McDonald’s Monday

  • March 24, 2009

Yesterday was McDonald’s Monday at our house.

Lauren has tap and ballet after school and by the time we get home an hour later, the offspring are threatening to gnaw off their own arms unless I produce dinner immediately. A quick detour through the McDonald’s drive thru after dance class is a convenient and fast way to make everyone happy.

I realize they’re hungry. Lauren has just danced for an hour and Matthew is a nine and a half year old bottomless pit. Mama’s hungry too, especially since I’m following the low-fat reduced-calorie eating plan that Weight Watchers doesn’t think is a diet (ok, whatever).

I still make Dave and myself a healthy dinner when I get home although I’m starting to wonder if he wouldn’t like his own McDonald’s meal since he pissed Lauren off by eating half her fries and stealing a chicken McNugget.

The McDonald’s near our house has about a 60% accuracy rate when filling our order. It only took one or two instances of somebody’s happy meal being fucked up before Dave and I learned to always check the bag before leaving the drive thru.

When we went to McDonald’s last night, I pulled up to the window and prepared to launch my usual quality control efforts to ensure there would be no shortage of food.

I try to be quick when I do this because I don’t want to jack up the whole drive thru at McDonald’s and make all the other customers mad.

A teenaged boy who desperately needed Accutane handed me the bag and I quickly checked to make sure there were two orders of nuggets and two fries by counting them out loud.

I turned back to the window for the drinks and the boy handed me the cups one at a time. As he handed them to me he said, “here’s o-n-e and here’s t-w-o.” He spoke extra slowly and exaggerated the motion of handing me the drinks one at a time.

Wait a minute. I think Jr. McZitty Face might be mocking me.

Does he have any idea he has a pre-menstrual housewife in his drive thru and she’s not hormonally stable?

I gave him the benefit of the doubt because I am a mature mother of two and perhaps he’s just a slow talker.

I suddenly realize that they have forgotten to include Matthew’s order of apple dippers and I inform Jr. McZitty that they’re missing. I feel simultaneously vindicated yet irritated.

Zitty hands me the apple dippers and says (very condescendingly) “do you need me to put them in their own bag?”

“No,” I said. “I need you to stop being a smart-ass!”

I grab the apple dippers and haul ass out of the drive thru, forgetting about the big bump in the parking lot and I think my Explorer might have suffered minor axle damage.

Lauren asks from the back seat, “Did you just say ass?”

“Yes Lauren, yes I did. And I was wrong to say that in front of you.”

“Is this like that one time when you got in a fight at McDonald’s about the happy meal toy?”

“Um, yeah, a little bit. But its okay, I’ve calmed down now so don’t worry.”

I got home and re-enacted the whole thing for Dave. He’s not a fan of our neighborhood McDonald’s but my prefacing the story with “maybe I just have PMS” probably convinced him that nodding and agreeing with me was the only safe option.

Maybe Jr. McZitty didn’t mean anything by his mannerisms and comments. Perhaps I am wound a bit tight right now but I’m dealing with a serious Estrogen/Progesterone deficit so it’s not intentional, it’s just out of my control.

Hopefully things will go better next week on McDonald‘s Monday. I can’t promise there won’t be a smack down but I can promise to try harder.

Mars and Venus in High Def

  • March 23, 2009

Hey, guys? Your obsession with HDTV?

Yeah, I don’t get it.

Last night we went over to dad and Debby’s for dinner and we were watching TV in the basement after we finished eating.

My dad’s television is a ridiculous seventy inches. It’s so big that when he first got it, I asked him if it was anchored to the TV stand because I was afraid it might fall on the offspring and squash them like pancakes.

When we got ready to go home last night, my dad insisted on showing me how good the HD channels looked compared to the regular ones. He pulled out one of five remotes he keeps in a little wicker “remote organizer” basket and started flipping back and forth between channels.

“Look, Tracey, do you see how clear that is? Wait, wait, now where did channel eight go? Hold on, I need to switch back so you can see. Okay, look, do you see how much clearer that is?”

“Well, I guess so, “I said.

“Wait, let me try this channel. Darn it, where was that? Now I can‘t find channel five.” My dad’s got his glasses on by now and he‘s jabbing multiple buttons on his huge remote. “Okay let’s try this one. What do you think about this basketball game Tracey? It’s so clear!”

“Yeah, it’s pretty clear dad. I bet all the actresses in Hollywood hate high-def.”

“Oh I’m sure they do honey. High-def shows every line and wrinkle.”

And men wonder why women aren’t fans?

When my dad purchased his current behemoth, he gave us his old Sony big screen TV for our basement. I was thrilled! We were in the middle of finishing our basement and now we were getting a big screen TV for free. But Dave is always muttering about how he can’t wait to replace it with something more current.

I’m totally fine with the hand-me-down Sony. I didn‘t even flinch when we were playing Rock Band the other day and Matthew’s drumstick flew out of his hand and hit the screen when he got out of control during a drum solo. If that had been a new, cool, HDTV, Dave would have had kittens if he’d seen that drumstick hit the screen.

In the name of understanding this male obsession a little better, I googled and came across an article on eCoustics.com titled Why Women Don’t Care About HDTV. According to the female author, there are five main reasons:

1) Technology is complicated.

Amen sister! The only reason I don’t play Rock Band by myself when everyone is at work or school is because I need Matthew to set it up and turn it on for me. My learning curve for all things electronic is s-l-o-w.

2) Women care about content.

Basically, we’ll buy an expensive handbag or two pairs of expensive shoes but we’ll continue to watch TV on a tiny TV/VCR combo set with a thirteen-inch screen because it simply will not occur to us to buy a better TV. I agree. I don’t think many of my girlfriends care about sound and quality.

3) Women don’t care about social comparison.

I like to show my girlfriends my new jewelry, clothes, and accessories. I could care less what they think about our sub-woofer, surround sound, and HD channels.

4) It’s expensive.

I don’t understand spending money on electronics and Dave doesn’t understand spending money on shoes and handbags. Shortly before we moved into our new house, Dave felt it was very important to replace our old TV with a big flat screen HDTV. I didn’t understand why we needed a new television but I’m sure Dave didn’t understand why we needed that new dining room set either.

5) The guys will figure it out.

Matthew and Dave are in charge of hooking everything up and making it work at our house. It’s pretty much a given that I don’t have the patience or ability to do it myself. There are exceptions to this gender rule though because you know who is really good at this kind of thing? Amy. She’s like an electronic idiot savant with wires and shit. She pretty much hooked up our new TV, stereo, and all the components when we moved into this house.

Last night I convinced Dave to watch my new Twilight DVD with me after we put the offspring to bed. When I asked Dave if he liked it, he said it was “pretty interesting” and “not bad.”

I have no idea if we were watching the DVD in HD or not. I don’t care either. I do know that at one point I asked Dave if he was having trouble seeing the actors on the screen since many of the scenes appear to have been shot in really low light. I was afraid I was having simultaneous LASIK failure, macular degeneration, and random blindness issues but he assured me he was having trouble seeing too.

I don’t know if HD would have helped me see any better. But maybe I do understand, just a little bit, how men might think it’s important.

And if high definition means seeing hot vampire Edward Cullen a little more clearly, then I say bring it on.

An attitude of gratitude

  • March 20, 2009

I’m not sure how it happened but I’ve kinda been cyber-stalking Ashton Kutcher and Demi Moore.

I follow them on Twitter @aplusk and @mrskutcher. They post a lot of tweets and even though they’re only 140 characters long, I’ve noticed that they are often very positive and have an enlightening spiritual vibe.

They seem like they’re really nice people. Ashton is from Iowa, and I think Iowans are very nice, but Demi, who is not an Iowan, comes across as a very nice person as well.

I’ve never sent them a tweet, of course, because I’m not crazy. And I’m certainly not going to send Ashton a tweet to tell him about my completed screenplay that stars him in a role that will most likely earn him his first Best Actor Oscar (but that’s mostly because the screenplay is only complete in my head and loses validity when you can’t see the words in my head converted into scenes on paper. That you can, you know, read and stuff. Details).

I was telling Dave the other night that I was really impressed with how kind and gracious Ashton and Demi are.

Mr. Cynical said, “It’s probably easy to be kind and gracious when you’re a rich celebrity.”

“That’s true Mr. Glass-half-empty, but I still think it’s nice to see celebrities acting truly grateful and not like assholes, “I replied.

Demi and Ashton, and their positive, grateful, and uplifting tweets, have inspired me to reflect upon some of the things I am truly grateful for this week.

1. The offspring have been on spring break all week. Even though we decided to “vacation at home” this year, we’ve had a wonderful time. Dave was home on Monday, Tuesday, and Wednesday so we were able to enjoy some great time together as a family.

2. We had two days this week that were in the 70’s. Is this Heaven? No, it’s Iowa.

3. Dave is still employed and even received his annual bonus. The fact that it was half of what he received last year doesn’t matter because he still has a job and a bonus is a bonus.

4. Most of Dave’s bonus was allocated to the achievement of pre-determined financial goals. Even in this economy, we were able to meet two of the three goals and that makes us very happy.

5. The remainder of the bonus was split between house stuff (new lawnmower and grill), the offspring, Dave, and I.

6. The offspring received Rock Band 2. This should really be considered a gift to all of us because the whole family has been playing it this week. I am especially skilled on guitar. I’m like the housewife version of Eddie Van Halen.

7. Dave has a little jingle in his pocket to spend on whatever he wants.

8. A certain suburban housewife also has a little jingle in her pocket so she marched her butt to the mall to buy a Dooney and Bourke medium chiara bag in black leather! Yay!!!

9. A certain suburban housewife DID NOT break down and cry when she discovered that the purse is no longer available at Dillard’s or Younkers.

10. A certain suburban housewife has decided that a designer handbag will take up a substantial chunk of her fun money and is going to buy an inexpensive, brightly colored spring purse instead (and maybe price Botox or Juvederm).

I’m also grateful that I can get back to my usual routine on Monday after I put the offspring on the bus and send Dave out the door with a kiss.

I’ll sit down in front of the computer. Maybe I’ll work on getting that screenplay down on paper.

Then I really will send a tweet to Ashton. We have some business to attend to.

Sometimes my mind plays tricks on me

  • March 19, 2009

The other day, the offspring and I went to the library. I came home with seven books, three of which I’d already read. Dave doesn’t understand why I do this.

Sometimes I like a book so much I want to read it again, especially if it’s been a while. And I’m trying not to buy so many books, even though going to Barnes and Noble, and purchasing a few new releases is one of my favorite things to do. However, the library is a lot kinder to our budget and there are plenty of good books for me to choose from.

One of the books I came home with was The House Next Door by Anne Rivers Siddons. I read this book for the first time in 1978, when I was eleven years old. I don’t know which parent bought it for me and I’m amazed they let me read it. However, my dad also gave me Stephen King’s The Stand and The Shining for Christmas that same year so they either thought I was not an easily spooked child or had absolutely no clue about the content of any of the books they bought for me.

The House Next Door is a horror novel. All of Anne Rivers Siddon’s other books are literary fiction but for some reason she took one foray into the horror genre.

The book is about Walter and Colquitt Kennedy. They are childless, by choice, and live in a beautiful home next door to an empty lot. A young couple has purchased the lot and hired an up and coming architect to design their dream home.

The Kennedy’s become good friends with the architect and each of the home’s subsequent owners.

Something tragic happens to everyone that lives there. The house has a way of bringing out the worst in all of them and the evil gets more prevalent with each new owner. Walter and Colquitt become entangled in the lives of their neighbors, whether they want to or not.

The book is not overtly terrifying. The creepiness is subtle and builds slowly and you are able to understand how Walter and Colquitt are ultimately forced to acknowledge that an evil supernatural presence is the only way to explain what happens to everyone who moves into the house next door, especially when the “house” starts killing pets and homeowners.

I finished re-reading the book Monday night and for some reason, had a lot of trouble sleeping. I kept waking up and thinking about the book.

I woke up again because Lauren came into our bedroom complaining of a headache and sore throat. I asked her if she wanted Motrin and she said she did so I walked downstairs in the dark to the kitchen (I’d keep the Tylenol and Motrin upstairs but ever since Chloe ate the Tylenol on Lauren’s night stand, and had to have her stomach pumped, I keep it in the cupboard in the kitchen).

I felt uneasy walking downstairs in the dark. I hurriedly flipped on the kitchen light and glanced up at the microwave to see what time it was.

Imagine how I felt when I saw that the time on the microwave was 3:15 (or, as I like to refer to it, Amityville Horror time!). I grabbed the Motrin and pretty much ran back upstairs, leaving the kitchen light on. I’m sure if I had looked out the sliding glass doors I’d have seen the glowing red eyes of Jody, the demonic pig.

In case you’re thinking I’m a colossal scaredy-cat, let me explain.

I have a habit of waking up at scary times. A couple years ago Dave and I rented The Exorcism of Emily Rose one Saturday night (ironically enough we had taken the offspring to Saturday night services at church and picked up the DVD on our way home). I was reluctant to watch it, because I don’t like scary movies, but it was billed as a courtroom drama based on a true story and Laura Linney was starring in it.

It pretty much scared the holy crap out of me. It’s about a girl named Emily Rose who is possessed by the devil and the priest who tries to perform an exorcism on her is charged with criminal negligence after her death.
Laura Linney plays the lawyer who is hired to defend the priest. The story is then told in flashbacks as Emily Rose begins, and ends, her struggles against the demons that possess her.

Laura Linney is warned that, by taking on the case, she will be targeted by demons for exposing them. She begins to experience strange occurrences at 3:00 AM, just as Emily Rose had. The priest explains that 3:00 AM is the witching hour that evil spirits use to mock the Holy Trinity. It’s the opposite of 3:00 PM, which is traditionally known as the hour Jesus died.

For almost two weeks I woke up at 3:00 AM. It freaked me out and I told Dave I wondered if it was possible to somehow set your mental alarm clock to wake you up at a time guaranteed to mess with your head. And every single time Matthew or Lauren woke up sick in the middle of the night it was straight up 3:00 AM on my bedside clock radio.

The other night Chloe’s barking woke me up in the middle of the night. She paced back and forth by the sliding glass doors in the kitchen and the only reason I was able to open them and look outside was because I didn’t look at the microwave to see if it was Amityville Horror or Emily Rose o‘clock. And I guarantee you it would have been one of those times.

So basically I can read scary books and watch scary movies but only if I’m okay with waking up at scary times.

Has this ever happened to anyone else? Wouldn’t this be a great time for everyone to share his or her story on my blog?

Please tell me the name of the scariest movie you’ve ever seen or the scariest book you’ve ever read. Or just tell me about a time you had the crap scared out of you. It’ll be fun, really. You can leave your comments anonymously if you want.

I promise to read the scary book suggestions but I’m not watching any more scary movies.

And I need to find a way to store the Tylenol and Motrin upstairs.

I’d like to dedicate this post to Kristi

  • March 18, 2009










We had a great time yesterday! It was beautiful here in Iowa and warm enough for flip flops and short sleeves.

Our home was invaded by leprechauns and Matthew is having a hard time adjusting to the fact that they’ve gone away for another year.

Tom and Amy, Trish, and Kristi joined us for an afternoon of celebrating. I told everyone I wanted to introduce my blog readers to them, via photos, because they’re the people Dave and I spend a lot of our time with. Kristi is the other brunette (besides me), Amy and Tom are sitting next to each other, and Trish (my twin sister) is the other blonde. I think you all know the cute dude with the goatee sitting next to me is Dave.

Kristi mentioned (actually insisted) that she is the most dedicated reader of my blog and I have to agree with her. She is the one who gives me constant feedback via e-mail and by writing on my Facebook wall. She tells others about my blog and always has something nice to say about what I’ve written. She also loves to be mentioned in the blog (even when I told everyone about her throwing up all over my couch).

So, to thank Kristi for her constant and continued cheerleading of my blog, I’d like to share with you my favorite Kristi quotes. Here they are, in no particular order:

“Dude!”

“Listen kids, with modern technology there’s no reason why you can’t take a pill now and then.”

“Let’s hug it out.”

“I’m a lover not a fighter.”

“I’ve just got so many thoughts I have to say them right now.”

“Here’s the deal, I just pissed all over myself when I went to the port-a-potty so we can either go home so I can change or you can all be cool and not give me any shit.”

“Jesus Tracey, I’m sorry about your Pottery Barn slipcover. I didn’t know I had such a severe allergy to lime juice.”

Please keep the quotes coming Kristi. You’re always a wonderful addition to any social gathering at my house. And it’s because of you that I use the word “dude” so much.

So, there you have it. Another holiday has come and gone and the high temperature today is about twenty degrees colder than yesterday so I am very thankful we were able to be outside, at least for one day. It will probably snow next week but we’re used to that sort of thing in Iowa.

Today is going to be pretty low key because this leprechaun is tired. I’m going to try to get the offspring to stop fixating on the fact that the leprechauns have gone and try to help them focus on the next holiday.

The Easter bunny will be here soon enough.

The leprechauns are coming! The leprechauns are coming!

  • March 14, 2009

St. Patrick’s Day is a big deal in our house. It shouldn’t be, because we’re not Irish, but I don’t know anyone who gets more excited than we do about leprechauns.

About four years ago, we started telling the offspring that if you believe in leprechauns, they’ll visit your house on St. Patrick’s Day. We told them if you’re really fast, you might catch one. Matthew and Lauren immediately built a leprechaun trap.

We always get together with Tom and Amy, and their offspring, to celebrate St. Patrick’s Day. I make potato soup and we’ll have some beer (but not the green kind). Matthew, Lauren, Scott, and Grace have a ball because we hide all kinds of St. Patrick’s Day stuff like shamrocks and gold wrapped candy all over the house and pretend it’s the leprechauns who are doing it. We put drops of green food coloring in the toilet and tell all the kids the leprechauns are up to their old mischief again.

It’s kind of getting out of hand, actually. If the leprechauns haven’t left something new for all the kids to find at least every hour, they start to complain and get mad at the leprechauns.

Two years ago, Tom, Amy, Dave, and I, and all the kids, took a spring break vacation to Chicago. We watched them turn the river green and attended the St. Patrick’s Day parade. We had to haul all the St. Patrick’s Day stuff to Chicago and then take turns shuffling the kids between the hotel rooms so one of the adults could turn a toilet green or hide some shamrocks and candy. It was exhausting.

Two days ago, I placed a small piece of shamrock confetti on Matthew’s keyboard. The day after that I sprinkled a couple pieces of shamrock confetti in each of their beds and dropped one piece in their bathroom toilet. They kinda went crazy. They’re convinced there’s a leprechaun named Marie who has been leaving the confetti and they’ve been trying to coax her out by talking into the vent in Matthew’s room. We told them that’s how the leprechauns get in (we’ve also told them the tooth fairy comes through the vents and they bought it so it seemed like a good idea to tell them the leprechauns get in the same way).

We probably only have a couple years left before they figure out that leprechauns don’t actually visit on St. Patrick’s Day. I’ll be a little bummed when that happens.

We’ll still celebrate anyway.

Guess What?

  • March 13, 2009


I lost another 1.8 lbs. when I weighed in at Weight Watchers today. Yay! I’ve lost 20.8 lbs. so far which means I’m getting close to my goal of losing 25. I’ve also dropped two jeans sizes. Yay! Yay! Yay!

When I reach my goal I’m going to celebrate with crack dip and a cosmopolitan as big as my head.

As you can see, I’m kind of excited about it. I haven’t had a cosmopolitan in a really long time.

When I reach my goal, I’m going to ask all my blog readers (you seven people know who you are) to join me in raising a martini glass and a Ritz cracker covered in crack dip.

Please say you’ll join me!

The Real Housewives of NYC

  • March 12, 2009

Last night was a double header of guilty-pleasure TV viewing at my house.

First we watched American Idol and Dave mentioned, like he does every single time we watch this show, how much he can’t stand Ryan Seacrest, especially his voice. Dave doesn’t like anything about Ryan and thinks he’s really short.

I don’t have a problem with Ryan but I loathe Paula Abdul and I kept yelling at the TV screen for her to “just quit talking!“ I hate her floaty, breathy, spaced out commentary and wish she’d stop drinking her pre-show vodka martini with a splash of valium. Her non-sensical communication style drives me absolutely nuts but I’ll admit my yelling at Paula, via the TV screen, is starting to get a little out of hand.

Possibly I should mention that my grandma (displaced former owner of the Buick Skylark) used to make disparaging comments to Vanna White every night at 6:30 during Wheel of Fortune so perhaps my problem is hereditary.

After American Idol, we put the offspring to bed and watched The Real Housewives of New York City attention whore their way through another episode.

And lest you think I‘m a total hypocrite, I‘d like to address a few things: A) I realize attention whoring on a reality show isn‘t that different from attention whoring on a blog (100 more things about me, anyone?).

B) I never said I was the classiest housewife in the universe.

C) If there was a possibility of a Real Housewives of Dallas County spin-off I’d camp overnight outside wherever the casting call was being held so I would be first in line to audition. Being paid to drink wine on camera and come up with snarky stuff to say about the other housewives would sorta be like me hitting the mother lode.

Last night’s episode opened with Jill planning an apartment “face lift” with her “gay husband” Brad because “you should re-do your apartment every seven years“ (Brad should not be confused with Jill’s non-gay, and kinda creepy, husband Bobby who reminds me of a crime boss with his slicked-back hair and beady eyes).

I had my own gay boyfriend my freshman year of college and thanks to my lack of a reliable gaydar, I mistakenly thought he was going to be my heterosexual boyfriend.

We’d watch TV under the covers in my dorm room bed, we exchanged Christmas gifts, and we saw the movie “White Nights” starring Mikhail Baryshnikov together. I thought we might make out someday but I finally got my head out of my ass sophomore year and realized we both liked boys.

Next on the Real Housewives were Alex and Simon discussing their Brooklyn town home renovation with an architect. They told him they wanted something other than granite because granite was “so five years ago.“ They also mentioned they might like a neon green oven. Alex told the architect she’d like built in bookshelves so Francois and Johan could grab a book by Dickens or Shakespeare whenever they felt like it.

Then, we see a shot of Alex and Simon lounging in their ten foot by three foot Wal-Mart wading pool, lamenting the fact that poor New York apartment dwellers don’t have the backyard luxuries they do. I guess Alex forgot that a lot of the poor New York apartment dwellers got the hell out of the city and are actually enjoying the beautiful swimming pools at their Hampton’s houses.

LuAnn (AKA Countess deLesseps) and Bethenny meet for lunch and LuAnn asks Bethenny if she‘ll help cook for the Hope Lodge charity event for the American Cancer Society. Bethenny agrees and, on the night of the dinner, joins LuAnn and Ramona, who has also agreed to help.

Before Ramona arrived, Bethenny told LuAnn about Social Life magazine doing a photo spread on her and selecting her to be on the cover. LuAnn, a former model, stated that the photographs would be “re-touched” which hurt Bethenny’s feelings.

While the three of them prepare dinner, Ramona gives Bethenny unsolicited dating advice and tells her to “date a bunch of men, see what you like.” LuAnn does not care for this advice and feels dating several men will give Bethenny a bad reputation.

Ramona fires back, “What do you know, you got married to a man twice your age.”

Me-ow!

The countess came unglued. She responded that Alec (AKA Count deLesseps), was fifteen years older than her and she married him when she was twenty-seven. She asked Ramona if she though Alec was an “old man” and Ramona said she thought he looked like one.

Just my two cents but I think the Countess is a wee bit defensive about their age difference because Alec does look quite a bit older than she does. If I were LuAnn, I’d be more worried about the fact that she’s the Count’s fourth wife but that’s just me.

LuAnn retaliated by telling Ramona that her husband Mario was a handsome guy but he was no spring chicken either. I think Mario’s biggest concern should be figuring out how to convince his pit bull-on- wheels wife Ramona to keep her totally tactless pie-hole shut.

Bethenny asks LuAnn to lunch and tries to explain how her feelings were hurt when LuAnn made the statement about Bethenny’s photographs needing to be re-touched. LuAnn accused Bethenny of being ultra-sensitive and Bethenny never gets the apology she is seeking.

Personally, the Countess is starting to bug me. She wrote a book on etiquette and now she thinks she can correct everyone else‘s manners even though her own are often atrocious.

So far, The Real Housewives of NYC has not disappointed. There’s just as much drama as The Real Housewives of OC but the NYC housewives have more face-to-face confrontations whereas OC is more passive-aggressive, at least until the reunion show when they all went ballistic on each other.

I think the double-header of American Idol and The Real Housewives of New York make for a relaxing Tuesday night. It’s nice to watch something that entertains you and doesn’t require you to think.

Dave and I watch Lost on Wednesday nights. That show gives us enough to think about for days.

Sometimes I miss the mix tape

  • March 10, 2009

Trish and I shared a bedroom until we were fourteen years old. We had bunk beds and a clock radio that we left on constantly, even when we were asleep.

If we wanted to record a song off the radio, Trish and I would hold a tape recorder, the kind with an attached microphone, up to the clock radio and hope the DJ stopped talking when the singing began.

One night, when I was seven years old, I was the tenth caller on KMGK. I won the Bay City Rollers 1974 album, Rollin’ (which contained the hit single “Saturday Night“). My mom picked it up at the radio station the next day and I played the album repeatedly on the stereo in our basement. It was one of my favorites, although I liked Shaun Cassidy’s Born Late a little bit better.

When we were fourteen, we moved into a new house and Trish and I got our own bedrooms and eventually, our own stereos. We primarily still bought albums although we slowly started switching over to cassettes.

When we turned sixteen, we inherited my Grandma’s 1972 Buick Skylark, complete with AM radio, because her driving had gotten really scary and my dad had to take her keys away. We longed for FM and a cassette player so we bought a ghetto blaster and it sat between us on the front seat as we played Def Leppard’s Pyromania cassette over and over (ghetto blaster was a perfectly acceptable term in the eighties). Some jackass stole it when we left the Buick unlocked and Trish and I were devastated because we had just put eight new D batteries in it. Our stupidity and carelessness was punished by a return to the hell of AM radio. I don’t think either of us ever forgot to lock a car again.

When I got my 1981 Honda Prelude, I spent every dime I had upgrading the sound system. I swapped out the factory stereo for a Pioneer, replaced the speakers, and added an equalizer that had a bunch of cool red lights on it. I had an impressive collection of cassette tapes, in a special case, that I kept in the car at all times.

When I was twenty-one, Stacy came to spend the night with me at my college apartment. We were road tripping to Illinois the next day so we prepared by making a mix tape to play in the car.

I remember we included Elton John’s “Someone Saved My Life Tonight” and “One of These Nights” by the Eagles. My favorite song on the mix tape was Grand Master Flash’s “The Message.“ You cannot fully appreciate this song until you’ve seen two white suburban girls (who know EVERY WORD) sing it like it’s their job. If there was anything more gangsta’ than us I’d like to see it.

Somehow, our conversation was also recorded along with all the songs. Since we were completely stoned when we made the mix tape we had our favorite songs to listen to AND our idiotic commentary recorded as a “voice over” to amuse us. You could also hear a bunch of Bic lighter flicking, inhaling and coughing. It was the best mix tape ever and I am so bummed because I lost track of it a few years ago. I’m still hoping it turns up.

The offspring have never had to sit beside a tiny clock radio, waiting to hear their favorite song so they can push “record” on a crappy little tape recorder and hope the DJ stops talking in time.

They have their own boom boxes, stereos, and ipods. They can burn a CD from itunes anytime they want. If they don’t know the words to their favorite song, they can go to lyrics.com. Thanks to XM and Sirius, they don’t have to listen to commercials, or a DJ. They can watch their favorite band on You Tube or hook up Rock Band to the Wii and jam out in their own basement.

But where’s the fun in that?

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