Some of my favorite events to attend are book signings. I’ve always been a big fan of books and reading.  Sadly the older I get the less I read merely due to lack of focus and laziness. And my TV and movie obsession doesn’t help too.  BUT, I still love it.  And I love getting to meet the authors, hear them talk about their craft and tell great stories.  It’s always entertaining and the people watching at the signings are a nice added bonus too.

I remember my first book signing even though it feels like it was a million years ago now because it was actually 12 years ago – sheesh, I am getting really old!

It was October 2003.  I was working for the Scottsdale Convention & Visitors Bureau in downtown Scottsdale. I found this really awesome mystery bookstore, The Poisoned Pen, near my office and had been frequenting it at lunch and after work for a few months prior.

The mystery genre had always been my favorite to read. I love a good whodunit.  Clear back to when I was young and reading novels by Christopher Pike , mysteries were always my favorite to find and get lost in.

Happening into The Poisoned Pen was like my mystery nirvana. Floor to ceiling mystery novels just waiting to be discovered.  I couldn’t believe it took me that many years to find it, after having lived in the Phoenix area since August 1996. And, when I discovered that they kept a full calendar of book signings, I was even more intrigued.  I had never been to a signing and as I’ve mentioned before, having grown up in a small town, I was always starstruck by celebrities. So meeting famous authors AND getting a signed copy of their latest book was a no-brainer. Plus, I got my degree in journalism so anything related to writing was an A+ in my book, pun intended.

The day I saw on their calendar that Dave Barry was going to be signing his new mystery novel, I’m fairly certain my heart skipped a beat, even as cheesy as that sounds.  I had been following Dave for literally my entire life, or at least the part from when I learned how to read to present day.

I remember racing to the kitchen on Sunday mornings to rip the Life/Entertainment section out of our local very small newspaper that my dad would be reading in order to devour Dave’s latest syndicated column from the Miami Herald. He was my writing inspiration as the most awesome humorist I feel the news world has ever had.  You could probably argue there are other writers that are better but Dave was and is the bomb. I read all his books and laughed until I hurt at his humor. I couldn’t believe that he had ventured out into the mystery category and penned a new book AND was coming to town too! I was a giddy book nerd!

I purchased the book ahead of time and got a ticket for the signing.  I was told to arrive by a certain time and that it was first come first serve for seating. I remember leaving work early so that I could be there even earlier than the time they told me to arrive and I literally was the first person to take a seat, hours before the signing, right up front, like the true stalker fan I was quickly becoming. I didn’t bring other books or things for him to sign – I decided to only have him sign his new novel.  That seemed right and slightly less psycho-fan-esque even though I had to fight off the urge to bring all his books and make him personalize them all to his Numero Uno fan.

It ended up being a packed house with standing room only, as you can imagine. But I had the best seat in the house, sitting starry-eyed and hanging on his every humorist word. It was everything I had hoped for and then some.

I couldn’t think of anything smart and funny to say when I had him sign my book – happens to me often because I go to a lot of book signings and still don’t know what to say that doesn’t sound like you’re trying too hard AND you’re just like the last few thousand people who tried to do the same thing.  Just a simple thank you and how much I have enjoyed his work over the years was what I told him. I do also remember telling him I wanted to be a humor writer like him and hoped to pen some novels someday too. Still working on that goal but you never can tell. This blog is one step closer.

That book signing was the start of years of more that I’ve attended and will write about in future posts. It’s become a bit of an obsession really but I love it and more importantly, I really love supporting local businesses like The Poisoned Pen and my other favorite, Changing Hands. Bookstores are getting killed off left and right because of Amazon so the more I can do my little part the better. And the reward of getting to see really amazing authors is worth the price of admission and then some.

P.S. This post is dedicated to my good friend, Raj, who recently accepted a marketing gig with The Poisoned Pen Press. I couldn’t be happier for him and can’t wait to see him at the next book signing/stalking on my calendar.

My daughter, Syd, will be 9 in March.  And as I always like to say, she’s 8 going on 28. She’s been coming home from school on the bus every day for months, letting herself in and starting her homework, before my husband gets home about 45 minutes later.

Because of this new-found after-school independence, we’ve let her stay home alone more and more, while we take short trips to the grocery store. We recently went to dinner at our neighborhood restaurant and she only called me every 20 minutes, telling me the latest with the dog and cats. The last call was that she was worried that one of our cats, Simon, had gotten out through the doggie door, never to return, since they’re not outside cats but have been venturing out with the new door.  She then saw him in the kitchen, while she was on the phone with me. Crisis averted.

On Friday we decided to see Star Wars on opening day because as fans it’s a given. We originally had only bought tickets for Saturday, not thinking we would take the day off. We asked her if she wanted to go with us and she passed. (Yes, she only wanted to see it once  – I’m working on flipping her to full nerd.) This was a big step though since we would be gone for a couple of hours. We figured my phone would blow up every 20 minutes like the time we went to dinner but only one text came through. Apparently the dog and cats were playing or in the case of the dog, it’s playing to him but to the cats they think he means it’s Fight Club. While they were playing, they broke this bin we have at the bottom of our staircase that we dump things in all day that need to go back upstairs each night. It’s an old bin so it was no big deal.

We then came home after the movie, wondering what we would walk in to, since there had been no more texts. I should also mention that Syd is also getting really good at cleaning up her accidents. She recently knocked a spice bottle off the shelf in the pantry and cleaned it up entirely with only a small sliver of glass by the trash can. She later fessed up. So we figured something similar would have occurred. We walked in the backdoor from our garage and she was right in the hallway, yelling at the dog and turns to us saying, “The fucking dog was eating the cat shit again and pulled it out of their box!” She was half crying but trying to hold back the tears, as she walked away from us with a big wad of paper towels to go get the cat shit from the living room that our dog, Alvin, had drug out. I told her I would go clean it up and she said “No, I’ve got it covered” and proceeded to clean up. We both tried not to laugh since she was being so serious but we couldn’t help it. (And yes, she does utter the occasional bad word because duh, she’s my kid.)

As parents it’s tough to figure out when it’s ok to leave your kids at home alone. In the back of my mind I always figured CPS would sense a disturbance in the force and show up at my door. And, I don’t remember when I started staying home alone but I imagine it was about the same age as Syd. I do however remember the first time my parents went out-of-town and left me to hold down the fort.

It was the first semester of my senior year of high school. I’d had my license for about 8 months so that meant I had complete independence since I was mobile. My parents decided to help out some of their best friends and neighbors who were moving to Montana. They would be gone a week.

I was a good kid so having a party didn’t cross my mind. I remember having my best friend over to hang out and that was it. But one of the first mornings was when the trouble came.

I never kept a house key with me or in my backpack. We had it as a hide-a-key in our garage, which I could easily access since we left a side door open. Yes, I’m sure that sounds crazy to you but when you live in a small town that has very little crime, you get some privileges like this.

One morning, I ran outside to our garage to get something, leaving our golden retriever lab mix, Scooter, inside by the kitchen table, eyeing the half-eaten cereal I’d left behind. For whatever reason, the day before, when I’d come home from school, I’d taken the hide-a-key inside with me and laid it on the kitchen table. I’d forgotten I’d done this.

As I came back from the garage, I went to try the backdoor and it was locked, with Scooter looking at me through the glass, sitting there patiently, waiting for me to come in. I ran back to the garage only to realize and remember that the damn key was in the house! I started to panic.

There was no way in the house. No other key. Nada. I would have to break a window or call a locksmith which I had no time for. I could see the key on the table and I jokingly said to Scooter through the door “Come on buddy, open the door.” He wagged his tail and licked the glass. Big help but he was no circus dog so he wasn’t going to figure out how to turn the door knob.

I decided to call my parents and tell them the bad news. They took it well and told me to call another neighbor friend to come help break a window. He came over to my rescue.

We walked around the kitchen nook, deciding on a window that would work, after trying a couple of others just to make sure none were unlatched and would slide open.  Then, before he was going to smash the window, he pushed on it a little, sliding it to the left and it opened! I guess I hadn’t latched it the night before when I had it open. We took the screen off and I crawled through, with Scooter happy to see me. I quickly called my parents back, telling them that the window gods were on my side and then I raced to school.

I’ll remember to tell Syd this story when we take our first big trip, leaving her in charge of the house. I’m fairly certain that Alvin will be no help to her like Scooter wasn’t for me. But, Alvin can do some circus-trick walking on his hind legs so who knows what he might be able to manage with doors.

I was born in January 1978, about 9 months after Star Wars: Episode IV first hit theaters.

Empire Strikes came out in June 1980.  I remember my mom taking me to see it, and I think they re-released Episode IV so people could relive the awesomeness again or see it for the first time before the new movie, which was what we did.

We were still living in San Bernardino at the time. We had a couple of theater choices.  Some of the bigger blockbusters played at the “mall theater” as I referred to it versus the little twin theater we typically frequented that played double features of new Disney movies. We spent a lot of time there as you can imagine but ventured to the other part of town to see movies like E.T., The Goonies and in this case, Star Wars.

Even at a really young age, I was hooked on this series. It really was like nothing I had seen before. What kid wouldn’t love a big hairy Wookie, a shiny gold robot, a little trash can looking robot, a green chunky alien, and lightsabers.

I remember for Christmas that year my letter to Santa included mostly Star Wars toys, with the Storm Trooper gun that literally went “pew pew”. It was likely the coolest thing ever. (Sidenote: During our recent trip to Disneyland, found this pin and a shirt that matched it.) Santa came through and I ran around the house shooting everything. My mom and dad were probably really happy when the batteries started to run down and the “pew pew” was fainter. It’s been almost 38 years of loving Star Wars since that first Christmas and my collection of swag has grown pretty radically.

Seeing Star Wars: The Force Awakens reminded me of that day my mom and I saw Empire. It was that nostalgic and true to the original movies.  I cried like a baby. I cheered and clapped like the rest of the theater. It was ridiculously good. And, it made me love JJ Abrams that much more. He honored the “nerdom” that is Star Wars, especially when all the critics hypothesized that by the franchise selling out to Disney it would be a laughing-stock. Well, they’re laughing all the way to the bank.

I’m headed back for Round 2 and I likely will see it even more before it leaves the theater. I already saw a countdown on Facebook that it was 524 days until the next movie. It can’t come soon enough.

I was never a big fan of Barbies. Shocking I’m sure. I liked a lot of “boy” toys. I had Transformers, Hot Wheels and action figures. I had this great Jeep that my action figures drove.  My dad had a Jeep so it was like my very own version that I could play with in our living room.

Then, during a summer BBQ, I played with a new friend and she showed me her “Mowboo Barbie” a.k.a. Malibu Barbie.  I must have been about three years old.  And I thought this toy was the toy to end all toys.  I had to have it.

I spent the next few days after the BBQ repeating “Mowboo Barbie” like a crazed parrot. My parents tried to decode what I was trying to say. They finally took me to Toys “R” Us and we walked the aisles.  It was then that I spotted and pointed out the Malibu Barbie on a shelf. My parents sighed and repeated the real name to me. “Oh, Malibu Barbie!” I shook my head, agreeing with them and  smiling from ear to ear. They bought me my new prized toy and we headed home.

For the next week, Mowboo Barbie went everywhere with me, including the front basket on my bike. She rode along with her hair flowing in the wind, as I did donuts in our driveway in front of our garage.

Then, my dog ruined it all.

I was an only child so my pets were my siblings. I loved my big yellow lab, Jake, so much, just like a brother.  He attended tea parties, played hide and seek, dressed up – you name it, that dog would do whatever I wanted.  He loved being included. And he was never destructive.  Until that day.

I think Mowboo Barbie’s hair, dangling from the bike basket, was just more than Jake could handle. As I made a final donut in the driveway, Jake ran up and grabbed Mowboo by her hair from the basket and ran. I yelled and ran after him.  But it was too late.  I picked up Mowboo from the ground, where he’d dropped her, and I noticed it. He had punctured her chest.  Her Mowboo boobies were busted.  Big teeth marks right through her bikini top and into them. My mom came out of the house and found me with tears running  down my face, holding Mowboo in my lap.

“Oh, babe, Jakey wouldn’t have meant to do that. You know he’s never been mean to your toys.  He just thought it was one of his,” she said.  I shook my head, knowing that was probably right, but still pissed.  I glared over at Jake, who sat away from us, knowing he’d been bad.  My mom called to him and walked him to our backyard, and closed the gate. He jumped up on the gate in his usual way, panting and smiling over at me. I just glared. My brother had betrayed me and ruined my favorite toy.

I waited for my mom to go back inside the house and then I made my move.

I snuck back to the gate, knowing he would jump up to greet me as he usually did. He did exactly that and then I leaned in for the kill.  I gave him a big bite right on his nose.  He yelped and ran.  I turned around and started walking back to the front yard, smiling a devilish grin, satisfied with my revenge. Jake jumped back up on the gate, smiling and panting as always, already having forgotten that I’d given him a bite on the nose.  He was that loyal. Nothing phased him. I thought better of what I had just done, since I wasn’t the type of kid to burn ants or torture cats. I sighed and turned around and went back to give him a big kiss and a rub on the head.

“It’s ok, Jakey, I know you didn’t mean it,” I said to him. He gave me a big gooey lick and I giggled. I left him in the backyard a little longer and collected myself, still sad about Mowboo. But she wasn’t completely ruined.  She just had some additional personality now.

Jake never bothered another one of my toys. I also never got another Barbie.  Mowboo was the one and only and maybe for good reason. I stuck with toys that could take a beating and were dog-friendly. There were a few with similar hair but I smartened up and kept them out of the bike basket and away from temptation. It was just better that way.

A friend of mine recently asked what my all-time favorite concert was.  I struggled with the answer.

Growing up in a small town, I had zero access to any concerts, aside from the few annual Mule Days (yes, you read that correctly), Inyo County Fair and Bishop Rodeo concert acts that would come through town.  My family and I once saw Juice Newton at the fair.  You’ll need to Google her.  My point being – I didn’t see many concerts until I went off to college.  And, I’ve been making up for lost time ever since, seeing more concerts than I can count.

I finally gave my friend a rough list of my top 10 favorites.  I mentioned them all in no particular order. U2, Phil Collins, Janet Jackson, Madonna, Prince, Nickelback, (suck it, haters – yes, I’m a big fan, they’re really, really fun:)), Foo Fighters, Boys II Men, Maroon 5 and then I smiled as I remembered my first time seeing Stone Temple Pilots.

For a few years they were the headlining act for the Family Values Tour, a really great rock fest that typically featured three to four acts.

I think it was 2001 or 2002.  Chris and I got tickets to see them and then a good friend of mine that had many radio connections here in town got us backstage passes.  STP was playing with Staind and Linkin Park and set-up shop at the Veterans Memorial Coliseum in Phoenix.  Both Staind and Linkin Park were newer to the music scene but already very popular.  STP of course had been around for years and was a household name. All I could think about was getting to see frontman Scott Weiland.

Years and years of scandalous stories shrouded this man’s talent.  He was always in trouble for this and that, with the majority drug-related.  I remember reading about the time he and his then wife fought in the penthouse of the Hard Rock Hotel in Vegas and he never made it downstairs to the concert he was to perform that night at The Joint.  He was just a hot mess. But man was he a brilliant performer. Aren’t some of the best rock stars hot messes?  I mean, it seems to come with the territory so likely was inevitable for him.  He just could never get it together. He was in and out of rehab and some jail time for years. His craft rarely suffered though.  It likely got even better, sadly.

We made our way down to the depths of the old arena.  If you’re not familiar, this arena used to be where the Phoenix Suns played, prior to getting their fancy new facility in downtown Phoenix.  The years had not been kind to this place. I doubt it had had many renovations. I didn’t care though.  I hadn’t been backstage many times in my life so I was going to embrace it. I could see a man standing near a door and he waved. It was someone with the tour, that was there for fan meet and greets.  We appeared to be the only ones there other than him so no other fans. And we waited.

“A few of the guys from Staind and Linkin Park will be here in just a minute,” he said.  We smiled and said thanks. And sure enough, here they came. Frontman Aaron Lewis and one of the band members from Staind emerged from the door, along with Chester Bennington and another band member from Linkin Park. I have the photos somewhere to prove it. It was really fun and they were very nice, as you can imagine, embracing their fans with open arms. They told us to enjoy the show and disappeared back through the door. We stood there for what felt like five minutes and then I finally said, “So what about STP?  When will they be showing up?”

The man smiled and shook his head.

“Well, it’s hit or miss if Scott and the boys show for these things.  We never count on them.”

And in true rock star fashion, they never emerged from that door.  He apologized and sent us on our way back up to the concert.  It was going to start in a few minutes.  I felt defeated but I wasn’t going to let it ruin my good time.  I knew the concert would be awesome. And besides, we got to meet and take photos with a couple of really great bands.

Our tickets were right down in the pit, standing-room only.  When I say pit, it truly was a pit, complete with crazy moshers.  Even as “cut-a-bitch” as I was, even back then, I was never a mosher.  Chris and I stood way back against the wall of the area, safe and sound and away from the battle zone.

The concert kicked off with Staind, then Linkin Park and lastly STP.  None of them disappointed, especially Scott and the crew. He was every bit as good as his CDs, which is hard to come by.  Most musicians when they perform live aren’t quite as good as the studios can make them appear to sound on CD. But he was solid. At one point, he came down into the pit and literally was right above us, as a bunch of guys raised him up in the air, crowd-surfing style. And it was while he was singing what I feel is their all-time best song, Plush. I was smiling from ear to ear, singing along like the crazed fan that I was.  It was great.  And it didn’t matter that he blew us off for the meet and greet.  He gave us our money’s worth, all the way up to the very end of the show, when he came out on stage, wrapped up in a large American flag and one of the other band members ripped it away from him, like a towel, leaving him to stand there, naked in a fig leaf pose. The whole place cheered and screamed in shock and then he waved good-bye and ran off stage.

I saw him perform three more times, twice more with STP and once with Velvet Revolver.  He always put on a good show and sometimes was weirder than usual but again, I knew what I was getting into every time. The news outlets made sure to remind me of his recent antics. He always finished the show with the American flag bit. As a fan, I was trained to expect it and I know I would have been disappointed if he didn’t pull the repeated stunt.

I thank Scott for the great memories and entertaining me for years. Rock ‘n’ roll lost a legend this week and at 48 he was much too young and too talented to leave us so early. I hope he found peace and a new crowd to wear a flag for because he surely will be playing to sold-out shows in the afterlife.