The Generational Divide At Yet Another Weezer Concert

 

A couple of weekends ago, my husband, Dan, and I saw Weezer . . . again. 

 

Faithful readers will know I am a Ride-Or-Die Weezer fan. I think this was my sixth Weezer concert, and they are still the Best. Live. Band. Ever.

 

We saw them in Portland this time, in raked arena seats, where I could actually see the bands. I should also mention, Silversun Pickups and The Shins opened for Weezer, and they were amazing too.

 

This concert was a multigenerational celebration, especially for Gen X-ers with their kids. And the kids even seemed to know "the hits."

 

But there is a difference between Gen X and other generations of concert goers. 

Most of the younger people stood and sang along to the familiar songs, but they spent A LOT of time on their phones. And most of them sat down for extended periods of time. How can you dance to Weezer if you're sitting?

 

One young person behind me, kept closing his eyes, looking miserable in the bright stage lights, while his middle aged parent headbanged to every song.

 

 

 

The (younger-than-Gen X, but still an adult) girl next to me was excited. She was annoying when she was in my space and squealing in a very high-pitched voice, but at least she was engaged in the concert during times. The rest of the time, she was in her seat, texting. 

"Maybe she was texting someone in a different part of the arena," Dan suggested, giving her the benefit of the doubt. She was sitting there by herself. 

 

The following Monday, I showed my choir the video of me doing a dance to "Buddy Holly." (We dance to "Buddy Holly" in choir practices, and I had promised them I would do it at the concert.)

 

"Who's that girl with her hands in the air?" they asked, referring to the screaming text-er, who was not sitting at that moment.

 

"I don't know, but we were besties by the end of the concert," I said.  

 

 

The Gen X-ers, on the other hand, tended to be more present. I rarely saw a phone in the hands of my peers, unless they were using it as a Zippo lighter (now that no one smokes indoors). 

 

Every once in a while, we older folks took a picture or recorded a quick video. Most of the time, we were on our feet, collectively rocking out, singing every word to "Say It Ain't So" and the "Undone — The Sweater Song," the way God intended it.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

To the kids of Gen X-ers: You just attended the hardest rockin' concert you'll ever see, and we Gen X-ers weren't even tired afterwards.

 

 

For the latest blog updates, visit and "like" Rebecca Turner-Duggan.

"Why Is That Lady Always Singing?" and Other Tales from the Music Room

We are well into the school year, and the kids are making themselves quite comfortable in the music room.  

Help Me, Obi-Wan Kenobi  . . .  

During the first weeks of school, I showed my classes a couple of pictures of my family. A picture of my husband, Dan, and I on our summer road trip popped up. 

 

One of the third grade boys blurted out (before I could stop him since he was not supposed to be blurting out), "He looks like Obi-Wan Kenobi!" 

 

Several of the other kids agreed, "Oh yeah. He does look like Obi-Wan . . . " 

 

I'm 99.9% sure the kids meant the Ewan McGregor version, not Alec Guinness.

 

 

Kindergarten Throwback 

My sixth graders are getting nostalgic early this year. They beg to sing "Slippery Fish" every music class. 

 

"Slippery Fish" is a kindergarten song. 

 

I even use it as an incentive now. If the sixth graders behave well, I let them sing "Slippery Fish" the last few minutes of class. 

 

Classroom management has never been so easy.

 

They also sing it around the school, for the PE teacher and the classroom teachers. Sometimes, I hear the spontaneous renderings of "Slippery Fish" down the hall.  

 

 

That Weird Lady Who Is Always Singing . . .  

The first week of school, one of the kindergartners passed by my room and said, "Why is that lady always singing? She's the only one who does it." 

 

The Cult Of Copy Cat
Copy Cat, my singing companion, is way more popular than I am. 

 

I'm starting to understand that the little kids aren’t sure if Copy Cat is a puppet or an actual cat friend of mine.

 

At first, they act like they have figured it out, "He's a puppet!" 

 

Then they give me the side-eye, "Right . . .?"

 

Some of my current sixth graders, who were online as kindergartners during COVID, recently confessed they thought Copy Cat was real for a long time.

 

 

 

The other day, before choir started, I found the kids doing this . . .  

 

 

 

"All Hail Copy Cat!" they were chanting.  

 

"Are you starting a cult?" Dan asked when I showed him the picture. 

 

"Apparently, Copy Cat is."

 

(By the way, this is a total joke. Nobody is indoctrinating the children.) 

 

Copy Cat celebrated "Talk Like a Pirate Day" this week. 

 

This prompted one of my second graders to tell Copy Cat the following joke, "What does the pirate say at the auto dealership?"

 

"I want that carrrrgh!"

 

 

For the latest blog updates, visit and "like" Rebecca Turner-Duggan.

A Few Things I'm Grateful For (But I Probably Take For Granted)

Every school year, I sign up for a mental health workshop of some sort. (To my chagrin, I promptly neglect these mental wellness skills as soon as music program season rolls around.) 

 

All of these workshops, without fail, recommend sending gratitude into the universe in some way, journaling, meditating, disseminating light throughout the world. (I don't know. I don't listen well.)

 

TBH, I have a difficult time coming up with things to be grateful for on the fly. I thought about making a quick list to help me with that task. 

 

Then I realized, I am actually grateful for several trivial things that I probably take for granted on a daily basis. 

 

I decided to make that list instead.

  

1. Being able to see the Boise Foothills on non-smoky days

We have a fire season that seems to get longer and/or earlier every summer. As soon as fire season hits, I regret my lack of appreciation.  

 

 

 

 

2. Days when everything’s not on fire

Speaking of fire season, these days, I'm just glad when Boise and the Northwest are not on fire. Maybe we should start taking climate change seriously . . . ?

 

 

3. Days when I DON'T have a period, a headache, or cramps

There is a lot about perimenopause that NOBODY told me. 

 

Hot flashes and night sweats exist in my world, though not in the extreme because I am on hormones. 

 

But my period AND PMS symptoms (CRAMPS!) are so irregular and frequent (like a light period, but spotting for a month), even on hormones. 

 

It's like going through puberty in reverse. I probably need a hormone tune-up at my next physical.

 

If you are a male rolling your eyes right now, shut up. I WILL FIGHT YOU.  

 

 

 

4. Use of my opposable thumbs

Out-of-the-blue aches and pains in your joints and shoulders that suddenly freeze up are also fun side effects in my new season of life.  

 

Last weekend, I think I overextended my right thumb while mountain biking. I was going hard, man. (Riding my brakes, I mean . . .)

 

A few days later, I was opening an Amazon package with scissors, and I got distracted by, I don't know, a squirrel or something outside. And I cut my left thumb instead of the box. 

 

Did I mention brain fog? #thestruggleisreal

 

I have never been so grateful for thumbs. 

 

5. House plants that continue to live under my watch

Meet Audrey II. He has been alive for a couple of decades. And he sings, "FEED ME, BECKY!" 

 

If you know, you know . . .  

 

 

6. Nights the neighbor cat does not use our raised garden bed as a litter box

My husband, Dan, caught the cat prowling our backyard in the evenings, side-eyeing him, waiting for us to go to bed. 

 

We've tried all the tricks: citrus, scented oils, thyme sprigs, coffee grounds, etc. The nights we put out sticky pine cones and run the sprinklers seem to work the best. But the cat always comes back.

 

We've resigned ourselves to cleaning out the "litter box" every other morning or so. 

 

 

7. Latte With Love

During the school year, Dan makes me a latte every morning. He calls it a "Latte With Love." I should probably appreciate those more. 

 

This tradition doesn't extend into summer break, however. I'm on my own latte-wise. 

 

 

 

For the latest blog updates, visit and "like" Rebecca Turner-Duggan.