VivaCity

This morning on the radio show I usually tune in to (http://www.roverradio.com/), they were discussing the most recent rash of blame laid on television programs, movies, and music for the way the current generation is flushing themselves down the toilet. The bimbo chick (by the way, can we just go ahead and get all radio stations to ban female dj's? I've yet to hear one I can tolerate. The stupidity practically OOZES out of my speakers) was actually defending the bureaucrats whose own children are no doubt ditching their Catholic school uniforms for doo-rags and boxer-baring pants as we speak. St. Mary’s, repreSENT, G Funk All-Stars style. I completely agreed with the rationale of the male host, who said something along the lines of a) children are their parent’s responsibility to some point and their own people with their own ideas and motivation after another point; and b) shut the hell up, Female DJ.

I’m always reminded of the movie Footloose when this left-wing conservative crap comes to the table…Remember John Lithgow and whats-her-face, his wife, when they realized Holy Gee, I guess rock’n’roll doesn’t equal sex? You could have knocked them over with a pair of fuzzy handcuffs.

So my crazy new-fangled idear is this…To raise my children to think for themselves, along the way encouraging as much music appreciation as possible. If you appreciate music for music’s sake, you’re not dwelling on lyrics like they’re damned street signs on the already difficult-to-navigate roadmap of life. Love of music is something my parents instilled in me (thanks Mom and Dad, may Stevie Ray Vaughn rest in peace) and something I hope my boys express a genuine interest in.

Honestly, I don’t understand why music can’t be a part of everyday life. It certainly is in my household. You can find me singing as I drag my ass through mundane tasks like doing dishes (Tiny Bubbles), scrubbing the toilet (Dirty Deeds), or laundry (Suds in the Bucket). There are approximately half a dozen songs in whatever genre strikes your fancy that apply to any given situation. And if there isn’t, well, make one up! Is saying “clean your room” any fun at all? Try singing that shit in your best Mary J. Blige voice, while your partner hot-boxes for you in the background and throw some “Right now! A-Right now! I sic-a-sic-a-sic-a-said right now!” circa Run DMC at the end. Mix it up. This may get your child beat up on the playground if his friends hear, but I promise you he will remember his childhood as being FUN. And damned if he doesn’t learn to appreciate some old-school. Word.

I knew my approach was working when I went to hand my 3-yr-old his juice recently and he sang out in heartfelt falsetto, “Thaaa-AAA-aaank youUUUuuuuuu dear Maaamaaaaaa…” I could have cried. Life CAN be a musical, and it damn well SHOULD be, in my humble opinion. I’m not adding to my family so much as building a chorus line. Once Julian learns to sing harmony, it’s ON. VivaCity Traveling Roadshow, coming to a so-far-off-Broadway-it’s-almost-back-again theater near you.