No cell phones (Or: How to make a bunch of twenty-somethings’ heads explode)

On Saturday night, my boyfriend and I went to a She & Him concert in Central Park. Despite the fact that it was about 187 degrees, it was such a perfectly pleasant night – outdoors in a lovely setting; sun setting and sky changing colors; mellow, happy music. A really perfect time to be present, in the moment.

On our way in, we overheard event staff saying “no social media.” Then, as we entered the venue, we saw this sign: “At the request of She & Him, we ask that people not use their cell phones to take pictures and video, but instead enjoy the show they have put together in 3D!” In other words, look at the band as they’re performing – not into your cell phone. Just before the show started, an announcement was made reiterating the band’s request.

And, I’m sure you can guess what happened. Security reprimanded a few people on the outskirts of the crowd, but there wasn’t much they could do. At one point, the girl in front of me indignantly said to her friend, “How can you tell people, in 2013, that they can’t use their cell phones?” My boyfriend agreed with her. I didn’t.

Because I get it – this band is up there giving their heart and soul to this performance, sharing their music with the world. What would they rather see – the whole crowd looking back at them, or a bunch of bowed heads and illuminated screens?

Moments earlier, I had watched that same girl take a photo with her iPhone, edit it, peruse every filter on Instagram, finally choose one, and then post it to her account – missing at least two songs in the process. She wasn’t watching the band that she had paid to go see, of whom she was presumably a fan – because it was more important that she keep her legions of followers up-to-the-minute on her goings-on.

I could literally rant for hours about how people my age and younger seem to have no concept of being present when you do something. Of focusing more on the experience at hand than how you can sum it up in 140 characters. Of making a memory with the people around you without frantically trying to describe it to everyone else. Of — call me crazy — just enjoying a moment yourself, without broadcasting it to anyone.

I’m not saying there’s something wrong with taking photos at a concert, of course not – everyone likes to have mementos of their experiences to look back on. But there’s a big difference between snapping a photo, and missing half an event because you’re so focused on making sure your “friends” know just how much fun you’re theoretically having at all times.

Honestly, it drives me bananas.

One single time, I peeked at my phone in my purse to see what time it was. I did not experience any angst, discomfort or withdrawal during our separation. Instead, I noticed things like the fireflies floating above the crowd and the little girl with pigtails being tossed in the air by her dad. I noticed how the sherbety-colored stage lights melted into the backdrop of the setting sun, and relished when a rare breeze passed over me and broke the heat.

It was a beautiful night, and I’m glad those are the things I’ll remember when I look back on it – not what it was like to scroll through my Twitter feed for the 50^th time that day.

Just tell ’em that you knew me back when

Last night, I cried in my car for approximately seven seconds. Then I stopped to focus on what’s really important in life – getting a parking spot. And there’s no crying in parallel parking, especially when it’s the only spot on your block. (If there’s one thing that can override any other emotion, it’s my burning desire for that spot.)

But for those seven seconds before I saw the parking spot – tears. And what triggered them? Why, a song, of course. I’ve blogged about how music is a time machine, but it also has an uncanny way of hitting you with a hefty sack of emotion out of nowhere, even if it’s just a fragment of a line that does it.

This is what happened to me last night. The culprit? I was listening to the new Ben Folds Five album (so so good), and there’s a line that goes like this: The brightness of air/Out walking somewhere/And when they ask you/Just tell ‘em that you knew me back when…

Doesn’t seem like much, right? I know. But for some reason the last part cuts to the core of me every time. Just tell ‘em that you knew me back when.

And it’s because, lately, I’ve realized there are very few people in my life who knew me back when.

Isn’t there just something so comforting and so important about those people who have known you forever, or the ones who knew you at a really formative time in your life?

I think the reason they’re so important is because they help us keep alive all those past versions of ourselves that are both still part of us and kind of completely gone at the same time.

Like when I hang out with a friend I met this year, she knows me as I am now, and that’s nice. But when I hang out with a friend who’s known me since eighth grade, she knows me – the totality of me, from awkward middle schooler with braces all the way up to today. We have shared memories, sure, and that’s part of it. But it’s more that we just have the kind of knowledge of who the other person is and how they got to be that way that’s hard to establish with those we meet later in life.

A few months ago, I got together with a new friend. As we sat at the bar having a beer, she said “Ok, what’s your relationship history? Go!” I liked her approach, because I knew what she was after – it was like she was saying – Quick, give me the CliffsNotes version of all your greatest loves and heartaches, so I can put into context anything you tell me about your life now. So we swapped histories, and it was good – but not the same as actually reading the book.

Growing up, I moved around a lot. To my mom and dad who are reading this – it did not traumatize me. In fact I think I got many positive things out of it. But I’ll admit, I’ve always been jealous of people who could say, “Oh us? We’ve been friends since we were in diapers/in preschool/before we were born.” I’ve never known anyone that long.

Of course, there’s always your family. But I think your parents, especially, have a unique view of you that’s both more and less accurate than other people’s. There’s something precious and special about the way they know you – witnessing, from birth, every step of your life and your development into a fully-formed person. No one will ever know you quite like they do. But at the same time, they have a certain perception of you that’s so tied to you being their child, it may be hard for them to see sometimes the totality of you as an adult. And that’s where friends or significant others are able to see you in a different, and necessary, way.

I have a theory that this is why so many people wind up going back and marrying their childhood sweethearts (and why there are so many movies about it). Because that person knows them – not just the polished-up adult version, but all the versions that came before.

(Lest it sound like I am romanticizing my own childhood sweetheart, I can assure you after his complete psychotic break with reality, this is not the case. But, I get why people do it.)

And I think one of the hardest things about certain friendships and romantic relationships ending is when that person was with you through a time of your life and a version of yourself that you really don’t want to forget. When there ceases to be anyone around who knew you then…it can feel awfully hard to hold onto.

I have an old friend I don’t talk to often, and we really have nothing in common anymore. But it’s comforting whenever I see her. When she laughs and shakes her head at something I said, or says “that’s so like you” – she knows what that means.

Relationships and, sadly, even friendships come and go. But for sure the hardest ones to let go of are the ones who knew you back when.

Celebrity crushes through the ages

I’ve had several conversations about celebrity crushes recently, which got me thinking about my own over the years. My celeb crushes (and real crushes, for that matter) have generally been pretty questionable and all over the map. While I’ve been holding steady with my current loves for a few years now, many others have been cut along the way. Let’s take a look back…

Note: this is not an exhaustive list

Rider Strong, roughly age 8 -11

I was so never into JTT like all the other girls in my grade, but Rider is the first intense celebrity crush I can remember. I pined hard watching Boy Meets World every week — so cute, so brooding, so damaged! I could fix him!  (Foreshadowing for later in my life? Yes.) My love knew no bounds… until I saw a horrifying poster of him in Tiger Beat, in which he sported super hairy legs and Teva sandals.

Those sandals put me over the edge — I was done.

Rider Strong

 

Stephan Jenkins, age 12-13

A whole portion of my bedroom wall was plastered with pictures of Stephan, cut out of various magazines as I sang along to every word of Third Eye Blind’s first album. They were the first band I ever saw in concert, at the Merriweather Post Pavilion in Maryland when I was 12. Even though we had lawn seats, I could swear he was singing right to me as he tossed white roses into the crowd (how romantic!?). A year or so later, after I’d moved to Albany, I saw them in concert again. This time, Stephan threw condoms into the crowd, and a middle-aged man grabbed my butt. I kind of soured on the whole situation after that.

Stephan Jenkins

Johnny Rzeznik, age 14-?

             Seriously, what was up with that hair?

Down came Stephan’s pictures and up went Johnny’s. This one was intense. Johnny is from Buffalo, NY, just a few hours from where I live. I was filled with melancholy over the certainty that I’d been born in the wrong time and place. We would have been soul mates, otherwise. I listened to “Name” non-stop, and even made a boy I knew learn to play it for me on his guitar. It was pretty sweet, but he was no Johnny. This crush simply tapered off as I started listening to better music.

Johnny Rzeznik

Chris Brown, age 22-24

                    He used to be so innocent.

This took place during a phase of age-inappropriate crushes. But you know when he sang, “Mama you may be three years older but you hot”? I considered that my go-ahead.

I THINK WE ALL KNOW WHAT HAPPENED WITH THIS ONE.

Chris Brown

Michael Cera, age 23

This was pretty short-lived. At the time, I had recently broken up with a Peter Pan-ish type. I had just discussed at length with my best friend how I needed a real man now; we both agreed it was a must. Moments later, she mentioned that her friend from college was friends with Michael Cera. I flipped out and started scheming ways for her to set me up with him. She just stared at me. “What?” I asked. “Kelly!” she said, sharply. “You JUST said you’re looking for a man and now you are swooning over the epitome of a man-child!” I couldn’t argue with that.

Michael Cera

Present day: Paul Rudd (4 life), Jay-Z, Joseph Gordon-Levitt

 

I recently told a guy friend my three celebrity crushes, and he replied:

“So basically…your ideal man is a skinny, charming, semi-intellectual, awkward rapper.”

Exactly.

Not guilty, just pleasures

I have a long-standing issue with the term “guilty pleasure.” People seem to feel obligated to say it whenever they confess to liking something that’s not sufficiently hip/cool/intellectual/indie/whatever. Like they can shield themselves from judgment by having the decency to feel guilty about it.

I, for one, do not feel guilty.

People are complex, and the things we like serve different purposes. I look at it like food…There are those healthy, home-cooked meals you savor because they nourish you. And then there’s the stuff with no nutritional value whatsoever that you chow down on just cause it’s delicious.

I love good music; it feeds my soul. I fully credit the Avett Brothers with getting me through my everyday life.

But then I have my snack music – the cheesier the better, and best consumed while jamming out alone in the car. Britney, Beyonce, Miley? Bring it on. Ludacris, Nelly, Lil Jon? Okay! I’ll sing along to a little T-Swift and not feel bad about it. Hey, I was once caught belting out a Ryan Cabrera song – I just don’t care!

It’s all terrible, but that’s not the point – the point is, if you can hear “Party in the U.S.A.” without nodding your head like yeah, we can’t be friends.

It’s the same with movies. Do I enjoy documentaries and thought-provoking independent films? Yes. Do I also enjoy Bring It On 1, 3 and 5? Yes. (Not 2 or 4; come on, I have standards.)

And don’t get me started on my utter lack of guilt for watching reality TV. Listen, I think a lot. My headspace can get a little overwhelming at times. So if I wanna shut it down and watch some real housewives throw drinks at each other and argue about who is or isn’t classy – that’s what I’m gonna do.

People have tried to shame me for this many times. “Why do you watch this crap?” “You’re a smart person, how can you like this?” “I can’t believe you are listening to this right now.”

Sorry – don’t care. We all have these indulgences, so let’s just drop the guilt. I’m not saying yours are the same as mine; one person’s guilty pleasure is another person’s torture chamber, for sure. But if you’re the type of person who‘s “above” having guilty pleasures at all, see: we can’t be friends, above.

I’d also just like to add that I’ve hung out with more than my fair share of music snobs, believe me – and I have seen every single one of them rock out to “MMMBop.” So let’s just stop pretending.

Music is a time machine (Or: Why I have Blink-182 stuck in my head and am actually ok with it)

Something disturbing has been happening to me lately… I have Blink-182 songs stuck in my head all the time. I can’t even remember the last time I actually heard one of their songs, but now out of nowhere they’re on repeat in my head.

I took her out, it was a Friday night…

…of losing, and failing, when I move, I’m flailing now… (ok, that one is still kinda good)

When this first started, I didn’t think much of it. It’s pretty common for a random song to pop into your head, after all. And since I babysit a 3-year-old, I usually have songs from Dora the Explorer stuck in my head, so this was really no more annoying than that.

But when it persisted, I thought there had to be something more to it. I think anyone who is human would agree that music is so powerfully tied to our emotions and certain times in our lives. I watched the movie Safety Not Guaranteed last night, and in it the guy who’s building a time machine says something like, “It’s that time and that place and that song, and you remember what it was like when you were in that place. And then you listen to that song, and you know you’re not in that place anymore, and it makes you feel hollow.” Oof. Exactly.

Music is a time machine, really — knocking you back to right where you were when you first heard it. Holopaw’s first album is me falling in love for the first time. “Still” by Macy Gray is all the girls in my freshman dorm, arms draped around each other, sloppily swaying and belting out the chorus at the end of a long Friday night. Paul Simon’s Graceland is driving through national parks with my best friend, windows down, singing along to “You Can Call Me Al” as we crisscrossed the country.

Still, Blink-182 I couldn’t figure it out. But then it hit me. See, right now I’m a little freaked out. It’s the end of grad school — the end of all school — which means the end of having one foot in and one foot out of adulthood. Now it’s all, what do I do with the rest of my entire life, and what city do I move to, and do I get married?

But Blink-182? Blink-182 is me at 14, sitting on the floor of my childhood bedroom. Waiting for my boyfriend to call, waiting for my best friend to come sleep over, waiting for my boobs to grow (still waiting on that). Waiting to see what high school would be like, college still a distant fantasy. And now? Sometimes it’s still downright shocking that all that stuff is behind me. So I guess it makes sense that sometimes, hearing Mark Hoppus’s voice in my head, a small part of me wants to be 14 again, sitting on that floor, with everything still ahead.

I snap out of it, of course — in reality, who would ever want to be 14 again? So for now I’ll just ride out the annoying songs in my head, understanding why they’re there, and reminiscing about my teenage crush on Tom DeLonge (he was kinda dreamy, right??).