Concerts

In the past ten years, I have gotten to see some absolutely incredible concerts and the music brings out all kinds of different emotions; it can make the world right or it can just make it go away for a while.

The Red Hot Chili Peppers made my skin tingle and soul scream in Dortmund, Germany, for what I consider my first major bigtime concert (Sorry Bryan Adams...first ever concert, sophomore year of college just doesn't cut it). To this day, I consider it to be my all-time favorite megashow.

Pearl Jam rocked out in Paris on the first weekend my brother came to visit me in Germany. This one came in a so-close second to the Chili Peppers show that sometimes when I think back on it, it could have been a better show. Maybe.

Oasis played a simple show that proves it's all about the way the music makes your insides relax and how it can put the world back in its place. Noel and Liam write lyrics to make you cry and I consider their show my favorite small venue show of all time.

Linkin Park was a shrieking bong of endorphins in Zurich right before we moved back to the States. An incredible show that yanks all the anger to the forefront of your mind and then out of your system for two solid hours.

Three Doors Down and Tool in Wichita, Switchfoot in Atlanta, Puddle of Mudd in Baumholder. All great shows.

But there is absolutely nothing like packing a small venue with friends that span 15 years to see a band you know personally. When you know their friends, their wives and their history.
Robbing Reality made 2 albums of original music, played all the Southern and Nashville venues; got their contract and played their last gig 6 years ago. But for one night and for a great cause, they played a reunion concert this past weekend and it has hands down beaten out every other concert I've ever been to.

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The bass player was the coolest guy I ever dated. He could write lyrics in such beautiful detail the US poet laureate would be jealous. And I remember when he could barely play a G chord. He taught me how to play the only Clapton song I can still eke out on the guitar.

My sister and I spent a Spring Break in Colorado with the lead guitar player, his girlfriend and her sister playing cards, skiing and hanging out in a cabin with no television or phone. This guy can play any song, at any time, anywhere and was once dubbed the best player of the classics ever. We played guitars and sang for a week straight. He ended up marrying that girl and they now have 2 kids.

Angie, my college roommate, dated the drummer, who taught himself to play by watching MTV during high school. I'll never forget the night we were riding our bikes back to the apartment when she fell off right in front of his house. It was my fault since I let the tree branch smack her in the face. But he took care of her bike while I took her to the ER to have her two front teeth put back together.

The lead singer has a voice that when paired with an acoustic guitar can melt hearts. It's intense, sweet, scratchy and determined all at once. And the last member of the band plays drums, guitar, tamborines and I'd swear I've seen him with a harmonica a time or two. His big ole smile lights up any room. When all five of them are on the stage playing "Fifth of Revelation," it's like reading an open book of all our lives. We know that they're ready to burn through hours of rock and will push us supersonic just to welcome us to wherever we are.

Bands always create a connection with their music. Connection to reality, to hope, to fairy tales. The music floods your mind with roller coasters of feeling. When you ride the roller coaster, your head spins in a million different directions. And when it's being driven by someone you know, that connection brings a sense that all is right with the world, even as your jumping up and down, rocking out, sweating and screaming... the sheer volume of racket makes you want to jump through your skin.

All is right with the world. If only a couple of hours. So just keep listening.

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Amazing show and what a great cause!
(Robbing Reality albums can be bought on Amazon)

Scored a Big One Today

It is rare for a PR professional to bring the boss around to her way of thinking. And when you do it, it's HUGE!
I need a high five!

I went in armed with statistics cause that's the way he thinks. 79% of the people I work with are between the ages of 32 and 50. The median age of a LinkedIn user is 40 and the median age of a Twitter user is 31. The use of the internet to gather news doubled in the last year over newspapers.

The boss wanted to pitch the improvements of the organization since its inception 12 years ago and thought one news article would be good.
I wanted to launch a major publicity campaign at every grass roots outlet I could think of.

I talked about Facebook. He talked about newspapers that don't exist anymore.
I mentioned blogs. He talked about print articles.

I want RSS Feeds, YouTube videos, podcasts. He's thinking radio spots.

I'm getting nowhere!

So in one last ditch effort, I pitch Twitter. It's microblogging - like texting all in one place. The boss rubbed his chin and proceeded to philosophize about the evolution of the organization.
So then I showed him a screen shot of a closed Twitter site, which just means that only those people we approve have access to it. He perked up.

I thought it would be a good idea to punch out snippets from the staff meeting. Only 12 or so people attend, which means more than 300 people in the organization get the information second hand or not at all.
When I told him I could Twitter out all the info from the meeting, he actually almost clapped his hands....SCORE!

And as he's walking me out, he clears me hot for Facebook, Podcasts, blogging, whatever. Ha! There are good days at work!


(My twitter site is in the link)

Escape through Van Gogh's "Starry Night"

John Keats is my all-time favorite poet. Being high on laudenum one night, he wrote "Ode to a Nightingale." And tonight, as I was staring at my Mr. Lee original painting of Van Gogh's "Starry Night" I couldn't help but be reminded of Keats in his high talking to a bird about life issues. Don't have to be high on an opiate to escape for a few minutes.

Stepping through Van Gogh's painting and around his cathedral, I make my way down the main street. The bright sky illuminates enough of the way that I don't need a lantern. And a lantern is what would be used because the era would be pre-19th century. I'm wearing a bone crushing corset and a heavy, wool cloak. Horses whinny from the street. The crisp air bites my nose but fills my lungs. It's quiet in a non-industrial age way. Simple. Traditional. Perfect.

This is a place that is easy to get lost in. Survival is the focus of those who live here. Not snagging the latest iPod or biggest house or computer. Friends and family are important. Community. Lanterns shine through the windows of the building in the middle of the street. Laughing strings of a fiddle can be heard. Peeking my head in, the entire town is dancing and clapping.

The wind picks up. It's louder and louder. Sounds of televisions, radios, phones blare in my head. I'm being sucked backward by the wind. It feels like I'm trying to swim through glue. Like when you wake up from being under anaesthesia. The sounds and the wind are pulling me faster and faster until I fall backward on the couch.

Back to reality.
Short trip.
Everyone needs that escape every now and again.

What's in the bag? Small child or golf clubs

Walking out of the airport, I'm following a man with strange, long white hair - Dr. Emmett Brown style - and he's pulling a long, dark blue bag with white stripes down the sides. It's a little ratty and has a long, ragged hole on the right side in the middle. Sagging near the top where he's dragging it by the handle, the bag is obviously not full.

I can't pass him because we're both headed out to long-term parking and there's only one very small path to it. So as he is meandering under the weight of whatever's in the bag, I can't help but think what could be in it. He's carrying a backpack and wearing an old-school, green hooded windbreaker. That white hair flipping over the hood in the wind. A little creepy.

At first I think golf clubs. But no guy would treat his clubs that way. And this guy has probably never set foot on a golf course.
Then I think clothes but what a weird bag to put them in. He does have a backpack so probably not.
Small child? Would fit - the bag and the style he's sporting.
Then it hit me...if this is what I'm thinking, then what the hell am I doing walking so close to him?!

I look around. No one is anywhere near us. It's getting dark. We're in a near empty parking garage. So my brain goes to rape, dismemberment, robbery. And then I remember that I was taught Brazilian jujitsu and kickboxing. Sure, I could kick his ass. He's only 6'2, 200 pounds. No problem.
No cops anywhere. Don't see any security cameras. Even if I scream, the sound of aircraft taking flight would totally drown it out. Now what to do?

Then this poor guy takes a right, goes up the stairs and out toward his car. Wow - It's a good thing people aren't mind readers!

Biking around the flightline

So I finally got my bike fixed. Well to be fair, a good friend fixed it for me. And then we decided to go riding today for PT -- 14 miles around the flightline at work. It took about 45 minutes to ride the whole thing.

What's cool about biking around the flightline is the view -- C-130s and incoming aircraft. Just watching as they fly over, getting closer and closer to me; lower and lower. The landing gear is so close I can almost see inside the wheel wells. The sound of propellers and the screech of the brakes on impact. There isn't a sound in the world that can bring up images like baseball, apple pie and mom like the sound of an aircraft on an Air Force base.

What makes this ride even better is that the perimeter road runs beside what is generously called a lake. Even though it small, it is surrounded by trees and shrubs and has enough water to satisfy an outdoorsy quick fix. The smell of fish and pine through the wind is intoxicating. There's nothing more salt of the earth than riding in the outdoors by water.

Between one of my favorite sites, the flightline, and my other favorite places, the lake, it was a ride that just melts stress away. You just gotta love being in your two favorite places talking to good friends about life or nothing at all.

Those Darn Construction Zones

Snail's are moving faster than we are!
Steamrollers and back hoes litter the median.
Tar smell pervades the air in the truck cab.
Time has stopped.
The wheels on the truck have stopped.

Screeches from the guy riding his brakes rattle my brain.
Cars, trucks, motorcycles, big rigs jam together on the 4-lane
The sun's dipped out of sight,
The 18-wheeler next to us blocks our view.

Nothing to do but wait.
Blare the hardest music we can find.
And munch on our stash of bananas.

Missed all the tornadoes

Huge water droplets crashed into my windshield last night as I drove up Highway 231 to Gadsden. The wipers flashed furiously from side to side in the vain attempt to give me a glance through the waves of water.

Hwy 231 is a little two-lane slab of road that cuts through tiny little towns buried in the Talledega Forest. Rebel flags, old trucks, huge plots of land littered with cows...that sort of thing. And I had seen the weather map before I left. Long stretches of red streaked across the map from Mississippi to Georgia and the bulk of them along the I-20 corridor from Tuscaloosa. But I had to get from Montgomery to Fort Payne by 8 pm.

Around noon, we started getting the weather notices across our computers at work. Severe thunderstorm warnings, tornado warnings, flash floods all that screeched in the blue boxes that crept on the screen and wouldn't leave until I hit the annoying "acknowledge and close" button. The plan was to leave around 5 to make it in time. So I watched the local NBC weather guy point at maps and calmly tell people to get to the lowest point in their homes because the storms capable of producing tornadoes would be in their town in 3 minutes. But what was interesting to me was how slow the storms were and how most of them were sitting in Tuscaloosa. So if I took 231 instead of the interstate, where Prattville was getting hammered, I could stay in front of the storms. There would be a break for about 20 minutes that if I timed right, I could drive right in between the two storms that would smack Wetumpka.

So I grabbed Caiden from school, threw her in the car and broke speed records to get north of Wetumpka. The radio squawked all the tornado warnings and watches in all the counties south and west and north of me. I flew toward Coosa county as hail rained down on it. I left Shelby County behind me as I tore from it's severe, flood-inducing thunderstorms. The radio told folks in Talladega Forest that a tornado had already hit the ground...I was 30 minutes from there. Lightening crashed off to the west where Chilton County was bombarded with hail and damaging winds. Water attacked both sides of my car. At some points in bad construction, I didn't even know if I was driving between the white lines of the lane.

But I made it! Then I had to repeat the entire process to get back to Montgomery. I knew the storms were supposed to keep shwacking the middle Alabama area but were slower and the lull would be in Birmingham. So the car turned into a boat and we cruised down the interstate right toward Mountain Brook. Flashes of lightening creased across the sky and at one point a sharp javelin of light cracked to the northwest that looked like the 4th of July. To the southeast, the thunder was breaking windows.

I figured no cop would get out of his car in this weather so I floored it and made it home right as the county EMS sirens were shouting their ominous warning!