"Eighties! I'm living for the Eighties."

"Eighties!
I'm living in the Eighties."

Things I saw on the Fug site today:

Kids, you are making me HATE the Eighties, and let me tell you that is NO MEAN FEAT.

Jessica Fug is right about this one looking like that one, though. I'm not sure what that says about ZE's career longevity. Good thing he's making a lot of money while he can!

TRACK LISTING: Killing Joke, "Eighties"

"I thought I saw you out on the avenue."

"But I guess
it was just someone
who looked a lot like
I remember you do."

Things I saw this morning on the way to work:

Joel Kiefte, circa 1993 or 1994.

In fact it was just the flash of a kid who looked so much like Joel did in high school, tall and gangly and wearing a dark blue baseball cap, stepping onto the station platform as our train sped away. Seeing this kid made me wonder what Joel is up to these days. He's not on Facebook or MySpace, and while he might be one of the results of a "joel kiefte" Google search (probably the one in BC), one can't know for sure without a photograph to confirm identity.

Joel Kiefte, where are you? Who would know? Eric Larock? Chris Anderson? Erin Brophy? Leah Adair? I don't even know where Leah is these days. I'm sure someone does, and I'm sure that if she wanted to be found by the likes of me and/or any other yahoo performing a web search, she'd be found. A computer and access to the internet doesn't mean I have the right to root out people I haven't seen in over a decade. For all I know, Leah's gone underground, hanging out in some secret society with Joel and the notoriously untraceable Margarita Ngoh. More power to them!

The real question is: why do I care? If people want you to know where they are, they will tell you, or they will post profiles on popular social networking sites and attach easily recognizable photos so that they might be rediscovered. Still I wonder. It's true that Joel and I weren't close friends -- we were just friends, and we might not be friends if we met again -- but I do miss him sometimes. Then again, maybe I just miss the Joel that looked like that kid in the subway.

TRACK LISTING: Translator, "Everywhere That I'm Not"

[NOTE: The image above is the back of Joel Kiefte's head, as seen in the rear parking lot of our high school in the spring of 1993.]

"A pair of eyes, a voice, a touch."

"Complete surprise!"

Things I saw today, running around our apartment, bouncing around the city, laughing and shouting:

ADELAAAAAIDE!

Man, Addy is developing so quickly! Soon she'll be a year old.

It's a pleasure to see how she changes and exhibits her personality. She chatted without words; threw and chased an inflatable beach ball; and built a pillow fort, tumbling about it while we and her parents watched a movie. She attempted to read a book, then watched wide-eyed with a tapping foot as a children's video rolled. We were fascinated by it all. I couldn't help staring in admiration as she played makeshift soccer with her dad and my husband like a miniature version of her athletic mother, shuttling a small plush cube back and forth across our kitchen floor without losing her balance, all the while hissing "Kih! Kih!" as she imitated our cheers of "Kick! Kick!"

Have a wonderful first birthday, Lady A, you little wonder.

TRACK LISTING: Peter Gabriel, "Growing Up"

"Hey! Hey! Hey! You better let them have their way."

"Hey! Hey! Hey!
You better get out of the way."

Things I saw at the grocery store this afternoon:

Adolescent girls in a displaced standoff.

The Forest Hill Market is an entirely different place at noon on a weekday than it is when I am usually there, which is after work or on the weekends, with all the other grown-ups. In the eerie stillness of midday, teenagers roam the aisles of the grocery as if they were high school hallways, with all inherent politics and social codes intact.

Two pretty and well-dressed girls stand in front of the ice cream freezer, surveying various pints of Häagen-Dazs and Ben & Jerry's. Three rougher-looking girls walk by, slowly; one of these other girls makes a remark, either to or about the ice cream girls. Two of the tough girls rush quickly up the aisle, away from the ice cream girls, leaving the third still walking slowly, looking slightly perplexed. The two supposed badasses now peer around the corner, down the frozen food aisle, their hands gripping a Ritter Sport display.

"Come on, Angela!" one of them yells at the third girl. "Make a break for it!" The two girls then erupt into peals of laughter. Angela is laughing as well, sort of, as she nears them; she's walking a little faster but still looks confused. She shrugs her shoulders with the palms of her hands facing up, like, What do you want me to do?

The ice cream girls glare up the aisle, their eyes trained on the other three girls with laser-like precision, their facial expressions a mixture of mild shock, brittle amusement and imagined superiority. The other three girls scurry off, possibly into the dairy aisle, and the ice cream girls walk away empty-handed. I realize that I don't need anything from the freezer, and that I don't miss high school at all.

TRACK LISTING: MC5, "High School"

"A new day; a new way."

"I knew
I should see it along."

Things I saw at a lifestyle store this afternoon:

A chair that fell apart, then slowly put itself back together.

In the end it isn't the chair that is moving (excuse the pun); it's really about the intended message. It may seem like an overstatement to claim that a robotic chair represents "the individual and a society over the course of a lifetime falling apart, falling down, gathering oneself together, and picking oneself up," but it's difficult to deny that the statement is encouraging and inspiring. This science made me feel something, and so I feel that this science is art.

TRACK LISTING: Crosby, Stills & Nash, "Carry On"

[NOTE: When figuring out which song would accompany this entry, I came across "Carry On," a piece I'd never heard before despite listening to a LOT of classic rock throughout my life. As I debated whether or not to use this track, it began playing on the radio, so of course I took that as a good sign, not to mention some CRAZY psychic frequency.]

"If I walk down this hallway, tonight, it's too quiet."

"I take it,
from his whisper,
you're not that tough."

Things we saw in the ultrasound this afternoon:

Nothing.

Our baby became a phantom. One day, he will disappear completely.

TRACK LISTING: Kristin Hersh, "Your Ghost"

"The conscious liberation of the female state!"

"The 'inferior sex'
got a new exterior!"

Things I saw at work today, after being sucked into the Internet Vortex:

People going CRAZY over an extremely straight-talking public access superstar from Atlanta.

Holy shit!


TRACK LISTING: Eurythmics with Aretha Franklin, "Sisters Are Doin' It for Themselves"

"Relax and let your mind roll on."

"Let your mind go round."

Anything you watch, for certain moments you won't wander if it's very very good, but many times, even if it's very good, you will wander, and the reason you wander is because [it] touches on some elements of your life -- something you've lived, something you've forgotten, something you've buried, something you've shared, something you don't wanna think about. It somehow, often in a very circuitous or oblique way, hits upon something, and of course you think about that and you miss the next ten minutes.

-- "Malkovich, Malkovich, Malkovich"

Ah, John Malkovich! That actually makes complete sense...or at least enough sense to me that I am going to use it to justify each time I lose the plot, so to speak, while watching a television show or movie. Before reading this article, I would have just assumed that these space-outs were the result of my own, as author Larry Getlen puts it, "flightiness or Attention Deficit Disorder."

Quickly, another famous person! Figure out why I routinely fell asleep while watching films between the years 1993 and 1999.

TRACK LISTING: The Who, "Relax"

[NOTE: The image above is a snapshot of our television during an episode of Futurama ("The Why of Fry").]

"They always claim they know me."

"Comin' to me,
call me Stacy."

When I was much younger, I loved Kids Incorporated, and when I say "loved", you best believe I mean LUVVED, l-u-etc etc. Alright, granted, I only loved it from 1984 through, like, 1987 (a year or so after the departure of the artist formerly known as Marta Marrero -- at least that was her name in the pilot and first season credits -- and certainly before the arrival of The Ghost Whisperer). In 1987, I turned 11 and soon considered myself above such trifles as children's shows in which the cast broke out into plot-modified covers of contemporary pop songs, especially when there were newly-minted teenage shows in which the cast broke out into plot-modified covers of classic pop songs, thank you very much. Also, I think WROC stopped carrying Kids Incorporated around that time, so, you know, whatever.

But! from 1984 through 1987, half an hour of every Saturday morning was devoted to watching Kids Inc. I worshipped the wee performers, but none more so than Stacy. Sure, Gloria was cool and Renee was smart, but Stacy was my age, so (naturally) I chose her as a role model. I wished my hair was blonde; I wished my first name was Stacy; I wished my last name was Ferguson; and so on. I even bought puffy, plastic, rainbow-themed, personalized "Stacy" stickers and decorated various items with them, as if that wasn't TOTALLY WEIRD.

I didn't keep track of Stacy after I'd moved on from Kids Incorporated, probably because this was a pre-Google, pre-computer ubiquity era, but I do remember seeing some Wild Orchid years later and thinking, "Hmm, those girls are wearing a LOT of makeup...oh...no...did she just say her name is Stacy Ferguson? Wait. Is that RENEE beside her?" I remember thinking that this sort of low- to mid-level fame made sense as part of a post-Kids career arc, like being a somewhat indistinct member of an R&B-lite girl group was a completely logical next step for a former syndicated television player. I mean, how many "Toy Soldiers" could the world handle, right?

When my childhood idol resurfaced as a Black Eyed Pea, I didn't make the connection between Fergie and Stacy Ferguson (and no, it had nothing to do with (alleged) plastic surgery rendering her unrecognizable). Sometimes I still find myself gripped with mild disbelief, like when I'm riding to work on a streetcar and it just hits me, She's the motherf-ing DUTCHESS! Wha?

TRACK LISTING: Fergie, "Fergalicious"

"I'd met her before somewhere."

"I knew the face."

I left a message on Sophia's voicemail this evening.

"Soph! I JUST SAW ANNE TOSKY! I didn't stop and say hi or anything, but she looked great! Her hair is still dark, but now it's cut in a really nice bob, and she was wearing this pretty, white, trench-like winter coat. She looked like a career woman! She didn't look anything like I remember, but I guess that figures, because the last time I saw her she had teased bangs and was wearing biker shorts. YOU know."

After I hung up, I regretted not saying hello to Anne. I mean, we weren't very close in junior high, but we knew each other and weren't enemies in any way. Here's someone I hadn't seen in over fifteen years, yet I recognized her immediately as I rushed to the subway. Surely I could have missed a train or two in the interest of catching up quickly, no?

TRACK LISTING: Stiff Little Fingers, "She Grew Up"

[NOTE: Isn't the Internet great for catching up with someone without actually speaking to the person in question? It's nice to see that Anne is still a runner, but I must say that Googling never felt more like stalking than it did when looking for Anne's information a few minutes ago.]

"See these eyes so green."

"I can stare
for a thousand years."

On Sunday afternoon, my cousin's wife broke the news to us gently: "I'm afraid you two have become cat people."

It's true. We speak about the kitty as if he were our own child, our own flesh and blood; when people casually inquire about him, we ramble on at length, never failing to go into detail about each and every quirk our cat possesses. We know we're boring the listener, yet we cannot stop ourselves. It's very much as if the cat has turned into a baby.

Look at the little one! Isn't he precious?

I can't wait until we start dressing the kitty in sweaters! He is going to LOVE that.

TRACK LISTING: David Bowie, "Cat People (Putting Out Fire)"

"Boy, talk about changes!"

"I guess you never quit
tryin' to make sense of it."

Speaking of unexpected twists of taste, who would have thought that I'd end up counting Tom Petty as one of my favourite musicians? I guess we all grow up eventually.

Of course, there's always a downside to "maturity" -- like, how did I come to truly enjoy "I Want to Know What Love Is"? I used to HATE that song, even as a child, and that was when I would listen to almost anything! (Just to provide some perspective here, "anything" included La Toya Jackson's "Heart Don't Lie".) What gives? I hit my thirties and suddenly I've got that song on my MP3 player and I'm hoping against hope that no one on the subway notices that my eyes are welling up with tears? Seriously?

My teenage self would be appalled, and probably with good reason. I got old and I got old fast.

TRACK LISTING: Tom Petty & The Heartbreakers, "Ain't Love Strange"

"News on the radio."

"Happy birthday!
Happy birthday!
Happy birthday!"

HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO THE WORLD!

(I may have had too much red wine.)

TRACK LISTING: Concrete Blonde, "Happy Birthday"

[NOTE: Since I was a teenager, this has been one of my favourite songs, and certainly my favourite song about a birthday. In my twenties I danced to it every Monday night at a local club -- a fond memory to this day. I bonded with a friend over a mutual love for Johnette Napolitano, so I was kind of thrilled to learn that JN wrote this song about spending her thirtieth birthday in a hotel room during a band tour, because that is how I spent my thirtieth birthday as well.]

"I'm gonna make your life so sweet!"

"Yeah, yeah, YEAH!"

Caramel Kettle Corn Crispy Minis are filling the void left by my beloved childhood cereal, Sugar Crisp. (I suppose I could eat Sugar Crisp as an adult. I could also shoot liquid sugar straight into my blood stream.)

Sugar Bear, you've been replaced!

TRACK LISTING: The Archies, "Sugar, Sugar"

[NOTE: You know, it's surprisingly hard to find a link to a photo of, or even a product page for, Crispy Minis' Caramel Kettle Corn flavour. Booooo.]

"I'm thinking of a dream I had."

"Maybe you're right."

I'm thinking of this song and its words, and how Simon interpreted them: "Sometimes, someone out there is worth it." I believe this, and as much as I craved and appreciate the stability of the Day Job, the best part of having one remains the luxury of coming home every night. ("On a bus back home to you.") I remember occasional fantasies about being in a band, and feel quite fortunate and grateful that I had the experience, but I am relieved to have made it through with a whole life ahead of me.

Sometimes I think it might be nice to take a business trip, perhaps once or twice a year. After all, it wasn't the leaving home that I hated
-- it was the being away from home for six months of the year (though I can't say I didn't have a lot of fun) -- and I kinda like staying in hotels every now and then.

It's funny how being in a band involves business trips of sorts; tours are often just as strategic as company excursions, if not always as organized. Really, we were like travelling salesmen, going from town to town, hoping to convince people that they needed our product in their lives. We peddled every night! We put everything on the line. At the end, if we did our job, we'd have people sold. If we were lucky, we'd have a little something to take home. (Unlike other businesses, these trips weren't primarily about financial profit, but we aimed to break even. Of course we were happy if we were able to pocket a bit of change as well!)

The product, obviously, was our merchandise -- the records and t-shirts we laid out on small tables at the back of the club -- but in a greater sense, the product was us. Our hearts were truly, literally, in it.

TRACK LISTING: The Walkmen, "Thinking of a Dream I Had"

"Those little eyes so helpless and appealing..."

"...one day will flash
and send you crashing
through the ceiling."

PF introduced me to Smooth Talk today, and while I was ultimately lukewarm about the film, it certainly hurtled me back into my teenage years. There are moments in that film that excellently capture the rites of adolescence, including the strange discovery of sexuality (yours and that of those around you). Needless to say, it can be painful -- sometimes physically, and always emotionally -- especially because you're torn between the urge to do something with your body and the confusion of not knowing exactly what to do, or how to do it. [Shiver.]

In addition, the movie made me terrified of raising young girls. Where Are You Going, Where Have You Been? indeed!

TRACK LISTING: Maurice Chevalier, "Thank Heaven for Little Girls"

"We all need a little tenderness."

"How can love survive
in such a graceless age?"

One of my favourite musical memories involves Ben Lee. Strangely enough, Lee isn't one of my favourite musicians, though I don't dislike what I've heard and have a fondness for him as a person because he's been very generous to my friends' band.

Nevertheless, on an October night a couple of years ago, in a club on the Lower East Side where I met up with these friends, Lee made a great impression on me. He took the stage and covered "The Heart of the Matter." That's right: the Don Henley hit.

I know I'm old, and perhaps that's why I don't hate this song. I know a lot of people think it's overly sappy and a very fine example of sensitive-dude-with-ponytail songwriting. Still, at its core -- when stripped of its possibly distracting MOR instrumentation -- "The Heart of the Matter" is a fairly honest reflection on how a jilted lover might share some of the blame for a broken relationship. That show at Sin-é wasn't the only night that Ben Lee performed this song, and it might not have been the first time he did so; yet, at the time, he had just pulled through a breakup with his longtime girlfriend, and this gave the words of the song a deep resonance.

It was Lee and his guitar alone, which might have been as cloying as some find the original Henley version, but thankfully, Lee didn't opt for theatrics. He didn't burst into tears in the middle of the song; he didn't smash his guitar to bits in a fit of rage at the end; he didn't stop playing and tell us, with a shake of his head, that he couldn't go on. He just played the song and sang in his normal, soft and slightly wistful voice, which was perfect.

He made it seem as if he had written "The Heart of the Matter" about the woman whom most of us knew had left him for another man, or as if the song had been written for him by Henley in a moment of prescience. Really, as obvious as the lyrics might be, they tap into feelings we've all had. That night at Sin-é, Lee made the sentiment hard to resist. He took a song at which most of the people in that audience would have scoffed and turned it into a confession; this turned us into confidantes, and we responded gratefully.

TRACK LISTING: Don Henley, "The Heart of the Matter"

"They think blood is thicker than water."

"But they just
don't understand."

I am lucky: I can count on one, maybe two hands, the number of good friends with whom I've completely lost touch. Even then, those friends that I held so dear, so near until they disappeared, were never what I would call fairweather. Those people were never in it just for fun; they were family.

I've always felt that friends can be as close as family, and sometimes even closer. I'm always happy when my friends confirm this belief; when they act as surrogate parents and siblings; when our relationships endure the most trying situations; and when, even after years and miles have been placed between us, we carry on as if no time has passed. We always forgive the distance, and I love that.


TRACK LISTING: Michael Monroe, "Love Is Thicker Than Blood"

"Give me one more chance..."

"...and you'll be
satisfied."

Exactly a week ago, PF and I were introduced to a brand of fake chicken we'd never tasted before, and I still can't get over it. Except for the ground soy that PF uses in his chili, I'd never come across any meat alternatives that so resembled the flesh they mimicked. When I saw the bird-shaped roast that Jeff and Vanessa had prepared, I was stunned. If I wasn't certain that J&V are vegetarian, I would have assumed that they'd cooked up a little pheasant.

It was brilliant! It had tiny fake drumsticks -- these rounded, crispy, seitan nuggets -- skewered on small wood dowels instead of bone.

I've known some vegetarians who hate it when their fake meat looks, tastes and feels like real meat. Most of them believe that meat alternatives shouldn't have to pander. Yet I've known more vegetarians who welcome these innovations, as it gives them the opportunity to serve animal-free entrees to even the most obstinate carnivores. Dinner guests aside, it's nice to have variety, which is something vegetarians don't routinely encounter outside the home.

I'm definitely not a committed meat eater, but I'm not a committed vegetarian, either. We don't often buy or cook meat at home, yet we can't say that this is an ethical decision. (We eat veggie chili and veggie burgers because they're healthier than their traditional red meat counterparts.) After enjoying that fake chicken, however, I find it difficult to argue against a meatless diet. It seems lacking in nothing; it has flavour, texture and nutrients. With the assorted diseases and environmental damage linked to beef, chicken and fish, meat substitutes increasingly appear to be the only viable option.

I may be turning a corner here! My dad is totally going to roll his eyes.

TRACK LISTING: U2, "Even Better Than the Real Thing"

[NOTE: Another U2 song in less than a week!]

"Should be a crime to be that ugly."

"It should be a crime
to be that ugly!"

Backpacks, what is up? Why so many variations on XTREME? Are you just reacting against the crime of fashion that is the tiny backpack? That's understandable, but I'm not a dude and I'm not a snowboarder, so can we cool it with the neon and the superfluous rope? This is why I avoid most athletic shoes! Grrr.

TRACK LISTING: Pop Will Eat Itself, "Let's Get Ugly"