Rap isn’t my favorite genre, but @thisisheadlines dropped a CD on me today downtown. This is good shit, with some positive and legit rhymes.

This morning’s music for heads-down coding: the eponymous album (aka the Moon Album) by @ClutchOfficial. Earbuds in. Here we go.

Spotify Premium: Like Scour in the 90s, But Legal

Who remembers Scour?

I have vivid memories of working at my college job, sitting at my desk in the office next to my co-worker, Jeff, and one of us getting a song stuck in our head. Off to Scour, to download and listen to something random, like the theme from the A-Team, or some esoteric 80s song, or some freedom rock (turn it up!).

Did I know it was shady? Sure. Did I care? Nope. It was available, and there wasn’t exactly another avenue for me to quench my immediate musical desires back in 1999, and it was before the days of packet-sniffers that would throttle bandwidth or flag me for peer-to-peer activity, so…

Fast forward 18 years to 2017.* When I get Billy Ocean stuck in my head, I pull up Spotify on my work laptop — I pay a subscription fee of about $10 a month for Premium — and search for “Caribbean Queen.” I get an entire compilation album of Billy Ocean’s greatest hits, and I listen to the sounds of elementary school for a good half hour. Unlike some 20 years ago, though, I don’t have to wait 15 minutes for a 3MB mp3 to download over the 10/100 BaseT ethernet connection.

And it’s completely legal.

*Side note: I still can’t get over being 40 years old and so vividly remembering multiple decades.

Tonight’s Requested Dance Party Song

{CAPTION}

For some reason, Connor calls this “The Clown Song.” He sang the intro riff well enough that I knew which song he meant, though. 🙂

Someday, when he’s older, I hope he feels about the Psychedelic Furs and the Pet Shop Boys and the Flaming Lips and Bowie and The Cure and Midnight Oil the way I do about my Mom’s favorite artists from the late 70’s and early 80’s.

Got an IM from a co-worker: “hey”
My brain filled in lyrics from The Pixies, though I didn’t type them: “Been tryin’ to meet you” #earworm

Chris Botti is apparently playing all my memories. Madison Scouts ’95. #NowPlaying En Aranjuez Con Tu Amor ♫ spoti.fi/13O28vm

Damn you, Barry Manilow. I can’t unhear Let There Be Magic Could It Be Magic instead of the Prelude. #NowPlaying Prelude No. 20 in C … spoti.fi/10dppXa

Potential is a Bad Word

After 19 years, I’ve finally identified the feeling I’ve had about my Bluecoats rookie-ageout season: Regret.

I sat with it for a few days last month and came to terms with the fact that I had this once-in-a-lifetime opportunity and didn’t actually prepare for it. Was I present in the moment while I was there, giving my all during rehearsals and performances? Absolutely. But did I prepare? Did I condition myself physically, make and save extra money for free days and laundry and miscellaneous expenses, call ahead to resolve transportation issues, practice my mello in the music building on campus to get my chops ready?

Nope. That wasn’t the “fun part,” so I didn’t bother.

The only way to resolve this feeling was to come to terms with the fact that this once-in-a-lifetime opportunity is gone. A memory. It was what it was, and although it was amazing in its own way, I didn’t make everything of it that I could have.

(I also resolved some of my angst by Facebook Messaging one of the veteran members of the ‘97 corps who had actually been friendly and welcoming, and thanked him for that, some 19 years after the fact. He was grateful to hear it, and pointed out that his own rookie year had been rough. It was then that I realized that I never got the true “rookie” corps experience in my first corps, Northern Aurora, since the 1995 corps was comprised of 80% rookies who were all in the same boat.)

I even tried to recapture the drum corps experience later in life by joining senior corps, and that failed miserably. I still didn’t practice at home very much, I was still overweight and out of shape, and it certainly didn’t help that I spent three hours in the car round-trip every time we had a rehearsal or performance.

This tendency to put off the un-fun parts is kind of a theme in my life, whether it’s nutrition and fitness or cleaning house or writing documentation at work or skipping class back in college. I’m a grown-ass woman now, not a 21-year-old kid (who doesn’t realize she’s still a kid). I’m a mother and a wife and an IT professional, and my responsibility game has leveled up a few notches in the past couple of decades. I’m responsible for my son, for my share of the household bills and chores, and for my work.

I can start being responsible for Future Me, too.

P.S: The title of this post references a theme in the 1996 Northern Aurora season. The staff got the corps together around midseason, as I recall, and told us that we were getting lots of comments from judges about the show having “potential,” and how we should be fired up to realize that potential. “Potential” became the watchword during rehearsals — the staff would just say it over the loudspeaker, and we’d hiss in response, and step up our game. “Potential” meant our show was well-written but not (yet) well-executed. It meant we just had to do the work to realize that potential.

I’m not sure we ever truly realized our potential that year, but we came close.