When in Rome...

For the next few weeks, I'll be trouncing around Italy, so posting will be light and sporadic. I know, my life is really, REALLY hard. I'm going to do all I can to drink lots of chianti, eat unholy amounts of pasta...and even eat cheese! And I will welcome the lactose intolerance because it will be ITALIAN lactose intolerance, which is far more acceptable.

My goals while in Italy are:
1) To get my rear pinched...
2) To find George Clooney, who I hear is single again, and I'm sure recuperating at his Como estate...
3) Surviving with only 12 items of clothing for 2.5 weeks. Yes...TWELVE. That's ALL. Seriously.
4) To do a lot of art ogling, people watching and just some general sitting on a park bench and watching life go by...

I'll let you know how it goes, internet. Ciao!

Do you even know who AC/DC IS?

I’ve come to realize that I’m not going to be one of those cool adults who understands teenagers and appreciates their angst and righteous indignation at how adults totally don't get it. It’s annoying. You’re not the only one who has ever been broken-hearted or had these totally amazing and DEEP thoughts. No. And while I hate to stifle your creativity and right to self-expression, you have no wrinkles and thin thighs, so go away and stop bothering me with your AC/DC tight t-shirt (that you probably think you’re wearing with irony) and skinny jeans.

All of this because some high school snot stole my parking space and then called me “Ma’am.” I need tequila.

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.