Zack Harrison Memorial Music Monday: Stolen Edition.

Since I have an apparent aversion to blogging, and since my coworker, let's call him Bor has almost identical musical taste to mine, which is scary, for him, I present you with a stolen list of stuff that he's selected to which you should listen. Try it. You'll like it. Thanks Bor!

1. "Mardy Bum" by Arctic Monkeys
2. "My Struggle" by The Black Lips
3. "Futures & Folly" by Blitzen Trapper
4. "Magazines" by The Hold Steady
5. "Torture" by King Khan and The Shrines
6. "Rage in the Plague Age" by Les Savy Fav
7. "Drop It Doe Eyes" by Los Campesinos!
8. "There She Goes, My Beautiful World" by Nick Cave & The Bad Seeds
9. "Song For Today" by Pete & The Pirates
10. "Bros" by Panda Bear
11. "Do the Panic" by Phantom Planet
12. "Old Friend" by Rancid
13. "Money in the Afterlife" by Saturday Looks Good to Me
14. "Mountains" by The Spinto Band
15. "Vans Song" by The Suicide Machines
16. "Trouble" by The Rakes
17. "This Is How We Kiss" by Throw Me the Statue
18. "My Time Outside of the Womb" by Titus Andronicus
19. "Right Hand On My Heart" by The Whigs
20. "Soldier's Grin" by Wolf Parade

The internet is the best!

Zack Harrison Memorial Music Monday: WTF? Edition.

Summerteeth is my go to Wilco album. When I'm feeling weary, I like to listen to "She's a Jar" very loudly and ruminate. On what I'm not sure. Probably mostly about how my life would be so much better if I had TiVo or something. In any case, what the fuck is that song about? Anyone?


She's a jar
With a heavy lid
My pop quiz kid
A sleepy kisser
A pretty war
With feelings hid
She begs me not to miss her

She says forever
To light a fuse
We could use
A handful of wheel
And a day off
And a bruised road
However, you might feel
Tonight is real

When I forget how to talk, I sing
Won't you please
Bring that flash to shine
And turn my eyes red
Unless they close
When you click
And my face gets sick
Stuck, like a question unposed

Just climb aboard
The tracks of a train's arm
In my fragile family tree
And watch me floating inches above
The people underneath

Please beware the quiet front yard
I warned you
Before there were water skies
I warned you not to drive
Dry your eyes, you poor devil

Are there really ones like these?
The ones I dream
Float like leaves
And freeze to spread skeleton wings
I passed through before I knew you

I believe it's just because
Daddy's payday is not enough
Oh I believe it's all because
Daddy's payday is not enough

Just climb aboard
The tracks of a train's arm
In my fragile family tree

And watch me floating inches above
The people underneath

She's a jar
With a heavy lid
My pop quiz kid
A sleepy kisser
A pretty war
With feelings hid

You know she begs me
Not to hit her

Zack Harrison Memorial Music Monday: Foie Gras Edition.

Once upon a time, when I lived in a land far far away that had stores like Trader Joe's and Whole Foods, I ate far better, albeit far more expensive food. I rarely ate out. That is a lie. When I did eat out, there was a plethora of ethnic restaurants from which I could choose to stuff my face with relatively healthy morsels. Now, back in the heartland, I have stuffed my face with five kinds of fried. For a couple of months I was in the making-up-for-lost-time mode, easily justifying gorging on Oklahoma delicacies like fried pickles and free chips and queso (with extra salt!) several times a week. After that excuse wore off, I moved onto oh-man-I'm-so-tired-from-working-so-hard-and-also-I'm-still-somewhat-healthy-
from-my-previous-eating-habits-so-it's-ok-to-still-eat-like-this mode. Now I'm in lazy asshole mode.It's not good. I've effectively turned myself into foie gras. Seriously. My honeymoon with Oklahoma cuisine is over. It's time to get back on the bandwagon of healthy eating (I see a few trips to Central Market in my future, and yes, I could find food here, but not all in one location - by the time I've driven all over Norman and OKC looking for the good stuff I could've been to Dallas and back, plus it's part of my inevitable future to become a yuppy/hippie) and leave my keys at home. It's time to suck it up and become a bike person. The BF has made the leap and I will follow his lead. Maybe you'll see us out and about Norman, almost getting hit by cars because the heartland is not a place for cyclists. The point of my story is, I need work out music.

In the earbuds now:

Superstition - Stevie Wonder
Crazy in Love - Beyonce
Love Me or Hate Me - Lady Sovereign
Love Fool - Cardigans
Move Your Feet - Junior Senior
Toxic - Britney Spears
Work It - Missy Elliot
Black Betty - Ram Jam
Don't Stop Till You Get Enough - Michael Jackson
Around the World - Daft Punk
Don't Call Me Baby - Madison Avenue
SOS - Rihanna
Sexyback - Justin Timberlake
Ooh La La - Goldfrapp

Help! What do the cool kids work it to?

Hate this! Thursdays

I need to share the hate.

This Thursday features the worst radio "show" known to radiokind, Jack and Ron: The Best DAMN Morning Show on KYIS 98.9 here in the metro. I don't know much about radio broadcasting (nor do I really need to know since it's surely on the same path to demise as Polaroids and the Walkman - hand held cassette player, not dance), but I do know if my potential audience was 500,000+ I'd have a website that didn't look to be a homework assignment for a third grader. I can't really judge the lameness of their MySpace page because MySpace pages are inherently lame (and yes, I have one). I would rather watch a Two and a Half Men marathon than listen to their daily bullshit. I don't listen on purpose - just sometimes, when I'm slamming on my breaks because some asshole decides to go 40 in the passing lane on I-35, I lurch forward and accidentally hit the preset. Today I was thinking that maybe the nature of morning shows is ultimate douchiness, but remembered my old radio station back in Noho, The River. It was totally sweet and awesome. I can't really articulate their terribleness other than equating it to the same feeling one gets when watching Dennis Miller laugh at one of his 13 minute long jokes. Do not believe the hype, people. It is not the best DAMN morning show.

R.S.V.P.

There are several things that happen when you move. Some of these things include noticing that you no longer have a bathtub (sadcakes), acquiring a cat (sneezecakes), and losing your mail (wherearemybills?cakes). Actually, it's not so much losing it as my former roommate hording it and not telling me about it. Needless to say, both Lacey and I missed the invitation and subsequent date of our friend's wedding shower. We suck. To atone for our oversight, Lacey has taken it upon herself to organize another shower/bachelorette thingy. We will be taking pole dancing class. Stripper themed fitness classes are nothing new, I know, however, it's new to me. You would think the obvious question is, what will I wear? Or not wear? But, you would be wrong. The real question is, what does one bring as hors d' oeuvres to such a gathering? Apparently, the facility allows for and encourages outside food and especially drink to create more of a party environment as you work the pole. Personally, I don't see how you could need anything more than some Mad Dog, a can of Easy Cheeze and a box of ranch flavored Wheat Thins. However, I've perused several recipe and party planning websites hoping for inspiration, but none of them have "pole party" listed as an occasion. So, since Sandra Lee has failed me, anyone out there have any ideas?

Zack Harrison Memorial Music Monday: Commute playlist #47

Over the weekend, I was told that perhaps some of you do read this blog and actually look forward to don't actively avoid ZHMMM. Since I can't seem to get my shit together enough to do much of anything else, I will strive to provide you with what I'm listening to most. It's not good or anything, just what I like. I don't think I'll try to provide links - that always seems to get me into trouble with one blog or another. I suggest elbo.ws. Happy listening.

Flashing Lights - Kanye West: Summer without Kanye is like Gina without Martin.




Pumpkin Soup - Kate Nash: It's girly bullcrap. I know.

Que Onda Guero - Beck: It sounds like riding bikes in the city.

Shut Up and Let Me Go - The Ting Tings: Ubiquitous summer song.

The Israelites - Desmond Dekker: Old school fun.

Be Be Your Love - Rachael Yamagata: I will!

Got to Give it Up - Marvin Gaye: This song actually physically relaxes me.

Ramblin' Woman - Cat Power: She always sounds like she's recording in a bathtub.

Fighter Girl - Mason Jennings: Usually, I find his whole thing cloying, but this one, I like.

You Don't Know What Love Is - Sonny Rollins: Good for Sunday mornings.

Hello Brooklyn - Jay-Z (feat. Lil Wayne): I dunno. Because.

Littlest Birds - The Be Good Tanyas: Darling, just darling!

Nobody's Baby - Sharon Jones and the Dap Kings: I cannot say enough good things about 100 Days, 100 Nights.

Rattlesnake Charm - Sean Hayes: it might seem monotonous, but really it's quite something.

Shades of Black - The Raconteurs: I'm a sucker for Brendan Benson. I'm a sucker for a horn section. I'm a sucker for songs that are Billy Joelesque. Ergo, I am a sucker. For this song.

Valerie - Amy Winehouse: Sometimes I think that there are no original songs left. Good thing there are covers.

OMG! SATC!

This evening, I accompanied Shain, Lacey, her mom and my mother to Sex and the City (finally, I know - it has been out for over 48 hours!). After I blanched at the completely unoriginal plot, made fun of the cerulean bird that apparently flew into and became part of Carrie's veil, and determined that Samantha's wardrobe was merely suits that didn't make the cut for the third season of Designing Women, I began to reminisce about episodes from the past that didn't suck like the majority of the movie.

I thought back to the episode where Samantha got something stuck in her vadge and Carrie had to fish it out. And then to the one where Charlotte hands over her massive, but defunct engagement ring to Carrie so that she could make a down payment on her apartment. And then to the one where they all hang out together, eating, drinking, and engaging in general merriment bullshit. I started to think: why is it so hard to make good friends when you're old like me*?

In my experience, it's not too difficult to find a gentleman caller who will rummage around your lady business, drop some money, or call you all the time, but it's exceptionally hard to find and keep a good friend. It seems that once you're out of school, you're only option is work (unless you go to church, which I don't, or participate in a club sport, which I won't). If your work environment isn't the perfect storm of people your own age who don't completely suck, you're up shit creek. I just want some kids to hang out with, that are interested in the same things as me, or, who will tolerate me without making fun of me to my face. Where's the match.com for friends?

bee-spot
I am unimpressed with your Utne subscription

2*-year-old woman
Norman, Oklacoma, United States
seeking friends 25 - 35
within driving distance that's not too annoying

Relationships - Mostly old high school friends since I moved back to the Sooner state
Smoke - Only when tipsy
Drink - Social drinker, maybe one or eight (plus six)

About me and who I'm looking for:

I am bad with birthdays and rarely remember to return what I've borrowed. I'm not looking for much, mainly someone who won't screen all of my calls.

for fun:
Arguing, putting down your music choices, talking about stories on NPR last week, eating, drinking, eating and drinking outside, eating and drinking while watching TV, cooking while drinking then eating, concerts, talking about concerts, beer pong, shopping, swearing never to eat or drink again, pedicures/spa treatments, bitching, board games.

favorite hot spots:
Bars. Bars where you can sit outside. Couches. Fancy unaffordable restaurants. Hole in the wall restaurants. Places where you can listen to music. Blogosphere. Spas where they give you wine while they scrape last summer off your feet.

favorite things:
See above plus going to garage sales. And brunch. I like brunch. And you need friends for that.

last read:
thelostogle.com

About me:

Awesome.

About my friend:

Education: not dumbass
Job: produces entertaining stories and/or discounts/hookups for shit, other potential friends
Income: enough to hang out, not enough to make me want to hang myself
Drink: by the case
Relationships: some good friends
Turn-ons:
indecisiveness
poor judgement at times
mozzarella cheesesticks
Turn-offs:
Facebook

Send me a wink. In the meantime, I am still trying to figure out this. It's a lot of look, Carrie.

*Shain and Lacey don't count. They're on to bigger and better things than the OKC metro area can offer.

Zack Harrison Memorial Music Monday: Memorialize this, bitches.

Lacey and I went to see the documentary Young@Heart, featuring a chorus comprised of darling elderly folks rocking out to Coldplay, Sonic Youth and The Clash among others. Turns out, the chorus practiced in the community center not half a mile from my apartment in Florence/Northampton, MA. I walked Zealand (dog stolen by ex) daily around those parts, but I never knew such things were happening inside. I am now, of course, terribly homesick. I long for a burger at the Northampton Brewery, a trip to Pop's package store, a walk at the dog park, shopping in Thornes, parties on Eastern Ave, beers at the Dirty Truth, debauchery at Hugo's, and taking naps on the boathouse deck at Paradise Pond. Oh, to be young again. But I'll never be young again. Instead, I can only hope to be as kick ass as these folks as I go gray. The film follows the group through their rehearsals for a performance at the Academy of Music in Northampton, interspersed with snippets of chorus members' lives. Lenny can't sing his way out of a paper bag (not to mention drive on the highway), Joe faces cancer with astounding honesty, and Eileen is a 92 year old sex pot. In spite of the inevitable heartbreak, it's quite inspiring. And so it goes. Below, a tribute to Joe who passed before the concert by his former duet partner:





In the spirit of summer music, take a listen to these:

Jamie Lidell - Multiply



Coconut Records


The New Pornographers - Electric Version

More powerful than two Cleopatras

There is only one person who can get me through the five plus hours I still have left at work tonight (the end of the academic year brings peace to some at a university, but not to my department). And that definitely crazy, possibly racist, certainly reclusive, once in Sister Act II: Back in the Habit person is none other than former Fugee herself, Lauryn Hill. The Miseducation of Lauryn Hill is kind of the perfect album for anything whether it's slumping to the floor of your bedroom when you accidentally find an old picture you and your old boyfriend looking so young and stupid ("Ex-Factor"), sexytime ("Nothing Even Matters"), or windows down afternoon driving ("Doo Wop - That Thing"). Hell, I'll even consider religion when "Tell Him" comes on. It's truly applicable to any situation, except stalking people on Facebook. That should be done in silence. I would say, without hesitation, that it's a musical staple (you will find a small sampling below, but seriously, click your way to a copy).

Ex-Factor

To Shain:

Starting with this one.

Love,

Blythe

The one where no one cares about my blog.

Man, if only I'd kept the genius coming instead of succumbing to the man.

This could've been me!

Hey Clinton, blogbuddy of ZFS, did that ramen come from Chinatown? Zing! Oh, no? Not a zing!? Ok.

Or this!

Lost Ogles, I met you at the NMF and you snubbed me. Then no mention in your 15 minutes of Oklahoma metro fame (which is equal to -25.8 seconds of national fame)? Ok, fair enough.

But, instead, it's just this:

Zach Harrison Memorial Music Monday*

Since I don't have time to keep up with music this year, I went through the ol' iTunes list to see what I downloaded this time last year...

thunderstruck - ac/dc

i'll never leave you - lumidee

and it stoned me - van morrison

hilarious misunderstanding - flight of the conchords

piazza, ny catcher - belle and sebastian

push the little daisies - ween

single again - fiery furnaces

the great idea - we are scientists

dilaudid - mountain goats

what's the use - jamie lidell

naive - the kooks

care of cell 44 - zombies

honesty - billy joel

if looks could kill - camera obscura

alaska - dr. dog

telephone - page france

tulips - fancy trash

solta of frango - bonde do rolo

*I am seriously going to feel like a total jerk when I find out that the real Zack Harrison bit it.

It's Friday, I'm in Love

It's 10.21 CST on a Friday night and I have left the bar. Why? So I can clean my goddamn kitchen. Do you know what's worse than living with one boy? Living with two. And a cat. That eats Fancy Feast. And therefore farts Fancy Feast. I just finished giving my friend a hard time for staying in tonight to clean for a little brother visit and a mere minutes later, here I am, in my pajamas, mopping to Feist while drinking Leaping Horse shiraz from a magnum with the dishwasher purring in the background. Even more disturbing is that I am really enjoying this. Is it because I work with all women? Who are all at some point in menopause city? Is it because my mother was and is a domestic dictator, requiring hotel sterility at all times? Is it because it's undeniably disgusting to leave half empty glasses, half finished dessert plates, empty beer bottles, fancy feast caked plates, and other bullshit all over the common spaces? I dunno. I've sprayed the place down with Mrs. Meyer's geranium scented room freshener and am hoping for the best. Guess what just came on TBS? Sex and the City. What could be better? Ah. Friday.

Zack Harrison Memorial Music Monday

Below you will find a list of music to which I have taken a recent shining. I'm not saying it's good, or not going to show up on an episode of The Hills, or hasn't been in an iPod commercial, I'm just saying I like it.

Lex - Ratatat

The Step and the Walk - The Duke Spirit

Time to Pretend - MGMT

Kids - MGMT

Coleen - The Heavy

Psychotic Girl - The Black Keys

Why Do You Let Me Stay Here - She and Him

Koop Islands -Koop

Take Me to the Riot - Stars

The Bones of You - Elbow

Oh Mojave - The Ruby Suns

Young Bride - Midlake

Polite Dance Song - The Bird and the Bee

Mykonos - Fleet Foxes

Now tell me what I should be listening to.

Back to Basics/I will fix my header someday/It's Friday I'm in Love

Dear Bee-Spot reader(s),

Due to the overwhelming response to the recent lack of quality posts, or any posts, not that any post was ever quality, actually, there has been no response really, but that's neither here nor there, do you think I blog for you? Blog is art. Or something. Right, so I'm returning to my old schedule of posts to ensure that I bring you the contents of my Diet Coke addled brain thrice weekly - ZHMMM, Cringesday/Robert Goulet Wednesday News Round Up/IFIIL, in case you forgot.

It's Friday, I'm in Love with:

The Thymes. My first semester at Smith was pretty rough. Classes were actually difficult! The then boyfriend was a total asshole. Three feet of snow! To make it through, I practiced some serious retail therapy. Since there's no point of dressing nicely in -14 degrees or at a women's college, I opted for beauty products. This little store called the Cedar Chest was rife with all kinds of smelly goodness and remains one of my all-time favorite stores. It's where I first discovered Thymes products and we've been in love ever since. I've tried every scent, every format, everything. I think I even applied for a job at their company (I have. Please hire me!). If you have a lady in your life, or a dude that likes to smell like a lady, get yourself online and snap up this stuff, stat (unless you're lucky enough to live near a store that doesn't suck - they have a surprising amount of products at Central Market in TX)! The not too floral Olive Leaf is probably my favorite smell. Besides things that are deep fried. The rollerball cologne fits perfectly in your purse for those times when you've been at a bar all night and you smell like a frat basement and you're pretty sure you're going home with someone and you don't want to scare them off. Just roll it on. I suggest Filigree.

Here's to happier times at the bee-spot!

b

Things I hate: #4

I hate a lot of things. The idea of chewing on wet paper towels. People who don't accelerate immediately at green lights. Samoa Girl Scout cookies. Weddings with no alcohol. White tights. My Chemical Romance. Uni nigiri. But last night, a previously overlooked (or blocked out) transgression forced itself upon me. I attended Zanzibarfest (you can find it on MyFriendSpaceBook) to benefit a local recording studio that works with many of Norman's bands, including the roommate's. I saw some old school Norman kids, had a free beer, watched toddlers fall over in a community garden, listened to some local music and was subjected to hippie dancing. Holy hairy chai scented balls does this annoy me! I just don't understand. The amount of unrhythmic flailing was dangerous. You could've put an eye out with that. Just because you have on several long layers of non-matching billowing fabrics doesn't mean that twirling and contorting in them is actually conveying some sort of transcendent experience. Also, you're all doing the same dumbass dance, you non-conformists. And finally, you pretend it's all spontaneous expressions of your surroundings, but you totally practice in front of your mirror every night.

I want to trip them. I want to dress them in GAP from head to toe. Don't get me wrong, I have nothing against hippies really, it's just their dancing. It's worst than the skankiest of sorostitute grinding. I'd rather do the electric slide on hot coals than watch this shit. I thought my own personal hell was a place with no Diet Coke, but apparently it's a Phish concert.

I bite their heads off first.

Have you ever been at work, enjoying a nice snack of animal crackers while returning emails, finishing super fun reports, etc when you drop one of the crackers down into your cleavage? And then you push back your head to see how deep the little monkey has fallen, then pull your shirt from your chest and reach into to the depths to retrieve it? And then a new faculty member pops into your office to learn about health insurance options while your hand is very conspicuously rooting around between your boobs? Awesome.

Guess what, homeskillet(s)?

I finally watched Juno. It took me longer than baby Juno's gestation, but I finally did it. And it wasn't easy, either. It was late, like 9.45pm on Monday night, which is about 45 minutes past my third grade bedtime, which is also my current bedtime. I didn't think I'd make it, but fortunately, my 184 Diet Cokes per day habit made it possible. I won't bother anyone with a review because it's old news, I just wanted it known that I finally bent to the will of Ellen Page and Michael Cera. And that stripper/writer chick. Or whatever.

Believe me, you don't have to be a pregnant teen to eat like that.

In other news, I spent almost all weekend thinking up terrible recipes that Sandra Lee (busty, blond "Semi-Homemade" chick on the Food Network) would perpetrate in any given situation. It's a wonderful way to pass the time when Shain goes shopping with you and hates everything that you show interest in whether you express it aloud or not. Let's say you've rented Juno and have decided to invite a few friends over to watch. Sandra would suggest dumping several cans of peas into a blender with onion soup mix for a special babyfoodesque treat to be served in adorable sippy cups. For the main course, abortion stew is started by dumping a bag of frozen, chopped onions, canned tomatoes, brown gravy mix, one bottle of beer, six quarts of the highest sodium beef broth you can find, 8 ounces shame, two cups of relief, and three pounds stew beef into a crockpot. Let the ingredients heat on low in the crockpot for no more than a trimester - you might want to complete this step in advance. In fact, why not pop in an Arrested Development DVD while you cook. The aborted series features two of the film's stars! To finish, top each heaping serving with a mixture of one jar mayonnaise, one container sour cream, one package taco seasoning mix, two tablespoons of bottled lemon juice and a dash of MSG. Sunny D cocktails - two ounces Sunny D, three shots of McCormick's tequila, ice, two tablespoons bottled lime juice, a dash each of A-1 and Tabasco - should be served in chilled baby bottles. To create a great tablescape, you need look no further than local resources! Simply stop by Planned Parenthood for condoms to toss down the center of the table, as a reminder. Check your own medicine cabinet for extra pregnancy tests from that last scare and line them up and down the center of the table to create a faux table runner. Cloth diapers will make wonderful napkins! Start up the movie and join your companions as they watch the witty banter fly faster than the Gilmore Girls without their Adderall on the bullet train.

Mmmmmmyeeeech.

Actual Sandra Lee recipe: Italian Beef

1-2-3-4 tell me that you love me anymore (like you ever did)

I am not so good at the blogging with all of the working and the sleeping and the solitary drinking and such. Apologies. My job continues to dominate 80% of my time that I don't spend thinking or talking about my job. The other .01% of my time I spend bitching about everything else, including this blog and the lack thereof. However, this weekend, I took a little break from my self imposed prison of work and bitchiness and ventured out into my community with the following results:

1. Apple Store, Penn Square Mall, Oklahoma City, OK: My dad called to let me know that TurboTax had felled our mighty eMac from 2004. Surprise. He was freaking out because now he had no computer with which to go online and order a new computer so that he could complete filing in a timely manner. I suggested that instead of ordering a computer and taking a day off work to await its arrival that we go to the Apple Store conveniently located near a J. Crew. He agreed, with reservation - about what, I don't know. We completed the purchase after about 500 hours of luddite torture inflicted by Dad toward myself and the poor, annoying apple guy who says he will email the receipt and call us when the additional memory stick has been installed - yes, we had them do it. When we return to pick up the computer, the concierge/dumbass asks for our receipt. I say it will be emailed to us with our Apple Care information. Dad then completely freaks out because it dons on him that without his old computer working, he can't possibly check email to print out the new receipt. FOR REAL! I calmly try to tell him that he can access his email from any computer and that we need only to turn on the new computer so that he can log in to gmail. He thinks this over and clearly thinks that he has spawned a complete and utter retard for thinking that email can exist on more than just one's personal computer. Seriously, folks, it's amazing I can even read. Also, he has a Ph.D.

2. Meacham Hall, OU, Norman, OK: Later that night, Darryl/Craig Robinson, the endearing warehouser from The Office performed his stand up routine at OU. It bordered on totally lame and awful and made extensive use of a Casio and the word "panties." I could make better jokes in my sleep, if I were funny. Later that night, we saw him holding court over a mixture of fratsters and sorostitutes (who probably don't watch The Office unless it's on in the background while they're blowing dudes with their boat shoes* still on) at the bar. Ew.

3. East Lawn, OU, Norman, OK: Later, later that night, we returned from the disappointing "comedy" show to whine and complain about the lack of interesting shit to do in Norman, the boyfriend stumbled upon the fact that Voxtrot would be performing at OU, right where we had been a mere minutes earlier. We finished our Keystones and braved the streets filled with the remnants of OU's first scrimmage to listen to approximately 1.5 songs before they finished. Oops. They are darling! Like all good hipsters, they are mini. Super cute, teeny tiny musicians. Oh well, random indie bands are always clamoring to play in Norman, so there'll be more... Actually, if you read this (ha!) and you're from the area, the Norman Music Festival happens the 26th. The line up isn't bad including British Sea Power, The Polyphonic Spree and lots of not totally sucky local acts.

Enjoy: The Start of Something - Voxtrot

4. Cain's Ballroom, Tulsa, OK: Mr. Shain and I hit the turnpike for a quick trip to Tulsa to hear my favorite Feist perform Monday night. Shain is truly dear sometimes, but I don't know why, and frankly, it scares me. He picked me up from work and promptly handed me a Boylan lime seltzer, my favorite, for the trip. I thought for sure this meant that he was the Silvio to my Ade. After a pit stop at McDonald's so Shain could stuff his face with the new southern chicken sandwich (what does that even mean, McDonald's?) we arrived in Tulsa to get lost in the totally dead downtown area. It was weird. We were afraid to park, but we did and made it inside. Now, I love Feist and you will not convince me otherwise. I have Let it Die and The Reminder memorized. I will fight you if you say she sucks unless it looks like I cannot win. Right, my point was that I suspected, as we entered the venue, that the Urban Outfitted attendees did not share the same kind of love. I was right. Instead of singing the The Park, she railed the audience for their behavior to the melody. I imagine this is not unusual for her, that she probably rehearses admonishments for mid-western audiences, but I got her point. Shain thought it was preachy and tacky. What was actually maybe more tacky was her outfit - I couldn't decide if her white fringed mini dress with white leather booties topped with beaded Native American inspired necklaces was an homage to her surroundings or just bizarre taste. More disturbing was the continued audience behavior. This chick beside me totally flipped her shit on the security guy near us chatting up a totally drunk girl. The security dude actually told her to shut the fuck up. I was stunned. But then I returned to the hypnotic effect of the music accompanied by this super hot piano player and the boyfriend's doppleganger on guitar (he seriously looked quite like him). She played all the old favorites including new versions of Inside and Out and Let it Die. She forgot a verse of Mushaboom, but came back with a fantastic encore of Sealion Woman. One of the most compelling things about the whole show, besides Shain's clothing choice which involved a stuffed in t-shirt and vest, was the shadow imagery projected on the back of the stage area. Usually, I hate that shit, but now, of course, I want to change careers. We got home about 2 and I headed into work by 8. Awesome, but worth it.

Enjoy:
So Sorry
Gatekeeper

5. My Bed, Norman, OK: I went to bed last night a about 7pm and woke up at 6.30 this morning. Hence the bloglessness. I'll try to be better about reporting my totally boring life and inane observations, but no promises.




*Has anyone noticed this trend? WFT? They are the summer equivalent of Uggs, I suppose. I will never understand and assume that's for the best.

crap sandwich

Yesterday, I started my new job at the old job. I was so nervous I forgot to brush my teeth, I only used ACT mouthwashy stuff. I had to break into a coworker's emergency toothpaste stash. This morning, I forgot deodorant. I predict I will forget my bra tomorrow.

In a related story, do you ever suddenly move away from where you lived for six years and kind of inadvertently cut off communication with all of your friends because the last six months you were there you were essentially 180 degrees from your real self, then drink some wine one night and look at their Facebook pages (like a douche) and realize they're all just fine without you and you want to cry a little, but can't because that would be stupid?

In another related story, have you ever had a boyfriend who's in law school and they get real frustrated and throw books around and stuff? And you feel really crappy because there's nothing you can do about it except say, well, that's why I didn't go to law school.

Things White People Love #34, St. Patrick's Day

There's nothing immigrant hating WT's in Oklahoma like more than celebrating St. Paddy's Day. It's the perfect time of year to bust out your "Kiss Me I'm Irish" t-shirt, green and white striped super gay Dr. Seuss hat, guzzle some overpriced green beer and try to get laid by female counterparts wearing very tiny green t-shirts and tinier pants with even tinier brains. If you're a little higher up on the socio-economic ladder, you carefully scour Abercrombie or American Eagle for that perfectly fitting, peck revealing polo, primed for a festive popped collar. If you're even higher up on the ladder, you've most certainly spent the week before perusing Urban Outfitters and other vintage t-shirt sites for the perfect, gently worn, super ironic, tight fitting tee for the occasion. If you're me, you hate all of you.

Hope you had a car bomb.

T.C.O.B.

So, where have I been, you no one might ask?

1. Stuck in traffic on 2-35 North.
2. Mourning the end of The Wire. I've Netflixed Friday Night Lights, Freaks and Geeks, Lost, and now The Wire. What's next?
3. Getting a promotion at work, which means I feel increasingly guilty about using company bandwidth to support this habit. Also, I actually kind of have to do stuff now.
4. Contemplating a haircut.
5. Spending some QT with Mr. Shain and Rockband. Spending some QT with Shain and my dad at a forensics tournament. Yeah, it's weird.
6. Hating on the mega-churches that have sprung up all over the metro.
7. Buying reusable grocery bags from eBay because there's no place I can think of that would sell them here.
8. Watching Ade get presumably whacked on the A&E Sopranos marathon. I'm glad it was Sil.
9. Getting lost in the aisles of Sam's. Did you know you can buy three pounds of Cinnamon Toast Crunch for only $6? Shiiiiiiiiiit.
10. Drinking too much Lion's Head. Not going to the gym.

OHMYGOD WE'RE ALL GONNA DIE: Part II.

Oh, to be an Oklahoman. This morning, as I was listening to NPR, the local news had a story about State Rep Sally Kern spewing hate. I was going to post it, but The Lost Ogle beat me to it. Jesus Christ on a stick. There is a war, a recession and American Idol. Who has time for this shit?

Sally Kern is a jerk via The Lost Ogle.

OHMYGOD WE'RE ALL GONNA DIE!

This morning, as I was taking the detour off Sheilds that led me to a detour off whatever street that was which made me want to kill someone, I was listening to a little NPR. I hear the familiar and strangely hypnotic voice of the StarDate lady. Usually, I block her out or become entranced, I'm not sure which, but this time, something caught my attention. Namely the fact that, potentially, we're all going to die because this star's going to explode our ozone layer and stuff. Bad news bears, but wait, it gets better. This other star might explode, but instead of the ozone crap, it would cause a gamma ray burst, which would exterminate life on earth in a mess of fires and storms and deadly particles oh my! This is what StarDate lady says exactly:

"Luckily for us, gamma-ray bursts seem to beam into space from the poles of the exploding star. The poles of Eta Carinae don’t aim our way, so we’re probably safe from this doomed star."

Probably safe? Holy ozone depleting deadly particle riddled balls! This woke me up right in time to realize just how ugly downtown OKC is. Really. Don't visit.

BREAKING NEWS: I had a dream that no one is interested in.

Since I've driven this blog into irreparable disrepair, I can now post even crappier content without fear of alienating readers. Because there are really no readers. So...

Last night, I had this dream. I finished a puzzle of the alphabet, each letter on one piece, making a long train when completed. Suddenly, someone handed me a hamster. I understand that these are the hamsters sent to every US tax payer by the Jordanian government in thanks for something I can't recall. The weird thing about these hamsters is that when you place them on the puzzle, they deposit little turds on various letters, spelling out important messages. I can't remember what the message said, but of course it probably holds the key to life.

An open letter to February.

Dear February,

You sucked harder than what it must be like to endure a Jessica Alba movie if you are blind. You brought the stomach flu, the other kind of flu, a UTI, a lingering cough and an unshakable malaise that has resulted in me watching an inordinate amount of TV swaddled in my comforter craving Girl Scout cookies. To top it all off, you had the audacity to be 29 days long this year.

Blow me,

B

P.S. March is going to rock my figurative balls off. You can count on that. So far, it's already better because there was an awesome thunderstorm last night. Also, I found this song which makes me happy. It's the little things.

I'm Not Gonna Teach Your Boyfriend How To Dance With You - Black Kids

Zack Harrison Memorial Music Monday: Beer instead of music edition.

You may not know this about me, but I like beer. A lot. More than liking beer, I like to complain about the lack thereof here in the Sooner state. After spending a million years in the MA, I grew accustomed to the multitude of microbreweries dotting New England and beyond, their microbrews available in package stores, bars and restaurants. I miss a lot of things about New England like seafood, liberals, snow storms, independent video stores, all varieties of Cabot products, villages, mountains, soft serve stands, but I think I miss the beer most of all. I would vote for McCain if you offered me a Harpoon UFO at this point. Oklahoma's liquor laws are more mysterious than why No Country for Old Men won best picture last night over There Will Be Blood or why I'm so attracted to Helen Mirren. I guess I'll just never understand. In the meantime, if you're headed to the NE or are already there, pour one of these out for me.

Harpoon UFO - so wheaty.


Long Trail Double Bag - so malty.



Smuttynose Old Brown Dog - so brown.



Magic Hat #9 - so magic (and apricot).



Brooklyn Pilsner - so golden.



Rapscallion Blessing - so comes in an awesome brandy snifter like glass that you can steal if you bring a large enough purse.