just between us » JBU Columns

I might need a vacation… from vacation!

Kristan — Fri, 05 Feb 2010 16:06:59 +0000

2 people, 6 months, 13 trips, 4 countries, 14 cities, and way too many frequent flyer miles to count. After all that, it’s official: I miss my bed.

Since August of last year, Andy and I have been traveling constantly, both for business and for fun. It feels like we’ve slept in every bed but our own, and I think our dog is starting to consider the kennel his real home. Our condo is just a place he visits sometimes, although its amenities do include complimentary chew toys.

At first, going to so many different places was exciting. Vegas, Europe, the Carolinas… Andy and I flew everywhere for everything: to attend events, see family, work on a business project, and of course, take a real vacation. Pretty soon we finished all the airline crossword puzzles. Then Andy started saying the flights felt too long, but since I often fell asleep before takeoff and woke up after landing, I really had no idea what he was talking about.

Other than visiting our families in Houston and Rochester, NY—which are always our favorite trips (Are you reading this, Mom and Dad?)—I think there were 3 vacations that stood out from the rest of our Crazy Travel.

The first was Ireland. Andy had to go there for a conference, so we decided that I should tag along and make it our first international trip together. His conference was held in the tiny town of Nenagh, where I spent my days exploring (and re-exploring) all four blocks of the main square, and then writing in a wonderful little café. To many people that might sound boring, but I felt both exhilarated and relaxed at the same time. There’s something about Europe’s combination of cobbled streets and contemporary culture that puts my soul at ease.

When Andy was done working, he and I traveled to Dublin for the weekend. We toured the old jail, Trinity College, the infamous Temple Bar area, and the zoo. And of course no European trip would be complete without a castle and a cathedral. Pretty much the only things we didn’t see were a leprechaun and pot of gold. But Ireland was as green, rainy, and hospitable as promised, and we really enjoyed our time together there.

A month later, just before Thanksgiving, we rendezvoused with my parents in Las Vegas to celebrate my twenty-fourth birthday and my dad’s ______ieth. (I don’t think I’m allowed to say how old he is.) My half-sisters met us there from Phoenix, and together we had a whirlwind couple of days. We visited Hoover Dam and Red Rock Canyon, and we saw Cirque du Soleil’s “O” as well as the Blue Man Group show. The whole weekend was a blast, but the best part was that my dad had his wife and all three of his daughters together to celebrate his milestone birthday.

Last but not least, Andy and I met up with his parents to attend and celebrate his younger brother’s graduation from the US Marines boot camp. I’ve never had a friend or family member in the military before, so that weekend at Parris Island really affected me. Anyone can have an intellectual opinion about our military, where it is, and what it’s doing. But when there’s a body, a face, a person that you care about who is serving—when your emotions get involved—that changes everything. Rather than think about Andy’s brother being deployed, I’ll just say that we were extremely proud of his accomplishment in becoming a Marine, and honored to have been a part of his graduation experience.

For better or worse, the end of 2009 meant the end of our Crazy Travel. Was it insane, expensive, and exhausting? Yes, absolutely yes. But was it worth every mile, every penny, and every minute away from my bed? Yes, absolutely yes.

Here’s to new adventures

Angie — Sun, 06 Dec 2009 05:00:16 +0000

Thanksgiving is one of my favorite holidays because it’s the one tradition my family keeps. And let’s be honest, who doesn’t like a holiday centered around food?

Every Thanksgiving since as far as I can remember, my family has dinner with my best friend Jen’s family. Our parents have known each other since college, so we grew up hand-in-hand. Sometimes the menu changes, sometimes more families join in, and goodness knows we all age, but every year it’s a full meal and lots of laughter.

A few years ago, Kristan and I added our own tradition to Thanksgiving. The two of us would return to Houston and run — or more realistically walk — the Turkey Trot, an early morning 10K race benefitting Sheltering Arms. Then we’d rush back home to shower, and in the afternoon we’d volunteer at the Superfeast in downtown Houston. Later in the evening, we would go to our respective family dinners.

Last year, Kristan changed our tradition. She understandably wanted to spend time with her boyfriend Andy and his family. At first I was disappointed, but I still had my other traditions. I knew I’d get to spend time with Jen, gorging on stuffing and pumpkin pie. I could deal with a little change.

Little did I know, that little change was just the beginning…

For years and years my Thanksgiving traditions were the same, and this year I was looking forward to another rambunctious gathering. However, in October I abruptly uprooted my entire life in Texas to start a new job in New York City. Given the quick timing, I found myself unable to return home for Thanksgiving.

At first I didn’t think too much of it, but as the holiday approached, I started to realize how incredibly homesick I was. Friends and coworkers talked about their plans for family gatherings and delicious menus, and I secretly envied them. Luckily though, a few New Yorkers reached out and helped me plan a new Thanksgiving for myself.

Just between us Texans, I want you to know that despite their reputation, New Yorkers are very sweet. From an Italian father with a great love of tea, to a sweet couple I met at IKEA, to my boss who I admire greatly, I have gotten to know an amazing number of very nice, very open people. In fact, after just one meeting, the IKEA couple invited me to join them for their Thanksgiving lunch.

Everyone says that when traditions end, you start a new one. But I’m not looking to start a new tradition, I am just looking to start my adventures, because who knows how next year will change. This year I am spending Thanksgiving with three different families, which also means three big meals and, of course, an overabundance of laughter. Next year, who knows?

And yes I am still a bit homesick, but I also realize that now I have many homes welcoming me. So I give thanks for all the good in my life, I look forward to returning to Houston for Christmas, and I wish all you dear readers a very happy holiday season.

The uphill drive

Kristan — Mon, 19 Oct 2009 14:50:01 +0000

For some reason, I often used to dream about driving. Specifically, about driving a stick shift. And even though nowadays you can order an automatic transmission on just about any car, those constant dreams were like subliminal messages. They convinced me that it was important to know how to drive a manual.

When I was sixteen, my dad promised that he would teach me both stick and automatic. When I was seventeen, I still didn’t know either one. Tired of being the only high school senior who always needed a chauffeur, I finally enrolled myself in a driver’s ed class. Two weeks later, I at least knew how to drive an automatic.

I didn’t learn how to drive stick until my boyfriend’s mom taught me on an old Jeep Wrangler last year. I quickly grasped the concepts—use the clutch to shift gears, don’t stall out, avoid steep hills—but the actual doing was much more difficult. I managed to drive several miles and get up to about 50 mph, but I also stalled out and slid downhill a bit, scaring the car behind me.

But regardless of those difficulties, I fulfilled my dream. I now possess the skill to drive a stick shift. All that’s left is practice.

Writing, my other big dream, is the same way. Since age 9, I’ve known that I want to be a novelist. So I worked hard in school, got a degree in creative writing, and switched from a full-time to a part-time job in order to write more. At 23, I have the skills I need to be a writer. All that’s left is the practice.

And just like driving stick, I find myself having to constantly shift gears, not stall out, and brave the hills. Which of course is easier said than done. Every day is filled with chores and distractions—the dog, the dishes, the internet. Even when I can find time to focus, there’s that dreaded “writer’s block.” And when I do finally work my way out of a block, writing is still an uphill battle. Sure, on a good day I can knock out 1,500 words, but that still leaves roughly 78,500 more to make a novel.

Of course, most goals in life are like that. You might want to be a teacher or a lawyer, a musician or a parent, a doctor or an actor. No matter what your dream is, you will encounter distractions that force you to shift gears, moments where you stall out, and hills that seem impossible to climb. The key is to keep driving yourself forward, no matter how rough the road gets. Because anyone can learn the skills, but it’s the people with dedication and perseverance who achieve their dreams.

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Published in the Star Courier and the Northeast News. The full archive of Just Between Us columns can be found here.

Driving on

Angie — Fri, 12 Jun 2009 22:38:02 +0000

Dear Davy Baby,

For the first time since we parted ways earlier this year, I realized I’ve been doing pretty good without you. True, our years of history meaningful memories I will never replace. True, your sleek physique is still unmatchable. And true, I still haven’t quite figured out how to parallel park Diego, your replacement, as perfectly as I could with you. But you know what? That’s okay.

Do you remember when we officially got together? I drove you to my friend’s house after Dad handed you down to me, and my friend’s mom commented, “You must have done something good.” Yes, I didn’t deserve you, but you never complained—not even after in my first accident. (I’m still sorry about that, but it’s all ancient history now right?)

Actually you were around for a lot of firsts. You were my first car. You were there during my first kiss and my first love—and you stayed for my first heartbreak. You cheered me on at my first lacrosse game, even though I wasn’t very good. You were sitting quietly with me when I got my first ticket. You also were the one to take me to first experiences at many amazing restaurants, shops and scenic views.

When I had to give you up, I was devastated. Where would all my firsts go? Who would I depend on now to take me places? Would I ever feel as comfortable again? I’m sure you were worried about me too, since we knew each other for 12 years and were together for 8. So I want to assure you that Diego is great. It wasn’t love at first sight, but he’s patient and has many wonderful qualities. Plus he’s got ultra low emissions.

I actually took him Downtown for his first time this semester. Usually I’m too timid to show him around, but it was time. And after 30 minutes of navigating him around inebriated pedestrians, constantly braking at the world’s shortest light, and making who knows how many sharp turns, nothing happened. That’s right, nothing bad happened. In fact, I found a spot where I didn’t even have to parallel park him.

Even in leaving, you taught me something about life. It’s all about driving on and progressing. It’s not just firsts that matter, but also seconds, and thirds, and fourths, as long as you’re growing with every experience. Change is not only inevitable but also beneficial.

It’s also about never forgetting who helped get you where you are and gave you strength to keep going. Even if that “who” is just a car.

Davy Baby, we had an amazing relationship, but I think I’m ready to progress.

Love always from your ex-driver,
Angie

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Published in the Star Courier and the Northeast News. The full archive of Just Between Us columns can be found here.

Being bad at things can be good

Kristan — Tue, 12 May 2009 18:55:06 +0000

A few years ago when I was in college, I asked a friend to join me on an intramural softball team. She looked at me as if I were crazy. “Thanks, but I’m terrible at softball,” she said with a laugh.

“That’s okay, I am too!” I replied. “But every team has to have four girls on the field to qualify, so you’re helping out no matter how good or bad you are.”

My friend shook her head. “Sorry, I only do things I’m good at.”

Then it was my turn to look at her as if she were crazy.

Yes, it’s normal to want to be good at things, but do we have to be good at everything we do? And how can we get good at something if we don’t practice when we’re still terrible? Do we have to get an A in a subject for it to be fun or have value?

When I was a girl, I remember believing I was a natural-born artist. Both my parents were architects, so how could the ability to draw, paint, and design not flow through my veins? My parents must have thought the same thing, because they bought me sketchpads and fancy pencils, canvases and paint.

Much to our collective surprise, I could barely color within the lines.

Determined to live up to the talent in my blood, I took art classes almost every summer. Over time I did improve, but I was never the best student in the class. There was always someone with better technique, greater imagination, or both. But even though I wasn’t going to be the next Monet, I didn’t quit.

Because sometimes things we’re bad at can still be good for us. For example, art, music, and dance are all powerful creative outlets, allowing you to express what you’re thinking and feeling even when you don’t know exactly what that is. Sports are group athletics, so you get the physical benefits of exercise plus the social benefits of hanging out with your teammates. Cooking and gardening are both challenging — at least to me! — but they can really nurture your spirit and help you tune in to nature.

In this day and age, with a million things vying for our attention every minute of every day, simply taking time out for yourself is therapeutic, no matter what you’re doing. So even when my boyfriend tells me my drawing looks like a sausage (it was our dog!) I feel calmer and happier just for having given myself those fifteen minutes to sketch. I don’t have to be the next Monet to love art, or the next Michael Phelps to enjoy a dip in the pool, or the next Iron Chef America to appreciate my kitchen.

We spend so much of our lives being graded — in school, at work, even among our friends and family. We try so hard to please everyone else that we forget to make ourselves happy.

So forget your critics, and forget your fans. Do something for yourself. Even if you’re bad at it.

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Published in the Star Courier and the Northeast News. The full archive of Just Between Us columns can be found here.

Make your voice heard

Kristan — Thu, 01 Jan 2009 01:10:16 +0000

Regardless of who you voted for, this election should have made one thing clear: it is extremely important to voice your opinion.

What’s important to you? Taxes, the environment, health care? Who do you think is going to make the best decisions about those policies? Voting is not about popularity, but about selecting a representative to lead our community in the right direction. Your vote lets the world know where you stand on the issues.

But there are additional options. Yes, voting is extremely powerful and important, but it is not the only way to make your voice heard. Local politicians—such as city council members, state senators, and congresspersons—they all read the newspapers that serve their districts in order to keep a finger on the pulse of the communities they represent. They are reading the same news stories as you, the same cartoons, the same movie reviews. These very words! How do I know? Because I have had the honor of meeting many of them through my dad’s work with this newspaper.

So if you want to let your local representatives know what you think—about a new tax increase, or a potential improvement for the school district, or potholes in the roads—write a letter to the editor. Your words could be published here for everyone to read and consider. Who knows, you might spur new legislation! At the very least, you will probably find people who agree with you and want to band together for a change. Your reasoning could help educate someone about the issue, or convince someone on the fence. You might find yourself engaging in friendly debate the next time you’re in line at the grocery store.

Maybe it’s just because I’m a “chatterbox,” as my dad affectionately nicknamed me at age three, but I know I am always looking for more ways to make my voice heard. I was proud to cast my first vote four years ago, and whether or not elections go my way, I will always participate in the democratic system. But I have come to recognize that I can make a greater impact on a smaller scale. We all can. So think about what matters to you today, and tell someone. Your best friend, your teacher, your coworkers, your cat. Write down your reasons, write down what someone on the opposite side might say, and then figure out how you would reply. Sleep on it. And if you still think it sounds pretty good in the morning, send it our way.

We look forward to hearing more of your voices in the future.

We would love to hear from you! Leave a comment or email JBUcolumn [at] gmail.com.

Published in the Star Courier and the Northeast News.

Multi-tasking-itis

Kristan — Mon, 20 Oct 2008 01:25:02 +0000

Dear Angie,

As usual, I’m having trouble focusing. It’s the last day of the week that I can devote completely to my writing, and yet the gravity of that does little to motivate me. I should be taking full advantage of this day to myself, but instead I am resisting the temptations of the internet, television, and a nap. This is no easy feat — all are well within my reach. But I figure that writing to you, while not technically something that will advance my career as an author, is more productive than any of the alternatives. At least it’s writing, right?

Do you ever have trouble getting yourself to sit down and concentrate on a single task? I recently read an Atlantic Monthly article that discussed whether or not “Google is making us stupid.” It argues that modern media (the internet in particular) has reduced everything to snippets, meaning that we grow accustomed to reading, hearing, and watching information in short bursts and thus have lost our ability to stay engaged with longer works. I can’t say for sure if that’s true, but I do know that I am working in one, two, three… eight different windows on my computer screen right now. How’s that for short attention span?

(The article goes on to talk about a great many things related to how reading different types of materials — long, short, ideograms like Chinese characters, etc. — affects the circuitry of our brains, and how perhaps what we input to our minds affects what we output. It’s all very fascinating. You can, ironically, Google it to read the whole thing.)

I remember when we took World History together in our junior year of high school, and our teacher told us that unlike most teachers, she would never yell at us for doing “off-task” things in class. She said that if we were smart enough to be in her honors class, then she trusted us to multi-task. We’d only get in trouble if we didn’t do our homework or weren’t able to answer a question that she asked us.

At the time, I thought that was extremely cool and forward-thinking of her. She understood the way we worked! But now I can’t help wondering if our ability to multi-task is really a blessing in disguise. For me, doing more than one thing at a time usually means I’m just not doing any of those things very well. I think I’d rather be a master of one trade than a jack of them all.

But can I re-train myself to focus on a single task and finish it before I go on to the next?

Well, I wrote this letter to you in one sitting. I don’t think it means that I’m cured, but I think it’s a sign that the diagnosis is correct and the medicine may be starting to work.

Now that that’s off my chest, I should probably return to my writing…

Much love,
Kristan

We would love to hear from you! Leave a comment or email JBUcolumn [at] gmail.com.

Published in the Star Courier and the Northeast News.

6 Days in Cincinnati

Kristan — Mon, 25 Aug 2008 23:25:36 +0000

One of the hardest things to do after you leave school is keep in touch with your friends. You no longer get to see them every day in class or at lunch. You no longer call each other to solve calculus problems or chat about the Homecoming game. In some cases, like ours, you no longer even live in the same state. So what’s the secret to our success?

Effort.

We chat online several times a week, and we talk on the phone once or twice a month. Actually one of our favorite ways to keep in touch is to write letters, usually on goofy stationery we forgot we had. (Yes, people do still use pen and paper and the US Postal Service.) But even though we tend to rely on hightech methods of communication, the best way to keep in touch is lowest on the tech scale: seeing each face to face and hanging out in person.

That’s exactly what we did last month when Angie came to Cincinnati.

Day 1 started normal enough: Kristan went to work and Angie was dropped off at the airport. Unfortunately, Angie’s itinerary consisted of a full day of traveling on the world’s smallest planes — from Austin to Cleveland, then Cleveland to Dayton. Then there was a delay in Austin, which resulted in the itsy bitsy plane being restarted three times, and Angie began to worry about being late. Ironically, Angie ended up arriving early to Dayton, and Kristan was the one running late.

After a belated but happy reunion at the airport, we drove an hour through the pouring rain back to Kristan’s office to finish an important project and run it to FedEx. We got to FedEx at 8:58 pm — exactly 2 minutes before they would have closed, i.e., exactly 2 minutes before Kristan would have been fired.

Needless to say, we were both happy to go home and relax that night. And with Andy gone on a business trip, we were able to have some quality girl time.

Highlight of the day: The “7th grade sleepover,” reminiscing about the past as well as wondering about the future.

Day 2 was a little more relaxing. Angie spent the day getting to know Riley (the puppy) while Kristan was at work. That night Andy came back from Chicago and the three of us had a lovely dinner, followed by an even better dessert.

Highlight of the day: Black Raspberry Chip ice cream from Graeter’s. Officially Angie’s favorite thing about Cincinnati.

Kristan used a Personal Day on Friday (Day 3) to spend time with Angie. They took Riley to Eden Park, had dinner at Newport on the Levee — think: subdued version of Kemah — and walked across the Purple People Bridge from Ohio to Kentucky. Strangely, many of Cincinnati’s attractions are actually in Kentucky.

Highlight of the day: An adorable older woman telling us she wished she had a camera to take a picture of the three of us — Kristan, Angie and Riley — as we sat on a giant swing sculpture in the park.

Day 4 started with an exhausting but exhilarating aerobic dance class at nine in the morning. Afterwards, Angie said, “Let’s go for a run!” and Kristan gave her a look that said, “Over my dead body. No, really.” Then we drove around East Walnut Hills to look at ridiculous mansion-like houses and take pictures, much like we used to do in Houston.

Highlight of the day: Flailing limbs in the back row of dance class despite Kristan’s dance lessons and Angie’s ballroom course.

Day 5 was very food-focused, with waffles, bacon, and strawberries for breakfast at home, and then grocery shopping at Jungle Jim’s — an international market with singing Campbell’s Soup cans, bumper cars, and other strange novelties. We also did some clothes shopping, but after looking at our receipts, we don’t feel like talking about that…

Highlight of the day: Spending half an hour agonizing over which novelty candy bars to get. Lion Bars from Europe, Pocky from Japan, or Sky Bars from (1940s) America?

And finally on Day 6, Angie “got” to relax at home again, because Kristan had to work and forgot that the art museum is closed on Mondays. Luckily Angie didn’t mind, because she got to play with Riley again!

Highlight of the day: Singing off-key and talking about life while driving back to the airport in the PT “Party Time” Cruiser.

Maybe it wasn’t some wild and crazy, Hollywood-style, Thelma and Louise best friend weekend, but we had a good time even without Brad Pitt or getting chased by the police. Our friendship grew stronger, and we know it will continue to grow because of all the effort we put in. And the best part is, in a good friendship, effort doesn’t feel like effort at all. It’s just fun.

So whether by phone, World Wide Web, postal service, or in person, go keep in touch with a friend. It’s totally worth it.

We would love to hear from you! Leave a comment or email JBUcolumn [at] gmail.com.

Published in the Star Courier (link)and the Northeast News.

Life’s a dance you learn as you go

Kristan — Thu, 07 Aug 2008 23:46:48 +0000

By Angie Liang

To balance the severity of my course load this past semester, I enrolled in a ballroom dancing class. Now, I’ve danced before, but never like this. Throughout the course I learned to two-step, waltz, jitterbug, foxtrot, and even tango a little. (Let me tell you, what they say is true: it is all about the attitude.) I even found a great dance partner, who I will call AP.

As part of the ongoing dance experience, AP and I decided to take a “Dips and Tricks” class. Unfortunately, we were the least experienced dancers there. Nonetheless, we trudged along as gracefully as we could, leaping and landing, sometimes correctly. We even tried to master a leg wrap that involved a quick weight change, and we giggled like middle-schoolers at our lack of elegance. But after a few attempts, we pulled it off!

So we thought we were doing pretty well, until it came time for the Death Drop. Yes, Death D-r-o-p. Even though he could hold my weight and our hands were locked correctly, I couldn’t do it. I couldn’t d-r-o-p all the way down, despite AP’s assurance that he wasn’t going to let me go.

The truth is, AP isn’t the problem. Our connection is solid. The problem is me. I’m afraid to fall. I’m afraid to fail.

Throughout my years of schooling, getting anything below an A was painful. It meant that I wasn’t smart and I needed to study harder. I spent the majority of my life being compared to my peers and never feeling good enough. They were always earning prestigious scholarships, winning awards for math and writing, or running faster than me in track. When we were all applying for colleges, I didn’t even feel adequate enough to try for a certain Ivy League school. Meanwhile they were all discussing which Ivies they would accept or reject.

It wasn’t until I was actually in college that I became comfortable with my intellect. After all those years of worrying about my grades and writing, I began to understand that I am much more than any of that. I have mentored elementary-school children, raised funding for a local hospital, and worked to help make the UT campus more environmentally conscious. And on top of all that, my professors praised the very skills I used to be concerned about.

College was a gradual learning experience that helped me discover and define myself, even if I’m more confused now than I have ever been about what I would like to do. It’s only because I’ve learned that I now have more opportunities than I could have ever imagined. I’ve also realized, I like me. I’m comfortable with who I am. I just need to remember that it’s okay to take risks and make mistakes. Because I will bounce back.

So in that “Dips and Tricks” class, when AP reassured me one more time that he wasn’t going to drop me, I looked at him with a childish smile and let go of my fear, falling towards the floor.

And I came right back up, as good as ever.

We would love to hear from you! Leave a comment or email JBUcolumn [at] gmail.com.

Published in the Star Courier and the Northeast News (link).

The Fab Five

Kristan — Thu, 24 Apr 2008 14:22:35 +0000

by Kristan Hoffman

For Valentine’s Day, my boyfriend did not buy me chocolates or flowers. He also didn’t take me out to dinner. He didn’t give me a giant teddy bear, or a mix tape, or any of the usual romantic Hallmark-y things. No, for Valentine’s Day, my boyfriend drove me from Cincinnati to Chicago—for the Spice Girls concert. If enduring a whole weekend of Girl Power doesn’t demonstrate his love, I’m not sure what could. (Nevermind the fact that for Valentine’s Day, I made my boyfriend endure a whole weekend of Girl Power…)

In fairness, both of us agree that regardless of your age, gender, sexuality, or musical taste, those were two of the most entertaining hours you could imagine. The “Fab Five” designed a spectacular show that used their music to illustrate their professional and personal journey as a group. I must confess that I don’t remember much about their first tour in the 90s—except the heartbreak of Ginger Spice quitting just before they came to the States—but I am quite certain that I will never forget their Reunion.

It began with a slew of their biggest hits (“Spice Up Your Life,” “Stop,” and “Who Do U Think U Are” to name a few) as well as elaborate silver costumes designed by Roberto Cavalli. There were about seven video screens, twenty male dancers, and a whole lot of screaming fans. My voice had gone hoarse by the fourth or fifth song, but of course I had no intention of stopping.

For the rest of the night, Scary, Baby, Ginger, Posh, and Sporty tore through elaborate themed sets and costumes: giant feathers and pink heart-shaped dressing room doors; red flamenco capes; dominatrix black leather, whips, and chains; and more. Each also performed solo, some electing to cover classic hits (like Right Said Fred’s “I’m Too Sexy”) while others sang their own songs (like Melanie C’s “I Turn to You”). This is when much of the crowd went silent and I began to feel like a superior fan, because I knew all the words to their solo works and their third album, i.e., I stuck by them even after they’d faded in popularity.

Then Andy rolled his eyes and said, “Don’t be a stuck-up Spice fan. That’s worse than not being a fan at all.”

Doh.

One of the most popular performances of the night was “Mama,” in which the Spice Children joined the Spice Girls on stage (with protective earphones the size of their heads). A video of the Spice Mothers played on the background screen, giving the audience three generations of Spice. Tasty!

The night ended with their first #1 hit, the one that brought Girl Power to the whole world: “Wannabe.” It’s never been my favorite song of theirs, but there’s something to be said for being the start of it all, and I think that’s why they chose to come full circle and end the night with it.

If you wannabe my lover, you gotta get with my friends.

So it may not have been a conventional Valentine’s Day, but by indulging me in this, Andy “got with my friends” Mel C, Mel B, Emma, Victoria, and Geri, and definitely made me zig-a-zig-ah.

We would love to hear from you! Email JBUcolumn [at] gmail.com.

Published in the Star Courier (link) and the Northeast News.