Nothing like fall for groundless melancholy. It’s been cold and wet here for the past five days; by this past Friday, my kids hadn’t had recess for three days straight, so for our Fun Friday we held a “Rainy Day Dance!” during which some of them literally just jumped up and down in place, presumably to burn the energy the monkey bars normally might have received. I let the teachers DJ, and the music seemed a little loud to me, but bear in mind whom we’re discussing: I hated school dances because I hate crowds and loud music, so all music in that sort of scenario is going to be too loud for me. I am not a good barometer. Then the principal called me over and told me that she had received parent complaints about the noise level, and that we had to be mindful of our noise because of our, quote, “changing population.” I think what this means is that she thinks white people are scared of loud music, but I’m not positive.
IGRB and I went to see “Where the Wild Things Are” this morning, and I loved it. He gave it 2.5-3 out of 5 stars, but to quote him, it’s okay to think wrong things sometimes. It’s very much a movie for my demographic and generation though, and maybe that sounds selfish, maybe I am too narrow-minded and the movie can be appreciated by all ages and backgrounds, but let’s be realistic here: it’s directed by Spike Jonze from a screenplay by Dave Eggers. I own a Spike Jonze music video retrospective. Come on now. Anyway, we were discussing this and being able to identify with the main characters – because I didn’t really appreciate the book until I was grown, being more of a Chicken Soup with Rice fan myself, and I definitely occupied more of the older-sister position in my household. But the thing is: I work with Max. I see him every day. There’s a kid named Marcus at my school, a kindergartener, who has to wait for his older brother to come downstairs so they can walk home, and during the beginning of this arrangement he cried for three days in a row because he was convinced that he might not come back. Now when he sees me, he tells me: “Not gonna cry today!” (Incidentally, I also have a three-year-old who says things like, “Ms. IGR, I’m not going to scratch anyone today.” Does he want a cookie?) It’s funny that in many respects, I wasn’t very good at being a kid. In some ways I think I’m better equipped for childhood now than I was back then.
Filed under: IGR Recommends, blogz, design, holidays | Tags: Christmas music, design
CLASSIC CHRISTMAS ALBUM POST #2
It is not Christmas in the IGR household without the dulcet tones of New Edition.
“Ha ha!” you are thinking. “She likes it in an ironic way because it’s kitsch! And because of the nostalgia it induces! Look at their pseudo-Motown styling, complete with sequined tuxes!”
You are wrong. I really like it.
Believe it or not, this is the one album that I can remember being played every holiday season, without fail. My uncle Pascal, a quiet computer programmer with a secret passion for dance music and techno*, sent us this some time before my memories begin. It’s the kind of disc that has the songs printed on the CD itself, along with the label (RCA). My father, who likes to compare himself to attractive black men**, fakes a microphone every year in order to sing along. Which is how Bobby Brown has become an inextricable part of my holiday season.
This is not, like most Christmas albums, a series of covers. Rather, it’s a group of originals – including “Give Love On Christmas Day” and my personal favorite, “All I Want For Christmas Is My Girl.” One might think that this makes this easier to judge them, as one is not faced by the twinges of conscience that would occur with a condemnation of “Silent Night.” Conversely, it could also be postulated that it’s harder to judge these songs, because there’s nothing to compare them to, with the possible exception of that song from Love Actually. Truthfully, it’s neither. I don’t even know if these songs are good or bad anymore, just like you probably can’t give an opinion regarding the objective merits of “Head, Shoulders, Knees and Toes.” They just are, and they always will be, now and forever. Amen.
I’d like to change the subject briefly and highlight a few discoveries I’ve made lately, as well as provide more life updates.
First off: Logo Design Love and The Lovely Package. Font lovers’ dream.
Next, a series from the magazine Format that speaks for itself:
Thirdly, DCist, which may or may not make me give up my beloved Daily Intel. Via Iris, who is my new friend and whose blog should probably count for #4.
Fifthly, the group I work with in Johnson City gets on TV…when I’m out of town. Fortunately, they uploaded the story, because I guess TiVo doesn’t work on local channels. Thx TiVo.
Sixthly (good God): a book whose illustrations are entirely made out of letters. Could not be cuter.
LAST OF ALL! I have housing, although I’m sort of crashing for the first month, which means I can’t decorate, but I’m going to start reading Apartment Therapy anyway.
*He looks and sounds like a taller version of Eugene on Top Chef: New York. I am not the only one to notice this.
**He likes to compare himself to Denzel Washington, although he once got compared to Arthur Ashe by a childhood friend of mine who didn’t have a lot of exposure to minorities. This is actually not a bad comparison.
Filed under: I am not cool, IGR Recommends, history, life progress, meta, music | Tags: music, Vietnam
I thought I only had one thing to write about, but actually I was wrong.
1. You probably have (not) noticed that my avatar has changed. Tricia Takanawa seems to fit me, since we’re both essentially Connie Chung 2.0. Given the fact that I do have a job that will be starting soon, I need to make a much stronger effort towards anonymity. I’m also going to try to sort of consolidate my internet identity in the new year, because I have so many damn projects going on. I need to make sure that everything is identifiably me, where “me” is “anonymous” (unless you already know me). At least that’s what I’m thinking right now.
2. I lost my watch. I really hate losing things, which is strange, because I do it so often that one would think I would have established some sort of fail-safe by now. I know it’s in my room somewhere, and what I’m inclined to think happened is that I probably left it out on my dresser and the cleaning people MM hired to come every couple weeks put it somewhere I can’t find. (I don’t think they took it, because there are a lot of other nicer things they could have taken.) At any rate, I am usually okay with trying to find things over the course of time, but occasionally I lapse back into my old panic mode, which usually involves me blowing the whole thing out of proportion (i.e.: this means that I am forever irresponsible, that I have no appreciation for the nice things my parents have provided for me, therefore that I am a bad daughter, etc., etc.). All of which means that although I sound calm, I am secretly freaking out. I am reminded of a story I never liked about my father: when he was little his grandfather gave him a piastre and he lost it and went ballistic, so much so that his grandfather tried to give him another. “No,” he said. “I want THAT ONE.” I hated it for two reasons that should be fairly obvious: 1) even as a child I was concerned with the prospect of buying love and wanted my parents to know that I would never be so materialistic that I would care what they got me (yes, I was the most neurotic six-year-old on the planet); 2) I totally sympathized with my dad and knew that he never got that stupid coin back.
3. I will hopefully write a series of entries re: my favorite Christmas CDs, and I would like to start by discussing a set we listen to with some frequency every year:
We actually have 1 and 5 as well, but they never get as much play. It should be unsurprising that as a middle/high school student, I was far more taken with traditional songs covered in a way that could be construed as “edgy” (well, if you’re thirteen) than anything else. Also that I’m a big fan of what was considered cool in the mid-1990s. NONETHELESS: AVSC2 has an absolutely incredible cover of Bob Dylan’s “I Believe in You,” by Sinead O’Connor, as well as an awesome jazzy version of “What Child is This” by Vanessa Williams (yes, that Vanessa Williams). Meanwhile, 3 features the Smashing Pumpkins’ “Christmastime,” which makes wonderful use of that joyous thing the Pumpkins do so well when they want to, as well as “The Christmas Song,” one of my favorite Dave Matthews songs. SHUT UP. Also “Christmas is Now Drawing Near At Hand,” which is probably the best and weirdest thing that Steve Winwood (!!!) ever recorded.
4. I went to look at house shares in DC this weekend, which was for real almost as difficult as trying to get a job. Demand > supply. Fortunately, I managed to meet a lot of really cool people whom I would like to see again, even if I don’t live with them. Still, though, I got to experience the open house, which is basically like a co-ed Greek rush in which everyone is desperately trying to convince the current tenants that:
- they are the most fun person there, except
- that they are totally cool and already have friends and thus are not doing the housemate thing to make friends at all and that it doesn’t matter if the housemates want to hang out with them or not, and
- that in addition to being fun they are also responsible and employed and
- will simultaneously be really clean and not care at all if anyone else is dirty.
FUN STUFF. I will have housing updates by tomorrow at the latest.
We stopped at a Vietnamese place in Arlington on the way out, and it had canh chua tom, which is probably one of my favorite Vietnamese soups ever and is often absent from restaurant menus. I think it’s kind of a pain to make. The walls were lined with pictures of American military officials, all of whom had written notes for the owner. During the meal, I think I asked MA who used to cook for the family when he was a kid, and he started telling us about the nannies and the cook and the chauffeur/bouncer (“He was like a cool uncle”), none of whose whereabouts are currently known. At least not by us. Later he said, “The owner probably knows my mom.”
“Why?” I asked.
There’s a large Vietnamese community in NoVa, and apparently it’s full of ex-military officials and high-ups – which makes sense when one considers its location. Which is the circle my family would have been in. “You should ask to see him,” I said, and he shook his head.
For whatever reason, I’ve been thinking about that man a lot, and how young my father was when he lost all of that – a loss for which most people probably wouldn’t have much sympathy. No one has any love for the bougie.
Filed under: IGR Recommends
It is the day before Thanksgiving and I am the second-sickest person in my house, a state of affairs that can plausibly be attributed to the fact that I spent the better part of last weekend chasing down a sick six-year-old, a sick three-year-old, and a sick baby. I would take some Sudafed but I generally find the side effects (for me) worse than the symptoms it addresses, which means that I am doomed to a cloudy head and a throat that feels like it’s filled with Karo syrup.
Anyway, topic at hand.
THE STRANGE
1. Is my audience familiar with Mick Collins, possibly the coolest (and oddest) man currently alive in America? Mick Collins is one of the few black punk pioneers of whom I am aware. He once released an album called I Sing The Booty Electric. He sounds sort of like James Earl Jones, he’s apparently an accomplished UNIX programmer, and he writes furry fiction in his spare time.
There’s a worthwhile interview with him (and his bandmate, who is significantly less cool) on The Sound of Young America. I think that link should work.
2. Weird musical genres, courtesy of This Recording.
MUSIC I SHOULD HAVE LISTENED TO TEN YEARS AGOOOOO
1. Billy Breathes by Phish. I heard the last song off this album in 1999, when I was a freshman in high school. I loved what I heard, so naturally, being me, I never listened to the album again, with the exception of “Prince Caspian.” Of course I like it now. I wonder if there is some sort of cosmic principle preventing me from being timely/cool.
2. Elvis Costello’s Armed Forces. Truthfully, I’m setting off on the same path here, because there’s only one song I know off this album: “(What’s So Funny ‘Bout) Peace, Love, And Understanding,” and I only know that because of Lost in Translation, but I started listening to some of the other songs and I liked those too, so hopefully I am not condemned to repeat it (history).
PSAs, RACIAL HARMONY
1. Aliens in America. I have only seen one episode of this show, which I found because its theme song is, as you might guess, the aforementioned E. Costello masterpiece, but I’m in the process of watching more. As you might expect of a television program about the wacky misadventures of a Midwestern nerd’s family and their Muslim exchange student, it is mo corny. As a result, I am not terribly surprised that it got cancelled after one season. But it’s sort of adorable even though it’s not that good, because aww, people are learning tolerance and understanding! There are also a few moments of absurdity that shine through (e.g., “This is the worst thing that ever happened in our house, and we once had a clown die in our living room,” “I found myself telling the exchange student things I wouldn’t have even confessed to the guys in chorus”). It also features Amy Pietz, from one of my other favorite crappy television shows, Caroline in the City.
SHAMELESS SELF-PROMOTION
I had this dream last night that I read a poem. That was it; that’s all I can remember; and I didn’t even remember that until I started looking for “One Art” in order to reference it for this stupid essay for this fellowship program, and as I read it I had this vague memory of reading poetry and being struck by the perfection of its composition. It was a feeling that I haven’t had in the waking world in a really long time, and, thinking about it now, I didn’t appreciate that in this fictitious version of my life; I was just thinking, “This is a good poem. I like it.”
I haven’t read a lot of poetry lately. It’s one of my fairly constant goals, to broaden my horizons instead of returning to the same ones over and over, and there’s no reason for me not to do such a thing, but I just don’t always. It’s kind of like going to sleep at a decent hour. On any given night, there is every incentive for me to sleep and almost no positive results from staying awake until 2. (The allure of sleeping until 10AM wears off after five months of unemployment.) And yet I just don’t, whether through some sort of mental sloth or a fear of failure (failure to what? to understand a poem? to fall asleep?) or God knows what. Until I suddenly want to again, and then I read everything I can find for a week or two and set my alarms. There are a lot of things I haven’t been doing lately that I should.
But the memory of that poem inspired me to spend half an hour going through the archives of Rachel’s old blog to find this poem that she posted a long time ago, that I loved at the time, that I knew had something to do with maps and was by Sharon Olds. The only other poem-seeking I’ve done lately is Frank O’Hara, and quite frankly, that’s only because I a) saw him quoted on someone’s Facebook profile and b) Mad Men. Surprise: I don’t like the Sharon Olds one as much as I used to – I’m not crazy about it at all right now, actually, but maybe that’s because I’m not in any sort of love – and I really like Frank O’Hara. But I’m going to post them both here anyway, because I’d hate to lead you on.
Topography
Sharon Olds
After we flew across the country we
got in bed, laid our bodies
delicately together, like maps laid
face to face, East to West, my
San Francisco againt your New York, your
Fire Island against my Sonoma, my
New Orleans deep in your Texas, your Idaho
bright on my Great Lakes, my Kansas
burning against your Kansas, your Kansas
burning against my Kansas, your Eastern
Standard Time pressing into my
Pacific Time, my Mountain Time
beating against your Central Time, your
sun rising swiftly from the right my
sun rising swiftly from the left your
moon rising slowly from the left my
moon rising slowly from the right until
all four bodies of the sky
burn above us, sealing us together,
all our cities twin cities,
all our states united, one
nation, indivisible, with liberty and justice for all.
Animals
Frank O’Hara
Have you forgotten what we were like then
when we were still first rate
and the day came fat with an apple in its mouth
it's no use worrying about Time
but we did have a few tricks up our sleeves
and turned some sharp corners
the whole pasture looked like our meal
we didn't need speedometers
we could manage cocktails out of ice and water
I wouldn't want to be faster
or greener than now if you were with me O you
were the best of all my days
SCIENCE HILL HIGH SCHOOL’S PRODUCTION OF SEVEN BRIDES FOR SEVEN BROTHERS
The orchestra pit was loud enough that I had trouble hearing the lines. Also, most participants were good at either acting or singing. At least one of Miguk Brother’s friends was in the band, wearing an inside-out Led Zeppelin hoodie in place of the black dress shirt he was supposed to sport.
AMERICAN NERD: THE STORY OF MY PEOPLE BY BENJAMIN NUGENT
Benjamin Nugent gets points for being Kelly Kapoor’s boyfriend. Linking that reveals that she’s started updating her blog again: a positive development. I don’t doubt that he’s a nerd, but to be honest, I found the book rather…slight, which is to say, not all that nerdy. He doesn’t delve all that deep into his subject, and I think more of a David Foster Wallace approach would have been more appropriate, because if there’s one thing that nerds love, it’s minutiae.
Other issues I had with the book:
- classifications: He distinguishes between nerds who are unable to interact with others and nerds who are placed in that category by dint of social circumstances. These are not inaccurate, but they are inadequate; they fail to take into account the category of people who have a legitimate and substantial interest in information that may or may not be important, but that the majority of people do not consider worth their attention. E.g. the way people used to make fun of me because I, quote, “actually like to read.” (Further taunt: “I bet she doesn’t ever watch TV.”)
- He doesn’t spend a lot of time on girl nerds, although as my brother pointed out, as a male nerd it is doubtful that he has spent a lot of time with the opposite sex.
- My brother says that he mischaracterizes gamers. (I disagree.)
- He references Paul Feig’s characterization of nerds as essentially liberal and jocks as essentially conservative in a way that fits in with his own paradigm, which suggests to me that he agrees with it. However, I know multiple guys from My College alone whose pursuit of conservative ideology made them, to say the least, not the most accessible people; in fact, I would argue that it was something of an alienating factor, and that their willingness to expound upon the nuances of what can appear on the surface to be a rather harsh (i.e. realist) ideology placed them squarely in Nerd Camp.
That having been said, his analysis of the “nerd trend” is absolutely spot-on, and articulates the way I’ve felt for a long time. As a person who used to sit alone at lunch and took to going to the library every day in order to avoid social interaction, and who used to read the encyclopedia for fun, I give others’ claims of nerdiness close scrutiny (even though I can interact with other people now). It’s the sort of thing I would have expected from Chuck Klosterman, and Mr. Klosterman is the only person I can think of who would have written about it better.
You hear fake nerd conversation. It follows a model. You bring up an “obsession” or “total fascination” with a purportedly unfashionable subject. “I am such a dork about old Hawaiian slide guitar. I actually have every King Benny record. I’ve so got a problem.” “Dude, you want to hit In-N-Out Burger? I basically live on their Protein Burgers when I’m in LA.”
This is a way of whipping out cultural capital, but not in the same way as leaving guests in the living room to retrieve a hollow-body guitar or a first edition of To The Lighthouse. The Gretsch and the Woolf say, “I am creative and educated, so I have an understanding of the blues and the Bloomsbury group.” The Hawaiian slide recordings and the In-N-Out Burger, which are both low-end consumer products, say, “I love the things I love because I am guided by some untamed voice within me that causes me to have random obsessions. I will follow my individualized obsessions, not trends, and be transparent about those obsessions, even when those obsessions tell me to like things widely considered ugly and cheap.” It’s the cultural capital of quirk.
BEYONCE’S “IF I WERE A BOY”
I’ve always been sort of indifferent towards Beyonce, so I am a little surprised by how much I love this song. It sounds like the sharpest and most heart-wrenching breakup letter possible, with a surprisingly nuanced take (more so than it needs to be) on gender double standards. It’s a little more sophisticated than “Independent Women.” If I were Jay-Z, I’d be squirming a little. The melody hits this perfect balance between melancholic balad and angry tirade, too.
PAUL RUDD ON SNL
I can has?*
EAT ME BY KENNY SHOPSIN
Kenny Shopsin is like a fully realized Daniel Pinkwater character come to life. I really want to go to his restaurant, but I’m afraid he would hate me, so I will content myself by trying his macaroni-and-cheese pancakes.
THE SQUID SALAD AT STIR FRY
Seemingly the only thing that hasn’t suffered at the hands of their (apparent) new management. For $5, it’s an incredible pile of calamari in a very fine gingery dressing. You will not need anything else to eat.
*Look, I like weird not super famous actors. Besides, Clueless.
I have the Johnny Cash version too. I heard Bob Edwards (whom I love) interviewing James Taylor (whom I do not) and they were talking about his cover of this song, which I had never heard before. What’s weird is that to me, this sort of sounds like an REM song anyway, not a cover. I remember when Michael Stipe came out and everyone was like, “Did he think he was fooling anyone?” I wish he could get married in California, or anywhere else he wanted.
Filed under: IGR Recommends, books, movies | Tags: marching band, movies, Nick and Norah's Infinite Playlist, The Westing Game
I have a lot that I want to cover here, but none of it (well, very little) directly relates to anything interesting about me. Sorry for those who know me personally. Also, I would swear that I’ve covered a few of the themes herein before (and referenced similar sources), but either I haven’t or WordPress’s search engine is failing me.
To be addressed in this post:
- Nick and Norah’s Infinite Playlist
- The Westing Game
- the Tampa Bay (Devil) Rays
- Ben Sollee
- Christopher Walken’s best skit ever
- marching band competitions
Okay, let’s go.
1. Someone (a real someone) once told me that when people talk about music, especially people of a certain demographic and generation, they’re not actually talking about music at all. (This is one of the things I feel like I’ve covered before, so if I have, apologies.) That idea was the only thing of any use that this someone left for me, but it’s a pretty succinct summation of what I’ve sort of always known, the way we use music (etc.) as a sort of cultural shorthand.*
Which is why I was unsure, going in, about seeing N&N. Everything from the soundtrack to the promotional fonts used suggested that the film’s creators were trying to create a Touchstone, a Cultural Reference Point rather than an authentic story. Another Garden State, if you will, something that guys on dates and girls looking to make friends could reference within the first five minutes of a conversation to assure the other party that they spoke the same language. (Of course, I am guilty of this too, and part of my feelings on the matter stem from my desire to prove that I’m not hopping on any sort of bandwagon. After all, I did sit through the first half of this movie thinking, “I’ve had Bishop Allen on my iPod for TWO YEARS!” and then cursing myself because in those two years, I’ve only listened to them maybe three times, thus making me just as Johnny-come-lately as anyone else. Sorry, end digression.)
Obviously I could go on for a long time about how our tastes should be freed from others’ judgment and yet never are, but what I wanted to talk about was the movie, which is actually very good. I think what made this film for me was the fact that this specific way of life is *not* particularly familiar to me – I was way overprotected and antisocial in the uncool way in high school, and I would never have been allowed to spend a night in NYC in that manner – and yet it felt familiar. The movie really captures the essence of those bizarre endless nights; in fact, it reminded me of nights at My College, which is saying something, because believe me, it is difficult to be further removed from New York than the town where MC resides. But the reason it does is because the movie gets at those feelings of absurdity and exhilaration and being young that exist no matter where you are. Also, Drunk Friend Caroline is amazing and dead-on. Also also, I’m not a huge Michael Cera fan exactly, but I do like that he looks real – when you see guys who are dorky like Zach Braff or (natch) John Krasinski, guys who sort of play into this trend of awkward, you (i.e. I) go, you are not actually awkward, sir, you are just trying to prove you are real. Whereas Michael Cera is NOT good looking (no offense if you read this, sir), and he’s legitimately almost squirmy. (That might be why I’m not a huge fan.) Watching someone like Zach Braff vs. watching Michael Cera is like watching Drew Barrymore in Never Been Kissed vs. watching Heather Matarazzo in Welcome to the Dollhouse. **
And yes, as much as I hate to admit it, the soundtrack is excellent.
2. This is for you, Brendan and Marie.
3. It’s a pretty well established fact that I’m not from anywhere in particular. That having been said, I still feel a particular affinity with the Floridian mindset and circumstance. Case in point: the Rays making it this far in the baseball season. No one in my family has ever liked, played, or even really watched baseball. Nonetheless, as I read Mr. Marchman’s article, I found myself nodding along in agreement, because I understood everything he was talking about. I remember when the Rays came, how excited everyone was, how willing we all were to overlook the fact that, as the author so kindly points out, they were all wearing “teal jerseys festooned with fish.” We weren’t even overlooking them; it seemed almost logical that if we in the old-people-infested swamplands of America were to be blessed with a real live sports team, we would have to wear something bizarre. Anything else would have seemed like a pose, a half-assed attempt to ape our brethren with deciduous forests.
There is a unique sort of surreal fatalism present on the Gulf Coast and further south. Elmore Leonard and “Maximum Bob” and their ilk are not, to be honest, all that far off; living there I grew accustomed, like everyone else around me, to my lot of extreme weather, ancient foreign intruders and alligators in the drains. Which is probably why I retain a great deal of affection for a place I haven’t lived in in nine years and would never live again, why I commend Slate for recognizing the unique position of the team fighting the underdog, and why I’m rooting for the Rays, even though they dropped the Devil from their name. My city’s still breathing.
(Side note: did you know that the so-called “devil ray” is actually harmless? Yes, our team was named after a powerless animal. Which means we appear to have outwussed even the Minnesota Twins. At least there are two of them.)
4. I just downloaded because he is my age and from Kentucky. I am excited, and I’m trying to figure out where in Lexington he went to high school, because we surely have some mutual friends. Again, I can’t shake off all these places I’ve lived, no matter how much I sometimes wish I could.
5. While the following skit is criminally underrecognized – it beats Cowbell by a mile – one of the underrecognized things WITHIN this underrecognized skit is the way it addresses Florida’s separate mentality. I’m not sure if it was on purpose or not, but “Don’t push your politics on me, buddy” almost feels like a shoutout. Also I wish Tim Meadows would get more credit for his abilities as a straight man.
The video leaves out the last line of the skit, which is a wild shriek, followed by Walken’s frustrated exclamation: “Again? But we just did it an hour ago!”
6. I went to see a marching band competition yesterday. This was my first marching band competition, and quite frankly, I don’t think I have the words to describe the pageantry of these sorts of events. Instead, I’ll leave you with a few photos from Bob Waters Stadium, Western Carolina University (home of the Pride of the Mountains).*** After watching, my mother and I were forced to conclude that when you’re a band director, inspiration is everywhere.
theme: “Taking Flight”/if you look closely, there’s a girl carrying a giant bird on a stick
theme: “War and Peace”/tragedies on display: atom bomb, dead soldiers
graveyard
dueling flutes. This show would obviously take really well to the “On Ice!” treatment.
This show was called “Make Sense.” Which was ironic because it didn’t. (How could it?) I do have to say, though, that I didn’t expect quite this level of abstract installation art from Bourbon County, KY. Note the progression of the lights in the head.
giant flower, natch.
majorettes with eyes on their chests, natch. What are they trying to tell us? WHAT IS THE CODE?
Parents with purple glitter cowboy hats. Natch. Maybe my old Kentucky and old Florida homes aren’t so far apart after all.
*I have swapped iPods with guys as a courting ritual on multiple occasions. More on this later maybe. One guy actually said, half-seriously, “You realize that this is the moment of truth.”
**Of course, I would still rather date Zach Braff, which speaks to the aspirational tendencies in all of us.
***Given the fact that UT’s band, with whom La Sister cheers, is known as The Pride of the Southland, I suggested having a Pride-Off where all the bands who claim to be the pride of their respective areas battle it out for title of Proudest, or alternately, Pride of America. No one else seemed to like this suggestion.
I would like to tell the media, all of them, that I am a little disappointed in them for not devoting more serious mockery to Joe Biden, a man who, by all appearances, is the very definition of a crazy old coot. I just watched another Tina Fey skit re: Sarah Palin, and it’s not that Tina isn’t terrific or that there’s not a lot of absurdity in the Palin situation, but come on. Joe Biden told an audience that when the stock market crashed in 1929, FDR got on TV to comfort the American people. This is a man who has the potential to be the next Dan Quayle! And yet the media, with the exception of the mostly-reliable (and ever-dreamy) Jon Stewart, seems to be leaving him largely alone. When media bias starts depriving us of cheap shots, it’s time to draw the line.
Yesterday I saw Ghost Town, which I recommend in the same vein as Definitely Maybe – it’s not going to blow your mind open, but as a romantic comedy, it was just really well done, every aspect, and Ricky Gervais is awesome (duh). There was a song playing in the credits and I was like, that’s a beautiful song, who sings it? They sound familiar. It was John Mayer, of course. Some force in the universe is driving me back hardcore to the music of my past, maybe because it feels like my ego needs to be taken down a few notches. (Evidently months of unemployment hasn’t done it yet.) I’m never going to leave adolescence, evidently, especially not considering that listening to “Heart of Life” actually made me feel a little bit better than I have lately, a little less sour and stale. Look, I need to hear that it’s okay that all my plans are sort of derailed and I feel directionless, okay? Even if it’s from the singer of “Your Body is a Wonderland.” And for the record, I met him once at EarXTacy in Louisville when I was sixteen and he was totally cool, even given the fact that I spewed nonsense about how I sang one of his songs at my high school talent show.
Oh man Kenan Thompson is starring in this next skit. I am so glad he is on SNL. This is the most context-appropriate, and perfect, child-star result I can imagine.
you know it’s nothing new
bad news never had good timing
but then the circle of your friends
will defend the silver lining
pain throws your heart to the ground
love turns the whole thing around
no it won’t all go the way it should
but i know the heart of life is good
I made siu mai with my mother tonight. When she paints the lines of egg along the wrappers they have this almost Mondrian precision. Mine, on a good day, are best compared to Jackson Pollock. But I’m learning.
