Crunchy ‘Nanas

“7 Seconds” was my first experience of Youssou N’Dour*. Besides simply being a good song, I remember thinking how different it was– a song in a foreign language (at least partly) playing on the radio, the video airing on MTV and VH1. It wasn’t just the language, but the way those words sounded coming from his mouth. There’s something about his voice, the way the syllables roll, the way everything vibrates (”there’s a million voices”) that just got—and hooked—me.

Fourteen years later, I got to see him live. It was awesome. He was playing with his band le Super Etoile de Dakar last night at the indigO2 in London. He has such a personable, charismatic presence on stage, and really interacts with the audience. And the rhythms are great. I didn’t want to stop dancing. That’s 2+ hours of cross training in my book! (It was a wonderfully long set.)

Before the show, I was saying “you know, this concert’s a little different. I don’t have specific songs I want to hear, I just want to hear the music.” I lied. I just didn’t know it. I was such a happy bunny when they played C’est L’amour. It was great, all of it.

[*But wait, those of you who have read my blog for longer than a day, may say! What about the Peter Gabriel So tour? Shaking the Tree? I was 8 in 1986. The only music I was tuned into was Madonna, Michael Jackson, and the Beatles (because of my mom). I discovered Peter Gabriel much later. Though not, I have to point out to one loyal reader in particular, because of the movie “Say Anything.”]

The weather here teases and taunts me. I’ve sat huddling, shivering, willing the winter to run its course and warmer months to drop in for a visit. It’s not that I don’t appreciate rain, because I do very much, but we haven’t actually had that much of it. It’s just been cold. I do not like cold. I like to be able to feel my fingers and toes when I run. I like to be able to turn the key in my car after a trip to the beach. Snow on Easter was exciting because it was pretty and novel and different. But now I say, bring on the heat!

The flowers have been out for weeks, but the air temperature has still been bitterly chilly. But yesterday, I felt signs that Mother Nature has started to warm her oven. I got (overly, as it turns out) excited about being able to run in shorts today and shaved my legs. All for nothing. The gash I took out over my Achilles’ tendon? ALL FOR NOTHING! I woke up to rain and it’s cold, cold, cold again. I am a cold-weather wuss, I know, but I am so ready for spring and summer.

I am, however, feeling a bit pertinacious today, so I think I’ll wear them anyway. And freeze. Just like I imagine this man was doing on Easter:

*Note: I have to graciously eat my words. (They are delicious.) After posting this, the sun came out, the temperature rose, and not only did I run in shorts but I shed my warm hat and gloves. It was wonderful.

Then, as if I thought it couldn’t get any better, the temperature hit 17, yes 17!, as we drove into London for Youssou N’Dour.

While I was watching, you did a slow dissolve…

I am told that when I was a baby, I woke up singing. For whatever reason, I’ve lost much of my morning perk since I moved to England. But thanks to an excellent performance by David Gray and his band at the Leas Cliff Hall in Folkestone last night, I woke this morning with Slow Motion humming around my head.

I’ve listened to David Gray for close to nine years now, and yet this was my first chance to see him perform live. For the last couple years, I’ve been in California when he was playing local England shows and in England when he was in California. But last night, I was there and I was not disappointed. It was great to see him in a venue so small. His voice reverberated around me and I could appreciate how much vocal control he really has. I loved hearing all his yips, na-nas and yee-hees so close and I was, at times, completely absorbed by Neill MacColl on the guitar.

Tell me something, tell me something I don’t already know…

The only disappointment of the night was the rudeness from people who seemed to be there only to get wasted, talk, and start show-stopping fights. There are places in the material where you should be able to hear a pin drop, but last night that space was filled with the constant rumble of socializing at the bars. Not very respectful to the people on stage, nor the audience members who came to appreciate the music. The performance felt a bit stiff for a while after David Gray had to summon security during a very intense and jammin’ end to Lately to get the fighting punks out of there. I’m thinking he won’t play there again, which is too bad for us.

Feels like lightning running through my veins… 

Small pellets of ice fell as we drove home last night and snow flurries fell tonight. Perhaps this year, it will be a white Easter. I hope so. It might as well snow and be pretty if it’s going to be this cold.

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Now playing: David Gray - Slow Motion
via FoxyTunes

I hear the chuckles as I try to poke my head through the opening in the garbage bag before I suffocate. I wiggle to get the bag down my body and then look to the mirror on the wall to my right. “What? Perfectly normal” I say, red and white feathers poking out from the boas around my neck.

If anyone asks, she’s American…

It was gray and misty, but it didn’t full on rain during our Sport Relief mile yesterday in London so we were lucky. The run was fun. Not exactly a sprint because of the crowds and little kiddos around, but good to see so many people out and embracing the day. And an excellent opportunity to break out the red and white boas!

Unfortunately, no Mark Ramprakash sightings. Too bad!

The long-running family joke is that I could have been a figure skater if only my mother had bought me the ice skates I needed to properly support my ankles. While we all know that this accusation is a far, far cry from reality as I can’t skate to save my life, it’s my one claim to “neglectful parenting” so I like to mention it once and a while to get a rise out of her. (You know that scene in Blades of Glory where Chazz Michael Michaels is skating from the evil Stranz Van Waldenberg? I would have been toast. Having said that, it doesn’t mean I don’t know where, in all my favorite songs, there’d be a triple axel or a layback spin. Yes, I have a habit of choreographing in my head while I wash dishes.)

In a recent attempt at home office organization, I came across my stash of figure skaters’ autographs. Among the lot: my ticket to the 1992 Worlds practice session in Oakland signed by Nancy Kerrigan and one of my first digital photography projects signed by Aren Nielsen at the 1996 Nationals in San Jose. (I was so enamored by him.) No Elvis Stojko though so there is still work to be done. (She rubs her palms together.) Elvis, where are ya man?

But, what still absolutely takes the cake is in the sealed ziploc baggie I hold in my hand right now. The baggie’s torn where the staple ripped through it, pinning it to my teenage girl’s wall, but the ticket’s still intact. I was walking up the stairs at the ‘tank on October 19, 1993, and lifted my gaze to read the jersey of the woman in front of me. It’s probably fair to say, I was not un-fazed. It’s probably more descriptive to say, in all of my 15 year-old excitement, I freaked out. I grabbed my mom and stuttered, “the jersey, look at what the jersey says! Oh my god!” After a moment of confusion when my mom was reading the jacket of the man in front of her, she caught on and proceeded to join me in the jittery frenzy of being among stars. We quietly argued (at least I think it was quietly, my father may have a different memory of the event) about who would do the talking, but finally my mom won out with “you’re the kid, she’ll give it to you.”

I don’t know whether the Sharks won or lost against the St. Louis Blues that night, but I do know that Kristi Yamaguchi graciously gave her autograph to a geeky, brace-faced fan and totally made her night. (Okay, she looked a little annoyed and uncomfortable, for which I feel a bit bad for now, but really what can you expect if you’re an extremely talented figure skater and you wear a jersey with your name on it to a hockey game in your home area?)

And, now either my mother is holding out on me, or she doesn’t know yet. I can’t hardly believe the latter, but I can’t believe she wouldn’t tell me either. If it weren’t 4 in the morning, she’d be getting a phone call. Kristi is going to be on Dancing with the Stars. Mom, you better make sure the VCR’s in working order starting Monday because this is what I want to watch when I come in July. Wait, what am I talking about? You’ll be in England in three weeks.

Oh my god, what are we going to do?!

In response to my post of crocuses from Kew Gardens and Crunchy husband’s response to that post, my mother sent this note:

“hi, spring has sprung here also, and here’s where our flowers is!”

and this picture:

Spring 2008: San Jose, Ca, USA

Is spring springing where you are? Send me a picture and we can make a virtual garden of spring 2008 around the world. (Or, if you’re in the Southern Hemisphere, send me a shot of fall falling.)

Pretty soon the Brits are going to have to stop erecting buildings out of bricks. We had another earthquake last night. Unlike the last one, I didn’t see it coming. But, it was pretty strong. The epicenter (5.2 on the Richter scale) was located in Lincolnshire, but I felt it down here. (I was still awake though. I don’t think I would have felt it if I had gotten to sleep at a normal time last night.)

I woke to a text this morning: What, you miss California so much you gotta bring the earthquakes with you?

Perhaps. (They are my first “football” team, and they are coming home. Again. Or, again, again.)

If you are usually one of the sweaty screaming fans, bouncing and dancing yourself into a frenzy, U2 3D is difficult to experience in a static theater environment. What was I supposed to do with my hands? I was conflicted, confused. The raving, energetic fan inside me wrestled with British cinema decorum. What was natural—hands waving above my head, palms clapping, wrists rolling and fingers snapping—was definitely not acceptable at the Waterloo IMAX. I glanced around. It quickly became clear that singing your heart out back to the band was not going to be well received. Even when you’re supposed to pump your fist in the air and belt “Pride,” I contented myself with a head bounce, toe tap, and thigh drum. (And yeah, there might have been some lip sync action going on.) When Bono yells “on the guitar- the Edge!,” I need to scream my approval back to the stage. Instead, I bit my tongue and sat quietly, pondering the wonderful existence that is David Evans, and watched him strum his sparkly guitar masterfully.

Despite the constrictive atmosphere and the fact that it was way too short (did they not have enough footage for at least an hour and a half? Come on!), holy moly, was it good. Not better than a live show, but different. You don’t get the intimate feeling at a live show (unless you’re really, really lucky) that Bono really can, and will, wipe your tears away during Sunday Bloody Sunday. You don’t get to fly over Larry Mullen, Jr. while he beats his drums or get up close and personal with Adam Clayton’s bass. Ticket prices are never £12. And even though it wasn’t live, the emotions, energy and power shone through just as well. I got the chills in all the usual spots and even in some new ones. But, I left thinking it would have been better if they had done more with the 3D (I think it would have been good if Bono had wacked me with that mic stand) and the wish that they had done this for one of their earlier tours that had more theatrics (hard to please, I know).

But, we got back to the car and I got to rock out the whole way home so everything was fine. I hope this is the beginning of a good year for the band, with the new album in the fall and hopefully a tour to follow. (I am sure that’s all part of the plan, as if these guys need to market themselves). Rock on!

Crocuses, Kew Gardens

It is 9 degrees C here today. Woo-hoo! We went out for a beach run at low tide on Saturday and it was so cold. So, incredibly cold. It is hard to run when you can’t feel your feet. Really, really hard. The balls of my feet, the only parts I had any feeling in at all, kept feeling like they were pounding boulders. The day’s saving grace was the bright sunshine. It didn’t warm me, but it did make me feel happy so I didn’t turn around a mile 0.01. By the end of the run, I was hot and bouncing. (I think part of me was really excited about getting into my wellies and going out on the rocks!)

In other good news, I am now an official card-carrying member of the Deal Tri Club. Work it! I’m hoping I will meet people that I can connect with and have fun with. Sometimes I feel like I have all this pent up social energy and nowhere to direct it. I am hopeful.