone was listening to because what's "classic" now is what was new then. And I think there's something to be said for that.
At some point, everything in music is alternative. Rock n' roll started as an underground movement. Parents wanted to keep their kids from listening to "that trash." Country music started out as something way more risque' and inappropriate before radio arrived on the scene (Can you even think about a time without radio?!).
As an "alternative" music lover, probably one of the most shameful confessions I have to make is that I have been infected with Taylor Swift. I blame, in part, my current profession, and the fact that I grew up during a period where pop music had a love affair with country music and for a while, it was pretty difficult to tell the difference. From Dolly Parton and Kenny Rogers singing Barry Gibb's "Islands in the Stream," to Eddie Rabbit's "I Love a Rainy Night," it was hard to know whether I was liking country music or pop. It was a very confusing time. When I found myself in the veterinary profession, it was almost inevitable that I would be locked in a room or car with someone who exclusively listened to country music--again during a period when country was crossing the line. But I think this time around, country artists were seeking out the affair.
From Shania Twain and Faith Hill, to Keith Urban, country and pop seemed destined to rekindle their romance. I liked what I was hearing in spite of myself, and even found myself listening a little deeper. It's hard for me to admit that some of the country I like most is also the most hard core. Montgomery Gentry's "Daddy Won't Sell the Farm" is worthy of being blasted, and the smokey and seductive heart-wrenching twang of Gary Allan easily makes me weak in the knees.
It seemed for a while, however, that some distance had come between country music and me. But, with a hair flip and the goofy grin of then eighteen-year-old Taylor Swift, it all came back. I didn't want to like her. She wasn't "worthy" of my musical snobbery. So, I tried to ignore her.
I think it's important at this point to remind the reader that I started off talking about secrets and guilty pleasures. Among the ones I listed for myself was food. I know that it is important to eat a balanced diet and that I shouldn't overindulge. I know I should drink water instead of Dr. Pepper. I know that a poached egg or a protein shake would be a better breakfast than a cherry Pop Tart. But here's the deal, sometimes, you just want a cherry Pop Tart, even if it isn't good for you. There's something about the frosting meshing with the cherry filling when it's warmed that creates a perfect balance of tart and sweet. It's so bad, it's good. There's almost no nutritional value.
"Romeo take me somewhere we can be alone
I'll be waiting, all there's left to do is run
You'll be the prince and I'll be the princess
It's a love story, baby just say yes."
"Love Story" --Taylor Swift
Those were the words. Those infectious cherry pop tart words. For one, I couldn't get away from them, for two, why wouldn't they make you smile? It found its way onto my iPod. Drat! But I didn't tell anyone, so nobody had to know.
Around the time Swift released her most recent album "Speak Now," she appeared on a television special to promote its release and the upcoming tour to support it. I DVRd it and watched it alone. A few years older, her lyrics had matured as well.
"Oh, holding my breath
Won't see you again
Something keeps me holding onto nothing"
"Haunted" --Taylor Swift
"Speak Now" has a very different vibe than "Fearless," but oddly, maybe it's more fearless than "Fearless." It's an album that explores the darker emotions associated with love--mostly lost love.
I found myself downloading the album based on the special alone. Again, I told no one.
A couple months ago, I secretly DVRd a special about her "Fearless" tour, and I found myself kind of wishing I had gotten to see her. I kind of hoped I might find a chance to see her this time around, but I really didn't want to admit that I wanted to go. Luckily, a few of my coworkers wanted to go too and I could slip going under the radar. I joked with everyone that I would go, but would tell no one, and that if I ended up with a t-shirt, it would never be paired with anything but pajama pants.
As it started to circulate that a few of us were going, my fellow music snob at work confessed that she, too, couldn't hate Taylor Swift--against her better judgment. She listened to her talking about what she does and found her "endearing." And that's the problem, for those of us who have crossed over to the "bright side," she's oddly endearing.
Some days the job I do is fairly easy. I get to help puppies and kittens (and their older counterparts) all day. And then, there are the hard days--the days that I see things I can't reconcile or make sense of. Some days, the world is a pretty tough place. Human beings are capable of inhumane cruelty to each other, and I hear about things I can't even believe to be possible.
Last night, in nearly nosebleed seats, I spent two hours with a few of my friends watching a silly twenty-one-year-old flip her hair and stare at the audience with wild-eyed expressions that bordered on absurd theatrics. But, there was a woman in the row in front of us with her daughter and one of my best friends looked at me and said "That's going to be me in about seven years." My response, "Maybe it will be me too." I felt myself choke up just a little bit and feel a little teary-eyed in the moment.
If I am fortunate enough to be that woman in about seven years, I'm sure I will want my daughter to eat her vegetables and listen to U2. I'm sure I will still be protesting that she will not be going to see Ke$ha with her "aunt Meg." But, maybe we'll be taking her and Maci to see Taylor Swift together. And that would be all right by me.
In a world that often seems to have gone crazy, and sometimes only wants to take you down with it, what can be so bad about an adorable twenty-one-year-old that writes her own silly love songs while playing her own guitar, piano or banjo? It may be cherry Pop Tart music, but you know, sometimes, you just need a cherry Pop Tart.
"Enchanted" Taylor Swift
Sunday, September 25, 2011
Saturday, September 10, 2011
September 10, 2011--We will never have another September 10.
So, it was a phenomenally beautiful day. It was so beautiful, it nearly sparkled. It seems like that's one of the things we all seem to remember the most.
I was getting ready to leave for work--as usual, running late, and only caught a snippet about the planes from National Public Radio. It wasn't possible for me to begin to process the information--there wasn't time.
Within a couple of hours after my arrival at work, leaders from my company were calling and telling us we were welcome to go home if we wanted to. We didn't. I remember a co-worker of mine saying that nothing would change here--by here, she meant Kansas City. Before long, I think we all realized that nothing would ever be the same.
People trickled in and out of our hospital that day. But mostly it seemed like people were just someplace else. By the time I got to leave that evening, I still hadn't seen any of the images of the planes crashing into the towers, the Pentagon or in that open field in Pennsylvania.
I'll never forget the news shows endlessly replaying the video of the planes hitting and the towers falling. It was almost as if they couldn't make the event real, no matter how many times we all saw it unfold--time after time. It was a macabre and horrible instant replay. For hours, they showed footage of people taking to the streets of New York, walking away from where the towers used to be. Paper, dust, debris and smoke flew around like the tiny plastic pieces floating around in a snow globe. The surreality of everything made the event seem impossible. It was the worst disaster movie brought horrifically to life.
As people began to realize their loved ones were unaccounted for, the night brought images of the fliers and photos--the fliers and photos posted and held by family and friends desperately seeking their missing--their dead.
I remember that we huddled on the sofa, watching. It seems to me that we actually were watching MTV that night because they had people in the streets talking to New Yorkers about what had happened and where they had been. It was the first time in years MTV was relevant to me. Sadly, it hasn't been so since.
As I reflect on that night, it seems like I can't remember a time when so many people gathered--came together--outside of events like Live Aid or the George Harrison concert for Bangladesh. I'm not a patriotic person by any means, but in those moments, I was an American, just like everyone else. My heart bled for those lost, and those left behind.
In the months and years that have followed, many things have changed. For the last ten years, we have been in a constant state of war. At every turn, new threats create new security efforts that baffle many of us, and seem ludicrous at times. I'm in that group of folks who is willing to sacrifice a lot to be safe and stay alive. Take my shampoo--please! I've lost a Leatherman that Jeph gave me for my birthday that I forgot was in my purse, and mailed my bandage scissors to myself for the same mistake at another point. I've been the arrogant American waiting in the customs line in the Dublin airport as two men of Arab descent were being screened more thoroughly than the rest of us--and horrible person that it makes me--I was glad. I've been the seeking American, trying to understand where all that hate comes from, and what we should have done, and still need to do, to build bridges instead of fueling more hijacked airplanes.
On the one hand, in the days following the attacks, the terrorists lost their battle--we pulled together instead of tearing each other apart. On the other, our economy is still crumbling around us, not unlike those two towers; our leadership is divided and at war with each other; and we as a nation could not be less unified. Ten years of war have added to the death toll of that day--on both sides. And as we prepare for bed tonight, a terrorist threat looms over us again--taking us back to those horrible moments of vulnerability and uncertainty.
For many who had loved ones in the towers, at the Pentagon and in Pennsylvania, time stopped. National Public Radio has an amazing project called Story Corp, and they have worked in conjunction with the National September 11 Memorial and Museum to help loved ones document their stories. This week, I listened to a father talk about his two sons--one a fireman, one a policeman. He had spoken to both of his boys within a day of the attacks, and he had been fortunate enough to do what so many of us never get the chance to do--he had told them he loved them--not knowing how significant those words would be. No unfinished business. I also listened to a boy talking about his grandfather who died in the attacks. He said that his grandpa was the only grandpa he wanted to see and broke down. The tears of that young boy stopped me cold, and I nearly had to pull over.
I think of a friend who was in the Pentagon and injured in the attack. I can't imagine what emotions are hitting her tonight, and what she has gone through every year. I know there isn't a day that passes for her that this event isn't with her.
For many of these people, every day is September 11, 2001. A piece of their lives is gone that they can never get back. Nearly three thousand people were just lost--as if misplaced like an earring or cuff-link. You see the match everyday and it constantly reminds you that the pair--the set--will never be complete again. But it feels like it should be, and no matter how much you try to remind yourself, it just doesn't make sense. Your heart is forever searching.
As much as things changed for a moment in time, everything actually did stay the same. With the exception of those trapped on September 11 forever, the rest of us went on with our lives. We changed jobs, had children, started new diets, bought new wardrobes, or let the last ten years pass like an absent minded blur. We're back to our selfishness. We're back to looking at the rest of the world around us and when people need help, we're back to saying "that's not my problem, take care of yourself." We're back to calling people who disagree with our political views names and defiantly struggling to do anything but work together to find common ground.
In spite of what is the same, and even what's different, as we see and hear the specials commemorating the anniversary of the attacks, that same pain and horror will flash through our minds once more. Every one of us will think about that day--where we were, how we learned of the attacks and the extent of the horror, and how we vowed to stand together against terror. Every one of us will probably feel that lump rise in our throats when we hear the individual stories of last conversations, or of parents watching as the plane their son was on crashed into Tower Two in real time on television.
And the one thing that could bring us together again is remembering another day--a day we will never have again. We will forever be the post 9/11 America. There will never be another September 10 for any of us.
I hope you will click the link. Live didn't write "Overcome" about September 11, but it became an anthem for the moment. The only video I have ever seen for this track includes footage from New York in the hours we were most together. As the last ten minutes of this post 9/11 September 10 pass, I know I will be thinking about those hours on my sofa, those people in the streets who would receive word their loved ones were gone, and those survivors who ask "why did I get another chance?" For some questions, there are no answers.
"I beg you...to have patience with everything unresolved in your heart and try to love the questions themselves as if they were locked rooms or books written in a very foreign language. Don't search for the answers, which could not be given to you now, because you would not be able to live them. And the point is, to live everything. Live the questions now. Perhaps then, someday far in the future, you will gradually, without even noticing it, live your way into the answer..." Rainer Maria Rilke
http://youtu.be/jpCa7Ay596M
I was getting ready to leave for work--as usual, running late, and only caught a snippet about the planes from National Public Radio. It wasn't possible for me to begin to process the information--there wasn't time.
Within a couple of hours after my arrival at work, leaders from my company were calling and telling us we were welcome to go home if we wanted to. We didn't. I remember a co-worker of mine saying that nothing would change here--by here, she meant Kansas City. Before long, I think we all realized that nothing would ever be the same.
People trickled in and out of our hospital that day. But mostly it seemed like people were just someplace else. By the time I got to leave that evening, I still hadn't seen any of the images of the planes crashing into the towers, the Pentagon or in that open field in Pennsylvania.
I'll never forget the news shows endlessly replaying the video of the planes hitting and the towers falling. It was almost as if they couldn't make the event real, no matter how many times we all saw it unfold--time after time. It was a macabre and horrible instant replay. For hours, they showed footage of people taking to the streets of New York, walking away from where the towers used to be. Paper, dust, debris and smoke flew around like the tiny plastic pieces floating around in a snow globe. The surreality of everything made the event seem impossible. It was the worst disaster movie brought horrifically to life.
As people began to realize their loved ones were unaccounted for, the night brought images of the fliers and photos--the fliers and photos posted and held by family and friends desperately seeking their missing--their dead.
I remember that we huddled on the sofa, watching. It seems to me that we actually were watching MTV that night because they had people in the streets talking to New Yorkers about what had happened and where they had been. It was the first time in years MTV was relevant to me. Sadly, it hasn't been so since.
As I reflect on that night, it seems like I can't remember a time when so many people gathered--came together--outside of events like Live Aid or the George Harrison concert for Bangladesh. I'm not a patriotic person by any means, but in those moments, I was an American, just like everyone else. My heart bled for those lost, and those left behind.
In the months and years that have followed, many things have changed. For the last ten years, we have been in a constant state of war. At every turn, new threats create new security efforts that baffle many of us, and seem ludicrous at times. I'm in that group of folks who is willing to sacrifice a lot to be safe and stay alive. Take my shampoo--please! I've lost a Leatherman that Jeph gave me for my birthday that I forgot was in my purse, and mailed my bandage scissors to myself for the same mistake at another point. I've been the arrogant American waiting in the customs line in the Dublin airport as two men of Arab descent were being screened more thoroughly than the rest of us--and horrible person that it makes me--I was glad. I've been the seeking American, trying to understand where all that hate comes from, and what we should have done, and still need to do, to build bridges instead of fueling more hijacked airplanes.
On the one hand, in the days following the attacks, the terrorists lost their battle--we pulled together instead of tearing each other apart. On the other, our economy is still crumbling around us, not unlike those two towers; our leadership is divided and at war with each other; and we as a nation could not be less unified. Ten years of war have added to the death toll of that day--on both sides. And as we prepare for bed tonight, a terrorist threat looms over us again--taking us back to those horrible moments of vulnerability and uncertainty.
For many who had loved ones in the towers, at the Pentagon and in Pennsylvania, time stopped. National Public Radio has an amazing project called Story Corp, and they have worked in conjunction with the National September 11 Memorial and Museum to help loved ones document their stories. This week, I listened to a father talk about his two sons--one a fireman, one a policeman. He had spoken to both of his boys within a day of the attacks, and he had been fortunate enough to do what so many of us never get the chance to do--he had told them he loved them--not knowing how significant those words would be. No unfinished business. I also listened to a boy talking about his grandfather who died in the attacks. He said that his grandpa was the only grandpa he wanted to see and broke down. The tears of that young boy stopped me cold, and I nearly had to pull over.
I think of a friend who was in the Pentagon and injured in the attack. I can't imagine what emotions are hitting her tonight, and what she has gone through every year. I know there isn't a day that passes for her that this event isn't with her.
For many of these people, every day is September 11, 2001. A piece of their lives is gone that they can never get back. Nearly three thousand people were just lost--as if misplaced like an earring or cuff-link. You see the match everyday and it constantly reminds you that the pair--the set--will never be complete again. But it feels like it should be, and no matter how much you try to remind yourself, it just doesn't make sense. Your heart is forever searching.
As much as things changed for a moment in time, everything actually did stay the same. With the exception of those trapped on September 11 forever, the rest of us went on with our lives. We changed jobs, had children, started new diets, bought new wardrobes, or let the last ten years pass like an absent minded blur. We're back to our selfishness. We're back to looking at the rest of the world around us and when people need help, we're back to saying "that's not my problem, take care of yourself." We're back to calling people who disagree with our political views names and defiantly struggling to do anything but work together to find common ground.
In spite of what is the same, and even what's different, as we see and hear the specials commemorating the anniversary of the attacks, that same pain and horror will flash through our minds once more. Every one of us will think about that day--where we were, how we learned of the attacks and the extent of the horror, and how we vowed to stand together against terror. Every one of us will probably feel that lump rise in our throats when we hear the individual stories of last conversations, or of parents watching as the plane their son was on crashed into Tower Two in real time on television.
And the one thing that could bring us together again is remembering another day--a day we will never have again. We will forever be the post 9/11 America. There will never be another September 10 for any of us.
I hope you will click the link. Live didn't write "Overcome" about September 11, but it became an anthem for the moment. The only video I have ever seen for this track includes footage from New York in the hours we were most together. As the last ten minutes of this post 9/11 September 10 pass, I know I will be thinking about those hours on my sofa, those people in the streets who would receive word their loved ones were gone, and those survivors who ask "why did I get another chance?" For some questions, there are no answers.
"I beg you...to have patience with everything unresolved in your heart and try to love the questions themselves as if they were locked rooms or books written in a very foreign language. Don't search for the answers, which could not be given to you now, because you would not be able to live them. And the point is, to live everything. Live the questions now. Perhaps then, someday far in the future, you will gradually, without even noticing it, live your way into the answer..." Rainer Maria Rilke
http://youtu.be/jpCa7Ay596M
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