Living In Rhythm

For years, I've been (mock) complaining about my mother's obsession with holiday traditions. She's always been very particular about things over the holidays - more so than usual (to say she has mild OCD would not be an exaggeration). But over the years, my brother, sister, sister-in-law, dad and I have come to find it endearing.

The miniature light-up Christmas village has to be arranged just so atop the book shelf in our living room. She did not appreciate the year when my brother and I added hot wheels and Kinder Surprise goblins amid the carolers. (Granted, we were 22 and 19, respectively, at the time.)

The Christmas lights that adorn our house have been the same every year for as long as I can remember. My dad is only afraid of one thing: heights. And yet, every year, he has to climb up the rickety TV antenna (their house is that rural), and string up the lights, and each and every year, he asks the same question: "If they're going to look the same every year, what's the point in taking the damned things down?" I'll never forget November 10 when I was about 9 years old, going out with my dad and just as he started his ascent up the antenna, he looked down at me and said, "If I fall, tell your mother to call the insurance company." I, of course, had no idea what that meant, but my mom sure found it funny.

Then there's the tree. There are still ornaments on there that my brother and I made when I was three years old. (Little mice tucked into blankets. Their heads were acorns and their tails were elastics, sleeping in beds made of walnut shells.) Every year, we're each gifted a Christmas ornament. Our tree looks like...not a tree. You can barely see any green once the thing is decorated.

Speaking of ornaments, for as long as I can remember, we've been allowed to open once present on Christmas Eve, and every year it's our new ornament. It's gotten to the point where my younger sister now asks, "can we open our ornaments now?"

The interesting thing is, the older I get, the more I cherish these 'traditions'. I live away from home (I am in Vancouver and my family is outside of Ottawa), so Christmas is pretty much the only time I get home any more. My mom sets all my ornaments aside and they sit in their box next to the tree until I come home to hang them myself. (She still, however, doesn't appreciate rogue army men in her Christmas village.)

My mom is a nurse, and every second year, is required to work on Christmas day. Last year was her year, and so we decided to open all our gifts on Christmas Eve. I was opposed to the idea. Christmas presents on Christmas Eve? What would we do Christmas day?! It was sacrilege, if you asked me. But of course, I'd rather have Christmas with my mom, and not rushed, than hastily open gifts on Christmas day.

So there we were, ready to open presents, each in our pre-designated (since we were children) places in the den of our home. Only this time, my dad had a beer, my mom had a strawberry daiquiri, and my brother and I sipped White Russians as we opened our presents one by one. It was kind of nice to be able to laugh and joke, and not worry about looking like you had just rolled out of bed in any photos that were taken. This was also the night when my brother and his wife announced they were expecting their first baby.

This also meant that Christmas day was actually relaxing! My dad and I took care of the food and tidied the house from the night before, and my sister and I carried on our tradition of me forcing her to watch A Muppet Christmas Carol. (Seriously, how she doesn't love that movie boggles the mind). My brother and his wife went to have Christmas with her family before coming back and joining us for dinner with our grandmother and aunt and uncle.

It was a new tradition. It was relaxed and easy and not stressful. My mom wants to do the same thing this year, even though she's not working. I'm all for it.

So not only did I realize that breaking the tradition can be a good thing, and create new ones, but that some of my mom's "Seasonal OCD" has rubbed off on me....Great.

Last year, when I asked my brother what he wanted for Christmas, he asked me for two things specifically: Coffee beans from my (and his) favourite coffee shop, and a CD of some of the music I was listening to at the time.

I think the latter was as much of a gift for me as it was for him. He ended up with two full CD's of the songs that I'd loved over the year. It was a manic, eclectic, incredibly diverse list. I tried to make the playlists flow as nicely as possible, which was harder than I thought it'd be. One CD ended up being country-ish (which is exactly how it was labeled) and the other was more jazz/blues/soul/rock. This year is kind of the same, but kind of different.

This year, I have decided to do the same thing. I ended up with 45 songs on the shortlist. Yikes. So, I cut out the ones that I didn't think he'd be interested in. Estelle's American Boy? Not exactly his style.

What I was left with was two awesome albums that, if they were gifted to me, I would be happy with.

The bonus? I now have these two awesome playlists on myTunes that I can listen to any time I want. Win/Win!

If nothing else, it's shown me how my tastes have evolved in a year. It includes more rock (real rock, not cheesmo pseudo rock). It includes some jazz, some acoustic singer-songwriters. Some soul. Basically a little bit of everything.

And I love the reminder that my musical taste varies so widely. Love it. I know a lot of people say they will listen to anything, but that is actually mostly true with me.

The title has a double meaning...

Last night (sometime during the three hours of sleep I got) I had an awesome dream that I really wish would come true.

It was very 'movie musical'-esque. I was at a smoky jazz bar with some friends, just listening to a trio play sultry music in the background. I went to the bar, ordered a dry gin martini with a twist (almost always my choice of martini, for the record), and leaned against the dark wood on my elbow while watching the musicians do their thing.

Then I took my martini glass, got onto the stage, turned my back to the crowd and told the band the name of a song, and they started playing. The only thing is, it was a song that pretty much no one else in the world would know about. But, in my dream, they did. And I sang it. I mean, I sang it. I sang it like I was born to be on that stage, singing that song, sipping from a martini while the pianist took a solo.

It was amazing. It was a glimpse into a life I will never get to live....

I'm going to step away for a moment from my regular topic of music (or more apt in recent posts, bragging on Marc Broussard), and focus on one of my other loves: Hockey.

By now, everyone who has ever heard of the sport has probably heard about Sean Avery's latest antics. He's an idiot, yes. But he's also kind of the only player who manages to get himself, and in turn, the sport, featured on the front page of Yahoo.com. Is he bad for the game? Probably. Is the publicity he brings good for the game? Possibly.

But what makes me laugh - literally, laughed out loud this morning - is how a photograph can evoke an emotion. In August, the photos of Avery were all of him in stylish clothes and trendy glasses, attached to stories about how he was interning with Men's Vogue. It actually made it look like he might be a gentleman.

Today, every photo I've seen in the wake of his latest tirade, he's chewing his mouth guard, or he's cross eyed or his jersey is disheveled.

Working in the media, I know exactly how important it is to have the right photo for the right article. It just makes me laugh to see it in other mediums! I almost wonder if the news writers for NHL.com have files on their computers labeled: Good Avery and Bad Avery.

And since everyone else in the universe is voicing their opinions on his future, I will, too: Do I think he's a jackass? Absolutely. Do I think he crossed a line? He is so far past the line, that the line is a dot to him. Do I think the Dallas Stars want to keep him around? No. But I think they are going to have a hell of a time trying to find anyone who wants him and the $4mil contract he carries.

Good luck, Brett Hull.

I want to be Marc Broussard's backup singer. I've decided. More than anyone else's, I want to be his.

For a long time (think - since the age of 13) I have wanted to be a backup singer. If you think about it, it's a great deal. You get to be on stage every night doing what you love. You get to travel and see things and be a part of someone's success. But, you don't have to deal with any of the garbage that comes along with it. Interviews and decisions and pressure. You just get on stage, do your thing, go to your bunk on the bus, and wait 'till the next show.

When I was younger, people like Vince Gill, Garth Brooks, and other assorted country acts were the artists I wanted to sing for/with. As I got older, it was John Mayer and Jason Mraz.

Now it's Marc Broussard. Hands down.

That soul crooner, funky, old school R&B jam feel. I would wear a black dress and stand behind the mic stand and harmonize with him every night. I can picture myself on stage singing the breakdown at the end of Hard Knocks. Or the Sarah Bareilles part in Why Should She Wait.

That is my dream job.

It's true. If one more person walks by and sees me punching the air along with the horn lines, I'm going to start looking like a geek.

I have followed Marc Broussard for a few years now. I have no idea how or when or where I was the first time I heard him. Probably because I was launched into an amazing music-induced coma. I swear I listened to Carencro on repeat for the better part of three weeks. Then I bought Momentary Setback and I died a little more because of how freaking good he is. Just....wow. I've bought everything he's put out since. And also, spent countless hours searching Youtube for great live videos of him.

His latest album is no step down, that's for damned sure. Talk about blue eyed soul. Everything about this album has been blowing my mind since I bought it. Well, everything save for LeAnn Rimes' guest vocal, which I'm not crazy about. The song is great, just her vocal bugs me, as her vocals are known to do on occasion.

I don't even know how I can describe it. You just don't find albums like this any more. I don't know what to classify it as. Blues/Rock/Funk/Louisiana Soul. That's probably most accurate.

His writing just gets better and better. And he's only 26 freaking years old. Blows me away.

Best lines? "Last few dollars spent impressing you/I got a hair cut and a pair of shoes/Worth it all/Just to get a smile from you/And a kiss or two"

I think this album is going to take me straight through the rest of the year.