YaYa and LuLu's 1st Ever Concert - pt 2

We took our seats as Natasha Bedingfield was finishing her act. YaYa is a fan of one of her songs, the one she was singing at that moment as it turns out, and so she was immediately in awe.

Actually we all were. I was still shocked about the seats, and the girls were blown away by the size of the venue, the crowd, the noise level, and the flurry of activity. Their tension was palpatable for a moment there.

When the opening act ended I passed around earplugs - feeling mighty like a mighty Good Daddy to have thought of bringing them - and tried to raise Lisa on her cell. No dice. So I called her friend's husband two hours to the north of Milwaukee and asked him for his wife's cell number. Within minutes the kids and I were waving hello to Lisa and friends, all of whom had snuck down into the 200's themselves.

They were still in the last row however, whereas we, if you recall, were in the first. Ahem.



I'm going to interrupt the story for a moment to mention that all the photos you'll see were taken at that very show; the good, the great, the mediocre, and the awful. They come from my cell phone, Jolene's camera, Nikki K, and from the sister of one of my employees.

That sibling charged me - charged me! - five dollars for a CD of mediocre to poor concert photos. As she knew my intentions, and knew I make no profit from the blog, I objected. I paid the money, but as I didstated it was BS that violated Blockhead karma. The brother looked like he wanted to swing at me, but whatever. It was bogus.

There was ten or fifteen minutes between the end of the opening act and NKOTB, and I can't remember anything of that time, but I'm reasonably sure it was filled with terror at the thought that the girls would meltdown mid-concert.

But that was temporarilly forgotten as the introduction started playing. Cue the screaming, which fascinated my girls. And then, the sounds of 'Single' and the concert began, with the guys rising from the stage.











Confession time: it was downright embarrasing how big of a smile, and how much honest enjoyment and excitement I felt at that moment. There is nothing like the zeal of a convert . . .

The girls both sang along to Single and Right Stuff, but YaYa was still a little intimidated. Lu was up and dancing to my right, but YaYa not only stayed seated but asked me to sit down because I was blocking her view.

I obliged her, but you can't enjoy a concert properly sitting on your butt, at least I can't. That was a bit of a buzzkill for me.

'Round about the fourth song LuLu asked me when they'd play Summertime. I told her it was near the end of the conert and she growled her dissapointment. She then announced she was going to rest and proceeded to zonk out in her seat. She slept THROUGH THE REST OF THE CONCERT.

That means she slept through all the noise, the screaming, the booming music, the literally shaking floor beneath us when the entire section was jumping, even the slightly drunk woman to her right who stumbled and fell into her. I couldn't even rouse her for Summertime. She might as well have been comatose.





A few songs later YaYa began bawling. She'd dropped one of her earplugs onto the arena floor below us. No big deal - I had others - but it was way past her bedtime and she's a girl who really needs her sleep. The usher on the floor strolled over and offered to replace the earplugs herself (that's how close we were), and a woman to our left asked what was the matter. All told the incident was a non-event and took up five minutes of the night. But I tell it here to record it as the ONLY 'bad' moment the kids provided that night.











Throughout the concert YaYa continued to sing along with any and all songs from the new album, but blanked out on many of the classic stuff. The silence was noticeable.

"Didn't your Mom ever teach you the words to this?" I asked during Cover Girl.

She shook her head.

"Well I'm sorry honey. That's just bad parenting on our part. " I said.













I object to this next shot, but Lisa wants it preserved for posterity.





To be continued . . .

YaYa and LuLu's 1st Ever Concert: NKOTB in Milwaukee - part 1

As the New Kids October 22nd Milwaukee concert neared, I knew my time at my job was coming to a close. Layoff talks were in the works, business was down, and more and more of the owner's family were 'visiting'. But the clearest sign that my blood was in the water was my utter inability to secure primo concert tickets from my business contacts.

It was writing on the wall, I tell ya.

But life goes on. Lisa and her friends had tickets - not great ones, but tickets - and that was good enough. We'd had some discussions about taking our oldest girls to the the second Chicago show a few days later, but given the uncertain future we'd decided to skip it.

I'd play Mr. Mom for a night with all the kids, Lisa would go and see the Milwaukee show, and all would be well.

But think back to that post about climbing a tree. As the hour of the concert approached I realized I had that same anxiety in my gut. I diagnosed this as a clash between the sensible path outlined in the paragraph above, and a budding idea in my head. I examined my subconscious actions during the day; I'd taken out a large cash withdrawl from the ATM, I'd all but forced the Lump and Smiley on their grandparents, and I'd found myself scanning Craigslist for NKOTB tickets, just 'cuz'.

Apparently, my gut had decided to take the girl's to the Milwaukee show, but my mind had yet to sign on.

So in honor of the tree climbing, I said F it and with half an hour until the (official) start of the concert I told the girls to get dressed - we were going to see their first ever concert.



We drove downtown and miracle of miracles, found on-street parking only a block away from the venue.



I told the girls to hold my hand and waded into a group of scalpers. No one had three consecutive seats and I moved on. One guy started following us, kind of a creepy guy actually, saying he could grab a third ticket to add to his own. Lo and behold he lived up to his word. But they were the paper version, the kind you print out at home from Ticketmaster online. All well and good - they're the only kind I use - but buying it secondhand I had no guarantee these weren't useless copies.

So pushing my luck I told him he'd have to accompany us to the turnstile before I'd fork over any money. He all but thought that was crazy, but did it anyway. Once the usher confirmed they were legit we stepped outside and completed the deal.

Three tickets for $70. Not bad.

So we got in and the girls had to use the bathroom. Absorbing several 'awwww, what a great Dad' comments from hot women, I let the girls wait in the inevitable queue for the ladies room. I was already all pins and needles at this point. a) it was already past their bedtime; would the girls be good? b) would they be scared off by the noise and screaming? c) would they be alarmed by the sudden rush of male paramedics entering their ladies room to attend to a woman who'd fainted inside?

While they were inside and I was thinking all this, Nikki K, cousin of some of my employees and heroine/photo provider from the Chicago concert, recognized me and stopped to chat. I wasn't the most social I've ever been - see the above paragraph of worries - but it was nice seeing her. She'd won backstage passes (grrr) and told me to look for her and her friends onscreen.

[props to her again, as many of the photo's you'll see in these shots were liberated from her online postings]



Meanwhile, in a seperate part of the universe Lisa and her three childhood friends had enjoyed several local bars, all of whom were playing NKOTB exclusively.






The blonde doing her Donnie 'face time' best in the above shots is Jolene, who also gets props for donating a lot of the pics on these posts.

They were supposed to be sitting in the 400's, the upper level of the Bradley Center. On the other hand the girls and I were led to a section in the 200's, and the usher led us down, and down, and down . . to the first row of the second section, front and center to the stage and only three or four feet from the arena floor - with a very good, clear shot of the B stage.

I couldn't believe it. Three of those seats for $70? Booyah baby!

My camera phone shots suck and distort distance at that range, but this should give you some idea of the location.





To be continued . . .

The Christmas Collars

You might remember that in the wake of the loss of my parent's home I took in two of their cats and three of their grandchildren. All that remains for the moment is Maddie, a tabby of indeterminate gender.





He was a ghost for the first three months, seen only in fleeting glimpses if you got up in the middle of the night to use the bathroom. As of late he's become much more open about his presence, and has adopted LuLu and been adopted by her in turn. The goal is still to find a suitable home for him, although I've grown attached to him too.

Anyway, at Thanksgiving my sister K, the former owner of the cat, starts mentioning how bad the cat's allergies had become (something I had never noticed, as it manifests as a belly rash/swelling and as I said, it's been a very shy cat). In response she took the cat in for an allergy shot (!) and the otherwise healthy cat was returned to its temporary dwelling here.

I've never heard of such a thing, but whatever. The cat seems perfectly content and mobile, so . . ok doc.

Here comes the bad part: my sister returns the cat with an atrocious Christmas colored jester collar around its neck. Worse yet, she purchased the same collars for my own cats.





The cats slunk around, heads hanging in shame. Never fear, I ended their misery as soon as these pics were taken.

One last thing about Maddie. He has the oddest meow. Lisa hilariously and accurately pegged it by saying it sounds like the cat is saying 'Flava Flave!' in the style of the current reality TV star.

Smiley's Thanskgiving Homework

Smiley had a homework project due November 21st that was lost, found, lost, found, and lost again, until finally completed and turned in December 3rd. Better late than never right?

Lisa took hot glue and with Smiley's help sprinkled cocoa krispies (!) on the turkey cutout, then later glued on a flower to finish the deal.

Howsabout them mismatched pj's huh?

YaYa's 1st Reconciliation

This Tuesday, December 2nd, YaYa had her 1st Reconciliation along with 16 other kids at our parish.

In the days leading up to the Sacrament she was very introspective and nervous. Occasionally she'd flash a bit of my Catholic respect for tradition and follow-it up a moment later with objections she inherited from her Mom's Lutheran DNA :)

In the final tally, it all boiled down to her concern that the penance would be too harsh.

The ceremony was held at 6 pm and was for immediate family only, but given the nature of the activity - you of course have to sit and wait your turn, and then wait for everyone that follows - we wisely got rid of the kids and took YaYa alone.

Beforehand we presented her with a gift of Bratz lotion and lip balm and a nice necklace to wear.









She was so gung-ho we arrived with forty minutes to spare and went for dinner at a Noodles & Company nearby, a meal itself punctuated by her nervous cries of "How much time is left?"

The public ceremony was short, but we were second to last among the families so the wait was just shy of an hour. We accompanied YaYa to the confessional room, formally introduced her to the priest, then waited for her to finish before leading her to the altar and lighting a candle from the Unity Candle. She was also given a button and ribbon reading 'Shepherd me Lord Reconciliation 2008'.





The 'harsh' penance she'd dreaded? "Hug your Mom and Dad and tell them you love them."

I snorted. "You got off easy because Father knows me."

Afterwards there was cake and punch in the school cafeteria.



Each child had a special place mat with their name on the front and a personal congratulatory message created by one of the kids in an older grade. YaYa had completely missed it because it was written in cursive, which to her might as well be French.



Here's YaYa with her Sunday school teacher



[One very nice, non-YaYa related note: when Father was told of my layoff he took me aside and told me to call him if I needed anything, from a letter of reference to a sympathetic ear, money or anything else. "It wouldn't be a handout, it would be a helping hand. And no one would have to know a thing. Lord knows you've certainly done enough for me and this Parish over the years," he said.

I was very moved, as was Lisa, although she herself was unaware of some of the assistance I'd provided to the Parish via my old job.]

We were both very proud of YaYa, and look with happiness to her First Communion in May.

Thanksgiving

This year, as last, we held Thanksgiving dinner at our house, other troubles be damned. This year we asked for a few more pot-luck contributions on the table than in years past, and some of the fixings were from Aldi's and not Sentry, but it was yummy all the same.

We served turkey and ham, mashed potatoes, stuffing, creamed corn, deviled eggs, cranberry sauce, peas and carrots, rolls, pumpkin pie, brownies, and apple pie.

[Lisa had sent me to do the grocery shopping with instructions to bring home fresh cranberry sauce - not the stuff in the can - and misinterpreting this I brought home five pounds of fresh cranberries. Not a terrible loss, as they were on sale for 99 cents a pound, but only YaYa, Queen of Sour Foods, will eat them.]












After that it was on to a division of the sexes worthy of a second rate comedian's bit; the women in the dining room talking for hours, the men in the living room watching the awful NFL games.

[which, btw, goes to show I'm right: the NFL should reserve the right to alter game opponents in season, so as best showcase their product. Who here wanted to watch the lousy Lions that day? Heck, who in Detroit wanted to watch them?]

Longtime readers may note the absence of my mother-in-law and her husband and sister in the photos. No family division there, they simply had other obligations.







While watching the Lions pretend to be professional football players, my father in-law and I got into it a bit. He's a fawing Favre lover. I'm on the other side of the issue, hoping the guy gets run over by a bus, which, yeah, is a little extreme. Maybe just an SUV, ok?

Anyhow, we had a few minutes of enjoyable testosterone and turkey fueled banter that included a few strong words about one another. He started quoting Terry Bradshaw on the subject, and I couldn't hold it in any longer.

'Terry Bradshaw's a f*ing Redneck and he's always been in man-love with that hillbilly. He'd bear him a bleeping lovechild if his neighbors in the trailer park wouldn't object."

Ah, it was fun. Brings a tear to my eye, it does. :)









I'm a big fan of Photobucket, but in my experience the site never seems to properly save your edits. For that reason I've pretty much given up on doing red-eye corrections on pics stored on that site. Sorry :(

The idea of blogging lately . . .

Let me be frank with you all: right now I'm darn sick and tired of this blog.

It's strictly collateral damage, an incidental symptom of three weeks of strong emotions related to the lay-off. I've kept it all under wraps with a pretty deep facade of 'Man up', but the idea of laying any emotional insights onto paper, er, onto the screen just makes me . . I guess ill is as accurate a word as any.

The posts you've seen recently are 'scheduled' posts, items I wrote in the past and stored for occasions when I'd be away from the keyboard for a spell.

I've even put off writing a third article for the Journal, which is a g*ddam* disgusting shame, and one I intend to correct before the weekend. Although in my defense, it might speed up the process if I actually saw the other pieces in print between now and the end of the decade.

Ok, so jobs . . well, I can't say much. I've been interviewing hard (three in one day Monday), and there *is* some definitive progress. But even on that subject my blogging is stymied because confidentiality requests preclude me from yapping about it. So that'll have to wait.

I promise I'll try hard to catch the blogging bug in the next few days.

* * * *

Snow's returned to Milwaukee, and while that sucks in a thousand ways it's a plus in one: once the cold hit the biking stopped, and when you added in the binging post-layoff well, that ol' winter coat was feeling a wee snug. Now that I've picked up some new activity shoveling and prepping the yard for winter I've dropped a few pounds. The coat fit just fine earlier today.

[I actually dug holes for and planted 75 tulip/daffodils bulbs as a snowstorm was starting, which was flat-out dumb gardening. Then again, the plants might never bloom, but at least the bulbs won't sit in the shed as food stock for mice this winter.]

You Don't Mess with the Zohan

I was all set to rip this movie as the hair stylist version of Zoolander, but you know what? I surrender. I liked it.

Adam Sandler stars as Zohan, a top-level Mossad agent who tires of the life and stages his own death. He journeys to America, where he seeks to become a great hairstylist. He's on his way to making his dream come true when his identity is revealed and he must act to protect his dream and the Palestinian woman he loves.

There's not a minute of this movie that is serious, deep, or emotionally fufilling, which is a damn good thing. Aiming for any of those three in a movie where a fish is caught between the clenched buttocks of the star, and bushy pubic hair is referenced more than once . . well, it just wouldn't work.

Somehow the movie keeps your interest, and more importantly keeps you laughing, all the way through - and the female love interest is hot enough to justify your time even if the movie sucked.

[side note: I thought the 'Going out of Business' store was dead-on. Here in Milwaukee there's a mattress store nearby that has been advertising 'going out of business'/'final clearance'/'closing our doors/all items must go' for well over a year now; actually *two* years now that I think about it.]

Kudos to Sandler on a funny and enjoyable movie. Oh, and Zohan, ignore the snide comments in the film. I liked your hair. But, uh, just to be clear, I mean the hair on top of your head.

3 stars out of 4

Family Portrait circa 1985

When my parent's moved I found this in the attic. It's a family portrait I did at school in 5th or 6th grade, which would place it between 1985-early 1987. I can date it to that time period because Duke, the beagle in the drawing, was purchased in August of 1985.

(or was it 1986? He was a puppy when my Grandma and I went to see Back to the Future, so . . .1985, right?)

Two things of note: my Mom's tightly permed hair, which I remember distinctly from that era, and my Grandma's striped shirt which, honest to God, I can picture in my mind like it was right in front of me now.

Note: Blogger is not loading the picture fully. You may click on the image to see the full shot, which includes my sister C.

Just after Sunset by Stephen King

For a guy who doesn't like short stories I've sure been reading enough of them lately. I picked up a copy of Stephen King's Just after Sunset two weeks ago, just to continue the trend, and found myself once again impressed by King's skill.

There's nothing in this collection that fails to satisfy, even when it falls short of impressive (the exception being the blissfully short, D minus quality Graduation Afternoon).

I found my greatest pleasure in the short but impactful Harvey's Dream, Rest Stop and the wonderfully cheesy The Cat from Hell.

Given a little more room to breathe in other stories, I think King loses his way a bit (but only a bit). Is there anyone who reads about the mural in Stationary Bike and doesn't see what's coming, even if, as I did, they love every word of the text?

Likewise, most readers will be drawn to The Gingerbread Girl, a tale of a woman literally running from both her problems and a killer. It's a compelling story and I enjoyed the heck out of it, but I also found it too derivative of Dean Koontz for my taste. I was half expecting to read about a Golden Retriever, an endangered child, and suffer through a score of ridiculously pompous descriptions :)

I was unexpectedly and powerfully moved by The New York Times at Special Bargain Rates, probably well beyond its true worth. Likewise Mute, is quite a read, combining an eyebrow raising idea with a smooth exectution.

I found The Things they Left Behind a tad dissapointing, but soley because of my own inflated expectatons. As a story about a guilt ridden 9/11 survivor I was anticipating greatness, and instead settled for 'merely' an average story.

A Very Tight Place seems to be garnering a lot of attention, but I don't get it. It's ok, but scary? No. Gimmicky? Yes. But to each his own.

Again, cover to cover a satisfying and mature read. Highly recommended.

3.25 out of 4.