Tutu Too

Having spent years 3 through 13 of my life in ballet classes, I adore ballet and everything about it. Including the tutus. Put me in the audience at a ballet performance, and part of me is lost while another part suddenly finds the urge to mooove. To sway, to point, to bend, to extend my limbs to the classical rhythm ("no spaghetti arms!"). Did I just say "extend my limbs to the classical rhythm?" I'm kind of embarrassed, but it's that organic. The sensation is a little odd seeing as I've long since lost most of the grace ballet welled out of me. But the love lives strong.

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.

Earworm du Jour

Joy Division MTV Music

A random earworm c/o MTV's website, which has now archived most of the videos they've ever played. Fun time waster (as if I needed another). Thanks to VSL for yet another hook-up.

I lied about getting back online last night to report my experiences from the Obama rally. It's still to come for my own memory immortalizing purposes, but I was tore up from the floor up by the time last night rolled around. My 22 hour election day was followed last night by drinks with my few beloved coworkers who were walking on air after Obama's win. Lawyers will use any excuse they can get their hands on (good or bad) to self medicate. A former coworker and still-friend came along too, eventually (reluctantly) admitting that she voted for McCain.

After we gave her a look of shock and dismay (followed by a quick tarring and feathering), we got over the error of her ways and turned to the commonly safe denominators: The misery of the job. Her pending wedding. Sex. It helped when she clarified (through puffs of feathers) that she's "fine" with the results. She's not one of those who will wander the office declaring her "fear of the next four years!" Because the fearful ones felt so secure in the hands of the chimp??

And breathe.

So four Stellas, a five-full cab ride, one long dog walk, and a leftover election pizza later, and I could hardly keep these eyes open. I am, therefore, taking "Thirsty Thursday" off to drink lots of water, lose the shwoll, and do some catch-up. That's the plan anyway. Though I never was much for plans.

Love is Watching Someone Die

his is "What Sarah Said," by Death Cab for Cutie. I discovered this song when I accidentally bought a Death Cab DVD thinking it was a CD. It took me a little too long to figure out why it wouldn't play in my car, but once I got a clue I was happy for my stupidity. There are lots of cool videos to be found on the DVD. In the arduous affair that is ripping CDs for my iPod (ok, watching D do it), I recently rediscovered the DVD, and it served as a delightful accompaniment to cooking up and consuming a nice dinner.

Finn and Dandy

How could I forget to mention that seeing The Veils last week was dandy times dandy. Ideally they would have played their entire discography, but they were the opener, and they performed in a tee-tiny theater and stood mere feet away from my lovin' ears. Alas... much like the adorable homo heckler who deliriously screamed out his appreciation during the show, "I couldn't have been happier than I [was] in that moment!!"

I actually met Finn Andrews before the show whilst he sucked down a ciggy and again after whilst... he sucked down another ciggy. Finn is the caboose in a train of musicmen I've "met" here and there over the years. "Met" having a wide variety of definitions, such as "making ass of self with" (Mike Skinner), "translating French boyfriend's nonsensical statements to" (Libertine's bassist), and the awe-inspiring "dating the roadie of" (no name needed), to name a few. Most recently there was Andrew Bird, who nearly tripped over my dog's leash coming out of the local hipster shop. I apologized, he ignored me and proceeded to speed-walk to his Honda Element. Be not afraid, Bird, I was merely following your skinny arse, not stalking you. Big diff. Besides, we've met before... the time I stood beside him after a show, and that other time he stood near me at Lula while we waited for brunching space. Yeah, we're BFF.

Most of these encounters leave me oddly tongue-tied, which was pretty much the case with darling Finn. It's not that I think they're super human (though I usually think them pretty super), but there's something weird about me recognizing them, them not knowing me from eve, and steamrolling them with excited conversation all the same. Not that I'm ever one to steamroll anyone with conversation, but in those cases I often get particularly frozen in a flurry of taciturnity. Unless I'm good and drunk. Which I was not in this case. Even after a few shots of Tequila (sad attempt at reliving Mexico).

Luckily D was there to pick up my sobering overanalytical pieces, thereby qualifying this one as an official meet and greet. Well done, D. Finn made polite conversation through puffs of smoke and told us the next album should be ready by March. Other meaningless conversation ensued, but who cares. He's handsome, breakably skinny, less effeminate than I imagined, and his bassist, Sophia (Finn's grammar school pal), was awkward cuteness at its best, both in person and hunched over on stage. Dandy indeed.

Fleet of Feet

I returned home from Jersey to find that the dingo molted during my absence. My apartment was a veritable desert of tumbleweeds in the form of white fluffy furballs. I couldn't touch anything without said body part coming up covered in fur. Odd time for a dog to profusely shed, no? Is it like a groundhog telling me winter is not actually on its torturous way to me? Hooray!!

I popped in the Fleet Foxes to help me through my cleaning frenzy, and it was surprisingly motivational. Motivational enough to get me to wash my sofa cover thingy, and that, my dears, is sayin' a lot.

The vid above is for "Ragged Wood," and here's one for "White Winter Hymnal." Then there's this song I've never heard before from the Black Cab Sessions.

If you've never checked out the Black Cab Sessions, do, oh do! Such a cool idea, me thinks. Some favorites: a ride with The National, Britt Daniel from Spoon, Death Cab for Cutie, and Lykke Li too.

"My Bat Lightning Heart...

...wants to fly away."

Today's Earworm du Jour popped up in shuffle this morning and has a video that's about as cool as the song itself... It's Bat for Lashes doing "What's A Girl To Do?"

A Divine Chanson

...by The Divine Comedy. This is a Lady of a Certain Age. One of their many gems. Oh how I'd covet the chance to see Neil Hannon live, but it's not too often he plays in the states. Cryin' shame. This will have to suffice for now.

When I See This...

I hear this.