It all started – officially – with a funny little sign on the wall of the Sixth Grade Space. Written in mechanical pencil and pale pink and green highlighter, there was nothing glamorous, edgy, or clever about the so-called “poster” I hung up at school in a first attempt at starting a band. In fact, everything about it was awkward. It was awkwardly scotch-taped to the wall by an awkward girl wearing an awkwardly large Bob Marley t-shirt because she thought bras were awkward. The phrasing on the sign was perhaps the most awkward of all. It read, “Want to join a serious honest band? Sign up here:” and was followed by a big, awkward, empty space that took up most of the page. At the bottom it read “Thanks! :) ” Because nothing screams “rock n’ roll” louder than smiley faces on printer paper.
Luckily for me, though, I soon realized that I had some wonderful friends who were already interested in forming a band. Kate, Charlotte, Frannie, Rachael and I joined forces to form the pop-culture sensation No Mascara, selling out arenas everywhere by the time we’d reached seventh grade (lol).
Of course, we didn’t get that far alone – If you check out our very well-synched and not at all embarrassing music videos on Youtube, you’ll notice the line, “Produced by Mike Irwin” in the bottom left corner of the screen. Who is Mike Irwin? I’m sure you’re wondering. Well, he is an awesome guy. And his meaningful life lessons are the topic of this talk.
More specifically, Mike is my guitar teacher and, essentially, No Mascara’s band “teacher.” He is also a friend, and if I didn’t find the word a little too banal for the person, I would call him a mentor. I’ll have to think up a better word to describe Mike – something that calls to mind a friend/teacher/fun-uncle-like figure. A Fruncler.
Anyways, up until last year at least, we’d practice every week at Mike’s house, and he’d help us cover songs or write them, and teach us… the ways of the world. His lessons have been so important to my growing into the fully mature and almost sage-like person I am today, that I want to impart some of those lessons to you.
Firstly, Mike taught me how to behave when at a concert. One time we went on a band outing, Mike included, to see Broken Social Scene, and we small high-school sophomore girls were jostled around quite a bit by aggressively flailing hipsters. We weren’t angry, obviously – the audience was just so into that instrumental song with the experimental time signature – but we were irked that we had seemingly lost the ability to not fall over.
Cue Mike and his brilliance, which came to us in the form of the Mike Irwin Concert Stance. Legs a shoulders’ width apart. Arms crossed. Back straight. Most importantly: push back when pushed.
Our new stances were put to the test when a very… intoxicated guy started bothering us. He had a beard, thick-rimmed glasses, and a beanie, as well as a beer in his hand, which he wasn’t afraid to spill on people. He was doing his thing, and his thing was annoying. We didn’t know what to do… How to make him stop talking to us? How to keep him from flattening Frannie’s faux-hawk? Mike came to our rescue again. He sent him away with some firm words that sounded effortlessly cool to my young ears: “Hey, man, it’s not okay to offend people like that.” Random Drunk Guy responded with “Dude, I’m gonna keep offending people until the day I don’t offend people anymore!” and twirled away into the fog of flannel and skinny jeans. How to dispel harmless probably-stoned hipsters? Always a good think to know. Plus, I learned that not all skunk smell comes from skunks.
Mike also helped me to understand the opposite gender. I might sit in a guitar lesson, griping over some boy trouble, and Mike would offer an expert piece of advice, such as: “Daisy, don’t worry, you’re overthinking it. 98% percent of the time, boys only think about two things: sex and sandwiches.” Or, I could mention the intimidation of a big school dance and he might quip, “Well, D-Money, if you just cover yourself in saran-wrap, you won’t get sweaty or pregnant.” One time at band rehearsal, Kate, Charlotte, Frannie, and I were engaged in some discussion of push-up bras and their shortcomings, and Mike suggested a finer solution than extra padding: a midget push up bra! To use his exact words in explaining this brilliant idea, “You just hire a midget to run around in front of you holding up your boobs and chortling!” What would I do without advice like this?
Furthermore, an as act bestowing me with knowledge beyond bands and boys, I have also baby-sat Mike’s babies, and I must say that babysitting tired twin two-year-olds is a whole lesson in and of itself. There are few things quite as terrifying as trying to put a screaming baby back to sleep, when that baby is some one else’s and its parents aren’t home and the only thing that keeps it quiet is singing and oh hey wait there’s actually two of them. When Mike came home, though, he gave me a quick lesson in optimism: for when I told him about how I’d fretted because his children only stopped wailing when I sang, he didn’t even register my worry. “They stopped crying when you sang? That’s rad.”
These are all bits of wisdom I’ve accumulated from Mike over the years, and I’ve already put some to good use. The Mike Irwin Concert Stance has come back in handy. This year especially, I’ve been able to utilize all sorts of Mike advice. College has plenty of guys wearing flannels and beanies and skinny jeans. College has some random annoying drunk guys too. College has sex. College has sandwiches. College has even had the occasional screaming baby, and you know what? I’ve been prepared for all of that, even the sandwiches. So thanks, Mike. Each time I swaddle myself in saran wrap and put on my midget push up bra, I’m ready to face whatever comes my way.
