Mayer for mayor

Everything was pretty much going according to plan.

We arrived at UMass Amherst a little late, a little cold, a little antsy from the 2+ hour drive - all conditions that were fully predictable and could in no way negate the anticipation of seeing John Mayer live. We were pat down, our tickets were scanned, and we relaxed upon realizing that it was Mat Kearney's voice booming through the walls and we had not missed John Mayer's debut. So we happily weaved our way through the dark up the stairs to our row on the upper left side of the stage, claimed our seats, and sat down...right behind a row of high school freshman girls.

It never fails. I can never be the person who goes to an event and has my seat miraculously located among a group of mature people. No, instead, I get the cherry-vanilla flavored lip gloss, the super low-rise jeans, and a sea of chatterboxes with the attention spans of guinea pigs. And then, of course, there's the nauseatingly graphic coming-of-age PDA. I stupidly thought I could escape these horrors at a John Mayer concert - after all, he's no Jesse McCartney - but apparently, an audience of people there to appreciate his music and not his looks was too much to hope for.

Thankfully, the juvenile antics simmered down when John Mayer finally got on stage. I was pleasantly surprised with the show, which I appreciated in its differences to shows of other genres. For example:

1. There were no theatrics. Some colored lights were inevitable, but there were no smoke machines or explosions of fire or artistically irrelevant videos streaming distractingly on projectors behind the band. There was no smashing of guitars, headbanging or making out with the microphone stands. The craziest it got was at the end when John tossed a few guitar picks into the crowd and his dummer in turn tossed his sticks.

2. He sounds better live. I couldn't believe that this was even possible, but his voice sounded smoother and even more soulful than it does on his record. The sound mix was nearly impeccable and the dynamics were tight and right on.

3. He's not afraid to jazz it up. John has both a saxophone player and a trumpet player, both amazing musicians who provide an irreplacable element to the music. I wholeheartedly appreciate what they add to the songs, and hearing them live was pretty incredible.

4. He lives for this. And so does his band. John is an outstanding guitarist, and when he's on stage he completely lets loose and you can tell that he is having the time of his life just shredding away and getting into the groove. Every one of his band members appeared to have the same mindset, which made it so awesome. Again, no theatrics were necessary, just a man and the incredible connection he has with his music.

5. He's chill. I wasn't going to mention this because honestly, as long as the music's good, an artist can look like Marilyn Manson or come naked for all I care. But John wore jeans and a clean, collared white shirt, and this made me happy. It says he's laid-back and comfortable, and after the show he's going out for a beer and then going to bed.

So that's it, in a nutshell. The best song, in my opinion, was "I Don't Trust Myself With Loving You." Hands down. Next after that I'd say was "Belief". And by the way, if it's physically possible to make out with a drum solo, I am determined to learn how.

Public Restrooms Get The Royal Flush: a hypothetical play-by-play

*Disclaimer: Do not continue reading if potty talk grosses you out or if public restrooms in general make you squeamish. I am 100% comfortable with discussing topics of this or similar nature – but that's just me – so if you're not, then don't bother with this blog. I will not be held responsible for the reactions of others and could not care less about making people feel uncomfortable.

That said.

There are countless occasions on which I have entered a public restroom to be assaulted by a slew of unsanitary atrocities. As common and predictable as these encounters are, I never fail to scowl at them or the fact that after all these years, nothing has been done about them.

On that note, if you ever spot a half-crazed girl in a public restroom bent possessively over a sink, furiously scrubbing her hands and grumbling, "I'm going to write a blog about this!" - chances are, that girl is me. In fact, if you ever spot a half-crazed girl anywhere grumbling "I'm going to write a blog about this!" - chances are, that is also me.

Let's review the process of this wonderful "privilege" of Western civilization, shall we?

1. Entering the restroom
Easy enough. Of course, if I wanted to get really technical/anal, I could point out that by coming in contact with the doorknob, you are already contracting bacteria - but the same theory applies everywhere, so this is not particular to restrooms. However, some potential annoyances upon your initial entry include (but are not limited to) sticky or slippery floors, foul odors, and the realization that you've just walked into a single person restroom, causing you to obsessive-compulsively lock the door several times and leaving you with the nagging fear of being walked in on. Even if you are sure that the door is securely fastened, you still can't be convinced that there aren't certain people out there that would pull a Jackie Chan on it, and this tends to make relaxing your Kegels rather difficult. But I'm getting ahead of myself.

2. Choosing a stall
This decision has proved to be both challenging and critical. If you don't pick the right one, you could be faced with one or more of a series of problems. Lately, however, it seems that there is no "right" stall at all, ever. Right off the bat, you can't locate a stall where the door has a working (or sometimes even simply existent) lock. If you are lucky enough to find one, it is most likely jammed and you will no doubt break a sweat just trying to get the lock in place. Once this is accomplished, you allow yourself to breathe.

Note: The next few steps are perhaps only relatable to women, but men should read them anyway, because it may help in answering the everlasting question, "What in the name of all that is good and holy is taking my wife/girlfriend/sister so long in there??"

3. Protecting your assets
Assuming the toilet you have chosen even has a seat (I will never forget the one I got stuck with upon landing in Colombia - not only was there no seat, leaving me no option but to squat as best as I could without falling in, I somehow managed to lock myself in my stall and had to belly-crawl my way out on the grimiest floor my little blue eyes had ever seen), you scan the area for a paper liner, but find nothing. Rolling your eyes, you resourcefully rip off strips of toilet paper to line the seat with and growl when you realize that the toilet's previous user was either a man in the wrong bathroom or a woman with no class, and no matter how many strips of toilet paper you stack, your butt is still going to get wet somehow. You rise above the occasion and decide that you have to just suck it up. Noticing that the seat is askew, you carefully sit down at an odd angle to 1. avoid the urine spots, and 2. avoid jerking the unstable seat.

4. The flush
It should be so simple, so smooth, and yet this is never, ever the case. What a predicament when a woman goes to push the lever, only to find that nothing happens. I say women because 1. While I haven't actually asked one, I'm willing to bet that men don't really care if their [public] toilet is working or not. I am pretty well convinced that even if the thing started overflowing out onto the floor, the most reaction a man would have is a shrug and a "Hey, it's not my problem." And if another man walked in right after and discovered the mess? He'd probably laugh. 2. Periods!! Yes, the topic we all love to discuss in detail (heh). I won't, however, go into detail here, out of respect for women and, sure, consideration for men. I don't after all think this needs much explanation anyway.

Let's suppose God has mercy on you and said toilet does, thankfully, flush. There is always one of two ways this will happen. Either the vortex of water will get sucked down into the foreboding hole with such force and at such speed that, unless you are able to escape your stall with superhuman skills, you will inevitably get sprayed, or...the toilet is not completely broken but its sucking action, well, sucks, and all that paper you used to line your seat is now clogging the necessary orifice to drain the bowl. If the latter happens, you flush the toilet several more times, whimpering as the paper refuses to disappear and instead does nothing but shred a little more each time.

5. Leaving a stall
Again, this should be a simple open-and-exit process. However, as previously mentioned, there is a very great possibility that you will have to fight your way out of your stall, as I did in Colombia. I highly recommend you buy yourself a messenger bag (or, for all you Posh Spices out there, one of those larger-than-life Dolce & Gabbana bags will do) and stash a personal tool kit in there in case of emergencies. Sure, it might be heavy (although I'm willing to bet most of your purses are at least as heavy), and you might raise a few eyebrows when you set off the sensor at Target and out comes the hammer and screwdriver you just happen to be carrying around – but when you finally do reach the bathroom and, as fate would have it, you get trapped in your stall, all of this will be worth it.

Note: Do not apply the tool kit idea in such countries as Colombia. Should such a trapping occur, just do what I did, wash your hands really well, and change into a new set of clothes. That or be taken hostage by a pack of guerrillas who will drag you to the jungle at gunpoint, hold you for ransom, and then kill you anyway.

6. Washing your hands
This one is always interesting, as unlike in the rest of the steps, you never quite know what to expect. There are typically three scenarios here. You might have to manually turn knobs or levers in order to get the water running at the sink, which is fine unless they're unmarked and you're left wondering which way to turn them in order to get the temperature you want. You might be faced with an automatic, which is also fine and often preferred, except that in most cases the motion detector cannot sense anything more than two inches away, so unless you have both hands shoved directly under the detector (if you can even locate it, and even then sometimes it doesn't matter), the water will come out in short spurts and it will take you much longer than necessary to complete a thorough wash. Also, you have no say in the temperature. Lastly – and this one really gets me – you could get stuck with the kind of faucet that must be pushed constantly in order for water to come out, which means holding it down with one hand while wimpily flexing the other hand under the water, and then switching on and off until you feel relatively clean. I would love to meet the genius who came up with this one.

7. Drying your hands
Whatever happened to good old paper towels? Well, they're back now, but for a while they all but disappeared and those stupid hair-dryer-on-a-wall contraptions were popping up all over the place. You'd probably have better luck at drying your hands faster by stepping outside and waiting for the sun to evaporate the droplets resting on your hands. Along with that, I've heard plenty of people say that all those dryers serve to do is spit out recycled bacteria. Fortunately, someone in the hand-drying business wisened up and brought back the paper towels, some of the dispensers now automatic. I would love to meet this person as well so I can crown them with laurel and hand-feed them grapes.

8. Exiting the restroom
This is the best part of all. No, not because you're finally free from the nightmare known as public restrooms (at least until the next time you're out and have to pee), but because as soon as you put your hand on that doorknob to leave, you have just sabotaged all your efforts to preserve personal hygiene. The irony of it kills me every time.

Bottom line: I have found no other way to deal with the public restroom issue than to just chalk it up to another of life's evil necessaries.

what to do if...you have a run-in with kevin federline

Friday night has always been Freak Night at the mall. Always. So you can imagine my surprise when, on this relatively average Tuesday morning, a trio of these anomalous beings caught my eye. A cluster, if you will - all males.

One of them bore a striking resemblance to one of the extras I've seen skulking throughout several Snoop Dogg music videos (ginormous ice and fuzzy Mad Hatter-esque headwear included). The second appeared to be merely a close replica of the first, only smaller and, well, white. The third was Kevin Federline (yes, I too shuddered at the thought). My mother, who was with me at the time, chuckled when I pointed him out, clearly having passed him off as a bad K-Fed wannabe and causing me to second-guess myself.

Stubbornly determined, I whizzed through a makeshift mental checklist. Now, believe me, my knowledge of this scrawny, pasty "rapper" is undoubtedly limited, but I think even those who are similarly clueless as to the what's and when's of his pathetic life will agree that the following items are obvious must-haves in determining whether or not the real Kevin Federline has just stood up:

Black cap, strategically tilted to one side and just slightly upwards (the way cool people do it): check.

Faux diamond studs the size of Texas: check.

Permanent five o'clock shadow scrumpox: check.

Dirty, not-so-sure-that-passes-for-white-anymore wife beater: check.

Jeans sagging way below the butt line retrieved from the Salvation Army bin: check.

A walk resembling that of someone coming out of hip surgery: check.

At this point, I'm thinking you're in agreement that the dope I spotted was, indeed, Kevin "warez my RESPEK" Federline. I'm also willing to bet you're impressed with my survival skills (the sighting of this manchild in person, I have to admit, did cause me to wish for temporary blindness). "What on earth," you're wondering, "would I have done in this situation?"

Luckily for you, I have assessed this scenario and have very considerately come up with a DON'T/DO list for your safety if this unfortunate incident should happen to you. You may want to print this list out and carry it in your pocket, in the event that K-Fed does in fact cause your heart to skip a beat (and not in a good way) the next time you innocently stroll into your local mall. Remember: accidents can happen anywhere, anytime. Don't be ignorant - educate yourself, and always be prepared.

DON'T look him in the eye (unless you want to see his head balloon 10x larger than its normal size, as he will presume that you both recognize him and worship his presence). In the event that you slip up, however...

DO remain poker-faced. Smoothly avert your gaze in another direction, pretend you've spotted a friend, and wave enthusiastically as you walk away.

DON'T come right out and berate his music (i.e., "'Playing With Fire?' Ooooh, you're so dangerous.") Instead...

DO say something like, "Dude, your riffs are really insipid and unbelievably egregious. I couldn't write lyrics that ludicrous if I tried." Unable to comprehend your 10th grade vocabulary (I'm fairly certain he never made it past freshman year, if that), he will assume you've just complimented him. But...

DON'T engage in high-five action. Avoid any and all forms of physical contact whatsoever, at all costs - not because you don't know where he's been, but because, unfortunately, you do.

DO allow him an exaggerated wink. It will confuse him.

DON'T ask him what PopozÃo means in Japanese. Not only will you sound ignorant because the word is actually Portuguese (it means "big ass"), he will know that he is being mocked and may decide to sic Snoop Dogg Extra and Replica Wigga on you.

DO bob your head and wiggle your fingers like an invalid á la K-Fed "jammin" to PopozÃo (thanks YouTube). You'll still be mocking him, but he'll be unaware and in fact will think he's started a new trend.

DON'T make reference to either Britney or "the kids". This is a very sore subject for Kevin, and the possibility of him ripping off his wife beater and attempting to strangle you with it is simply too great. Should you choose to provoke him anyway, however...

DO quickly take control of the wife beater, dump your handy dandy bottle of Poland Springs over it, and proceed to slap him incessantly. This is where his skin-and-bones structure will prove an advantage to you, as the slap action will hurt like heck.

And, of course...if all else fails, just point and laugh at him. Sure, this may result once again in the summoning of his bling-blingin' lackeys, but at least you will have gotten your point across (not to mention that these types of occurrences make for good stories).

my beloved/controversial movie reviews are back

you're all wicked excited, aren't you. feel free to argue my opinions, but it won't really matter because my movie reviews are always right on.

firewall: i can't stand harrison ford. now that that's out of the way, i can give this a fair review and say that it was a pretty good movie. rather typical. while it clearly wouldn't fit into any other genre but thriller, i think netflix classifying it as a taut thriller was a bit of a stretch. paul bettany was by far the best thing about this movie, but then again, i'm biased - in my eyes, the man can do no wrong.

the greatest game ever played: simply put, shia labouf shines. this kid's career has only just begun and i admit i'm looking forward to seeing his work progress. you don't need to be a golfer to enjoy this movie (trust me, i was wary at first too, because in my opinion, watching a game of golf is like watching the grass grow). i happen to appreciate a respectable feel-good movie every now and then, and this based-on-actual events story about a hard-knock-lifer whose natural talent (not the unwanted advice from his father) helped him rise to the top and outplay the defending british champ, is one of those movies.

you and me and everyone we know: i guess i can't give this one a complete review because we only got through the first ten minutes before tossing it in the trash (the fact that we lasted that long is in itself a miracle). then it was fished out of the trash, only because without mailing it back we wouldn't be able to get another movie.

all the king's men: if all i said was "sean penn," that would be enough. the man absolutely fascinates me. but no, this genius cast goes on to include anthony hopkins, kate winslet and jude law, among others. go out and rent this movie right now. it was without a doubt one of the best i've seen all year.

my super ex-girlfriend: super retarded. and if you thought it impossible for luke wilson to be even more of a bumbling, spacey idiot than his brother...think again. are things really so bad for uma thurman that she felt the need to star in this lame-o flick? i myself haven't found a more accurate review than that of one disappointed movie watcher from florida: "complete crap. rediculous movie. poor casting. poor acting. poor writing. very crude humor. not worth your time."

lady in the water: at the risk of being assaulted - verbally, physically, or otherwise - i am going to come right out and say that i am part of a devoted m. night shyamalan audience, and all you fair-weather fans seriously need to calm down. now i'll admit, i'm still not sure about this one myself - it's either his most genius piece of work to date, or his worst (and i mean that in the nicest way possible, because even if it is his worst, i still thoroughly enjoyed it). were there some totally bizarre aspects? yes, there were. but people, come on...he wrote it as a bedtime story for his kids. there are no rules for bedtime stories. have an imagination!

little miss sunshine: ten frickin' stars and a bunch of happily wiggling toes to boot. this is one of my new favorite movies of all time. the family dynamics are hilarious, and the dark comedy deserves multiple awards. steve carrell, playing a character that totally came out of left field and to my surprise, was amazing. however...rent this movie asap, if for no other reason than to see paul dano. paul dano. that's p-a-u-l d-a-n-o. paul dano. i want to know where this actor has been all my life - probably in school, seeing as how he looks about my age. all i know is, he better start showing up in more movies.

step up: confession time: i am a sucker for cheesy dance movies involving people starkly different from one another (i.e. save the last dance, dirty dancing (the newer version), etc.). they're my guilty movie pleasure; that's all there is to it. jenna dewan's acting was not so impressive, but she's a newbie so i'll give her that - plus, heh, she can dance. that said, i will carefully say that i am looking forward to stomp the yard. :/

a scanner darkly: wow. a little weird. a little "uh, what was linklater smoking?". watching a movie where the animation has been rotoscoped with live action is slightly offputting, but once i got used to it, i loved it. imagine keanu reeves, woody harrelson and robert downey, jr., constantly high and trying to function normally on a daily basis (the scene where all three are dumbly attempting to figure out what's wrong with their broken-down car comes to mind). yeah. i knew that would pique your interest. sad ending, though.

click: actually, not as bad as i thought it would be. the dog humping the stuffed animal duck got old really fast (is it just me, or is hollywood seriously beating a dead horse with the whole dog humping thing?). and there were other random bouts of crude humor, but otherwise it was a pretty good movie, with a good message. and christopher walken...well, what can one say about christopher walken? he's the man.

talladega nights: the ballad of ricky bobby: speaking of crude humor. i don't even know what to say about this one. we watched it through to the end anyway. it's weird because i love will ferrell, and his character begs for the audience to like him, but that proved a little difficult due to everything else being so crappy. honestly, the extras were ten times better than the movie.

black dahlia: typical of scarlett johansson *yawn*...not so typical of hilary swank. that was a nice surprise. josh hartnett was good, but i wanted to slap his character for being so fickle. it irks me when a character doesn't bother to solve the whole mystery before making rash (usually romantic) decisions. some family dynamics were awfully screwy, and there is both a graphic nudie film scene and a murder scene. if you can get past those two things, it's really very good.

miami vice: can i just say that colin farrell gives me the creeps? somehow i've got this preconceived idea of him in my head as this pasty, white, walking hiv. i'm sorry, i'm sorry. moving on. i loved this movie. i can't put my finger on exactly what made me love it, i'm just a big fan of the action/suspense genre. go 80's tv.

the devil wears prada: again, i was surprised at how much i liked this one. meryl streep is the woman in hollywood. don't even bother trying to argue that; your efforts will be utterly fruitless. actually if it weren't for her, i might not have enjoyed it as much, because it really isn't so different from other movies of its kind. girl is an underdog, girl gets dream job, girl loses everything, girl finds new revelation...yeahyeahyeah. but it made me laugh.

wind.fire.water.earth

i was caught up in the wind, so deafening

i couldn't fight my way out of this cloud of thoughts

not knowing what it was i sought

about life and love and so-called liberties

and everything just started seeming so damn finite

my restless heart grew wings and took flight

eyes that open slow, afraid to know

and suddenly i find myself so far from home

but i don't mind, i'm not alone

you cut the strings that tangled up my mind

allowing me to breathe and leave it all behind

and shared the stillness you had found

we walked without a word, like we preferred

it's funny how things look so different in the moonlight

i swear i saw my fears ignite

and everything was infinite again

the ocean seemed to hold the answers to my questions

what were they? now i forget them

but just like every dream, it couldn't last

i've woken up with my feet firmly on the ground

left without the peace i'd found

and like a sick cycle i look for the wind

to come and sweep me up in storms so deafening

to where i'll find you on the beach again

© audrey woods