The Blogroll

I'm a surprise blogger. Always wanted to try it, and now that I have a vehicle, I find that I actually have something to say. Had no idea it was in there. Surprise!

What this means, though, is that I never stopped to set the context. I'm betting that, as a result, you have no idea why I chose to put those random bits and pieces on the right side of the page. So I'll do a few posts over the coming weeks to give you the 4-1-1 (and yes, I feel silly even typing that).

We'll start with What I Read ... more commonly known as the blogroll.

First up is DivaSpeak, which I've been following since its inception. It is creatively crafted by a good friend who knows her pop culture cold (she blogs on Lost and Heroes, among many other things). She also has a knack for finding brilliant, off-beat content. My most recent guilty pleasure from the Diva: "I've dreamed about it ... have you?" It's one of those things you can't stop watching. Not that you'd want to. Dive into her archives. She keeps me entertained. She also has phenomenal taste in shoes.

The Bloguscript is my how-to-live-vicariously blog, because it's written by a friend who actually leaves his house. I read this and want to go do things and see things and hear things. His tunage is interesting, his grammar is spot on, and he's got a sense of humor just this side of snarky, as evidenced by his "You Might Not be a Redneck" post. He's been teaching me to blog, for which many thanks and a batch of banana chocolate chip bars - or at least a lasagna - are likely in his future.

If my friend iClipse is providing the mechanical bloggy know-how, the Yarn Harlot is providing the inspiration. I knit. I write. The Yarn Harlot knits. The Yarn Harlot writes. She makes me want to knit and write and then knit some more, because you realize, reading her, that knitting and writing are what life should be about. I want to knit a sock. I don't even like socks. And then I want to write about it. And take its picture. I think that means I am an honest-to-goodness fan.

Cake Wrecks is a new find. I've been decorating cakes for 12 years. Started with this stunning creation that I copied out of Colette Peters' first book, Colette's Cakes, for a dear friend's baby shower. It was a giant bib done in multi-colored buttercream loops, lacy swags of royal icing, and pastel animals piped with run-in sugar. It tasted like sawdust, but oh, was it pretty! My cakes taste better now and mostly come out to play for birthdays and special family events. This blog makes me laugh out loud. Often.

Eat Like Me is on the roll because I think I should want to read it. A nutritionist chronicles her day in food. Not 100% sure I'm there yet, though I do check in sometimes. And knowing this blog's here does seem to make me eat better ... I'm officially down 15 pounds since I started blogging in January.

Snark appeals to me, which is why I keep a link to Diary of The Food Whore and get her RSS feed delivered to my iGoogle page. A snarky caterer. Loves food; not so fond of people. Brilliant.

52 Cupcakes is - duh - another cake blog. Some of her ideas are a little off the beaten path: to wit, the Bisquick Bacon Cupcakes with Maple Syrup and Bacon Frosting. But she's unfailingly creative, and that works for me. I actually want to try those the next time I make breakfast for dinner with the kids.

Musical Youth

I used to like real music.

This is a revelation, because the last 20 years have turned me into a soccer mom. I know this because iTunes keeps trying to sell me something called the Soccer Mom Mix. It's embarrassing - I do have some musical pride. But it is, sadly, true. My iPod draws rather predictably from American Idol and the soundtrack to Grey's Anatomy, with a handful of tunes picked out by my kids. Soccer mom, to a T.

But it wasn't always this way. In the early '80s, I spent my summers hanging out at embassies in small, over-populated Asian nations with expat kids from all over the world. We danced our feet raw on the weekends. Met a lot of new music that way - especially British music. Developed a taste for punk, new wave, synthpop - a half-step before the stuff really hit in the States. The Clash, Bronski Beat, Yaz, Squeeze, Elvis Costello, Depeche Mode. Even the older, post-punky U2. I've got all these and more on vinyl somewhere in my basement.

I love my iPod. But I do miss my vinyl.

Tonight I went to a Psychedelic Furs concert. Had to be prodded into going. Was very worried that I liked them, back in the day, just because they were British and sorta punky and that was my thing. Figured that my new soccer-mom ears would hate them.

Not so. Apparently I had some taste. Many people - generally those who didn't live through it - think of the '80s and hear Wham! and Whitney Houston in their heads. But there was, in fact, good music back then. And these guys were among those making it. There is no official Furs web site ... but "Ghost In You" on YouTube is one of their more recognizable tunes (slightly dated, with the heavy synthesizer, but still so pretty, and the lyrics resonate for me at the moment).

Now, forgive me if I've gotten some of the terms and timelines wrong. It's been a looooong time since I paid any attention to this stuff, and we all know that babies eat brain cells.

Which actually brings me to my point: another one of those lessons learned in limbo (see "Call Me Couscous" for the first one).

Lesson 2: Remember who you are. Or were.

I lost my music to my kids and the chaos of life and a not-yet-ex who was, quite simply, more into music than I was. I tended to follow his tastes rather than form my own.

My music was just a little tiny bit of my soul. But it was mine, and if you give up enough little tiny bits, you find you've lost a great, big bit somewhere along the way.

It is, fortunately, never too late to get it back.

I know, I forgot the food. Again. It's there - we had dinner at the venue - onion rings with a spicy jalapeno mayo, a fair-to-middlin' entree salad, and a flavorful, richly brewed stout with a hint of vanilla. But the music, and the lesson, were far more important.