Attitude of Gratitude.

If you know me, we've probably had at least one conversation about the science behind happiness and gratitude. In case we have not: in a nutshell, science has proved that feeling gratitude lights up the same part of the brain as feeling happy; the two are biologically indistinguishable. So if you can't get happy, you can try thinking of something you're grateful for - and tah-dah! You'll be happy.

The trouble is, all the feel-good articles about this phenomenon, found in my hippie magazines, websites and Wholesome Living blogs, focus on feeling grateful for the usual suspects - your health, your family, your job, your sense of humor, your intelligence, the sun, the stars, the beauty of springtime, the ocean, the nourishing rain.

And I don't mean that it is trouble to be grateful for those things. They're wonderful! They do fill me with gratitude. They are beautiful moments in daily life that can indeed inspire an attitude of gratitude.

But sometimes, the trouble is, we never talk about how it's also OK to be grateful for things much less epic, and much more worldly.

Like the Veronica Mars movie that came out this weekend.

And you can call me superficial, you can call me a pathetic fan girl, you can roll your eyes that I'm going to claim this is a worthy example of an attitude of gratitude. But I'm doing all three anyway.

The movie made me so happy. They did a great job delivering a story for the fans that was still smart, funny, true to the characters, and a great mystery. So here I am - grateful to love things in the world - movies, songs, books, slices of tart cherry pie from Lauretta Jean's. By being in the world, in both the sacred and profane, I get my regular doses of gratitude - and they light up that happy part of my brain that otherwise doesn't get too much attention.

Bring it on, bring it on, yeah.

ESP, baby.

Remember when I discovered I could read John's mind a couple weeks ago? (Here.)

Turns out, he can read mine too!

For context: this is a guy who has never heard of The Real World. Who couldn't pick Taylor Swift out of a line-up. Who wouldn't know TMZ from Perez Hilton and doesn't want to. Pop culture, as defined by the masses, is not for him - though he has his own popular culture, to be sure.

I wanted to tell him about a funny Zumba dance we're doing that makes us laugh, and dance hard, to be silly and sweaty and fantastic. But the moment I said, "Hey babe, have you seen that YouTube of that one song?" the lyrics fell out of my head and I couldn't remember how to sing the song or describe the video to him.

We were walking down a flight of stairs, and we got to the bottom, in silence, and he then goes, "Is it that one that goes, 'girl look at that body'?"

YES! It is! (Important to note: the video is super lame, and our Zumba dance is way better.)

But the best thing is that He Can Read My Mind. With his one piece of pop culture! Cool!

I can read his mind.

John wakes me up the other morning, after his workout, while I'm lingering in the dark, pretending I can sleep another hour - but I only have five more minutes.

"Baby, guess what!?" he says with utter glee. "Today is best day of all the days, since we have been together, can you guess what has happened?"

"Mmmm. It's snowing?" I slightly slur, with a sleepy voice.

"Nope, baby, it's not snowing. It's something that's never happened."

"Ummm, David Bowie has a new album out?"

"Yes! David Bowie has a new album out! Yes! Today is his birthday! 14 tracks! It's coming out in March!"

And while I'm delighted that his musical idol is releasing a new album - is it Bowie's 29th or 30th, I shall let you debate that with him - I'm even more delighted that even in my near-sleep, I can pick up on the unique energy of his voice, his posture, his psychic messages and learn stuff like this. Ah, mawwiage. This is one of the cool parts!

Play It Again, Sam

So the Groupon that led me to the hip-hop class a few posts down led me, tonight, in even deeper. It led me into a Tease N Tone class. Known by some as stripperobics. Imagine Pussycat Dolls style moves - mostly MTV dancin' with a tiny bit of burlesque thrown in.

The class was 30 minutes of cardio - tough cardio - followed by 30 minutes of learning less than a minute of a choreographed dance, 8-count by 8-count, just like in the dance classes you took as a kid.

As we counted in, over and over, on the intro of the hip-hop song, the singer announced herself as the beats ramped up. "Nicki. Minaj." in a bad-ass voice, followed by the announcement of her guest singer, "JUUUUUUUUSTIIIIIIIN!"

Three, four, five times. As we learned each new chunk of counts, 4 or 8, I was thinking, when is Justin Timberlake going to start singing? Nicki keeps announcing him.

Oops. You guessed it.

Justin Bieber.

Common

The common denominator among all the jobs I've had and enjoyed is that they put me on the inside. Inside someone else's family as a nanny - inside the life of a new mom, mess and joy at the same time. Inside the restaurant, where I see how the menu is prepped, how the food is cooked, how the decisions are made about what you're going to eat tonight and how I'm going to talk you into it. Inside the show and how it is put on from script to production - and all the near-miss arguments that also meant you got a refunded ticket and no performance tonight. Inside the headline, knowing the real story, and behind the law that fails to pass - or the one that does, barely.

Last night, at the Florence + The Machine concert, John and I got rail... meaning, we were leaning against the front metal rail that keeps the audience separated from the performers... and at one point during the opening band, we looked back to see how the crowd was expanding. In a curtain gap far off stage right was Florence herself, with a white scarf over her head and blue jeans on, sweetly and lonesomely dancing to the music of The Walkmen. I was reminded, with a pang, that no matter how close you are to the concert, unless you're Tony Hawk (who was seated on stage), you're never on the inside - not really. She came out later barefoot with her hair in a polished-but-sloppy bun and an amazing navy blue chiffon dress, ready to perform and connect. But I liked seeing her without her makeup, spinning around and looking down at the ground, bopping around to the new music.


(P.S. It was a great show, start to finish - from the parking to the lines, from the crowd to the staff to the opening band, from the weather to the setlist, and most especially, from Florence's engagement with us viewers and the backup singers that brought the house down. Plus everyone jumping up and down at the band's request, screaming, "Shake it off, shake it off! Shake it off, shake it off! It's hard to dance with the devil on your back, so shake him off!")

I've always been glass half empty...

John and I have been listening to a lot of Florence and the Machine these days. Tonight I said, "So she's saying I'm gonna drink myself to death right?"

And John replied, "No I thought it was I'm gonna treat myself tonight."

Answer found here.

Fun (see two posts down)

There are reasons of all kinds that one chooses their spouse... and tonight, just now, I realize that I chose mine in part because he is the only person on the planet who could patiently sing along to my mandolin-butchering-rendition of "Heavy Metal Drummer" and congratulate me for learning so quickly.

Fun... here I come!

For Fun's Sake

This week, a horrifying conclusion revealed itself to me: the only thing I do for pure fun is go out to eat and/or drink with friends. The movies I see, the books I read, the projects I undertake... they all have an element of striving to be a better, smarter, more informed, neater, cleaner, more patient, more educated, more compassionate or more emotionally mature person. Some of them might be fun, but they are not ONLY fun. The world of "fun only" belongs to eating and drinking. No wonder it's how I socialize, recreate, relax and/or energize!

Two things happened this week that make me think about fun... and how I might allow myself to try something else just for that feeling.

One, we got a mandolin. John strives to be multi-instrumental, and so far, is an accomplished piano player and a goofball guitar player. So he asked me if I'd prefer a banjo, a bass guitar or a mandolin... and the mandolin won. It's beautiful, and tiny, and not intimidating with its four (albeit double) strings - one for each finger on the fret. John bought a chord chart and I've hesitatingly picked it up. It takes confidence to make music; I don't have it. Yet. But for the first time, I think I could.

Two, at church this morning there was a smattering of costumes, and after the benediction, the organist started the postlude... in a black and red vampire cape... Bach's toccata and fugue in D minor. You know it, it's this one. It got a huge laugh, and he played the length piece to the end, finishing with a bow to the congregation and a flip of the cape with great vampiric flair. It was for no other reason than fun, and church illustrates a lot of things for me, but I never thought it would illustrate fun. That's a takeaway to set the tone for the week!

Lyricism

An oldie but a goodie on the radio tonight... U2's "One" which includes the lyrics, "One life, one love ... sisters, brothers, one life, but we're not the same, we get to carry each other, carry each other ... One..."

U2, of course, fronted by Bono, he of the AIDS and poverty and global health outreach.

Another song I heard today, a brand new one, on the country station by Josh Thompson... it includes the lyrics, "Our necks are burnt, our roads are dirt and our trucks ain't clean,
The dogs run lose, we smoke, we chew and fry everything ... We won't take a dime if we ain't earned it, When it comes to weight brother we pull our own, If it's our backwoods way of livin' you're concerned with, You can leave us alone ... Our houses are protected by the good Lord and a gun, And you might meet 'em both if you show up here not welcome son..."

Look, I don't think people who listen to country are Red State Tea Party assholes -- hell, I listen to country clearly -- but it doesn't take a genius to look at one side that wants PROGRESS and LOVE and to WORK TOGETHER, and at another side who wants to SHOOT PEOPLE WITH GUNS IN THE NAME OF GOD IF THEY SHOW UP UNANNOUNCED.

I would be OK with this if we could take all federal dollars, public education, food safety standards, children's health insurance and more away from these people who say they don't want it... and leave 'em way out in those backwoods... but it doesn't work that way. It's one life, even if we're not the same. We pitch in to help even those we don't understand, Mr. Thompson, because we are civilized people who don't shoot strangers.

Hey! Sometimes I Get Sentimental!

So in church… or in Christian-influenced, Westernized church… we do only a handful of things. We pray or meditate silently together. We sing. We listen to a preacher. We stand, we sit, we might dance. We read things with dozens or hundreds of other people. We enjoy the choir and the instruments. And somewhere, one of those things, on some of the days that you attend church, is suddenly transcendent.

Something the preacher says might move you, shake you to your core. One of the melodies might suddenly prick the corners of your eyes with tears. One of the bells during meditation brings to mind someone you've not thought of in a long time. One of the moments, on the days you're lucky or maybe when you're just psychically ready for a little churchin', your heart will open to a flash of compassion, a surge of oneness, an experience of pure love.

Well, you certainly don't have to go to church to experience these moments… though I find such moments are guaranteed to occur only when there is some music, or deep silence, a resonant reading or powerful words spoken… when there is some dancing, some hand holding, some communion in any form.

So this past weekend, while I was at a Michelle Shocked concert with N, I giggled on the inside a couple times and my eyes got a little teary a couple times and I paid strong attention to the power of our group breathing, laughing, chanting, singing and swaying together. It was absolutely a night of going to church, and so to the church of Ms. Shocked and her messages of social justice, independence, feminism, individualism AND community, love and faith… I say amen. Thanks for the churchin'.

Why ask why?

Occasionally, I get asked why a straitlaced white girl who grew up in Montana likes to sing, dance and listen to hip-hop. Why? The lyrics, my friends! Driving home Saturday night, I heard the following couplet (pardon any errors in exact quoting):

I'mma brother - but not a Lehman
I'll be a bank - givin' out semen

C'MON! This is genius! Don't tell me that doesn't crack you up! If music should bring us joy, I have no shame about chuckling at creative hip hop lyrics. Plus, later in the song, he said, "Put this on your blog 'cause singing like this is my job." Request granted.

Wilco Fans?

Hey, if you are a Wilco fan... they are coming to Portland on 2/9 and I have some tickets available thru a friend. It's an interesting situation where his tickets were lost/stolen, and so he has new ones, but a receipt for the old ones that the venue has informed him is a 80% guarantee of tickets. (Long story; email me for more info.) Importantly: it's a situation where if you show up, 80% sure you'll see them; and if you do, pay face value. If you don't see them, a drag, but you don't pay anything. Interested? Let me know!

Overheard.

ME: Hey, you know that song I like, Lisztomania? From this tribute-to-a-tribute that I loved?

J: Yes, I do.

ME: Well I just found out that the band is French!

J: Oh. They sound sort of sound like The Postal Service to me.

ME: Yeah. They sound hipster-y. Is there such a thing as French hipsters?

J: I think they invented it.