Can I just point out that I am not yet 30? I may be traveling the highway, but I haven't exited yet. So let's not unpack my bags so soon, folks!

Age Ain't Nothin' But A Number

So the meaningless, just-to-pass-the-day, sharpen-your-quick-thinking-skills, slack-off-at work-with-your-boss (yours truly) topics of the work day were as follows: name groups, bands, and musicians that have numbers in their names; name groups, bands, and musicians that have single letters or initials in their names; name groups, bands, and musicians that violated the film industry; and finally name musicians from groups or bands that thought they were good enough to take a stab at a solo career and were actually successful. (Did I miss any?) The questions laid out and the rattle and hum of the minds ensue. Think quickly and shout it out before anyone else...

I had my share, digging deep into my pocket of useless knowledge. Find an answer and drop it like it's hot. But I have to say, and I'll confess (I've never been the competitive sort), I think I lost this round. Defeat is hard to swallow but that's OK. (Hands up, palms facing out for convincing effect.) No really, it's OK. Let me explain why. Because unlike our usual fair - how much would you have to be paid to run around your work building naked? how much around a football stadium...during the superbowl? sleep with your crush for one blissful night and contract a urinary tract infection? choice super power? rather have one leg or one arm? get attacked by pack of rabid pit bulls or one hungry lion? climb mount everest or travel the equivalent depth under the sea floor? As mind-boggling and thought-provoking as these questions are, I'm still amazingly able to walk away from them and go home unaffected. No, really.

Shockingly enough, Friday's Brain Bowl left me in a stuper. As much as I pride myself in musical knowledge (I listen to music, don't I?), I didn't know much of my opponents' answers. Lucky for them. (Oh God, it's an Avril moment! - Inside joke to all you on the outside. - Suckas!) They must have had a completely separate sub-categorized pocket for obscure music and one-hit wonders. They named people and groups that maybe if I heard their music or their songs, I would have been familiar, but otherwise I didn't know them at all! I mean, how many people know that Busta Ryhmes used to be in a group? Who knows these things?! And what is the shelf life of such knowledge?!

I walked away from this round feeling slightly aged, as my opponents are slightly newer than me (than I am, to all you grammar freaks!...See ya at the next annual convention, by the way!). I mean, I don't usually feel so old as I do when I'm at work (wait, I'm at work every day!). And on that note, a side note for you, I also don't usually feel as young as I do when I'm at my Jazzercise class - yes, Jazzercise class! Shut the hell up!...So I thought to myself, Does one's contemporary musical knowledge decrease as one ages? Is it inversely proportional? Is there an exponential factor? Can this be mapped out mathematically? Could I win the Nobel Prize for authoring the mathematical equation?!

The thoughts running through my mind as I drive home listening to K101 on the radio, Bay Area classics on their scheduled rotation. And oh God, how do I reverse this so-called aging process? Do I really need to? Is it just society tell me that I need to freak out as I careen towards 30? Does this mean I need to start driving UNDER the speed limit? My cabinet is already getting hijacked by a fleet of various creams, some with sunblock, some without, some with rice flower (rice have flowers? and is one rice grain called a rouse?), with white tea, line reducing strength, line prevention strength, firming cream, exfoliators with ground apricot seeds - apricot seeds! you know, because the seeds of the apricot have special powers that magically make those tiny, frayed f-ing laugh (life is laughing at you!) lines disappear!, gel masks, gel peels, varied doses of AHA's (alpha hydroxy acids that don't really do s--t!), etc...(There's got to be some maniacal laughter somewhere in the distance...probably in my medicine cabinet.)

But I've resolved (posture stiffening, chin up) to not let it fret me. 30 is after all, just a number. And even though I may not know all those groups that have numbers in them and some meaningless combination of letters, I am still wiser than I was 10, 20 years ago. And for that I'm truly thankful. Thank you God, for the frayed laugh lines - they give my face character. Thank you for the baby pouch that no measure of crunches and Special K meal replacements can shrink - it keeps me warm in the winter. Thank you for the nerves, the qualms, the paranoias - I'm all the more careful. Thank you for my volumes of musical knowledge that ended publication in 1995 - my head has more air to breathe. (Huh?) And finally, thank you for my al-Qadea of face creams hijacked medicine cabinet - my husband is forced to use the one downstairs and this one is mine!!

Anyway You Want It!

Ok, so sorry that I have absotively, posolutely no time! What was I thinking attempting to create and maintain an online journal?! It's been like (here I go with the "likes", pinch me if i say "like" one more time), over ten years since I actually had a real, 3 dimensional journal. Back in the days when I was all Anne of Green Gables. 'Cept, if we "keep it real", it would've been Anne of Hunters Point. Not a pretty picture as you might imagine. No, HP cannot, in no way shape or form, be confused with the green rolling hills and meadows, blooming buds, poetry-inspiring cliffs of Novia Scotia. (Does anyone know what I'm talking about, mang?)

So, back to business. (Don't we all love introductions like what I did up there just now? The kind that lead you into nothing and are followed by something completely unrelated? Just the way they taught you in school, huh?) So what was I saying? Oh yeah, business. I have Journey playing in the background. I know, who doesn't? I'm at work and Journey fits nicely into the work music category. They are by definition, "Bay Area classic", after all. But the annoying thing is not, as you might assume, Steve Perry's constant woh woh's, or how your mind gets set on repeat after the song is finished (kind of like a bad, lingering aftertaste of something that just didn't taste right anyway), but it's the mind picture you get while listening to Journey. Which by the way, lingers much the same way as that funky taste in your mouth. It's that blinding camera flash that you still see when you close your eyes. And the more pictures you're in, the more blinding white flashes you see afterward. Have I leapt too far from the line of analogies? Anyway, the picture I'm alluding to is that oh-so-typical-of-the-time-and-genre and yet the oh-so-henceforth-ridiculed vision of a man...in tight jeans or some sort of spandex/lycra combination...in a silky shirt unbuttoned just low enough to reveal a soft tuft of sweaty grassland chestal manfur...with an odornment of rings on a fashionista fist just enough to hint to some sort of questionable sexuality...and oh yes, with the well-coifed head of Aquanetted feathered hair. Who can resist such a man? you might ask yourself. Oh believe me, I'm quite resistant. I mean don't get me wrong, the CD playing is after all, mine anyway. Have I lost ya yet with this huge paradox? I think I've lost myself...in some chestal manfur, no doubt.