Raising girls in this world....

The other day someone asked me if I ever wanted kids. I laughed because to me, this is an obvious question, though I can see how some might not see it that way. "Of course I do" I replied. "And knowing me, with the life I've lived, I'll probably be blessed with four boys!" He smiled, knowing how I spend 99% of my daily life with nothing but men. I have always been this way, not just in the touring world, but I've had a way of surrounding myself with honorary brothers. Through his smile a pained look clouded his eyes and he said "No...you need to raise girls. Its hard to raise girls, many who do it shouldn't and those who should often don't know it". I was taken back a bit. You see I am one of three girls, raised by an amazing woman, one who was born to raise girls. She raised us in her image: strong, independent, confident. We stand apart, because we were taught to, raised to, nurtured to be a certain way. So when he says this, I understand what he means. My mother was calculated in her rearing. At times I found her influence to be overbearing, her voice in my head constant, her teachings precise and specific, and yet, I always respected and admired her for her work, and in that moment, looking at this man, I did again. Its been her life passion: raising her daughters. This conversation makes me think about my friends. My girlfriends who I love so dearly. Some of us share certain attributes; some are similar to me in many ways, others are the extreme opposite. You like people for different reasons. I think about certain friends that make me cringe when I hear them answer their phones in that sing song voice, five octaves higher than their normal voice. Those who make me want to slap them when they bat their eyes at the waiter and ask for a favor, or how I roll my eyes as they slip into some affected alternative version of themselves as they lean over the counter to talk to the bartender. Didn't anyone love them? Really love them? I roll my eyes, but deep down I want to hug them, because it's not their fault. They were taught to do that. By women who were taught by their mothers. They were taught to get what they wanted out of life in the only way they knew how, by manipulation and flirtation. And guess what...it works. That's the sad part. And they make it look effortless from of practice. So who can blame them? If it ain't broke. And this works in all levels of society, in all types of interactions. It can start as a means to survival, but it crosses all social circles, from paupers to princes, from the girl in the local grocery store to the woman dripping in diamonds on the arm of a Barron. Sex...is...power. Oldest trick in the book. So unless you were taught to burn the book, close up shop and start your own printing press, this is the game we all seem to play. Which is why when this man looked at me, with a pained look in his eyes as he said I need to raise girls, I understood what he meant. Its much more difficult to raise women. Women will be responsible to teach men. They are the one's that choose which weapons to wield, whether to play dirty or not, what rules to use in the game of life. Women who don't use men, but love men, will teach other women how to love men, and then those men, will love their women, because they respect them. Its a cycle, a circle, a game, a responsibility, a life's work. Some women are meant to raise women, I guess my fears of raising four boys pales in comparison to the weight of raising three girls. Thanks mom.

Freebird

Four years ago I went to see Lynyrd Skynyrd open for Kid Rock at the Riverbend Ampitheatre. It was my first tour and the crew knew some of Kid Rock's crew. They all spent their time backstage drinking and hanging out with their friends, I was the only one who watched any of the show. Though I played it off like it was kinda cheesy, to me, it was magical. I was finally on the road, and on a night off, we got backstage passes to a show I actually wanted to see. I timidly walked out to front of house, not knowing anyone, but I had the right passes, so I stood there quietly, trying to stay out of the way. Lynyrd Skynyrd isn't what they were in 1977, how could they be....only one of the original members still remains. But that night, watching Freebird, I had an aching longing in my heart, a deep yearn, to one day tour with them. Why? No idea. Other than the part about them being an anthem for my youth. A few people actually called me Freebird for a semester of my senior year because I taped the lyrics to my bedroom door. But that time was long gone right? I didn't connect with this band on stage or its audience, but at that moment, I wanted to be a part of it. As soon as Kid Rock came on I left. So here I am, in Albuquerque, NM, and I just watched Lynyrd Skynyrd, once again, from the sound board, but this time, I'm supposed to be there. I'm on tour with ZZ Top, and Skynyrd is opening. I watched the whole set. And to be honest, its cheesy. They use large painted tapestries instead of video screens, they all look like a cross between Brett Michaels and Slash and I really can't muster any love for the confederate flag that they grip like a rosary. So much has happened in the last four years of touring. The massive crowds, world renowned festivals, celebrity appearances, jet setting luxuries. This half empty state fair arena doesn't really seem like much when compared to other touring acts, however, the faces of the crowd are just as bright, just as star struck, mouthing all the words, tapping feet just like the best of them. So I look around, and think back to myself four years ago when Simple Man made me cry, when Sweet Home Alabama made me stomp, when Freebird took my breath away. I think about the point of all this. That these guys up on stage play songs they didn't write, for fans who don't care who they are; its about the music. Its about the fact that these songs still evoke emotion in the fans. That people will pay money to hear the songs they were listening to when they learned to drive their first car, the song that was playing when they lost their virginity, the song they celebrated that big Friday Night win to back when they were 18 and felt they could take over the world. They want to feel that way again, and these songs will do it. So it doesn't really matter that they don't have the big screens or the fancy lights, it's not about that. I knew it four years ago, and tonight, I'm reminded of that; the purity of it all. And I shiver at the thought that when I was 25 I made a wish to tour with Lynyrd Skynyrd, and tonight, that wish has been granted. I'm a decade away from having those lyrics pasted on my wall, but I guess that I, like everyone else in that audience tonight, will never be too far away from that person I once was. There are some memories you never outgrow. And while sitting at front of house, I once again acknowledged that if you do want something, purely in your heart, the universe will deliver. So let yourself dream. Get into the moment. Feel something. Really want something. Allow yourself that gift. And if you do.....it will happen for you.

I thought I paid for everything...

"Women made such swell friends. Awfully swell. In the first place, you had to be in love with a woman to have a basis of friendship. I had been having Brett for a friend. I had not been thinking about her side of it. I had been getting something for nothing. That only delayed the presentation of the bill. The bill always came. That was one of the swell things you could count on.

I thought I paid for everything. Not like the woman pays and pays and pays. No idea of retribution or punishment. Just exchange of values. You gave up something and got something else. Or you worked for something. You paid some way for everything that was any good. I paid my way into enough things that I liked, so that I had a good time. Either you paid by learning about them, or by experience, or by taking chances, or by money. Enjoying living was learning to get your money's worth and knowing when you had it. You could get your money's worth. The world was a good place to buy in. It seemed like a fine philosophy. In five years, I thought, it will seem just as silly as all the other fine philosophies I've had.

Perhaps that wasn't true, though. Perhaps as you went along you did learn something. I did not care what it was all about. All I wanted to know was how to live in it. Maybe if you found out how to live in it you learned from that what it was all about"

- "Jake" The Sun Also Rises by Ernest Hemingway

For he's a jolly good fellow

My best friend is a renegade, a poet, a musketeer in the best sense of the word. He goes looking for adventure and adventure finds him, I could say the same for trouble, but with every trouble seeker, adventure is the main pursuit. Not more than three hours off the plane from Bali, he's at a woman's house, servicing his needs. His bags are neatly tucked away at my house, door always unlocked, in case he needs to creep back in during the breaking dawn. Being on Bali time, he wasn't going to bed anyway, so its no surprise that he got no sleep last night. I've never stayed up waiting for him, because I know him, and I know what he and I get up to when we gallivant around foreign countries, shady back alleys and unknown city streets, so it came as no surprise when I couldn't get a hold of him this morning; I've picked him up from many a random house, and I knew he'd call if he needed a ride. That's what friendship is. True friendship. True friendship is never judging. True friendship is getting excited for them when they are growing, and setting boundaries when they could get syphilis. True friendship is listening to the harrowing tales of a broken heart, knowing this too will pass. True friendship is offering a helping hand, a loving hug or a slap to the head when needed. I live with this man. We travel together across continents, through airports, in and out of look-a-like hotels, into dark streets, loud bars, interesting predicaments. He is my blood, my sweat and my tears. He's a brother in the true sense of the word. For when I've needed a lesson, he has appeared as the teacher, and when I've needed a confidant, he's bee my partner in crime. I can honestly say I wouldn't be who I am today without this man. Maybe its the fact that we tour together every year that keeps our bond so strong, maybe its that crazy attracts crazy. Whatever the reason may be, I'm glad he's here, and I'll pick him up from any street corner, anytime.

Oh if every day was a pleasant day...

It's time to advance ZZ Top and I've got laryngitis. These aren't arenas or places I've been before. These are ballrooms, county fairs, and whistle stops in deep Texas. I can't whip out the old email threads and contact someone online. Nope, this time I need to CALL. Call the venue and try to locate the correct person. When did calling people become so daunting? In the world of email, text, skype, BBM, twitter and AIM, how on earth do you even know how to speak anymore? And when you do, its rushed, because you are speaking like you're texting or typing, you just need answers, no need for pleasantries. That's something that's gone out the window. So sad. When someone actually asks "Hello, how are you doing" you are taken aback... "uh....fine.....fine?" We call for answers and execution, not for conversation. And yet, how much more enjoyable would day to day interactions be if they were all pleasant? It may take twenty more seconds to lead into a conversation with a "How is your day?", but its guaranteed that the rest of the conversation will be better than it would have been without it. Because you're not barking orders or snapping off questions, you've taken a breath; A moment to recognize that you are speaking to another human being, who has needs and lives in the world, and that in turn makes you realize that you too are a human being that has needs and lives in the world, and then you stop and take a minute for yourself and adjust and relax, and all of a sudden, its pleasant... which is why we call them pleasantries.

Wedding Weekend What?!?

You stand there, perfectly put together, smile plastered on your face, and you're numb. It's all a blur. From the getting ready to the pictures to the ceremony, All of a sudden they are asking for rings and you immaculately produce one, then people are clapping, and its over. Married. Oh then all chaos breaks loose. Wine all around! Girls!!! Giiiiirrrrls! Get over on the deck we need the wedding party! Where is your mother!?!? Giiiiiirls! You can drink later I need you here now! Bride? Where's the bride. No! You just stay where you are. GIRLS! It's pandemonium. Lipsticking, hair flicking, dress straightening, heel clasping, boob placing crazy-ness.and that just keeps going. I find myself going in and out of consciousness, I'm on auto pilot. I look around and everything is in slow motion, it's like I'm underwater, everything is muffled. Even now I can only remember about five conversations I had that night, and I talked to so many people. Adrenaline coursing through your veins, and then you add alcohol to it? You're dead. I held it together till the very end, then I went from all good to.... a fucking train wreck and put myself to bed. Everything was fine, but I flipped fast. 12 hours of drinking? Family? Pressure? Hours of small talk. Yup, that's enough to kill anyone. And the small talk. Oy vey! No sir I don't remember Desert Storm and I wasn't around for the Iran Contra Scandal, I'm gonna make my way to the bar. Oh no ma'am I don't believe I do know that line of Laura Ashley and I'm so glad to hear your daughter didn't turn out to be a crack addict like you'd feared. Really? You think the weather is nice? I think it sucks actually and I'm sorry to hear about your heart palpatations, no I can't recommend a good cardiologist.
What is WITH these people!?! And who starts a fight over gay marriage with a 65 year old man? They were gonna come to blows! People were clearing away furniture! Hello!!! You're 30 years old, 6 foot 5, 250 pounds! Let it go! And who fell asleep on the toilet, to wake up to the cleaning crew, all alone hours after everyone had left? Not me thank god! But what's a good wedding without good stories. "don't know how I got this!" says a friend the next morning as she points to an egg on her forehead the size of a Volkswagen. Don't remember? Shit by the look of that I'm surprised you remember your name right now."i just threw up in the bushes" says another friend as she makes her way to her rental car from the front desk. So I guess it was a wedding. Everyone survived; though their ego's may be damaged, their bodies are still functioning... some better than others. The important part is that the bride and groom are happy and currently having sex on a beach somewhere, not thinking about family or to do's or anything but each other, a well deserved vacation. So yeah, it was fun, I resembled a warrior more than a party guest, I guess that's what family does in those occasions. I know when it comes to my wedding...should I ever choose to have one, it's gonna be on a beach, and if you wanna come, great, if not, I'll tell you the stories when I get home. But here's to the traditional wedding, in all it's glory. Good job this weekend team, it will live on in infamy....at least those parts we can remember.