Leftovers (Again!?!)

In an attempt at fancy word for telling the truth transparency, I wanted to let you know I have come to the realization that the laundry is piling up again I have been devoting a bit too much time to my computer lately. My husband is busy with work and the kids are really bugging him. My family requires and deserves more of my time. Because of this, I have decided to abstain from my computer completely on Sundays and Wednesday, and only check my gmail before the kids wake up or they’re over at a friend’s house spend brief amounts of time here on Saturdays.

Having said that, I realize I have some new apparent gluttons for punishment readers who have yet to read some of my earlier posts, and because I think they might enjoy some of my earlier various and sundry neuroses musings, I wanted to share this post I originally wrote several months ago. Ladies and Gentlemen, I present for your perusal: “Ann and Nancy, I don’t think I heart you anymore”:

When I was in junior high, I was Ann Wilson and my friend Laurie was Nancy of the superbly awesome band Heart. We chose each sister because we had long brown hair and long blond hair, respectively. Naturally, we both got perms to completely pull off the look, and Laurie played a mean air guitar. To me, these 2 sisters were the definition of cool. Ann with her amazing vocal range and Nancy with her daft guitar playing skills. Nancy wasn’t just a chick who could play guitar, she was actually a great guitar player. Little Queen, Dreamboat Annie and Dog & Butterfly were, to me, three incredibly amazing albums. Granted, they put out a sizable amount of really crappy music after that, but much can be forgiven when you have that kind of legacy. (Call we all say “Aerosmith” together?) I also got the sense that Ann and Nancy were true and faithful to their art. It was the work that mattered, not the fame or the money. What was “Barracuda” all about anyway? It’s been many years since Heart’s heyday, but great music remains great. From time to time, I still dress up in my saucy wench outfit, put on my “Little Queen” CD and get my angry diva on. That is, until I saw this:

Not only did they sell out to THE MAN, but they allowed my beloved “Barracuda” to be used in an effort to convince soccer moms that driving a minivan was cool. Bono himself could drive one — cool, they are not!

In closing, I would like to add a personal message to Ann and Nancy Wilson (because I’m pretty sure they read my blog):

“Sell me, sell you the porpoise said,
Dive down deep to save my own head
You…I think you got the blues too.”

INDEED! (This is me, slowly shaking my head in disappointment.)

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