Showing posts with label music. Show all posts
Showing posts with label music. Show all posts
Monday, December 08, 2014
Wednesday, April 04, 2012
A Perfect Storm
Today I was catching up on a blog I enjoy, and the post I was reading was mostly photos of a camelia bush...a bird's nest...and some amazingly bright blue robin's eggs in the nest. So simple and perfect. So gorgeous and symbolic of spring. And suddenly, I started crying.
It was kind of like yesterday when I drove myself home early from work in a weird mental haze, feeling drugged without actually being drugged. It was all I could do to drag myself into the house and to the bed, utterly fatigued and unhinged and crying and apologizing to BH for being such a mess.
I'd figured out at some point yesterday that this horrible feeling was very familiar--it's exactly like I'd felt after I got my thyroid removed and before I'd started my synthetic hormone replacement. I called my endocrinologist and told them what was going on, and now I've got to go get blood work done to see if I need my meds adjusted. If my thyroid levels come back within normal range, I guess we'll just chalk all of this up to me being nuts, which would be a surprise to exactly no one.
So combine this weird hypothyrodism bullshit with the whole root canal drama from last week (that continues tomorrow with Part Two of my dental appointment), the fact that I busted the FUCK out of my arm by falling into my nightstand last Thursday night when I got out of bed in the middle of the night to go pee (I mean, y'all should SEE my arm...it's sick), all of the weird shit going on at home, and the fact that I have to go to fucking JURY DUTY next week when I am waaaaaaaaaay too busy to be out of the office right now, and I am one gigantic ball of stress.
Blech.
But lest you think that I am all gloom and doom these days, there are good things going on too:
Got to spend some quality time with some of my favorite people this past weekend--my friends Josh, Michelle, and their daughter Ruby who were visiting from Portland, OR. We ate vegan treats and swam in the river. The Geej and Ruby played and had a blast. It was wonderful.
I get to see my friend Stacy (from Atlanta) in San Antonio in a couple of weekends. I'll be staying in a hotel! By myself!! Whoot!
I got tickets to see Nick Offerman (a.k.a. Ron Swanson) during the Moontower Comedy Festival.
I'm also going to see Jeff Mangum, mastermind behind one of my favorite albums of all time: Neutral Milk Hotel's "In An Aeroplane Over the Sea."
Work is rocking. I'm busier and happier than I've been in a long time, and the team I'm on is amazing.
So you know, there's that stuff...
It was kind of like yesterday when I drove myself home early from work in a weird mental haze, feeling drugged without actually being drugged. It was all I could do to drag myself into the house and to the bed, utterly fatigued and unhinged and crying and apologizing to BH for being such a mess.
I'd figured out at some point yesterday that this horrible feeling was very familiar--it's exactly like I'd felt after I got my thyroid removed and before I'd started my synthetic hormone replacement. I called my endocrinologist and told them what was going on, and now I've got to go get blood work done to see if I need my meds adjusted. If my thyroid levels come back within normal range, I guess we'll just chalk all of this up to me being nuts, which would be a surprise to exactly no one.
So combine this weird hypothyrodism bullshit with the whole root canal drama from last week (that continues tomorrow with Part Two of my dental appointment), the fact that I busted the FUCK out of my arm by falling into my nightstand last Thursday night when I got out of bed in the middle of the night to go pee (I mean, y'all should SEE my arm...it's sick), all of the weird shit going on at home, and the fact that I have to go to fucking JURY DUTY next week when I am waaaaaaaaaay too busy to be out of the office right now, and I am one gigantic ball of stress.
Blech.
But lest you think that I am all gloom and doom these days, there are good things going on too:
Got to spend some quality time with some of my favorite people this past weekend--my friends Josh, Michelle, and their daughter Ruby who were visiting from Portland, OR. We ate vegan treats and swam in the river. The Geej and Ruby played and had a blast. It was wonderful.
Throwing rocks.
The Pedernales
I get to see my friend Stacy (from Atlanta) in San Antonio in a couple of weekends. I'll be staying in a hotel! By myself!! Whoot!
I got tickets to see Nick Offerman (a.k.a. Ron Swanson) during the Moontower Comedy Festival.
I'm also going to see Jeff Mangum, mastermind behind one of my favorite albums of all time: Neutral Milk Hotel's "In An Aeroplane Over the Sea."
Work is rocking. I'm busier and happier than I've been in a long time, and the team I'm on is amazing.
So you know, there's that stuff...
Thursday, March 22, 2012
Talking With My Daughter About Prince
Yesterday while I was at work listening to my iTunes on random shuffle, Prince's "Baby I'm a Star" came on. I cranked it up all the way, did some borderline embarrassing chair bopping, and had to restrain myself from bursting into song. "Might not know it now, but baby you'll find out I'm a STAR!" I was already in a pretty good mood, but this musical boost put me over the top.
Later, when I left work, my Prince sing-along hit full tilt in the car on the way to pick up The Geej. Selections from "Purple Rain" were joined by classics from "1999," "Parade," and other albums of his. However, when I got to the Geej's aftercare place, the iPod was turned off, and the concert came to an end.
Until this morning.
We got in the car to head to school, and memories of the prior day's joyful, funky songfest made me hungry for more, so I turned on "Baby I'm a Star" again--where it all began.
This is the conversation that followed.
****
Geej: Mommy, can you turn it down.
Me: No.
Geej: Just a bit?
Me: Okay (turning it down one notch).
Me: "Baby, look me over/tell me do you like what you see?
Baby, I ain't got no money, but honey I'm rich on personality."
Geej: (Sort of horrified that I'm so in to it and clearly not "feeling it" as they say) What IS this?!
Me: This is Prince! Isn't it awesome?
Geej: No! It's HORRIBLE!
Me: (Ignoring her and continuing to sing) "I don't wanna stop, til I reach the top...I'm a STAR...whoa YEAH!"
Geej: Do you really like this?
Me: Um, clearly. Is it just too funky for you? (Smiling at her in the back seat)
Geej: (Unimpressed) No, it's just too awful for me.
Me: Oh come ON! This was one of my favorite albums in high school...it was one of the biggest albums of the decade! Prince is super talented. He can play a ton of different instruments--piano, guitar, bass, drums... And you should see him DANCE. He's AMAZING!!
Geej: Is he still alive?
Me: Yes.
Geej: How old is he?
Me: I don't know...maybe around 50.
Geej: So he's older than you.
Me: Yes. He's practically dead.
Geej: No, but when he's 50 MORE years old he'll be 100, and then he'll probably be dead.
Me: Do you want to see what he looks like (picking up the iPod to show her his picture).
Geej: (In a totally dry, teen-agery tone and timed perfectly with the soulful first solo guitar notes of "Purple Rain") No, Mommy. I don't care about Prince, and I've got to get out of the car or I'm going to be tardy.
Me: (Turning down the music) Okay. Well...I love you (kiss), and I'll see you this evening. Have a great day.
Geej: Okay. Love you. Bye. (Gets out of the car and walks toward the school doors).
Me: "Never meant to cause you any sorrow. Never meant to cause you any pain..."
And scene.
Later, when I left work, my Prince sing-along hit full tilt in the car on the way to pick up The Geej. Selections from "Purple Rain" were joined by classics from "1999," "Parade," and other albums of his. However, when I got to the Geej's aftercare place, the iPod was turned off, and the concert came to an end.
Until this morning.
We got in the car to head to school, and memories of the prior day's joyful, funky songfest made me hungry for more, so I turned on "Baby I'm a Star" again--where it all began.
This is the conversation that followed.
****
Geej: Mommy, can you turn it down.
Me: No.
Geej: Just a bit?
Me: Okay (turning it down one notch).
Me: "Baby, look me over/tell me do you like what you see?
Baby, I ain't got no money, but honey I'm rich on personality."
Geej: (Sort of horrified that I'm so in to it and clearly not "feeling it" as they say) What IS this?!
Me: This is Prince! Isn't it awesome?
Geej: No! It's HORRIBLE!
Me: (Ignoring her and continuing to sing) "I don't wanna stop, til I reach the top...I'm a STAR...whoa YEAH!"
Geej: Do you really like this?
Me: Um, clearly. Is it just too funky for you? (Smiling at her in the back seat)
Geej: (Unimpressed) No, it's just too awful for me.
Me: Oh come ON! This was one of my favorite albums in high school...it was one of the biggest albums of the decade! Prince is super talented. He can play a ton of different instruments--piano, guitar, bass, drums... And you should see him DANCE. He's AMAZING!!
Geej: Is he still alive?
Me: Yes.
Geej: How old is he?
Me: I don't know...maybe around 50.
Geej: So he's older than you.
Me: Yes. He's practically dead.
Geej: No, but when he's 50 MORE years old he'll be 100, and then he'll probably be dead.
Me: Do you want to see what he looks like (picking up the iPod to show her his picture).
Geej: (In a totally dry, teen-agery tone and timed perfectly with the soulful first solo guitar notes of "Purple Rain") No, Mommy. I don't care about Prince, and I've got to get out of the car or I'm going to be tardy.
Me: (Turning down the music) Okay. Well...I love you (kiss), and I'll see you this evening. Have a great day.
Geej: Okay. Love you. Bye. (Gets out of the car and walks toward the school doors).
Me: "Never meant to cause you any sorrow. Never meant to cause you any pain..."
And scene.
Thursday, March 08, 2012
Oddities
Last night, at the Radiohead show at the Frank Erwin Center, there was a guy in the "floor" section of the arena who decided that the best idea for experiencing they show was to, you know, lie on the nasty horrible uncomfortable ground while gently playing the "drums" on his substantial belly. He did this for about four of five songs and only changed his position (and eventually got up) after people started staring at him as they walked by and one guy checked on him to make sure he wasn't dead.
***
We have instituted "no TV" nights at our house on Mondays and Tuesdays in an effort to get The Geej to focus more on her homework. It's been working really well. Today, on the way to school, this was our conversation:
Geej--Since I haven't watched TV this week and I've done all my homework, can I watch TV tonight when we get home?
Me: Sure.
Geej--Yay! I'm gonna have a TV fuhganza!
Me: What's a "fuhganza"?
Geej--It's where I go CRAZY with the TV!
***
Austin's favorite cross-dressing, thong-and-heel sporting, bearded, crazy homeless man, Leslie passed away today. I remember going to see a show at Stubb's one night (inside), and Leslie showed up wearing a half t-shirt and a tiny red, shiny thong with high heels and painted fingernails. He got one of the band's promotional bumper stickers and plastered it across his naked butt cheeks. Then he proceeded to get up on stage and shake everything God gave him as the band played. The audience was pretty much unfazed. I've got photos somewhere...
***
Today, on the way home from work, I was traveling down S. Lamar (like I always do). It was drizzling and the traffic was creeping along. I reached the strech just north of Oltorf--where there are literally three Mexican food restaurants in a 1/2 mile stretch--there was a half-trailer parked in the lot of the middle restaurant, La Feria. In this trailer, was a HUGE camel. He seemed oblivious to the rain and was steadily munching on the palm fronds of the tree his trailer was parked underneath.
***
Understatement.
It was a white person palooza! Lots of trashy, drunk people inexplicably crowded into this indoor/outdoor waterside bar, drinking specialty drinks called "Buzzards" and listening to a southern rock cover band. (Yes, they played "Sweet Home Alabama." Twice.)
That's Stan. He's apparently 180 years old, and his wife, The Buzzard Queen, works the joint with him. She was there decked out in her black, sequined and feathered regalia, dirty dancing with strangers, taking dollar bills out of mens' waistbands with her teeth and posing for pictures. Classy couple, those two.
At Stan's they welcome dogs. Even if they're on the table while you're eating.
We were classy too, having brought our own snacks to a restaurant. But everyone was too drunk to notice or care.
I think the coolest thing was the fact that I found a license plate featuring my pseudonym parked right next to my buddy's La Turista's daughter's pet name.
Kind of cool, right?
***
We have instituted "no TV" nights at our house on Mondays and Tuesdays in an effort to get The Geej to focus more on her homework. It's been working really well. Today, on the way to school, this was our conversation:
Geej--Since I haven't watched TV this week and I've done all my homework, can I watch TV tonight when we get home?
Me: Sure.
Geej--Yay! I'm gonna have a TV fuhganza!
Me: What's a "fuhganza"?
Geej--It's where I go CRAZY with the TV!
***
Austin's favorite cross-dressing, thong-and-heel sporting, bearded, crazy homeless man, Leslie passed away today. I remember going to see a show at Stubb's one night (inside), and Leslie showed up wearing a half t-shirt and a tiny red, shiny thong with high heels and painted fingernails. He got one of the band's promotional bumper stickers and plastered it across his naked butt cheeks. Then he proceeded to get up on stage and shake everything God gave him as the band played. The audience was pretty much unfazed. I've got photos somewhere...
***
Today, on the way home from work, I was traveling down S. Lamar (like I always do). It was drizzling and the traffic was creeping along. I reached the strech just north of Oltorf--where there are literally three Mexican food restaurants in a 1/2 mile stretch--there was a half-trailer parked in the lot of the middle restaurant, La Feria. In this trailer, was a HUGE camel. He seemed oblivious to the rain and was steadily munching on the palm fronds of the tree his trailer was parked underneath.
***
Last weekend I was lucky enough to travel to Florida to visit a couple of girl friends. I was on a mission to see some manatees, but that was not to be. However, we did see some freaky wildlife.
We drove to Marco Island (near Naples) for the day on Sunday. And somehow, we happened upon this place called Stan's, which is apparently legendary. There were cars EVERYWHERE, and when we asked a kindly old British man what was up, he said, "Well, on Sundays, Stan likes to sell beer, and a lot of people like it apparently."
Understatement.
It was a white person palooza! Lots of trashy, drunk people inexplicably crowded into this indoor/outdoor waterside bar, drinking specialty drinks called "Buzzards" and listening to a southern rock cover band. (Yes, they played "Sweet Home Alabama." Twice.)
At Stan's they welcome dogs. Even if they're on the table while you're eating.
Friday, December 23, 2011
How I wish...
Monday was the anniversary of my dad's death. Nine years ago. Stomach cancer.
I hadn't really thought about the significance of the date until I was sitting in traffic on my way to work. It was raining and gloomy, and I was listening to my iPod on random shuffle. That period of time when I'm in my car by myself, going to or from work, is really the only regular time I get to listen to whatever I want at whatever volume I want and sing along--loudly, if I so choose. As I sat on the bridge over Lady Bird Lake watching the grebes fly overhead, Pink Floyd's "Wish You Were Here" came on.
"So, so you think you can tell
Heaven from Hell
Blue skies from pain
Can you tell a green field
From a cold steel rail?
A smile from a veil?
Do you think you can tell..."
The flood in my head took my breath away and brought hot tears to my eyes.
Visiting my dad for the weekend. I am lying on the floor of his apartment wearing enormous headphones, plugged into the stereo. He has taught me to take care of the records. To never touch them with my fingers, to clean them, to be gentle and respectful of the needle. He trusts me with his collection and his expensive stereo equipment. Dark Side of The Moon is playing. I have the LP cover open. I am reading the lyrics. I know every word to every song. I listen to this album a lot. I like Pink Floyd just as much as my Daddy does. I close my eyes and imagine the lunatic on the grass. I listen to all of the British voices speaking in the background of some of the tracks. And the heartbeats. Us us us us us and them them them them them... Everything I love about music has already been planted in my heart. It is the best gift my father will ever give me. I am eight.
And I am in the driveway of my father's house. It is cold and raining hard. I've arrived at a gathering that is preceding my father's memorial service. There are other cars there. None of them belong to my family. They are friends and family of my stepmother's. I have never felt so alone. I am shivering as I stare at the door I have to walk toward and enter. We will all ride to the funeral home together, but I will still be alone. David Bowie's "Slip Away" is playing on my car stereo. The windows have begun to fog up. I am hollowed out by grief. My heart feels covered in lead. I am bent forward, head against the steering wheel, sobbing. I cannot do this. I cannot leave this car and go into that house and to that funeral home and say goodbye. I am thirty-three.
"Did they get you to trade
your heroes for ghosts?
Hot ashes for trees?
Hot air for a cool breeze?
Cold comfort for change?
And did you exchange
a walk on part in a war
for a lead role in a cage?"
By the time I got to the parking garage, I was undone. Snot was running from my nose. All of my eye makeup had dripped off of my chin. The song finished, and after I parked my car, I hit replay and listened again.
"How I wish,
How I wish you were here.
We're just two lost souls living in a fish bowl
Year after year.
Running over the same old ground,
What have we found?
The same old fears.
Wish you were here."
By the end of the second playing, I was raw, but composed. I made my way upstairs. Early to work, I was one of the few people in the office. I turned on my computer, checked email and moved into the usual rhythm of my day.
After a few minutes, I made my morning pilgrimage downstairs to the grocery store I work above to get some breakfast and something to drink. I rode the escalator from the parking garage into the store, and as I got to the top I heard, "How I wish, how I wish you were here..." It was playing on the store's public address system. I have been in this store at least 5,000 times, and I have never EVER known them to play Pink Floyd. This wasn't an accident. This was him letting me know he's with me. He can feel my heartache. He knows I miss him. He's watching out for me. He was right there next to me. I could feel him.
I hadn't really thought about the significance of the date until I was sitting in traffic on my way to work. It was raining and gloomy, and I was listening to my iPod on random shuffle. That period of time when I'm in my car by myself, going to or from work, is really the only regular time I get to listen to whatever I want at whatever volume I want and sing along--loudly, if I so choose. As I sat on the bridge over Lady Bird Lake watching the grebes fly overhead, Pink Floyd's "Wish You Were Here" came on.
"So, so you think you can tell
Heaven from Hell
Blue skies from pain
Can you tell a green field
From a cold steel rail?
A smile from a veil?
Do you think you can tell..."
The flood in my head took my breath away and brought hot tears to my eyes.
Visiting my dad for the weekend. I am lying on the floor of his apartment wearing enormous headphones, plugged into the stereo. He has taught me to take care of the records. To never touch them with my fingers, to clean them, to be gentle and respectful of the needle. He trusts me with his collection and his expensive stereo equipment. Dark Side of The Moon is playing. I have the LP cover open. I am reading the lyrics. I know every word to every song. I listen to this album a lot. I like Pink Floyd just as much as my Daddy does. I close my eyes and imagine the lunatic on the grass. I listen to all of the British voices speaking in the background of some of the tracks. And the heartbeats. Us us us us us and them them them them them... Everything I love about music has already been planted in my heart. It is the best gift my father will ever give me. I am eight.
And I am in the driveway of my father's house. It is cold and raining hard. I've arrived at a gathering that is preceding my father's memorial service. There are other cars there. None of them belong to my family. They are friends and family of my stepmother's. I have never felt so alone. I am shivering as I stare at the door I have to walk toward and enter. We will all ride to the funeral home together, but I will still be alone. David Bowie's "Slip Away" is playing on my car stereo. The windows have begun to fog up. I am hollowed out by grief. My heart feels covered in lead. I am bent forward, head against the steering wheel, sobbing. I cannot do this. I cannot leave this car and go into that house and to that funeral home and say goodbye. I am thirty-three.
"Did they get you to trade
your heroes for ghosts?
Hot ashes for trees?
Hot air for a cool breeze?
Cold comfort for change?
And did you exchange
a walk on part in a war
for a lead role in a cage?"
By the time I got to the parking garage, I was undone. Snot was running from my nose. All of my eye makeup had dripped off of my chin. The song finished, and after I parked my car, I hit replay and listened again.
"How I wish,
How I wish you were here.
We're just two lost souls living in a fish bowl
Year after year.
Running over the same old ground,
What have we found?
The same old fears.
Wish you were here."
By the end of the second playing, I was raw, but composed. I made my way upstairs. Early to work, I was one of the few people in the office. I turned on my computer, checked email and moved into the usual rhythm of my day.
After a few minutes, I made my morning pilgrimage downstairs to the grocery store I work above to get some breakfast and something to drink. I rode the escalator from the parking garage into the store, and as I got to the top I heard, "How I wish, how I wish you were here..." It was playing on the store's public address system. I have been in this store at least 5,000 times, and I have never EVER known them to play Pink Floyd. This wasn't an accident. This was him letting me know he's with me. He can feel my heartache. He knows I miss him. He's watching out for me. He was right there next to me. I could feel him.
Thursday, September 15, 2011
In which I wonder how much money I've spent on this type of activity throughout my life.
I was lying awake last night thinking about next week's fast-approaching craziness--flying to/from Oklahoma City for work on Tuesday/Wednesday and then to Washington D.C. for a fun girls trip on Thursday - Sunday. Why D.C., you ask? Well, several reasons. But the BIGGEST reason is that I have tickets to this band, who I absolutely adore and have never seen live:
They play huge stadiums in Europe but they're playing a 1,500 person club in D.C.--one of only a handful of dates they're playing in North America. I plan on being front and freakin' center letting Guy Garvey's voice and amazing lyrics just pour all over me. I will most likely cry because that's the kind of music-lovin' dorkaholic that I am. I convinced my friend Bookhart to go with me, and that fact, along with the fact that I haven't been a tourist in D.C. since I was 14, means that I'm pretty jazzed about this whole adventure.
Have I ever gone to such extremes just to see a band I love? Not exactly. But I would if the opportunity presented itself again. We're staying at my aunt and uncle's house in Bethesda, and we got relatively cheap airline tickets, so we're doing this whole thing as cheaply as possible. However, the whole endeavor is costing some cash. Which got me thinking at about 4:30am this morning: How many performances HAVE I attended in my long, long life? And if I had ever dollar I'd spent on those tickets sitting in front of me, what could I buy? And who all HAVE I seen live? Who HAVEN'T I seen who I'd really like to see before I (or they) buy the farm?
The results of all this insomniac mind-racing is below. Can't say I'm proud of everything on this list, and some of it is just plain random. "+" means I've seen them more than once--sometimes WAY more than once. Enjoy!!
Bands/Performers I've Seen Live--A More-than-likely Incomplete List
DJ Jazzy Jeff and the Fresh Prince
Aldo Nova
Judas Priest
Mac Davis
Willie Nelson+
Waylon Jennings
Huey Lewis and the News+
The Carpenters
Sam Kinison
Lenny Kravitz
The Cult
Eddie Murphy (stand up, not singing--thank God)
George Strait
Sting
Poi Dog Pondering+
The Sundays
Luna
Aziz Ansari
Blue Mountain
Jon Spencer Blues Explosion
The Breeders
Morphine+
The Tragically Hip+
Bob Mould
Shawn Colvin
Mitzi Gaynor (look her up)
Van Halen+ (Original. No Hagar.)
Billy Squier
Tool
Phil Collins
Cheap Trick+
Night Ranger
Zebra
The Pixies+
Ween
Beth Orton
Joan As Policewoman
Tim & Eric
Joan Jett
Aerosmith
The Mingus Big Band
The Rolling Stones
Jon Stewart
Terence Trent D'arby
Foo Fighters+
Prince
Belly
Junior Brown+
Kool and the Gang
Radiohead
Mazzy Star
Iggy Pop
REM
The Innocence Mission
Cibo Mato
Paula Poundstone
Tenacious D
The Handsome Family
Sujan Stevens
The Vienna Boys Choir
The Secret Sisters
Tom Petty and the Heartbreakers
The Strokes
Louic C.K.
Queens of the Stone Age
Blackalicous
Butthole Surfers
The Beastie Boys+
The Smashing Pumpkins+
Billy Joe Shaver
Kelly Willis
Lyle Lovett
Jerry Jeff Walker
Spoon
Patton Oswalt
Eddie Money
The Cramps
Jane's Addiction
Nine Inch Nails
Tenacious D
Lucinda Williams
Luscious Jackson
Calexico+
Los Lobos
Crowded House
Giant Sand/Howe Gelb+
Rufus Wainwright+
Elvis Costello
Loverboy
The Jayhawks
Robert Plant
Sahara Hotnights
Morrissey
Le Tigre
The Polyphonic Spree
David Bowie
Matthew Sweet
Kristen Hersh
Vic Chesnutt
Weezer
Bob Schneider
Ray LaMontagne
Levon Helm
Cher
David Cross
Built to Spill+
The Donnas
Jellyfish
Chris Whitley
The Arc Angels+
Dale Watson
World Party
Don Henley
Son Volt
Stephen Malkmus & The Jicks
Neko Case+
Better Than Ezra
Peter Murphy
Golden Smog+
Charo
Gillian Welch
The New Pornographers
The Black Crowes
Yo La Tengo+
My Morning Jacket
Pavement
Blind Melon
Ghostland Observatory
Cake+
Janeane Garofalo
Iron & Wine
The Gourds
Sleater-Kinney
Steve Forbert
The Judy's+
Don Walser
Edie Brickell and New Bohemians
Foreigner
Goober& The Peas
They play huge stadiums in Europe but they're playing a 1,500 person club in D.C.--one of only a handful of dates they're playing in North America. I plan on being front and freakin' center letting Guy Garvey's voice and amazing lyrics just pour all over me. I will most likely cry because that's the kind of music-lovin' dorkaholic that I am. I convinced my friend Bookhart to go with me, and that fact, along with the fact that I haven't been a tourist in D.C. since I was 14, means that I'm pretty jazzed about this whole adventure.
Have I ever gone to such extremes just to see a band I love? Not exactly. But I would if the opportunity presented itself again. We're staying at my aunt and uncle's house in Bethesda, and we got relatively cheap airline tickets, so we're doing this whole thing as cheaply as possible. However, the whole endeavor is costing some cash. Which got me thinking at about 4:30am this morning: How many performances HAVE I attended in my long, long life? And if I had ever dollar I'd spent on those tickets sitting in front of me, what could I buy? And who all HAVE I seen live? Who HAVEN'T I seen who I'd really like to see before I (or they) buy the farm?
The results of all this insomniac mind-racing is below. Can't say I'm proud of everything on this list, and some of it is just plain random. "+" means I've seen them more than once--sometimes WAY more than once. Enjoy!!
Bands/Performers I've Seen Live--A More-than-likely Incomplete List
DJ Jazzy Jeff and the Fresh Prince
Aldo Nova
Judas Priest
Mac Davis
Willie Nelson+
Waylon Jennings
Huey Lewis and the News+
The Carpenters
Sam Kinison
Lenny Kravitz
The Cult
Eddie Murphy (stand up, not singing--thank God)
George Strait
Sting
Poi Dog Pondering+
The Sundays
Luna
Aziz Ansari
Blue Mountain
Jon Spencer Blues Explosion
The Breeders
Morphine+
The Tragically Hip+
Bob Mould
Shawn Colvin
Mitzi Gaynor (look her up)
Van Halen+ (Original. No Hagar.)
Billy Squier
Tool
Phil Collins
Cheap Trick+
Night Ranger
Zebra
The Pixies+
Ween
Beth Orton
Joan As Policewoman
Tim & Eric
Joan Jett
Aerosmith
The Mingus Big Band
The Rolling Stones
Jon Stewart
Terence Trent D'arby
Foo Fighters+
Prince
Belly
Junior Brown+
Kool and the Gang
Radiohead
Mazzy Star
Iggy Pop
REM
The Innocence Mission
Cibo Mato
Paula Poundstone
Tenacious D
The Handsome Family
Sujan Stevens
The Vienna Boys Choir
The Secret Sisters
Tom Petty and the Heartbreakers
The Strokes
Louic C.K.
Queens of the Stone Age
Blackalicous
Butthole Surfers
The Beastie Boys+
The Smashing Pumpkins+
Billy Joe Shaver
Kelly Willis
Lyle Lovett
Jerry Jeff Walker
Spoon
Patton Oswalt
Eddie Money
The Cramps
Jane's Addiction
Nine Inch Nails
Tenacious D
Lucinda Williams
Luscious Jackson
Calexico+
Los Lobos
Crowded House
Giant Sand/Howe Gelb+
Rufus Wainwright+
Elvis Costello
Loverboy
The Jayhawks
Robert Plant
Sahara Hotnights
Morrissey
Le Tigre
The Polyphonic Spree
David Bowie
Matthew Sweet
Kristen Hersh
Vic Chesnutt
Weezer
Bob Schneider
Ray LaMontagne
Levon Helm
Cher
David Cross
Built to Spill+
The Donnas
Jellyfish
Chris Whitley
The Arc Angels+
Dale Watson
World Party
Don Henley
Son Volt
Stephen Malkmus & The Jicks
Neko Case+
Better Than Ezra
Peter Murphy
Golden Smog+
Charo
Gillian Welch
The New Pornographers
The Black Crowes
Yo La Tengo+
My Morning Jacket
Pavement
Blind Melon
Ghostland Observatory
Cake+
Janeane Garofalo
Iron & Wine
The Gourds
Sleater-Kinney
Steve Forbert
The Judy's+
Don Walser
Edie Brickell and New Bohemians
Foreigner
Goober& The Peas
Tuesday, March 08, 2011
My current obsessions
Instagr.am. It's a photo taking/sharing app on the iPhone, and it is SO cool. I'm following people in Amsterdam, Russia, Korea, Japan and India (among some other home-grown folks). It's amazing how compelling and fun simple, everyday photos can be.
The dark circles under my eyes. Dudes. They're BAD. And I've noticed that in every single photo that's been taken of me in the past year or so, they stand out like a sore thumb. So I'm working with my very own personal make-up consultant (Jaye) to help cover up those suckers, because getting more rest just isn't a possibility at the moment.
The Geej's missing teeth.
The fact that she's now lost BOTH teeth on the top and is constantly flashing that toothless grin of hers at me is KILLING me dead. I can't get over how cute she is and how much it has changed the way she looks! God, she's getting so damn BIG!!
A new house. I know, I know... We're in NO POSITION to be even THINKING about a new/different house, but I made the mistake of asking BH to go see a place with me this past weekend, and I literally can't stop thinking about it. The house was pretty nice, but the LOT it was on was seriously fabulous. And now I've mentally moved into the place, painted, changed the floors (where needed), hung pictures, positioned furniture and begun landscaping. Sigh.
Our gardens. We've* begun to plant some things in the two raised beds that BH built this past fall. So far, tomatoes, chives, Anaheim peppers, and cilantro. We'll be planting other things as the month rolls on. We've also got blackberries, Italian parsley, oregano, and mint growing elsewhere. I'm hoping this stuff really takes off. How cool would that be?
*When I say "we've", I actually mean BH. He's the one with the green thumb and gardening know-how. I'm just there to lend support, really.
Missing SXSW. Once again, I have neither the funds or the time off necessary to enjoy South-by-Southwest. I guess I should just go ahead and admit that those days are pretty much behind me. In fact, I'm so out of the SXSW loop that I'm actually going to Longview on the 18th. That's right: Longview for Spring Break. Do I know how to party, or what?!
This sandwich I ate a couple of weeks ago at Haddington's. Ya'll it was INTENSE. It was this crazy take on a grilled cheese that featured a white truffle oil aioli, grilled haloumi, and sun-dried tomatoes. I'm sure it had 7 billion grams of fat because it was rich as hell, but OMG it made my toes curl and eyes roll back in my head with each bite. I think you can only eat a sandwich like that once a year without risking a straight-up heart attack, but damn, it would be worth the risk just to try it again.
My "listen up" playlist. I've only got about 650 songs left to go. Yes, it's taking me FOREVER, but it's been totally worth it. And now that I'm seeing the light at the end of the tunnel? Listening to it has become sort of an obsession.
Asparagus. This time of year, I just can't get enough. Stinky pee be damned!!
The dark circles under my eyes. Dudes. They're BAD. And I've noticed that in every single photo that's been taken of me in the past year or so, they stand out like a sore thumb. So I'm working with my very own personal make-up consultant (Jaye) to help cover up those suckers, because getting more rest just isn't a possibility at the moment.
The Geej's missing teeth.
A new house. I know, I know... We're in NO POSITION to be even THINKING about a new/different house, but I made the mistake of asking BH to go see a place with me this past weekend, and I literally can't stop thinking about it. The house was pretty nice, but the LOT it was on was seriously fabulous. And now I've mentally moved into the place, painted, changed the floors (where needed), hung pictures, positioned furniture and begun landscaping. Sigh.
Our gardens. We've* begun to plant some things in the two raised beds that BH built this past fall. So far, tomatoes, chives, Anaheim peppers, and cilantro. We'll be planting other things as the month rolls on. We've also got blackberries, Italian parsley, oregano, and mint growing elsewhere. I'm hoping this stuff really takes off. How cool would that be?
*When I say "we've", I actually mean BH. He's the one with the green thumb and gardening know-how. I'm just there to lend support, really.
Missing SXSW. Once again, I have neither the funds or the time off necessary to enjoy South-by-Southwest. I guess I should just go ahead and admit that those days are pretty much behind me. In fact, I'm so out of the SXSW loop that I'm actually going to Longview on the 18th. That's right: Longview for Spring Break. Do I know how to party, or what?!
This sandwich I ate a couple of weeks ago at Haddington's. Ya'll it was INTENSE. It was this crazy take on a grilled cheese that featured a white truffle oil aioli, grilled haloumi, and sun-dried tomatoes. I'm sure it had 7 billion grams of fat because it was rich as hell, but OMG it made my toes curl and eyes roll back in my head with each bite. I think you can only eat a sandwich like that once a year without risking a straight-up heart attack, but damn, it would be worth the risk just to try it again.
My "listen up" playlist. I've only got about 650 songs left to go. Yes, it's taking me FOREVER, but it's been totally worth it. And now that I'm seeing the light at the end of the tunnel? Listening to it has become sort of an obsession.
Asparagus. This time of year, I just can't get enough. Stinky pee be damned!!
Sunday, February 20, 2011
And he's back.
Within a couple of hours of writing the post about Doug hauling ass, prison-break style, he was back at home snoozing with a full belly. He'd been spotted in some bushes in front of a house on the street behind us. When he saw us, he skeedaddled into a back yard and got tormented by some bluejays and mockingbirds for a while. Then, once it started steadily drizzling, he decided to scale the fence and come home, meyowling the whole time. Sigh. I'm glad he's back, but we're definitely going to have to take steps to make him an indoor/outdoor creature or we're all going to go insane.
This afternoon, The Geej, Dah and I are going to get all kinds of cultural and go see a performance by the Vienna Boys' Choir. I love choral music (most of it, anyway) and was a big choir nerd back in middle school and junior high, so when I saw they were coming, I quickly bought tickets. Also, because The Geej likes music and likes to sing so much, I'm hoping she'll be inspired by what she sees and hears. But she may just be bored out of her mind. We'll see.
Later this evening, we're going to dinner with my in-laws. Luckily, I actually LIKE my mother-in-law and her husband. A lot. So this is a treat. Also, since they live several hours away, it's a rare treat.
And then? I've got work to do this evening. Work work. I'm worried that I'm never going to dig out of this hole I dug by being out sick for four days. At least, I'm not going to be able to dig out during normal work hours alone. So if I'm silent for a few days, you know why.
This afternoon, The Geej, Dah and I are going to get all kinds of cultural and go see a performance by the Vienna Boys' Choir. I love choral music (most of it, anyway) and was a big choir nerd back in middle school and junior high, so when I saw they were coming, I quickly bought tickets. Also, because The Geej likes music and likes to sing so much, I'm hoping she'll be inspired by what she sees and hears. But she may just be bored out of her mind. We'll see.
Later this evening, we're going to dinner with my in-laws. Luckily, I actually LIKE my mother-in-law and her husband. A lot. So this is a treat. Also, since they live several hours away, it's a rare treat.
And then? I've got work to do this evening. Work work. I'm worried that I'm never going to dig out of this hole I dug by being out sick for four days. At least, I'm not going to be able to dig out during normal work hours alone. So if I'm silent for a few days, you know why.
Friday, February 18, 2011
Rainbows! And Giggles!!
Well, not exactly. But I'm in a much better place than I was when I last wrote. Today, I finally went back to work after being out sick for four freakin' days. I am SO unbelievably behind, but it was really good to be back among the living today, however minimal my "To Do" list progress may have been.
Monday and Tuesday sucked donkey balls. I was so miserable and feverish and achy and worn out. It was bad. Wednesday, I started to feel a bit more human, but by that point The Geej was home with a fever. I took her to the doctor, and they tested her for the flu, which was thankfully negative. But that night, she had diarrhea, vomited, and had a fever of 102.7. It was scary. This child rarely gets sick, and this was like the 3rd time she'd ever thrown up in her life, and she was very upset by it all. And I was still operating at way less than 100%, so it just sucked all around. By about 1:00am, her fever had begun to come down, and on Thursday she never got above 99.6. So whatever the Hell it was that knocked her on her ass has come and gone, praise sweet baby Jeebus.
Somehow, BH has managed to escape either of our ailments (knock wood). He's Superman. Or a robot. I'm not sure, but I'm glad he's well.
Next fall, I WILL be getting the flu vaccine.
I've got a lot of stuff on ye olde plate in the immediate future: cleaning the HELL out of The Geej's room and getting rid of a lot of clothes, shoes, and toys she's grown out of and just decluttering her space; Going to see the Vienna Boys' Choir with Dah and The Geej on Sunday; Dinner with BH and my in-laws on Sunday evening; Having The Geej's spring conference with her teacher on Monday. (They allot 20 whole minutes to discuss your child with you! Wow!!); Listening to the new Radiohead and P.J. Harvey albums over and over and over; Getting my summer writing workshop application materials (that are due for 2 workshops on 3/1) completed and in the mail; Getting our tax stuff together and sent off to the CPA; Scheduling our new carpet installation; and so on and so on.
It just never stops, does it? No wonder the black circles under my eyes are just getting darker and more circular.
Monday and Tuesday sucked donkey balls. I was so miserable and feverish and achy and worn out. It was bad. Wednesday, I started to feel a bit more human, but by that point The Geej was home with a fever. I took her to the doctor, and they tested her for the flu, which was thankfully negative. But that night, she had diarrhea, vomited, and had a fever of 102.7. It was scary. This child rarely gets sick, and this was like the 3rd time she'd ever thrown up in her life, and she was very upset by it all. And I was still operating at way less than 100%, so it just sucked all around. By about 1:00am, her fever had begun to come down, and on Thursday she never got above 99.6. So whatever the Hell it was that knocked her on her ass has come and gone, praise sweet baby Jeebus.
Somehow, BH has managed to escape either of our ailments (knock wood). He's Superman. Or a robot. I'm not sure, but I'm glad he's well.
Next fall, I WILL be getting the flu vaccine.
I've got a lot of stuff on ye olde plate in the immediate future: cleaning the HELL out of The Geej's room and getting rid of a lot of clothes, shoes, and toys she's grown out of and just decluttering her space; Going to see the Vienna Boys' Choir with Dah and The Geej on Sunday; Dinner with BH and my in-laws on Sunday evening; Having The Geej's spring conference with her teacher on Monday. (They allot 20 whole minutes to discuss your child with you! Wow!!); Listening to the new Radiohead and P.J. Harvey albums over and over and over; Getting my summer writing workshop application materials (that are due for 2 workshops on 3/1) completed and in the mail; Getting our tax stuff together and sent off to the CPA; Scheduling our new carpet installation; and so on and so on.
It just never stops, does it? No wonder the black circles under my eyes are just getting darker and more circular.
Saturday, January 29, 2011
Hot and Bothered
I'm blurry on the exact dates, so forgive me.
I was in Jr. High, and I loved Van Halen. They were touring and were coming to play in Shreveport, LA, which is about 60 miles from my home town. I wanted to go, and I had a friend named Traci who had an older (driving) brother who was going to the show. Somehow we convinced our mothers that it would be a good idea if her beer-slamming, weed-smoking, insanely irresponsible older brother and his equally dipshitty friend let us tag along in his white kidnapper van (you know the kind: windows only in the driver's area) to the show.
So we went. And yes I still have the ticket stub, but everything from that evening is a long-ago blur.
Here's what I DO remember:
When we got to the concert venue, the Older Brother and His Friend disowned us. They basically told our 14 yr. old asses to get lost until after the concert (when then, and only then, were we allowed to meet them back at The Van). I guess they figured we would cock block them, which we totally would've.
So Traci and I made our way into the venue--a big dome-ish thing with general admission and poor ventilation. The entire place reeked of old beer and weed.
We landed some seats stage right in the lower balcony. I'm sure there was an opening band, but I have no recollection of it. But I will never forget when the lights in the arena suddenly dropped, a million Bic lighters were hoisted, and the first notes of Eddie Van Halen's guitar were heard. Pandefuckingmonium. The lights came up and Van Halen took the stage. But the only person that I saw on that stage was David Lee Roth.
I was breathless. I'd seen pictures of him in magazines and seen a few Van Halen videos on that brand new thing called MTV, but nothing had remotely prepared me for what I was looking at: a preening, unbridled, 20-something, testosterone-filled peacock with a huge bulge in the front of his impossibly tight pants.
It was mesmerising.
Now remember: this is back before Diamond Dave became a sad caricature of himself, Alex lost his hearing, and Eddie rotted his teeth out of his head. This is when they were all (yes, even Michael Anthony) on fucking fire and tearing up arenas all over the country.
Dave was shirtless. His chisled chest was hairy--unlike the pussy-ass manscaped rockstars of today. His bleached hair was a long lion's mane. He wore low slung white leather pants with red fringe running down the outside of each leg. And although it sounds completely ridiculous to write this considering his getup: He was smoking hot. He moved like an athletic snake and belted out the lyrics like a man on a mission to blow out the back of the arena with his voice and then fuck as many women as humanly possible. He seemed ten times larger than life.
And I'm not sure when it was, but at some point, I felt it: that low, warm throb down in my lady parts. I had no idea what it meant, but I knew that it had something to do with what I was watching and hearing, and I knew that I fucking liked it. A lot.
After the show was over, Traci and I found The Van, and her wasted brother somehow got us all home alive. I remember lying under the daisy-printed bedspread in one of the twin beds in Traci's bedroom that night, my ears still ringing from the loudness of the show, and grinning to myself in the dark as I remembered each squeal of his voice and each thrust of his hips during the show.
I stayed loyal to Van Halen, and Dave, until 1984--the year and the album. After that, I couldn't handle what became of the cartoonish "California Girls" Dave and Van Hagar. It was just too damn sad to watch, and I had a new breed of boys attracting my attention (Bono, John Taylor of Duran Duran, Michael Stipe, etc.).
Flash forward to this week:
A dear friend of mine from my days in Chicago posted the following video (which features one half of my favorite comedy duo, Tim and Eric) on my Facebook page without comment.
Sigh.
Yes, this video is funny and the song is catchy, but I still can't help but be a bit saddened by how accurately it portrays the silly, larger-than-life "Diamond Dave" persona that Mr. Lee Roth created for himself.
Oh well...I'll always have a special place in my loins for DLR, along with a very happy memory of that night in Shreveport.
I was in Jr. High, and I loved Van Halen. They were touring and were coming to play in Shreveport, LA, which is about 60 miles from my home town. I wanted to go, and I had a friend named Traci who had an older (driving) brother who was going to the show. Somehow we convinced our mothers that it would be a good idea if her beer-slamming, weed-smoking, insanely irresponsible older brother and his equally dipshitty friend let us tag along in his white kidnapper van (you know the kind: windows only in the driver's area) to the show.
So we went. And yes I still have the ticket stub, but everything from that evening is a long-ago blur.
Here's what I DO remember:
When we got to the concert venue, the Older Brother and His Friend disowned us. They basically told our 14 yr. old asses to get lost until after the concert (when then, and only then, were we allowed to meet them back at The Van). I guess they figured we would cock block them, which we totally would've.
So Traci and I made our way into the venue--a big dome-ish thing with general admission and poor ventilation. The entire place reeked of old beer and weed.
We landed some seats stage right in the lower balcony. I'm sure there was an opening band, but I have no recollection of it. But I will never forget when the lights in the arena suddenly dropped, a million Bic lighters were hoisted, and the first notes of Eddie Van Halen's guitar were heard. Pandefuckingmonium. The lights came up and Van Halen took the stage. But the only person that I saw on that stage was David Lee Roth.
I was breathless. I'd seen pictures of him in magazines and seen a few Van Halen videos on that brand new thing called MTV, but nothing had remotely prepared me for what I was looking at: a preening, unbridled, 20-something, testosterone-filled peacock with a huge bulge in the front of his impossibly tight pants.
It was mesmerising.
Now remember: this is back before Diamond Dave became a sad caricature of himself, Alex lost his hearing, and Eddie rotted his teeth out of his head. This is when they were all (yes, even Michael Anthony) on fucking fire and tearing up arenas all over the country.
Dave was shirtless. His chisled chest was hairy--unlike the pussy-ass manscaped rockstars of today. His bleached hair was a long lion's mane. He wore low slung white leather pants with red fringe running down the outside of each leg. And although it sounds completely ridiculous to write this considering his getup: He was smoking hot. He moved like an athletic snake and belted out the lyrics like a man on a mission to blow out the back of the arena with his voice and then fuck as many women as humanly possible. He seemed ten times larger than life.
After the show was over, Traci and I found The Van, and her wasted brother somehow got us all home alive. I remember lying under the daisy-printed bedspread in one of the twin beds in Traci's bedroom that night, my ears still ringing from the loudness of the show, and grinning to myself in the dark as I remembered each squeal of his voice and each thrust of his hips during the show.
I stayed loyal to Van Halen, and Dave, until 1984--the year and the album. After that, I couldn't handle what became of the cartoonish "California Girls" Dave and Van Hagar. It was just too damn sad to watch, and I had a new breed of boys attracting my attention (Bono, John Taylor of Duran Duran, Michael Stipe, etc.).
Flash forward to this week:
A dear friend of mine from my days in Chicago posted the following video (which features one half of my favorite comedy duo, Tim and Eric) on my Facebook page without comment.
Sigh.
Yes, this video is funny and the song is catchy, but I still can't help but be a bit saddened by how accurately it portrays the silly, larger-than-life "Diamond Dave" persona that Mr. Lee Roth created for himself.
Oh well...I'll always have a special place in my loins for DLR, along with a very happy memory of that night in Shreveport.
Friday, January 14, 2011
Try to keep up.
This is going to be one of those all-over-the-map posts because I have nothing and everything to talk about.
I have about a gagillion songs in my iTunes. I am a music hoarder. It is my one regular financial indulgence. And having all of that wonderful stuff at my fingertips is a great source of joy to me. So, several months ago, I decided to make a playlist out of all of the songs in my iTunes that had no info in the "Last Played" column, i.e., songs that, in theory, I'd never listened to before. That playlist had something close to 6,000 songs in it. Crazy, no? So I started embarked on a journey of listening to each and every one of those songs, in alphabetical order. At work. In the car. Sometimes at home (when I was alone, which is almost never). After songs in the playlist are listened to, I delete them on the list. Sometimes they get added to other playlists (for example, my large "Mellow Dudes and Dames" list) and sometimes, if they are simply unlistenable, they get deleted altogether. I am now in the songs-that-begin-with-N part of the playlist. It has been an interesting journey, and only reaffirmed my great need for music in my life. I love how in just a few songs I can go from Young MC to The Spinanes to The Mingus Big Band to Calexico to Judas Priest. It's like an awesome radio station run by an insane person. Maybe, in a previous incarnation, I was a composer or accomplished musician because I am absolutely voracious when it comes to the stuff.
Another thing I love? Really good stand-up comedy. Tomorrow I'm going to get to see one of my absolute favorites, Patton Oswalt, at The Paramount. Over the past year, I've gotten to go see Aziz Ansari, Louis CK, Tim & Eric, Jerry Seinfeld and David Cross. In my lifetime, I've also gone to see Eddie Murphy, Wanda Sykes, Jon Stewart, Sam Kinison and Janeane Garofalo. Comedians fascinate me. I just can't imagine what it must feel like to stand in front of several thousand people, just KILLING them with your jokes and stories. I only wish there were more really, really funny female stand-ups, but it's just not a medium that many women find success in.
For about two weeks now, I have been in allergy Hell. Like most of the population of Austin, I dread January because it means that cedar season has arrived. People just start dropping like flies--hacking, coughing, sneezing and generally feeling like hammered shit. Shelves of antihistamines sell out at Walgreen's and the allergy report on the evening news becomes regular elevator conversation. And to add insult to injury, usually January is also host to some really beautiful, crisp sunny winter days--the kind that you want to spend the entire day outside, but if you do? You pay. Dearly.
I watched the President's speech at the memorial event for the victims of the Tuscon shootings. This whole episode--or more accurately, how this episode has been turned into a finger pointer's wet dream--really had me nervous for him. What would he say? What COULD he say? But, aside from his halting delivery (which bugs me no matter what the topic), his message was beautiful, and he came across as more sincere and presidential than he's seemed in a long time. This was the man I voted for.
I've got around 500 Facebook friends, and a LOT of them are very right-leaning, conservative, Christian, Obama-haters. Which is fine. To each his or her own. But oh MAN am I ever sick of them a) posting Bible verses and b) posting photos of them and/or their kids holding up the limp head of some deer or other animal they've just killed. It just makes me want to post a photo of a really awesome dump I take along with some passages from Dianetics. ANNOYING!!
And not to get too far in the political weeds, but I have just got to spend some time talking about this asshat, Louie Gohmert. You know how much the existence of Toby Keith, Justin Bieber and Nancy Grace pisses me off? Well take that, and multiply it by about 10,000, and you get some idea of how I feel about Mr. Gohmert. Why? Well, I have several reasons, but the main one is that he's an absolute embarrassment.
He comes across as a paranoid, small-minded doofus. Don't believe me? Go to YouTube and put his name in the search box. Watch just a few minutes of him speaking on the floor of the House. Maybe about "Don't Ask Don't Tell" or about terror anchor babies. Go ahead. I'll wait.
Oh good! You're back!! See what I mean? WORLD-CLASS DOOFUS! And I, for one, am so sick of the south and Texas being, literally, represented by slow-witted nimrods like this. It just perpetuates the negative stereotypes that people have about us southerners/Texans, and that irks me. Also, he's one of these elected officials who really blurs the lines between religion and governance to the detriment of those whose religious beliefs are not the same as his. Was this guy really the BEST option for the voters in my hometown's congressional district? If so, wow. That's just sad as Hell.
I had the biggest, nastiest zit on my right cheek this week. That's right: allergy-ridden AND pock-marked. Anyway, The Geej was pretty fascinated with it. "What IS it, Mommy?" "But what IS a pimple?!" "It's disGUSTing!" Sigh. She also told me one morning this week that my jeans were too little, and she often asks me, "Are you going to brush your hair?" Nothing like having a little diva around to keep you humble...
Okay. Maybe that's enough rambling for now. Thanks for hanging in there with this weird post. Hope you don't have change-of-topic whiplash.
I have about a gagillion songs in my iTunes. I am a music hoarder. It is my one regular financial indulgence. And having all of that wonderful stuff at my fingertips is a great source of joy to me. So, several months ago, I decided to make a playlist out of all of the songs in my iTunes that had no info in the "Last Played" column, i.e., songs that, in theory, I'd never listened to before. That playlist had something close to 6,000 songs in it. Crazy, no? So I started embarked on a journey of listening to each and every one of those songs, in alphabetical order. At work. In the car. Sometimes at home (when I was alone, which is almost never). After songs in the playlist are listened to, I delete them on the list. Sometimes they get added to other playlists (for example, my large "Mellow Dudes and Dames" list) and sometimes, if they are simply unlistenable, they get deleted altogether. I am now in the songs-that-begin-with-N part of the playlist. It has been an interesting journey, and only reaffirmed my great need for music in my life. I love how in just a few songs I can go from Young MC to The Spinanes to The Mingus Big Band to Calexico to Judas Priest. It's like an awesome radio station run by an insane person. Maybe, in a previous incarnation, I was a composer or accomplished musician because I am absolutely voracious when it comes to the stuff.
Another thing I love? Really good stand-up comedy. Tomorrow I'm going to get to see one of my absolute favorites, Patton Oswalt, at The Paramount. Over the past year, I've gotten to go see Aziz Ansari, Louis CK, Tim & Eric, Jerry Seinfeld and David Cross. In my lifetime, I've also gone to see Eddie Murphy, Wanda Sykes, Jon Stewart, Sam Kinison and Janeane Garofalo. Comedians fascinate me. I just can't imagine what it must feel like to stand in front of several thousand people, just KILLING them with your jokes and stories. I only wish there were more really, really funny female stand-ups, but it's just not a medium that many women find success in.
For about two weeks now, I have been in allergy Hell. Like most of the population of Austin, I dread January because it means that cedar season has arrived. People just start dropping like flies--hacking, coughing, sneezing and generally feeling like hammered shit. Shelves of antihistamines sell out at Walgreen's and the allergy report on the evening news becomes regular elevator conversation. And to add insult to injury, usually January is also host to some really beautiful, crisp sunny winter days--the kind that you want to spend the entire day outside, but if you do? You pay. Dearly.
I watched the President's speech at the memorial event for the victims of the Tuscon shootings. This whole episode--or more accurately, how this episode has been turned into a finger pointer's wet dream--really had me nervous for him. What would he say? What COULD he say? But, aside from his halting delivery (which bugs me no matter what the topic), his message was beautiful, and he came across as more sincere and presidential than he's seemed in a long time. This was the man I voted for.
I've got around 500 Facebook friends, and a LOT of them are very right-leaning, conservative, Christian, Obama-haters. Which is fine. To each his or her own. But oh MAN am I ever sick of them a) posting Bible verses and b) posting photos of them and/or their kids holding up the limp head of some deer or other animal they've just killed. It just makes me want to post a photo of a really awesome dump I take along with some passages from Dianetics. ANNOYING!!
And not to get too far in the political weeds, but I have just got to spend some time talking about this asshat, Louie Gohmert. You know how much the existence of Toby Keith, Justin Bieber and Nancy Grace pisses me off? Well take that, and multiply it by about 10,000, and you get some idea of how I feel about Mr. Gohmert. Why? Well, I have several reasons, but the main one is that he's an absolute embarrassment.
He comes across as a paranoid, small-minded doofus. Don't believe me? Go to YouTube and put his name in the search box. Watch just a few minutes of him speaking on the floor of the House. Maybe about "Don't Ask Don't Tell" or about terror anchor babies. Go ahead. I'll wait.
Oh good! You're back!! See what I mean? WORLD-CLASS DOOFUS! And I, for one, am so sick of the south and Texas being, literally, represented by slow-witted nimrods like this. It just perpetuates the negative stereotypes that people have about us southerners/Texans, and that irks me. Also, he's one of these elected officials who really blurs the lines between religion and governance to the detriment of those whose religious beliefs are not the same as his. Was this guy really the BEST option for the voters in my hometown's congressional district? If so, wow. That's just sad as Hell.
I had the biggest, nastiest zit on my right cheek this week. That's right: allergy-ridden AND pock-marked. Anyway, The Geej was pretty fascinated with it. "What IS it, Mommy?" "But what IS a pimple?!" "It's disGUSTing!" Sigh. She also told me one morning this week that my jeans were too little, and she often asks me, "Are you going to brush your hair?" Nothing like having a little diva around to keep you humble...
Okay. Maybe that's enough rambling for now. Thanks for hanging in there with this weird post. Hope you don't have change-of-topic whiplash.
Sunday, November 14, 2010
WHATTAWEEKEND!
Friday
Left work. Ran home. Changed clothes. Then went with BH to Casa Columbia for dinner. Straight up awesome. HIGHLY recommend it. Then we went over to Bass Concert Hall for the Ray LaMontagne/Levon Helm show. We'd prepaid for parking, so that wasn't a problem at all. Walked in to Bass just as the opening act, The Secret Sisters, had wrapped up. Got a couple of drinks and got seated. Great seats. Floor level, center, toward the back. Ray and his band started their set with one of my favorite songs off of their latest album--For The Summer--and it was magical.
And it just got better from there EXCEPT for the HUGE douchebags and their dates sitting behind us talking their asses off the whole time like they were watching this on their big 98" HidDef LCD in their custom built home theater back at their Rob Roy McMansion while pounding some Shiner Bock rather than at a live venue where everyone around them had paid $50+ a ticket for a great musical experience. Holy FUCK, it was so rude and annoying. And all around us--TEXTING and IM-ing!! I've got to ask: Why even go to all the trouble and expense to go see live music when all you're going to do is sit around and gaze at your smartphone the whole time? What is the fucking point? If you can't disconnect from that goddamned contraption for an hour or so to go for a run or see a performance of some kind, then you've got a damn problem. Oh, where was I. Yes, the show. It was beautiful and amazing and I had chills several times due to the sheer lovliness of the music. Levon Helm's band was pretty great--boisterous and joyful. I smiled so much during their performance that my damn face hurt.
Saturday
Slept late (10:15am!!) then got up and started working my butt off. Lots of laundry. Dusting. Hand washing and putting all of the glassware back into the china cabinet. Dusting. Running to Lowe's. Dusting. Moving furniture back in from the garage. Dusting and dusting. Got ready and went downtown for dinner. The walked over to The Paramount to see the totally indescribable Tim & Eric show. Literally, it was indescribable. Those guys are nucking futs. I will say this: The audience was 75% male and of that 75%, 2/3 of them were bearded. I'm not sure what that means, but I found it interesting. I'm always curious what the elderly volunteer ushers think when I come to see stuff that's terribly odd and/or crude at The Paramount. I mean, it's such a classy joint, and I'm sure Mee Maw and PawPaw are very confused by what they see and hear during these shows. But hey--I'll see 'em on Friday for Louis C.K., who I'm sure is going to drop his fair share of F-bombs, so YAY!!
Sunday
Slept until 9:00am (Hooray!!) and then made breakfast for me and BH. He went off to work (yes, on a Sunday), and I made the World's Biggest Grocery List. Went to the horrible awful terrible HEB near our house. Came home and prepped stuff to put in the slow cooker to make a yummy white bean stew for dinner. Made a sandwich. Drank a Coke. Welcomed The Geej back from Dah's house. Welcomed the new piece of furniture we bought from Dah (a green chaise lounge for the living room!).
Began working with The Geej to clean up her room. Left to go to see Acro-Cats. Went to Whole Foods to take advantage of the wine cellar sale going on. Bought TWELVE bottles of wine and loads of produce b/c the produce at the shitty HEB near my house looked like ass. Went home. Ate the stew that had been cooking all day. Bathed The Geej and put her to bed. Watched "Boardwalk Empire" (can't help it; still loving it), and now I'm blogging. And yet, somehow, there's still laundry to be folded.
Whew. This? Was a great effing weekend. I am a lucky, happy lady.
Left work. Ran home. Changed clothes. Then went with BH to Casa Columbia for dinner. Straight up awesome. HIGHLY recommend it. Then we went over to Bass Concert Hall for the Ray LaMontagne/Levon Helm show. We'd prepaid for parking, so that wasn't a problem at all. Walked in to Bass just as the opening act, The Secret Sisters, had wrapped up. Got a couple of drinks and got seated. Great seats. Floor level, center, toward the back. Ray and his band started their set with one of my favorite songs off of their latest album--For The Summer--and it was magical.
And it just got better from there EXCEPT for the HUGE douchebags and their dates sitting behind us talking their asses off the whole time like they were watching this on their big 98" HidDef LCD in their custom built home theater back at their Rob Roy McMansion while pounding some Shiner Bock rather than at a live venue where everyone around them had paid $50+ a ticket for a great musical experience. Holy FUCK, it was so rude and annoying. And all around us--TEXTING and IM-ing!! I've got to ask: Why even go to all the trouble and expense to go see live music when all you're going to do is sit around and gaze at your smartphone the whole time? What is the fucking point? If you can't disconnect from that goddamned contraption for an hour or so to go for a run or see a performance of some kind, then you've got a damn problem. Oh, where was I. Yes, the show. It was beautiful and amazing and I had chills several times due to the sheer lovliness of the music. Levon Helm's band was pretty great--boisterous and joyful. I smiled so much during their performance that my damn face hurt.
Saturday
Slept late (10:15am!!) then got up and started working my butt off. Lots of laundry. Dusting. Hand washing and putting all of the glassware back into the china cabinet. Dusting. Running to Lowe's. Dusting. Moving furniture back in from the garage. Dusting and dusting. Got ready and went downtown for dinner. The walked over to The Paramount to see the totally indescribable Tim & Eric show. Literally, it was indescribable. Those guys are nucking futs. I will say this: The audience was 75% male and of that 75%, 2/3 of them were bearded. I'm not sure what that means, but I found it interesting. I'm always curious what the elderly volunteer ushers think when I come to see stuff that's terribly odd and/or crude at The Paramount. I mean, it's such a classy joint, and I'm sure Mee Maw and PawPaw are very confused by what they see and hear during these shows. But hey--I'll see 'em on Friday for Louis C.K., who I'm sure is going to drop his fair share of F-bombs, so YAY!!
Sunday
Slept until 9:00am (Hooray!!) and then made breakfast for me and BH. He went off to work (yes, on a Sunday), and I made the World's Biggest Grocery List. Went to the horrible awful terrible HEB near our house. Came home and prepped stuff to put in the slow cooker to make a yummy white bean stew for dinner. Made a sandwich. Drank a Coke. Welcomed The Geej back from Dah's house. Welcomed the new piece of furniture we bought from Dah (a green chaise lounge for the living room!).
 |
| See it? There in the corner? So pretty and comfy!! |
Whew. This? Was a great effing weekend. I am a lucky, happy lady.
Thursday, November 11, 2010
Busy busy busy!!
Well, they finished the floors last night at about 8:00pm. Those two dudes worked their arses off for 3 days solid, and the result is pretty freakin' fantastic, if I do say so myself. I promise before and after pics once we get the house put back together, which may take a couple of days. There is a fine powdery dust on every single surface that we're having to deal with first before we move the furniture back in. And there are Swiffers that need to be purchased. And area rugs. But it's coming together.
Tonight, I'm dragging The Geej with me to a little soiree at my boss's house. Should be fun. There will be a couple of babies there I can snorgle along with my boss's sweet Basset hound. And there will be wine and snacks, so I'm gonna be happy.
Tomorrow night, BH and I are going to see the wonderful Ray LaMontagne in concert. It's a double bill with Levon Helm, who I like. But I LOVE Mr. LaMontagne. That raspy voice. Those lyrics. I mean LOOK at this guy:
Then on Saturday night, we're going to see Tim and Eric at The Paramount. If you're not familiar with Tim and Eric, there's really no way I can describe them to you other than to say they're two insane dudes who have one of the weirdest comedy shows I have ever seen in my life: The Tim & Eric Awesome Show, Great Job! They're touring with a live show right now, and I can't even imagine how bizarre it's going to be. Plus, they've got a "band" called...wait for it...Pusswhip Gangbang that will be performing during the show as well. Should be totally strange.
Then on Sunday afternoon, The Geej and I will be attending Circus Cats. Yes, you read that right: Circus Cats. That is one reason having kiddos is fun--you have an excuse to go see stuff like freakin' CIRCUS CATS and not feel even one bit weird about it. (I'm not sure what it says about me, but I had three different people email me to let me know that the Circus Cats would be performing in Austin this weekend. Oh wait, I know what it says! It says I'M A DORK!!) I actually have a friend who has gone to see these felines do their thang at a Chicago show (they actually hail from the Windy City), and said it's pretty hilarious. They're touring right now--they've got some Austin and San Antonio shows--and rumor has it that the demands in their contract rider are pretty outrageous:
Tonight, I'm dragging The Geej with me to a little soiree at my boss's house. Should be fun. There will be a couple of babies there I can snorgle along with my boss's sweet Basset hound. And there will be wine and snacks, so I'm gonna be happy.
Tomorrow night, BH and I are going to see the wonderful Ray LaMontagne in concert. It's a double bill with Levon Helm, who I like. But I LOVE Mr. LaMontagne. That raspy voice. Those lyrics. I mean LOOK at this guy:
 |
| Le sigh. |
Then on Sunday afternoon, The Geej and I will be attending Circus Cats. Yes, you read that right: Circus Cats. That is one reason having kiddos is fun--you have an excuse to go see stuff like freakin' CIRCUS CATS and not feel even one bit weird about it. (I'm not sure what it says about me, but I had three different people email me to let me know that the Circus Cats would be performing in Austin this weekend. Oh wait, I know what it says! It says I'M A DORK!!) I actually have a friend who has gone to see these felines do their thang at a Chicago show (they actually hail from the Windy City), and said it's pretty hilarious. They're touring right now--they've got some Austin and San Antonio shows--and rumor has it that the demands in their contract rider are pretty outrageous:
- Unlimited tuna.
- Italian spring water served in crystal goblets. NO BOWLS!!
- Eastern and Western facing windows in the dressing room for maximum sunbeam action.
- A man servant whose only jobs are to operate a laser pointer (for chasing) and to "constantly refresh immediately upon soiling".
Thursday, October 21, 2010
Music Lover
Tuesday night, BH and I went to see Sufjan Stevens at The Long Center, and I'm still recovering.
A word about my relationship with Sufjan's music: It's not often that I can remember where I was and what I was doing the first time I heard a particular artist. But I can do that with REM, PJ Harvey, Rufus Wainwright, and Sufjan. It was back when I was renting Karla's house, and I was on my way home from work, stuck in traffic, listening to "All Things Considered." They were interviewing Sufjan and playing clips from his album "(Come On Feel The) Illinois," and I was completely taken by him and his music. It was so different than anything I'd heard--simultaneously complex and delicate. I found myself scrambling for a pen and some paper so I could write down his name and the name of the album so I could purchase it immediately. I have loved and been fascinated by his music ever since.
Fast forward to Tuesday night. I bought our tickets to this concert the second they came out, however, I was bummed because the best I could get were upper balcony. But it didn't matter. The sound quality at The Long Center is exceptional, and Sufjan's band is so large, that our perspective was actually kind of nice. And I know his music, so I expected the concert to be goodm, but it was EXCELLENT. This is just the 7th show on their tour to support an EP that came out this summer and his latest album that came out on 10/12. So there was a lot of joy and energy to their playing. But I was so overwhelmed by the beauty of his music that I found myself crying at times. Dorky, I know, but it happens. It happened when I went to see Rufus Wainwright at the Paramount when it was just him and his piano. There were times while he was playing--and on Tuesday, while Sufjan was playing--when I felt like I couldn't breathe, like if I did, it would break the spell he'd cast on me. That's because, to me, seeing Sufjan (and Rufus and a very few other musicians I love) in concert means being able to watch a genius at work, which is not something we get to do every day.
Sufjan is a young (only 35!), highly-prolific multi-instrumentalist/singer, who writes poetic lyrics and difficult lovely arrangements for his extremely original songs. If that isn't the definition of a genius, I don't know what is. After spending a couple of hours watching and listening to Sufjan perform, I was blissful and inspired. I couldn't stop smiling while we walked to our car. I will never be able to listen to his recorded music the same way again because I now have this whole other point of reference--an additional layer, as it were--to appreciate added to music I already loved.
Sigh...I feel so lucky.
A word about my relationship with Sufjan's music: It's not often that I can remember where I was and what I was doing the first time I heard a particular artist. But I can do that with REM, PJ Harvey, Rufus Wainwright, and Sufjan. It was back when I was renting Karla's house, and I was on my way home from work, stuck in traffic, listening to "All Things Considered." They were interviewing Sufjan and playing clips from his album "(Come On Feel The) Illinois," and I was completely taken by him and his music. It was so different than anything I'd heard--simultaneously complex and delicate. I found myself scrambling for a pen and some paper so I could write down his name and the name of the album so I could purchase it immediately. I have loved and been fascinated by his music ever since.
Fast forward to Tuesday night. I bought our tickets to this concert the second they came out, however, I was bummed because the best I could get were upper balcony. But it didn't matter. The sound quality at The Long Center is exceptional, and Sufjan's band is so large, that our perspective was actually kind of nice. And I know his music, so I expected the concert to be goodm, but it was EXCELLENT. This is just the 7th show on their tour to support an EP that came out this summer and his latest album that came out on 10/12. So there was a lot of joy and energy to their playing. But I was so overwhelmed by the beauty of his music that I found myself crying at times. Dorky, I know, but it happens. It happened when I went to see Rufus Wainwright at the Paramount when it was just him and his piano. There were times while he was playing--and on Tuesday, while Sufjan was playing--when I felt like I couldn't breathe, like if I did, it would break the spell he'd cast on me. That's because, to me, seeing Sufjan (and Rufus and a very few other musicians I love) in concert means being able to watch a genius at work, which is not something we get to do every day.
Sufjan is a young (only 35!), highly-prolific multi-instrumentalist/singer, who writes poetic lyrics and difficult lovely arrangements for his extremely original songs. If that isn't the definition of a genius, I don't know what is. After spending a couple of hours watching and listening to Sufjan perform, I was blissful and inspired. I couldn't stop smiling while we walked to our car. I will never be able to listen to his recorded music the same way again because I now have this whole other point of reference--an additional layer, as it were--to appreciate added to music I already loved.
Sigh...I feel so lucky.
Wednesday, September 29, 2010
The Wind In My Hair And Snot In My Head
The purchase of Klaus (that's my new car's name) coincided with two things: the first cool front of the autumn season (Yay!) and a spike in the mold/ragweed that's in the air. So yes I've been riding around with Klaus's top down whenever possible, but the result is that I'm 80% dead due to hardcore seasonal allergies. From the neck up, I'm just a big ol' glob of snot encased in a skull. Sunday--the first day after enjoying Klaus--I woke up and, literally, couldn't speak because my throat was so fucked up. I got some OTC meds, dosed myself, and suffered through the day, only to end up going to bed at 5:45pm, full of NyQuil. It helped. I'm functional now, but really, really gross sounding.
Let's see, what else...
Oh yes! Last night Jaye and I went to Stubb's to see Pavement. We were so lame, we left about an hour into the show, and ended up getting home at 9:45pm. I've pretty much decided that, unless I truly, deeply, insanely love a band, I don't want to go to any more "sold out" shows at Stubb's. It's just NOT enjoyable being crammed into that venue with that many other humans. Especially when the humans you're crammed in there with are all smoking and fairly drunk. It was just an annoy-a-thon from the get-go. And although I really like Pavement, I don't LOVE LOVE LOVE them like I do some other bands, so it just wasn't worth the hassle to stay to the end of the show. Luckily, the next five shows I have tickets to are seated.
I am old. There, I said it.
When I arrived home in my neighborhood after last night's show (top down, of course), there were still news trucks, police cars, and rude-ass gawkers standing outside of this guy's house. Yep. He lived on my street. Sad story. All of it.
Tomorrow night, Bookhart and I are beginning a 6-week writing workshop led by the wonderful Spike Gillespie. I'm beyond excited. I'm hoping it will help me get (what's left of) my mojo back. Plus, the idea of just having 2 hrs. a week dedicated to being creative and getting to hang out with Bookhart as well just makes me way happy.
To celebrate our 2nd anniversary, I booked a little house on the river near the charming little town of Wimberly for a long weekend. It looks adorable, sits on 25 acres, and has 500+ feet of riverfront. Can't wait.
Finally, it looks like my mom and this man she's been dating for several months are getting pretty serious. They're talking marriage. I'm happy for her and am looking forward to getting to know him better. I'm not sure how well The Geej is going to take having to share her precious Dah's affections for the first time ever, but I'm sure she'll adjust. Speaking of The Geej, she is digging Klaus. She said she wantst to grow her hair long enough to put in a ponytail while she's cruising around in the back seat.
That kid...
Let's see, what else...
Oh yes! Last night Jaye and I went to Stubb's to see Pavement. We were so lame, we left about an hour into the show, and ended up getting home at 9:45pm. I've pretty much decided that, unless I truly, deeply, insanely love a band, I don't want to go to any more "sold out" shows at Stubb's. It's just NOT enjoyable being crammed into that venue with that many other humans. Especially when the humans you're crammed in there with are all smoking and fairly drunk. It was just an annoy-a-thon from the get-go. And although I really like Pavement, I don't LOVE LOVE LOVE them like I do some other bands, so it just wasn't worth the hassle to stay to the end of the show. Luckily, the next five shows I have tickets to are seated.
I am old. There, I said it.
When I arrived home in my neighborhood after last night's show (top down, of course), there were still news trucks, police cars, and rude-ass gawkers standing outside of this guy's house. Yep. He lived on my street. Sad story. All of it.
Tomorrow night, Bookhart and I are beginning a 6-week writing workshop led by the wonderful Spike Gillespie. I'm beyond excited. I'm hoping it will help me get (what's left of) my mojo back. Plus, the idea of just having 2 hrs. a week dedicated to being creative and getting to hang out with Bookhart as well just makes me way happy.
To celebrate our 2nd anniversary, I booked a little house on the river near the charming little town of Wimberly for a long weekend. It looks adorable, sits on 25 acres, and has 500+ feet of riverfront. Can't wait.
Finally, it looks like my mom and this man she's been dating for several months are getting pretty serious. They're talking marriage. I'm happy for her and am looking forward to getting to know him better. I'm not sure how well The Geej is going to take having to share her precious Dah's affections for the first time ever, but I'm sure she'll adjust. Speaking of The Geej, she is digging Klaus. She said she wantst to grow her hair long enough to put in a ponytail while she's cruising around in the back seat.
That kid...
Thursday, September 16, 2010
Le Sigh
August is by far my least favorite month of the year. It's always so fookin' hot and (usually) everything is burned up and dying and brown and crispy. It's just part of living in Texas, but it sucks. Its days are long and relentless, and--as if to seriously fuck with me--it seems like the universe always ensures that August is also insanely busy (both personally and professionally). So I am never EVER sad to tear turn the calendar over and see September looking back at me. But it's an utter mind fuck. Even though the kids are in school and football has started and pumpkins and Halloween candy are appearing in the stores, it's STILL so damn hot.
August pisses me off, but September? September just depresses me.
And so here we are.
I am melancholy, tired, headachy, and generally disgruntled, and I blame it ALL on September.
At least I've got tickets to a lot of live performances by bands/comedians I love coming up between now and mid-November:
The Pixies
Pavement
Sufjan Stevens
Aziz Ansari
Ray LaMontagne/Levon Helm
Tim and Eric's Awesome Show
Louis C.K.
So...you know...yay.
August pisses me off, but September? September just depresses me.
And so here we are.
I am melancholy, tired, headachy, and generally disgruntled, and I blame it ALL on September.
At least I've got tickets to a lot of live performances by bands/comedians I love coming up between now and mid-November:
The Pixies
Pavement
Sufjan Stevens
Aziz Ansari
Ray LaMontagne/Levon Helm
Tim and Eric's Awesome Show
Louis C.K.
So...you know...yay.
Monday, March 15, 2010
Heavy rotation.
Here's what I'm listening to a LOT right now. Some of it's brand spankin' new; some of it is from years ago. All of it comes with the prestigious Pine Curtain Refugee Seal of Approval. Enjoy!!
Gorillaz -- Plastic Beach
Broken Bells -- Broken Bells
Elbow -- Leaders of the Free World
Mariachi El Bronx -- Mariachi El Bronx
Midlake -- The Courage of Others
Sade -- Soldier of Love
Spoon -- Transference
Massive Attack -- Heligoland
Various Artists -- Mountain Journey: Stars of Old Time Music
Beach House -- Teen Dream
Handsome Boy Modeling School -- So...How's Your Girl; White People; The Best of Bolerisimo
J.J. Cale -- The Very Best Of
Devendra Banhart -- Smokey Rolls Down Thunder Canyon
Real Estate -- Real Estate
Gorillaz -- Plastic Beach
Broken Bells -- Broken Bells
Elbow -- Leaders of the Free World
Mariachi El Bronx -- Mariachi El Bronx
Midlake -- The Courage of Others
Sade -- Soldier of Love
Spoon -- Transference
Massive Attack -- Heligoland
Various Artists -- Mountain Journey: Stars of Old Time Music
Beach House -- Teen Dream
Handsome Boy Modeling School -- So...How's Your Girl; White People; The Best of Bolerisimo
J.J. Cale -- The Very Best Of
Devendra Banhart -- Smokey Rolls Down Thunder Canyon
Real Estate -- Real Estate
Sunday, October 25, 2009
And the posting about the rest of the trip...
...is yet to come.
I promise I'll write about the highlights and post photos and whatnot sometime this week. But right now, I'm seated outside at Opal Divine's on W. Sixth, having a Maker's on the rocks and waiting for Thelma to join me prior to walking over to La Zona Rosa to see The Tragically Hip.
I've been in a FUNKY mood since we got back. I guess it was just flaming re-entry back into real life (mail including bills! laundry! the grocery store! twice!) after spending so many days with no schedules and no real "duties". I will say that I was way happy to see The Geej. Of course she'd grown 7 feet in the 6 days since I'd seen her. Like a weed, that one.
It's gorgeous outside right now. I've never been to Opal's all alone, and it's a bit of a weird feeling. Happily I've got my laptop and several mosquitoes to keep me company.
Oh wait, I think I just spotted a table of obnoxious Canadian Tragically Hip fans. They were just talking about The Maple Leafs and high-fiving, so... I'm not surprised. This is the way it goes with Hip shows: there are always a bunch of Canadian expats (or tourists) who come to the shows here because in Canada, The Tragically Hip sells out stadiums, so getting to see them in a small venue--for these super fans--is pretty fookin' awesome, ay? The thing that pisses me off is that they always just get so into the "HEY LOOK AT ME!! I'm CANADIAN...JUST LIKE YOU GUYS IN THE BAND!!! WHOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOT!" There are always several douchebags sporting Maple Leaf hockey jerseys and drinking Molsens at the show, you know, just to drive the point home. I've been going to see this band for 20 years, and it just comes with the territory. But I will put up with it and I will have a great time because DAMN I love these guys. I have no idea why they haven't hit superstardom in the U.S., but it's fine with me b/c it allows me to see them play in little venues and experience the wonder that is Gordon Downie up close and personal-like. I am a superfan as well, let me assure you. I'm just a little less spaztastic about it. I hope.
So my sammich and fries are here, and I'm going to sign off so I can mack down on this shiz. I will finish up my anniversary-trip-posting tomorrow. But for now, here's some good, old Tragically Hip for you, from one of my favorite albums.
Smooches, fools.
I promise I'll write about the highlights and post photos and whatnot sometime this week. But right now, I'm seated outside at Opal Divine's on W. Sixth, having a Maker's on the rocks and waiting for Thelma to join me prior to walking over to La Zona Rosa to see The Tragically Hip.
I've been in a FUNKY mood since we got back. I guess it was just flaming re-entry back into real life (mail including bills! laundry! the grocery store! twice!) after spending so many days with no schedules and no real "duties". I will say that I was way happy to see The Geej. Of course she'd grown 7 feet in the 6 days since I'd seen her. Like a weed, that one.
It's gorgeous outside right now. I've never been to Opal's all alone, and it's a bit of a weird feeling. Happily I've got my laptop and several mosquitoes to keep me company.
Oh wait, I think I just spotted a table of obnoxious Canadian Tragically Hip fans. They were just talking about The Maple Leafs and high-fiving, so... I'm not surprised. This is the way it goes with Hip shows: there are always a bunch of Canadian expats (or tourists) who come to the shows here because in Canada, The Tragically Hip sells out stadiums, so getting to see them in a small venue--for these super fans--is pretty fookin' awesome, ay? The thing that pisses me off is that they always just get so into the "HEY LOOK AT ME!! I'm CANADIAN...JUST LIKE YOU GUYS IN THE BAND!!! WHOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOT!" There are always several douchebags sporting Maple Leaf hockey jerseys and drinking Molsens at the show, you know, just to drive the point home. I've been going to see this band for 20 years, and it just comes with the territory. But I will put up with it and I will have a great time because DAMN I love these guys. I have no idea why they haven't hit superstardom in the U.S., but it's fine with me b/c it allows me to see them play in little venues and experience the wonder that is Gordon Downie up close and personal-like. I am a superfan as well, let me assure you. I'm just a little less spaztastic about it. I hope.
So my sammich and fries are here, and I'm going to sign off so I can mack down on this shiz. I will finish up my anniversary-trip-posting tomorrow. But for now, here's some good, old Tragically Hip for you, from one of my favorite albums.
Smooches, fools.
Tuesday, July 14, 2009
You You You You You
This isn't a video, per se, but it's the one way I know to share this beautiful song with y'all. Everytime I hear it, I think of BH and get butterflies.
Friday, July 03, 2009
The somewhat obligatory Michael Jackson post.
A little over a week has passed since Michael Jackson moonwalked off this mortal coil, and the media frenzy around his death and craziness regarding his will and what will happen to his assets and his children has been just as insane as I expected it would be.
It’s all just sad. All of it.
That cute, soft-spoken, eerily talented guy that so many my age fell in love with when he was just a teenager clearly had a terribly troubled life and self-image, and I suspect he was probably also extraordinarily lonely. The past twenty or so years had not been kind to him as he sank deeper into his bizarre behaviors and became simply freakish looking via the self-mutilation caused by unethical doctors willing to perform too many plastic surgeries. And now he’s dead, and along with a legacy of music and extraordinary performances, he leaves a legacy of utter strangeness that will always be a part of anything ever written or discussed about him. Like I said: sad.
But I have some happy memories that I associate with Mr. Jackson.
"Off the Wall." It came out in 1979. I was 10 years old. I begged my mom to buy me this album, and when she did, I played it and played it and played it some more. I would put it on and dance around the house like a fool, trying my best to sing along. I got thumbtacks and pinned the album cover to my wall (unfolded, it was a head-to-toe photo of Michael. Later, when the album came out on CD, the cover image was of his legs and feet only—surely a nod to the fact that he no longer looked anything like the fresh-faced young man on the cover).
The depth of my love for this album and its singer knew no bounds. The following summer, when I was 11, I did a (made up as I went along) dance to “Don’t Stop ‘Til You Get Enough” in the talent show at my summer camp. Those of you unlucky enough to have ever seen me dance know that there was NO talent going on during my portion of the show, however I will say I was probably the most earnest and dedicated performer of the night. My dance—performed on our “stage,” which was set up outside on a flat bed trailer near the swimming pool—was nothing if not a testament to my heart and soul devotion to “Off the Wall.” (I still have this LP, btw.)
Fast forward several years to 1983. I’m now 14, and I’ve got way more important things going on in my life besides Michael Jackson. But the night that the much-hyped music video for the title track of “Thriller” debuted, I was sitting in Lori Williams’ TV room, waiting with her breathlessly to see what the buzz was all about. And we were not disappointed. In fact, we were—no pun intended—thrilled! We were giddy with excitement. It was so cool and groundbreaking and new! MTV replayed it about 100 times in a row, and Lori immediately set out to figure out the choreography in the zombie dance scene. The video seems sweetly old-fashioned when you watch it now, but then? Then, it was the absolute shit.
“Thriller” was on the charts for over 2 years. I never actually bought the album because I didn’t have to: between MTV and the radio, it was everywhere.
A couple of years after the release of “Thriller,” I was on a bus with the rest of the marching band, and we were on our way back to Longview after marching in an invitational competition in Ruston, LA. We stopped at a strip mall that had a couple of different fast food dining options, and the band directors set us all loose to feed ourselves and return to the bus at an appointed time. In this strip mall, there was a K-Mart. A bunch of us went in there and were browsing around to kill the time when, no shit, they announced a Blue Light Special on Michael Jackson “Beat It” t-shirts. They were practically giving them away. By this point, “Thriller” had pretty much run its course and was old news to us, so—as a joke—we all went and bought these cheesy t-shirts and went walking back to the buses wearing our new purchases. Imagine it: Buses full of (primarily white) teenagers, wearing these big, white t-shirts with a full length picture of Michael on the front and big black letters reading “Beat It” running up the vertical length of his picture. We were a sight to behold.
After that, I pretty much gave up on Michael. His music was overproduced and filled with too many grunts, yells and “woo-hoos.” He tried, but was never able to capture the magic of those first two solo albums. His videos got longer and lamer, he married Lisa Marie Presley, and eventually his face became simply painful to look at. And then there were the accusations and trials that firmly planted him deeply in eccentric/creepy/weirdo territory and from whence he was never to return.
But last week, when he died, I made a playlist on my iPod of all my Michael Jackson/Jackson 5/Jacksons songs. I have 17 of them. And I have been singing my ASS off to these songs in my car almost daily for a week now. The Geej has actually been asking for him by name. Sort of. “Mommy, can we listen to Jackson Michael?” (She’s got a kid in her class named Jackson, so she gets confused.) It blows my mind to think that when he hit it big with his brothers in The Jackson 5, he was right around her age. Again: eerily talented. I’ve fallen back in love with “Off the Wall,” and I’ve even added a few songs from “Thriller” into the mix. And when you’re in the middle of belting out the chorus to “Don’t Stop ‘Til You Get Enough” and dancing like a fool in your seat while driving in rush hour traffic, all that’s there is the music and the pure joy it creates. All the other bullshit disappears.
Rest in peace, Michael.
It’s all just sad. All of it.
That cute, soft-spoken, eerily talented guy that so many my age fell in love with when he was just a teenager clearly had a terribly troubled life and self-image, and I suspect he was probably also extraordinarily lonely. The past twenty or so years had not been kind to him as he sank deeper into his bizarre behaviors and became simply freakish looking via the self-mutilation caused by unethical doctors willing to perform too many plastic surgeries. And now he’s dead, and along with a legacy of music and extraordinary performances, he leaves a legacy of utter strangeness that will always be a part of anything ever written or discussed about him. Like I said: sad.
But I have some happy memories that I associate with Mr. Jackson.
"Off the Wall." It came out in 1979. I was 10 years old. I begged my mom to buy me this album, and when she did, I played it and played it and played it some more. I would put it on and dance around the house like a fool, trying my best to sing along. I got thumbtacks and pinned the album cover to my wall (unfolded, it was a head-to-toe photo of Michael. Later, when the album came out on CD, the cover image was of his legs and feet only—surely a nod to the fact that he no longer looked anything like the fresh-faced young man on the cover).
The depth of my love for this album and its singer knew no bounds. The following summer, when I was 11, I did a (made up as I went along) dance to “Don’t Stop ‘Til You Get Enough” in the talent show at my summer camp. Those of you unlucky enough to have ever seen me dance know that there was NO talent going on during my portion of the show, however I will say I was probably the most earnest and dedicated performer of the night. My dance—performed on our “stage,” which was set up outside on a flat bed trailer near the swimming pool—was nothing if not a testament to my heart and soul devotion to “Off the Wall.” (I still have this LP, btw.)Fast forward several years to 1983. I’m now 14, and I’ve got way more important things going on in my life besides Michael Jackson. But the night that the much-hyped music video for the title track of “Thriller” debuted, I was sitting in Lori Williams’ TV room, waiting with her breathlessly to see what the buzz was all about. And we were not disappointed. In fact, we were—no pun intended—thrilled! We were giddy with excitement. It was so cool and groundbreaking and new! MTV replayed it about 100 times in a row, and Lori immediately set out to figure out the choreography in the zombie dance scene. The video seems sweetly old-fashioned when you watch it now, but then? Then, it was the absolute shit.
“Thriller” was on the charts for over 2 years. I never actually bought the album because I didn’t have to: between MTV and the radio, it was everywhere.
A couple of years after the release of “Thriller,” I was on a bus with the rest of the marching band, and we were on our way back to Longview after marching in an invitational competition in Ruston, LA. We stopped at a strip mall that had a couple of different fast food dining options, and the band directors set us all loose to feed ourselves and return to the bus at an appointed time. In this strip mall, there was a K-Mart. A bunch of us went in there and were browsing around to kill the time when, no shit, they announced a Blue Light Special on Michael Jackson “Beat It” t-shirts. They were practically giving them away. By this point, “Thriller” had pretty much run its course and was old news to us, so—as a joke—we all went and bought these cheesy t-shirts and went walking back to the buses wearing our new purchases. Imagine it: Buses full of (primarily white) teenagers, wearing these big, white t-shirts with a full length picture of Michael on the front and big black letters reading “Beat It” running up the vertical length of his picture. We were a sight to behold.
After that, I pretty much gave up on Michael. His music was overproduced and filled with too many grunts, yells and “woo-hoos.” He tried, but was never able to capture the magic of those first two solo albums. His videos got longer and lamer, he married Lisa Marie Presley, and eventually his face became simply painful to look at. And then there were the accusations and trials that firmly planted him deeply in eccentric/creepy/weirdo territory and from whence he was never to return.
But last week, when he died, I made a playlist on my iPod of all my Michael Jackson/Jackson 5/Jacksons songs. I have 17 of them. And I have been singing my ASS off to these songs in my car almost daily for a week now. The Geej has actually been asking for him by name. Sort of. “Mommy, can we listen to Jackson Michael?” (She’s got a kid in her class named Jackson, so she gets confused.) It blows my mind to think that when he hit it big with his brothers in The Jackson 5, he was right around her age. Again: eerily talented. I’ve fallen back in love with “Off the Wall,” and I’ve even added a few songs from “Thriller” into the mix. And when you’re in the middle of belting out the chorus to “Don’t Stop ‘Til You Get Enough” and dancing like a fool in your seat while driving in rush hour traffic, all that’s there is the music and the pure joy it creates. All the other bullshit disappears.
Rest in peace, Michael.
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