Let's get one certainty down, right now. I don't like kids. Most people don't, they confuse kids with an ideal called "children". People want children -- they usually have kids. I don't have either, but I do live in a world that has people of all ages and dimensions populating it -- so, I come in contact with kids.
Thankfully, it is a limited contact.
I have acquired new neighbors, and they are teenaged boys. Teenaged boys who like loud music. No, actually it's not music. It's the sound of hormones thrusting through walls and you don't dance to it as much as you allow it to body slam you, repeatedly, and call you ugly names in the process. I am fairly liberal minded, but for cripes sakes!
This was about 2:45 in the afternoon -- after the highschool let out, and before the guy's parents were home from work -- and frankly, I had crawled into bed about 7:30am and was feeling particularly peevish at the noise pollution starting my day. (I am nobody's concept of sunshine when I am waking up.)
Anyway rather than say something, I turned the speakers around and cranked up Eric Johnson. I mean, maliciously, with foam plugs in my ears, CRANKED.
Went straight with Alien Love Child -- this was WAR, and Zenland into Last House on the Block is counterstrike patriot missile stuff.
For a while it was 21st century Schizoid man as interpreted by Charles Ives: heavy on the testosterone. Then, all I heard was the middle of Last House... no tribal thrash and screams from the other house. Well Yay! Round one ej and EJ. I turned it down to human tolerances, puttering around the kitchen -- I prefer to listen to Eric without needing heavy protection -- so I did hear the knock at the back door.
Now, the first thing I think is -- ok, that was completely obnoxious of me, juvenile, and the adult thing to do would have been to call the cops or even to have gone over and knocked on the door and let them know there are grouchy old neighbors who LIVE here during the day time --and OMG DID someone call the cops and am I screwed?! (Honestly, I am so ridiculously law abiding and "normal" seeming <HAHAHAH>this was fairly abberant behavior on my part.)
Fully ready to take some hit points of embarrassment, I opened the door....
To four kids, boys -- two of whom were the actual, neo-neighbors (two were their new friends from school) standing on the back porch; surprised as hell to see a "Mom" open the door.
They recovered slightly before I did. Very politely, the go-to kid asked if my son wanted to come hang out and he could bring his music.
ahhhhhh, yeah. wasn't exactly the sort of embarrassment I was prepared to deal with. So I took a deep breath and said, "Fate of the world hangs in the balance, guys. Do you know who this is?"
One of the little wiseasses got bold and asked, "Do you?"
Score points for the neighbors; they looked a bit pained at the overtly impolite kid. Addressing the boys I had seen previously (must be the neighbors I hadn't met yet) I said, "You can borrow the album for now, and if it's ok with your folks; I'm making chili: you can come and check out the library. When does Mom or Dad get home?"
The younger of the brothers asked, "Library?" in the sort of tone one reserves for finding out Santa does exist.
I said, "Technically anything you need to file by label and number.. anyway. Any guesses?" Malford had just been introduced, in the background. The slightly taller brother said, "I thought maybe Joe Satriani, but he's got a singer?"
"Well no; Not Satriani. Listen to much Satch, do you?" and I rolled my eyes; we all laughed. "What were you playing, anyway?" Dead silence. "Oh. Let me guess. They have a rude name -- your Mom would be horrified to find out her precious offspring know words like this?" More snickers and some blushing.
The porch is cold, my dog is practically doing back flips, beside himself with consternation at not having access to four new victims to lick -- sooo... "It's four against one, but the Ogre will be home soon. You guys weren't raised in barns, right?" I clucked to Tick, who sat his goodnatured butt on the floor, tail thumping in anticipation of tasty face.
"Uh, what sort of dog is that?" the wiseass asked, eyeing the business end of Tick's arsenal.
"The shedding and shows you the silverware kind. Oh. We haven't met, yet. I'm Em Jester. That is Tick, from what I assume is a long line of unchecked crossbreedings. Afghanhound and pony, I think. It's cold, want to come into the kitchen?"
The spokesman for this little band of adventurers smiled and said, "Hi Mrs. Jester: I'm Nick, this is Kevin, he's Chris, and that's my little brother Dave," establishing the rank and file as they came inside. Kevin was of course the wiseass. Chris looked bored and probably spacey. David met my eyes fearlessly and... zapped me. Oh, shit. What was he -- 14?
I hate having to deal with intelligence -- it happens so infrequently it's not really much of a problem. That's my true weakness; the beautiful but empty I can take a picture and drool over in the privacy of my mind which is far better than having to interact with the mindlessly attractive -- it's when there's something looking back from inside the candy shell, something that recognizes me; I know I'll end up busted and in trouble of some kind... and this kid, David -- he was one of those.
Tick sniffed and dismissed Nick and Chris, settling on David as the tastey face of choice, not even bothering with Kevin. I went into the livingroom and pulled out the ALC CD, handed it to Nick. "Here," I smiled. "Eric Johnson; This is a side project of his. Blues thing. Although with Eric -- that's sort of a misnomer." all four of them were staring at the music library, having followed me into the room.
It is a little overwhelming to take in. Benjamin Jester, my husband, is an Audiophile: he also manages "Radd's Records" which is the largest independent music store in the state. Fortunately, being situated in the middle of a burgh with five different college campuses in walking distance of the store and "Puggles" around the corner keeps Radd's out of the red, and they do cater to an educated palate.... as well as popular tastes. Benj still grinds his teeth in his sleep and what hair hasn't defoliated has turned white; but he does come home and immerse himself in what he loves best. Radd's Records (as do all record stores nowadays I suppose) mostly carries CDs with a linear, store length wall of cassette tapes: I was pretty sure none of these boys had ever seens a record library before. Nick finally spoke up. "How do you ever find what you're looking for?..."
"Alphabetical by artist?" Chris asked.
I shook my head. "Mr. Jester files everything alpha-numerically. That means, alphabetical by label, and numerically by catalog number. That guy's stuff -- if I had it all on vinyl -- would be Ark 21, Capitol, Favored Nations, Reprise, Rhino, Sony, and Vortexan... damn if I can remember the original label on the Magnets album."
"Uhn...what if I don't know all the different labels -- how many albums does that guy have?" David asked, taken aback.
"Not enough." I murmered, picking up the Spectrum catalog from it's regular space on the coffee table. "Look an artist up in here. Chances are pretty good if it's any good, it's in there." I gestured to the wall; handed David the book.
"Where's the CDs?" David asked.
"They take up half the space -- we keep them in the book room." I pointed to the library / office across the hall.
"What do you people do for a living?"Kevin blurted.
I laughed. I couldn't help it -- it had been a long time since I'd seen kids so... childlike. "I write, and my husband runs a record store. Duh." Everyone laughed, again. "The CDs are a little more haphazard. .." and I lead them across to the other room...
2 hours later I met Nick and David's Mother and I'd spoken to the other boys Mothers on the phone. (THEIR cell phones! sheesh.)
Anyway. Schools in. They now know who EJ is; but I went light on him last night (good GOD these kids were exposed to nothing but crap all their lives, no foundation at all!?? They consider Guns and Roses "Classic" rock??!) I figure I will let them process a bit, but I have to tell you -- I have hopes they'll "get it." They just need some perspective first. or who knows -- maybe I am screwing them up for the rest of their lives. You should have seen The Mom's face when I said I was feeding them and we were getting along great, it's nice to meet some pleasant boys who like music.
I had to shoo them out -- Tuesday is a school night and they'd "blown" about 6 hours listening to me lecture on the history of guitar (Q.E.D. with samples, of course): no more Em's house if they blow off school work.
Benj thinks it's funny.
Well at least I have graduated to "Dude-ship." I hate being "Ma'am-ed". I'm nobody's mother. but, "Duuude! that is so cool!" just cracks me up.
wicked awesome.
If you'll excuse me, I've got company -- and it's carrying three guitars.
later Dudes.
Jeen Lilly (VG.)
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