The sound of September

Fall is always a good time for music for me -- I am restrained by the weather to hours inside on weekends, which means I'm looking for tunes to drive to, clean to, read to, nap to... Music becomes my little pet project.

September's soundtrack:

1. Paolo Nutini.
He's a 19 year old Scottish singer/songwriter, but for all the cliche that is in that description, he's relatively memorable, in a "these songs were totally written for motion picture soundtracks" kinda way. His song "Last Request" reminds me of the pointless romances we've all endured (and endured is the right word). It's pathetic and sad and really wonderful up loud on a rainy day in the car. Almost everything he sings is melancholy, with the exception of "New Shoes", which is a happy little ditty that warms up the corners of your your brain, sticks in your molars like white bread and makes me smile like an idiot.

2. Muse.
I'm hooked. The song "Starlight" is kickass, as is "Invincible". To give them a listen, click here.

3. Sara Bareilles.
This is the perfect "telling me to love you doesn't make me love you, you smothering asshole" song, only it's so damn sweet you'd never know it.

Sara BareillesLove Song

Music Videos And Lyrics On Demand

4. Citizen Cope.
Hello, you. He's been in the music game for a while, but I recently rediscovered Cope, and can only say that if you're not already a big fan of his go-go/funk/rock/soul sound (and his... um... hotness), one listen to "Sideways" and "Bullet and a Target" (and a lookie loo at his videos, ladies) will make you a believer.

5. Regina Spektor.
Fidelity is rapidly becoming a "most played" song on the iTunes, but she's interesting across the board. Looks like Tori Amos, has a unique Bjork-reminiscent sound -- she's one of the few singers (another? Imogen Heap.)who's voice wavers between sounding human and sounding purely instrumental.

I live in a jungle but there's good music there

My "indoor" cat which now spends the vast majority of her time outdoors brought me this lovely present the other morning -- a shrew, it's tiny belly pressed to the carpet, little scooper hands splayed out to the side, right there in my living room. It looked asleep, almost. So much so that I stood over it and stared at it for a good four minutes before getting up the nerve to pick it up with my paper towel-wrapped fingers and toss it out.

And Keelah sat there watching me watch it, and then watching me dispose of it, the whole time purring violently and making figure-eights between my feet like she was so proud of herself. I gotta give it to her, though, for being a three-pound cat with no front claws, she's a helluva hunter.

Later that day, she killed a 3-inch spider in my sink and laid it up on the counter for me to find in the morning.

I didn't realize, until my cat started hunting, that I was surrounded by bugs and vermin. Reassuring, isn't it?

Oh well. She may be a pain in the ass, but at least she brings home the bacon. Which is significantly more than I can say for one of my roommates.

Monday playlist:

Night Swimming -- R.E.M. Just try it. You'll like it.

Brighter Than Sunshine -- Aqualung. This song makes me feel desperately, irreversably, incurably in love, even when I'm not. But just for the record, I might be.

Almost Lover -- A Fine Frenzy. They're a band led by a lilting, dramatic, piano-playing female vocalist. They opened for Rufus Wainwright at the Moore, and were a distinctly non-sucky opener. This song is pretty much the saddest "almost love" song ever. My boyfriend wants to sleep with the redhead. For all the above reasons minus one, I love them.

No Love -- Team Facelift. Thier name is Team Facelift. They have a song called "Lotion in the Basket". The three rappers in the group are called Machine, Fat Jew and Ginger Ale. They care most about, according to their MySpace page, "not giving a fuck". I like that.

Song of the week

When Love Comes To Town -- Herbie Hancock, featuring Joss Stone and Jonny Lang (a 2005 cover of a 1988 U2 song, released on his album Possibilities)

I'm finding it a bit autobiographical at the moment, which paired with an addictive baseline and that groovy Hancock/Joss Stone sound = rock out.

The March Mega Mix

Okay, it's been a really long day, so let's just get to it, huh? (Links have been included, because y'all piss and moan when they're not. Please, visit and listen. There's some good shit this month.)

Here we go...

1.Neezie Pleaze Saw him last night at Chop Suey and got one of the first copies of his first album a couple months ago from a guy who helped him put it out. Let me just say that if his climbing status on the college charts and Vitamin D's opinion mean anything, he's going somewhere. A talented lyricist with a style his own (and distinctively NOT the bling-wearing, chain swinging, repetitive shit with some hook about rims you've heard eighteen times before from a dozen different, ultimately forgettable, rappers). If I have to draw parallels, I'd say perhaps there's a touch of Prince Paul or Pharcyde in him -- and a completely diggable hip-hop-alt style. This guy's one to watch. Clipse was the opener and D. Black opened after Neezie, but he was the smartest part of the show for sure. The crowd was lame, but this guy was on and I'll bet he'll remain so. I'll keep you posted. (Email me and I'll send you a track, or just buy the damn cd already).

2. Amy Winehouse.
This girl can blow, and she uses her voice to tweak amazing old styles into modern badass stuff -- calls often back on the 40s and 50s styles of jazz and gospel -- and she doesn't give a damn what you think. "Rehab" gets a lot of play right now, at least on our radio here, but "Back to Black" is arguably a better track. Her first album, Frank, is great, too -- and jazzier.

3. Gym Class Heroes. I can't help it. I first saw them 6 months ago at a local event I attended with a couple friends on a whim, just to get out of the house. The sound quality at the event sucked, so I hardly noticed them. Then I got tickets to a private event hosted by Jones Soda Co. and Gibson Guitars in the Gibson Seattle showroom in a week or two PLUS tickets to their larger public show later that night (what can I say? I know people!), and so started listening to them in preparation for the show. (You can't just go to a show without knowing a bands songs at least a little, you know?) Now I'm hooked. They're fun, and blend a couple genres, and are great to run to. I refuse to apologize.

4. Black Rebel Motorcycle Club. I first discovered them years ago, but recently a song came up on my iTunes and I promptly put it on repeat. Just download an album, turn it up, pretend to smoke a bowl, get in touch with your inner rocker hippie, and rock the fuck out, man. (By the way, great news: they'll be at the Showbox the week of my birthday, so I'm pretty much there, front row, with fourteen friends. Okay, I don't have that many friends, but I'm there, at least.)

5. Gary Jules.

Not only did he do one of the most haunting covers of the (awesome) song "Mad World" ever done (in my humble opinion) for Donnie Darko (a film I've seen possibly 73.5 times), he has this voice that's so human its almost heartbreaking and his own material is just... lovely. Like a long drive or a nap on a Sunday afternoon. It's perfectly imperfect, and I dig that. I have no idea why he hasn't been signed yet, but I do predict that one of his songs will be on a Grey's Anatomy soundtrack at some point, which will blow him up (see: The Fray), which will make me happy (though I'll loudly proclaim that I told you so).

A friday snack, from me to you.

This song just made my Friday.

It's called "Young Folks" and is by Peter, Bjorn and John (PB&J... I know, I know). It is a little out of tune and over-simple like any synth-pop: a basic drumbeat, some whistling and a perky chorus with some repetitive lyrics and an obligatory accent. But something about them is better -- less produced and glossy than Postal Service and other 80's esque synth music -- more airy and real. The NY Times called it "wistful". While I wouldn't go that far, I am also not a music critic. So whatever.

They're playing this week in the Mercury Lounge in NYC on Monday night and Bowrey Ballroom in NYC on Tuesday before a stint in L.A. for their new album release. If I lived in either place, I'd go, just to bop around like a Swedish pop-whore who's had too much cotton candy and ecstacy.

Their other songs are similarly enjoyable.

...

And yes, I know I owe you a story or two for last weekend and here we are plowing into another weekend, but I promise you I'm an expert procrastinator. All stories will come, in good time, fully-formed, directly from my fingers to your friendly screens. Like Minerva from Zeus' head. Or some shit. I dunno, I didn't take Greek Mythology in college, opting instead for Human Sexuality. Which reminds me of my Human Sexuality Seizure story, which I will also save for another day. Sorry.

Have a good weekend!

Music, abbreviated

The weekend kicked ass. Many stories, all which I will tell in good time and when I'm not nursing a hangover that may actually take my life. In lieu of a complete download, a brief music post, because it's easy.

1. Rufus Wainwright

This guy has been rocking my world. He's funny, and charming, and a little bit sad, and when you listen to his music you get the sense that you could be in the middle of a musical -- like these completely on-point lyrics could have organically sprug up on the lips of the people in the world around you, with you (always) the troubled hero/heroine. Plus, his voice is a little theatrical, but don't think broadway... think indie standup comedy. Favorite tracks: Instant Pleasure (featuring the lyrics "don't you really/want instant pleasure?/instant pleasure instant pleasure") and Cigarettes and Chocolate Milk (lyrics include "i'm just a little bit heiress/ a little bit irish/ a little bit tower of pisa/ whenever i see you").

2. Joseph Arthur

I like him. Intricate, a sweet with a little rough thrown in just for balance. I sadly missed an opportunity to meet Joseph when he played here in Seattle -- apparently he is some degree of friends with one of my exes, who kindly offered to make it less awkward for me to approach and compliment Mr. Arthur. Later, I read this, which made me laugh, and also a little thankful I didn't do the aforementioned meeting and complimenting. Not sure I would have caught his wavelength, honestly. But enough with the babble. A Smile That Explodes is nice. Honey and the Moon is also good, but if you take the time, you'll find other tracks vastly more interesting. Those are just good places to start.

...

I swear to God, I was going to continue, but I am thinking its possible I am going to slip into a dehydrated coma in this chair if I do. [Also, I have the complete second season of Sex in the City on DVD sitting in the other room, so between the headache and the temptation, I'm simply unable to go on here any longer.]

Many apologies.

That said, the above two recommendations will have you completely occupied for the next few days, and there IS that "quality over quantity" thing, which applies to everything in the world except... no, it actually does apply to everything in the world.

We'll talk soon. Promise. Right now, I'm late (and underdressed) for a date with a blonde, chainsmoking jewish girl named Carrie and her three BFFs. And a man with a large nose but no first name. And the city.

[I'm retarded.]

Awesome.com

The new love of my life: LastFM.com. (Thanks, Nicq in LA, for passing along my latest at-work temptation.) All day, I’m just a click away from discovering—and raving about, and downloading, and tagging—tons of new music, while finding people with similar musical taste with whom to exchange recommendations (read: whom I beat down with my opinions, which are obviously right).

Very cool.

There’s an option to stream radio all day with a tiny toolbar on your desktop, which is lovely – and when you hear a song you love or have never heard before, you can just click to “love” the track or “tag” the track, making permanent note of the title and artist. Later, you can then browse your loved tracks or tagged artists and either listen to a personalized “loved tracks” radio station or seek more music by/similar to the artists you’ve discovered.

Best (and weirdest) of all, once you create a profile and synch it up wtih your ITunes (great feature -- so you don't have to create a whole 'nother music library to use it), the site keeps track of what you love, what you hate, what you tag, and what you listen to, and it learns your musical preferences. The more you listen, the more it learns, and so the more tailored its recommendations become.

This “teaching” your LastFM account part is a little addictive, and can be tricky. Something about knowing it's paying attention to every last song I listen to makes me feel like I'm always being spied on -- and silently judged.

In essence, because it publicly shares everything you're listening to, you have to be okay with everything you're listening to being publicly shared. Which means if you listen to that really catchy but mortifying Eiffel 65 song "Blue" on repeat while dancing around drinking rum and cokes, (I'm looking at you, M.) in the comfort and privacy of your own home, you're not as comfortably private as you thought. And if your preferences up to that point have been more Black Rebel Motorcycle Club than Kylie Minogue, you may have some 'splainin to do when Last FM fills up your recommended tracks and neighbors lists with techno songs and E-dropping club kids wearing shiny shirts and wielding/chewing on glowsticks.

Be that as it may, it's worth checking out. It takes a week or so before the site starts to really understand your musical taste (and about another week after that to re-teach it what you like after your old roommate discovers what you're doing and plays 4 hours straight of Dashboard Confessionals, just to fuck your profile up).

Password protect your computer, is all I'm saying.

You can thank me later.

BumberMusic, tweens, paraphenalia, vodka in the bushes, and what's in my I-Pod.

The weekend before last, I went to Bumbershoot, an annual music festival here in Seattle. Saw loads of great music, including Zero7, Steve Miller Band, Kanye, Atmosphere, Tribe Called Quest, Speaker Speaker, Sonja Kitchell, etc.

The first night, my friends and I decided we'd better use Kanye (who we don't care much about, honestly) as a dry-run for Tribe (who I would bleed one of my closest friends to death just to see). You know: get there early, see how hard it is to get a good position on the floor, yadda yadda.

We got into the stadium two hours early for the concert and people were already sprawled out on the astro-turf, claiming positions for the concert. We rolled our eyes at each other, stepped across a sea of bodies and posted up somewhere relatively near the stage. It was only then, after sitting down and making some room for ourselves, that we looked around.

We were SURROUNDED by pot-smoking pre-pubescent kids. Nearly all the girls were wearing jean skirts and tank tops (sooo impractical for astro-turf sitting!). The boys tended to all look the same: baggyish holeyish jeans and t-shirts with either flip flops or oversized cartoon shoes and slightly off-center hats.

It wasn't the fact that these kids were less than half my age that threw me off -- I mean, c'mon, we were at Kanye West -- I get it.

What shocked me was all the glass pipes they were smoking out of -- in broad daylight. Isn't that a little balsy?

I've never understood the desire to use paraphenalia when smoking pot. I mean, what ever happened to a good, old-fashioned, disposable joint? Pretty amazing. But fortunately, Seattle is a pretty pot-friendly city. No arrests or confiscations were made, and the tweens got nice and bleary-eyed and blissed out pretty much the whole night. And that meant they did pass around curly fries, which was awesome...

Anyway, after a half hour or so of chiling on the Astroturf and sizing up who we'd have to knock out to get to the front of the stadium when the music started, we decided we'd have no problem blasting through them all a few minutes before the show started (really, they were all about 100 pounds), so we hit the beer garden, giving up our spot. This proved a steller idea at first: An hour later, we were buzzy, fuzzy, and back at front, enjoying the show (with a clear view, too -- another benefit of going to concerts with children). The downside? 5 dollar plastic cups of Miller Lite keg beer. Spendy, cheesy, and not that tasty. Blew 50 bucks in about 30 minutes on those for 3 of us. Not cool.

The following day, we returned, though we refined our technique. This time, instead of driving to Bumbershoot, we filled up a travel coffee mug with vodka and bused down in the afternoon, eliminating drunk driving and the beer-garden spend. After stashing the carafe in some bushes outside Seattle Center and praying no industrius bum happened across it, we dashed in, caught some shows, and ate.

Later, we retrieved the alcohol, untouched, from the bushes and brought it in to the stadium, where we caught Atmosphere.

[In college, my friends and I were in love with an Atmosphere song where he sings: "I'm gonna be bigger than Jesus/ Bigger than wrestling/ Bigger than the Beatles/ Bigger than breast implants/ I'm gonna be the biggest thing to hit these little kids/ Bigger than guns/ Bigger than cigarettes.".

One of these friends was a guy named String. String had a real first name, but didn't go by it, because String just fit. Picture a pale piece of string, approximately 6 feet and 7 inches long, standing on end. Now give it a medium-high voice, too-short jeans, a Hurley t-shirt, and imagine it never stops talking. That's him.

Anyway, String is a classic college character, and the Atmosphere song reminds me of him because he used to always mix up the first few lines, saying "Bigger than JEEEZus, bigger than ELVIS!!" in this enthusiastic, nerdy twang. Good stuff.]

Back to the point: After Atmosphere came Tribe, and we were very close to the stage, which was really phenomenal. Highlights include:

1. Asking a few of the kids around me if they knew who Tribe was before the concert started and them saying they have no idea... they're just here for Atmosphere, then realizing they weren't even born when Tribe dropped their second album.

2. Knowing all the lyrics.

3. Swinging (and then accidentally releasing) a t-shirt above my head, losing it in a sea of hip-hop-loving bodies, never to be seen again.

4. Nearly getting in a fight with a bouncer in an attempt to get backstage.

5. Being saved by a female bouncer after nearly fighting the male one in an attempt to get backstage, then nearly crying when I told her they were the only group I'd get arrested trying to meet before she told me I should probably leave and stop saying that, lest I actually get arrested.

__________________________________

What's in my IPod, CD player and head these days:

Sergio Mendez "Timeless" -- a collaboration between Sergio Mendez and Will.i.am (of Black Eyed Peas), and a blending of my favorite genres of music: bossa nova, samba, jazz, hip hop, and soul. I seriously can't stop listening to it. Infectious rythms, talented vocalists including Erykah Badu, Jill Scott and India.Arie, and some of my favorite rappers including Q-Tip, Black Thought and Chali 2NA.

It's a fusion you don't hear too often, but I hope there's more of. And it's rocking my world, a.m. to p.m..

Download it here.

Tape a record, go to prison.

Dear Huey Lewis,

I love you. Do you believe in love? Naturally.

I know I ain't perfect, but remember how you told me it's alright? I really took that to heart, and finally I feel ready to tell you how I feel, and why.

It's just that the heart of rock n' roll really IS the beat(n)! And you got me through some really hard times, with boys calling me "prude" and "boring" and "straightlaced" and "crazy bitch", with your theory that it is, in fact, hip to be square. Thank you for that, it changed my life.

I'm so happy to be stuck with you, Huey. I guess what I'm trying to say is... well... I get a little shy, so pardon me if I borrow your more eloquent words for a moment:

So do you love me or what? Do you love me or what? You're just breakin' me up... Do you love me or what?

Please circle one:

Yes

No

Maybe

(Also, I really, really want that shirt. Where did you get it?)

Love always -- heart and soul,

Your other woman (it's the power of love, Huey. Really.)

Ruth Brown and all that jazz

Last night, I met the one and only Ruth Brown.

A little on Ruth: The woman is a legend in jazz, and is credited for pioneering R&B. You know the New York label "Atlantic"? It used to be nicknamed "The House That Ruth Built". And you probably remember her as "Motormouth" in Hairspray. She's wickedly funny, and just a few months shy of 80 years old. Oh, by the way, she's got a Tony, was inducted into the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame in 1993 and inspired Bonnie Raitt's career. And her nephew is legendary rapper Rakim.

Though a few years ago she had a stroke and was told she'd never sing again, there she was, like new, voice as big as life itself, sitting in her chair, cracking dirty jokes and crackling with vibrancy.

"You know, they said this old lady would never sing again," she said. "Someone lied. Dirty, rotten puppies. Here I am! Noisy as ever!"

After the show, I went with my friend backstage. I hugged and thanked Ruth, and clumsily expressed that she had moved me somehow, inspired me. Talking to her, touching her -- it was like holding history for a minute in my arms and my ears. A really incredible experience.

And she was so tickled by the fact that we were so young. She reassured me that us being there meant more to her than vice versa, though of course that was a lie. Then, she signed the back of our tickets. Mine is now hanging on the wall above my piano, between The Beatle's "Sgt. Pepper" record and Jimmy Hendrix's "Greatest Hits, Vol. I" record.

"To small Liz with big soul: Love and Peace, Ruth Brown"

It's pretty cool when you get to meet people you've been listening to for, like, ever -- particularly when they're considered musical pioneers and aren't likely to be around much longer. I was fortunate enough to meet Lionel Hampton, the famous jazz musician, and heard him sing "What a Wonderful World" the year before he died, which was another incredible encounter with history; And I've met Edmonia Jarrett, and Wally "Gator" Watson, and Lou Rawls.

There's something about old jazz musicians for me -- their music just seems to me the foundation and embodiment of all joyful, mournful, soulful noise - the first real emotive American expression. It's so rooted in the very essence of the American experience: the blues, ragtime, church music, African drum music, interactive slave chants. And its birthplace is New Orleans -- a hotbed of social, cultural and racial clashing, melding and change during the turn of the century (and thereafter, and on and on...).

These old musicians are the last of their kind -- the last of the founding generation of American music: pop, r&b, soul, rap, even rock. So, in a way, touching them, speaking to them and listening to them play is like interacting with history. How fortunate are we to still have a few of them left?

The opportunity to meet these incredible people and hear what they do, live, right in front of you, is dwindling. If you haven't already (even if you don't think you like jazz), I strongly recommend giving it a try. If a trip to N.O. is in your future, go to Restoration Hall. If not, just look for live jazz that you have to pay for in the center of your nearest city. (No, free restaraunt "jazz" on Thursday nights doesn't count. See the real deal, if only so you can say you have. If you don't get an electric sort of feeling from that experience -- no tingling, goosebumps, inadvertant "Whoooo!"ing, email me. I'll send you twenty bucks.

That's a lie. I won't.

But I wouldn't have to, anyway. You'd dig it, even against your will. Because I'm pretty sure if we cut you open right now and took a careful listen to your insides, they would scat over a 4/4 beat, with accents on the 2 and 4...

Music-love and creepy search terms

Every once in a while a musician comes around that I can't help but gush about. Fiona is like this for me (if I were a man, I would be completely incapacit -ated by her, for sure). Same with Tribe Called Quest and People Under the Stairs. I almost also feel this way about Wilco and Bonnie Raitt, but not quite. And definitely Hendrix, but that's so cliche.

The point? Right. My new heterosexual musical crush is Jessie Baylin. (That's her, up there above all this nonsense you're reading). I can't get enough, and you can't download her off ITunes, so you'll just have to go here until her site is up. And here is good,because there are four songs you can listen to, full-length. So go here.

DO IT!

She actually reminds me a bit about a non-angsty (or almost so) Fiona... same deep, rich tone in her voice, but totally accessible and very sexy. So basically not so crazy. And with a touch of jazz about her. To my male readers: fantasy material looks. Love her.

Okay, I'm done now.

But she's rad.

In fact, I wish we were friends. So I could be sort of rad by association. And also be heartbreakingly hip, of course, running around with John Mayer and whatnot in Los Angeles wearing very outdated shoes that everyone else thinks are incredibly cool because they're ugly and that's ironicwhen you're beautiful and sorta famous.

God, that is pretty awesome, I imagine. Until you're no longer slightly famous. Because then you're either so famous that you're available for public humiliation or just some sorta vaguely pretty blonde in ugly shoes, with very few marketable skills, waitressing in a nasty diner where there are roaches, if not rats, in the bathroom alongside a mop that smells like a combination of egg-salad, mold and vinegar.

Sorry. Tangent. Jessie Baylin = RAD. Basically, that's all.
______________________________________

And now, for "search terms leading to Legwarmers":

wear shit pants
resolve chocolate stains
shit her pants drunk pictures of
blistering when wearing heels
clumsy but getting some
i want to try legwarmers in bed
naked with legwarmers
pictures of boys spray tanning

These all make a lot of sense, right? I mean, who doesn't want to know how to wear shit pants?

And who knew there were so many people with legwarmers fetishes? Welcome, friends. We don't judge here. (Well, unless you suck. Then we judge).

And as for the poor lost soul seeking pictures of boys spray-tanning, all I can say is WOW. Yay for the Internet: allowing creeps to be creepy 24/7, in real life and virtually. I am very, very afraid. Like, of you. (No, not you... YOU. Over there. In the little boys' underwear, rubbing that Spiderman doll where his bathingsuit would cover, were he to wear a bathingsuit and not that spandexy red and blue thing. Yeah, YOU.)

...

So, what have I learned from this little exercise?

I've really got to start writing about more of substance and intellect and less about, well, all of the above.

Pearl Jamming and a damn good weekend

It was a good weekend. I managed to cram 4 days of festivities into two whirlwind tours of fun. I'll keep it short, but here's the gist:

Spent all day Saturday on either the beach or a boat at L's cabin. On the beach, I read trashy magazines, threw around a football, and drank beers. On the boat, I watched wakeboarders ride, drank raspberry vodka from the bottle, listened to SoundGarden and pretty much felt like a badass. The company was good, the music was good, and it was that classic summer day you never want to end.

By the time we got the boat off the water, I was pretty sure it couldn't get better (remember, I was three sheets to the wind, in a swimsuit, in the sun, and no one had yet shat themselves). But then it did.

A couple of my friends and I were unexpectedly offered free tickets to the Pearl Jam show that evening by a new (generous) acquaintance. The concert was at the Gorge in George, Washington. Not only is this my favorite venue (for a number of reasons but mostly the aesthetic appeal of the place -- it's just breathtaking), but I was already pretty close, my friends are die-hard PJ fans, and the prefunking was done.

I was in, with three friends.

Now, it was hotter than two rats copulating in a tube sock at the Gorge. We're talking 89 degrees after the sun set. But I was so blissed out the whole time just to be there that I didn't even notice. It was good. Like, really good. Teenage Wasteland was a particular high point, as was Elderly Woman Behind the Counter in a Small Town, of course. But you can download it here and see for yourself.

After the concert, we went back to the cabin where we crashed and then got up the following morning for an early drive home, during which I slept shamelessly the whole way, half draped over my helpless (but admirably patient) backseat companion (who doubled as a pillow).

Upon arriving home, I changed and went to the much-anticipated company picnic and -- surprise! -- had a great time. It was again a zillion and a half degrees, but at one point all the execs kids had a waterfight and somehow my CEO and I got involved, which was both fun and totally necessary to prevent me from actually melting right there in the park.

Immediately following the picnic, I got on a ferry and headed across the water to an island where a friend of mine recently moved and bought a boat. We killed three hours on the boat, and then went to a nearby restaraunt on a pier and ate our weight in seafood.

By the time I finally got on the ferry home, it was 11:30 and I was full, completely exhausted, and happy. You can't ask for much more than that.

I Lovett!

Following fourth of July weekend (please recall the poo story and the fact that I drank 60 beers over the course of 4 days) you'd think I'd return to work on Wednesday with a mission to relax, hydrate and look into rehab facilities in which to hunker down for the weekend. And if it had been a normal weekend on the horizon, I might have. But it wasn't. You see, Saturday night meant one much-anticipated, awesome thing:

Lyle Lovett at the Chateau St. Michelle winery!

I know you're expecting a joke, but the truth is that I've been a Lovett fan since long before the Julia Roberts wedding fiasco, and I was really looking forward to it.

So I did some conditioning Friday night. You know, light lifting, a drink with a couple friends, and before I knew it, it was Saturday. And I was beside myself with joy.

Part I: Lyle Lovin'ett!

I kicked off the day by going with L to purchase an 8-foot kiddie pool, which I proceeded to blow up almost single-handedly. We then filled it with ice-cold pool water and layed in it in our bikinis all afternoon in the blistering 80-degree Seattle weather.

By 3 p.m., tanned and showered, I was ready to start the evening. My Lovett partner in crime picked me up and off we went to the winery - a beautiful outdoor venue with, you guessed it, LOTS of my two favorite things: wine and food. OK, three favorite things: wine, food, and Lyle Lovett.

We bought a bottle of vino, some fruit and cheese, and settled into our 9th row seats. Now I don't know if you're familiar with Lyle and his fan base, but I learned some very interesting things at this concert, besides the fact that he's one of the best live performers I've ever seen and his huge band kicks ass:

1. Men at a Lyle concert are very likely to be with a woman who is significantly better looking than them. I've never seen such an incredibly high number of "eh" men to "wow" women before. Staggering. And something to think about, guys. Maybe pick up a CD sometime, huh?

2. Booze + proximity to Lyle + voyeurism = pure entertainment in the form of interpretive dance. When Lyle plays at a winery (booze) and the dance floor is at the front of the seating area close to Lyle (proximity) and directly in front of thousands of people (voyeuristic), women will dance. You cannot STOP a woman from dancing in this situation. And as most Lyle fans at this particular concert were white and middle aged and seemingly very aroused (??) by Lyle and/or his music, this translated into lots of really awful, drunk dancing by overweight women who seemed to be imitating strippers, sometimes actually grinding on the courtesy ropes and poles that sectioned off the dance floor. I actually captured this on my phone and may well post it here if I can figure out how to. Priceless stuff.

3. Red wine goes down very well at an outdoor summer concert. We finished bottles one and two without blinking.

By the time we left, we were understandably tipsy (read: sloppy drunk). But we still had a second item on the night's agenda -- a very important item and one I felt very passionate about not missing -- a "welcome back to the social scene, Liz" karaoke party at the Horseshoe Tavern.

For those of you unfamiliar with me, I'll clarify: karaoke (watching it, singing it, whatever) makes the world go 'round. I understand it can be tacky and classless and showy. Normally those things would bother me, but karaoke is the exception to the rule. With the right people, it's the absolute most fun you can have when not snorting cocaine off the chisled bodies of rock stars or purchasing your third multi-million dollar estate.

By the time I got to the Horseshoe (in a cab, thankyouverymuch), I was done. D-O-N-E. I waltzed into the place wearing my sunglasses like a moron (it was dark) to much ado. After obligatory air kisses, bear hugs and beer ordering, I proceeded to totally fall apart, insisting all my friends dance with me (swing, I guess), swapping my sunglasses for corrective glasses for bifocals for a trucker hat for a cowboy hat and back to sunglasses - though not mine, pinching the nipples of a particularly large male friend of mine (he wasn't a big fan of that) - repeatedly - and generally causing ruckus.

By the time I left the place, air kisses turned to poorly aimed half-cheek-half-lip kisses and dancing looked more like some sort of pirate peg-leg swagger. But we were happy. And I was so relieved to be back on the map after a 3-4 week social hiatus driven by my weird work schedule and exhaustion.

I got a ride home, of course, and passed out.

Part II: Sunday

Woke up with a remarkably mild hangover, presumably because alcohol has been coursing through my veins pretty consistently for the last two weeks straight, so I'd begun adapting.

Decided it sounded like a good idea to do breakfast. Which I did, with a friend, and a bloody mary.

Walked around a bit, discovered the World Cup final was on, and pushed into an Irish pub, where I drank a Guinness (why?) and watched Italy win (yay!).

Working on drink three, now, my friend and I determined it was time for lunch. Where else but the Red Hook Brewery? That's right, folks. Nachos and another beer. And then, the tour! $1 for a brewery tour, history lesson, and 6 5 oz. samples of beer. Delightful.

After the tour, we went back down to the brewery pub, where we split a Stout Float (If you haven't tried one, you must. Red Hook's Stout beer (on nitro!) in a big glass with a scoop of vanilla bean or coffee ice cream. Heaven in a cup.)

So yeah, that was the day of the Lord for me. After the float, it was nearly 8 p.m. We closed out the brewery, took a walk around the grounds, and I headed home. If you're my Myspace friend (please don't lecture me), my current profile picture is of me at the brewery that afternoon. See how happy I am? I know, I know. Just makes your heart warm.

A long, beautiful weekend.

And this weekend, guess where I'll be? Back at the cabin, for pant-pooping-pong-playing-pricelessness, round II. Ding!

(I love the summer.)

May Mixtape and geeky linkage

We're only four days into May, but in those four days, I've essentially lived on eight songs by a grand total of six artists:

1. "Breathe Me" -- Sia: I don't know. Just like it's breathy neediness. I'm having a real girly month, I guess. I can't explain it.

2. "Here I Am" and "Nobody Knows Me (Like My Baby)" -- Lyle Lovett: Dude, I just really love this guy. He's the asymmetrical equivalent of my crush on pretty much every nerd. He's smart, and a little sensitive, and dry, and funny, plus funny looking. All that, I'm pretty sure, equals gangbusters in bed. Also, sometimes he sings imagery that I carry in my head: Reading newspapers over people's shoulders, warm yellow mornings, lonely breakfasts, riding horses on boats on oceans, cream in my coffee, etc. I don't expect you to understand it, of course.

3. "Sleeps With Butterflies" and "A Sorta Fairytale" -- Tori Amos: I was recently told that Tori Amos was entirely unlikeable by men. This I cannot understand. Men like/lust Fiona Apple (and so do I), and I consider Tori Amos to be Fiona's predecessor -- a little offbeat, darkish with a twist of hopefulness and humor; a generally incredible musician exploring obvious but semi-twisted themes, etc. Though these two songs in particular are sweeter than she was in her early years, I still think they're lovable by both sexes. Unless you're incredibly insecure, that is. I mean, she uses words like "butterfly" and "fairytale", so...

4. "I Could Hold You In My Arms" -- Ray Lamontagne: I've pimped R. L. before, but that is because he is just awesome. This song, in particular, has been high on my playlist this month. A note: the very best part of the song starts at 3:35. It's the best verse, and he sings the last chorus in a way that makes me replay it about 13 times before I finally let it end and go on to the next song on the playlist. I'm serious. Listen to the way he sings "I could hold you..." at the beginning of the last verse. It almost brings me to either tears or orgasm. I can't decide.

5. "Come Pick Me Up" -- Ryan Adams: Um, because I wish you would, and there's a little bit of wonderfullness in that kind of willing abandon, if that's not too much of an oxymoron to even exist. Obviously.

6. "Long Ride Home" -- Patti Griffin: Reminds me of my mother. And, by extension, also of me. For different, but probably related, reasons.

________________________________________

Check this out. Any site that compares me to Kirstin Dunst, Keri Russell, and Audrey Hepburn is just fine by me, thanks! (Let it be said, though, that when I ran a photo of a friend of mine who will remain nameless, Robert Downey Jr. came up. My friend is female. So perhaps ego boosts don't come standard...)

Find other cool Flickr mashups in this list of wonderfulness. God, I'm a geek. I totally used the word "mashup". I guess I should maybe consider retiring the pocket protecter, huh?
________________________________________

I've had this real-time Abe Vigoda alive/dead status icon on my desktop for months and it just occurred to me to share it with you perverse souls. So there you go. I think I might actually care now if Mr. Vigoda really DID die. He's my little (tiny) (virtual) buddy now, sitting there at the bottom right corner of my toolbar, staring morosely off into the distance, with his too-dark eyebrows and convincing mobster persona radiating all over his corner of my computer screen every morning, afternoon and night...
_______________________________________

And, finally, LOST -- streaming! So you don't need to have a Tivo or cancel your plans every Wednesday night simply so you don't miss the single most addictive television show ever created (outside P. Diddy's "Making the Band" and VH1: Behind the Music, of course)!!

Three songs and a whole-persona transplant

Two great songs:

George Harrison's "While My Guitar Gently Weeps" played on the ukelele by Jake Shimabukuro
I am thinking about falling in love with Mr. Shimabukuro, even thought I cannot for the life of me pronounce his last name. It's just that he kicks this song's ass, and makes the ukelele look, well, a little rock star and not at all feminine, 1930's-esque or out of proportion. See for yourself.

"Baby Sleep With Me" by Bijou Phillips
Warning: it's totally sad. It makes me totally sad. She says "I'll do what you tell me/and cry if you stop me...tonight, I'm someone else", and it's just self-destructive enough that when I first listened to it I thought about crying and wished a tiny bit that I was disillusioned and desperate because she makes it seem entirely beautiful.

A weird one:

"Company in My Back" by Wilco has been playing over and over on my ITunes and I just now realized that I have no idea what the hell it means. I mean, really -- can someone help me out, here? Here's a bit:

I attack with love, pure bug beauty
I curl my lips and crawl up to you (x2)
And your afternoon
And I've been puking

I move so slow, a steady crushing hand
Holy shit there's a company in my back (x2)

Hide your soft skin, your sorrow is sunshine
Listen to my eyes (x2)
They are hissing radiator tunes...

I mean, it seems like a bug's love song to a woman, who then proceeds to squish it. Which I think is completely rad, but am having a hard time believing. So if you have any other ideas, please enlighten me.

_______________________________

I have a total Heterosexual Hollywood Crush on Zooey Deschanel. I have a long list of women I'd gladly trade heads with, as you may know, (Angie Harmon, Keri Russell, etc.) and Zooey doesn't make the list. That is because I want to trade, um, EVERYTHINGS with her - a kind of like I have for Katharine Hepburn, among very few others.

The girl totally became my surprise favorite when she sang "Baby, It's Cold Outside" in Elf like she was straight out of 1940, but I figured that excited me more than it should have because I'm super festive around the holidays and a jazz geek. But it's April and a few years later and I still think she's fabulous and classy and fascinating. And I just found out she's playing in a film based on my favorite children's book of all time, A Bridge to Terebithia. Should be out some time in 2007, apparently. So there you go.

If I were a boy I'd totally be in love with her. As is, I'd just like to become her. Not sure which is creepier.

My March Monday mixtape

Happy Monday! A short post today, as I'm tired. But coming to Legwarmers later this week: Liz's list of dating deal breakers, desireables and undecideds.

Until then, here's the soundtrack to March thus far:

1. Jackie Greene: "Sweet Somewhere Bound": ITunes says I've played pretty much every song from this album 13 times since I cleared the Top 25 Most Played playlist (last Wednesday). So everything from that album must, by default, be on this list. But if you need a few specific tracks for download, try "Sad To Say Goodbye", "Honey, I've Been Thinking About You", and "Don't Mind Me, I'm Only Dying Slow".

2. Tristan Prettyman: "November"

3. Fiona Apple: "Mistake" and "First Taste" -- Her old stuff has worked her way back into my playlists after a two-month hiatus. What can I say? I can't resist her.

4. Ellie Lawson: "L.A. (I'm Under The Spell)" She tends to do a British Alanis thing on her album "Philosophy Tree", which is sometimes "eh" and sometimes very cool. This song has been on the playlist of late, though.

5. Annie Lennox and Paul Simon: "Something So Right"

6. Psapp: "Cozy in the Rocket" -- I can (and have been) listening to the whole album ("Tiger, My Friend") all the way through without switching songs. That's rare. It's experimental but chill, and you can zone out to it at work or writing.

7. Pete Rock and CL Smooth: "They Reminisce Over You" and "Take Your Time" -- Old school hip hop.

8. Inara George: "Infinity"

The Song List (now, with links!)

I have many "lists", as anyone who knows me knows. Lists, for example, of the top 10 things I'd never do for one million dollars, the top 10 people I'd have a head transplant with, the top 5 places I MUST live before I die. Lists for names I will give my children, might give my children, and definitely would never give my children, lists of the all-time best dreams I've ever had, the all-time worst nightmares, and the big one: the "List of Desireables". Today, I'll introduce you to a more benign and ridiculous list, and you might make fun of me. But hey! If I have a list, and want to see it in writing, thereby subjecting myself to perhaps days of ridicule, call me Bobby or Britney, but don't call me out -- because that's my prerogative.

The list is "Mongo's list of the greatest love songs of all time". (also known as: "The-list-of-songs-I-have-been-known-to-wish-were-written-for-me-in-moments-of-extreme-narcissism-because-every-girl-wishes-someone-was-writing-songs-about-them-don't-deny-it"). There are probably 50 songs on this list, and I cannot bear to put them in order. Lucky for you, I'm only going to post a few at a time.

Oh, I think it's important to note that purely happy love songs suck. You will find a few in my list, but not many. That is because I find these songs boring and innacurate. A little difficulty, craziness, impossibility, fear and/or sadness mixed in with the love stuff is so much more effective. I mean, perfect relationships are like BigFoot and the Loch Ness Monster, and frankly they don't sound that interesting even if they do exist.

So, without further ado, here is a random handful of songs from "The List":

Every Woman - Garth Brooks (i couldn't find the original, so here's a crappy cover version; sorry)
A few key excerpts: "She's sun and rain/she's fire and ice/a little crazy but it's nice" (aaawwww) "and she'll rage just like a river/then she'll beg you to forgive her" (whoops - accurate) "She's makin' love on rainy nights, she's a stroke of Christmas lights, she's everything I wanna do again".

Pretty self-explanatory. The moment I find someone who can actually say, looking directly at my head, that my sun, rain, fire, ice and a little crazy is "nice" (preferably while rhyming), I am immediately condemmning them to a lifetime with this "nice". (I can be very persuasive.) Hey, he said he wants to do it again. Over and over and over for eternity is what he's gonna get. This song almost made me love Garth Brooks. But then he got a little chubby and did that whole "grungy rockstar alter ego" thing. What was Garth 2.0's name, again? Sooo weird.


My Cherie Amour- Stevie Wonder (aaaah. here it is.)
Classic love song. But with a few key non-english words. Also, the line "How I wish that you were miiiiiinnnneee" adds a touch of the good ol' unrequited, impossible love theme. Which I'm a sucker for every time. This song is simple, perfect, and I cannot resist swaying lamely to it.


Stay Or Leave - Dave Matthews (can't find a link, sorry)
When I first heard this song, I literally played it over and over and over in my car for two weeks. I really think it was the only song I listened to during that time. It's full of rose colored glasses and regret and bewilderment and reminiscence. But it still comes off as a real love song. I dunno. It just has that thing.

"Stay or leave - I want you not to go, but you should -- it was good, as good goes. Stay or leave - I want you not to go, but you did. So what to do with the rest of today's afternoon? Isn't it strange how we change everything we did; did I do all that I should - that I could'a done? Remember we used to dance and everyone wanted to be you and me? I want to be, too."

Good stuff. This song shares a spot with my other favorite, but more obvious, Dave love song: Crush.


Nobody's Girl - Bonnie Raitt (preview here - the whole album's good)
This song is essentially about a girl who is again, a little crazy, a little fragile, and a little temperamental but ultimately pretty fantastic if a bit lost/lonely. This girl opens some poor schmuck's eyes to the wonderful world of "her/love/her love". It's pathetically been on this list for some time. But it's really more nostalgic than anything, because one time, years ago, someone sent typed verses of this song anonymously to my house for, like, an entire year. I still don't know who it was, which leaves me somewhere between mildly flattered and REALLY freaked out. God, why IS this song on the list? Eh...


A few others that might be more obvious:

Maybe I'm Amazed - Paul McCartney (a few covers of it here)
Something - The Beatles, also a good remake by Musiq (Musiq version)
I Want You - As sung by Alana Davis
Perfect One - Lit (it's here)
Your Song - Elton John (here you go)
Blue Eyes - The Cary Brothers (from the Garden State soundtrack)

(Honorable mention: Ray LaMontagne's "Hold You In My Arms".)

You can search lots of these lyrics here, if you're interested.

It's late, I'm tired. Have a good weekend, and GO SEAHAWKS!!!

Fiona rocks, rugby fan freaks... RATS!

Sometimes when things like, say, work and life and bills and small paychecks get me feeling a little sadistic, I like to seek out stories of those more unfortunate than me, just for kicks. Such a scenario brought me to this story about a gentleman who was playing "hide the polska" with someone other than his wife, and was tattled on by a parrot who is clearly more intelligent than he. I imagine that was quite a blow... to the marraige, you perverts.

A completely unrelated story also currently posted on Ananova describes how some Russian men were eating a large bag of potato chips and discovered a whole dead rat at the bottom of the bag. Apparently the rat had been cooked and seasoned like a chip and had somehow made it into the package. Even with cooking and seasoning, I imagine the rat was still unappetizing enough to put them off chips for a while and onto another potato-based Russian staple: vodka. I say the rat may have done them a favor. Vodka beats chips any day.

Rats in food are no good -- and either I'm a magnet for rat-in-food stories or this happens more than we'd like to imagine. I have a colleague who swears she found clumps of rat hair in a Subway sandwich and has since refused to eat at the establishment. She actually bit in to the sandwich, chewed and swallowed before she noticed that there were what looked like clumps of brown rat hair baked into the bread.

And peanut butter, according to my junior high school biology teacher, is FULL of rat feces. This is really sad news for me, as PB is a staple in my diet. The long and short of the story is that peanuts are approximately the same size and shape as the doo of the rats that crawl around on, eat, and doo in, the piles of peanuts in the field before they're transported to the processing plant. So I guess the doo falls in the crusher/baker/blender along with the shelled nuts. No wonder it's so high in protein...

Gross. Subject change.

I saw Fiona Apple at the Moore Theatre last week. My seats were the worst in the house. No, really. I was up at the veeeerrrrry top --exactly 3 rows from the highest seat in the building. This was painful for me, as I had initially been under the impression that a friend of a friend of a friend was going to be able to get me in early and put me in one of the front rows. But although my seats nearly gave me vertigo (it really was scary way up there), the concert was flawless. That woman is just fantastic, even if she is a little eccentric. You absolutely MUST download/buy Extraordinary Machine. Listen it to three times in a row, suspending judgement until the third. You will love it if you have any taste in music at all. If you don't, you should probably pull a Van Gough because you're worthless. Click below for a sampler:


I have never understood crazy, violent rugby or soccer fans. This is just another (painful, unbelievable) example of why.

Vibe

**This was written for the 7th Poetry Carnival, hosted by Garnet with the theme "music".**

Vibe

In the dark I am one of many, fingers to lips just so,
exhaling my melody into the throbbing, smoke-filled room

where bodies warm with swaying nodding tapping lilt behind
the meter of the spotlit island's tight blue cadence.

Ice clinks in short glasses while I tap my thumb;
frosted ashtrays slowly fill with perfectly timed conversations.

My words scat along the bar now, rythmic and stacatto;
my heart pounds, crescendoing, in twos and fours

trading eights with yours across the table.

Chop, Chop...

Tonight is the night! Giant Panda and PUTS at Chop Suey. Last time I was there, the opening act (Byrdie) was significantly better (in spite of a sound crew who acted like they'd never seen a monitor before) than the headliner, who shall remain nameless. So I'm looking forward to an all-around strong show tonight.



Currently listening to:
Nikka Costa -- Push and Pull