Friday, January 09, 2004
Don't Roll Your Eyes Yet
New obsession: Emmylou Harris.
Yeah, I know, it's like saying you've just discovered this great 70s band called The Beatles.
I grew up with Emmylou Harris. She was one of those artists who got a lot of airplay but if you had asked me two months ago if I liked
Emmylou Harris, all I could have said is that I knew she was on the radio a lot when I was riding in the car with mom.
However, I am not ashamed to say: I like
Emmylou Harris. I can't wax poetic what it is about her, but JB (in NJ) copied some mix tapes for me, they were from her fellow art grad school compadres as part of a music swap. Emmylou Harris has a pretty good showing on the mixes. (Not to mention the surprising, yet maybe not so surprising, turnout by Dolly Parton on these mix tapes - she turns up three of the four CDs... ) I don't know. Maybe it's that she can actually sing. She sings like a good actor acts: you believe what she's saying, seamlessly.
Oh. And through these miraculous mix tapes (yes, actually they are CDs, but "mix CD" sounds like something you go to the doctor for), I have determined I like Neil Young. OK. I'm a little thin on some popular culture here, I actually don't know much about Neil Young, other than he's been around since forever and probably is familiar with illicit substances. And, unfortunately, I don't think the Dutch fanclub site will me learn more. However, there are some fantastically horrible pictures of him posted there.
Look out. At this rate, there'll be hot posts about Neil Diamond here next week. Poor Neil Diamond. He had that strange older-man-sexy-something about him for so long. Then, mid-90s sometime, he just went to hell. Looks like some old worn-out performer with an infinite refill of Xanex working a day job in Vegas who just can't retire because he doesn't know how to do anything else. Wait...
Burt Bacharach, on the other hand, is still hot. Not sure how this is possible.
Maybe he's never done drugs.
Yeah, I know, it's like saying you've just discovered this great 70s band called The Beatles.
I grew up with Emmylou Harris. She was one of those artists who got a lot of airplay but if you had asked me two months ago if I liked
Emmylou Harris, all I could have said is that I knew she was on the radio a lot when I was riding in the car with mom.
However, I am not ashamed to say: I like
Emmylou Harris. I can't wax poetic what it is about her, but JB (in NJ) copied some mix tapes for me, they were from her fellow art grad school compadres as part of a music swap. Emmylou Harris has a pretty good showing on the mixes. (Not to mention the surprising, yet maybe not so surprising, turnout by Dolly Parton on these mix tapes - she turns up three of the four CDs... ) I don't know. Maybe it's that she can actually sing. She sings like a good actor acts: you believe what she's saying, seamlessly.
Oh. And through these miraculous mix tapes (yes, actually they are CDs, but "mix CD" sounds like something you go to the doctor for), I have determined I like Neil Young. OK. I'm a little thin on some popular culture here, I actually don't know much about Neil Young, other than he's been around since forever and probably is familiar with illicit substances. And, unfortunately, I don't think the Dutch fanclub site will me learn more. However, there are some fantastically horrible pictures of him posted there.
Look out. At this rate, there'll be hot posts about Neil Diamond here next week. Poor Neil Diamond. He had that strange older-man-sexy-something about him for so long. Then, mid-90s sometime, he just went to hell. Looks like some old worn-out performer with an infinite refill of Xanex working a day job in Vegas who just can't retire because he doesn't know how to do anything else. Wait...
Burt Bacharach, on the other hand, is still hot. Not sure how this is possible.
Maybe he's never done drugs.
Wednesday, January 07, 2004
Cooler Than Me
Bastards.
I was envious of the new iPods as it was. Now they trot this little puppy out.
That's alright, by the time I destroy my old mammoth iPod (which doesn't seem to be happening anytime soon), they'll have 100G iPods the size of a credit card. With wireless headphones. With a built-in laser pointer.
And I'll be the cool kid on the block again.
I was envious of the new iPods as it was. Now they trot this little puppy out.
That's alright, by the time I destroy my old mammoth iPod (which doesn't seem to be happening anytime soon), they'll have 100G iPods the size of a credit card. With wireless headphones. With a built-in laser pointer.
And I'll be the cool kid on the block again.
Tuesday, January 06, 2004
Of Course They are Small
So just what in the hell was the person looking for who ended up here with a searchengine query for "the size of my kitten testicle are really small ?"
37 Days
Well, there you go.
A few days ago it was almost 60 degrees here in Pittsburgh.
Now it is 12. Degrees. That's -11 C.
And windy.
It's that really cold cold where your nose hairs freeze when you breath in and thaw when you breath out.
::::::::::::
::::::::
::::
Five and a half weeks.
In five and a half weeks I'll be moving again.
All my stuff will go in boxes, get carried out by the movers, I'll drive to DC, and fly out a day later. Fly out to Washington (state), &etc., then fly back after four weeks.
Looking forward to Seattle. It'll be just a ferry ride away. We'll have our nights back again, no more long long work days that bleed into night and almost the next day.
Maybe I'll go through some of my stuff this weekend and cull some things. Especially the mail. I really don't want to move the pile of mail that came from DC BACK to DC. It's in a box here somewhere. It's just crap in that grey zone between bill statement and junk mail. How many bill statements does a person need to keep? I mean, really. Must keep the cards, though. When you are moving and come across a card from a friend from a few years previous, it's like little packets of joy. Time stops. You re-read it, smile, jogged back to what was happening then. (Note to card-senders: reference something that's been happening in your card, especially something shared with the recipient. Makes the card better in the future.)
Five and a half weeks.
And poof– six months will have come and gone.
A few days ago it was almost 60 degrees here in Pittsburgh.
Now it is 12. Degrees. That's -11 C.
And windy.
It's that really cold cold where your nose hairs freeze when you breath in and thaw when you breath out.
::::::::::::
::::::::
::::
Five and a half weeks.
In five and a half weeks I'll be moving again.
All my stuff will go in boxes, get carried out by the movers, I'll drive to DC, and fly out a day later. Fly out to Washington (state), &etc., then fly back after four weeks.
Looking forward to Seattle. It'll be just a ferry ride away. We'll have our nights back again, no more long long work days that bleed into night and almost the next day.
Maybe I'll go through some of my stuff this weekend and cull some things. Especially the mail. I really don't want to move the pile of mail that came from DC BACK to DC. It's in a box here somewhere. It's just crap in that grey zone between bill statement and junk mail. How many bill statements does a person need to keep? I mean, really. Must keep the cards, though. When you are moving and come across a card from a friend from a few years previous, it's like little packets of joy. Time stops. You re-read it, smile, jogged back to what was happening then. (Note to card-senders: reference something that's been happening in your card, especially something shared with the recipient. Makes the card better in the future.)
Five and a half weeks.
And poof– six months will have come and gone.
Monday, January 05, 2004
Little Post
Yeah, I've been off the blog for a few days. Such is life.
Tonight, while making the most fabulous smoothies known to earth (five total, for the week), I've been listening to This American Life.
Due to some cruel twist of fate, I have missed Ira Glass and This American Life quite a bit this past year. However, being without Ira Glass for a while (who, and am convinced, is the Walter Cronkite of our socio-economic-education-generation), helped me realize that a dearest friend of mine is just as talented and humorous as he is.
Yeah, they share a few things: Baltimore, Judaism, they're both male. But more pointedly, Ira Glass' reminded me tonight how much I'm looking forward to DC. Looking forward to getting to be in the presence of my friends again.
It also reminds me I need to see a few more PGH sights before I'm out of here. Only a few more weekends. I need to kick these time-management skills (enter laughter) into uber-drive and cram just a little more fun into the weekends.
In the mean time, however, I have smoothies and Ira Glass.
Tonight, while making the most fabulous smoothies known to earth (five total, for the week), I've been listening to This American Life.
Due to some cruel twist of fate, I have missed Ira Glass and This American Life quite a bit this past year. However, being without Ira Glass for a while (who, and am convinced, is the Walter Cronkite of our socio-economic-education-generation), helped me realize that a dearest friend of mine is just as talented and humorous as he is.
Yeah, they share a few things: Baltimore, Judaism, they're both male. But more pointedly, Ira Glass' reminded me tonight how much I'm looking forward to DC. Looking forward to getting to be in the presence of my friends again.
It also reminds me I need to see a few more PGH sights before I'm out of here. Only a few more weekends. I need to kick these time-management skills (enter laughter) into uber-drive and cram just a little more fun into the weekends.
In the mean time, however, I have smoothies and Ira Glass.
