Has it really been a month? I guess I have a lot of pent up posting to do.
*****
On New Year's Eve, I was in the line up to pay for heavily discounted Christmas paraphernalia at Winners when my cellphone rang.
"Hi. Guppy wanted me to call you, she has something to ask you" said Hubs on the other end.
"Okay, put her on."
"Mama, when are you going to be home?"
"In a little while sweetie. We're going to a New Year's party in about an hour so I won't be long."
"Well hurry, because I want to get my earspears."
"You want to get what?"
"My ears spears, my ears spears, Mama, my EARS SPEARS!!!!!".
'Oh, you want your ears pierced?"
"Yeah Mama, I want them now!!!"
"Oh, I don't know if that's such a good idea today. We should talk about it, and we don't have time. If you get it done and they bother you, you won't have much fun at the party. Let's talk when I get home."
"I WANT EARS SPEARS NOW!" she yelled through tears, and then I heard the phone go crashing onto the floor.
At least she wasn't in the cash line with me. Sigh.
*****
Fast forward a couple of weeks. It hadn't been forgotten.
"Mama, when will you be back from the gym? I want to get my ears pierced today." (too bad she figured out the pronunciation. One more step away from babyhood *sob*).
"Okay, I'll talk to Daddy when I get home and we'll plan it."
"Why talk to Daddy? It's a GIRL thing! We can go to the mall to the store where they sell the little girl earrings, and there's a chair there. The lady can do it right there - I saw other girls having it done. It's easy and it's not scary!"
She had a point. It is a girl thing. And Dad had no objections. So we checked out the website, looked at earring options and the video about ear care...and off we went to the mall.
My girl is an absolute warrior. Climbed up on the chair, chose her earrings, clutched the teddy bear tight and told the girl that she was ready. We mentioned that she could expect a pinch - and sure enough her whole body tensed and her face went beet red with the entry of the first post... but not a peep. For the second ear- even less reaction. "It's just a little pop, Mama, didn't hurt!"
A warrior.
*****
"Hey, you might thinkThat I'm crazyBut, you know I'm just your typeI might beA little hazyBut, you just cannot deny..."
"Uh, are you singing Britney Spears there, buddy?"
"Yeah. I hate to admit it, but unfortunately it's just too catchy a tune."
At the concert, after an additional half bottle of red wine...
I do not get out much.
Music plays a big part of my relationship with my husband. When we began dating, we didn't seem to have a whole lot in common on the surface. Other than the fact that we found each other outrageously attractive. Ahem. 80's hair and hormones. Enough said. However, at the basic root of connectedness was our taste in music. Which I discovered after he made me the first of many "Mixed Tapes". (For my younger readers, tapes were what succeeded records - wha??? - and preceded CD's - yeah, and CD's preceded mp3 downloads, I know, I know).
So over the years, we've attended several concerts, and it has become our couple thing. Since the arrival of my daughter, I've blogged accounts of our date nights with Duran Duran, Feist, John Mayer and Rush. To say that our taste in music is eclectic is an understatement.
In April, when we found out about the upcoming Metric concert, the man said, "Why don't we go?"And after thinking about it for half a second, I replied, "Of course!" I first heard of Metric back in 2004. They were edgy, new, indie, alt, kool... all those things. I wanted to be Emily Haines.
Not only is Metric oh so cool, little did I know that they are the BEST LIVE BAND EVER. And now they're on the cusp of something huge. Their latest gig? Eclipse, the movie. Yeah, THAT Eclipse. As I said, something huge.
I actually have my own video of them that night, that the man took during the concert. However, I was loudly hooting and hollering and dancing and flailing around so much - it was embarassing - mostly to my husband. (As I age, and as I blog, there is less and less that I am embarassed about.) Even when the girl behind me grabbed me by the shoulders for a simultaneous pogo to "Gimme Sympathy", I obliged.
The evening ended with an acoustic version of one of their 'classics'
My new nickname these days? Just call me: Combat baby.
(upcoming in August ... if I had 500 spare bucks, we'd probably be able to swing Green Day. Too bad I don't - boo hoo...)
PS: just found out they taped the Tonight Show for later, well, tonight. Check them out if you can!
(say hi to my Pal Mrs 4444 while you're there) I'm likely one of only a handful of Canadians who has to go into work today, in middle of the Canada Day long weekend. I've been trying to take the shine off the "L" on my forehead. Needless to say, I don't have a lot of time to scratch these fragments out . You can call this pseudo dedication to this long neglected blog.
*****
Despite my reservations about letting my boy baby (humour me) have Facebook, it's happened. His best friend is moving out of the country, and this is the sole method of keeping that relationship alive. He struck this deal with his father, of course. It just does NOT cut it that his mom is FB friends with his friend's Mom, uh, sorry, that doesn't count. Nor does regular e:mail, or the fact that he's got Xbox interactive (also a deal he struck with his Dad).
Within 24 hours of signing on, he had 63 friends. It took his Mom 24 months to accomplish the same.
Now I'm sitting with 11 new friend requests from the under 10 set. Dilemma.
*****
More boy news: the little girl who technically asked the boy out on his first date via post-it (a little mini SJP situation in reverse?) has invited him to see yet another movie, this time under the guise of a birthday party. He really wants to go because he really wants to see the movie, and guess what, she's conveniently also invited his best friend (male) to the party. Oh I know it's all fun and innocent, and it will be a matinee ... but I'm all about conspiracy theories. I think I may have to admit - there is a little twinkle in his eye when he talks about her, and he did hang out with her at the recent community BBQ a couple of weeks ago. She's a cutie.
Help. Me. I am so NOT ready for this.
*****
Speaking of dates, one week from now, DATE NIGHT!!!!
I am so excited.
We are going to see a concert - you know, that's our "thing".
Cannot wait. Squeeing as I type.
What to wear? Another dilemma.
But one I think I can handle. Shopping anyone?
*****
And I must add this. I love Alex Wong. He's cute, humble, Asian, Canadian ... and dancing genius. He's the only Canadian who's ever won the coveted Prix de Lausanne.
Welcome to another edition of Friday Fragments - please visit my friend, the lovely lady Mrs.4444. And freewriting Sara at Ordinary & Awesome:
I had to down about 4 cups of coffee this morning just to stay lucid. Something about having had only 4 hours sleep the night before may have had something to do with it. At about 3:45AM I awoke to some soft chanting:
"mommymommymommymommy..."
At first I thought I was having a dream. But as I opened my eyes, I could tell that the murmurings were coming from down the hall, from the girlie's room. I stumbled out of bed, and made my way toward the sound, not knowing what to expect when I got there. In my semi-conscious state, I was half afraid that I'd see some weird junior Linda Blair action happening, given the bizarre chanting in such hushed tones. Without my glasses on (so truly, major stumbling), I walked into her room to find her sitting on her bed, underneath the IKEA mosquito net, arms wrapped around her stuffed animal ... "mommymommymommy".
When she saw me, I asked her what the problem was. Seems that she had twisted her covers around so much she couldn't straighten them up and get herself covered properly. I promptly got her tucked back in andvoila, she was asleep in about two minutes. There's got to be a way to program her out of having US come to HER all the time.
I was amazed that I was awoken by her soft whispers. I guess that mothers have this internal radar that senses when our kids need us. It's got to be exclusively maternal. The husband slept right through it.
Me? Not so much. Damn I wish I could sleep with ear plugs too. I could also hear my boy's sniffling and snorting because he'd forgotten to take his allergy meds before going to bed.
Nothing like being wide awake at 4 AM trying hard to pass out instead of thinking about the pressing work issues of the next morning and being paranoid that I'd be late for a meeting that I had called. I'm a loser that way.
*****
I was sitting in traffic in my conservative suit, in my beige and similarly exciting minivan catching up on the gossip on the radio, and then slightly bopping my head to my latest fave song that seems to hit the waves whenever I get to a particular part of my commute:
(a total aside, is this young man BUILT or what? Grrrrowl :)
Anyway, back to the story. I noticed some bopping head action going on in the burgundy minivan next to me. A conservatively dressed man about my age, rockin' the shaven head look as best he could, carseat in the back, was doing a little dance to some raucous beat of his own. I had to smile. And as he felt my gaze, I quickly averted my eyes back toward the road.
And continued my smile. Yeah, us suburban parents, we're just too cool for rules.
*****
Tomorrow I head out to the gym to BODYJAM 50 - yes, I can rock it again.
I'm just mindful of my spins and turns, and my hips and booty can't quite shake to the same level as pre-disastrous-tumble-down-the-ski-hill-to-a-wrecked-knee Karen could. But I'm still shaking it and loving it.
*****
I'm enjoying a bottle of too sweet Riesling with my husband tonight, as I type this.
The wine is a bit too sweet, but having him home after he was away another long week - well that couldn't be sweeter. And that's the truth.
It was only supposed to be for a couple of years. After all, it had been a long, almost ten year journey to become parents of two. Staying at home with them during the early precious baby years, when I could also cherish quality time with my preschooler boy. It was a no brainer.
Then she was a toddler, with so many things to do, so many programs to experience. With her Mommy.
'Maybe when she's in school', I said to myself.
Now she's in school. And that "couple" of years? Has morphed into over four.
*****
The man's travel for work has picked up again. The last time he came home, he was so happy to see us, and he made a point of giving me an extra bit of TLC (along with the Lady Godivas) by telling me that I'm the one doing the most important job. I'm the parent at home with the kids. He's just bringing home the money.
I appreciated that. I really did. And he's doing a lot more than just that.
So I'm torn.
You see, I've always been a career gal. Even when I was a young girl, I envisioned working full time, outside of the home after I had my family. It was the model I grew up in; it was what I aspired to. Not just a job, but a career, with a path and succession planning. I did it after I had my son. I never even contemplated being a stay-at-home mom. Not until I became pregnant with the girl, and the company situation presented itself. It just made sense NOT to work. The career, in the whole scheme of things, was not as important. And truth be told, there's not much I can complain about this whole at home gig.
I have this colleague, though, who I'll call "headhunter". Who's good at what he does. In fact, he's great. I've used his services over the years and have found great people from him. He keeps tabs on me, he calls me up regularly to get a pulse of where my head is at, if and when I'm planning to hit the career trail again. And up until now, it's been easy to say, "not quite yet; I'm still looking for that work-life balance..." I have been lucky too, that I've had a few work projects over the last couple of years.
But the headhunter has done it now. He's presented me with an interesting opportunity. Close to home, perhaps not as fast-paced as what I'd had before. Something that might be worth investigating, if only to brush up my resume and practice my interview skills.
So my head is spinning. I should just go for the experience, right? There's no pressure, it's not like I'm absolutely needing this job. The scenarios are already flying around in my mind, though, all the "what if's". What if the interview goes well and it's something I might want to jump back into? What if it's such an amazing company and culture that I can't turn away. What if they DON'T want to hire me, what about that?
And what about my kids and their care? They're not ready for me to go back. Would we need a nanny? Am I actually ready to go back; but what if I don't and I wait too long? What about wanting to do my own thing, drumming up more of my own business so I can avoid the daily grind? The appeal of a regular paycheque, of again using my brain, education and experience is there. But then the reality of having to deal with management headaches and potential travel also needs to be factored into the equation. Do I even want to go there?
Hubs thinks I should look into it, nothing ventured, nothing gained. He's fine with whatever I want to do.
My head just hurts. This is supposed to be summer vacation isn't it? Why isn't it fun yet?
*****
And here is a pretty song, just because I like it...
"I decided to pass, Mom.", my boy said to me this morning, during our morning pre-get-out-of-bed period, before the little sister got up to create some drama for the day.
He had come home the other day mentioning that he was picked by his teacher to talk about what integrity was, and to do this with his friend Sally in front of his school. I was pumped for him, what mother wouldn't be? I told him he should be proud of the fact that his teacher selected him, and that she obviously thought he could perform well.
He was given a couple days to think about it, and I had tried to instill some confidence in him that he could do it. I guess I failed. He'd let the butterflies get the better of him and gave the task to another friend.
"Oh. When is the assembly?"
"It's later today in 5th period. I felt too nervous, though, and Mrs. Smith said it was okay."
"Well, I think you could have done it, you're so good at speaking, and you're a natural."
"But Mom, this would have been in front of the WHOLE SCHOOL. I could have handled it if it was just primary. But I would have had to say it in front of the primary, intermediate AND SENIORS! Mrs. Smith said it was fine; she said she was so nervous when she first started as a teacher she could barely face her first day in class. So I feel okay about it."
I suppose speaking in front of over 800 people would be intimidating. Even if he imagined they were all in their underwear. That made him laugh. How could he concentrate on his speech about integrity if he pictured everyone in their skivvies?
I had resisted the urge to do the mom pressure tactic, to push him to "seize the opportunity to shine."Something that is just inbred, I suppose. I remember being under the gun myself when I was just a little older than my boy, preparing my first speech with cue cards. The old tape recorder was turned on, and I was recorded by my mom, and my dad, as they coached me to remember each and every word, to speak with expression and enthusiasm. They knew I could do it too, but it doesn't mean that I wasn't shitting nickels the whole time I was performing.
But my boy's not comfortable with it this time. So I am fine with it.
It's not an earth-shattering opportunity. He would have shone like the beacon that he is. I'll just remain quietly proud of him. He'll gain more confidence. There will be other moments.
*****
Public speaking. It's probably a number one fear on most every list out there. Don't know what it is about that.
Why do we fear this? Why do we let our insecurities get the better of us? I'm probably the most guilty of that myself.
My own worst enemy.
Call it analysis paralysis. Afraid of failure.
So I did something a little earlier this year.
Y'all know that I'm going to BlogHer. Well, they have this thing called a community keynote. They'll choose from several hundreds of submissions and offer the chance to some bloggers to share their favourite posts. In front of, what, over 1,000 people?
I told my boy that I had made a couple of submissions. (Did not share that I was shitting nickels while I hit "send").
And that if Mommy were really, really lucky, she might even get chosen (super long shot, I know, but I was trying to make a lesson out of this). To be asked to speak in front of 1,000 people. Actually, to have ASKED to speak in front of 1,000, of my own volition.
And that if it happened, I would do it. I would also probably cry.
He was awestruck. And he's confident that I'll be picked (he's so sweet that way).
I don't know about that.
But there's a part of me that's hoping that I just might feel the need to wear special skivvies in six weeks' time.
You know, to catch those nickels.
*****
(Bought the CD. Can you say "Rock Opera". LOVE it.)
These were the words I uttered under my breath to my husband as we finally got the kids out the door to enjoy a sunny afternoon in the city.
"Do you mean parenthood?"
"Yeah, that, motherhood, all of this."
*****
We woke up yesterday morning, albeit a little later than usual. We had a potluck party that was a great success the evening before. And what has become a bit of a tradition for us after a party, after we've plunked the kids to bed (or check that they've passed out and transport them to their beds), hubs and I sit back and enjoy a few more drinks and listen to some tunes. Just the two of us. My favourite part of the evening.
The morning was a glorious one. We had a few things we needed to clean up, so we did get a later start on the day. But we really wanted to do something together as a family. I went online to check if there was anything going on in the city. And of course there was. The day was planned.
After I came down out from my shower, I could hear voices, whining, angry tones coming from my 9 year old. Questioning words coming from the 4 year old. And my husband trying to negotiate and convince them that it would be fun. But no, they wanted to go to the park. At the school. Somewhere I go everyday; sometimes twice a day.
So as I popped my head out to ask what the latest plans were, I was told that we were no longer going into the city. I got into the action in a last ditch attempt, telling them that there would be buskers and so many neat things to see in a cool part of the city. Their Dad said that we could do both. But no, the boy hunkered down in his room; the girlie whined about her sand toys. Twenty minutes later we were still at an impasse.
I threw up my hands and just yelled "Fine. Go the park, I'm gonna skip it as I'm there with you everyday. I've got to get the stuff to make the bake sale items anyway."
Call it childish, selfish... but for once I wanted to do something that I wanted to do. I wanted to bring the kids with us, to experience the city with us. To get them out of the house; out of the neighbourhood, out of the burbs. A change of scenery, a respite from the daily treadmill which has become my life.
I lost it. I just started to cry. I felt silly, but it was cathartic as well. I often I feel that I am losing it, have lost it, that fundamental part of the equation: Me.
Everything is always a negotiation. A struggle to convince people to move, to listen. Cajoling, convincing, pleading, lecturing, guiltily "forcing" ... an uphill battle with the growing force of the children, who carry more and more weight as they get older. A battle that becomes more difficult to wage.
*****
Hubs mentioned he'd have to work late again tonight, so I said to him that he HAD to confirm the dates for me to book tickets for our vacation plans. Today. I've been checking the flights, the fares etc. for well over a couple of months now, taking books out of the library, coming up with my own permutations and combinations based on dates that are "thereabouts". Thinking that I'd better book accomodations soon too.
Things are superbusy for the man at work, but every time I had brought up the subject of the flights, he'd say,"yeah, we've got to book it"... and I would wait again for a free moment with him. He's got a lot of travel on his plate, but this time with family is priority for him.
But honestly, I get sick of having to bug him all the time to sit down with me and solidify the dates. I hate sounding like a bitchy whiny hag which I feel is what I have become over the years. Because he doesn't listen to me as carefully as he should, he thinks nothing is ever a problem, laissez-faire is his M.O. Just in time. Everything always works out for him in the long run. And last I checked on Friday, the fares were the lowest I'd seen. But we had a crazy weekend, with ballet recitals, soccer, potluck etc... we had the stuff with the kids, and I mentioned it again, but didn't want to rag on him. Again. So I didn't.
This morning when he was sitting finally, giving the final dates to me, yeah, we should book it. And I popped into the website and lo and behold the price had jumped $$140 a ticket!!! That amounts to almost $500 more than it was the last time I bugged him about it just a couple days ago. It sickened me, it really did.
Here I am doing a happy dance when I save 50 cents on a loaf of bread at WalMart. And here he is saying, oh, don't worry about it, it is what it is, oops. If only he had really listened to me and sat down the previous 20 odd times I mentioned it; if only I had mentioned it yet again and nailed him to the chair and booked it on Friday night.
If only.
So again, I lost it. I went ballistic. I had another moment. When the hell did I become so goddam weepy?
It's not just the money. It's the fact that I'm always having to go after him to make these commitments, make plans, for us, not just for me, for us and two kids who rely on us. I'm tired of it. His work is important, I know, and that's what brings home the major bacon right now. I tread real lightly because of this. But in the whole scenario, my voice comes last. Or at least it seriously feels that way.
******
I'm afraid of becoming a wailing, nagging, haggy bitch. Or maybe even a whore. pit viper. Which is what I am these days to my kids, my husband.
I. HATE. IT.
I hate what I'm becoming. What I've become.
It bothers me, because seriously, I have a great life. I have a wonderful husband, great kids, a lovely, loving home. People who love me. And for the most part, my health. It feels so wrong to feel this way.
Why can't I just let things roll? Why can't I go for the ride, take things as they come, be less stressed about everything? Why can't I stop teaching my kids swear words in the car? Why do I have this honking boil growing in the middle of my forehead? Why does it only take a couple of drinks to give me a hangover these days? Is this what staying up past midnight baking three loaves of banana bread and individually wrapping 36 slices, will do to me?
At this rate, I'm sure I've shaved 10 years off my life.
At least.
(Boy was contrite. Hubs has acknowledged that he needs to listen to me more. He thinks I need to work out again, he sees my head spinning at 100 mph, turning red and emitting steam from the ears. He doesn't fancy that look on me either.)
That's the official video. I think I need to tone it down to this level, though.
Although I profess to not like to cook much, it's really not so bad. (Just don't tell my husband I told you).
The thing I really enjoy is making appetizers. My problem is that when I find something that's a hit, I tend to stick to it as a standard. My strawberry and spinach salad and bean salad, for instance, have become regular potluck fare.
So for the Victoria Day weekend annual barbecue hosted by our friends around the corner, I thought I'd mix it up a little. My contribution was "Vietnamese Salad Rolls", a recipe I discovered at Granville Island Public Market in Vancouver over 10 years ago. Here's the recipe:
You'll need (for 8 rolls):
8 pcs rice paper 6-8 oz rice vermicelli 8 green onions trimmed 8-12 lettuce leaves 8 - 10 oz cooked shrimp, chicken or fish (I cook about 3 shrimps per roll)
1/2 C hoisin sauce 1/4 - 1/3 C satay sauce Water to dilute dipping sauce Chopped herbs for garnish (eg cilantro)
Bring a pot of water to a boil. Turn off, add vermicelli noodles and let soak for 3 - 5 minutes. Rinse with cold water and drain well. Fill a large bowl with very warm water, immerse one sheet of rice paper in the water until it softens. (It helps to have a goofy assistant). Lay it flat on a surface (I use a dishcloth so it doesn't stick) to add the filling.
Put a lettuce leaf on the rice paper, add about 1 oz (a few strands) of the rice noodle lengthwise on top of the lettuce. Leave about an inch on the bottom. Then add the desired amount of seafood or chicken and a green onion in front of the vermicelli so that the green part of the onion sticks out of the finished roll. Then fold the bottom part over the ingredients, and then roll lengthwise from one side to the other, wrapping tightly. Repeat for the remaining rolls.
Dipping sauce: Mix the hoisin with the satay, and dilute with water to desired consistency. Garnish with chopped coriander or Thai basil.
You can use whatever other ingredients you might like to include in the roll, I like the crunchiness of some very thin slices of cucumber or bean sprouts.
Voila!
Make sure you visit my girlfriend Rachel's for more Mouthwatering Mondays.
*****
On the subject of rap, for the longest, longest time I didn't like it. In fact, I would turn it if I heard it on the radio. I did enjoy the first hip hop song I was ever exposed to (yes, I am THAT old) but since then, not so much.
But lately? Call it middle-aged crazy, but I'm sure the library must think I have teens at home. This is what I've borrowed to enjoy...
1/ Karl Wolf: Bite the Bullet. Initially I thought, "what have they done with the Toto's Africa", but since the boy loves it, it's grown on me. 2/ Flo Ri Da: Roots. 3/ T.I.: Paper Trail
Although the loss of my father has just devastated me and my siblings, it's obviously my mother who has been the most affected.
I knew my parents loved each other, I had no doubt about that. After almost 45 years of marriage, they were still very much a couple. They did everything together, went everywhere together, still held hands. But watching them the last month, dealing with my father's sudden, grave illness, it became so clear to me that with my father's passing, it wasn't only the end of a wonderful man's life. It was the end of a beautiful love story.
They were still so very much IN love.
As my brother mentioned to me recently, you often forget that your parents started out as a young couple themselves. Before they had children, they had each other. And after the kids flew the coop and grandchildren came along, they had each other still. My parents faced quite a bit of adversity trying to keep their relationship together in the early days. I've always known of the obstacles they faced from their families when they decided to marry. And yet they persevered, and built a family and a life together.
Sure, they bickered and they argued ... what couple doesn't? And my mother seldom understood the dry wit or the jokes that my father would tell at her expense (a cultural thing, perhaps ... or more likely Mom got it all along and just didn't let on). Mom wasn't too keen on some of the bad habits Dad had, but back in the day, everyone smoked, everyone drank ( Mad Men, anyone?).
During the last six weeks, my mother never left my father's side. She stayed by him in the hospital room, catching sleep on a cot next to him only an hour or two at a time, so that she would be there whenever he was awake, whenever he needed her. And whenever he awoke, he would look out for her first, before anyone else. She did everything for him; and he fought so hard for her.
I caught a glimpse of their special relationship one afternoon when I was helping out in Dad's room. Occasionally Mom would ask Dad a few questions, to make sure he was still alert or to confirm that he was awake. Holding hands, her face close to his, she asked him, "Who am I?"
To which Dad responded : "Somebody".
Mom replied: "Somebody? Somebody to who?"
Dad: "Somebody to someone. Somebody here to test me."
After a little laugh, Mom said again: "Who am I?"
Dad: "My Wife."
And Mom, with a little chuckle, threw this at him: "How many wives do you have?"
Dad deadpanned: "One.... SO FAR."
Mom just cracked right up.
And I turned my face to the wall so that they wouldn't see my tears welling up while I laughed with them.
*****
My mother is a strong woman. She realizes that this is part of the life cycle, and that she's in the next chapter of her life. We're trying to gather around her as much as we can, but she'd like us to get back to our normal lives. Whatever the new normal holds.
But one thing that I know for sure, that I have been a witness to in the last little while:
True love does exist. I've seen it with my very own eyes. I'm a product of it.
And I will be so lucky if, by the time we reach our post-40th wedding anniversary, my own marriage will still hold half of the love that my parents had for each other.
-------------------------------------------
This is one of the rare times that I wish my kids were teenagers. In fact, the only time I've wished, as far as I can remember.
Because if they were, I'd make them take me with them to this.
Tokyo Police Club are the hottest thing to come out of Newmarket since, well, 80's sensation Glass Tiger. They've just been featured on Desperate Housewives, so they're not "bleeding edge" anymore. But they're good.
And Glass Tiger ... well, I've met Alan Frew (sans mullet) at a couple of corporate gigs. He's still an awesome singer, and I didn't forget him cuz I guess he's never really gone.
