Secret Rockstar

I call the little things that people, whether they be friends, family, or acquaintances, don't know about me my "secrets." These aren't real secrets in that they aren't facts about myself that I try to hide in plain site from those around me. Rather, they are tastes and penchants for certain things that no one would expect from my outer demeanor.

One of my many "secrets" is that I love the rock star lifestyle and consequently am a huge fan of 80s hair metal and hard rock. In real life I'm a shy and sometimes extremely introverted student more concerned with finishing my homework on time and avoiding detention. However, whenever Bon Jovi, Aerosmith, Whitesnake, Guns N' Roses, or any of their contemporaries comes on the radio I am transformed. I sing out loud along with the song word for word because I have many of them on my iPod on continuous rotation; I bob my head with the best of the head bangers; I dream about joining a rock band, though I know I never will.

Though my friends are aware of my chosen types of music and which bands dominate the sound waves emanating from my headphones, they still sometimes express surprise when I share a "new" band that I have "discovered" or mention a fact about one of those bands that I learned while watching VH1. My friend Kathie probably made the most telling comment when she said, upon hearing "Here I Go Again" by Whitesnake on my iPod on the way home from Senior Service Day, "Who would have thought that you would like this band?," or something to that effect. I can still picture the cringe on Sarah's face and her quick admonishment to, "Never say that again!" when I mentioned that I find Steven Tyler sexy, even though he's old enough to be my grandfather. Oh well, that's who I am.

Over the years I've seen some amazing concerts by some of by favorite bands/artists, and I've enjoyed each and every one. From Steven Tyler's onstage antics and Joe Perry wailing on his guitar with his shirt to Chad Kroeger asking his tour manager to bring out a bottle of a crown and a bottle of vodka with some glasses for the general admission audience members, I've seen some crazy things. There's something about a rock concert with its party atmosphere and eardrum crushing music that allows you to forget your daily inhibitions and to transform for a couple of hours.

(Saving Abel)

Though I've loved every minute of every concert, the best one I have been to, by far, was Nickelback's performance at the IZOD Center in East Rutherford, NJ. I don't know if my sense of anticipation before even entering the venue stemmed from the fact that I was with my best friends celebrating Kathie's birthday or if it was something else, but I found myself relishing every second of the evening. I even enjoyed Seether's performance, which is surprising given that I'm not much into screamo bands. Whatever the reason, the night definitely didn't disappoint me.

(Nickelback)

After decent but underwhelming performances by Saving Abel and Seether, Nickelback upped the ante by huge leaps and bounds, exploding through a cloud of pyrotechnics into a version of "Something in Your Mouth" that was as good as, yet somehow better than, the one on their Dark Horse CD. The set list that followed contained a nice mixture of old favorites and new hits. The performances of "Photograph" and "Savin' Me" drew people to their feet cheering and hollering along, while the playing of "Burn it to the Ground" and "Rockstar" had people dancing in the aisles.

(Seether)

Throughout the entire night Chad remained charming, gladly joking into the microphone about the upcoming song and its often R-rated subject. He had the entire audience hanging on his words and the huge space was filled with laughter following each of his many jokes. His comment about the popularity of "Far Away" with the female members of the audience and how playing it resulted in, "Chicks running back from the bathrooms," elicited cheers and appreciative chuckles from the audience. The greatest moment of the night for those of us watching from the seats above the General Admission section on the floor of the IZOD Center came when, during a break between songs, Chad presented the people crushed along the front of the stage with a bottle of vodka and a bottle of Crown after declaring they looked thirsty and inquiring about their alcohol of choice. Thinking he was joking as he cried out for someone backstage to bring the chosen drinks along with some glasses onstage, my friends and I watched in amazement as the backstage manager, or some roadie, walked onstage and calmly distributed the bottles and glasses. After closing the main part of the show with "This Afternoon," the band returned admist loud cheers to perform a couple more songs for their encore. The concert concluded much as it had begun, with the band disappearing into the blackness after a blast of pyrotechnics.

(Nickelback Leaving)

Walking out after the final number still immersed in the soundless world of post-concert withdrawal, I couldn't help but put this concert at the top of my favorite concert list. The band's obvious love of performing and the music along with Chad's clear love of interacting with the audience placed this concert miles above the rest. My experience convinced me that, not only can Nickelback play rocking songs, they are true rockstars.

More pictures:

Bringing Back Poetry

Everyone suffers delusions of grandeur about being a poet at one point in their life. I realized today that I have been harboring the desire to be the next Wordsworth or Keats, for this academic year was marked by an exponential increase in the number of poems I wrote for my English class. Perhaps my sudden inclination towards poetry, something I have never believed myself to possess any talent for, stemmed from the stress of the college process and the need to get my feelings down on paper in as few words as possible. Whatever the reason I find myself with a great deal of poetry gracing my computer screen and, in an effort to clear it out, I'll share it here one bit at a time. Hopefully this will satisfy my literary ambitions.

These Days
Time slips by in haste
Fragments of sand running through
The twisted vortex of glass
Bearing love away
It never lasts

She carried a basket of books
Tattered primeval fables and fairy tales
Recounting fleeting seasons of change
When life shimmered with promise
Emeralds of hope beneath the sun
Still it’s always a dream

These days scripted reality reigns
Humans step on stage
For a mere fifteen minutes of life
Flaming out before they fade away
No longer angels at dawn
Aspirations of grandeur lost
Amid plunging gossamer feathers
These days survive

Good Food Makes the Day

Personally, I find food to be the ultimate art form because it is so expressive. I have no issues with humanity's traditional modes of self-expression (painting, writing, sculpture, music, etc.) and do not wish to malign the masters of any form, but food, with its involvement of the five senses, possesses a power unparalleled in a world of chaos and the constant need for speed and electronic distraction. The aroma of freshly baked chocolate chip cookies draws everyone, from the youngest child to the oldest grandparent, into the kitchen where they are being removed from the oven. The sight of a bright salad teeming with fresh vegetable and homemade dressing on the glossy page of a cooking magazine grabs the reader's attention and instills in him/her a strong hunger for the promise of spring displayed before them. The sound of homemade burgers sizzling on a charcoal grill on a raging summer afternoon elicits bittersweet memories of childhood barbecues and nights of carefree fun. The feel of a brie's velvety rind speaks of the prosperity that we all crave. The taste of a beef stew that has simmered for hours, its few simple ingredients melding into a complex palette that Shakespeare himself would be at a loss to describe, comforts anyone on a cold winter evening and enfolds him/her in the warmth of a fleece blanket. Food is the common denominator that joins humanity and represents so much more than the tradition behind its creation.

To me food has always been the way that I express my love for my family and friends. As such, I have come to appreciate the importance of good food in my life and to respect and admire those people who put so much effort into crafting the pasta dishes, stews, and pies of the world. I have eaten at many famous restaurants and tasted numerous delicious dishes made by home cooks and celebrity chefs, but the best thing I have ever tasted came in the form of an unassuming and deceptively simple sandwich from Salumi in Seattle, WA.

I am sure that many people have heard of Salumi (its owner is the father of one of America's most notable chefs: Mario Batali). Located on the outskirts of Seattle, Salumi is literally a "hole in the wall" with only a few seats clustered behind the restaurant's long and narrow counter. Though the appearance of this little gem is unassuming at best, the sandwiches, popular cured meats, and long line of customers belie its unadorned exterior. This no-nonsense attitude towards appearances proves that Salumi is truly all about the food.

The sandwich that changed my day, which had been proceeding perfectly apace with Seattle's chilly grey skies, was the porchetta. A combination of braised pork with carrots, fennel seeds, white wine (?), green bell peppers, and onions on a crusty baguette, its warmth and homemade taste perfectly embodied the Italian spirit of cooking and improved my mood as well. Not only did the sandwich's generous size fill my stomach, which was empty because I failed to eat breakfast, but the warmth of the braised pork and the unique complexity of taste acquired by its simple ingredients lifted my light sense of melancholy as hot chocolate drunk after a long afternoon in the snow leaves the child drinking it full of well-being. My porchetta sandwich proved to me that it is truly the little things in life that matter the most, for they can make the day.

A New Beginning

I have to admit that I'm amazed by the audacity of my decision to start a blog, since it implies a certainty in my importance on the world's stage. I don't mean to say that I, as a sentient being capable of forming her own opinions about life's happenings, am unimportant and that my feelings don't matter, just that I am willing to acknowledge that there are others out there who are better equipped to share the details of their lives and offer groundbreaking insight. Yet, I believe that humans gain wisdom and acceptance of the differences of others through reading about their experiences and reactions. So, though it may transform me into an outmoded cliché for practicing it, my belief in the power of writing has led me to abandon my cynicism. I hope that something I write will make a difference in someone's life.