Andrew Bird has to be one of my favorite musicians right now. Eloquent, with whistling and violin, he's got both catchy and dark music that can be mildly subversive at times. I'm a big fan of Amchair Apocrypha and The Mysterious Production of Eggs. Andrew Bird also looks like if Luke Wilson was cast as Tom Joad in a film version of The Grapes of Wrath.
Functioning iPod clickwheel from 2004
I've been thinking a little, off and on, about getting a new iPod. Do I wait until the iPhone is available in Verizon's network, or do I splurge on a new iTouch? I keep telling myself to wait though, because they're probably coming out with something newer, sleeker, smarter in a matter of weeks. And my current 5-year-old iPod still functions properly. The one I've had since freshman year of college. The one without a color screen, even. The battery doesn't need frequent charging, the clickwheel may be a little slow but is still responsive and it still has more than enough gigabytes to store all my music. Drive that baby into the ground, and impress the geniuses at the Apple store that I've managed to keep that baby purring for over 5 years when I go to trade it in.
With a last name like McIntosh, I'd hope I could keep an Apple product running for the next 96 years.
I can remember being 3 or 4, becoming completely obsessed with Yellow Submarine. My dad, ever the musical maverick had a newfangled CD player and a few of these round mirrored thingies that i was NOT allowed to touch. I ditched my Baby Beluga tape soon after, and fell irreversibly in love with John Lennon. I taped pictures of him alongside my Elvis photo on my door (Elvis and I share the same birthday, so I think I thought I was supposed to like him) and behaved like a crazed teenager in 1967 whenever I Wanna Hold Your Hand came on. Maybe my career as a medium started early?
One of my favorite memories telling someone, I think it may have been my preschool supervisor, with total sincerity that John Lennon couldn't have been an organ donor "because he needs his heart." Somehow my mother had explained the potentially a complicated trifecta death, reincarnation and heart transplants all using my personal hero as the example.
I couldn't marry John Lennon because he was dead. It meant his heart stopped beating and his brain stopped thinking and he was buried in the ground. Apparently this was upsetting news to me, which led to the reincarnation conversation: He's not coming back? Nope, but sometimes people can be reborn. Woah, woah, what do you MEAN? My mom was pregnant at the time, and I probably half expected a wee John to come battling out of her womb.
We were watching a movie at the time, probably a Lifetime made for TV movie or some other drivel that daytime programmers filled their timeslots with. Anyway, this girl was on a waiting list for a heart transplant and I was probably all, where do you even GET a human heart? And my mom was all, from someone who died.
Total panic ensues. My mother assured me that John had kept his heart, with all the plans in the world to revisit this mortal coil just like Jesus was going to and stuff. Apparently my relief was enough to go babbling to my teacher the next day, explaining that don't worry, John Lennon will be back.
Girlfriend is still waiting, my friends. Patiently.
I suppose it depends on what you mean "what they say" about me. Literally? My shoes right now are dirty Sperry topsiders, brown and light-ish blue ("heron," I believe, is what Zappo's called it). I think if you were a person judging me on my LITERAL FOOTWEAR PREFERENCE, a person might think There's a lady with traditional tastes, with narrow feet and a penchant for not skidding on wet surfaces. Also does not like to wear socks. Which wouldn't be far from the truth. I HATE slipping on wet floors.
If I happened upon a more inductive thinker, they might note that the laces are untied: Girlfriend is laaaazy or Girlfriend does not like touching shoelaces because they are really dirty things. They might also note that there is a smear on the top of the left one and think Is that butter? She probably bakes awesome cookies (true). Or, perhaps they'd try to figure out what it was I wonder if that shoe will ever be implicated in a presidential impeachment hearing? Did Monica wear Sperrys?
What would really show true depth of thought, and a higher logical consciousness, is the person who wonders If she goes through the trouble to wear shoes that will not skid on wet surfaces, why run the risk of tripping on the laces?
This is a really tough one. It took me like, 3 weeks to come up with the ones that cause me the most pai-ay-ayy-ne
Jack and Diane by John Mellencamp
It was hard to choose just one John Mellencamp song. I truly hate his music. I chose this particular ditty because of the line "sucking on chili dogs" because, um, that is not, NOT, a charming vision of America's Heartland.
Mary Jane's Last Dance by Tom Petty
I also had to really THINK about this one, because I have a very love-hate relationship, mostly hate though, with Tom Petty. I just cannot stand how he stretches out the word "pain" in the song. Gack.
Hotel California by The Eagles
Just a really lame song. Right up there with Kokomo by the Beach Boys. "You can check out anytime you like, but you can never leave!" Come on, Don Henley.
B and I recently watched the suicide documentary The Bridge. A guy set up cameras at the bottom of the Golden Gate Bridge to film the 25 people who hopped over the side in 2004. We want to move to the Bay Area, and figured this was a way to Get to Know the Culture.
People kill themselves
Jumping off the Golden Gate
Suicide, splish splash
