It is scheduled to rain this afternoon. It was overcast by my home when I got on the train early this morning to come to work. Thus, I was delighted to see El Sol was out and about when I came up from the subway near my job.
It’s the little things that bring simple joys.
El Sol giving me giraffe legs.
The Commons around my job have wonderful landscapers. There are seasonal plantings: various florals in summer and autumn, lights for the December holidays. Yesterday afternoon when I left work this plant box still held winter evergreens. This morning I am greeted by this unofficial but oh so important harbinger of spring: tulip bulbs! So come on rain and help out. I now look forward to seeing this and other plant boxes throughout The Commons ablaze in colorful tulips n a couple of weeks.
Fellow Slice of Lifer, and friend in real life, GirlGriot recent posted a slice that touched on how classical music once felt “forbidding” to her. I partially understood that sentiment from the perspective of my enjoyment of thrash metal music, something that many still that think I as a 56 year black is crazy for it.
Popular television and cartoon shows were my earliest experience of classical music. I imagine like most inner city Americans over the age of 45, we likely first heard classical music, jazz standards and big band from classic Disney (“Fantasia”), Warner Brothers (Bugs Bunny), and Max Fleischer (Betty Boop) cartoons. There is a reason that for many, many, many years most Americans knew a particular piece of music not as the finale of the William Tell Overture, but only as the theme to The Lone Ranger.
Other than television shows and cartoons as a black inner city girl, born in the early 60’s my exposure to music primarily came from very specific sources: my mother’s record player that only played black gospel music as she did not approve of secular music; my southern grandmother’s radio which only played country music, and the radio that mostly played what was popular at the time (classic and soft rock, and of course disco). Songs on the radio were only heard at friends and neighbors homes as it was not allowed in mine. Everyone regardless of color/ethnicity listened to the same stations for popular music because it was all we had. Sans those who eschewed most secular music of course, what would eventually be dubbed urban (aka Black), adult contemporary radio had become the thing. From the mid-1970s, when such radio stations came into existence until the late 2000s, whether as a political statement or as personal choice, if you were black you mostly listened to 107.5 WBLS (contemporary and traditional R&B), and the now defunct 101.9 WQCD (contemporary jazz) and WKRS (dance, hip-hop and rap) stations.
Yes, they exposed Black-Americans to more or our own music and to artists who may have been marginalized and not broken through the glass ceilings of other (aka white) radio stations, but at the same time it bred a subculture that made it all but verboten to listen to, let alone enjoy, anything else. I distinctly remember standing in queue at a department during the holiday store happily singing along to Billy Joel’s “A Matter of Trust” on the PA system when I was asked why I was singing that and told I should not be supporting their music because “Listen, we don’t do that”.
Excuse me? Yeah, that conversation did not go down well for him at all, and thus the point I wanted to make.
GirlGriot had once felt listening to classical music forbidding. Her story is her own and I will let her tell it. In my case, classical music, world music, and the early emergence of metal were not things I listened to because I was not exposed to them. Though artists who had massive crossover appeal like U2, Eurythmics, Blondie, The Police, Culture Club and Wham! were notable exceptions. While radio stations such as WCBS (music from twenty years ago), WKTU (dance), and WLTW (soft rock and adult contemporary) that crossed genres and remained popular enough, in my then insular world where everyone mostly listened to Anita Baker, Public Enemy, and Michael Jackson on the radio I did not have regular exposure to Bach, Mozart and Rossini. Why? Though the words were rarely so blatantly spoken, other than the guy at the department store, it was implicit we don’t do that.
Then the advent of personal music players and MTV happened.
A co-worker was listening to this relatively new band on his Sony Discman. He was clearly enjoying the music, I asked for a listen. I was told I wouldn’t like, but I insisted. This most definitely would never be played on anything “urban.” I had never heard anything like it, yet I it felt lyrically and musically on a visceral level. I replayed the song and then listened to the remainder of the CD and was shooketh as the kids say now. I bought a copy for myself that same day.
I had just been introduced to four guys whose names were James, Kirk, Kurt and Lars. The song was “Master of Puppets”, the band was Metallica, and I have been a devotee of them ever since.
Still, for a while I felt I had to hide this new love, because we don’t do that. Then I remembered just how pissed I was at the department store guy who deigned to tell me what I should be listening to and stopped hiding it.
MTV introduced me to thrash metal, death metal and grunge by god I loved it. Come 2000, in the middle of the night MTV introduced me to a then little-known group called Linkin Park and I was shooketh once again. By then WWE was popular and my sons were as much into it as I because many of the popular wrestlers of the time made their entrances to the ring with rock and metal music. Because I listened to it and their heroes at the time listened to it, it never occurred to them that they couldn’t. Their generation was not coming up with the subculture of we do don’t do that musically. Their musical choices were as diverse theirs and theirs alone because of that exposure and I for was grateful.
My late-husband came home one afternoon while our sons and I were head banging in different rooms as we were spring cleaning. Every window was open, and Metallica’s “S&M (Symphony & Metallica)” CDs were on blast. We lived in a mostly Caribbean and Latinx neighborhood, he was shaking his head and laughing that he heard the music half a block away and knew it was our house before he pulled up to the curb. He walked up to me and yelled “You’re Black!” Because the cosmos indeed has a delicious sense of humor, his timing was perfect with the song that was playing, and I paraphrased the incoming chorus as I shrugged and sang “Where I play my songs is home!” and continued cleaning to Wherever I May Roam. Unlike the guy in the department store oh so many years ago I knew he was partially teasing because while he liked some rock, he was never a heavy/thrash metal music fan at all but was is his choice that he did not do that, not my sons and certainly not mine.
I was in my forties when I went to my first opera and my reawakening to pieces I didn’t realize I already knew thanks to cartoons. I made me search for more and yet a new musical interest in classical was sprung. It is not my strong suit as metal and R&B. Still, I enjoy it.
Though my first musical love remains Rock and Heavy Metal, they have happily shared space on my iPod with Country, Soul, Video Game Soundtracks, Jazz, Rap, Trance, Classic Rock, 80’s Hair Bands, 70’s horns, Blues, Pop, Movie Scores, Broadway Show tunes, TV Themes and so much more.
And all I had to do was be willing to listen beyond the forbidding listenwe don’t do that.
Someone had posted several images that had text in Spanish. I was able to to piece out the sentences on my own to get get the joke. However one of the phrases threw me. “¡más fuerte!” in English technically translates to “Stronger!” That was fine and all for the joke, but I was reasonably sure the person meant “Harder!” Now, I know the word ‘hard’ in Spanish is duro, but because my Spanish is horrible I decided to run the words through good old Google Translate.
Yeah… About that…
Anyone familiar with Google Translate understands that while you will get the literal translation of an individual word, but the exact meaning of sentences, phrases and especially colloquialisms can sometimes get lost in translation. To combat such Google will often offer alternatives of what it thinks you may be searching. Thus today’s slice…
First, I tried a Spanish to English translation of fuerte and was given the translation of ‘stronger’ which I expected. The fun arrived when I then switched it to translate from English to Spanish and entered the word ‘harder’. You can see the alternate suggestions in the screencap below:
Screencap of humorous, to me, Google Translate where one of the suggested phrases of what I might be searching for the word ‘harder’ is “harder daddy.”
I know the suggestions come from Google’s algorithms. These algorithms are based on the phrases most asked for by users. That it is the next suggested thing offer after the literal item to be translated means there are a considerable amount of “daddies” out there being asked to display a show a strength.
I am among the first people to arrive at my job in the mornings. Usually, there are one or two others on my side of the floor when I enter and all the lights are turned on.
Not this morning…
I was the first person in on my side of the floor today. This morning only bright daylight, yay longer days at last(!), and the emergency lights greeted me. It was an eerie sort of quiet and I liked it.
Still, knucklehead that I am all I could think of was:
it looked like a first-person shooter game where all is quiet before the zombies pop out of nowhere at any moment,
the chorus to the old Eric Carmen song “All By Myself” and
clearly I was in serious need of coffee.
My loneliness, and potential active zombie bait imagination, lasted all of maybe seven minutes before the next person arrived, breaking the spell.
All mass transit riders know from hard learned experience, if it is rush hour never get in the empty subway car. The reason it is empty is always because it smells. Sometimes it is the person who could not get off the train in enough time to toss his or her cookies in a trash can. Unfortunately, the majority of the time it is because a homeless person has taken temporary residence there. The smell can be anywhere from mildly tolerable, meaning if you’re sitting at the other end of the car you may not even realize you’re sharing an enclosed space. Or the smell can be simply unbearable, that the entire car reeks the stench so completely, that the moment the car door opens at the platform you’re running for another car when it hits you. Again, during the height of rush hour it is pretty easy to tell. However, if you are on the train before it has had a chance to fill up and/or it is early in the morning, as it is when I am commuting to work you can get caught off guard.
This morning was one of those mornings.
I enter through the center doors and the car is only a third full. I am walking towards my preferred place to sit when a gust of brisk winter air stops me. It wasn’t the coldness of the air, today was pretty temperate weather wise, but the scent of the unwashed that traveled along it that stopped me. Sure, enough sitting in the corner by himself was one gentleman. At first casual glance he seemed harmless enough, but on that second look I know what I’m dealing with. I promptly u-turn and move the other side of the car where the smell doesn’t travel. Or so I thought. As the doors open at each stop that same brisk winter breeze served to remind us whose space we took over this morning. Unlike when unexpected guests ring your bell and you’re forced into being civil even though you can’t wait until you can get them out of there, he made his displeasure known.
With our slow but steady encroachment into ‘his’ space as the train filled with more people. In alternating turns, if someone sat too close, he would open the manual door between cars to let the cold and air. Remember the closer you were to him, the stronger the stench, especially with him holding the doors open. Almost always the result being the offending encroachers gasping for air and quickly moving away. He would then slam the doors closed, sometimes using his foot to slam it into place if they did not quite connect. He would also go into mini diatribes on how we needed to get the hell out. After all, we commuters were the uninvited guests in his living room.
It is amazing how we commuters can adjust and fine-tune out focus in such situations. I was no exception as I read my book, he behavior becoming part of the white noise of the subway PSAs and other station announcements. Only when someone ask if he had left, did I note that the car had been quiet for a couple of stations and he was indeed gone. Still, his presence was felt as no could stand, let alone sit in that corner; his scent lingering on the breeze long after he was gone.
It’s March and time for the Annual Slice of Life month long writing challenge. A slice of my life each day for today and the next 30 days. It’s the 13th annual challenge: I have participated in several before, but last year I let life get in the way did not even try. Truth be told I had already told a couple of people that I would not this year. Yet here I am.
I am in the process of finishing the final touches for a book of poems that is about fifteen years overdue. The finished product will not be in my hand come the first day of spring as I hoped. It is finally ready to go to an editor which is further than I’ve ever gotten with it before. My next big step after that is the copyright process. I am crossing my fingers to at least have the first galley in hand by the end of April at the latest. Wish me luck!
In the interim I have a couple of out of town trips scheduled in the next few weeks. I should be able to get a few blog posts out of that right? Yes, I am a glutton for punishment to take up this challenge on top of all of this, but it is called a challenge for a reason.
But today I actually noticed the little Q&A feature Facebook added. Under the guise of letting your friends learn just a little bit more about you, the questions are definitely designed to evoke a more meaningful exchange than posting a picture and friends clicking a reaction button.
The questions are deep probing
I learned to read when I was…
A food I think is gross…
I got first place in…
If a genie pops out of a bottle and grants me wishes, I would wish for…
Yes, my tongue was planted firmly in cheek when I typed “deep probing”.
The call of my not so inner Sarcastic Siren would not be denied. I simply had to respond to some of this drivel. Or as I stated on my facebook page:
We’re talking my prurient mind where down in the gutter is several steps up for me on a good day. I was bored today and started answering a few of them.
So what could happen, you ask? This…
My facebook friends seem particularly amused about the Astroglide. Not all of them have caught on that I’m being more of Un merdeux than usual. Adds to the fun.
Either way – I suspect I am going to be amusing them, and myself, for a while with these.
A couple of weekends ago, many fans of the rock band Avenged Sevenfold were really upset when the band did not appear to open for Metallica in Philadelphia. The band was forced to cancel when guitarist Synyster Gates’ wife went into labor and he flew home to be present for the birth of their first child. I can only imagine how much worse the discord would have been had it been a member of Metallica.
Coach Sarunas Jasikevicius, a former NBA player with the Indiana Pacers and current head coach for Žalgiris Kaunas of the Lithuanian League was being questioned by a reporter for allowing one of his players to leave, during the midst of his team’s semi-finals games nonetheless, to attend the birth of his first child. Firstly, Jasikevicius’ initial expression was priceless. You could all but hear him think Did that asshole really just ask me this bullshit? His spoken response was condescending to the reporter, but frankly he had it coming. It was a stupid question, clearly intended to start some drama, that backfired and the reporter ended up getting schooled as the kids say.
Granted, musicians only tour every few years as new music drops. Concert fans can pay a lot of money to view their favorites bands live, still it was a concert.
Sports fans have more potential for access to their favorite players and when it’s crunch time I understand fans want the best players front and center, still it was a game.
This is playing a semi-final game or performing at a concert compared to bringing new life into the world for the first time. I might have more sympathy to those upset by this were it the third, fourth, fifth baby. Clearly you get how it works by then, but the for first time. If the partner has the chance to be there, and s/he wants to be there, then s/he should be there – period.
I would have liked to hope that even most those who choose not to have children, or those who have been there done that, can at least have some empathy, but as always, social media snatched the rose-colored glasses off of that fantasy — quick. That this is even a question for some people as to why at least a first time-parent would want to drop everything and be there, honestly kind of appalls me.
Kudos to the fans in Philly who were understandably disappointed, but took it in stride. Kudos to Jasikevicius who understands that a player’s personal needs will sometimes trump his professional ones.
Priorities:
— Some people have them.
— Some people at least understand them.
— Some people really need to seriously get theirs in order.
A year-long weekly personal essay/memoir/creative nonfiction writing challenge. To learn more about this challenge or to participate, check out Vanessa Martir’s website and learn about it.
<>==========<>
It’s Slice of Life Tuesday – let’s see how others are slicing it up:
Let’s see who among you have been paying attention: Who is my favorite band?
Happy Mother’s Day to me! Metallica stage at MetLife Stadium 05/14/17
!! METALLICA !!
And who is in the tri-state area this week? Yup, Metallica! Being the hard rocking mama I am, of course I saw them this weekend as the played Mother’s Day; VIP section naturally. Oh, how I love those guys! So worth the temporary tinnitus!
At some point in the concert James (Hetfield co-founder, lead vocalist and rhythm guitarist for the band — for those who don’t know), asks the audience who wants to here some old school Metallica from the early 80’s. A friend seated next to me promptly announced that she had not been born yet.
A woman sitting on the other side of my friend appalled by her relative youth visibly cringed “God I feel old.”
I laughed, rolled my eyes at my friend and told her to shush, reminding her that she was younger than my children. Granted, it is only by a couple of years, but technically years younger.
“You can’t be that old stop it. I know, because I’m pretty up there.” She shrugged clearly thinking herself the matron among the three of us.
I took a good look at her, figuring she was in her very late 30s and grinned “I guarantee you, I am older than you.”
Numbers were shared and as I figured, not only was I older than she, but by nearly a decade (I am a month younger than James Hetfield – for comparison). She was gobsmacked to say the least.
I grinned whipping my purple curls around as the opening notes of “Whiplash” sounded.
“Hey, this just means we have plenty of years left to rock out and we’ll look damn good doing it!”
<>==========<>==========<> Writing Our Lives #52essays2017 Challenge –Week 20
A year-long weekly personal essay/memoir/creative nonfiction writing challenge. To learn more about this challenge or to participate, check out Vanessa Martir’s website and learn about it.
<>==========<>
It’s Slice of Life Tuesday – let’s see how other’s are cutting it up:
I see a guy I know speaking with a mutual friend. Everyone knows we have a ridiculous, but fun flirtationship. I walk up to him as the friend, who did not see me – because she surely would have stayed, is walking away and stop inches in front of him, my face deadpan. He shakes his head and waits. I say nothing, sip coffee and wait.
Guy (knowingly): Can I do something for you?
Me (still deadpan – sips coffee): No. You’re still standing.
Guy (shakes head): If I thought you were serious I’d run.
Me (arching brow): Were I serious you wouldn’t be standing.
Guy (grinning): What would I be doing?
Me (smirking): Calling your Lord’s name.
Guy (curiously): In fear, pain or pleasure?
Me (nonchalantly): If you’re calling His name?-In the fear of pain. If you’re calling Mine?-in the pleasure of fear.
Guy (blinks rapidly): uh…
** I grin, take another sip and start to walk away **
Guy (shakes his head reverently): I’ll be damned.
Me (sashaying away): You’ve met me; you already are.