Wednesday, June 27, 2012


The scientist has been a huge Van Halen fan (henceforth referred to as VH) for as long as I've known him.  Way longer, actually.  Not "big fan" as in, remembers hanging out with his buddies listening to "Jump."  Not "big fan" in that he goes to the concerts that come to the town he's in.  Not "big fan" as in, he knows who all the lead singers have been and who's in the band.  Nope.  Big Fan as in capital B and capital F.  Big Fan as in, flies to the opening night location of the last two tours (the only ones he's been old enough fiscally sound enough to fly to.  Big Fan as in, he painted the VH red, white and black stripey pattern thingy on one of our fences in the backyard one night.  Unbeknownst to me of course, until I woke up and let the dogs out.  Good times.  Big Fan, as in he owns the same ampifier Eddie owns and has The Eddie guitar.  If you're wondering who the heck Eddie is, the rest of this post is going to be impossibly confusing.  Stop.  Reading.  Now. 

Me?  I'm sort of an Indigo Girls fan.  Seen them multiple times.  I also like a good many country bands/singers and have been to my fair share of hair band concerts.  I have seen Billy Joel and his compadre, Elton, in concert twice.  Camped out all night to get tickets the first time.  Drove 10 hours, pregnant, to see them the second time. 

Opposites attract.  At least they better.  My whole dang marriage is sort of riding on it. 

VH has been on tour.  If you already knew this, it is probably because you, too, married a rock and roll boy.  We should get together and talk about Lilly Pulitzer patterns and cute shoes while the boys talk about guitars and Diamond Dave (see what I did there?) and wear t-shirts with words on them and pretend to be edgy at 40-something.  It's either that or you knew it because you bought tickets your own self and you're the girl he probably should have married.  In which case, don't expect an invite from me. He's still processing the fact that he married a sorority girl who can't name a single Metallica song.   We don't want to make things any more confusing than they already are. 

The Scientist went to the opening show of the 2012 VH tour and last night, they closed the tour in New Orleans.  I got him tickets for Valentines day.  It was right after he came back from the opening show and was proof that, contrary to what he you might think, I AM the girl he should have married.  Lucky thing.  I sort of saw it as a win-win.  He gets to go to VH (which he would probably have done anyway), I get credit for being Wife Of The Year, and we both get to toss the children off on friends (thanks, Rebecca and Elizabeth!) and have an extended date night.  In a hotel.  With no kitchen or laundry room.  Win-freakin'-win. 

So, we went, they rocked and I peeked between my fingers at the high kicks because I am not accustomed to seeing someone who I bet can get a senior discount at Winn Dixie on Wednesdays, get their foot over their head in a spin kick.  But, who's counting years?  Certainly not The Scientist and his people.  They.  Loved.  It.  It was like being back in the garage all over again.  It was like coming home to these fellas and it was happiness in over-priced, warm cup of beer to watch. 

Oh, there were some women there.  Many of them were my "sisters."  We didn't really know what the heck was going on, but had payed attention over the years to our men and knew to wrinkle our brows and nod solemnly and knowingly when they yelled into our ears that David was being "like 'old Dave'"  and to widen our eyes and mouths with delight and unabashed joy when they recognized the opening strains of "Hot For Teacher." From a wife-of-the-year standpoint, I rocked that concert.  As a reward for my efforts, I got an adult meal out for dinner (crabcakes with mushroom and shrimp creamy sauce on top, if you're wondering) and got to eat breakfast in a bar this morning.  It was New Orleans, after all, which makes that OK.  We also walked down Bourbon Street after the concert.  Since I was finally on the verge of either, 1) calling parents and having them come pick their 20-something year old children up or 2) adopting someone and taking them home for a balanced meal and a soft bed, (Think: The Blind Side), Trey hauled me home on the promise of a trip to Whole Foods the next day. 

I am not a rock-and-roll girl.  I wear a cardigan to just about every event I go to.  The Scientist thinks it's cute and sort of ladylike, and we'll just let him think that.   I have a suspicion that the members of Van Halen aren't that into hard-core rock-and-roll chicks anymore either.  It made me like them all the more to imagine that after a concert like the one we saw, they just want to go home to someone who loves them and knows what shows they want to watch on TV and knows just how to fix their grilled cheese sandwich.  Even rock-and-roll boys have to grow up sometime.

I should know. 

Monday, June 25, 2012

The Change

Among other topics we will not be entertaining today (such as the upcoming election, the discouraging European economy, and my fondness for chopping all my hair off as soon as the temps rise above 85) , we will also not be discussing my extended (humph) hiatus from the blogging world.  Said haitus may resume, without notification, at any time. 

With the disclaimers out of the way, I can now state that it is PESTO TIME in the Fish Tank.  This is glorious news for The Scientist.  It makes the whole house smell all clean (in an herby, slightly hippy-ish sort of way) and prompts me to come up with all sorts of creative uses for the oily, salty, herby goodness.  Tonight, it's flat bread.  Goodness, happiness and light abound.  Mostly. 

The Fishies used to dig stuff like this:  spicy noodles of all sorts, sushi, roasted red peppers, garlic and all sorts of other food items that aren't fried, breaded or include the word "nugget" or "-ito" in their name or description.  Somewhere between Huggies and homework they underwent The Change.  This appears to be a natural developmental stage that most children go through at some point.   The commencement point of The Change is directly proportional to said child's birth order.  In our limited study (of three test subjects), our research has shown that lower he/she is in birth order (and hence, the more nonesense he/she is exposed to from older siblings with peer pressured palate), the younger the child is when he/she undergoes The Change.  After The Change, my culinarily curious kids preferred chicken nuggets to cordon bleau.  Pizza to pad thai.  Grilled cheese to gumbo.  So, tonight may be an offense.  They love pesto as they believe it was originally intended to be eaten- on pasta with extra cheese, please.  And nothing too aged, if you don't mind. 

I'd say that if they turn their noses up at the flatbread offerings tonight, that you're invited to pinch hit.  But, let's be honest.  The Scientist and I might be hoping a tiny, little, bitty bit that we have to finish it up ourselves.  Don't expect a call.