my mum is amazing

This evening Eryn was flipping through videos on the iPhone and by chance, found my new favourite song.

She’s quickly discovered that after a video ends, YouTube offers her a list of suggestions for further viewing. And being an @gen baby,^TM instinctively knows how to navigate the list herself to find new songs for her enjoyment.

So for example, if she wants to see the laughing baby video, first she goes to our “favourites” list and plays If you’re happy and you know it. Then she stops it, scrolls through the suggestions until she finds Head, shoulders, knees and toes, stops that as well, and scrolls until she finds the laughing baby. Even though it’s not listed in our “favourites” she knows how to identify the two songs that will lead her to that drooling, giggling munchkin with a soother. It takes her about 15 seconds.

Scary.

But tonight, I heard her playing a song I’ve never heard before. I don’t even know how she found it — but I’m glad she did.

Without being at all preachy, it’s a wonderful song about a daughter’s love for her mom, with a twist and an important message.

The best part for me is that I can easily project myself and Eryn into the characters — from the daughter’s carefree curls, to the mother’s hijab style. This is the second Muslim music video that does it for me (Narcy’s Alhamdulillah being the first). Of course, I bawled at the end — so it scored triple points.

Check out Zain Bhikha’s song, My Mum is Amazing, featuring the incredibly wonderful  Nadira Alli:

 

no more mister nice guy

It was a sleepy Saturday morning on June 1, 1994. I stood next to the kitchen wall phone, shuffling nervously, heart pounding up into my brain and holding my breath while begging a coworker to take my morning shift. After a long pause they said yes, and I nearly passed out.

Within the hour I was on the train to get to the HMV on Yonge Street in Toronto, and arrived early enough to be 10th in line. For hours complete strangers chatted, sang, and joked with each other. A few came dressed to the nines in top hats and walking sticks. I’m surprised I didn’t see a snake.

When the line began to move I stopped thinking rationally. This experience was happening to another person — I was only a spectator. We walked deeper into the store, right to the back where a black table was set up with posters and commemorative books. Two burly security guards in bright orange shirts stood behind it. I shuffled closer and grew sick with excitement. After an eternity, it was finally my turn.

He signed my CD album cover and told me that he rarely sees this particular album outside of Europe. I laughed and told him that I bought it while on vacation in Germany. I found all of his obscure albums there. He smiled and I told him it was my favourite. He thanked me for coming by and before leaving I offered him a hand shake. He took my outstretched hand in his warm, black leather glove, and in mid-shake, I turned it over and kissed it.

The security guards moved quickly to stop me, but he leaned back and grandly announced, “Oh, don’t worry. She’s worthy.”

I kissed Alice Cooper’s hand.