Safety Duran Duran Buttons

In the past couple of years, people have started to wear safety pins as a social statement to raise awareness of safety for minorities and others who are often found in unsafe situations in society. One could say that I have jumped into that bandwagon, which I suppose in a way I have, but it's with my own personal twist.

My "safety pins" are Duran Duran buttons.

Yes, I am completely serious and not making light of the social statement at hand. I am standing for the safety of those who are made to feel shame or fear for loving the music that they love.

And this is why:

When Duran Duran graced the airwaves with songs from their Seven and the Ragged Tiger album in the mid 80s, I became a Duranie. I was enchanted with the band as their music became my safe place during my tumultuous adolescence. In the same way that a blanket fort can be a safe place in the physical world, my music was where I could find peace in myself, as if it was something tangible that I could wrap around me like a cloak. It kept me together when everything else would come apart.

When I was 20, I got married... to a nightmare. My world, and everything in it, was no longer safe, largely because anything that made me happy that didn't involve him made him jealous. My music was one of the first things he made to go away. Bit by bit, over time, he forced me to convince myself that I really didn't like Duran Duran anymore, that it was childish junk. It was engrained into me that disagreeing with him and liking Duran Duran anyway would land me in physical, perhaps even mortal, danger.

Several years later, I got out of that marriage, though the wounds, both physical and emotional, remained raw for a long time. I became involved with a very supportive man who encouraged me to be the person I am meant to be and to enjoy the things that I like, including my music. He soon became my husband and has been my rock ever since.

When Duran Duran was coming to Seattle in 2008, he asked me if I wanted to go to their concert. At first I said no. Even though I was safe now, even though it was ok for me to enjoy the music that made me come alive, the scars were still there, convincing me that I didn't really like Duran Duran very much and something really bad might happen to me if I showed too much enthusiasm. I even feared I might die. The fear was that deep. I mean, I was healed enough at that point that Icould listen to their CDs, and I was intrigued by a super-Duranie I heard on the radio who called himself Durandy, yet my going to a concert and doing the whole Duranie thing at the time seemed almost foreign to me and was still well beyond my comfort zone. 

But my husband knew me better and he refused to allow my inhibitions to speak for me. He bothered and pestered me until I admitted that I wanted to go see them. And I am so glad he did. At the concert, I was able to break through so many layers of scars and terror and, for the first time in nearly two decades I allowed myself to be cloaked in the safety of their music.

Not entirely at first, of course. That took some years and gentle encouragement from the local Duran community, including the lovely and zany Durandy, who has been a valuable friend for the past several years to me, but I can now, without fear or hesitation, call myself a devoted Duranie. I even got a Duran-related tattoo as a personal testimony that I will never again give anyone the power to dictate what music I am allowed to love.

And that is why I wear Duran Duran buttons instead of safety pins. When people are drawn to music that resonates with them, it is their right to be able to listen to it and enjoy it without fear, Duran Duran or otherwise! Who cares if other people don't like what you like? Who cares if it's not popular? If you love your music and it puts you in a place of joy, embrace it! Plus, if someone likes something that you don't, DON'T ruin it for them! Don't be the one who makes them feel ashamed or afraid to take comfort in the art that resonates with them! Music is the universal safe place and it comes in millions of forms. It's completely fine if yours doesn't match those around you.

That is what my Duran Duran buttons say when I wear them. I am a proud Duranie. Be proud of your music!

My Duran Moment

 It did indeed happen!

 I went to Zagreb Croatia at the end of August and not only did I see a fabulous Duran Duran concert,  not only did I walk away from the concert with a three foot beach ball that was bounced around the audience during the finale, not only was I honored to meet three band members, but I handed those three members each a copy of Speaking in Feline!

 Since I was 12, I had very much wanted to meet one or more band members, mainly the bass god, John Taylor. Over 30 years later, I was becoming very discouraged that this would ever happen. After I was given some excellent pointers from my dear friend, Durandy, my husband and I embarked on a journey to Europe to catch a show and, most hopefully, a Duran moment.

 We were given a tip on which hotel they were staying at, so that's where we went and spent the day, becoming increasingly aware that the lobby was filling up with middle-aged schoolgirls, like me, ready to pounce.

 After several hours of waiting, there was a stir among the patient Durianies, and suddenly, there they were, Duran Duran, coming into the lobby from their limo! The Duranies soon surrounded Simon LeBon and Nick Rhodes. I didn't have a chance at getting their attention because I was too slow. So I looked around. Roger Taylor was about ten feet away from me. I was about to approach him when, at the corner of my eye, I found that John Taylor was almost right next to me! So, of course you wonder, what did I do? What did I say?

 I froze. He stepped away, back to the front door of the lobby. My husband nudged me and urged me to, "Go! Go after him!" So I went and caught back up with him. He was peering outside the door, clearly looking for someone from his entourage.

 Eager for his attention, I yelled, "John! John!"

 He looked at me. HE LOOKED AT ME!

 He was looking at me and I said, "..................................................."

 Yeah, that was smooth. I'm a dork.

 Clearly, he's had that conversation before with countless starstruck Duranies and asked kindly, "Do you want a photograph?"

 My husband took over at that point and said "Yes" for me. When the picture was taken, he was gone! Zip, just like that. A little braver now, I chased after him and handed him a copy of my book. Through stuttering and stumbling words of it being about Duranies in 1985, he remarked, "Isn't that interesting!" He made this starstruck middle-aged schoolgirl very happy!

 (Here is a picture of him with Speaking in Feline in his hand:)

 The Wild Boys then disappeared in the lift and us Duranies were left to talk about our experiences, both what had just happened and previous Duran moments, and I made a bunch of new friends. Absolutely delightful people! Even without that amazing Duran moment, they would have made it all worth my while!

 The next morning, day of the concert, we were again parked in the lobby, waiting for a glimpse... or more. Suddenly, Simon breezed through, very close to where I was sitting. I stood up and (just as intelligently as I did for John) I yelled, "Simon! Simon!"

 He did not slow his pace towards the hotel restaurant, and his face clearly showed that he was not quite ready for fan adoration, but he looked over at me and gave me a wave. Ok, that's cool. I can respect that he's not a morning person. Neither am I. I did not chase after him as I did with John.

 A while later, presumably after he had some breakfast, he came breezing back in the opposite direction. This time, there were a few women waiting for him with gifts. Being last in this informal line, I handed him a copy of my book, eloquently saying, "I wrote it, and you're in it."

 Yes, I'm a dork. But I'm a dork who had just hand delivered a second book to Duran Duran band members!

 (Here is Simon with the gifts in his hands. You can see the red spine of the book among the other gifts in his arms. That's me in front of him!)

 The concert was amazing. I was at the very front, in the fan pit, and on John's side. At the end of most Duran Duran concerts, they play Rio as a finale, and during that time, there is confetti and huge beach balls thrown about the audience. There was a large space in between the stage and the fan pit and the balls kept getting stuck there. I kept bugging the security guard and pointing at the balls so he would go and throw them back into play. After I kept bothering him, he simply handed me one! Then the band grouped together for a bow. Dom Brown, the fill-in guitarist, gave me a smile and did a "rock-on" hand gesture at me. Seems like having a beach ball gives a person leverage!

 The next day saw me in the lobby once more. I managed another selfie with John, this time I was able to use my own words to ask for it. Then I was in a group selfie with Simon. My arm was around his shoulders.

 Then came the coolest moment. I had thought that all my Duran moments thus far was adequate, but the divine spirits had saved the best for last.

 I was waiting at the lifts. Nick had not yet come down and he had to come down sometime, right? Suddenly, there he was, speed-walking through the lobby and out the doors. Again, my husband nudged me, "Go! Go!" All the other Duranies respectfully held back and did not bother him on his power walk... but I was on a mission!

 Book in hand, I sped down the street, shouting, "Nick! Nick!" He didn't slow down. That dude can ZOOM!

 I caught up to him and called out his name a few times.

 Without slowing down, he turned to me and said, not unkindly, "Be quick."

 I handed him the book.

 He slowed way down and looked at the cover. Then he pointed to the cover and said, "Oh! Poosie-cat!" in his lovely British accent.

 "I wrote it!" I told him.

 "Did you?" he said very kindly.

 "It's about Duranies in 1985," I went on.

 He smiled at that.

 Then I added, "And cats from outer space!"

 At that, he stopped walking, threw his head back, and laughed.

 In a moment, he resumed his power walk, though he turned back to tell me, very warmly, "Thank you!"

 "Thank you!" I called after him.

 (Here he is below. I was not able to get a selfie in that moment, but he is the fair-haired one looking over at me, the one in the hat. That's when he slowed down but I still had to move fast to keep up.)

 That was my finale. I could have stuck around to see if I could have more Duran moments, but I wanted the finale as it was. Although Roger was most elusive and I did not get to meet him, I am satisfied with the encounters that I did manage to have.

 I might have more Duran moments in the future. I might have other cool moments concerning my book. But this was the best ending of a 32 year old wait that this author could hope for.

 Thank you, Duran Duran, for an amazing moment in Zagreb, for your amazing music, and for... everything!

Thank you!

Speaking in Feline now available

Welcome to my web page! My book, Speaking in Feline, is finally available and I will be posting my thoughts and updates frequently. Are you ready to journey with me?