It's that time of year where I am auditioning theme songs for next year. So far, there's a good bit of Jenny Lewis in the mix. This one doesn't fit my aspirations for 2011 at all, but maybe I could have a Guitar Twang of The Year?
The official video, which is sundrenched and warm, is here. It's even twangier, but Jenny won't let me embed it. Maybe because of that first link to her childhood appearance on the Golden Girls?
Like, not wish fulfillment that I was some kind of ballerina background dancer interpreting Just Jack's interpretation of The Cure, but I lived in that exact apartment building. I was waiting for the super to come see why my microwave wasn't working. My apartment inside was exactly my current apartment, but it was in that rundown British building. And it was snowing.
Sometimes, my subconscious is very boring and obvious.
People with whom I am planning to form a professional dance troupe (and you know who you are), I'm thinking this number has to added to our repertoire.
But with less facial expressions and more fancy dance moves. Maybe more like this version? (P.S. He's a con artist. Get it? Bluffmaster.)
It's that time of year again (or, really, the first time since this is the first ever observance) to honor and devote ourselves to the grace and majesty of the Ultimate Dainty Paw with Tiggy Pooja.
There are so many fantastic stories about Tiggy to be retold on her special day. We can remember the harrowing tale of how Tiggy did battle with the metallic silver thread, protecting our household from really bad fashion choices. And then there is the tale about how gravity has no effect on Tiggy and so she grew to be the size of a mountain once to protect us during our journey through the dark, cold lands of Wisconsin. (For much of that journey we actually rode on Tiggy's back, or at least I rested my head on it.)
She was so big then! But she also has the power to be as small as a mouse-- almost invisible if the challenge (the vacuum cleaner) calls for it.
Tiggy knows not every battle needs to be fought. Sometimes, when your brother wants to chew on your butt, you are better off just going in the other room. It's the lesson of Tiggy's non-violence.
Also, for Tiggy Pooja, we listen to alot of David Bowie because, in certain lights, Tiggy, too, knows the magic of the green and blue eyes.
For Tiggy Pooja, we spend most of the day (except the laundry offering) at home. Tiggy frequently reminds us that the home is where her heart is. How badly do we really need to leave the house? With our bag?
Tiggy is small, but full of love. She likes her chest rubs in the morning, she likes to sit on the toilet to make sure I am surviving the horrors of the shower, and she often purrs just being next to me. I love her, and I am thankful for the chance to honor her on her special kitty holiday.
So, I was suprised when iTunes announced that, after the Soothing Cat Music album selections and the Ocean Waves background sounds, this is my favorite song ever.
(I absolutely do not think those are the right lyrics.)
I had expected maybe some Kate Bush? Or "Pictures of You," or that M.I.A. song that I had on repeat for like two days?
Now, it is true that I do add that song to almost every playlist. And that when it comes on, I can't not sing along. I just can't help myself, even if I look like a crazy person on the A train. So, yes, I guess it is my favorite? But it's also true that I never, ever recorded myself singing it.
So, I was just in D.C. overnight for biznusses. And I stayed at the lovely Quincy hotel, mostly because it was cheap and also right around the corner from where the biznusses were conducted. (And because my old apartment at the Argonne has probably been rented.) There were several notable things about the Quincy which I will proceed to note hereforth.
1. The couch in my room was totally the larger L version of my home couch. Same fabric, same feet shape, same velcro attachments for the pillows.
Same, same, same-- except less cat fur. And no sheet covering it to protect it from cats or little decorator pillows or Ginger.
2. There was a very strange music thing happening, both in that they chose to blast all of the songs from my "HS Memories" playlist in the lobby (see sidebar), but also because, very randomly, there was a Billy Squier album cover on the wall on my floor near the elevator.
True, they never played any Billy Squier in the lobby, but there he was, gazing at me while I waited for the elevator. This prompted Kevin to say, "This must be a hotel for young people." And that made me laugh uproariously since that album came out before some of my younger friends were born.
3. There was a giant mirror against the wall. (Even bigger than yours, CRD.) It made me realize that I really need a full length mirror if I am going to avoid making outfit mistakes like that one time I wore the balloon top out in public. Or, maybe just forgetfully not make outfit choices at all.
Is there such a thing as fate? Are some matches are meant to be? E.g., My skirt + the couch pillows? Me + The Quincy? This must be a hotel for me.
Billy Squier doesn't want me to embed his video as my conclusion, but it's here. But, we also heard this song in the lobby, and it made me touch my heart in nostalgia and emotion. And a voice inside my head said, "Don't look back-- you can never look back."
I know you know about this already if I do. And I know you know I love Jimmy Fallon, and you know I love me some J. Timberlake. Add in the roots and some of my favorite songs and I find myself watching this every day lately. They're just so adorable.
I know it's a shoe commercial, but it has the sweetest friends I have ever seen and lovely shots of my home town and an awesome cover by The Ravonettes.
And it's so darned happy making.
It reminds me of me and CRD. Or me and Kevin. Or me and Diana. Friendship.
James, our favorite bagpiping competitor and foodie, reports: "I got two silvers today. And midget chili dogs from Hot Dog Charlie's. It's been a productive visit to the state capitol."
And he sends these photos as proof of a) medals...
...and b) chili dogs.
Keep in mind that all of this is happening even further north than where I live.
Am I over my Shakira obsession? Well, no. Especially not with my belly dance class right around the corner. But, I sure have moved on. In backdating kind of way.
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