catheroominations

Back in, oh, 1980 I got a cool tape from Rainbow Records. (Yes, I am old enough to have been buying tapes in 1980 with my own hard-earned allowance.) Anyway, the tape was titled Power Play and it was one of those K-Tel compilations. Oh, I loved it…side 1 anyway. Side 2? Not so much. So I would usually fast-forward past The Spinners, The Whispers, and Shalimar to get to the end of Side 2 so my Panasonic tape player would flip over to Side 1, which had “good” songs like Call Me by Blondie, My Sharona by The Knack, Any Way You Want it by Journey, and my favorite on the entire tape, Heartbreaker by Pat Benatar.

Damn, I loved me some Pat Benatar back in the day before we ever heard the phrase “I love me some…”.

Here’s a bit of useless information for you: Did you know that the second video ever played on MTV was by Pat Benatar? It was! The song was You Better Run, and I saw it, at that eventful airing. Of course, until today, when I looked it up, I had not remembered that Pat’s video was the second one played on August 1, 1981. (Everyone remembers the first one by the Buggles, but Pat is often overlooked in the trivia world.)

Back in the early 80s, I played that K-Tel tape over and over until it started squealing that metallic screech that occurs when a tape has been played to death. I also watched MTV for hours on end, waiting for Nina Blackwood or JJ Jackson to play my favorite artists. I didn’t care that their library had only about 40 videos and they played Cliff Richard almost every hour. I was waiting for Pat Benatar, who’s videos are now on YouTube and yes I watched some today. Shutup.

It seems that I have recently become re-obsessed with Pat Benatar. Why, you may ask? Actually, you are probably not asking that, but instead thinking, “Good lord, this woman really needs to start living in the now, and get over her teenage crush on The Outsiders’ Sodapop Curtis, and lose the 80s playlists already!”

Finally, this past Sunday night I attended my first Pat Benatar concert. Yes, Pat Benatar is still touring. At age 54, and she ROCKS! Whoa. Thirty years after she burst onto the music scene, she is just as much a rocker as she was at 24.

We sat in the second row, among the reformed stoners, and chicks who used to wear pants that zipped from the front of the waist, between the legs, all the way up to the back of the waist, and headbands tied around the crown of their head.

The crowd was roaring when they announced Pat Benatar would finally be gracing the stage. Neil “Spyder” Giraldo began wailing on his guitar before even he walked onto the stage. His guitar was bright green, loud AS HELL, and sounded frickin’ AWESOME. His hair is now gray and he sports a gray goatee and he still exudes coolness (perhaps even moreso). He took his place on the platform and rocked while he waited for his wife to appear. (Did I mention we were in the second row? Like near the front of the stage where the speakers were? Yeah. Loud. The way rock is meant to be heard!)

Dressed in an outfit of all black, accessorized by a sparkly black sequined skinny tie, Pat made her entrance, singing “Livin’ with my eyes closed, goin’ day to day….” Yeah, she was All Fired Up, and so were we. We were instantly taken back to the 80’s, screaming like teeny boppers. We shook our fists in the air, and we made horns with our fingers. And we sang. Loudly. Pat made all her signature dance moves, including her air guitar which she manages to do without looking at all dorky. She is Pat Benatar, for Pete’s sake!

Our throats were sore from screaming and cheering, as were our necks from the head banging when Pat finished the last song of her regular set. Yes there’d be an encore, but June, Sherrell, and I could not imagine what Pat had left in her library to blow us away with. Well, DUH, maybe a little-known song like Love is a Battlefield.

If I had one complaint about the show it’s that it was too short. I could have listened to so much more. Pat’s energy was infectious and she made me want to release my inner rocker chick, scream and yell, grow my hair out long, and wear it messy, and smoke cigarettes to make my voice raspy and throaty.

So let’s see…this summer I’ve seen the Police reunion tour, and now Pat Benatar. In September I am going (with June and Sherrell again) to see Def Leppard, Foreigner, and Styx. Triple shot of kick-ass rock.

Yes, I live in the past, as far as music is concerned. But I like the “classics.”

Today I felt like blowing bubbles. Daphne used to love these catnip bubbles we have but they lost their bubble-ness from lack of use. I found a tiny bottle of bubbles (that’s fun to say: bottle of bubbles, emphasize the t’s and it sounds really cute) left over from my bridal shower and started puffing at the little dipper thingee.

As soon as the bubbles started spewing, Daphne was fixated. She hopped up and tried to grab them in her front paws. She swatted at them. She meowed for more, when they had all dissipated in the air (or popped on the floor).

But as with everything else, she eventually grew tired of it and went to take a nap.

But I wanted to blow more bubbles and I wanted to get a shot of the bubbles emerging from the wand. That was easier said than done.

I set up the tripod and the camera, and tried a few shots. Either I was out of focus, or I waited too long to blow, and missed the shot entirely, or I had a dud scoop of bubble juice in the wand.

Eventually, though, with Matte’s help in focusing the lens on the right subject (me), I got this shot. It’s part of the 7 Days group I’m participating in on flickr.

Next time 7 Days comes around, you should play. It’s fun. This is my second time participating in it and it really makes me think about what to take photos of. Plus, I get to meet new flickr friends. You can view the rest of this week’s shots here.

Friday is the last day…what shall I capture myself doing?

The West Wing. Why did I never watch this show when it was on? Even though it won a bajillion Emmys, and a close friend who always watches the best shows told me I should get into it, I didn’t. Until I watched Studio 60 I did not know the talent of Tommy Schlame and Aaron Sorkin. And then, just as I was getting hooked, NBC canceled Studio 60, and I was left wanting more.

So Matte dug out his DVD copies of Season 1 of The West Wing. I was an instant fan, with the first episode. I’m not much into politics, but I got sucked into the inner workings of the TV version of the Oval Office. I wondered if our own president is as friendly and humble with his staff as the fake one, Jed Bartlet is. I got caught up in the relationships the President Bartlet had with Toby, Josh, Donna, CJ, Leo, Charlie, and Sam.

And the cast? They are so pretty. Martin Sheen as president? He’s hot as far as presidents go. And oooh, Vice President Tim Matheson. Yum. (Sooo far off from real life, which I guess is the idea.) And Bradley Whitford and Rob Lowe? GAH. The eye candy in that office! Oy! Damn, would I love going to work every day if I had that to look forward to.

But Rob Lowe. Oh, Rob. I had the hugest crush on you, ever, when I was a teenager. You were it. I bought all the cheesy teeny bopper magazines just to ogle centerfolds of you. I saw all your movies: The Outsiders, Class, Hotel New Hampshire, Oxford Blues, St. Elmo’s Fire (even with a mullet…still HAWT), About Last Night, and even Illegally Yours. (Which sucked so hard, I walked out. The only movie I ever left a theatre to escape was one of yours, Rob. I’m sorry, but despite your super fineness, I just couldn’t take it.) I loved you so much, I even forgave your indiscretions and video with the underage girl in the late 80s. And you persevered. You grew up and became a husband and father, and got a job at the White House! (Oh, sorry…sometimes I forget it’s just a show.) What I mean is, you scored a gig on the multi-Emmy winning television show that was The West Wing.

I used to have a poster of Rob on the back of my bedroom door. He was in a white summery suit, with a tank top underneath. And he was ever so sultrily raising that tank top to reveal his abs. My guy friends thought Rob looked effeminate (jealous much?) but I did not care. I loved the “pretty boys” back then (Nick Rhodes from Duran Duran too). I remember being thrilled to take my babysitting money into Coach House Gifts at Oakridge Mall and get my luscious poster. I probably also bought a weepul, and some Mad Libs.

Eventually, I decided I had outgrown Rob, and I removed the poster one day, replacing it with a black and white poster of a shirtless man in partially unbuttoned jeans that was captioned “Not all men are created equal” or something similar. (How did my mom let me have that?!)

Now The West Wing has rekindled my teenage lust for Rob and makes me really want to ask Matte if I can get this and put it in our second bathroom:

You are still such a total babe, Rob. To the max.

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Yesterday I took a trip downtown to take the first step in changing my last name, a visit to the Social Security office. Once my Social Security card says my new name, I can update my records at work, change my driver’s license information, and get the bank updated. Then I can change my credit cards, memberships, and who knows what else.

I figured the place would be deserted with so many people on family vacations for the 4th plus it was a Friday and most offices are slow on a Friday. I got there right when they opened though, just to be safe. But first, I had to have my purse and body scanned, and find the restroom. I walked into the office at just before 9:10, and saw about 8 people waiting. Not too bad. I walked to the kiosk and grabbed a number in the ‘C’ group. People in the C group had quickies. The C people only needed to change information on their Social Security card, like a name, for instance. Piece of cake, right?

Nope. Thankfully I had my Crackberry with me so I could read my Gmail, blogs, and text my husband.

9:09 am How am I number C300 when they are now serving #C397?
9:21 am Someone is clipping their nails in the Social Security office waiting room! Gross!
9: 32 am Well, there WERE 2 windows open. Now there is just 1. Sigh. I guess 20 minutes of work is enough for a break.
9:58 am Now they are not calling numbers in order, fuckers.
10:01 am I am about to give up.
10:04 am It is a waste of time. There are about 50 people waiting now and ONE window open.
10:08 am They have 7 windows closed.
10:13 am The lady next to me keeps nodding off and her head is hitting my shoulder.
10:21 am Standing room only now. Gotdamn lazy ass government.
10:23 am I’d better get an iPhone when I reach the window for this wait.
10:35 am We are up to three open windows now. But they are still skipping all numbers that start with C. Only calling As and Bs. This is moronic.
10:46 am My turn!
10:59 am I’m officially an E……!

The entire transaction took less than 10 minutes. The clerk was very nice and not grumpy, considering all the grumps he had to help before me. He said my new card (with four names) would arrive in a couple of weeks. But this time, when I sign my card, I will not have a pen of brown ink that smells like chocolate, like I did when I was 12. If my new last name had an i though, I would be so tempted to dot it with a heart.

Next up, the Department of Motor Vehicles! Does the fun ever stop?

Would occur if Joey Chestnut from San Jose, CA, wins the Nathan’s Famous International July Fourth Hot Dog Eating Contest, according to one of the announcers.

Oh, and this would also make Joey Chestnut an American hero, on par with Abraham Lincoln, Neil Armstrong, and…Taylor Hicks. Taylor Hicks?

Another contestant dedicated his hot dog-eating to N!kk! H!lton, because she lives in the shadow of P@ris, and this contestant feels that he lives in the shadow of Joey Chestnut. Yes, perhaps N!kk! has not seen the quantity of ahem…”hot dogs” as her sister. Poor girl. But I am sure that she is flattered by the dedication.

All of this was on ESPNHD. HD? Do we really need to see people shoving frankfurters into their mouths in high definition? And then replayed in slow motion in the case of a photo finish?

Apparently we do, because I watched it. And Joey Chestnut did his country proud as he chowed 66 hot dogs. He defeated Kobayashi, who only guzzled 63.

Yes, people, the Mustard Belt is back in America, on this, the Nation’s birthday. Thank you, Joey Chestnut. You made San Jose proud. So readers, today when you are at your 4th of July BBQ or party, please, raise your weiner hot dog to Joey, American Hero.

Now it’s time for the Scripps National Spelling Bee in HD. Because you totally need high def to hear kids spell things like pneumonoultramicroscopicsilicovolcanoconiosis.

Today I entered a radio contest online. After I submitted my entry, I was taken to a page that said, “Good luck, Foghead.” But for some reason, my eyes crossed and went all freaky and what I read said “Good, F*ckhead.”

This morning, in a parking lot I saw a guy walking into Starbucks, wearing a too-snug shirt that said “An awkward morning beats a boring night.” He should consider who he is walking with in the morning while wearing that shirt. Because, judging by the mustachioed man he was walking with, I beg to differ. You know how I feel about those things.

I received my first blog toast today. Kathy (we need to talk about how you misspell your name) clinked bottles with me. At 11 am this morning. She was drinking a beer and then going to sleep, like I did last night. But IN THE MORNING. What I didn’t realize is she had just gotten home from her night shift as an oncology nurse. Bless you, Kathy. Despite spelling your name wrong (wink) I have tremendous respect for you and the work you do. If I met you, I would probably want to hug you for all you do. And you would think I was a lunatic, because, “Hello! I just met you, get off me, please!” So, let me just say “Thank you, Nurse Kathy.” (And cheers to you!)

*Yes, I know that is incorrect English. I could care less.**
**That is also incorrect English. The proper way to show apathy is to say “I couldn’t care less” or “I could not care less,” which implies that you care as little as possible about it. As in, you could not care less than you already do. “I could care less” means, well, that you are capable of caring less about it than you do so maybe you do give a little bit of a crap about whatever it is.***
And oh yeah, the word irregardless is stupid. It means regardless, so just let’s all just say regardless, mmkay?
This concludes your grammar lesson for the day.