It was a gorgeous day yesterday...it was, in fact, HOT. So hot that I need to reconsider my stance on driving around without air conditioning as my back was starting to stick to my leather seats and I've been told that's not attractive. Whatever. You say tomato, I say you're saying it wrong.
Regardless, I had all of the windows open and was happily blaring Kanye West. I was getting on with my bad self as sometimes a girl needs to. However, you know how you have listened to something for so long that you kind of don't hear the words anymore and then suddenly, you find yourself in a situation where, not only do you HEAR the words, but you are MORTIFIED by them?
Let me explain.
Kanye, as we all know, is African American. It's my understanding that black people are allowed to call OTHER black people by the "N" word. This escapes me entirely considering what negative, historical connotations that word carries. I mean, I suppose I can compare it to sometimes calling up one of my girlfriends and saying, "What's up, bish?" But normally, that's because said friend sometimes IS a bish and would admit that if pressed. But that word doesn't carry with it the weight of slavery and discrimination and marginalization. Anyways, there is a part of this song, Flashing Lights, wherein the lyrics go thusly:
"Damn, these n****** got me, I hate these n****** more than a Nazi."
I applaud his choice of disliking the Nazi's...I mean, really, I'm half German and carry historical guilt over what that group did. My problem is that I've memorized these lyrics over time and sing them while in the car without really realizing what I'm saying.
So yesterday, with windows down and song blaring, I came to a stoplight and this stanza came on. And I found myself singing about n****** and Nazi's and looked over to see two men in the car next to me of African American descent looking at me curiously as I sang about their brethren in such uncouth terms. I was suddenly VERY aware of what had just come out of my mouth. Because while they can say that word to one another, I'm pretty sure a white girl isn't allowed to, even if she is singing along with one of their own.
Praise the good Lord in heaven, the light turned green right then...though I was several shades of red. Stupid Kanye. Lesson learned though - I should definitely get my AC fixed. See? I would totally have had the windows rolled up and been able to holler out racial slurs without fear of offending someone.
Wow! I didn't just get struck down! It's going to be a good week!
Showing posts with label Music. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Music. Show all posts
Monday, April 6, 2009
Tuesday, December 23, 2008
Because everyone else is doing it
The Lucky Paw 2008 Quickie List:
Best movies I’ve seen this year: In Bruges and Iron Man
Movies I’m ashamed to say I enjoyed: Transporter I & II. What can I say? JASON STATHAM WAS SHIRTLESS.
Worst movie I’ve seen this year: Wanted
Best book I read this year: Tough call between Disgrace and The Collected Stories of Amy Hempel
Worst Book I read this year: Big Sur by Jack Kerouac. What a blow hard.
Best Music I bought this year: Ra Ra Riot, Kings of Leon, Bloc Party, The Stills, The Walkmen
Songs that never failed to make me happy: Just Dance by Lady GaGa, Elevator by Flo Rida, Revelry by Kings of Leon, Signs by Bloc Party, Face to Face by Daft Punk, Oh, La by Ra Ra Riot
Best Concert I went to this year: Eddie Vedder, acoustic. Amazing. Yes, Rod, he was better than Madonna.
Worst months this year: August/September
Best month this year: June
Biggest, girl crushes this year: Gwyneth Paltrow! I know! I can’t help it! She was so cute in Iron Man! And Tina Fey, who I’m determined to be when I grow up.
Best kiss I’ve received this year: The year ain’t over
Favorite memory of this year: Taking Maren, a friend’s daughter, on walks through the Boboli Gardens in Florence. There is nothing so spectacular as seeing things through the eyes of a child.
I managed to keep all of the resolutions I made this year: Meaning I haven’t robbed any banks, inflicted bodily injury on people who irritated me or woken up in a tequila laden stupor. This is called growth. I’m maturing, people! Hell hath frozen over. I still need to work on my fear of large groups of women, capri pants and my desire to kick people in the loins who always have to work into conversation that they went to an Ivy League school.
In 2009, I’ll work on keeping my nails manicured, my closet organized and eyebrows evenly drawn in. I’ll also try to be less bossy. I’m already exhausted.
Happy Holidays everyone. See you in ought-nine.
Best movies I’ve seen this year: In Bruges and Iron Man
Movies I’m ashamed to say I enjoyed: Transporter I & II. What can I say? JASON STATHAM WAS SHIRTLESS.
Worst movie I’ve seen this year: Wanted
Best book I read this year: Tough call between Disgrace and The Collected Stories of Amy Hempel
Worst Book I read this year: Big Sur by Jack Kerouac. What a blow hard.
Best Music I bought this year: Ra Ra Riot, Kings of Leon, Bloc Party, The Stills, The Walkmen
Songs that never failed to make me happy: Just Dance by Lady GaGa, Elevator by Flo Rida, Revelry by Kings of Leon, Signs by Bloc Party, Face to Face by Daft Punk, Oh, La by Ra Ra Riot
Best Concert I went to this year: Eddie Vedder, acoustic. Amazing. Yes, Rod, he was better than Madonna.
Worst months this year: August/September
Best month this year: June
Biggest, girl crushes this year: Gwyneth Paltrow! I know! I can’t help it! She was so cute in Iron Man! And Tina Fey, who I’m determined to be when I grow up.
Best kiss I’ve received this year: The year ain’t over
Favorite memory of this year: Taking Maren, a friend’s daughter, on walks through the Boboli Gardens in Florence. There is nothing so spectacular as seeing things through the eyes of a child.
I managed to keep all of the resolutions I made this year: Meaning I haven’t robbed any banks, inflicted bodily injury on people who irritated me or woken up in a tequila laden stupor. This is called growth. I’m maturing, people! Hell hath frozen over. I still need to work on my fear of large groups of women, capri pants and my desire to kick people in the loins who always have to work into conversation that they went to an Ivy League school.
In 2009, I’ll work on keeping my nails manicured, my closet organized and eyebrows evenly drawn in. I’ll also try to be less bossy. I’m already exhausted.
Happy Holidays everyone. See you in ought-nine.
Friday, October 31, 2008
Put a ring on it
Good morning everyone! Did you realize it's Friday? I don't know where this week went...I spent most of it writhing on the floor, gasping for air, trying to get through a terrible bout of insomnia and allergies. And because I have nothing other to say than I AM SO FUCKING TIRED, I give you this, a video that has had me staring in fascination since Pablo sent it to me yesterday. First because I wish I could move like that and then secondly, WHERE IS HIS JUNK? But damn! It's a catchy song! And I've been singing it! All day! And now, so will you!
Hopefully, by next week, my ennui will have worn off and I'll be back to my regular, sparkly self. But for now, my head is shutting down and wanting me to lie, quietly, in a room with the windows drawn. If this were the early 1800's, I would ask my maid to loosen my corset and she would report to all who cared that I was suffering from consumption, and I would softly weep in the corner. As it's 2008, I suppose I'll just listen to my body...which is telling me to have a shot of tequila. And I must obey.
Happy Halloween!
Hopefully, by next week, my ennui will have worn off and I'll be back to my regular, sparkly self. But for now, my head is shutting down and wanting me to lie, quietly, in a room with the windows drawn. If this were the early 1800's, I would ask my maid to loosen my corset and she would report to all who cared that I was suffering from consumption, and I would softly weep in the corner. As it's 2008, I suppose I'll just listen to my body...which is telling me to have a shot of tequila. And I must obey.
Happy Halloween!
Thursday, October 16, 2008
I shall fear no evil, not even the consequences of my love for punk rock
On my way home from work yesterday, I was enjoying the local classical music radio station. On a particular strip of 85North, that is the only station I receive, a strange feature of my malfunctioning radio that drops and catches signals at whim. I think it's fun...you never know what you'll get when you turn it on. And if nothing picks up, I can always whistle.
Regardless, a certain piece by Bach came on, one that my mother used to play over breakfast, often. We would eat together as a family each morning, then read the Bible and have prayer time before leaving for school. I think this assuaged my mothers fears that we might somehow stumble off of our righteous path - if we were bathed in the Holy Spirit before leaving the house (in His blessed name, amen) we were less likely to succumb to worldly temptations. We would, at the very least, have a heightened idea of just how close we were to stumbling into the fiery grips of hell (especially if I was having wicked thoughts about that cute boy in Algebra), what with Proverbs ringing in our ears before first period.
I was in high school when my parents took a particular interest in our musical preferences, having found my collection of Nirvana cassettes, thereby increasing their concern for the status of my soul. We had been raised on hymns and classical music, everything else was considered sinful, something that might lead to S-E-X or, at the very least, masturbation. My mother found a book on the sins of rock music and insisted on reading a chapter along with our Bible reading. (We found this mildly hypocritical considering my father had been in a polka band before he had ever met my mother and had a long running repertoire of popular music he could play on his accordion.)
I had a friend who used to pick me up in the morning. She had come early one day, and my mother insisted that she join in our devotional time. Mom was always excited to perhaps bring someone over to her side of life where all things were righteous and clean and no one ever touched themselves in that way. I feared, after my friend witnessed the spectacle that was my family, that I would become a complete social outcast, but she said nothing on the way to school and started coming earlier every day, listening attentively as my mother would read from the book and then Bible, even helping clear the table before we left for classes.
I asked her about it one day. She was a lapsed Catholic and quite verbal about her disdain for organized religion. Her reply to my inquiry as to why she had continued subjecting herself to my parents proselytizing was simple "Your mom makes great coffee." She then went on to ask why we never read from the Songs of Solomon. I explained that there were references to bosoms and S-E-X, so, you know, we ignored that book. Since my mothers vocabulary didn't include the word sex or any references thereto, I was sure her brain would explode and leak out of her ears if our breakfast devotions included praise of pursuing the pleasures of the body. You might as well stick her into a bathhouse orgy and tell her to act normal.
My parents efforts to keep us on the straight and narrow were, however misguided, appreciated in hindsight. While I think their methods may have been extreme, I sit here, as an adult, with the Golden Rule planted firmly in my gray matter, and I can recite passages of the Bible on command, which is always a neat party trick. I love punk music, my brother is a DJ and we've both had our share of S-E-X, but I'd like to think that those mornings, while we went through the motions so as to respect our parents, that we absorbed enough goodness to carry us through adulthood without leaving behind too much wreckage.
All of this from listening to Bach on the way home.
Regardless, a certain piece by Bach came on, one that my mother used to play over breakfast, often. We would eat together as a family each morning, then read the Bible and have prayer time before leaving for school. I think this assuaged my mothers fears that we might somehow stumble off of our righteous path - if we were bathed in the Holy Spirit before leaving the house (in His blessed name, amen) we were less likely to succumb to worldly temptations. We would, at the very least, have a heightened idea of just how close we were to stumbling into the fiery grips of hell (especially if I was having wicked thoughts about that cute boy in Algebra), what with Proverbs ringing in our ears before first period.
I was in high school when my parents took a particular interest in our musical preferences, having found my collection of Nirvana cassettes, thereby increasing their concern for the status of my soul. We had been raised on hymns and classical music, everything else was considered sinful, something that might lead to S-E-X or, at the very least, masturbation. My mother found a book on the sins of rock music and insisted on reading a chapter along with our Bible reading. (We found this mildly hypocritical considering my father had been in a polka band before he had ever met my mother and had a long running repertoire of popular music he could play on his accordion.)
I had a friend who used to pick me up in the morning. She had come early one day, and my mother insisted that she join in our devotional time. Mom was always excited to perhaps bring someone over to her side of life where all things were righteous and clean and no one ever touched themselves in that way. I feared, after my friend witnessed the spectacle that was my family, that I would become a complete social outcast, but she said nothing on the way to school and started coming earlier every day, listening attentively as my mother would read from the book and then Bible, even helping clear the table before we left for classes.
I asked her about it one day. She was a lapsed Catholic and quite verbal about her disdain for organized religion. Her reply to my inquiry as to why she had continued subjecting herself to my parents proselytizing was simple "Your mom makes great coffee." She then went on to ask why we never read from the Songs of Solomon. I explained that there were references to bosoms and S-E-X, so, you know, we ignored that book. Since my mothers vocabulary didn't include the word sex or any references thereto, I was sure her brain would explode and leak out of her ears if our breakfast devotions included praise of pursuing the pleasures of the body. You might as well stick her into a bathhouse orgy and tell her to act normal.
My parents efforts to keep us on the straight and narrow were, however misguided, appreciated in hindsight. While I think their methods may have been extreme, I sit here, as an adult, with the Golden Rule planted firmly in my gray matter, and I can recite passages of the Bible on command, which is always a neat party trick. I love punk music, my brother is a DJ and we've both had our share of S-E-X, but I'd like to think that those mornings, while we went through the motions so as to respect our parents, that we absorbed enough goodness to carry us through adulthood without leaving behind too much wreckage.
All of this from listening to Bach on the way home.
Tuesday, October 14, 2008
After the Angels & Airwaves/Weezer show, a thought
Dear Tom DeLonge,
If I can see the outline of your ball-sac from my balcony seat, it might be time to consider new pants. Just an idea.
Thank you,
Jen
P.S. - Also, you were in terrible voice last night...what gives? I almost wanted to come down there, shove you out of the way and take over. And I can't even sing, but it would have been better than what was coming out of your mouth, which resembled the sound a cat makes while being strangled, but with re-verb. I feel like I'm coming off of a bad acid trip, what with my ringing ears and sore, ball assaulted eyes.
P.P.S. - Also, Weezer ROCKED it OUT. But you knew that. You were there. I'm so glad your participation in the Sweater Song didn't ruin it. I might have had to throw something sharp at you. And while I can't sing, I do have great aim.
If I can see the outline of your ball-sac from my balcony seat, it might be time to consider new pants. Just an idea.
Thank you,
Jen
P.S. - Also, you were in terrible voice last night...what gives? I almost wanted to come down there, shove you out of the way and take over. And I can't even sing, but it would have been better than what was coming out of your mouth, which resembled the sound a cat makes while being strangled, but with re-verb. I feel like I'm coming off of a bad acid trip, what with my ringing ears and sore, ball assaulted eyes.
P.P.S. - Also, Weezer ROCKED it OUT. But you knew that. You were there. I'm so glad your participation in the Sweater Song didn't ruin it. I might have had to throw something sharp at you. And while I can't sing, I do have great aim.
Monday, September 8, 2008
Re-establishing my cred
What's been playing constantly on my iPod:
This War Is Noise - Sundowner
Sex on Fire - Kings of Leon
In the New Year - The Walkmen
Being Here - The Stills
Love Song - The Dandy Warhols
The Geeks Were Right - The Faints
Move - CSS
Each Year - Ra Ra Riot
The '59 Sound - The Gaslight Anthem
Untitled - Against Me!
Born & Raised - Fake Problems
Check out Sundowner if you don't know them already - I'm in love with his voice.
Here's to a great week wherein I don't forget to put on important pieces of clothing before I leave the house. I have high hopes, people.
This War Is Noise - Sundowner
Sex on Fire - Kings of Leon
In the New Year - The Walkmen
Being Here - The Stills
Love Song - The Dandy Warhols
The Geeks Were Right - The Faints
Move - CSS
Each Year - Ra Ra Riot
The '59 Sound - The Gaslight Anthem
Untitled - Against Me!
Born & Raised - Fake Problems
Check out Sundowner if you don't know them already - I'm in love with his voice.
Here's to a great week wherein I don't forget to put on important pieces of clothing before I leave the house. I have high hopes, people.
Wednesday, August 27, 2008
Dream academy
Should I be concerned? I had a dream last night that I was waxing Dave Grohl's chest. This didn't come to me until later today when I was listening to Skin & Bones at top volume and had this sudden flash from my subconscious. While he's long been on my own personal "list" - if you catch my drift - I'm amazed as to why my brain, while on hiatus from actually having to think, came up with such a scenario. I mean, Dave singing to me while I'm being fed grapes by Brad Pitt and having my feet massaged by Eddie Vedder makes more sense, you know? THAT I could get on board with...
This? Not so much.
This? Not so much.
Tuesday, June 24, 2008
Please, no
The one thing I despise about the beginning of summer is how every local radio station starts playing "Red, Red Wine" by the UB40's, CONSTANTLY.
That song makes my ears bleed.
And you're welcome for now having it stuck in your head all day. Join me in this sweet, sweet hell.
That song makes my ears bleed.
And you're welcome for now having it stuck in your head all day. Join me in this sweet, sweet hell.
Thursday, June 19, 2008
Italy Play List...
Whenever I travel, I always seem to create an unofficial play list...songs that I go to over and over on my iPod. Normally, I take the opportunity to listen to new music, uninterrupted, but this time around I found myself going back to some old standbys. Perhaps it was because I was in a reflective mood for most of this trip and wanted my mental soundtrack to be comforting and familiar. Either way, here it is. Don't you judge me.
Ride - Cary Brothers
Viva la Vida - Coldplay
Collie Man - Simply Stoopid
Big Girls Don't Cry - Fergie (shut up, Angie)
Remind Me - Royksopp
World Spins Madly On - The Weepies
Losing a Whole Year - Third Eye Blind
Hide and Seek - Imogen Heap
Rise - Eddie Vedder
Sirens - Angles & Airwaves
Belief - John Mayer
Justify - ATB
Stay or Leave - Dave Matthews Band
Running to Stand Still - U2
Simple Kind of Life - No Doubt
Sunday Morning - Maroon 5
What You Thought You Needed - Jack Johnson
Ride - Cary Brothers
Viva la Vida - Coldplay
Collie Man - Simply Stoopid
Big Girls Don't Cry - Fergie (shut up, Angie)
Remind Me - Royksopp
World Spins Madly On - The Weepies
Losing a Whole Year - Third Eye Blind
Hide and Seek - Imogen Heap
Rise - Eddie Vedder
Sirens - Angles & Airwaves
Belief - John Mayer
Justify - ATB
Stay or Leave - Dave Matthews Band
Running to Stand Still - U2
Simple Kind of Life - No Doubt
Sunday Morning - Maroon 5
What You Thought You Needed - Jack Johnson
Wednesday, May 28, 2008
Pants problem
There are a few things in life about which I am certain. Not much, mind you, because I’ve been blessed with only a minimal amount of wisdom, but I can tell you with great certainty that you SHOULD recycle, hummus is the best food on earth, English grammar is annoying, none of us gets enough fiber in our diets and no man should ever question a woman’s dedication to her shoe collection. Also, wear your sunblock. Beyond that, don’t come to me for advice - I’ll probably just hand you a margarita and change the subject.
Then there’s me…there are things about ME of which I am VERY certain. For instance:
I LOVE musicians. If you can sing, I might ask you to marry me. If you can sing AND play an instrument, my pants will just come right off. RIGHT OFF. No joke. It’s a bit embarrassing. If you look like Eddie Vedder or Gavin Rossdale, then we’ll have a whole nudity situation to contend with.
This being said, I’ve had a bit of a dilemma this week.
I’ve had a long running crisis concerning my opinion on Coldplay (or “Menya” as I believe Mark D. calls them). They used to be one of my favorite bands, and then a friend of mine who is a musician himself said “No no NO. Chris Martin CANNOT sing!” Chris Martin? Not being able to sing? Hogwash…have you HEARD Yellow? Anyways, we often (after several glasses of wine) descended into ugly territory regarding this subject and finally agreed to disagree.
Then, one fateful night, I was happily watching “Austin City Limits” with Coldplay as the guest, and, well, I was shattered. Because Chris Martin could indeed, not sing. Or at least he was in very weak voice that evening. And as he gasped his way through Clocks I stared in horror at the television, my fantasies of kicking Gwyneth Paltrow in the shins and taking her place dissolving as Chris wailed pathetically through most of his high notes.
I was so sad. So sad in fact, that I had to remove Coldplay from my iPod for a while, and then call my friend and admit that he had been correct and my pants were permanently on a removal hiatus where Chris Martin was concerned.
So fast forward to last week...I was in the car and heard this amazing song come on the radio. AMAZING. I felt my top button loosening! And it was COLDPLAYS new single! Viva la Vida!
So my conundrum is, do I accept that Chris perhaps needs a little doctoring in the studio to sound good and just enjoy his music and song writing? Or do I hold onto my righteous indignation and musical law: “He who cannot sing live should leave it to those who can.”
My pants need to know.
Then there’s me…there are things about ME of which I am VERY certain. For instance:
I LOVE musicians. If you can sing, I might ask you to marry me. If you can sing AND play an instrument, my pants will just come right off. RIGHT OFF. No joke. It’s a bit embarrassing. If you look like Eddie Vedder or Gavin Rossdale, then we’ll have a whole nudity situation to contend with.
This being said, I’ve had a bit of a dilemma this week.
I’ve had a long running crisis concerning my opinion on Coldplay (or “Menya” as I believe Mark D. calls them). They used to be one of my favorite bands, and then a friend of mine who is a musician himself said “No no NO. Chris Martin CANNOT sing!” Chris Martin? Not being able to sing? Hogwash…have you HEARD Yellow? Anyways, we often (after several glasses of wine) descended into ugly territory regarding this subject and finally agreed to disagree.
Then, one fateful night, I was happily watching “Austin City Limits” with Coldplay as the guest, and, well, I was shattered. Because Chris Martin could indeed, not sing. Or at least he was in very weak voice that evening. And as he gasped his way through Clocks I stared in horror at the television, my fantasies of kicking Gwyneth Paltrow in the shins and taking her place dissolving as Chris wailed pathetically through most of his high notes.
I was so sad. So sad in fact, that I had to remove Coldplay from my iPod for a while, and then call my friend and admit that he had been correct and my pants were permanently on a removal hiatus where Chris Martin was concerned.
So fast forward to last week...I was in the car and heard this amazing song come on the radio. AMAZING. I felt my top button loosening! And it was COLDPLAYS new single! Viva la Vida!
So my conundrum is, do I accept that Chris perhaps needs a little doctoring in the studio to sound good and just enjoy his music and song writing? Or do I hold onto my righteous indignation and musical law: “He who cannot sing live should leave it to those who can.”
My pants need to know.
Friday, May 23, 2008
G-L-A-M-O-R-OUS
I (with Rod's help) discovered one of Angie's main irritations...and I'm so HAPPY about it! (Yes, that is the kind of friend I am!) I don't think she really HATES Fergie, because how can you really dislike someone who admits to pee'ing their pants on stage? I think she's more upset that Fergie has taken Josh Duhamel off of the market permanently. Heck, even I had a day of mourning over that. So those of you who know Ang, let's whistle "Glamorous" around her and see if we can get her to seize - or something neat like that! It's Friday! Time for some fun!
Me: Pour Some Sugar On Me? For REAL? I thought "G-L-A-M-O-R-OUS" was more your speed.
Angie: OMG! I effin loathe Fergie's ugly *ss!!
Me: Wow. Ok. At least she teaches you how to spell. It's educational!
Angie: Sesame Street is educational...Fergie is TRASH!
Me: You know, there is something about her that I like. I don't know what it is...for instance, I wish I looked like she did in latex leggings.
Angie: I just threw up (a lot) in my mouth.
Me: I also cannot get "NononoNOOOOOO, don't phunk with my heaaaaaart" out of my head when I hear it. Maybe I'll change my ring tune to that and then call myself a lot during dinner tomorrow just to torture you.
Angie: Why do you hate me? WHY?
Me: Pour Some Sugar On Me? For REAL? I thought "G-L-A-M-O-R-OUS" was more your speed.
Angie: OMG! I effin loathe Fergie's ugly *ss!!
Me: Wow. Ok. At least she teaches you how to spell. It's educational!
Angie: Sesame Street is educational...Fergie is TRASH!
Me: You know, there is something about her that I like. I don't know what it is...for instance, I wish I looked like she did in latex leggings.
Angie: I just threw up (a lot) in my mouth.
Me: I also cannot get "NononoNOOOOOO, don't phunk with my heaaaaaart" out of my head when I hear it. Maybe I'll change my ring tune to that and then call myself a lot during dinner tomorrow just to torture you.
Angie: Why do you hate me? WHY?
Monday, May 12, 2008
Ex-ACT-ly!
I realized today, that if you REALLY listen, there are SMART THINGS to be learned from the bad pop music that I listen to. (Unapologetically, mind you.)
For instance, who can argue the wisdom of this mandate: “If you ain’t got no money, take your broke ass home!” EXACTLY. PLEASE DO.
I’M not picking up your tab, so get out of here.
For instance, who can argue the wisdom of this mandate: “If you ain’t got no money, take your broke ass home!” EXACTLY. PLEASE DO.
I’M not picking up your tab, so get out of here.
Friday, April 25, 2008
I like a tidy house...
It would be fair to say that I keep a tidy house. I’m not exactly militant, but I like to keep the dog hair to a minimum and have a pretty good relationship with my vacuum and several cleaning solutions (all biodegradable, of course). This week, however, the house has really taken a back seat to several other projects and it’s been looking grim around here. I think even Kylie is wondering why so much of her hair is floating about.
So after dinner last night, I decided that rather than go to the gym, I’d exert my energy by chasing out the dust and scrubbing the toilets. I mean, who DOESN’T want to do that after a long day?
On went the iPod and I got to work. When I’m cleaning, and by myself, I like to sing. And, as it’s been noted before, I am not going to be signed to a record label anytime soon. I can hold a note, but it descends pretty quickly into something that sounds like a dying cow in a hailstorm. No joke. But if I’m solo, I really don’t care. I’m freaking Pavorotti (God rest his soul) in my own mind.
So I opened the windows and was happily hollering away, (to “Taking the Long Way” by the Dixie Chicks, which is one of the best sing-a-long songs EVER) putting the house to rights. I was spending a lot of time in my bedroom, folding laundry and dusting, the evening breeze floating through the window and freshening up the house nicely. I had, at this point, listened to “Taking the Long Way” about four times, because, you know, I had to work on HARMONIZING and that shit takes PRACTICE.
Laundry folded, I grabbed my cleaner and headed towards the window, which was still bearing the marks of a recent rain. Reaching the sill, I was working on my fifth attempt of the song “MY FRIENDS FROM HIGH SCHHHHOOOOOOOOLLLLLLLLL, MARRIED THEIR HIGH SCHOOL BOOOOOOOYYYYY FRRRIIIIIIIIIIEEEEENNNNDS…” not quite happy with my rendition, I reached down to back up the song on my iPod. As I was doing so, I noticed something out of my peripheral vision and looked up to lock eyes with three guys who were standing on the sidewalk looking up at my window. Rooted to the spot, I didn’t know what to do and just stood there, mouth agape.
One of the guys, clearly laughing, called up “Um, so that WAS you singing, right? We’ve been listening for a while…you’re enthusiastic!”
Mortified, and unable to think of anything witty, I moronically nodded my head, stripping the iPod earphones out. Like that was going to help, since clearly, the jig was up.
One of the other guys added in “Well, I wouldn’t quit your day job, but thanks for about the funniest 10 minutes of my day!”
Regaining my composure, I yelled down “Well, you’re welcome. Which part did you like the best?”
To which he replied “I personally thought your third run through was your best – you missed less of your high notes. You flying by the window playing the air guitar was also a nice touch.”
Sweet. Let no one say I don’t live to amuse.
So after dinner last night, I decided that rather than go to the gym, I’d exert my energy by chasing out the dust and scrubbing the toilets. I mean, who DOESN’T want to do that after a long day?
On went the iPod and I got to work. When I’m cleaning, and by myself, I like to sing. And, as it’s been noted before, I am not going to be signed to a record label anytime soon. I can hold a note, but it descends pretty quickly into something that sounds like a dying cow in a hailstorm. No joke. But if I’m solo, I really don’t care. I’m freaking Pavorotti (God rest his soul) in my own mind.
So I opened the windows and was happily hollering away, (to “Taking the Long Way” by the Dixie Chicks, which is one of the best sing-a-long songs EVER) putting the house to rights. I was spending a lot of time in my bedroom, folding laundry and dusting, the evening breeze floating through the window and freshening up the house nicely. I had, at this point, listened to “Taking the Long Way” about four times, because, you know, I had to work on HARMONIZING and that shit takes PRACTICE.
Laundry folded, I grabbed my cleaner and headed towards the window, which was still bearing the marks of a recent rain. Reaching the sill, I was working on my fifth attempt of the song “MY FRIENDS FROM HIGH SCHHHHOOOOOOOOLLLLLLLLL, MARRIED THEIR HIGH SCHOOL BOOOOOOOYYYYY FRRRIIIIIIIIIIEEEEENNNNDS…” not quite happy with my rendition, I reached down to back up the song on my iPod. As I was doing so, I noticed something out of my peripheral vision and looked up to lock eyes with three guys who were standing on the sidewalk looking up at my window. Rooted to the spot, I didn’t know what to do and just stood there, mouth agape.
One of the guys, clearly laughing, called up “Um, so that WAS you singing, right? We’ve been listening for a while…you’re enthusiastic!”
Mortified, and unable to think of anything witty, I moronically nodded my head, stripping the iPod earphones out. Like that was going to help, since clearly, the jig was up.
One of the other guys added in “Well, I wouldn’t quit your day job, but thanks for about the funniest 10 minutes of my day!”
Regaining my composure, I yelled down “Well, you’re welcome. Which part did you like the best?”
To which he replied “I personally thought your third run through was your best – you missed less of your high notes. You flying by the window playing the air guitar was also a nice touch.”
Sweet. Let no one say I don’t live to amuse.
Sunday, April 20, 2008
Take me on, baby...
As a child of the 80’s, I have a complete and utter love for the happy pop music that accompanied my generation through grade/middle/high school. More specifically, I would like to speak of the awesomeness that is “Take On Me” by a-ha. The song remains firmly lodged in my own personal Top 10…I know, I know, I shouldn’t admit that. But if a song can get me moving each time I hear it, then those of you who are sitting there in judgment thinking “REALLY? Take On Me?” can just suck it. Have you SEEN that video? Genius.
So the other day at work, a-ha came on my iPod (and wouldn’t you know it? everyone in the studio just perked right up!). John yelled out from the front “Take On Me? I LOVE this song!” to which I replied “I KNOW! How hot was Morten Harket in this video?”
…which we of course immediately had to look up on YouTube. I highly suggest watching it since everyone needs a treat on a Monday - you'll thank me later. It’s as riveting now as it was then…plus MALL BANGS!
John, still unconvinced of Morten’s hotness, needed more evidence, and so a Google search ensued, which brought up sufficient photographic proof. However, I went too deep, and came across this little tidbit which has been causing me some distress:
It’s as though the photographer caught Morten in a moment when he was turning to Wardrobe and asking “Are you SURE these jeans don’t make my butt look big?” And they do, Morten, they do. Also flat. And how long is the rise on those suckers, because I’m pretty sure they’re almost up under your armpits and it’s taking away from your sexy. Seeing a childhood crush take on such a female stance – and one that we do only if trying to interest the opposite sex or to check for visible panty lines – has really thrown me for a loop. Nothing that a mojito won’t solve, I’m sure…I should send my bar tab to Google who by making it so easy to find information has also tarnished the perfect image I had in my head. See, if we were back in the 80’s I wouldn’t have had such access and could just watch the music video over and over again on my VCR…
So the other day at work, a-ha came on my iPod (and wouldn’t you know it? everyone in the studio just perked right up!). John yelled out from the front “Take On Me? I LOVE this song!” to which I replied “I KNOW! How hot was Morten Harket in this video?”
…which we of course immediately had to look up on YouTube. I highly suggest watching it since everyone needs a treat on a Monday - you'll thank me later. It’s as riveting now as it was then…plus MALL BANGS!
John, still unconvinced of Morten’s hotness, needed more evidence, and so a Google search ensued, which brought up sufficient photographic proof. However, I went too deep, and came across this little tidbit which has been causing me some distress:
It’s as though the photographer caught Morten in a moment when he was turning to Wardrobe and asking “Are you SURE these jeans don’t make my butt look big?” And they do, Morten, they do. Also flat. And how long is the rise on those suckers, because I’m pretty sure they’re almost up under your armpits and it’s taking away from your sexy. Seeing a childhood crush take on such a female stance – and one that we do only if trying to interest the opposite sex or to check for visible panty lines – has really thrown me for a loop. Nothing that a mojito won’t solve, I’m sure…I should send my bar tab to Google who by making it so easy to find information has also tarnished the perfect image I had in my head. See, if we were back in the 80’s I wouldn’t have had such access and could just watch the music video over and over again on my VCR…
Wednesday, April 9, 2008
I'm really, very truly, not in my 20's anymore...
A few of us ventured out to see Jimmy Eat World in concert last night. It was held at the San Jose Event Center on the SJSU campus – ergo, there were a lot of college-aged kids there. I had one of those evenings in which I was reminded, somewhat painfully, of how long ago I was actually IN college (it's been TEN YEARS people) and how I’ve become so far removed from that part of my life. For instance:
1) I’ve been suffering from a knee injury for about three weeks…I was thinking of bringing my crutches last night (less for support and more so I would get the sympathy vote, an aisle seat and a free pass to the front of the line in the ladies room). My point is in days past, I would have definitely worn heels to a concert...wouldn't have dreamed of leaving the house in less than three inch footwear. Last night, I had flats on and had actually considered wearing tennies.
2) As we were making our way towards the venue, two cute little college girls came out of the dorm ahead of us and started walking hand in hand towards the concert. Besides bringing up hopeful lesbian fantasies amongst the boys in our group, I was struck by how they were wearing the flimsiest, tiniest of tops, while our group was swathed in sweaters, jackets and scarves. It was, after all, below 60 degrees - downright chilly to those of us CA natives. Again, in my younger years I would have done the same, because how are you going to pull a man in a parka? He needs to see your treats, despite the dangers of hypothermia or indecent exposure. Slut it up! Not me...I'll be over here in my flats.
3) After arriving at the concert, we made a beeline to the bar only to find that their finest brew was Budweiser…I mean, really? We were all scratching our heads at the lack of acceptable hard alcohol and wine (grown up drinks) while being pushed aside by the co-eds who were excited and nervous to see if their fake id’s were going to work. I had a moment where I recalled pouring a wine cooler (age 18) into a plastic water bottle on my way to a party in college…and then I thought, do they even MAKE wine coolers anymore?
4) Hopes of a decent beverage dashed, we went into the auditorium and found seats. SEATS. I realized about two years ago that I was old enough to sit down to enjoy shows. Gone are my days of pushing my way through a crowd to get to the front of the pack so that I can make eye contact with the lead singer (I love musicians…sue me). Gone are my days of crowd surfing (great way to get groped, ladies), accidentally pushed into a mosh pit or head banging. I work all day, am tired and want to sit my sorry ass down to listen to the concert that I just paid good money for. If you’re sitting in front of me, don’t stand because I will seriously cut you for blocking my view of the stage. Thank you.
5) Which brings me to the problem of having forgotten my glasses. Jimmy Eat World, I hear you are all very cute and the girl in front of me (who thankfully sat the entire time) professed to whomever would listen that she was planning on marrying the bass player…so great. Being somewhat blind, you were three (or four?) fuzzy objects bouncing around the stage all night. (p.s. – just looked them up…if the above girl gets her man, well done. They are, in fact, emo cute.)
6) I spent most of the night thinking “I wish to GOD I had brought some ear plugs.” I’ve been spending a lot of time today going “What?” to my clients. I'm slightly deaf in the right ear.
7) I’ve become a lot crankier about bands with little discernable talent. I mean honestly, I am not at ALL vocally gifted (except in the shower where I’m competition for Celine Dion) but I can tell when people ARE. The opener FOR the opener was Dear and the Headlights. Bad use of a pun aside, if you’d like to listen to some of their awesomeness you can look them up in iTunes, but I don’t suggest doing so unless you really hate yourself or have just consumed a strong tranquilizer. Seeing as we were neither medicated nor in self-deprecating moods, it was just a ½ hour of auditory misery and all of us coming up with different ways of saying “These guys SUCK.” My favorite came from Cory “I would be pissed to listen to these guys play for free in a bar!” Indeed.
8) From our lofty seats we had a full view of the crowd below…probably about 1,000 people who were all rocking out on the floor. Between the two visible mosh pits and the general crush of people, I turned to Mindi and said “How cranky would we be if we had to be down there?” to which she just said “Very!”
We are old, geriatric, the kind of people who should really only see shows in a civilized place like the Mountain Winery or our local rest home. But we're still cool for going to rock shows, right? What?
1) I’ve been suffering from a knee injury for about three weeks…I was thinking of bringing my crutches last night (less for support and more so I would get the sympathy vote, an aisle seat and a free pass to the front of the line in the ladies room). My point is in days past, I would have definitely worn heels to a concert...wouldn't have dreamed of leaving the house in less than three inch footwear. Last night, I had flats on and had actually considered wearing tennies.
2) As we were making our way towards the venue, two cute little college girls came out of the dorm ahead of us and started walking hand in hand towards the concert. Besides bringing up hopeful lesbian fantasies amongst the boys in our group, I was struck by how they were wearing the flimsiest, tiniest of tops, while our group was swathed in sweaters, jackets and scarves. It was, after all, below 60 degrees - downright chilly to those of us CA natives. Again, in my younger years I would have done the same, because how are you going to pull a man in a parka? He needs to see your treats, despite the dangers of hypothermia or indecent exposure. Slut it up! Not me...I'll be over here in my flats.
3) After arriving at the concert, we made a beeline to the bar only to find that their finest brew was Budweiser…I mean, really? We were all scratching our heads at the lack of acceptable hard alcohol and wine (grown up drinks) while being pushed aside by the co-eds who were excited and nervous to see if their fake id’s were going to work. I had a moment where I recalled pouring a wine cooler (age 18) into a plastic water bottle on my way to a party in college…and then I thought, do they even MAKE wine coolers anymore?
4) Hopes of a decent beverage dashed, we went into the auditorium and found seats. SEATS. I realized about two years ago that I was old enough to sit down to enjoy shows. Gone are my days of pushing my way through a crowd to get to the front of the pack so that I can make eye contact with the lead singer (I love musicians…sue me). Gone are my days of crowd surfing (great way to get groped, ladies), accidentally pushed into a mosh pit or head banging. I work all day, am tired and want to sit my sorry ass down to listen to the concert that I just paid good money for. If you’re sitting in front of me, don’t stand because I will seriously cut you for blocking my view of the stage. Thank you.
5) Which brings me to the problem of having forgotten my glasses. Jimmy Eat World, I hear you are all very cute and the girl in front of me (who thankfully sat the entire time) professed to whomever would listen that she was planning on marrying the bass player…so great. Being somewhat blind, you were three (or four?) fuzzy objects bouncing around the stage all night. (p.s. – just looked them up…if the above girl gets her man, well done. They are, in fact, emo cute.)
6) I spent most of the night thinking “I wish to GOD I had brought some ear plugs.” I’ve been spending a lot of time today going “What?” to my clients. I'm slightly deaf in the right ear.
7) I’ve become a lot crankier about bands with little discernable talent. I mean honestly, I am not at ALL vocally gifted (except in the shower where I’m competition for Celine Dion) but I can tell when people ARE. The opener FOR the opener was Dear and the Headlights. Bad use of a pun aside, if you’d like to listen to some of their awesomeness you can look them up in iTunes, but I don’t suggest doing so unless you really hate yourself or have just consumed a strong tranquilizer. Seeing as we were neither medicated nor in self-deprecating moods, it was just a ½ hour of auditory misery and all of us coming up with different ways of saying “These guys SUCK.” My favorite came from Cory “I would be pissed to listen to these guys play for free in a bar!” Indeed.
8) From our lofty seats we had a full view of the crowd below…probably about 1,000 people who were all rocking out on the floor. Between the two visible mosh pits and the general crush of people, I turned to Mindi and said “How cranky would we be if we had to be down there?” to which she just said “Very!”
We are old, geriatric, the kind of people who should really only see shows in a civilized place like the Mountain Winery or our local rest home. But we're still cool for going to rock shows, right? What?
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