It’s a true statement when I say that if I had not been into Phish, I would have never found Goose the band. And, I think it’s true for Goose, that had they not discovered Phish – there wouldn’t be Goose, either.
Goose, to me, is not just another American jam band – but is the one that will carry the torch for the next generation. Sure, they aren’t playing Madison Square Garden (yet) but they are currently on tour with Pigeons Playing Ping Pong (P4). In my opinion, Goose should be the headliners but we all have to pay our dues.
Like a new, hot boyfriend, these guys have completely
infiltrated my life. They are all I think about, listen to and I’m completely
obsessed with the way their music makes me feel.
Like most Southern Californians, I spend a lot of time in
the car. I have a 20-mile commute to/from work and while some listen to talk
radio – you can be sure that I’m either jamming to Phish or, most recently
Goose the band.
Hot Tea
I discovered Goose the band through a Facebook group
called Phish Chicks. One of the women who started it (Bethany Barker) started
posting videos of them, stating how good they were and that we MUST check them
out. I didn’t give it much though until one day, out of curiosity I clicked on
one of her videos – and WOW – immediately I was intrigued.
After watching every video, she posted from a few recent shows she attended on the east coast – I needed more. I headed over to YouTube where I became engrossed in the show in Covington, KY on June 2, 2018 as well as the July 27, 2019 Peach Fest set in Scranton, PA.
When that was done, I found myself wanting to listen to them
in the car instead of my usual LivePhish app. What was happening? Was I giving
up on my old married relationship to Phish for a hot young thang I felt budding
with Goose? Why, yes, I think I was.
This is when I subscribed to Nugs.net. Take my $25 a month so I can create
endless Goose playlists and overindulge in the Sunday Soundboards they drop
weekly. I was hooked.
About a week after discovering Goose, I told a coworker
friend of my mine who also loves Phish to check them out. He was pretty nonchalant
with the response of “eh, yeah, ok.”
Arcadia’s Got Me Running
Next thing I know, I get an email from him saying he is
now also obsessed and we talk about how much we want to see them live. But they
are a small (we all start out small) east coast band and it will probably be a
while before they grace us with their presence.
Well, I think the Goose Gods heard me that day because
less than 3 hours later, I get an alert on my phone from BandsInTown app that
Goose is coming to my area! What?!
Like any over-indulgent fan, I purchase tickets to their
show at the Troubadour month sin advance. It sells out eventually and then I’m
bummed I didn’t buy the 2-night pass ticket instead – but I digress.
So, Feb 9th rolls around and I pull up to the Troubadour
on the corner of Doheny and Santa Monica Boulevard. The Troubadour, a small,
intimate historic venue is a place I spent a good amount of time as a teenager
– but as I entered adult years – I haven’t been back.
Although I wanted them to play longer, I was glad they
were opening because I’m getting old and staying out late is not as easy as it
once was for me.
As Peter, Rick, Trevor & Ben took the stage, I felt
like a kid on Goose MAs eve. Immediately, the music filled the room of what
couldn’t have been more than 200 people. I was front and center watching Peters
goofy smile, Rick’s sexy bod and Trevor’s stoic stare.
All I Need
The way they play proves they have studied their predecessors
in the scene (Trey Anastasio, Jerry Garcia, etc.) and have taken it up to a new
level of jamming. One that is flawless, beautiful and uniquely their own.
Their covers, which they do quite often, are (dare I say
it) better than the originals.
You guys, this band is just so so good and if you have any interest in the Jam Band scene – you must check out Goose.
Laura Marie Loftus is a writer living in Los Angeles, CA. Read more of here writing here.
Phish Tour and writing is something that has always been with me. Well, living for live music at least. Phish tour is something that has only been a “thing” for me in the past 7 years.
Over the past 7 years, I’ve seen 20+ plus Phish tour shows which leaves me yearning for more every single time. People always ask us phans – how do you see the same band over and over and over again?
The answer is simple – there are no two shows alike. I have probably heard them play Moma Dance and 46 Days about 555 times but each time is different. And each show experience is different.
Before college, I wanted to be a music journalist. I
interned at a music news website which allowed me exclusive access to many
shows, to which I wrote reviews for.
As life marched on, college ensued – I lost sight of that passion. Of that need for writing about music.
Life Happens
I got married, had kids, took a job as an insurance broker. Not because I fell out of love for music or my passion waned – but because reality set in and I grew up, I guess. I provide for my family. My job gives me stability, it challenges me, gives me opportunity to travel the country and sometimes – those work trips align with Phish tour. It isn’t a bad gig, and I think I’ll stay for a while.
But that isn’t to say you can’t go back to what you once loved. I am re-finding my love for music and writing.
Now, this isn’t a show review but rather an exploration. I felt the need to articulate how these shows make me a better mom, a better wife – and all around – a better person to those who count on me.
Me Time
Everyone needs a little “me” time. But few actually make
time for. Sure, my vision is skewed and yours might be too. I’m in half a dozen
face book groups that circulate around Phish tour or Trey Anastasio Band Tour
and the highlight reel makes it seem as though everyone is on tour. But in
reality, most of us are lucky to go to maybe 1 show a year.
One isn’t enough for me. Each show is an equivalent to a
religious experience for me. I learn something new about myself. About my
friends. About my relationships.
Last September, we returned from our annual pilgrimage to Denver for three days of Phish. While some think of the Phish crowd as a bunch of drug-partaking, barefoot children dancing on the lawn types– there is a whole community of sober people too.
Sure, I’ve dabbled in drugs. I mean, I left home at 19, went to college in San Francisco and moved to NYC when I graduated. Drugs were around. However, now, I stick to what is legal (in my home state of CA – and luckily in Colorado too), alcohol and pot. And even with that, I don’t over indulge.
I don’t know if it’s getting older or wiser, but I don’t feel the need to get to the place where I don’t feel in control. Yes, I am a happy person. I love my life. I don’t feel the need to escape it.
Falling in Love with the Phish from Vermont
I remember the very moment I fell in love with Phish and it wasn’t at my first show (2013 Hollywood Bowl). Yes, I did “get it” then – but much like a new relationship – the fall in love part was built up and that happened about two years later at the Los Angeles Forum Show.
I remember, so
vividly, during looking around at the crowd. The lights had come up during
Axilla and I could see the faces of all those around me. There were hands in the
air, people jumping up and down – pure rocking out and joy. I felt euphoric
from the music and those around me.
And that is when I fell in love with Phish Tour– this is
what we live for. These pure moments of unadulterated, happiness. Of clarity.
It was a spiritual moment for me and I’ve heard many feel the same way about
Phish Tour.
At shows, people get so spun they lose their friends,
they take naps on grassy knolls and some sit silently taking in every moment.
I’m a singer and a dancer. By the end of the show, I’m hot, maybe a bit sweaty
and absolutely on the most natural high there is.
It keeps me young, keeps my spirits high and allows me to
face real life challenges head on. Because although today may not be the best
day in the world – there is a glimmer of sparkle driving down the road one day
where music will take me to that place of healing. Of therapy. Of feeling like
everything is right and I can just hold tight.
The day Phish Tour stops being a thing is a sad day in my book. But this leads me to my next blog post…discovering new music.
Laura Marie Loftus is a writer living in Los Angeles, CA. Read more of here writing here.
Some days, it feels like the world is testing you more than others. It’s like, no matter what you do – something goes wrong.
It usually starts out small, right in the morning, and you just know it’s going to be one of “those” days. Progressively, the small things turn into bigger things and before you know it, you’re hitting all the red lights when you’re in a rush. And then you spill coffee all over a white shirt before a meeting. And then, of course of course of course, your phone is lost in Las Vegas and you’re stuck on a plane flying back home to LA.
5:30 am
I heard my coworker I was sharing a room with come in from being out all night in the casino with co-workers. Luckily, I fall back to sleep quickly.
But then at 6 am, I say to her from my bed, “Your alarm is going off!” No response.
She is laying on her back fully clothed, dead to the world. Get up. Turn it off. Go back to sleep and 2 hours later, it goes off again. I turn it off and decide it’s time to just get up and start the day
Go down stairs.
Walk through the smoky casino, to a mile-long line for coffee. I hate waiting and I hate lines. Standing from the back, I watch each person ever so slowly order their coffee. Fiddle with their money after the transaction. Slow like a snail, collect their belongings from the counter and head to the creamer station. One by one, we inch forward.
At last, it’s my turn!
Coffee in hand, I rush back through the casino hearing the ring a ching chings and ding ding dings of the slot machines.
Back in my room, it’s time to turn on the computer. Get to work. Scour through emails and get ready for the show!
But then, a bind request from a million-dollar account comes in. Pressure is on. Hop on computer while talking to clients. Where are my co-workers? I need help!
I can see the way this day is shaping up and I don’t like where it’s going. This is quickly turning into a no good, very bad day.
Now
I’m in a taxicab on the way to the airport, chatting with my kids. We arrive and I set the phone down to swipe the company credit card. I get out, grab my stuff from the trunk and walk through the double sliding glass doors. As soon as we walk through them, no less than 60 seconds from exiting the cab – I realize. My phone.
It’s in the cab.
Crap. World over. Or at least, so it feels.
To anyone who’s ever lost a phone, especially lost in Las Vegas, it literally feels like an extension of you is missing. Like an arm. Or a leg.
I know, sounds dramatic but I think we can all relate to that. Suddenly, I feel hopeless. Powerless. Like I won’t make it through the rest of the day without crying.
I need to find it.
As soon as I realize I have about 15 minutes to try and get the driver, I start panicking. What was the name of the cab company? It was a yellow cab, I know that.
I oddly remembering taking detailed mental notes about the taxi during the ride. I remember it was yellow and it said yellow cab on the side. Imagine that! The driver’s name was flashing across the meter and I try to remember her name. I think it was Paula Rodriguz. She had light brown hair and was wearing neon blue sunglasses.
I could pick her out of a lineup.
But what cab company was it?
I call the number of the cab company I think it is and the woman who answers tries running the credit card through the system to see which cab I was in. She says there is no transaction with that card. I tell her the taxi was yellow and the driver was Paula Rodriguez. The whole time I am walking toward security using my coworkers dying phone – hoping they will say she found it before I go through the metal detectors.
No such luck, they say the driver doesn’t have it.
We get through security and my coworker stops at Coffee Bean. I feel like I have limited time with her dying phone to try and get it back before it’s Lost in Las Vegas forever and I’m on a plane back to LA. So, I log into findmyphone.
I See The Phone.
It is on Spring Mountain Road & Ledell Street. It’s at a shopping center with a Cathay Bank and some Brazilian restaurant. I call back and tell the woman I spoke to that I can see it is en-route back to town from the airport. It’s somewhere I haven’t been. She isn’t lost in Las Vegas. IT HAS TO BE IN THAT CAB.
“Nope sorry, we already asked the driver to pull
over and look. It’s not there.”
Nothing I can do.
Once home, I use the 10% life left of my co-worker’s phone to tell my Mom to meet me at Lovi’s in Calabasas to get the kids. Should be about 45 minutes, I say.
SO MUCH TRAFFIC.
It is LA of course. Regardless, I am happy to be home and just driving with my windows down on familiar streets with with a warm, light Santa Ana wind blowing through my hair.
This makes me feel like everything is going to be alright. It’s a good thing I know where I’m going because the free navigation trial in my car has ended and I don’t think I could use a Thomas Guide now, even if I tried!
She won’t be lost in Las Vegas forever. Oh yea,
my phone is a she now.
I arrive at Lovi’s after which I am think was longer than 45 minutes, but I’m not exactly sure how long it was because I zone out while I drive and am in another world listening to Phish radio.
Trey sings to me: Everything’s right, so just hold tight!
I sing along with the volume on high because there are no kids in the car. I dance in my seat as I drive. Pull into the lot but she isn’t there.
Then I start to worry that I took so long – that maybe she left. Afterall, I am not exactly sure how long it took me to get here. Was it 45 minutes? An Hour? An hour and a half? I don’t know because I can’t check my phone to see exactly what time I called her!
Inside the deli.
I ask the host if I can use the phone and he gives me a funny look.
We really have become so dependent on technology. I noticed in the airport even – no pay phones anymore. No body uses them. If you lose your phone like me and need to call – we actually need to ask random strangers to borrow their phone. Would I trust a stranger to use my phone? It’s kind of like handing someone you don’t know your baby. I’d make them stay right by and the whole time would be waiting to react in case they decide to take off with it.
But then I remember that most people are inherently good. Repeat that to myself and I feel it – I will get my phone back.
I know it.
Back home, I work on getting the kids, all of their luggage and my bags into the house. They want McDonalds for dinner and I’m too lazy to protest so I head to the drive through.
They don’t have many vegetarian options here and although I’m not vegetarian I try to be. . I usually get the southwest salad with no chickin. I settle on a fried chicken sandwich though because at this point, I’m feeling sorry for myself and am eating my feelings.
After serving my children and stuffing my face
with greasy goodness I decide to try more detective work. I need to
findmyphone.
So I google it.
I search through company websites and look at pictures of the cars to call the ones that look like the taxi my phone was lost in Las Vegas in. I find a number which I am sure I called before but try it anyway. They say the definition of insanity is trying the same thing over and over again – expecting a different result.
Surely, I have gone insane over this damn phone.
Press 2 for lost and found and leave a message.
Stare at my phone’s location and think. WHAT ELSE CAN I DO?
At this point, I call AT&T to start the claim process on the insurance I have in case my poor dear phone is truly a POWMIA.
No Soldier Left Behind.
I call the cab company and he takse the four digits of my card and says, oh yes, you were in cab #3092. Driver is Paula Rodriguez. She hasn’t come back yet for the day and they can’t call her now and she hasn’t turned anything in.
That’s weird.
When I called earlier, they said she “pulled over, searched the car and nothing was there.”
“Well, sometimes people think they left it somewhere, but it doesn’t turn out to be.”
“Well,” I say, “I know I left it there. I was
talking to my kids on it in the car and my friend I was with saw it on the seat
next to me when I was paying. I forgot to grab it. I actually noticed right
when I walked into the airport.”
“Why didn’t you call earlier?”
“I did call earlier and was told it wasn’t found. I have been on a plane, driving, feeding my kids dinner, searching for the cab company. It was also ringing before and now it’s turned off. I am sure someone has found it.”
At this point, he takes my number and says he
will ask the driver.
And at this same point, I feel defeated and sure my phone will end up on the black market of lost cell phones somewhere.
I’m Sorry Honey.
My husband says annoyingly calm.
Just as I go online to start the claim process of getting a new phone, my husband’s phone rings. It’s a 702-area code. A call from Las Vegas. Could it be?
I answer immediately, “Hello? Hello?” the reception is bad.
“Yes, is this Laura?”
“Yes, it is.”
“The driver came back; she had your phone. Call the lost and found number for all things lost in Las Vegas taxicabs on Monday and we’ll ship it out.”
THANK YOU SO MUCH. THANK YOU.
Throughout this whole time, I kept telling
myself – it’s just a phone.
But for some reason, it felt like a great
loss.
Like part of me was missing. And I think a lot of people can relate to this feeling.
And when the man from the cab company called me back to say he had my phone, safe and sound – I could finally, relax. The search and rescue mode was over.
And just like that, all was right in the world again. Everything IS right so just tight.
It was four days,
which equals to 96 hours without my phone. During that time, I started to slowly disconnect. The phantom vibration of a text or call coming through stopped around 36 hours in. By the third day, I didn’t even care to scroll FaceBook from the spare iPhone 6 phone we had in a drawer.
I told my husband proud, “I think I’ll carry out this new way of life even after my phone comes home!”
But then it arrived, in a FedEx package at the office like it was Chrsitmas morning. I tore into it and threw the pieces on the floor like a child breaking in a new toy.
And then I hugged and kissed her tight, like a long lost family member!
She’s home! And I’m back to being tethered to it like a baby in utero, bound to her mother by umbilical cord.
I’ve always had a connection to the other side. From a young age, I started having reoccurring dreams and signs of loved ones after death. In these dreams, family members who had passed away would visit. I remember after my Grandma Marion died, I was about 8 years old – I woke up to the creak of my bedroom door and a gleam of light flooding into my dark room from the hallway.
There she was – my grandma! But hadn’t we just laid
her to rest earlier today?
She came toward me and while most young girls would
feel scared of seeing a “ghost” I was excited she was here and felt comfort.
She sat down on my bed and told me everything was going to be ok. She hugged me
tight and I could feel her arms around me.
Some might say this is impossible. But I am of the belief that if you are open to signs of loved ones after death and visitations from those who have passed away – those loved ones will find a way to connect and let you know that everything is right.
Last year, on Christmas Day, as we were boarding our annual flight to Cabo San Lucas at LAX airport – we got the call. The dreaded call we were expecting to receive but were hoping it wouldn’t come quite yet. It was my husband Scott’s mom. Through a river of tears, she could barely make out the words – your father, he’s gone.
Only 30 days before, did I get a similar call from her
– only it was letting me know she just took him to the hospital. “He’s really
sick,” she said.
“Like, flu sick or something else sick?
“I don’t know. He’s been throwing up for a week straight and the doctor was concerned.”
Diggng for Info
Scott’s family is the worst with giving information.
You have to press, ask questions, ask the same questions over and over again to
get a straight answer.
“They were concerned because he is throwing up or is
there something else? What is going on Mom?” I said to her. Scott was at work;
she didn’t want to bother him and I knew it must be serious if she was calling
me now.
Turns out, after some peeling the layers back like an
onion through a myriad of questions – we were told they think he has cancer.
Over the next three weeks – they tried chemo but the
goal was never to cure him. It was too late for that. It was to prolong his
life.
We visited with the kids 2 weeks before he passed away
and as the plane doors closed my husband looked distraught – was he really on a
plane to Cabo when his dad just died? He was.
My dad was in Cabo waiting for us, and we made arrangements to fly back east from Cabo for the funeral. We chose to leave the kids in Cabo with my dad which was an unpopular decision with his immediate family. But our kids were young and we were just there with them to say goodbye. I didn’t see what good it did to remove them from what they consider the happiest place on earth to a freezing tundra and a funeral. They were 6 and 3 at the time. They didn’t need to be there.
Signs of Loved Ones After Death
That said, it’s been almost a year since he passed
away. A lot has happened but most recently, Scott has been asked to step up to
a Superintendent position at work. We were sitting around the dinner table,
talking about the position and how much he wishes he could tell his dad. How
proud he would be.
You see, his dad was a machinist for the New York
Times and that is what got Scott into the production industry. Scott always
worked for the Times when we lived in NY and when we moved to California in
2008 – he landed job offers from both the Los Angeles Times and Farmer John.
Scott asked me which job to take and I told him,
“newspapers are a dying industry, everyone buys bacon.” And he took the job
with Farmer John.
He’s been there 10 years now, and although the commute
is a B!@#$ – Scott is loyal to the company. Afterall, he’s been carried away by
ambulance from the plant on more than 1 occasion due to complications with his
MS.
He’s talked about leaving to find something closer to home. But he gets really good medical benefits and they are supportive of his health needs. They also love him, so there’s job security.
They Are Always “With” Us
So, as we are all sitting around the table eating
dinner, and Scott is talking about the new position and his dad, the dining
room light goes out. We all look at each other and I say, “The lightbulb blew
out.”
Scott keeps talking but something or someone makes me
get up. I walk over to the light switch which is a round dimmer light. When
it’s turned to the right, the light is on. I put my fingers around the switch
and can feel it’s turned all the way to the left. To off.
But we were all sitting at the table. I look at Scott
and say, “This is your Dad. He’s letting you know – he is here. He knows.
And I have chills as I type this.
Some people get freaked out when this stuff happens.
But not me. I feel warm inside knowing that when I go, there will be a way to
let my kids know I am watching. They will just need to be open to the signs.
Because I am of the believer that if you aren’t open to receiving them, then
you never will.
The idea of teaching gender diversity in schools is a sensitive subject, especially when it comes to educating elementary school aged children about it.
My daughter,
who is in 1st grade, will soon have a Gender Diversity lesson once
per year in her elementary school – a new program that was recently implemented
within the Oak Park Unified School District.
A few weeks before school started, we received an email from the district saying they would be introducing lessons about gender diversity in schools. When I got the email, I must admit, I was surprised and not sure how to feel about it. What exactly did this mean? Would they be teaching my child about being transgender in 1st grade? Really?
I have always been open to others and supportive of the LGBTQ community, but it felt like she was too young to really understand. However, I am not one to make a big deal about nothing – so I read more of the letter to find out that their goal was to teach love, kindness and acceptance of people’s differences from a young age.
How can
anyone be opposed to that?
But some parents are protesting allowing their children to take part in these once per year lessons about gender diversity in schools.
From my understanding, per a meeting with the District Superintendent, these lessons are all age appropriate and do not discuss sexual preference at all. Rather, they focus on teaching kids that not everyone is the same. That some people feel different inside and that is OK.
The gender
diversity in schools lessons are all age appropriate and do not specifically
define the terms transgender or non-binary. Rather, they introduce feelings and
diversity. And I am ok with that. But not all parents are.
So, What Do The Lessons Look Like?
For my
daughter in first grade, they plan to read her a book called “Red
Crayon,” where the premise is that the red crayon says they don’t feel red.
But rather, they feel blue.
In speaking with a few parents at school – those who oppose are really against it out of fear. Fear that these lessons will “confuse” their kids. Will lead them down a path or introduce something to them that they wouldn’t have otherwise known.
Others are afraid that it might introduce more bullying and have the exact opposite effect than what the lessons were implemented for in the first place. Some parents are concerned that by pointing out differences in children, will only help to draw lines in the sand that someone is different. And to look out for them.
Kids will be kids. And in my opinion, I think introducing the idea that you should show love and kindness to others – even if theyare different than you – should be embraced.
But lest, these lessons are not even about that. It’s about gender identity. It’s about teaching children that even though they may know whether they are a boy or girl, because that is what they’ve been told – that it’s ok to not “feel” a certain way and that some girls feel like they were supposed to be a boy, or vice versa. It’s also about teaching kids that some people do not feel like a boy or girl at all. They may feel like a little of both and preferred to be called “them.”
I am also of the belief that you do not CHOSE to be gay, straight, lesbian, bisexual or trans. You just are.
There is a
spectrum of LGBQT that I think we all fall into on some level. I know some women, married with kids who see
another woman and can appreciate their beauty. Some call it a “woman crush.”
There are men, who when they get along with other men well call it a “bro-mance.”
It doesn’t mean these people are gay, but I think it’s important we teach kids
that not everyone is the same and to not make fun of or exclude people because
they are different than us.
Can’t We All Just Get Along?
The fact is, kids will have to one day grow up and be leaders in a world where transgender people will work alongside of them. Isn’t it better to introduce these types of differences in a non-pressure type of way? In a way that makes sense to kids.
Not all parents are ok with this though, and some participated in the protests by keeping their children home for two days earlier this month. Their purpose was to show the district they do not want these lessons about gender diversity in schools.
Every morning, I hang out by the 1st grade playground gate because my daughter likes for me to wait until the bell rings. I am not one of those parents that loves chatting with others at school – but it comes with the territory. If it were up to me, I’d drive the through loop, say goodbye and be on my way!
While I was
hanging by the chainlink fence, giving my daughter her final kiss good bye,
another Mom sparked conversation with me about the lessons to be implemented
about gender diversity in schools.
She was strongly opposed to it. Her reason was that she didn’t think her daughter would understand what it meant. That she would be confused about whether she was a boy or a girl. Granted, her daughter has special needs and she felt it was not appropriate for her level of understanding. However, she is not the only parent that feels this way and the others do not have special needs children.
As a result, I tell her I understand her position but that if she thinks her daughter wouldn’t understand, because of her mental disability – then why remove her from being introduced to it. At worst, she would just wonder why the red crayon had feelings in the first place.
Teach Them Love and Kindness
I dread when
we are in public and we do see someone that is disabled, different or “weird” –
as my kids put it. And it’s even worse when they say something out loud that
may be offensive to that person.
As a parent,
I don’t want my kids thinking it’s ok to make fun of others because they are
different than us and I think that’s a pretty universal feeling amongst most parents.
So, the fact that these same parents are protesting lessons that teach
inclusivity and tolerance is baffling to me. They are afraid of the unknown and
I would think by now, in the year 2019 – we’d be past that. These are the same
parents that say they would support their kids if they ‘One day decide they are
gay, you know – when they are older.” But yet, they are opposed to opening a
world to their kids where these people exist.
Seems a bit
contradictory to me.
What “new” band have you recently discovered and why should we listen to them?
It’s Saturday, which for us, means a quick breakfast of honey nut cheerios for the kids while I rush around getting myself and then the girls ready for gymnastics.
We were a dance family for a few years but when my youngest daughter Lilly started watching gymnastics videos on YouTube and Netflix – she begged to be signed up for that instead. I tried to put it off for a while, for my own selfish reasons. I grew up in the dance studio and always wanted my kids to be into it as well.
And although they are into it, I couldn’t deny Lilly’s request to try gymnastics when she proudly announced one day that she had taught herself to do a cartwheel. She’s 4 ½.
That said, for the past few weeks we’ve been coming to gymnastics before dance class. From there, we have a short break where I usually grab a hot Matcha Green Tea Latte for myself, a Vanilla Bean Cream Frappuccino for my seven-year-old and a birthday cake pop for the 4-year-old from the Starbucks Drive-Thru before heading down Ventura Boulevard for dance class.
Today, when leaving, hurried to get the kids shoes on while herding them toward the door I glanced up to see a woman wearing a Phish t-shirt. At gymnastics!
I always get so excited when I see a phan in the wild. I mean, I drive around town in a white SUV with a 46 DAYZ vanity plate and a “Run Like an Antelope” license frame. I do this because I love talking about Phish and I’m always secretly hoping someone will recognize it and spark conversation with me about them. It rarely happens.
I immediately tell this woman dressed in a beige t-shirt with the old school Phish logo on the front, cargo shorts and black pumps on her feet, “I love your t-shirt!”
She stared back at me, looking kind pretty confused from behind her bright blue eyes framed by thick brown bangs and hair that fell just above her shoulders. With a bewildered look on her face, she said “oh, thanks.”
Me, so excited: “I have a 46 DAYZ license plate!”
“Ooh really? Cool.”
She couldn’t be less enthusiastic.
Then I started to wonder, does she even know who Phish is? Why in the world is she wearing a t-shirt of a band she seems to not even know who they are?
“Do you go to their shows?” I asked.
“Oh, well my husband was really into them and I went to a show once.”
ONCE. Said like that was normal. Like if I told her I told her 99% of the music I listen to is Phish and I plan work trips around Phish tour so I can squeeze in a show or two if possible. And that I’m flying to another statenext week just for Phish – she would most definitely think I’m crazy. She’s probably right. But I say it anyway.
“We are going to see them, next week in Colorado. At Dicks!”
She stares at me blankly, looking slightly horrified that I said the word dick (and so loud) in a gymnastics center with children around. Not the reaction I was looking for.
I start to tell her they play Dicks Sporting Goods Park every Labor Day weekend, but trail off into a quick good bye when I realize she really isn’t into Phish at all.
It was probably laundry day and she woke up late, rushed out of her house after pulling this t-shirt out of the bottom of her drawer and threw it on with cargo shorts and black pumps. Now, thinking back on it, it was the oddest outfit really. Especially for Saturday gymnastics day! It was a bit like a reverse mullet. Party on top, business on the bottom.
Anyway, I decide it was her fault she wore this shirt today and I was going to take the opportunity to gush just a little bit more about my favorite band and maybe she’ll be curious enough to listen to them later and take herself back to that moment of seeing them. I’m doing this lady a favor. She’s better off now. Enlightened, really.
What “new” band have you recently discovered and why should we listen to them?
I write because I have to. Because if I don’t, it would feel as if I wasn’t
being my real true self. A part of me is not truly living, unless I am also
writing.
That may feel dramatic, but for me, writing started as soon as I was able to form sentences on my own. In middle school, I would sit on my bed with a journal and fill it nightly with melodramatic poems. I took my first creative writing class as a sophomore at Agoura High School. Mrs. Dobrowski was her name.
One of my first, vivid memories of me writing was staying up way past my bedtime tap tap tapping away on the computer that sat in my closet. It was one of the “first computers” that people were buying for their homes so it took up about ¼ of my closet!
I would pull a wooden desk chair up to it and craft short stories into the wee hours of the morning. Eventually, my mom would come in at some point and scold me for being up too late on a school night.
But ‘tis was the writer’s life! Didn’t all suffering writers stay up too
late, nurturing their works of word art? I was sure they did.
Fast forward to now, today for example. My life is so much different from
then. I no longer have the luxury of staying up late to “nurture my craft.” By
the end of the day I’m burnt out from the get the kids to school routine &
working full time in between. After work, it’s homework, reading books and
practicing for spelling tests for the older one. And all the while, the younger
one is running around screaming for attention – trying to “read” books too.
So instead, I wake up early and write in the quiet stillness of the morning.
After my husband has left for work and before the girls have woken up.
I only have about an hour to write before I have to start the getting ready
for work and school routine – but to me, it’s kind of like working out. It’s an
hour that is totally, just for me.
What “new” band have you recently discovered and why should we listen to them?