Before everything currently green gets shriveled in Texas’ summer heat, which started last week, there’s a sweet spot of cozy spring days. Still cool in the mornings, pleasant through the day, and cool evenings. Bugs haven’t started swarming yet and junebugs don’t crash head-on into your forehead if you’re sitting outside. Mosquitos haven’t started sucking you dry either.
Last spring I finished watching Gilmore Girls. I never watched it when it was in season. It screams cozy fall vibes. Is there something for spring? I’m the type of person who watches shows well after they premiered and ended, so I’m clueless about newer shows.
A family member recommended The Madison and I enjoyed the first episode. I’ve started Downton Abbey twice, but need a less chaotic schedule to chip away at it along with the two episodes I’ve watched of Bridgerton. I need to refrain from multitasking while watching TV.
If Gilmore Girls is the go to series for cozy fall vibes, I think rom-coms fit cozy spring vibes. Perhaps the term I’m looking for spring is whimsical. S. watched Father of the Bride a few weeks ago, perfect for spring. Prom season makes me think of my favorite, Pretty in Pink.
For now I’ll continue with The Madison, although it isn’t whimsical. Any recommendations for a series I likely haven’t watched to fit the season?
I frequently talk about how I rarely win prizes or get chosen for things. As random as prizes can be, so are some of the prizes I have won. Or were they opportunities? Either way, as a kid I watched one too many episodes of The Price is Right, The $10,000 Pyramid, Wheel of Fortune, Jeopardy! Press Your Luck, you name it, I watched it. Stuck in Texas with nowhere to go, being on a game show has usually been only possible through watching on TV.
Zoom forward several years from my childhood days to college. Student services once sponsored a game show called The Blizzard of Bucks. Think along the lines of Minute to Win It games, but with money. A group of friends decided to go and I tagged along. I wasn’t sure what to expect, but watching a non-televised game show sounded better than a lame Friday night study session.
Taking our seats in the audience, the host explained the rules. There are games and several rounds. Lose a round and you’re eliminated, everyone else advances until there’s one left standing. The lone winner gets a minute inside a booth with a ton of cash. Get as much as you’re able to collect in one minute and you get to keep it. Of course, there are rules about what is and isn’t allowed when grabbing at the cash. Once the timer starts, so does the power blasted fan, sending cash up, down, and all around inside the booth. This will be fun to watch.
What we didn’t know is contestants would be chosen from the audience. No one needed to sign up and they didn’t take volunteers. The Price is Right style! I didn’t expect getting selected. My friends cheered for me and I had no idea why. After realizing my luck, I walked to the set-up in front of an audience seated in folding chairs, taking my place with other contestants.
The first game is a blur and I don’t remember not losing, but my friends cheered even louder. I made it to the next round. Okay, well, not expecting much, let’s get on with the next game. The host walks out with a baby bottle explaining what to do. These will be filled to the top. 8 ounces.
I’m losing this one. I hate milk!
All contents must be fully consumed, no spitting it out.
Oh no, I hate milk
The game crew returns with baby bottles for each of us. They’re filled with orange juice.
Juice? Orange juice? That’s my favorite.
The timer starts and we tip our bottles. This is easy. I start chugging. I hear my friends go hysterical. They’re cheering my name and I gain momentum.
Chug, chug, chug!
There’s a giant hole in the nipple of the baby bottle so I’m swigging it down like it’s in a cup. I finish it off and put the bottle down. Other people are still chugging, or trying.
I look at the money booth. Is this real?
Advancing to the next round, we get more directions. This time, each person gets a marshmallow. It has to stay in our mouths while we say “chubby bunny.” It must be pronounced properly and the audience has to hear it. They’re checking lips to make sure they touch at the b sound. Don’t eat the marshmallow. Marshmallows will be added until there’s one person left.
Marshmallow number one.
“Chub-by b-unny.”
My friends roar.
Marshmallow number two. I strategically tuck the marshmallow into the opposite cheek.
“Chuhh-by buhh-ny.”
I try to suck up the drool that’s sliming out of one side of my mouth. I take a peek at the money booth. Can I fit another marshmallow in my mouth? They’re bigger than they look.
Marshmallow three. I tuck it into my right cheek. Nope. I didn’t pay much attention to placement the first time. Can I shift it just right into the left side? I do my best to tuck it in and take as deep a breath as I can.
“Chwah-wee, wah-wee.”
“Oh no! So sorry, you almost made it!”
The audience lets out a sigh.
I swear I heard The Price is Right horn walk me off the stage.
A hulk of a guy next to me popped the third marshmallow in his mouth.
“Chubby bunny!”
As I get back to my seat, my friends high five me. They’ve had a great time and remind me how I got so close. We watch the marshmallow guy get into the booth to try his luck at the cash. Money swirls around him as he swats at bills filling the space around him like confetti, trying to grab them by the handfuls.
I didn’t make it to the money booth, but it was an unforgettable experience. My consolation prize was an Igloo cooler with a canteen. Not too shabby for a Friday night.
There was once a credit card company commercial asking what’s in your wallet. Today’s answer isn’t a specific credit card, it’s a phone and in that phone there’s a “wallet.”
Have you heard of the craze? My son, along with people I watch in thirty second blips while doomscrolling, introduced me to the term. An analog bag is a tote, backpack, basket, messenger bag, or any other type of portable container for storing items one can reach for instead of those little devices that are so much more than phones.
My son’s bag contains an MP3 player, wired headphones (they sound so much better, Mom!), a journal, a sketchbook, an actual book (he stopped reading for funsies in high school), pencils, a pen, a vintage Polaroid camera, and his Nintendo DS. There are still electronic devices, but said electronic devices can’t access the internet. The camera can only snap photos. The MP3 player only plays music. The DS only allows playing solo games.
The trend is popular among many Gen Z’ers. I’m hopeful the trend will trickle down and gain popularity among middle and high schoolers. I’ve gotta give my boy credit, along with everyone else doing this, for recognizing the need to slow down. I believe people are at a breaking point with the negative effects of device and social media overuse. People are exhausted from noticing how much time is spent online.
Gone are the days of surfing the net. We’re now drowning in the abyss of information and misinformation and short form video and endless subscriptions to everything we could ever want and everything we don’t need.
I’ve noticed many social media accounts run by those who became accidental influencers become silent, change, or disappear altogether. Some people behind said accounts announce they either stepped away or will be closing them in favor of getting back in touch with themselves. It must be exhausting putting your life online all day every day.
I may have laughed at the idea of an analog bag because it seems so logical. Grab a bag, put your favorite stuff in it and take it with you. However, Gen Z is accustomed to taking everything in one tiny pocket sized device. Seeing someone reading a book, knitting a scarf, writing in a journal, playing solitaire, or doing anything other than being on a phone is a great conversation starter. People are wanting more in-person connection.
If it’s analog bags that get us there, then I’m all for it. I hope it isn’t a short-lived trend.
Escape rooms. I did one as a team building activity one year with our campus leadership team. We had a great time, but it’s the only one I’ve done.
I purchased one for the hubster’s birthday. Rather than giving material gifts, we’ve started gifting outings. This would be a first for everyone else. I made the reservation and consulted my 22 year old about which one to choose. The level of difficulty ranged from 7-10 with different themes.
“Choose a 7, we want to be able to get out and make Dad think he got us out of there.”
Based on availability, I went with Lost Cities, an iteration of Raiders of the Lost Ark. We’re mostly intelligent and should be able to bust out, but together, we’re kinda dumb. Way too much bickering. No one ever listens to me anyway, so in this setting, I kept my mouth shut. None of us tried working together. I kept reminding everyone the point of this thing is working together and helping one another.
E kept hitting the button for hints. S was trying to figure things out, which was great, but inside the temple with a face staring at us, non-glowing eyes inactive because we couldn’t figure out the code, the kids transformed into 7 year old S and 13 year old E. They butted heads with sibling rivalry right in the middle, cramming them together. Bam! Bam! Bam!
I thought they’d outgrown it, but it still manages to sneak in.
I wanted to take everything in and work the clues to unlock the codes. The time crunch adds urgency. Divide and conquer doesn’t work well in this setting. We weren’t cleaning the kitchen after dinner, we needed to solve some puzzles.
With seconds to spare, we entered the last code and the door opened.
“We escaped!” exclaimed hubster.
“Dad, they practically gave us all the answers,” E reminded him.
“Yeah, I muttered, no thanks to you asking for clues every two minutes. Didn’t even give us a chance to think.”
It was a good time despite the bickering. We didn’t break the code of conduct and our language stayed clean. S and E went back to their teen and young adult selves, and sibling rivalry stayed behind to wait for the next contestants. We took our photo and parting goods–a printed wristband printed with We Escaped Lost Cities!–and continued with our weekend.
My soon to be #sweetsixteener hit me up for a #birthday gift. Three months ahead of time. Important items of discussion typically happen at the #lastpossibleminute, but here we are. On the bright side, her skills are improving-ish? Not only does she ask me three months and a week in advance, she does so during my afternoon walk. Via #text. Can Novio Boy tag along? Oh, and it’s in San Antonio. #minordetails
The door hasn’t even shut behind me when I walk in and she #hollers “Ma-a-a-h-m…did you get my message?” She emerges at the top of the stairs. Then she hops down. Must be important.
“Okay, #hearmeout…”
I stop and let her flow.
“…there’s this concert, you’ll hate the music, but maybe not?”
My questions addressing all of the things she hasn’t considered, never mind she described it as a midwestern emo band (what is that?), are rising to the top and bubbling. I have to turn down the heat so they don’t spill over.
Tickets are cheap. #redflag. They’ll hit you with #fees. It’s at 9:00 in the morning. #weird and #anotherreadflag. Can Novio Boy come along? #redflagandsirens. It’s at a place called Paper Tiger.
I look it up. It looks like a #divebar #ohhellno
I don’t say yes. I don’t say no. #researchmode. I can’t find it on the ticket apps I use.
“But I got the link to buy tickets on #spotify!” her two-year-old self peeks out for a few seconds before she stuffs her back deep inside.
“Hold on, I’m looking.” Dallas, Houston, L.A. …”Oh, I see, there’s the fine print, TBA, so even if it says 9:00 a.m, they may still be in the planning stages. Listen. This isn’t a big venue. If it was at the Alamodome, it would be different. I have to check out this Paper Tiger place. It sounds like a bar near St. Mary’s campus. If it’s a bar, you have to be over 21 to get in.”
“But how is it that I can buy a ticket if…”
“The same way you opened up your Instagram and Snapchat accounts that you aren’t supposed to have. Guaranteed, if it’s a bar, they’ll check your ID to get in.”
“But even if I have tickets?”
“Chica, you first have to be 21. Give me time to check it out. Have you looked at the venue?”
“What’s that?”
#sigh
It appears minors must be accompanied by an adult. There is a bar #yayme It’s small and frequently hosts live bands. Reviews are positive. I know nothing about the band. #lighbulbmoment
My #livemusicguru friend! I send her a message asking about the venue. Yes, she has been there and enjoyed it. Yes, it’s safe for teens, but it’s best to go with her. There are restaurants and other bars within walking distance.
“Can I pay you to take her?”
“Lol! If it’s a band I like I’ll go with you.”
It’s still a little early and I’m not ready to purchase tickets. There may be a music festival going on which explains the 9:00 a.m. show. I feel #awkward tagging along, but I also don’t want to leave her there without being on the premises. I promise I’ll hide in the back somewhere.
Why is it that an adult can take their kids to most places, but if teens take parents, are they #weirdos or do they have #coolparents?
Well my heart is where it's always been my head is somewhere in between...
My body and brain are ready to take on customer service reps. I send a message to confirm availability for a Saturday pick up from the airport. Step one, done. I check concert ticket availability. I call the airline and it’s an easy switch. I’m leaving too early on Saturday, but I can nap on the way home.
I check several ticket apps, steering clear of the one I used. Final step: acquire a concert ticket. Finding one seat, I make the purchase. At this point, I’ve already lost money. You’re in Vegas, I tell myself through gritted teeth, keep at it. You’ll hit the jackpot soon enough.
Check email. Accept the ticket. Hold my breath…
There it is, the part that was missing from the last fiasco. Immediately directed to my ticket app, I follow the link to open the app and tap. There’s my ticket. I now have the option to add it to my phone’s wallet. I take the option so I’m not searching through a barrage of emails. I re-open the ticket app to make sure it’s there.
Yes.
I re-open my phone’s wallet to make sure it’s there too.
Affirmative.
One more try. I’ll be going alone this time and I’ll have to take an Uber, but I’m all set. I’ve never used Uber. I’ll download the app later.
Today, we’re having a late breakfast, hanging out at my uncle’s place, roaming around the art district, and checking out The Neon Museum. Tomorrow I’m going to the concert of my life. Alone. And I. Don’t. Care.
Friday morning I sleep in. My phone’s calendar reminds me of the flight I canceled. Today, I’m relaxing at my uncle’s place. I was supposed to leave today, so he went back to work. I have the place to myself and binge watch a Netflix reality show.
I’m taking an Uberto the concert. Send someone to look for me if you don’t hear back from me. You’ve heard of those crazy stories. I don’t want someone to throw me in the trunk, murder me and dump me in the desert, I message my sisters.
Don’t get in the car if you feel unsafe. You have gut feelings for a reason, they blip in return.
What do I do if there’s a glitch with the Uber? I can not have another glitch! I’ve scheduled my ride to pick me up at 6:30. Doors open at 6:00 and the concert starts at 8:30. My muscles twist themselves into tighter knots. Calm down, it’s fine. I decide to take an afternoon walk to get my mind off all of the scenarios that will prevent me from entering the mother ship once again.
I get a notification my driver has arrived. Her name is Jackie. Make eye contact and talk so you’re less likely to get murdered. I tell my brain to shut up. I enter her car and I’m greeted with a mini night sky of tiny LED lights changing from neon pink, to purple, to blue, to green, to yellow, and pink again. Whoopsies. I feel bad for thinking she’d hurt me.
Back at the orb rising out of the desert, I follow the crowd. Stopping for a selfie, I make my way up the stairs. I enter the building and get to the portal. This time, my ticket is in a different section; I don’t need escalators. My heart wants to jump out of my body. I can relax once I’m inside. Bono’s voice fills the room. The glow transports me out of this place.
Give me one more chance and you'll be satisfied
I’m here early so there is no need to make small talk with people stuck in line. I enter the bag check point. I advance to a person with a scanner as I hold out my phone, barcode ready.
Give me two more chances you won't be denied...
Scan.
“Enjoy the show.”
Sixteen year old giddy me wants to SCREAM! I get in line for merch and buy an overpriced hoodie. I enter my section and gasp. Is this real? I’m sitting HERE? I’m on row 25. Not far from the stage. My non-tickets were on the back end of the highest section.
The DJ starts the pre-concert music and the crowd in the pit begins to gather. I dance at my seat and ping my sisters. I made it! You should be here with me… I dance through the rest of the show. This concert as at this venue is like the Grand Canyon. You see pictures and video, but you have no idea how the experience moves you until you see it in person.
Nerds Beget Nerds 