Plus it's a great time to listen (really listen) to some music. I'll mostly be rediscovering old favorites this year, barring a desperate highway-side detour to Best Buy. I'm musically unprepared and just hope to high heaven my rental car has an auxiliary input for the iPod. Otherwise I'll have to scramble pre-dozen-hour-drive (not ideal) to find a decent collection amidst the disarray that is my CD bureau. What was once a perfectly alphabetized source of wonder and ridicule (it's convenient, people, not anal) has been a musical mess heap since I moved in to the new place. In April. See, I'm so not anal.
Regardless, the 12 hour drive that might be seen as torture to some is actually something I look forward to each year. If only my stiff neck could say the same.
Happy (and de-fogging) holiday wishes to all!
thx exposure compensation
Ok, fine, but still - how much would you like to nuzzle up in this kanga's nook? I mean, if he wouldn't pummel you first (or find himself otherwise distracted), the kanga nook looks like it's just made for nuzzling.
Despite loving Zooey Deschanel in just about every movie I've seen her in, I've not yet been able to get into her musical project, She & Him. It's otay, it just hasn't grabbed me. But this video of her singing "Sweet Ballad" in her new movie, Yes Man, is cracking me up.
Sunday evening I learned that both Band of Horses and Iron and Wine are capable of providing something I never thought existed – the perfect musical accompaniment to a flight where the focus was keeping-calm-and-trying-not-to-vomm.
Despite residing with some familiarity in a place called The Thirties, there are still times I forget to keep count of how many drinks I’ve consumed in an evening. Thanks to downing one or two (or was it five) too many drinks Saturday night in honor of another year in this fourth decade, I found myself the next day in a miserable predicament of proudly holding my hurl through an eternal cab ride to the airport--only to shamefully lose it in a Hartsfield Jackson Atlanta International Airport loo. That was a long sentence, but the experience was even longer. A finer moment I do not recently recall.
Suffice it to say, she who gets motion sick at the mere mention of handheld movies, rickety roller coasters and the Mad Tea Party (damn cups spin in more directions than the laws of physics allow) was deeply terrified by the thought of boarding that flight. Still, there was hope. I felt better after my most recent “pour,” and history was on my side. I’d never puked on a plane before –but wait- did that then mean probability was stacked against me? It was anyone’s guess, so I started to pray.
To add insult to illness the pilot gave us an ominous warning at takeoff: “Gusty winds in Chicago tonight, folks. I’m gonna to do my best to land us smoothly, but –huhhuh- well, I dunno -huhhuh.” Forget that Beavis was flying the plane, a turbulent landing lay in wait. Putting prayer aside (no deity worth its salt would spare me my just deserts), I plugged my ears with sweet sounds. Bands of horsies, iron and… (ok, forget the wine) and hoped for the sake of myself and my jailbait plane-mate that he wouldn’t depart with a good story for his buddies.
When the plane made contact with the beloved land and I hadn’t reached for the barf bag or frantically lumbered over jailbait to claw my way to the toilet, I began to believe in the Angels of Nausea Mercy. You might say crying angel's overkill here, but you weren’t on that piece of tin as it violently swayed and bumped itself into the windy city. The plunge into Chicago was the single most turbulent descent I have ever experienced. The proof’s in the puddin', and the puddin' was a whole plane of passengers breaking into applause upon landing. Whole plane, save me. I was still too busy suppressing the urge to purge to celebrate life.
This is "Naked as We Came" by Iron and Wine.
As I recall, whiskers serve to help an animal determine when the body behind it can fit through a space that stands before it. For cats anyway. I'd say this guy's whiskers are telling him he can eat a whole lot more cheese. Lucky fellow. So long as the cheese isn't connected to something wire and/or spring-loaded. In which case, his luck's run out.
Your feelings on rodents aside, you can't tell me this creature isn't cute. Can you??
sorry, can't remember where this came from. it was recent, which tells you something about my recent memory.
"...a box full of suggestions for your possible heart."
This is Bright Eyes' "Landlocked Blues" with Emmylou Harris. I love the way their voices sound together. It works especially well on "We are Nowhere and It's Now."
"And if you swear there's no truth and who cares, how come you say it like you're right?"
Whatever your thoughts on Bright Eyes, since a surprisingly young age he's had a real talent for identifying a feverish ache and putting the words to it.
thx to lenscratch
I'm not the camping type, but these North Face tent mules c/o mum and diddy are going to do wonders for Constantine Balanchine's last pee outing of the night. Knowing my feet will be warm with little effort makes the final frigid endeavour a little less dreaded.
A certain someone couldn't help but give me these noise reducing Sennheiser earbuds one week early, and I'm oh-so grateful for it. They've already vastly improved my commute, since I can now actually hear the music over the roar of the el without everyone else hearing it too. I kinda feel like I'm in my own movie (dark comedy of late), and they genuinely curb the commuter-angst that's been getting a tad outta control.
Speaking of pricklies, D gave me this cute hedgehog pencil case, which I'll be using for sunglasses.
Along with some amazing jewelry (including origami earrings!) from The Mexican Shop in Evanston, I finally own a pair of earrings made by one of my most favorite local jewelers, Leaves of Glass (cool name, huh?). They're called "Voice of the Beehive," and they're gorgeous and so versatile. Thank you gg thank you!
In fact, I think they will look lovely with the modish Dunderdon dress D should not have been so kind as to get me (though I admit I'm so glad he did). Particularly when he'd already given me the cool new camera that's working far better than the Lumix I dropped a year or so ago (oh the endless shame). I shall proudly tote her cameraness around in this perfect Lesportsac camera case c/o gg. I already took the above photo of the birds nest coral that gg was also so very sweet to get me. It channels birds and the sea and is just so darn pretty I can't stop looking at it. I'm pretty much in love.
On top of all that, there was the fun... Friday brought Bouillabaisse at Duchamp, ginger drinks and yummy treats at Hot Chocolate, and Steely Dan got the bird at Bluebird. Come Saturday, I was introduced to the awesome yet affordable crablegs served by The Half Shell. Holy gem! It looks like a basement dive bar. And yet it serves first rate seafood. You don't get much more up my alley. Unless you're... well... Anyhow, what.a.find. I will be back. Later this week.
Believe it or not, there was even more, but I'll end the virtual thank you here. I felt deeply unworthy, and yet so lucky and loved, truly. So thankyouthankyouthankyouohsoveryverymuch and thank you again and again. You are the bestest of the bestest. And so are you. And you too. Really, you are.
I looked out the window, and what to my wondering eyes did appear but three cops and a k9. Ruh.Roh. I immediately scoured my brain for what terribly wrong thing I'd done to deserve it, but nothing floated to surface. Nothing criminal at least. After steamrolling their way in (with my hands already placed behind my back resigned to the bracelets), they told me my neighbor three floors up, the one with the rock star hair, was getting served with a protective order. You've!been!served! Dayum.
And he seemed so harmless and... girly. And way more concerned about himself and his hair than stalking anybody. I knew the "model" gf moved out about one month after she'd moved in (that lasted), but I didn't realize just how much they don't like each other anymore. The cop serving the papers was such a cheese, winking at me and shit. Apparently that's his tactic for getting info from reluctant neighbors who try to get in the way of his serve. Meanwhile I'm all "Uh, wink's not necessary chubs. Not my first time at the service of process rodeo. "Hair" lives 2 floors up. Glad to be of assistance. Later taters. Back to my laptop."
I wouldn't normally roll over so easily, but I was busy being relieved it wasn't me the three men and a dog were carting off to the clink. And... I had a laptop to tend to.
So it's a "happy 'pooter free weekend" from here to all, and to all a good day.
photo c/o lesmoking
This photo will have to do until I can capture a good one of Foo, whose current nom de plume happens to be "Constantine Balanchine." For, well, obvious reasons. Puts "Monsieur Quincampoix" to shame, no? It never fails to crack me up when he wakes from a nap, looks at me with great seriousness and (in British accent) seems to say "Oh, hello. I see you're still here. Very well then. I suppose I shall resume my napping. Cheerio. Wait-whoht? What's so god-damn funny all of a sudden?"
What he doesn't know is that his sophistication has been utterly compromised by one jowl mooshed up like a cinnamon bun into the side of his face and half-an-upper-lip that's tucked up under itself to reveal four to five of his upper toofs. Those not in the mooshface know are missing out... It's seriously the cutest thing.
photo from flicker via unruly things
Guess that's why I immediately went to the "ballet" section of Life's new Google photo archive. These lovely photos show ballerinas at George Balanchine's School of American Ballet back in the day (that ballerinas weren't starving themselves). I've only just scraped the tip of the archive iceberg, but I'm guessing it's filled with many gems.
thx to VSL yet again.
Cheery. Pretty. Poppy. I'm finding myself really into this band, Sambassadeur. Leave it to the Swedes for straight-up loveable pop goodness. If you likey too, here s'more ~ That Town, Final Say, New Moon, and something live.
On my way home tonight my iPod played me "The One You Really Love," by Magnetic Fields. I was going to post that, but then I thought of this song (off the same album, 69 Love Songs) and thought I'd post it instead. This is for a certain friend who stops round these parts and might kinda relate at the moment. It's "I Don't Want to Get Over You."
My only request: kindly remove those paper scraps out from under the bedside table. Pronto. You're messing with perfection, people.
found via ms. french.
This is my favorite from the site. GTA and I have often discussed how very annoyed we get at the gratuitous use of exclamation points and smileys and ...
thanks to a cup of joe for the link.