Kiss

Because of Dr. H’s comments on the band Kiss the last couple of weeks, I want to share my opinion on the band. (Warning Dr. H: you will hate this post)

Last week we talked about a concert review from the Des Moines Register that was written in the 1970s. The reviewer went to a Kiss concert with an opening act of Johnny Cougar. The reviewer couldn’t say enough good things about that Johnny Cougar and mentioned Kiss as the same old, same old. To quote the reviewer (Irv Canfield), “but o! That Johnny Cougar!”

Now on occasion I have listened to a Johnny Cougar song but I have to say, I have seen his act before. Hundreds of music artists out there are just like Johnny Cougar. They claim to be as ‘American as apple pie and baseball.’ Kiss’s image is something no other band can even attempt to mirror.

What other band do you know that can paint their faces white, wear crazy costumes and 12 inch platform shoes? I dare you to name one. I’ll let you think for a minute.










Couldn’t think of one? Thought so.

When I was 16, my best friend and I drove to Denver and spend $200 to see a Kiss, Aerosmith and Saliva concert. I’ve been to my fair share of concerts over the years (for those of you who know me really well, not all of the concerts have been country thank you very much) but none of them can compare to that concert. Without a hesitation in my mind I can say that was the best concert I have ever attended.

At only 16, I knew I was seeing legendary bands with reputations bigger than I could ever imagine. The atmosphere was incredible with thousands of face-painted crazy fans, pyrotechnics to boot and enough adrenaline to keep us rockin’ n’ rollin’ all night (excuse the pun on words and if you don’t get that, go listen to Kiss and then come back and read the rest).

As Irv Canfield put in his review of Kiss, “they (Kiss) are not rock n’ roll, but an obscure music form known as ‘Trend-ola.’” I beg to differ. If Kiss was ‘trendy’ in the 1970s, why do thousands of people become fans of Kiss even today? Why are they still popular with the younger generations?

I don’t think Dr. H knew there was such a big Kiss fan sitting in his class when he spouted off his opinion. I sing like crazy along to Kiss and wear a Kiss concert t-shirt to bed. No offense Dr. H, our musical tastes are at opposite ends of the spectrum.

Cell phones and hammers link

Here is the article of the 13-year-old who jacked up her cell phone bill.

Cell phones and hammers

I love this story.

A 13-year-old in Wyoming ran up her monthly cell phone bill to about $5,000 by texting. (Was she doing it in church? See previous post….hehe) Her dad received the bill and then smashed her cell phone with a hammer. I have one thing to say: Way to go Dad!

Wait, maybe not.

Why did he give a 13-year-old a phone? I didn’t get a phone until I was 16, and even then I had to pay for my own minutes.

I think it should be a federal law that anyone under 18-years-old who wants a phone should have to pay for it. Wait, make that ANYONE who wants a phone should have to pay for it themselves; it’s only fair.

It sickens me when I hear college students say, ‘oh I don’t care how many texts I send because my parents pay for my phone anyway.’ I have a good friend, who is almost 30, who has never once paid his cell phone bill. His parents, well into their 60s, still pay his cell phone bill.

Ugh.

Paying your own cell phone bill teaches responsibility that no other bill paying can. In a way, you can control how much your phone will be every month, unlike your electric, gas or water bills. Texts or no texts? Nights starting at 7 p.m. or 9 p.m.?

The moral of the story is this: if the 13-year-old was paying her own cell phone bill she wouldn’t have ran up her bill to almost $5,000.

A sad consolidation

My husband graduated from high school in a class of 9 students. He played 6-man football for three years with some of his best friends. He cracked three ribs during a practice, thanks to his older brother.

Recently, my husband’s old high school, McPherson County High School in Tryon, decided to consolidate sports with Stapleton High School. To me, this consolidation is heartbreaking. It means the end of 6-man football, and the beginning of 8-man football for McPherson County boys-something the school has done only one time.

To go along with this consolidation are new buses and vans to transport student athletes the 25 miles to Stapleton. No games, practices or sports related meetings will ever be held at the Home of the Longhorns (McPherson Co.).

Some Tryon natives say this is the beginning of the end. Sports will go first and then everything else. Others say this is a blessing in disguise. Once a school consolidates, students are able to meet more people and have better access to educational tools (‘smart’ classrooms, computers, etc).

Although there are mixed feeling in Tryon about the consolidation, one thing remains the same. As long as the windmill turns, the people of McPherson County will always be Longhorns.

Here is the link to the previous post about the church that is letting their members text.

Texting God...or not.

Her boney hands were covered in sterling silver mood rings. She sported a trendy lime green nail polish on her fingertips. She quickly texted, “I miss u 2 huny, happy estr” half under her leg, half on the church bench.

I could hardly believe what I was watching and reading. A young girl, probably about 15 years old, was sneaking text messages during an Easter Sunday church service. I heard the dull vibrating sound of her Blackberry during the processional, the readings, the homily and communion. She would glance down the church bench at her mother, grandmother and older sister to make sure they weren’t watching before she would nonchalantly sneak her phone out of her skirt pocket.

Usually text messagers don’t bother me. However, there is a time and a place for text messaging. Place #1 that you don’t text, other than your car, is in church. Unless she was texting God, which I highly doubt - the last time I checked he didn’t have the text messaging capabilities – she should have put her phone away for an hour.

But, after a simple search of ‘texting in church’ on Yahoo, I discovered a church that is allowing parishioners to text the pastor while giving his sermon. They can ask any burning questions they have about apostles, commandments, or what have you. I can already see my text appearing on his cell phone, ‘hey padre, turn up your mic. I can’t hear you in the back. also, tell the screaming baby’s mother to take said screaming baby outside.’

One of many problems I see with texting the pastor is the signature some people have on their text messages. Even though mine is the simple, yet sophisticated, ‘-Sarah Mulder,’ some texters have signatures of ‘~*bAbY dOlL 09*~’ or ‘sexy cowboy.’ I don’t think the pastor of your church needs to know you are someone’s baby doll or sexy cowboy.

The point is, let go of your cell phones for an hour if you are going to church. It’s the one hour where you sit in a hard wooden bench and listen to someone else talk. I’m pretty sure the pastor of your church is more insightful than your ‘sexy cowboy’ or ‘~*bAbY dOlL*~.’

All is fair in love and....

Warning! If don’t want to be tackled, wrestled to the ground or have a bloody nose I advise you not to participate in any Easter egg hunt involving my family.
Egg hunts at my house are not safe play. In fact, my family’s egg hunts are the exact opposite of traditional egg hunts. Instead of neatly groomed children skipping happily across a green lawn, my family dresses in ripped jeans, old sweatshirts and we tackle each other down across a cow pie infested pasture. My family rolls with laughter at the thought of a traditional egg hunt.
It doesn’t surprise me that egg hunts are competitive in my family. For my Dad’s 50th birthday party we went paintballing. I put war paint on my face and fake tattoos on my tiny biceps. I wore a doo rag and made my brother-in-law scream like a girl after I shoot him in his unmentionables.
My family has no concept of ‘just be nice to your brother/sister/cousin/smelly uncle Fester because it’s the holidays.’ We live by no such code. If our mission is to collect the most eggs, we will collect the most eggs and take down anyone who tries to cross us.
But what is it about cheap plastic eggs that come in a 12-pack for $1.98 that make my family so wild? Do they hold some kind of magical power over us? No. Plastic replicas of chicken excrements hold no magical powers.
Or do they?
As my Grandma says, “put a little money in ‘em and you kids go off your rockers.” The eggs may not hold the hold the abracadabra magic, but they do hold the shiny, round, George Washington’s bust type magic.
I once found $13 worth of magic during an egg hunt. But that was only after I was tackled by a cousin twice my size.
Now that I’m older, and I claim to be more mature, I have retired my egg hunting basket. I fill eggs full of chocolate surprises, jelly beans and the occasional George Washington magic now. However, the competitive spirit of egg hunting is still alive and strong in this hen.
While filling eggs one evening I challenged my husband with, “I bet I can fill more than you can.” He responded with, “I bet you can.”
Where’s the competitive spirit when you need one?
However, it’s his laid back attitude that helps our marriage survive. If he would have said, “ok, let’s make a bet,” I would have chucked all his eggs out the window so I could have won. In short, I wouldn’t be able to survive a marriage with someone as competitive as myself.
I don’t even know how my husband tolerates my daily challenges to him. He not only tolerates them, but he still lets me play. If I say, “first one to the couch wins,” he will steer clear out of my way so he doesn’t become road kill in my beeline for the couch.
My husband is a good egg. He may not have George Washington magic in the middle of him, but he is a good egg nonetheless.
It’s nothing short of a miracle that my competitive spirit hasn’t worn off on my husband yet. I know if I participated in an egg hunt this year I wouldn’t have to worry about cousins who are twice my size. I know I would dominate an egg hunt today because all is fair in love and Easter eggs.