High Voltage

Went to the thrift store today. Dirty Deeds was playing while I was looking through a big stack of 45s of mostly Bread, Carpenters, and Barbra Streisand.

This video has some awesome crowd shots of jerseys, feathered hair, blue eyeshadow and muffin top.

Bob Dylan Day!

My friend J. just told me that her upstairs neighbor was blasting Bob Dylan and she was enjoying it and singing along. Unfortunately, it turned out the upstairs neighbor only wanted to blast Like A Rolling Stone.

Over and over.

I admit I like to do things like that sometimes and likely drive my neighbors crazy. I'm the woman who loves to do the "comparathon" after all and can never listen to Renegade just once. I also have some college memories of smoking pot (well, friends were, pot always made me unpleasantly paranoid), eating Doritos and listening to Charlie's Enormous Mouth a few times in a row too.

But I'm not feeling OCD today so I think I'm going to go for my full catalog of Dylan. According to my iTunes, I have 1.4 days worth of music (if I include The Band) to fit into my Saturday. I'm going to have to be selective.

Friday Night with Nothing Planned

I am so excited to have an unscheduled night. It is crazy to be this happy about a bottle of wine, a house to clean and some sewing projects to lay out for tomorrow.

On top of that, I got home to find a package from a friend with some homemade fudgy chocolate and text from my best friend from 9th-10th grade saying she was coming for a visit. This is the Frankie Goes to Hollywood friend and the friend I think was there for the Joan Jett Rockin' New Years Eve sleep over.

I'm trying to decide if I should listen to OMD while stuffing my face full of fudge or if I should listen to Unforgettable Fire. Echo and the Bunnymen? Tears for Fears?

I know ...

I'm pretty sure the next love of my life

is interested in a special race of old Swedish cows.

Having decided that online dating, speed dating, and ummm, any kind of dating are not for me, I've decided on the plan B. The same plan I've used for the past 20 years -- meet a random guy while out and about and drift into a relationship. Sure it hasn't worked out so great and sure the pickings are slimmer these days, but it's got better odds than engaging in email chat with the guy who sent me a message about "Neil Young's cover of Pants on the Floor."

So I've picked up my lapsed subscription to Time Out Chicago and will try to make myself get out more often. Tonight, this event caught my eye:

Swedish Cows: Slow Art, An Audiovisual Journey in Stillness is a mixture of artistic expression through the use of various mediums, including: glass, textile, photography, video, light, and sound. The goal of the display is to exhibit stillness with inspirational objects using fantasy lighting, slow moving video impressions, and wonderful sounds. Facts and cultural history, about a special race of old Swedish cows – Friendship Cows – will be tied into the exhibition.

mooooooooooo

*true confession: that is not a Swedish cow, it is a Scottish cow that I met along the Great Glen Way.

Giant Steps

My "making breakfast song" this morning: Giant Steps.

This fun animation is by a guy named dancohen

Brown Paper Packages Tied up in String

You can keep the raindrops on roses and bright copper kettles, I just did laundry on a cold, windy night and pulled my big soft robe out of the dryer.

Nothing is better than putting on a fresh out of the dryer robe when it's cold in the house.

Three Minutes

Three minutes is a great little package of time: perfect for a soft boiled egg and just about right for a pop song too. My friend C. used to have a book (probably still does) called something like "How to Write Pop Songs." I wonder if there was a chapter in that book about song length. In the back of my mind I think that was initially related to the size of a 45 record? Maybe, but it also seems good for attention span with still enough time to develop and repeat a catchy musical theme.

I'm not convinced, however, that three minutes is a good amount of time for a date. Tonight I am signed up to "Speed Date" and can't say I'm looking forward to it. I think three minutes will seem like an eternity with someone I'm not attracted to, not enough time with someone I'm uncertain of, and cruelly short with someone I actually like. The whole process is also degrading and embarrassing to be honest (and what do we do about degrading and embarrassing life experiences in 2010? Write about them on a stupid blog!)

I find myself day dreaming about what I wish I was doing after work tonight: getting a bottle of wine, going home and rolling up the meatballs I'm planning to make, listening to a series of three minute songs, watching the State of the Union address, working on my sewing projects.

That sounds so much better than going to a bar at the Merchandise Mart Holiday Inn to meet a bunch a strangers for three minutes and jot things down on a card in order to remember and vote on them at the end of the night. I'm imaging things like:

Big nose accountant with dog.
Windbag who is impressed with very big pond in his backyard.
Cute if I squint guy who smells like salami.
Bald boob-gawker.

This One is in Technicolor

I did not dream of choir zombies.
I dreamt I invented a new grade of steel wool and was trying to sell the patent to Bill Clinton and Paul Weller.

GaGa for Gathers

Today, during my sewing class, my teacher was listening to Carmina Burana, then Cher, then Lady GaGa. This was the first time I've actually heard Lady GaGa and knew it. It wasn't as bad as I expected but I think I've heard all I need. O Fortuna did seem to inspire me to gathering greatness and my moderate stretch fabric sample garment is coming along nicely. I'm going to have nightmares about these scary blonde choir robots in the front row though ..

Six Year Old Niece

To my great dismay, my almost six year old niece now know the names of all the Jonas Brothers. I blame her classmates.

Life meets Art

I just ran over to Jimmy Johns for lunch.

While I was eating, the kids working the counter had The Wall blaring over the speakers and a mom was having lunch with her maybe 3 year old son at the table next to me. The little boy was racing his Hot Wheels around the table and was aiming right for her giganto-sized soda that was precariously balanced by the table's edge when suddenly she shouted HEY! in unison with the song.

It was so startling that I almost tossed my sandwich up in the air. I managed to hold on but did get a lap full of lettuce. I really hope I don't get mayo stains on my favorite new shirt that I think is very flattering on me if I do say so myself!

*True confession: The little boy was not playing with Hot Wheels. I only wanted him to be playing with Hot Wheels. He had some sort of orange plastic train cargo car and that car with the face from the animated movie that was out a few years ago.

Detroit Rock City

I'm suspicious of men my age who did not dress up like one of the guys from KISS for Halloween at some point in grade school. At the very least they should have fantasized about how cool it would be to walk into 4th grade dressed like Paul Stanley. As far as I'm concerned, the only valid excuse for not dressing up like KISS is that your mom wouldn't let you.



And yes, I do know that any self respecting 9-year-old boy would not select Hard Luck Woman or Beth to represent the musical mastery of KISS. So here's another one that is dedicated to the ladies but perhaps with ample air guitar and devil-finger opportunities to please the young male mind.

Topic of the Day: Benny Hill

Please feel free to search for the Benny Hill theme song and listen to it: you know you can hear it playing in your head right now.

A Little bit of Sam

At the Cut

I've fallen in love with the Vic Chesnutt album At the Cut. I've been listening to of "best of 2009: songs and albums and most of them are leaving me uninspired but I'm so glad I listened to this one. I'm disappointed that I did not go see him at Lincoln Hall on November 5, now I'll never have another chance.

Kornfield County

When I was a kid and Hee Haw was on TV, you would have had to chain me to a chair to make me watch it. This morning I found myself watching old clips and putting some "Best of" in my Netflix queue.

Fluevogs and Fan Letters

My friend A. and I share a love of Fluevog shoes. My absolute favorite pair of black pumps are Fluevog and last autumn I bought some very cute red boots and black boots too. I have a pair of teal Mary Janes and a pair of green and black pumps too.

I have so many pairs because I live about .75 miles away from a Fluevog store. My friend A., on the other hand, lives about 6,314 mile away from the store and has to order boots online. And pay ridiculous shipping fees.

Wondering if I could go get her a pair and ship them cheaper, I did some Google searching. I never found anything really useful but I did find this wonderful question posted to a message board a couple years ago:

I'm mailing a normal sized envelope with 3 sheets of letters on white copy paper (xerox paper) in it.

Is it required to bring it to the Post Office, or can you drop it off at the mail box?

I'm sending a fan letter to my favorite band, but my mom says she doesn't want me to spend money on "such stupid things", and I don't live near a post office. Please help!!!!

I really hope that kid got an autographed photograph from that favorite band and I can't help but wonder who the band was.

Good-bye Little Buddy

I'm taking a moment to recognize the efforts in music put forth by my 5th Generation iPod -- Late 2006, Service Contract Expired.

It keeps jamming up; it's whirring, grinding, and spinning. Tonight, it won't sync anymore but it is valiantly fighting against showing me the iPod face of death.

This iPod went to Japan with me, watched my first episode of Battlestar Galactica with me, and never balked when I wanted to listen to every single version of Cowgirl in the Sand I have, back to back. It suffered the indignity of having *NSYNC O Holy Night loaded on it, and played the STYX that inspired dancing that gave both my friend H. and I whiplash for days after. We played hundreds of games of solitaire on the bus together and listened to Junot Diaz. It was the only portable electronic device not stolen in the great Autumn theft of 2009. I honor you with Nell Carter.

Dancing Pants and Disembodied Limbs

On this snowy, winter day I'm nostalgic for a favorite summertime activity. I have a side project of snapping pictures of disembodied mannequin parts in store-front windows. Taking photos when I wander around the city turns every walk into a safari. I've found lots of hat and wig displays, a bizarre installation of foot powder and diabetic support socks, and the occasional ring model. The best place to look is in the Indian neighborhood up by Devon Street. That is quite a walk from my house and by the time I am there I am also ready for lunch of aloo gobi and saag paneer.

I'm not up for a 10 mile hike in the snow today, but I am meeting a friend for hot chocolate and then a trip to a south side neighborhood with a bunch of fabric stores. I think I'll bring my camera.I don't imagine I'll see many window displays, but I do like rows and rows of fabric bolts and button displays.

Winter = 1, Me = 0

I have a "will call" ticket to see Mucca Pazza tonight.
The sidewalks are icy.
They won't go on until at least 11 and I'm tired.
The bar will be crowded and I'll have to stand around in my winter coat getting all sweaty and hot.

I'm staying home in my soft, warm robe.
Loser.

January 8, part 2

January 8

August 16th is the Elvis date that jumps most readily to mind for me, but today is a big one: 75. I may need to celebrate tonight with a grilled PB and banana which *is* pretty darn good if you haven't tried it. I like my banana sliced rather than mashed. I do remember when Elvis died, though my parents were not big fans. My mother didn't cry, I don't know that she had any comment at all. That would have been the year my parents were getting a divorce and I think she had bigger and more personal sad things on her mind. But I remember the news coverage and all the crying women on TV, waving their pictures of Elvis. I thought they were crazy.

Ten years later, I was working at a thrift store on Gratiot called Value Village. The radio station we listened to at work was playing "All Elvis, All Day, No Interruptions." The customers loved it. They pop in for 30 minutes, buy a few tube tops and broken lamps, and leave. I was there for nine hours and just about went crazy. Elvis has some great stuff but he also has some real smarmy stinkers.

In The Ghetto and Suspicious Minds are my two of my favorites.





That one has some great dancing and audience kissing but I'm not so sure about the "shove it up your nose!"

Why don't I have a commemorative Elvis plate? I think I saw Channel 50 advertisements for those pretty much every day of my life between the ages of 7 and 10. I would love to have one now.

Shooting Fish in a Barrel

I'm in a weird dream phase.

Last night I had one that involved a huge, muddy pit filled with water that was inexplicable clear. People lined the sides of the pit with harpoon guns while a man with a giant, inflatable fin swam back and forth. I didn't have a harpoon gun and asked the guy standing next to me how people could be sure they'd hit the fin and not the guy.

So this morning I listened to Moby Dick while searching the Internet for a song that had the lyrics "shooting fish in a barrel." I didn't find one and I'm pretty disappointed. There must be one out there, right?

I did find a thread with that title at the Gordon Lightfoot forums though. That made me feel a bit better but I won't be satisfied until I get that phrase in a song. It will probably be a country song.

Another Shot of Whiskey

Chatty audience and boring, blurry visual but I do love this song.

So Distant and Obscure

I've been screwed by Baby New Year.
















I just talked to my friend C. and he just got engaged.
When my friend H. was in town she told me that she's moving in with the great guy she met about a week after moving to a new city last year.
My friend J. is out on hot date number 5 with a guy right now.

Me? What did big eared baby 2010 bring me?
A sleazy come-on to go get mussels and have an affair and a message from a guy named "Booblies."

The only thing appropriate for me to do is subject this blog to some really bad songs about being solo.


I think those same lame dancers from the Thin Lizzy show are in the Eric Carmen audience too. I especially love the women in front who seem to think it is wrong to dance or sway during the song and just stand in rapt attention.

For this next one, I'm going to up the ante of bad and use a photo homage video of Kevin Costner. Because when I think of Three Dog Night I know I think of Kevin Costner.


I'm very happy for my friends ... but I'm watching that baby.

I Want to Make it With You

Maybe I had too much caffeine yesterday; maybe it's some sort of bug; or maybe I've had too much screen time and feel computer queasiness. But I think the special treat bagel yesterday morning and the garlic toast I ate with my Caesar salad Friday night have given me the dreaded bread bloat and headache.

No-booze January may have to be no-booze-or-bread January after all. Booze-free January leaves me with a "Aw, that's not fun" feeling but Bread-free January leaves me feeling "What the hell am I supposed to eat!"



One thing is certain, I won't be listening to It Don't Matter to Me, If, and Everything I Own for the next 28 days. Or digging deep into the Bread box. And I definitely won't listen to I Want to Make it With You everyday while mourning my freshed baked goodness sacrifice.

The smarminess of that song, along with the alternate vulgar interpretation of the title that was good for a giggle in middle school, makes me think of another phrase I hate but had not thought about lately until it unexpectedly reared its head in two places this week. The first place was in Body Art, an A.S. Byatt short story for book club that I was already loathing.

She put cold fingers on his lips, and then on his sex, which stirred.

To give you a better idea of why I hated this story so much, that paragraph continues:

He touched her, with a gynaecologist's fingers, gently and found the scar of the ovarectomy, a ring pierced into her navel, little breasts with rings in the left nipple. The piercing repelled him. He thought irrelevantly of the pierced hands of the run-of-the-mill man on the cross.

And then last night, already feeling like the animated belly from a Pepto Bismol commercial, I read a review by Tom Bissell of the novel Season of the Ash by Jorge Volpi. Bissel says:

There are worse things [than hairbrained modernism]to plow into, and they are here too -- for instance, erotic passages almost Victorian in their prim tone: "Eva sat down next to him and ran her fingers over his sex." "Then she laughed wildly and threw herself over my sex." "I emptied another glass of vodka and sank my face into her sex."

I don't have a good alternative for the author who wants an erotic passage in a story. Some terms are too clinical, others too vulgar, and others too childish. I guess we can't always follow Gary Glitter's lead and just say:

There.
There.
You know where.

Whiskey in the Jar-o

Booze-free January has begun. This is not a New Year's resolution, a diet thing or a twelve step program thing (actually, I don't know if "booze free" is part of the 12 steps, I'm guessing it is more of a given as part of the process?) This is an allergy/skin thing. I have mild rosacea and alcohol is a trigger and lately, both beer and bread have been causing me all sorts of distress it is not polite to talk about. So I'm starting with alcohol to see what difference it makes.

Red
Itchy
Hot
Creepy Crawly
Bloated
Spinny
Nauseated
Dehydrated
Paranoid
Depressed
Head Poundy
Lazy

It's hard to believe that with a list of reactions like that I'd be reluctant to give up the fire water, but fire water has a hold. Not only on me but a whole lot of song writers. I was thinking this morning about all the songs about alcohol. In honor of booze-free January, I think I'll do some posts about those songs.

I think Whiskey in the Jar is a good place to start because I love Phil Lynott. In addition to the music, he's one of the coolest looking rock stars out there. He's got the skinny legs and big hair. Few people looked more awesome in the the leather pants. He owned the camera with his dark, soulful eyes or with mirrored glasses.



Thin Lizzy is one of those bands, like the Grateful Dead, that I knew about seemingly forever before I ever know what their music was like. And was really surprised when I heard it. For a long time Thin Lizzy was mostly just a logo patch that older, burnout boys at Macomb Mall wore on their army jackets.

A year or two ago I read a book about Thin Lizzy by Alan Byrne and apparently Phil Lynott hated singing Whiskey in the Jar and was bummed that it was so popular compared to other songs.



That video has some of the best worst squares in the audience dance moves. I also found the audience response and sing along at the very beginning of this Metallica performance in Dublin 2006 really touching.

R.I.P. Phil, wish you had had some booze free Januaries that led to liver and kidney saving life changes.

musha ring dumma do damma da
Whack for my daddy-o
Whack for my daddy-o
There's whiskey in the jar-o

I'm going to pretend

I don't notice that my iPod is making all sorts of loud, spinning noises. The kind of noises I've heard right before my other four iPods have died. Ever since my shuffle was stolen (grrrr) I've been using my big iPod more and taking it out with me. It is getting knocked about more and I don't think it likes it. I can't remember how old this one is and if I can get a new one if it dies. So far, this is the second one I've paid for over fie or six years. I wish they would improve the technology of the iPods with a lot of storage space. They seem to be putting all the effort into little iPods. I don't want to pick 100 songs to carry with me, I want all of them.

New Year's Day

I love New Year's Day.
I did not sign up to do a run this morning like I often do but I am enjoying the morning light and a pot of green tea. I'm looking forward to a day filled with some house cleaning, playing my "25 Things" game (I have to find 25 things in my house to get rid of, going to the gym for a 10 mile run with a playlist filled with cheesy 80s rock and pop songs, finishing a sewing project while listening to better music, and eating Chinese take out.

Choosing the first song of the year to listen to is a big responsibility. I was glad I did not wake up with some annoying and stupid song in my mind. I had a fresh slate to work with. My decision:



And first song with words: