Showing posts with label ABBA. Show all posts
Showing posts with label ABBA. Show all posts

Monday, 19 June 2017

My First Concert

There have been many times in my life when I have wondered wistfully why I was born in 1971. This meant that only a year later in 1972, I was one year old. Yep, I'm a genius, but we already knew that. You see, 1972 was the one and only time that the Carpenters visited and performed in Australia. Sigh.

I would have LOVED to have been there right in the middle of the mosh pit! Oh okay, there was no mosh pit. I suspect they're overrated anyway. Who wants to waste time with all that when they could have been transfixed by every note and Karen Carpenter behind her drums?

Apparently their concert was broadcast on Channel 7. The black and white footage is floating around on Youtube, so at least there's that.

When ABBA mania hit Australia in 1977, I seemed to be oblivious. This was In spite of my enthusiastic singing into a hair brush pretending to be Agnetha, just like every other six year old Aussie girl. So I never got to see the fab four either. In fact, I don't distinctly remember what my first concert was. I'm a tragic person. 

The luckiest little fan wasn't me.  Sigh. 

My auntie took me to see the stage musical CATS when I was approximately 14 or so, but that's a little different I guess. Around that same time, I was utterly DEVASTATED because The Nolans (in the mood for dancing, anyone?) were performing at Rooty Hill RSL (classy!) and I couldn't go because I was underage. Cutting edge taste in music all the way, as you can see. Of course it's a mystery why, being such a cutting edge rebel and all that, I didn't just sneak out and fake my age to get in. I'm such an enigma.

Ultimately I ended up seeing the following musicals/shows:

  • CATS
  • Anything Goes
  • The Rocky Horror Show
  • Phantom Of The Opera
  • Les Miserables
  • Rasputin
  • Carousel 
My memory is bit patchy about most of the above, to be honest. I mean, it's hard to remember yesterday let alone thirty years ago. Or is that just me?

Additionally I attended the following concerts:

  • Simply Red
  • INXS
  • Midnight Oil
  • Gloria Estefan
  • Michael Buble
  • Barbra Streisand
And a few other Aussie groups...

I suspect that Simply Red was the first one and I ended up seeing them twice, so I guess I like them. I haven't listened to them in YEARS though. Weird. 

Something that strikes me is the price of concert tickets. I often see some lucky Carpenters fans sharing their vintage concert tickets in Facebook fan groups. The prices on them are so ridiculously cheap. Around five bucks fifty or something. Nowadays they're so frightfully expensive. Oh well, just as well I'm not really into mosh pits and the whole scene.

To be perfectly honest I wouldn't say that a typical rock concert is really my thing. Surprising, right? Shut up.  I don't do well with loud noise and crowds due to my sensory issues. However, I would have loved to hear Karen Carpenter's voice in person. And that will never happen. It will be one of my lifelong sorrows. Cue weepy violin music... Or mournful meandering oboes because that's a Carpenters trademark. I love it. Again, I reiterate - shut up. 

So excuse me while I go and watch the above Youtube video and pretend it's 1972.  Is there a problem with that? 

What was your first concert? 

Saturday, 28 June 2014

More Things I Know

I know that I'm sick of freezing my butt off.
I also know that when Summer finally rolls around I'll complain that I'm sick of sweating my butt off.

I know that I'm over the World Cup and soccer altogether.

I also know that this is unfortunate for me when I'm surrounded by soccer obsessed males.

I know that I was rather interested to hear that Mr 10 and 5 are both 'quiet achievers' at their parent/teacher interviews.

I know that they are both rarely quiet at home.

I know that I've been called a 'quiet achiever' many times.

However, I still don't know what I was supposed to be quietly achieving.

I know that I need to start packing for our brief road trip next week.
I know that I hate packing.

I know that as I type this ABBA's Knowing Me, Knowing You started playing in my head.

I know that this clearly confirms my sophisticated and cutting edge taste in music.

I know that I could spend the next 6 hours washing up, such is the state of my kitchen.

I know that I'd rather do almost anything BUT the afore-mentioned washing up.

I know that this is the only reason that you are being subjected to this rather scintillating post.

I know that it was a relief that the school holidays have started today.

Conversely, I also know that it was damn shame that there was no sleep-in forthcoming as we had to be at soccer early.

I know that as a result of the above I feel like I could sleep for the next decade. Instead I have to pack and prepare to go away to Port Macquarie on Monday.

I know it will be worth it when we get there.

I know that all I will want to do, once there, is read, sleep and eat.
Meanwhile, I know the boys will constantly whinge that they're bored.

I know that we haven't been to Port Macquarie for at least 10 years when Mr 12 was toddling around. Now he is about to become a teenager. Hold me.

I know that it's seriously time to log off the Internet when I'm taking a Which Little Miss Character are you? quiz. Related: apparently I am Little Miss Wise.

See, I knew I was a genius. Those quizzes are eerily accurate and sound, right?

I know that thinking I'm a genius because of a quiz probably proves the opposite. It just proves that I'll do anything to procrastinate. Little Miss Later, more like. As in: I'll get to that later.

Then again, does this prove that I am, indeed, wise? Because, as the saying goes: why do today what you can put off until tomorrow? Or something...

I know, I know, I'm just procrastinating. But you have to admit, I'm a genius at it. I know, right?

Okay, time to find one hundred more ways to procrastinate.

Maybe later.  Can you procrastinate at procrastinating? I know I probably can. There was no need to put the word probably in that sentence. Ahem.

Over and out.

Linking up with Ann at Help!! I'm Stuck! for Things I Know.

                            Are there any other ways to procrastinate?

                                   I really am a genius, aren't I?

Saturday, 24 March 2012

Bad Hair Life

My hair is alarmingly grey. Presently, I desperately need to dye my hair and have decided on the D.I.Y version to save  a few dollars.  Micky Blue Eyes recently resigned from his job (recently as in six months ago) so this means I need to be thrifty and economical as opposed to the opulent, lavish lifestyle I used to lead.  Damn, there go the trips to Paris and designer clothes. Sighhhh...

Anyhow, I'm not sure why I even bother, over the years my hair has almost had a life of it's own.  First of all, it was interesting enough growing up being a 'Ranga' the scathing affectionate term for a red haired person.  This meant putting up with all the usual jibes like: "Red Head Match!" or "Carrots!" Or, my personal favourite: "Aw ya, red headed rat rooter!", as I was innocently minding my own business.  That, or they would gaze at my hair (when it was very long) with worshipful eyes, sigh and say: "Gee your hair's nice.  Pity it's not blonde."

On the flip side, occasionally some old dear would stop my brother and I to ooh and ah over our hair and announce: "People  pay a fortune to make their hair that colour you know." before slipping us the odd 20 cents.  Which was a fortune back then.  You could buy a whole bag of lollies with it.  Now you wouldn't even get a single black jelly bean.  

I've lost count of all the bad hairstyles I've had over the years.  I've gone from having very long, straight hair, long enough to sit on, as a girl. Then, quite long, with a daggy sort of a fringe (a bit like Agnetha from ABBA). Incidentally, why do Americans call a fringe 'bangs'?

Mullet Perm. I don't know why I'm smiling.

Then, I had the first of many truly hideous perms, including the woeful 'mullet-perm'. See above.  In my defence it was the 80's so I was suffering from a severe case of T.E.S (ie. Tragic Eighties Syndrome).  In my early 20' s I progressed to the spiral or 'poodle' perm when I was frequently mistaken for Nicole Kidman.  Oh okay, never. Not once. I still don't get it.  I mean, the resemblance was uncanny.
Nicole Kidman eat your heart out.

In my mid 20's I sported a preppy bob, and being the height of the X-Files craze I was frequently mistaken for Gillian Anderson.  Oh okay, only once, and the person was being totally sarcastic and me being typically Aspie, I didn't pick up on it.  So it was nice to have that illusion for a while.

At age 30, I sported a short blonde crop and a pregnancy I remained clueless about, but that's another story.   Yes, too many bad hairstyles and bad hair days to mention.

Blonde crop. Also pregnant and clueless. Noice.

The problem is I have absolutely no idea what to request at the hairdressers.  I totally blame this on some of the idiotic books I read as a girl. This time in the form of teen romances.  The heroine was usually a shy, nerdy sort of girl who gets dragged along the hairdressers by her more outgoing sister or bestie.  Once at the salon, the hairdresser takes one look at her and knows in a nano-second the perfect style and cut to transform her from nerd to fox instantly.  Suddenly revealing cheek bones she never knew she had and perfect almond shaped eyes.

Nerd-girl walks out of the salon a new person, gorgeous, confident and naturally she gets the guy. I kept on expecting a similar experience of being transformed from the tragic nerd I was to super chic.
Imagine my consternation when on one occasion, at around age 15, I was transformed into Leo Sayer with a singed scalp instead.

I was far too shy to say anything to the hairdresser who had blessed me with this beautiful look.  Instead, I actually paid them money for the indignation and scurried home, mortified.  My mum took one look and went ballistic, dragging me back and demanding they fix it.  They must have permanently damaged some brain cells with the perming solution however, as, years later I happily sported a do that wasn't entirely dissimilar.  I don't know what I was thinking.
To achieve this look simply channel Leo Sayer. Or not.

Some years after I had left a job, I met up with a former work colleague. By then, I had cut my hair short. Surprised, she commented "What happened to your curls?" I then told her that I  used to perm it. She clearly couldn't believe that I had actually paid money to have my hair look like that, replying "Oh, I thought it was natural." Nope. I did actually pay for bad hair. So, why pay for it, when I can acheive the same thing at home, with a cheap and nasty DIY dye job. I think I'll give the home perms a miss though. I am off to cling wrap my hair. Classy.

I STILL have bad hair, without the perms. Sigh.

Linking up with Kirsty from My Home Truths for I Must Confess.

I'm also linking up with Cathy from The Camera Chronicles for Flashback Friday, after deciding I haven't embarrassed myself quite enough.

Do you have a 'Bad Hair Life'? Or do you love your locks?