Exciting Suburbia

Well we're moving on up! To the North side! Yes, my lovely fiance' and I are in the process of buying a house in the middle of suburbia. Broomfield, Colorado to be exact. I'm ready for it. I feel like I'm past the point in my life where I need to rent a place to live. We're both ready for ownership. And in this market, it's hard to pass up.

And I have to admit, I'm not allowing myself to get overly excited. Why, you ask? Our sellers. They have been less than accommodating. I won't get into the anti-negotiating details, but let's just say April and I haven't let our guard down yet. We are still in the "hope for the best, prepare for the worst" frame of mind. But I have to say, it's starting to look like we may actually get this place. I won't be able to exhale until closing day and our names are signed on the dotted line, though.

As far as our (hopefully) future piece of Suburban America goes, I am honestly excited about it. I am excited about a house, with a yard, sprinklers, an attached garage, a dog, maybe two dogs, kids, maybe two of those too, neighbors, parks, soccer, and a rec center. I don't think I'll take it to the point of a white, picket fence, minivan, and PTA board member, but I am looking forward to a new chapter.

I'm all growsed up.

What the hell happened...?

Why is it that musicians in their younger days are so much better than their later days? Right now I'm listening to Rod Stewart...yes, Rod the Bod...who, in my opinion is...er, was...wicked back in the 60's and 70's. Ronnie Wood, The Faces, Maggie May, Ooh La La, Jeff Beck, are you kidding me?? Phenomenal!

Now he's been demoted to adult, easy listening radio stations, the obligatory Christmas album, and singing sub-par "standards" in an ugly suit. I miss Rod the Bod. A good rock and roll singer who has sunk to below acceptable standards...or should I say, "standards".

Rod's demise brings to mind greater falls from greatness: "The Godfather of Soul" James Brown, and the "King of Rock & Roll" Elvis Presley. Wow. Two, if not the two most influential musicians of modern music as we know it. Trailblazers, visionaries, poets, artists, icons.....and then the sixties were over.

What was it about the late seventies/early eighties that killed these two giants? When did we, as a society, decide that we wanted to see Elvis Presley parade around a Vegas stage incoherently, sweating on the first four rows of concert-goers, in a white, sequined jumpsuit? James was right behind him. Rocky IV? Really? Apollo Creed chose to die after seeing you perform "Living in America".

Over-production, media, and unfortunately the majority of people who even bother listening to music have horrid taste in it. That's the killer. And I don't mean Jerry Lee Lewis.

It's about an hour past my bedtime. All the thoughts that were in my head earlier have since gone to sleep. I'm even too tired to turn the channel. That episode of 'Friends' where apparently Ross kisses Rachel while he's dating that Asian girl...yea, that's on. Rich, hilarious comedy. Rachel's nipples are hard though, which honestly is probably the only reason it's still on my television. Gotta love the "Chrissy Snow-esque" tight sweaters. Real girls don't wear those, so I have to resort to 'Three's Company' or, in this case, the friends.

I had all these wonderful thoughts and ideas that I wanted and needed to ramble on about, and this is what my brain's turned to...nipples.

Goodnight people-who-are-not-reading-this. Sleep well.