someday my blog will have something to say about this

what i did on my summer vacation pt 2: EDINBURGH days 1 and a half, or, "I hope you die, Sir Walter Scott. AGAIN."

2009-07-07T04:37:00.007+01:00

FIRST! If you are interested in all the yummy food I consumed whilst on vacation, head over to poshdeluxe.com to see tons of pictures/read insightful commentary that consists of "OMG YOU GUYS THIS WAS SO GOOD".

Okay, kids, now we get into the deep, dark underbelly of My Summer Vacation: Scotland.

Here are some facts I knew about Scotland, prior to ever actually visiting it:

1) All Scottish men are tall, ginger-bearded lumberjacks with accents that make me swoon
2) All Scottish men like me

Hey, guess what? That's TOTALLY TRUE, except I should have added Fact Number 3: All of these tall, ginger-bearded lumberjack Scottish men have defected to America. Cause they sure as hell weren't in Scotland.

But I'm getting ahead of myself. Where we left off, I was enjoying a quiet night in with my best girls. Tuesday morning dawned bright and early - Sarah was off to a new job, and Courtney and I were off to Edinburgh!!! Except Courtney left her passport at Sarah's house. Oh noes! But she went back and got it and after a bit of time waiting alone on a train platform with lots of luggage, we were off to Edinburgh!

You guys, I was RLY excited for Scotland. What's not to love? Whiskey! Great scenery! Whiskey! SCOTTISH GINGER BEARDED LUMBERJACKS!

Our train ride to Edinburgh was, for the most part, uneventful, apart from two of our train companions. We shared the first half of the journey with a man who worked in advertising. We know this, because he was on his phone. THE ENTIRE TIME. He was really into "bigging up the package" which I think is actually an advertising term and not a means of getting into our pants. At least I hope so. And then, for the second part of the journey, we sat across from a young gentleman who spent his entire time drinking a 40 oz Budweiser (this was at about 10 am) and poring over, with great concentration, the latest issue of NUTS magazine.

I will not link you to NUTS magazine. Google it if you are so inclined.

Upon landing in Edinburgh, we took a cab to our guest house, which was delightful. Well, it was delightful once Courtney and I figured out how to work the shower, which I am ashamed to admit took us about a day. That's okay! I'd need those cold showers for all those hot Scottish lumberjacks I was going to meet, right?

The first thing we saw when we crossed the North Bridge and walked down Prices Street was this:

Oh, yeah, it looks AWESOME, doesn't it? All gothic and tragic, like something Heathcliff might spend time in, figuring out the next way to be completely mental and stalkerish. Friends, let me give you some advice, and I caution you to heed this advice, unlike that time you dated that boy that I told you was no good for you: DO NOT GO TO THIS PLACE.

This is the Sir Walter Scott monument. Sir Walter Scott, you may know, was a famous Scottish author (he wrote Rob Roy. And Ivanhoe.) who was born in Edinburgh. You may not know, as Courtney and I did not, that Sir Walter Scott also: discovered penicillin, invented the English language, declared peace in the Middle East, was present at the birth of Jesus Christ and did backing vocals for Michael Jackson on both Thriller and Bad. Seriously. Just ask anyone in the town of Edinburgh, provided you can find one who's not actually an American tourist (more on that later). The man basically is more accomplished than Sarah Palin AND Spencer Pratt, TOGETHER.

To honor the pride of Edinburgh, some sadistic bastard designed the Sir Walter Scott monument, which boasts amazing views of Edinburgh in just "287 steps!"

Yeah. They neglect to tell you that THESE are the steps:

Spiral staircase, in the dark (I took that on the highest flash setting I had), no handrail (because it can't afford the 3 inches of space to have one). 287 steps' worth. I had to climb sideways up the staircase because my feet - which, at a size 7.5 aren't petite but certainly aren't WNBA-worthy - couldn't fit on the stairs. The staircase is only wide enough for one medium-sized person, which meant that, if you were climbing up and encountered someone climbing down, you had to back out, step by agonzing step, in the dark, to the nearest landing so that they could pass you.

Did I mention I'm claustrophobic?

Needless to say, Courtney and I bitched the entire way up the damn thing. The views were amazing, but when we finally got to the top, we were disappointed that the theme from Rocky was not playing to herald our accomplishment. So we sang it ourselves. Blame the altitude.

Also while at the top, which is a very small balcony which can fit about 5 adults, we ran into a slight problem. Small balcony, already crowded with about six people shoulder-to-shoulder. Courtney and I decided to brave our way down, only to find, spilling from the staircase, a herd of Japanese tourists. They just kept coming, like a clown car that is incredibly reliable and won't break down often. There was nowhere to go until they got out of the staircase and I really thought - for at least a good two minutes - that someone was going to end up being pitched off the balcony. I just hoped the impalement on the gothic spires would be merciful.

But, since we didn't die, I guess I'm feeling magnanimous enough about The Momument Of Death to show you some of the views:

(they are in the middle of installing a tram system in Edinburgh - in the last photo you can see them tearing up Princes Street to the right)

Yes, yes. It's very pretty. VERY PRETTY AND DEADLY.

The rest of the first day, we mainly spent rocking ourselves, slowly curled up in the fetal position, moaning WHY over and over again. As you do. We also found out about a really great, cheap vacation we could take:

Also, a random, if entirely misplaced, reminder of home:

I don't think they know who Daniel Johnston is.

The next day, we met up with Courtney's friend Rachel for more hijinks and fun! We went to a castle!!! THERE WAS WHISKEY THERE.

Look! Here is a castle!! Courtney and I decided that we would make shit soldiers in the Olden Days, cause there's no way we'd scale that cliff. (if you are wondering, army recruiters, we'd make shit soldiers now cause we are lazy, feckless, question authority and are not all that fussed about patriotism. And cause we like the gays.)

A tiny dog cemetery, for officers' doggies!

(thank you, helpful stranger, who provided scale for this picture)

I should point out, by the way, that the helpful stranger pictured above was American. As was 99.9999% of every other person I met in Edinburgh. I met one - ONE! - person who actually was from the city - the rest either moved there or were tourists. I even saw someone wearing a University of Houston hat! (and, yes, I thought about shooting him the UH signal, which is conveniently also the Shocker, but I didn't know how popular the Shocker was in Edinburgh, and whether I'd get arrested for it.)

I don't mean to get all Common People on you, and class tourism isn't my thing, but I do like to get a sense of the city I'm visiting. I want to know where people live, where they work, where they play, and eat, and make trouble and fall in love. I want to know how the city lives. Edinburgh's probably the prettiest city I've ever been to, but in the end, I felt like I was spending time in a postcard, not a place.

But nevermind those emos, because look what the postcard had:

I feel like the Kool-Aid man - OH YEAHHH. Although, wanna know something funny about Scotland? They're confused about booze. Or, maybe we are, since they make it. But it seems like they call whiskey "scotch" and scotch "whiskey." In other words, distilled, single-malt grain alcohol, which I would call scotch, they consider whiskey. But good ol' Tennessee rye, they call scotch. It's the alcohol equivalent of UK's public school vs. private school (which, no matter how many times people explain it to me, WILL NEVER MAKE SENSE). But I tell you, it is a delicious quandry!

Oh, by the way, if ever you find yourself in Edinburgh, and you wisely refrain from climbing Sir Walter Scott's Monument Of Pain, you can get just as good views of Edinburgh from the castle, which contains ABSOLUTELY NO CLIMBING (apart from one hill, but it's very spacious):

After our castle tour (I saw Scotland's Crown Jewels! But they didn't let us take photos of that), Courtney and I said goodbye to our lovely host Rachel and went on to AN EVENING OF TERROR AND DOGGIES. But that shall be saved for next time . . .

what i did on my summer vacation, pt 1: we can sleep when we're dead

2009-06-28T17:19:00.005+01:00

Having just returned from two weeks in the UK, where the daily highs might have struggled up to about 73 degrees F, and more often dipped low enough to warrent a jacket and my new scarf that has people doin' it on it, returning to Texas and 106 degree days has not been pleasant. I already miss the people and public transpo and easy availability of Magners and sandwiches from shops; I don't need to mourn the weather as well. Get it together, Texas; this is ridiculous.

Guys!!! I was just in the UK with my heterosexual life partner, Courtney! For two weeks! It was the best vacay evs! Or at least the best vacay this year, which still counts for a lot in my book. Let me tell you ALL ABOUT IT (edited for content) using lots of abbreviated words in capital letters to properly convey my excitement! LET'S GET STARTED, SHALL WE?

Right, so, before I talk about actually going overseas, I need to pretend that I got to Courtney's house earlier than I did (which was approx. 10 minutes before we left for the airport) so that I can talk about Tiny House, which is the house she just bought. Last time I saw Tiny House, I forgot my camera, so here you go - pictures of Tiny House!

I know; it's so fucking awesome it makes me want to puke. COURTNEY. What are you doing working at a job helping other people with their life choices and shit? You should be DECORATING MY HOUSE.

Okay, anyway, MOVING ON.

As I said, I got to Courtney's at about ten minutes before we were to leave for the airport, which was just enough time to get mocked for my heavy suitcase and my umbrella snd see Courtney's new hot neighbor. Why are all my neighbors old dudes with poodles? Anyway, then it was off to the airport!

The flight to London was a bit disorienting. First, I unwillingly participated in a Campaign of Terror that Courtney orchestrated against some poor, innocent family who just wanted to sit together (this is a joke - I willingly participated in it, of course) and then I had to sit through Last Chance Harvey. Um, has anyone ever actually WATCHED that movie from start to finish? It's not sweet and romantic and uplifting! Dustin Hoffman stalks poor gigantic Emma Thompson all around London for like three days! Moping the ENTIRE FUCKING TIME. I told Courtney that it was a good thing airlines only used plastic utensils now, because if I had a knife right then, I'd have started self-harming.

Then, while innocently trying to get some sleep (there's nothing I hate more than taking sleeping pills and then NOT getting to sleep, so that you hover in this semi-conscious fugue state the entire time, in which you are like 99% sure that you're carrying on a rational, intelligent conversation with a three-legged purple-spotted horned beast who has the same face as your fifth grade gym teacher, but you can't remember what the conversation is about), I kept being awoken by the second film of the evening, Speed Racer. Dude. One does not need to see quite so many flashing lights (not to mention John Goodman and a monkey) behind one's eyeballs while trying in vain to sleep. What the hell, American Airlines? Couldn't you have at least shown a Soderbergh film? He hates color.

But! We arrived in London AND my luggage didn't get lost AND I didn't have to try to sleep for 4 hours on a bench in baggage claim waiting for my friend to get there because I couldn't catch my original flight and had to sprint across JFK with no posessions to try to hop another one, like the LAST TIME I went to England, so things were looking up!! As we were walking through the duty free shop at Heathrow (they are some clever bitches, those guys) on our way our of our terminal, Courtney and I remarked how much we'd both wanted, just once, to be greeted with a sign upon our arrival. And then we caught sight of a just-returned-from-Turkey Sarah, and her hand:

Aw, Sarah, thanks!!!

Sarah was the hostess with the mostest this trip; she and her parents graciously put us up in their wonderful house and let us generally annoy the crap out of them, for which I can only say thank you (later followed with actually saying thank you with a gift, or my mother would disown me). Plus, dig the views from my window!

There are worse sites to greet in a morning, I'm just sayin'.

Immediately upon arrival to Sarah's, I insisted we go down to the shop at the end of her lane. This shop is kinda like my second home - it's where I get my cans of Magners and my fizzy colas and an explaination as to why girls can't eat Yorkies and, more importantly, where I can consume myself. In sandwich form.

Oh, yeah, I have a sandwich named after me, folks:

Sausage, cheese and mushroom on a buttered baguette. It is named after me because I invented it (as much as it can be called inventing to say, "could I have . . . cheese on this?" which means I have also invented practically every other food item I have consumed in my 29 years of life, as I am a girl who will put cheese on everything. Except apple pie. What IS that?). The lady at the shop who makes the sandwiches questioned why ANYONE would put cheese on a perfectly normal sausage and mushroom breakfast sandwich, and then eat it for lunch, but I am here to ask: why would anyone NOT do that? Anyway, after a bit of mild mocking, she agreed the sandwich should be named after me. SO. If you are ever in a town called St Albans, call me, and I will tell you where to order an Erin. (no jokes about prostitution, plz.)

After consuming myself in sandwich form, Courtney and I washed the travel grime off of us and headed into town for a wander.

The wander turned, as these things are apt to do with Sarah and Courtney around, into shopping (I got a black sequined vest from H&M. I know, you want to touch me.), which then turned, as things are apt to do when I'm around, into drinking. Thank you, good ol' Slug and Lettuce, and your 3 pound cocktails on Fridays.

(I am convinced that a Pimm's Cup is actually good for you. Look at all that fresh fruit and veg!)

Sarah's bestie Sha and her boyfriend Russ met up with us, and it was off to yummy dinner at Bar Meze! Only I have promised Posh Sarah that I will write up about all the yummy food I ate for poshdeluxe.com, so YOU GUYS WILL JUST HAVE TO WAIT. But to tide you over, here are photos:

(apart from having the exact same hair, sha and russ also drink in unison. it is disconcertingly adorable.)

you know all those "scientific" studies that say people are attracted to symmetrical features? i am attracted to people who look like they're mated with a bottle of wine.

OKAY OKAY, I snuck one food picture in. I just like how it looks like something Dexter would enjoy eating.

It was the perfect way to spend our first evening in England - good food, good friends, lots of laughs (and, randomly, birthdays) and, eventually, the sweet siren song of a soft bed, with the windows open and the sound of quiet peace drifting in.

Of course, the next day, things would not end so peacefully.

The day started out like any other good Saturday - waking up, taking a shower, getting dressed, stealing a scone from Sarah's kitchen (except her mom had baked those to have someone over for tea, so I felt really bad about it even as I was OM NOM NOMMING its cheese and chive deliciousness), and then heading off for MOAR SHOPPING.

(I sometimes wonder what would happen if I was lucky enough to live near Cat and Sarah and Courtney, my Friends Who Shop. I'd be happier but so much more poverty-stricken than I already am. On the other hand, I'd have an outfit for every day of the decade.)

Sarah took us to a MALL. An honest-to-God, actual mall! Well, sort of. I mean, it was as mall-like as England could shoot for, which meant that it was completely randomly laid out, and there was a Marks and Spencer in the middle of it, and it didn't seem to make much in the way of sense, but there was a parking garage! And cheesy music piped in! And a Ben and Jerry's vending machine! All it was missing was a Contempo Casual and more camel toe.

Shopping done, wallets depleted of funds, we returned home to offload our purchases and change for a peaceful, calm night out in Shoreditch. Which turned, as these things tend to do, into mild drunken debauchery and me making a boy cry. SCORE.

First of all, we had to leg it to the train, which left us charmingly sweaty and gross, with only my litre of Magners to rehydrate us on the journey. Then we sort of got . . . lost. Well, no, that's not a fair or accurate statement. I knew right where we were! We were in Shoreditch, in Mile End. I just wasn't sure where we were going . . . exactly. Along the way to Rough Trade East (our eventual destination), we were: leered at by a carful of absolutely CHARMING chavs, videotaped by a seemingly homeless man, beseeched to purchase the fugliest purse I have ever laid eyes on (for just 5 pounds!), and stopped routinely and asked for directions to other places. Which, I might add, we were quite good at giving because I KNOW WHERE I AM JUST NOT WHERE I'M GOING. Which could probably be said of every aspect of my life.

But finally, we made it to our destination, and the drinking began in earnest. can I just say? It wasn't mine and Sarah's faults. We'd barely eaten lunch (half a sandwich from M&S) and this was all we'd eaten for dinner:

And the rest of it ended up lost somewhere in all of this:

which was merely the start of the evening and does not take into account the three bottles of wine, nor the gin. Nor the whiskey.

Whilst at Rough Trade, I met some of Courtney's english friends! They were all in a big group and I only remember, like, 4 of their names, but HELLO FRIENDS!!!!!! Hi!

After we'd sat around Rough Trade some, it was on to 93 ft East, just a block away, to meet up with one of my favorite London people, Kaisa!! HI KAISA!!

Hi! Hi Kaisa! Yes, I know she doesn't look nearly as thrilled as I do, but trust me, for Kaisa, she's practically doing backflips. She's cool as cucumber, that one. (Also, I *wish* I would stop making that face in pictures. Or, you know, in life.)

The band we had been planning on seeing that evening were the Gin Riots, who were featured a few posts down, one of our SxSW finds. But, alas, they cancelled because the lead singer had laryngitis (so they claim!), and instead we just sat and caught up and drank more. Also, during this time, one of the other bands from the evening tried to befriend us. With their tongues. As you do. They were 12, so I suppose that was my chance to be a cougar!! Alas.

Kaisa suggested we blow that popsicle stand for some dancing, an idea to which I was only too happy to agree. So she took us to good ol' Feeling Gloomy, a club night in North London.

Let me explain something about Feeling Gloomy. If you have ever thought to yourself, "Self, what I could really go for, to get the party started, is The Smiths" then, friend, Feeling Gloomy is the club night for you! And, as it happens, I think that to myself all the time, so I think I could be quite happy there on a regular basis. (apart from it all, though, I don't think I've ever been anywhere that such a loud cheer went up during the first opening strains of "Heaven Knows I'm Miserable Now.")

Some things to note about Feeling Gloomy:

1) one of the DJs was an unwarrented prick to me, just cause I knew someone who knew someone who he used to date at one point, sometime in the past. I wouldn't have cared, EXCEPT that he had a really nice coat on, and I wanted to ask him where he'd bought it.
2) Some people were dressed like this:

3) I made lovely, whiskey-fueled bonds with strangers. Like this boy! And the blonde girl!

4) I met the elusive Becs, Kaisa's American friend who ALWAYS ends up at the same shows as me at sxsw, but we've NEVER BEFORE MET.
5) I made a boy cry by mocking his Doors tribute band. But come on, wouldn't you?

Saturday night ended in a drunken blur, with dancing and girl-crushing and a few ill-advised make-out sessions with strangers. So, basically, it ended like most Saturday nights. ONLY IN ENGLAND.

However, what really did me in was the hangover the next morning. Um, I guess cider+beer+wine+gin+whiskey is not the world's best combo? I have never been so hungover IN MY LIFE. And you guys, not to brag or anything, but I am a pretty seasoned drinker. I mean, I am southern, and my family is Irish, and I drink to forget my problems, so it's not like I haven't been around the block a time or two with Ol' Mister Hangover. But holy jeez, never like this.

It would have been okay - not great, but tolerable - if I were at home, where the proper hangover cure (2 mimosas + 3 tylenol + a hot shower + breakfast tacos + a nap) is always at hand, but I was in a foreign land! And I had plans! So I got up, only an hour or two later than I'd hoped, attempted not to wake the household with my moaning or stumbling while I attempted to navigate the bathtub (too weak to stand, and I thought dizziness + shower might cause a head injury which I would at first laugh off and then later die from (RIP Billy Mays)). Plus, I was going to spend the day with my friend Pete, and I wasn't missing that for a stupid hangover, even if it was a hangover which threatened to CONSUME MY SOUL.

Dude, though, an hour and a half on trains, hungover? NOT RECOMMENDED.

Pete, bless him, took pity on me and didn't make me do anything strenuous, or which required me to form much in the way of sentences or complex thoughts. He took me to Box Hill, which overlooks some of the towns in Surrey. YOU GUYS IT IS SO PRETTY. Check it:

Can you believe that people LIVE here and can see this basically whenever they want? I can't believe I KNOW someone who lives here and can see this whenever he wants! If I lived near Box Hill, you could not get me to do anything productive, ever. I would just sit on the hill all day, dreaming and pondering and stretching out in the sun for a nap, like a cat. I would not do things like work, certainly, and I would tell all my friends that if they wanted to hang out with me, they'd have to come up to my hill. And you know what? I think they'd be cool with that.

Then we went on a walk through bits of the woods, and came across discoveries, like this awesome tree and this even more awesome tombstone:

If I were to be buried (which I sincerely hope I will not be), I am not sure I'd like to be buried head down. How can you protect yourself against SUPRIZE BUTTSECKS that way? Backs to the core, gentlemen!

After I had run out of exclamatory words about the scenery (which I mostly said in my head, cause, again: hungover), we went to dinner, which will of course be discussed in more detail at poshdeluxe. However, I will say that at this dinner, I was questioned by the waiter as to whether I was a food critic, because I was taking photos of my food:

Waiter: "I was just wondering, are you a food critic?"
Me: "No, I am just taking photos of all the food I eat."
Waiter: "Why?"
Me: "So I can write about it."
Waiter: "As a . . . food critic?"

Eventually, Pete explained to the confused waiter that I was American, at which point, our waiter nodded knowingly, as if that explained EVERYTHING. Hmph.

By this point, I was starting to feel mildly better, although still not at all recovered, so I was a little grateful that it was a Sunday night and we couldn't get up to too much trouble with alcohol. Still, I threatened to pass out on Pete's couch in the middle of conversation at least three times, something which I bet he wishes I'd gone through with when I was making him watch Bonnie Tyler's Eighties Power Hour on MTV later in the evening. (You cannot argue with Bonnie Tyler, though! Primarily because she will CUT YOU SOON AS LOOK AT YOU.)

The next day was Monday, and I returned back to Sarah's, where we took an ambling stroll around the fields and parks next to her home. We were menaced by sheep!

Oh, I know they LOOK cute and fluffy, but a Mama Sheep stared us down for like ten minutes, before Sarah and I calmly but quickly made our way out of the field. Dude, sheep are scary mofos.

You know who's not scary, though? Bernard, the best doggy of casual acquaintance that I've ever met!

Look how pretty and well-behaved he is! He sat perfectly still (and regally!) for a picture, before returning to his previous task of fetching sticks.

The parks and flowers around Sarah's house were so gorgeous and peaceful, and I was regretting leaving them at all. Maybe I could split my time between Box Hill and St Albans' lakes.

After our stroll, we met up with Sarah's big sister Becky (who is the same age as me, which doesn't make her that much older than Sarah) and her daughter Ellis-Rose and, later, Courtney for nibbly bits from Sainsburys, Big Brother UK and talking about boys! It was one of my favorite parts of the trip, actually, just sitting there gossiping about life, eating garlic bread and chips and other crap food, and just relaxing in the company of funny, awesome ladies. The perfect end to the first part of our trip!

Section 2 of the trip, in which we visit a Scottish town in which no Scottish person lives, plus the unending ire for Sir Walter Scott, next time. See you then!

Top Ten Things I'm Going To Do On My Summer Vacation

2009-06-04T03:12:00.004+01:00

AAH!! Summer vacation (England and Scotland) is in 7.5 days!! THAT IS NOT EVEN ENOUGH TIME FOR THE BEATLES TO LOVE ME CORRECTLY.

The week before a vacation is always the most stressful time for me, personally. On the one hand, I AM READY FOR MY VACATION!! GIMME MY VACATION ALREADY! On the other hand, I have tons of work to finish and laundry to sort out and cat food to make in bulk and a house to clean and trying to figure out whether bringing 8 pairs of shoes for a 13 day trip is a bit ridiculous. (Definitely not! I have to bring the coral sandals!)

When vacation stress overwhelms me, it's good to stop, breathe, and list things I can't wait to do. But who can pick just ten things? So here are just ten off the top of my head!

1) See blog contributors Sarah and Anne!!! Sarah's nicely offered the use of her house to Courtney and I, which she will start to regret when we miss the last train from King's Cross station and have to sit on the platform for hours at 4 am, just us and the rats. Just like last time.

2) SAUSAGE AND MUSHROOM SANDWICH!!! So, Sarah's got a little shop just down the road from her (awesome) house, and they serve sandwiches there. But not just any sandwiches! Sausage, mushroom and cheese sandwiches! They're flippin' delicious, folks, and will be the first thing I consume upon arrival.

3) MAGNERS. I may not drink anything that isn't Magners for the entire two weeks.

4) Renting a car and driving with Courtney through Scotland, on a search for Scotland's Most Accessible Whiskey Distillery. If you are at all interested in any of my worldly goods, I would recommend that you put in the request now, cause it's fair bet we're never getting back. Um, the Loch Ness Monster doesn't eat tourists, right? Even if they drive their car into the lake?

5) Apart from Accessible Whiskey Distilleries (that is actually how the place is billed), Scotland is also famed for: gorgeous scenery, delicious fruits of the forest and bearded men what look like lumberjacks. Even if I manage to make it out alive, I might not come back. (Note: It also is home to Gretna Green, which is still used by people looking to elope quickly, just like in Pride and Prejudice!)

6) Gigs! So far, I think we're going to . . . four? Five? SxSW buddies The Gin Riots, Jamie T in Scotland (most noteworthy for being the baffled yet gracious recipient of a basket of fries I didn't want to eat, thus thrusting them at him on the streets of Austin during SxSW 2007. They were really good fries, too. Truffle oil.), a comedy gig featuring the adorable and acerbic Simon Amstell, amongst others, and a gig/party with A Bunch Of People Who Are Not Pete Doherty, and also Pete Doherty. And maybe also a festival! Who knows?

7) GORDON RAMSEY. Okay, well, not him, personally, but Courtney and I are eating at one of his restaurants!!! I hope he's there and comes out to call me a fucking donkey cause I can't do the pea risotto correctly. I HOPE I HOPE I HOPE.

8) The weather. Oh, what's that, weather.com? Highs in the upper 60s/low 70s? (Compared to here, where the lows are in the mid-70s)? WHAT WHAT. If summer weather was like that here, I'd never stay indoors.

9) Seeing all my friends! By virtue of them being in England, and me being here, I don't get to see my across-the-pond friends nearly as often as I would like. I can't wait to experience that little feeling I get deep in my chest when I'm around them, like the last tumbler falling into place on a lock. Whether it's getting legless and wandering the streets without a clue as to our direction, or shopping and mocking the latest hipster fashions, quiet nights in front of the telly while I passionately argue the artistic merit of ASBO Teen To Beauty Queen or adventures that may wind up plastering our faces on the cover of the tabloids, the quality time I spend with the people I love is the best part.

10) Having "Vacation Brain" for a few weeks, where everything around me is a tiny miracle - watching leaves blow across a street, or the glint of sun against a building's windows; the sound of laughter from a stranger, the rise of hills and twists of roads, all building this whole new world just waiting for me to discover it and make it my own. Those fleeting moments are worth all the stress in the world.

Alien vs. Predator vs. Alien vs. Predator

2009-06-03T02:41:00.003+01:00

Yes, yes, I know, I know. Let's skip the part where I say something about how long it's been since I've written in this blog, and then offer up excuses, and then make a lame joke about how it won't happen again, only for it to then happen again like a week later. Let us instead fast-forward straight into content! Or what content I can conjure being OMG YOU GUYS SO STRESSED AND BUSY BLAH BLAH BLAH PROCRASTINATION CAKES.

The long and gentle spring that Mother Nature somehow saw fit to bless Texas with this year is over now, and the thick soup of Southern air and melting tar from a scorching sun have come on with a vengeance to remind me yet again to rethink my migratory patterns. (Why can't I get any company to sponsor a long journey North in the summer months? Maybe as part of a cultural exchange?) The only activities for which I can summon any energy at all are sendentary ones - reading countless trashy summer novels interspersed with Fitgerald and Eudora Welty (two novelists best suited for long summer days), watching So You Think You Can Dance from the laziness of my couch, moaning about my troubled and ill-fated life to Sven, the Swedish pool boy, as he delicately fans me with palm fronds. And watching movies, of course.

The only two things about summer that I love are vacations and the movie schedule. The vacation is rapidly approaching and stressing me out, so let's switch attentions to summer movies! Some of these I have seen in the theatre lately, some I watched at home (read: knew they'd be crap and refused to pay for them when they came out), but they're all the latest I've seen (for the first time. endless rewatchings of Step Up 2:The Streets do not count).

X-MEN ORIGINS: WOLVERINE

You guys. YOU GUYS. Man, this movie sucked. Like . . . REALLY sucked. And before you ask, no, I am not a comic book nerd. I don't even like comic books. And I don't care how faithful an adaptation a comic book movie is. All I want from a comic book movie is Shit Blowing Up, and maybe some awesome ninja skillz. And I guess Wolverine had that, but it also had:

1) terrible fight choreography. How many times must we watch Wolverine and Sabretooth yell ARGH at each other and then run at one another from across a distance (filmed from above, always)? Why not a fight where someone gets punched in the balls? There's a movie I'd like to see.

2) An incomprehensible plot. Why is Wolverine angry? I don't know, but he seems to be, a lot. Why is there A Random Elderly Couple whose sole purpose is to put clothes on Hugh Jackman's naked body, thereby negating the first interesting thing to happen in this shitty movie? Why is Liev Schreiber so mad? Is it because the last time he and Hugh were in a movie together, it was Kate & Leopold, which somehow becomes A BETTER MOVIE just by comparison to this? (note: I imdb'd Liev just to ensure that it was him in Kate & Leopold, and not Liam Neeson - long story, I get them confused sometimes - and realized he was in all three Scream movies. Well, not so much "realized" as "grudgingly remembered." ALSO from his imdb credits, I've realized that Liev Schreiber has not been in one movie I like. Not one! Which is weird, cause prior to this, I always really liked him. I must have been thinking of Liam Neeson.)

3) EGREGIOUS MISUSE OF TIM RIGGINS AND RYAN REYNOLDS. You know what would have made this movie awesome? If it had been called Tim Riggins: The Tim Riggins Story, starring Tim Riggins' Abs and Also Ryan Reynolds.

4) Adamantium. I am so fucking sick of adamantium after watching this movie, and not two months earlier, I was semi-drunkenly lobbying my friends to agree with my theory that adamantium was the world's best adjective. (My friends, being comic book nerds, disagreed on the basis that adamantium is actually a noun. However, I think the word is powerful enough to swing both ways.) How can Wolverine be killed by adamantium bullets? You don't kill humans with flesh bullets.

STAR TREK

Oh, hey? You know what DIDN'T SUCK? STAR TREK OMG. I am not a fan of Star Trek, the series(es), (I had to ask "which one does William Shatner play?" and kept referring to Spock as Dr. Spock, who wrote books about child-rearing and did not, far as I can tell, have Zachary Quinto's eyebrows) but you know what I am a fan of? Clever storytelling, compelling acting, kick-ass action sequences and Simon Pegg. So this movie TOTALLY DELIVERED! I really enjoyed the way they've set up the new franchise, and the movie wove a layered story and complex characterizations through some pretty awesome action sequences/fight scenes, really funny and poignant moments, and Winona Ryder in a wig. A+, I say.

DRAG ME TO HELL

BFF and frequent blog commenter Meredith has started an AMAZING horror movie blog where, amongst other things, she reviews new releases. So on we hied to the Friday opening night of Sam Raimi's newest movie, Drag Me To Hell. Meredith's the expert, so go read her blog for an actual review, but my own thought process went something like this:

oohprettyladycrazygypsyahhcoughingahhpleadingtoughchoices
oohJustinLongwhattheeffohmygodkickasseeestapleswhatthefuckahhhhh
oohbeardyprettyhouseahhhhhkittynonononobadbadahhheeheeheenoick
everyoneknowsgypsiesdon'thavehousesahhhnostopnooo
thankgodmeredithislettingmeholdherhandcauseiamfreakingoutrightnow
nonoawesomefuckyeshellnofuckyes!!!!

In English? GO SEE THIS MOVIE RIGHT NOW. It was so good; it completely delivered on everything it set up, it did not fall back on any sort of "safe" territory, and it was completely gruesome and funny and schlocky and horrifying and AMAZING. I'm not saying I like it better than the Evil Dead trilogy, but by the time I saw the Evil Dead trilogy, it was already an Established Cool Thing, which means that there were 10000 references to it, in-jokes, etc. That sort of divorces you from the immediacy of the thrills (plus, I think Drag Me To Hell is scarier. Evil Dead is more Awesomely Badass and Totally Wrong, but DMtH is scarier.); for me the ED trilogy is more a Cult Phenomenon That Can Be Scary, rather than A Scary Movie That Is A Cult Phenomenon. If you understand the difference?

What I loved best about Drag Me To Hell, apart from the awesome set direction in the lead character's house, was that Sam Raimi never fell back on the "It was just her imagination" horror film trope. The reason modern-day slasher flicks don't do much for me is that they are 90% fake-outs and 10% actual scares, which means that by the time the actual scares come around, I'm so over it. DMTH is 100% actual scares. If there is a funny noise coming from behind the door, it is because A DEMON IS WAITING BEHIND THE DOOR AND HE WANTS TO EAT YOUR SOUL. Not because the wind has blown through the curtains in an offbeat way. It was IMMENSE.

Know what is not so immense?

He's Just Not That Into You

LORD. The other night I decided to watch this movie (which I totally legally purchased, I swear, officer), because it has approximately 62% of Hollywood's entire acting force in it. And guess what? Imagine ALL of the bad movies those actors have ever been in (I have helpfully listed some below) and then combine them. AND THEN MULTIPLY BY A FACTOR OF GLITTER, STARRING MARIAH CAREY. And you have this shitty, shitty movie.

Here are things I have learned from watching this movie:

1) I am a lady. This means that I am a prudish*, stalking freak of nature who is obsessed either with Getting Married, Having A Baby or my MySpace Profile. (if you are keeping track, in actuality I am obsessed with: baking the perfect cupcake, Jamesons, dance parties, indie music and winning the lottery, so that I can afford to jet-set around the world with multiple romantic intrigues.)

*unless I am a scheming tramp like ScarJo, in which case I lead poor men astray after yoga classes and wind up alone and sad, because I have reached the ripe ol' age of 25 without getting married.

2) Baltimore must have the lowest Standard Of Living costs of any city in the world. Bar managers have gorgous, spacious lofts! Copy Writers can afford tons of cute, designer clothes! Jennifer Connolly has enough disposable income to basically trash her gigantic turn-of-the-century townhome with adjoined courtyard in a fit of pique!

3) Men are liars and manipulators who are only after tail. Oh. HOW I WISH THIS WERE TRUE. Someone should write a movie called "He's So Into You, He's Going To Cry On The Second Date And Talk About How He's Never Felt So Connected To Anyone Before." It can star 98% of the men I've ever dated.

4) If you are psychotically stalkerish enough, TRUE LOVE WILL COME TO YOU. Jesus, it's like this movie's been penned by Edward Cullen. Note to Hollywood: we do not need stalking to become MORE glamorized. Hasn't Say Anything done enough? Must we continue on in this ridiculous notion that if someone says they are not interested, it actually just means THEY WANT TO BE PURSUED? They wanna know what love is, baby, and they want you to show them.

(That leads me to the excellent Psychotic Letters From Men, which amused/sickened me this weekend.)

More movie reviews (including Up! and Harry Potter!) as I see them. For now I'll try to remember that I do actually have a life, such as it is, and try to commit those events to words. Possibly more often than once a financial quarter.

Thoughts on any summer movies you've seen?

Movies In Which Actors In HJNTIY Starred Which Were A Bit Shit:

Ginnifer Goodwin - Mona Lisa Smile. Julia Roberts. Julia Stiles. Kirsten Dunst. First Wave Feminism. ENOUGH SAID.

Kevin Connolly - THE NOTEBOOK. Oh, okay, fine. He's also in The Ugly Truth, which is a romantic comedy starring Katherine Heigl, and I hate her, so.

Scarlett Johansson - Remember when ScarJo was in Ghost World? Good times. Remember when she was in The Island, Scoop, The Prestige, Nanny Diaries and The Other Boleyn Girl? Not so good times.

Bradley Cooper - it pains me to say this, because I love Bradley Cooper like a fat girl loves cake, but: Failure To Launch.

Justin Long - I'd love to give him a pass, cause I love Justin Long, even though I'm a PC. But he was in Herbie: Fully Loaded AND voiced Alvin in the Alvin and the Chipmunks CGI atrocity.

Ben Affleck - Did you know his middle name was Geza? As for bad movies, see: pretty much his entire CV.

Jennifer Aniston - Where to start? From US Weekly to People to the Enquirer, Aniston has starred in one of the shittiest movies around, "Why Angelina Jolie Is A Scheming Slag Who Stole My Husband." Also: Picture Perfect.

Drew Barrymore - Oh, Drew. I can't hate you. You're too cute! and even your bad movies, like Poison Ivy, are amazing. But still, I'm not sure even you can defend Beverly Hills Chihuahua.

Busy Phillips - did you know she was in this movie? I forgot, too. Her best movie is, of course, The Smokers, a movie notable for inspiring this review: ". . . 30 minutes into the film I found myself in great sympathy of those animals who gnaw their legs off to escape a trap." If you haven't seen it, you totally should, but invite me along. It is my favorite Bad Movie of all time.

music: Sharon Jones and the Dap-Kings - 100 Days, 100 Nights

"a backstreet lullaby"

2009-03-26T04:02:00.003Z

SXSW Day 2 (Thursday) dawned bright and early. Too bright and too early, thanks to the giant window in my hotel room which, because I am lame, did not have the curtains closed. Actually, I didn't close the curtains once during the entire week, and while that may seem pretty dumb, I sort of think if someone has a telescope trained specifically on the window of 603 at the Embassy Suites, they can see whatever they'd like.

Armed with a mimosa-to-go, Courtney and I decided we wanted Actual Food. A few years ago at south by, I came up with a new rule: must consume one sit-down meal a day. Preferably with something green in it. Man cannot live by Roppolo's alone. So we ate at the fairly new (I think? Wasn't there last time I drove by it) tex-mex restaurant near 4th and Lavaca. I had ceviche! Which, as you may very well know, is a biological imperative to keep my body functioning at optimum levels of contentment.

After that, Courtney really wanted to go down to Trophy's, on So Co, to see The Gin Riots perform. So off we went!

A quick note on Trophy's: They had no cold dos equis. This is of course a travesty. I mean, it was okay, there was Shiner 100, but MY GOD, PEOPLE. This is Texas. WE HAVE A REP TO PROTECT. No dos equis is like a tex mex restaurant saying, "Sorry, we ran out of queso." It just shouldn't happen.

The band playing before The Gin Riots was a band called Here Holy Spain. I do not understand from whence their title springs. I have nothing at all to report on them, except that they SEEM nice, even if their look didn't exactly match their sound. It was sort of like watching the musical equivalent of drinking water. I don't mean that in a rude way. Water is important. They just did nothing for me.

But the next act, London's The Gin Riots, certainly did. You guys, this band is sheer fun. I'd heard their single, "The Polka" before, and it's a fun, dance-worthy tune. So it came as a nice treat that the rest of their set was just as fun and dance-worthy. Courtney, in fact, did dance. I mostly took photos. Can you blame me? These boys are pretty:

The lead singer, Guy, has a sort of Elvis Presley-meets-Mark Bolan swagger,which I realize is giving him far too much credit as it stands now. But he was a pleasure to watch. And the members of the band were a pleasure to speak to, which Courtney and I did after their set. The conversation quickly jumped from "nice to meet you; are you enjoying Austin?" to an in-depth discussion about the last cycle of America's Next Top Model and the rape of dead squirrels. I would like to say that this is an unusual turn of events, but to be honest, it happens to me a lot.

Here is a video of them performing "The Polka" which doesn't really doesn't show their stage presence very well, but is good quality:

After we left Trophy's, it was time for that most sacred of So Co traditions: cupcakes. I actually didn't go to Sugar Mama's that day (IKNOW, I KNOW. But don't worry, that's coming.) but rather just skipped across the road to Hey Cupcake:

Later on in the week, I was walking down Sixth street with a British person I had met, and we happened by the Hey Cupcake trailer, and he said "everything that's wrong with america can be summed up by the idea of a travelling cupcake caravan." That is a stone-cold true statement, if you replace the word "wrong" with the word "amaaaazing." I wish Sugar Mama's had a travelling cupcake caravan. And that it would travel to my office.

Sugar in our bellies, Courtney and I ventured onwards and upwards, back to downtown. The plan was to go to Latitude and see Frank Turner perform. Frank Turner is a British singer/songwriter, notable (for me, anyway) for having a song called "Thatcher Fucked The Kids." I enjoy songs which are both political AND about ol' Mags, so I knew I'd like Frank Turner. Except he didn't play the song! What the eff, Mr Turner?

Here is a photo of Frank Turner, and Courtney:

Why are you doing that with your hand, Frank Turner? You're not cute enough to get away with douchebaggery. Pretty much no one is.

At Latitude, before Frank Turner's set, Courtney and I happened to meet a SuperFan for a man who was playing guitar for Frank Turner. (Like many overseas solo musicians, Turner hired a local band to perform backup.) Constantly bordering on the verge of SuperFandom myself (seriously, do not mention the words "Yeti," "Pulp," or "The Libertines" to me - you will live to regret it.), I'm always interested in talking to SuperFans. What is their motivation? How far have they travelled? Why do they exist? I am not going to cast aspersions on the actions/motivations of this particular SuperFan; however, I will say that, because I am a selfless human being, I manipulated SuperFan into switching places with Courtney so that Courtney could get closer to Frank Turner. You can thank me later, Courtney!

Frank Turner's set was over, and it was time for Courtney and I to part ways! I was going to go over to the Mohawk to see Bishop Allen, but quickly changed my plans when I saw the line to get INTO the Mohawk. Some other time, Bishop Allen! Instead, I went to Elysium, where Aqualung and Ed Harcourt were playing.

I feel I should pause for a second and explain that I'm not ACTUALLY obsessed with British people, despite my taste in music, cider and, perhaps, boys. I just try to plan my sxsw schedule to see bands I won't otherwise see throughout the year. Lots of North American bands, as well as some from other countries, will come tour Texas. British bands, on the other hand, have some sort of fatwa against touring the southern states of America. So I grab the chance to see them when I can, which is usually sxsw.

Moving on, I arrived at the Elysium, grabbed a drink, and immediately was hit with a wave of sxsw-related fatigue. All I wanted was easy access to booze and a place to sit down. The perfect place was on the stairs, next to where the artists were storing their equipment. This led to Aqualung bashing me in the head with his guitar case. THIS led to an unfortunate joke I made later in the evening to some of my friends, likening the guitar case to a bunny slope and me to Natasha Richardson. Too soon?

Around this time, I received a text from a guy I'd met previously in the evening, and he came over to meet me. We drank and listened to both Aqualung* and Ed Harcourt, and I wasn't too impressed with either act, but then again, I was drunk and busy talking to a cute boy, so what can you do? Maybe someday, Ed Harcourt. Maybe someday.

From Elysium, I went over to Maggie Mae's, where I had no idea who was playing, but I did know that I could stand on the roof and take in the great Austin night air. It all seemed perfect until I had to look for the restrooms, and realized that I had to WALK ACROSS THE STAGE to get to them. What an insane set up, Maggie Mae's. I do not want to be a member of a band just because I have to go to the bathroom. Besides which, if I'm going to be onstage with any band, it's going to be one of these:

Unexpected Bassist
Secret Baby and the Big-House Bruises
What Are Your Thoughts on Yaoi?
The Funky Meercats

These, by the way, are the band names that I have come up with over the years. They can't be any worse than Natalie Portman's Shaved Head.

I have to say that I actually didn't see any bands past 11 pm on Thursday night. Instead, I wandered around Austin in the guise of showing it off to someone else, spent time at a church, and, in typical Klutzy Erin fashion, managed to totally eat curb whilst trying to catch a taxi. (my knee is still skinned) In typical sxsw style, though, it's the down time, the moments in-between, which fill up the expanse of memory. I may not remember the exact hook to a song I heard, but I will always remember the breeze against my face on the roof of Maggie Mae's, the heat of the sun pressing insistantly against my arms earlier that day, or the feeling of a warm hand holding mine. I call South by "magic time," and it is, but everything that's magical about it is merely the exaltation of the mundane. I just appreciate it more during that week than I do any other time.

* I originally typed "Aqualunch" which is so good that I'm going to claim it as another possible band name.

SxSW Stats for Day Two:

Hours Slept: 3.5
Acts Seen: 8
Acts Loved: 2 (ooh, slow day)
Drinks Consumed: 12 (5 of which were bought for/given to me)

there must be an old recipe, cause i gotta get drunk, i gotta forget about some things

2009-03-24T00:32:00.002Z

OH MAN. So SXSW has not yet left my brain, not even a little bit. I woke up this morning and did the following things:

1) cursed loudly at my alarm clock and attempted to throw a book at it so it would shut up (i'm glad my fancy Stephen Fry alarm clock hasn't come in cause I'd feel bad for throwing a book at Mr. Fry. I'd do it, though.)

2) fumbled for my cell phone, where I had 22 new messages (I'm not that popular: 21 were from twitter and one was from someone I met at south by.).

3) got out of bed and wondered where the cham cans were. real life is for suckers.

I know that to really appreciate something, you can't have it all the time, and that I wouldn't REALLY like to have a life where I'm walking around forever and listening to a different band every hour and drinking too much and hanging out with my friends and having no schedule or responsibilities. But boy, do I ache for south by.

Here's what I did on Wednesday!

I left home late, due entirely to the previous night's St Patrick's Day celebration. Have we, as a nation, come to a conclusion about why jello shots are considered a cultural celebration? Cause I'd like to know the reasoning. Seriously.

Courtney, my esteemed sxsw partner in crime, and I met up at our hotel. This is the first time I've ever stayed downtown during south by! It was amazing and Courtney and I have decided we'll never go back to a hotel out of walking distance from the convention center again. We got spoiled. Also, randomly, our hotel had a giant mirror over the bed:

If you think that didn't come back up during the week, you don't know me very well.

We were so tardy that we just had time to get our credentials before making the long trek over to the Levi's Fader Fort. We encountered a very long line to get checked in to the guest list, but I didn't mind for two reasons: 1) there was a very cute ginger-bearded fellow in line behind us and 2) we were going to fulfill a dream of mine.

No, not free southern comfort, although that was nice. You guys. I SAW GRAHAM COXON PLAY THE GUITAR:

Okay, yes. The sound was shit at Fader that day and I couldn't work out what he was singing. I was trying to avoid a crazy lady who is my sxsw nemesis. I'd lost track of the cute ginger-bearded fella. But did I care? NO. Because Graham Coxon is a freaking genius, and watching his fingers move along the frets was, for me, akin to being born again, only instead of vaguely crazy, it was just amazing. And while my love for him was (prior to this point) always pure, seeing him actually play the guitar in person made my tummy sort of tremble.

The fact that he's cuter than a sack of kittens doesn't hurt:

lucky lucky courtney

After I took this photo of Courtney and Graham Coxon, I proceeded to insult his hair and call him old. I really should not be allowed out in public.

After the Fader party had lost its luster (i.e. graham coxon had left), Courtney and I met up with my friends Daniel and Leah (and their friend, Michael) and trooped to Central Presbyterian to see M Ward and Camera Obscura. It was really, really packed in the church, as you might expect it would be for M Ward, and we had some problems with seating, including unexpected entanglement with some chick's extentions. Ack!

The set opened with Anni Rossi, who I'd never heard before, but who has a lovely voice with really haunting melodies. I'll definitely be checking more of her stuff out. And then came M Ward, Man of the Hour. He was amazing, of course, but I'm here to tell you that people shouldn't listen to sex music in a church. I hadn't felt that confused about the feelings inside me since I was 12.

We decided to bag after M Ward, as we all thought we could catch Camera Obscura later (I never did, WOE.). As we were exiting the church, one of the sxsw volunteers cautioned us not to gloat to the people who had been standing in a giant line wrapped around the block for the last 6 hours. We didn't, but one guy did stop Daniel and ask him if they had a bar in the church. We remain undecided as to whether the communion alter counts as one.

Courtney really wanted to see Laura Marling at Latitude, and since I didn't have any plans until later, I came with. First we caught an act called Stoney, who were fine if not particularly interesting. Then Laura Marling - all 3 inches of her - came on and made me fall in love with her.

Last year it was emmy the great, and this year it was Laura Marling: I seem to really love tiny, pocket-sized female singer-songwriters, what can I say?

After her set, I left Courtney and wandered down to catch a few minutes of Danananakroyd's set, as well as to see my friends Brianna and K. YOU GUYS. Danananananananananananakroyd are amaaaaazing. I can't understand a damn word they say; they may very well be singing about cheese processing, for all I know. But I do know this: they do an excellent cover of House of Pain's "Jump Around" and The Wall Of Cuddles is possibly the best invention known to man.

Confused about the Wall of Cuddles? Well, know how, in high school, the cheerleaders would always try to divide the stands into two sides, and one would shout "De!" and one would shout "Fence!" and it was a competition to see who could shout louder? (at least I think that was the goal.) The Wall of Cuddles is sort of like that, only instead of shouting, at the count of four, everyone runs towards each other and hugs.

If you've never been to south by, let me pause right now and explain how the crowds are usually made up. It's 40% hipster, 40% music industry, 10% fans/friends/family of the band and 10% people who wandered in off the streets. There is no hugging. There is affected boredom, and occassionally drunken singing, and very rarely Superfan going mental down by the monitors, but there is never any hugging. Until Dananananananananakroyd, that is. Strangers, friends, band members, bar staff - everyone hugged! It was possibly the single happiest moment of the festival. In years.

This guy hugged me the most:

Hi Calum!

After that, it was on to see Phosphorescent and Deer Tick at the BrooklynVegan showcase! You guys, Phosphorescent have gotten SO MUCH BETTER. I saw them last year (again at BrooklynVegan, hmm.) and they were good but I wasn't all that blown away by them. I don't know if it's the new material (they've recently released an album of Willie Nelson covers) or just better stage presence, but they were great. ALMOST good enough that I wanted to push my way to the front, but in teh end I opted to stay back near the bar so I could have easy access to more drinks.

And then, Deer Tick!! I didn't get to see Deer Tick last year at sxsw due to some crap scheduling on my part, but their album War Elephant was on CONSTANT repeat on my ipod this year. I was so excited to see them, and they did not disappoint. Well, they did in one way:

What is with their fashion sense? Is this supposed to be ironic, or is it because they're from Rhode Island? Either way, it's no good. Don't hide the pretty with terrible clothes, boys.

They were as amazing as I expected/hoped they'd be, playing a good mix of tracks from War Elephant and their upcoming album, plus a few extras for fun. If you'd like to have a listen to them, here are two links:

myspace

cover of Paul Simon's "Still Crazy After All These Years"

And after that, I went to bed.

SxSW Stats for Wednesday:

Bands seen: 10
Bands loved: 5
Drinks consumed: 6 (it was a slow day, due to driving)
Hours slept: 5
Blisters formed: 4

normal life just isn't as fun

2009-03-23T01:50:00.003Z

Sometime in the next week, I'll try to fix my head around this past week. First comes sleep, and a lot of rest for my poor abused feet.

There are times I wish sxsw would go on forever, and times I sort of dread it (those times are when I'm trying to schedule, or pack, or am facing traffic on 35). But when it ends, I'm always left feeling shattered and entirely at peace. It's not just the music - although it spurs me on - it's not the weather, which is gorgeous, or even spending time with friends I get to see rarely, or making new friends. It's all of that, and more: the feeling I get when I wake up in the morning and realize that the entire day is stretching before me, and the biggest decision is whether to have a free dos equis or a free lone star, whether to see an act I've never heard of before or one I love to watch, whether to spend time in some small, intimate bar or out in the warm Texas sun. It's the people and the bands and the frenzy and the small pockets of peace, the crush and the space; even the blisters are little badges of honor: i was here, i lived this life, and it was brilliant.

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2009-03-21T19:14:00.000Z

Every year there is a party that i wait in line so long for that i start to wonder if it it worth it. This year that party is rachel ray's. Who knew?

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2009-03-20T23:37:00.000Z

Lounging in the slipping sun.

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2009-03-20T19:52:00.000Z

Is there any doubt that this is the best week of the year?

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2009-03-19T20:09:00.000Z

One of the things i love most about south by is that music really is everywhere you turn. You don't need a badge or wristband to fill up your day with live music. A am on so co and, after i see the gin riots, i will eat a cupcake and jump back into the throng of downtown.

p.s.

2009-03-19T16:49:00.002Z

Crappy cell phone camera photos aside, I'm on twitter as likepenguins. That's where most mobile sxsw updates will go.

you think it's like this, but really it's like this

2009-03-19T07:49:00.004Z

First off, hi, welcome back, sorry I've been crap at updating this thing. Blame laziness; I certainly do.

So as you may know, I'm currently at south by southwest, which is pretty much my favorite time of the year. There's something for everyone, from the music to the drinking to the making fun of tragic hipsters. Good times.

Today I stood in line for a very long time so that I could get into Fader's party to see Graham Coxon. For those who don't know who he is (or weren't friends with 15 year old Erin), he's the guitarist from Blur. And is amazing. He's releasing a solo album (about, in short, a boy who goes off to war, goes a bit mad, dies, is brought back to life and guided by the spirit of Madea, who, according to Mr Coxon, got a bum rap in Jason and the Argonauts. "Jason was a twat.") and is at south by to promote it.

The set wasn't spectacular, but that's entirely owing to the shitty sound. But even though I could BARELY HEAR HIM (and i was standing next to the stage), I could still tell that the album was going to be lovely. This opinion was validated when I later heard two cuts off the album.

After Graham's set, my sxsw partner in crime and I saw Graham doing a spot for a radio show. He came out and my friend Courtney started talking to him, and then I did that thing I do. Which is, basically, insulting musicians on accident.

Courtney and I have a running joke about my inability to hold a conversation with someone who is in a band without insulting them in some way. It's not something I try to do, and I'm always left thinking, "why the hell did I just say that?" Esp. when it's someone that I've loved for years. But nevertheless, when I meet a musician, out comes some crazy bitchiness.

I think the problem is that my mind is at war with itself. I want to treat musicians like they're regular ole' people - because they are - but at the same time I'm completely filled with awe at their talent. So that gets jumbled up in my head and what comes out of my mouth is less "It was a pleasure to meet you" and more "why do you suck so very badly at life?"

At any rate, Graham, if ever you should read this, I'm sorry that I inferred that life had basically stopped for you now that you've turned 40. If it's any consolation, you look more adorable at 40 than I looked at 4.

More news tomorrow, as well as thoughts on the inherant problems of listening to bonin' music whilst in a church.

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2009-03-19T06:15:00.000Z

When i saw deer tick do am acoustic show last night, they introduced this guy as the bassist. They weren't kidding.

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2009-03-18T22:59:00.000Z

Reasons why i love south by. Fulfilling teenage dreams with free whiskey.

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2009-03-18T22:24:00.000Z

Fader Fort is over-packed. Only 20 feet stand between me and graham coxon. 20 feet and forever, it seems.

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2009-03-17T23:23:00.000Z

Kicking off sxsw right with deer tick and free beer at cactus in houston.

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2008-11-06T23:33:00.000Z

I am not sure if you can see this but that sign says 1.98!!

"Saying 'President Obama' is not getting less awesome."

2008-11-06T02:27:00.006Z

Oh, hey guys. What'd you do last night? See any history being made? Yeah? Me too. AND IT WAS AWESOME.

Kennedy once famously said, "ask not what your country can do for you, but what you can do for your country." What I think people are now starting to realize is that, in the end, it won't matter if President Obama does all he says he will, or if he merely patches us up a bit and sends us on our way. Because for the first time in a long damn time, it's not about the man in the Oval Office, but about the people in this country who are gratified and uplifted and inspired by that man; people who want to do more, and be more and love more, who want to be worthy of a country who might just start being worthy of them. If he can do this, we can do anything.

Yes We Can.
Yes We Did.
Yes We Will.

The Audacity of Hop(ing you can finish your mac 'n cheese in peace).

2008-10-16T01:05:00.003+01:00

Every Wednesday night, people from my office go out for Wednesday Night Dinner. This is primarily people not of my social group, but I know all of them through various projects at work or because they are friends with other people I know. I don't usually attend, because if I'm not working, I'm usually spending that night with friends, but tonight I decided I was being too antisocial of late and that I wasn't spending enough time with people to whom I feel indifferent. (Everyone I know falls into three distinct groups: People I Adore, People I Hate, and People To Whom I Feel Largely Indifferent. The People I Adore group is small, but I am fiercely loyal to them. The People I Hate group is even smaller than the first, and can actually be numbered on one hand. Not a primate hand, either. Maybe a Simpsons hand. The third group is vast and is comprised of 98% of people I meet.)

That turned out to be a bad idea.

Discussion turned, as it is wont to do in the climaxing weeks of the election, to politics. I don't mind a spirited, reasoned political debate with people of opposing views. Hell. I'm a Libertarian. EVERYONE has an opposing view to me. Even my own party doesn't agree with me half the time. (Libertarians have, instead of a party platform, a pack of those slimy frogs you could win as prizes at Showbiz Pizza when you were young. Each frog is a different stance on a political issue - we just throw them up on the wall of Federalism and see what sticks. This is, incidentally, why a Libertarian will never hold any office above school board president. [First action: disband school board.])

But what I got was less "reasoned debate" and more "eleven McCain supporters tell Erin, who mentions that she's supporting Obama in this election, everything that is wrong with the way she thinks/feels/lives her life." I'm not great at confrontation on the best of days - despite being pretty loud and obnoxiously opinionated, when people raise their voice to me, I immediately assume the beaten puppy look: head down, tail tucked and eyes darting around trying to find a safe exit. But it is worse when the things people are saying are so ridiculous as to inspire baffled laughter rather than a courteous, yet direct response. Here are some "facts" I was taught tonight:

1) Obama is a Muslim extremist who will blow us all up. (really, that one's been going around for years. New material, people, come on!)

2) Obama is not a citizen of the United States and is ineligible to run for President.

3) Obama has not served this country. (Apparently, to serve this country, one's only option is to enlist in the military. Nothing else - being an upstanding citizen, protecting other citizen's rights, or just being a really helpful person willing to lend a hand to one's neighbors and/or bake cupcakes - qualifies. By the way, this fact was told to me by someone who's never served in the military.)

4) Obama is part of organized crime.

5) I will lose my job if I vote for Obama.

6) I will have to take three jobs to support my kids if I vote for Obama. (No one had a good reply to my pointing out that, in McCain/Palin's dream world, I would have about 7 kids to support because I wouldn't be able to control what happens to my own body.)

7) Obama is racist against white people. (well, who wouldn't be, with such fine examples as this?), and

8) Black people are lazy.

If you're wondering, "black people are lazy" is about where I just stopped trying to talk and stood there, mouth open. The thing is, I'm no stranger to racism. You can't have the legacy of Mississippi stretching like a shadow behind you and be shocked by racist behavior. I witness it every day. I think what shocked me was more that the natural progression in any person's brain when debating politics would be "I don't like this political candidate. And also black people are lazy." I make the argument a lot that the kind of racism that's destroying our country is the kind you can't point out as being textbook racist - the things people think or say and then pat themselves on the back in self-congratulation for being so forward-thinking and "with the times" - but I don't know, there may be something to be said for blatant, old fashioned, in-your-face-all-that's-missing-is-the-white-hood, Jim Crow racism. It's as nostalgic as malteds and long-playing LPs!

The problem, of course, is that you can't argue with "black people are lazy." To argue against a point, there has to be a point - "black people are lazy" is just a ridiculous non-sequitor wholly unsupported by facts, anecdotes or good manners. It's the racist equivalent to the ex-boyfriend who doesn't quite understand why you won't return his many phone calls. You can't call him to say, "please stop calling me;" that's it; you've lost. All he wants is for you to validate his behavior with a response; once you've done that, he wins. So, instead, there was the aforementioned mouth-gaping, followed by a head cocked to one side and a befuddled "okaaaaay."

I realize that my shock in the way this evening played out smacks of naivete, and I assure you that I'm not Pollyanna-ing my way through life. I know that people feel this way. I even knew, at some level, perhaps, that these people feel this way. It is not as if we sit around discussing the latest and greatest from the ACLU; I know these people are mostly NeoCons. I think what continues to surprise and confuse me is that these people - the people who genuinely believe that Obama is the Muslim Antichrist Terrorist sent from Hell to blow us all to bits - even the person who dropped "black people are lazy" on me - these people like me. They think I'm charming and vivacious and adorable and spunky . . . but they hate everything I believe in (and, to be fair, I hate everything they believe in). Does personality transcend belief? I've always thought it did not; that we are, in summation, merely a reflection of our passions and beliefs. That who we are is intrinsically tied to what we want and how we feel. I'll never be accused of being the most open and honest person with the public - what I present to the public is rarely an indication of my actual self - but even my public persona isn't the type for which anyone would reasonably think that "black people are lazy" is a good argument point. So, do they like me in spite of my beliefs? Or are they so entrenched in their own beliefs that they can't recognize that I could possibly hold a different view?

This blog has gone way off-topic, so I'll bring it back around with this question: There are just a few more weeks until the U.S. Presidental election, and the nation is at a fever pitch. What is your favorite part of election fever? What do you really hate? And how many people have you pissed off this week discussing politics?

In summation, I offer you this political sign, which apparently HR will not let me put up in my office, and to whose creation I committed at least five minutes in MS Paint:

It's funny if you're me.

Reshaping history, one indie music mag at a time

2008-10-03T01:05:00.006+01:00

You guys, TELEVISION IS BACK. Dirty Sexy Money! Chuck! Gossip Girl! The Office! It's been a v. enjoyable couple of tv-having weeks for me. (Also, I guess now EVERYONE I know is getting engaged, even fictional people on cinema veritae television shows.)

But Jim and Pam or Chuck's awesomely evil machinations or Other Chuck's adorable quirky grin aren't the subject of this post, more's the pity. I just thought I'd mention it.

You guys! I'm totally famous and influential! After years of slogging through hipster crowds and having drunken adventures with rubbish musicians, I've finally made it into the NME. Not for anything people normally make it into the NME for (in order: having homosexual love for one's bandmates; releasing an album for which the NME will hail a band as the vanguard of indie music, only to come back three weeks later and proclaim them tired, once they become too popular; or being slagged off by Lily Allen), but rather for this:

No, I'm not in that picture. That's not me; that's Dirty Pretty Things, and they just dissolved their band. In typical garments-rending fashion, the NME have devoted their online picture gallery to "The life and times of Carl Barat," as if Carlos has died or something. There are many photos of both DPT and Carl's former band (the much-missed Libertines) on NME.com, and that's one of them. But dig the caption at the side, in which the NME explains that Dirty Pretty Things was the band's second choice in band names, after the far more amazing "The Bearded Clam Lovers' Experience."

Except, um . . . I made that up. Like two years ago, as a joke about the band's charmingly rubbish homosexual love for one another. (Courtney: "I can't tell if they're gay, or just English.") I even made up that story about there being another band with that name, and that's why they had to change theirs to the slightly less offensive "Dirty Pretty Things."

Part of me thinks I should email the NME (who are obviously not the world's best researchers . . . unless one of the staffers I met at sxsw is giving me a shout out) and correct them, but let's be honest: having my creation in a magazine, even if it is something as stupid as a joke I made on the internet once, is essentially like being published, right?

Next step: rewriting Wikipedia. Soon, I'll be able to exert a Colbert-esque level of influence on the internet.

Step One: Don't piss off Mother Nature

2008-09-18T01:59:00.003+01:00

You know how sometimes when you were a kid, you may have intentionally backtalked your mom? Just to see if you could get away with it, cause you knew she would never actually do anything to you, because she is your mom and she loves you?

DUDE. Mother Nature? Is so not like that. If you sass her, she will smack you DOWN.

Since early Friday evening, I have been living life without power. If you had suggested to me a week ago that I could make it one night without the cool comforts of air conditioning, I would have laughed in your face and told you that you were crazy. I basically AM global warming, okay? My house is an icebox. But, thanks to Ike and some downed power lines and transformers, I have been living power-free this past week. And honestly? It ain't that bad.

No, seriously. Hear me out. Okay, so, sure, you can't do a lot of the things you're maybe used to, like washing your clothes or blowdrying your hair or eating any food that doesn't come out of a tin or a box. And it's best not to mention how you feel on Monday nights, knowing the rest of the world is watching Gossip Girl and you are watching mosquitos feast on your skin. But living without power is, in some strange way, incredibly freeing.

Dig my daily routine:

1) Wake up from state of semi-slumber, due to the stillness of the air in my bedroom and the fact that the mold is making my allergies go beserk.

2) Shuffle way to bathroom in the dark. Turn on battery operated paper lantern and light candles.

3) Take shower, which would be sort of romantic and softly lit, if it weren't so cold.

4) Dress. Try to match stuff.

5) Feed cats using light from a flashlight beam. Stub toe. (my toes are really hurting, fact.)

7) Comb wet hair.

8) Drive to work.

9) Blow dry hair.

10) Be happy to be at work, because there's air conditioning.

11) Try to consume one meal made with fresh ingredients. Pretty much give this up for a bad job every day, since not much is open, and those restaurants that are open aren't serving full menus.

12) Go home while it's still light out.

13) Sit outside in front yard (under tree that may end up going through my bedroom window) and read. Visit with my neighbors and their puppies, as everyone is hanging around outside.

14) Drink lots of wine. (PRO TIP: Wine does not go bad.)

15) When the sun sets, go to bed.

That's it. No other responsibilities or chores; no working late into the night, no tv or internet or even staying up late to read. No cleaning or laundry or any of the number of chores or hobbies I use to fill up my nights because I always feel vaguely guilty for "not getting things accomplished." If my daily routine were any simpler, I'd be in a coma.

Someone asked me today how I could stand to live without power, and as I was explaining that it wasn't really all that bad, what I was struck by was how quickly I'd slipped into my new lifestyle. It's second nature to debate whether a store or restaurant will be open now. I know I'll have to dedicate a few hours' time in order to get gas or ice. I've got a million ways to jazz up triscits and wheat thins now. I've only been living in this surreal half-life since Friday, but already it seems normal to me. It made me wonder about the resilience of humans as a species and how good most of us are at picking up a new routine, new niche, new life. Maybe that's why, despite sometimes our best efforts, we are thriving as a species. It's our ability to survey the situation, file it away and ask, "okay, what next?"

All that said, as I drove home tonight and saw the lights in the neighbors' windows, I felt my heart sing with joy. Getting power restored just in time for the America's Next Top Model makeover episode?? I am like 99.9% sure that's scientific proof of a higher power.

this must be how tina turner felt

2008-09-12T01:59:00.002+01:00

There are tons of things I don't like about living on the Gulf Coast (the heat, the humidity, the . . . okay, mostly the heat and the humidity), but one thing I love is hurricane season! Yes, yes, I know that hurricanes are destructive and bad and I shouldn't wish that they come our way, but . . . I secretly do. And now, as long as the massively large Hurricane Ike stays on track, Houston will actually get a hurricane! For like the first time in a coon's age! Amazing!

So here, in case you are wondering, are all the great things about hurricanes:

6) Getting the day off work. My work actually closed the building for Friday! That never happens! Of course, it was our Off Friday and not many people were working anyway, and of course I've been working since I got home tonight, but still! Hurricanes are like snow days but with less chance of frostbite.

5) The names. Every storm which reaches Tropical Depression strength becomes a "named storm," which means that NOAA gives it the next name in the alphabetical rotation (or, in the case of the year of Katrina and Rita, runs out of names and starts assigning them Greek letters.). Sometimes, if you get lucky, they name a storm after you! I've lived through seeing two storms named Erin - both talked a big game and then petered out because it was too lazy to continue. Tell me large formations of oceanic low pressure ridges don't know their namesakes!

Also sometimes NOAA goes crazy on the naming for the year and you get things like Tropical Storm Eduoard. I really wish they'd start taking a page from Hollywood's book and then we could have Tropical Depression Apple and Hurricane Kal-El. Actually, it'd be way better if all storms could be comic book references instead.

4) The weather. I don't know if you've heard this about Texas and the rest of the South, but, um, it gets kinda hot during the summer. Like, "break into a sweat walking to your mailbox"-type hot. Hurricanes drop the temps a good ten degrees and bring tons of fun thunderstorms to watch out on your porch, or from the safety of your plywood-covered windows.

3) The comraderie. Remember how, after 9/11, everyone was really nice to each other? For, like, a few hours? Until the threats against the Muslim communities started? Tragedy brings communities together. When confronted with a giant force of nature (or otherwise), you have no choice but to band together and realize that, as humans, we are merely pegs in the giant cribbage board of Fate. I think that's a proper analogy, anyway. I never actually learned to play cribbage. Plus, it's pretty easy to bond with your fellow man when you're stuck in the checkout lane at wal-mart for five hours with the rest of the yahoos in your town, just to fill up on bottled water. Which leads me to:

2) The hysteria. Okay, okay, the pre-hurricane hysteria's not a good thing when you're stuck in evacuation traffic or can't go to Target to get the latest Jemma Kidd makeup collection cause all of Houston is freaking out over how many bottles of water and D-batteries they have personally stored in their garage. Plus, everyone knows that the only good store to hit up during a hurricane is Spec's, due to the number one, GREATEST thing about hurricanes, which is:

1) HURRICANE PARTIES! Look, when you're faced with the certainty that your power will blow and all your food and beer will be ruined unless you consume it quickly, your only option is to band together with your friends and neighbors and glutton yourself on food and booze. My friend Suzanne's husband owns a restaurant near my house, and during the Hurricane-That-Wasn't (Rita), he lost power at the restaurant for three days. What other option did he have but to liberate all the steaks from the restaurant's fridge and have a bbq? You don't want that sort of thing going to waste, after all! There are starving people . . . somewhere else.

So, I say, bring it on, Ike. Or, shift east to Lake Charles at the last minute like the coward you are. Whatevs.

"barring cupcake-related disasters, the day actually is going quite well."

2008-09-10T03:53:00.011+01:00

I know. I know. I don't know how it's happened, people, but I've actually sat down for more than two minutes and decided to write for this blog again. Prepare for trembling earth.

So, it's autumn, obstensibly. The leaves are changing - or at least that's what many movies and New England tourist guide pamphlets lead me to believe - kids are going back to school, and the weather is turning cooler. Actually, the weather here in Texas was nice for like ten minutes this past weekend. But now we've been beset by another heat wave which will apparently push Hurricane Ike down south further to Brownsville. BOO.

Autumn is my favorite time of the year, and it all kicks off on the second week of September, i.e. today, i.e. the offspring's birthday. She turned five this year, guys. FIVE. Was it seriously five years ago today that I was holding a newborn m'elle in one arm and a turkey sandwich with spicy mustard and a coke in the other? (Look, they don't feed you during the whole "giving birth" thing, and it is pretty exhausting business. Once that kid popped out, all I wanted was caffeine and tryptophan and a whole lot of drugs.)

m'elle just started pre-school at her brand new school, so today we had a lunchtime party for her birthday! It was a good chance to meet all of her classmates, most of whom are usually not there when I drop her off or pick her up from school. But before I take you on a visual journey of the sprog's classroom, let's talk about something that's really important.

Cupcakes.

I kicked it old school this year with the birthday cupcakes and made ice cream cone cupcakes. These were huge in the 80s; in fact, I'm like 90% sure that my own mother made them for my fifth birthday party at school, which is also the day that little Trevor Jones cornered me outside the girls' bathroom and gave me my very first kiss. (Best. Birthday. Evs.) No boys better be kissing my kid outside the bathroom at school, but these cupcakes ARE pretty tasty, so they may inspire acts of love. Forewarned is forearmed, folks.

Magnolia Bakery's Chocolate Buttermilk Cupcakes:
2 cups all-purpose flour
1 teaspoon baking soda
1 cup unsalted butter, softened
1 cup granulated sugar
1 cup firmly packed light brown sugar
4 large eggs, at room temperature
6 ounces unsweetened chocolate, melted
1 cup buttermilk
1 teaspoon vanilla extract

Preheat oven to 350 degrees.

Line two 12-cup muffin tins with cupcake papers. Set aside.

In a small bowl, sift together the flour and baking soda. Set aside.

In a large bowl, on the medium speed of an electric mixer, cream the butter until smooth. Add the sugars and beat until fluffy, about 3 minutes. Add the eggs, one at a time, beating well after each addition. Add the chocolate, mixing until well incorporated. Add the dry ingredients in three parts, alternating with the buttermilk and vanilla. With each addition, beat until the ingredients are incorporated, but do not overbeat. Using a rubber spatula, scrape down the batter in the bowl to make sure the ingredients are well blended and the batter is smooth. Carefully spoon the batter into the cupcake liners, filling them about three-quarters full. Bake for 20–25 minutes, or until a cake tester inserted in the center of the cupcake comes out clean.

Cool the cupcakes in the tins for 15 minutes. Remove from the tins and cool completely on a wire rack before icing.

Tasty, non? I topped them with Magnolia's vanilla buttercream icing, which proved nice and pearlescent, thus making the cupcakes look a bit like homemade ice cream. See?

Unfortunately, my baking skills do not extend to my transportation skills, and all the cupcakes fell down and were pretty much ruined. But thanks to store-bought icing (ugh), sprinkles and my ability to talk on the phone and type with one hand while refrosting cupcakes with the other, the day was saved! On to the party!

These kids? Are amazing. They sit next to m'elle in class and are total hams. Christian, the little boy, has Derek Zoolander as his personal life coach, I think.

m'elle, on the other hand, is not that amused by their childish antics, since she is now five. She does, however, sport amazing pizza-face that sort of makes her look like her very favorite movie character of 2008, The Joker (apple didn't fall far from the tree, what can I say?):

This is Titi, alongside Christian. His job today was to be the Caboose. That means he goes to the end of the line and makes sure everyone walks quickly. (There are also other jobs; m'elle's job today for instance was to be the Helper, which means she gets to help the teacher pass out worksheets and pencils. Exciting stuff!) I am like 88% in love with Titi and want him to be my bestie:

And here's m'elle's whole little class (plus her awesome teacher, Miss Nicole)! Aren't they adorable in their uniforms?

Oh, and speaking of the entire class, DIG THE NAME BOARD:

Can you spot the most amazing thing you've ever seen? There, at the bottom left? That's right! THERE IS A CHILD NAMED KANYE IN MY KID'S CLASS. I wonder if I can convince him to do an entire concert about aliens and robots who only come alive to the strains of "Gold Digger."

But possibly the coolest thing to happen for m'elle's birthday was the card that mere made. Posh Pants has blogged about it on poshdeluxe.com, so you can check it out there. BACON!! On a birthday card!! (In case you don't know, m'elle loves bacon. In fact, at breakfast, I usually have to take it away from her and tell her she can only have it if she finishes the rest of her meal. Like some parents might say about dessert. That kid should be super-grateful she goes to a Christian school, cause pretty much all other major religions are just not going to work with her lifestyle.)

I know I've gone on (and on) about the kidlet today, which I normally do not do on this blog, but one's fifth birthday is a pretty big day. Never fear, though, I've got six weeks' worth of discussion on politics, tv and dirty indie boys saved up in my head, so it's back to business as usual. Hopefully not six weeks from now.

Latitude

2008-07-24T21:33:00.004+01:00

So, every year (well for the last three years) I have gone 25 miles down the coast from where I live to a music festival called Latitude. Some background here- though Latitude is quite new, only three years old (why, yes, I have been to all of them), it's run by Festival Republic, who run Glastonbury, and the Reading and Leeds festivals. The big guys basically. Latitude is their attempt to have a different sort of festival in the UK- not just about the bands, but also about literature, theatre, comedy, dance and cabaret. There is even an area dedicated just to live poetry. And it's mostly successful in that aim- I know lots of people who go who barely see a band all weekend.

Not me though. You'll need to google and see if you can find their blogs. I mainly just go for the joy of being in the great outdoors, drinking cider and deafened by guitar bands. Though I did see the Sadler's Wells dance company perform next to a lake which was fairly awesome, and see performances by WordTheatre (http://www.wordtheatre.com/events/index.php) which included seeing Richard Ayoade in the flesh. I mention this only to bring it to Cat's attention once again. Also Wordtheatre had some guy from CSI doing readings in a field in Suffolk, which then confused me when I saw them wandering in said fields (and then two days later, they were spotted on a boat off Ibiza with James Blunt and a load of models. Never let it be said that celebrity's lives are like ours.)

This year, my Latitude joy was tempered somewhat for a few reasons-
1. It was cold. Very cold. I was wearing legwarmers in the middle of fucking July, people. That's just not right even for the UK.

2. There was no band that I love and was desperately excited to see. Lots that I liked and looked forward too, but for the last two years they've had a band that I've been goofily excited to see- Snow Patrol the first year, and the Arcade Fire last one.

3. There were so many people there (25,000). The size of the festival has doubled since it started two years ago. I can't see how they can make it any bigger without expanding the main arena somehow. They had a much larger comedy tent, and it still was totally overflowing all weekend. The queues were better than last year though.

That out of the way, I did have a lovely time overall.

The first band I saw were one of the best- The Joy Formidable: http://www.myspace.com/thejoyformidable . Really good, girl fronted buzz pop.
I also loved Noah and the Whale, who are charming folk-pop, was pleasantly surprised by Foals, after failing on a couple of occasions to see them last year, and really liked Franz Ferdinand's new songs (though Afrobeat, my ass. They sound like Girls Aloud. And there is no higher compliment).

Joanna Newson was charming, and totally lovely, as were The Breeders in a very different way. Blondie were ace on the Sunday night, and confusingly in a tent rather than the main stage. They do sound somewhat like the best Blondie cover band ever, but who cares when you are dancing. Grinderman were less scary than expected, and Sigur Ros were the magic pixies of my best hope. Elbow bored me overall, as did Death Cab for Cutie (and I was looking forward to them). Campfires are ace. Beth Orton's slightly dippy performance made us suspect that this was her first trip out since having her baby.

And then I ran away from the site during Interpol's headling set on Sunday night (I know this makes me a rampant heathen with no taste, but any time I hear them, I kinda wish that Editors were playing instead), got totally soaked by a sudden downpour and made it home by midnight . Hurrahz for festivals (which are just down the road from me)! Sign me up for next year.

Summer's Guilty Pleasures, TV Edition

2008-07-01T00:48:00.005+01:00

One of the reasons I like summer (really, one of the only reasons I like summer, because summer sucks so hard) is that, instead of being bound to my regular TV-watching schedule, I can record a bunch of fun stuff instead. My current favorites:

1) Ninja Warrior (G4)
Japanese show where competitors try to complete a four-stage obstacle course. I'm in awe of these people because I couldn't even do the easiest round. I couldn't even do the first task in the easiest round.

It's easier to show you the awesomeness of Ninja Warrior than tell you about it:

Sometimes I watch Ninja Warrior at the gym (because G4 airs it 24/7, I swear to God) and I almost fall off the treadmill because I make involuntary sympathy movements while the competitors are running the course.

2) Snapped (Oxygen)
I freaking love this show - currently, there's about 30 episodes teed up on my DVR. Each 1/2 hour episode is a mini-doc about a woman who murders her husband/lover/random person. The show's title is misleading, because you think that the women have SNAPPED and were driven to kill. But mostly, they're just really greedy and want lots and lots of money.

3) The Shopping Bags (Fine Living Network)
Canadian show featuring two women who test and recommend the best of everything from roller blades to sake to maxipads. I watch it because they say "aboot". I like Canadian accents.

4) Intervention (A&E)
*sigh* This show makes me feel icky and heartbroken. And I'm cynical that the featured substance abusers can stay clean. But I hope. And Jeff Van Vonderen is pretty rockin'.

5) True Life (MTV)
"I'm a Pregnant Alcoholic Black Sheep on Steroids Who Lives a Double Life in Staten Island."

!!!

*makes popcorn*

6) Diners, Drive-Ins and Dives (Food Network)
I certainly don't watch this show for Guy Fieri (to be fair, however, he's supposed to be a really nice guy. DD&D has filmed two episodes in my town). I watch this show solely for the burgers. Buuuuuuuuuuurgerrrrrrrs.

7) Doctor Who (Sci Fi)
I know that some of you (especially those of the British persuasion) consider Doctor Who some mighty fine quality television. And I can agree to some extent. David Tennant is tremendous. Steven Moffat's episodes are well-crafted. I'm genuinely enjoying the current season. But overall, I definitely consider DW a guilty pleasure because it's so cheesy (need better aliens!!). Also, I've also been recording...the Rose era. *shudder*

8) Mystery Diagnosis (Discovery Health)
True Fact: Sometimes I attempt to beat the show to the diagnosis by Googling the person's symptoms. This should give you a good idea of the extent of my geekiness (vast).

9) Psychic Kids (A&E)
Do I really need to say any more?

Insert random New York quote here.

2008-06-27T00:34:00.004+01:00

I've just returned from my annual trek to NYC. As usual, my daily routine was something like this: eat, museum, eat, shop, eat. This year, my friend and I hit a lot of our favorite spots and found some new and awesome things.

But first, let me mention that, on the train up, a 62 year-old women WHO WE HAD NEVER MET BEFORE started telling us about her mastectomy and was so proud of the reconstruction that she pulled up her shirt and bra and showed us her rebuilt tit.

Anyhow.

MUSEUMS

We hit the MOMA the afternoon we arrived, but decided not to go in because there were no exhibits we were interested in. Instead, we went to the MOMA design store so I could get a sweet kitty totebag from their new Japanese collection. Alas, the kitty totebags were all sold out (SOLD OUT, ERIN!! *sniff*) and I was sadface. However, I bought a t-shirt with well-known MOMA paintings converted to stick figures.

So that cheered me up quite a bit.

The next day, we spent 4 hours in the Met, which is just the best American museum ever. You could go to the Met an hour a day for two weeks and see something different each time. This year there were several exhibitions that we were interested in, and one that made me squeal like a 6 year-old.

Superheroes: Fashion and Fantasy

OHMYGOD IT WAS SO GOOD. The Costume Institute set up an amazing exhibition of haute couture, athletic wear, and movie costumes divided by types of superhero costumes.

(Make sure you click the "View Images" link on each page linked below so you can see some of the clothes that were featured.)

The Graphic Body
This section focused on Superman and Batman. Lots of fun couture and athletic wear, and also the costume that Christopher Reeve wore in Superman and the regular and black costumes that Tobey Maguire wore in Spiderman.

The Patriotic Body
Mainly Wonder Woman styles. They had the original costume worn by Lynda Carter in the 70s TV show. I used to idolize Lynda Carter's Wonder Woman when I was little, so seeing this was a big deal to me. The blue on the costume has faded to purple, I wish someone had taken better care of it.

The Virile Body
No superhero costumes here, alas, but some pretty badass menswear by Galliano.

The Paradoxical Body
One of my favorite sections. The fashion was fine, whatever, but what I really was excited to see (to the point where I kinda embarrassed my friend who does not share my love of comic book movies) was Michelle Pfeiffer's Catwoman costume from Batman Returns. I have no idea how they got her into it - they must have sewed it on her. The workmanship was just incredible.

PS - Michelle Pfeiffer was really, really tiny in 1992. Like, really.

The Armored Body
Who gives a crap about the clothes in this part, because OMG IRON MAN!!! They had the second, all silver Iron Man costume on display and the chest light and eyes were all lit up and it was so freaking cool that I almost wet myself. Also, they had the Christian Bale's batsuit from The Dark Knight, and the thing actually looked like it was breathable. Not one big nippletastic piece of rubber like George Clooney's.

The Aerodynamic Body
No movie costumes here, but a lot of athletic wear like speed skating suits.

The Mutant Body
Mystique from The X-Men's costume, if you can call it a costume. Rebecca Romijn has teeny calves. Also, a dress and headpiece from Thierry Mugler '97 couture collection that has to be see in person to be believed.

The Postmodern Body
Lots of references to Ghost Rider, but thankfully, no Nic Cage costumes. Another rocking Thierry Mugler, this time a motorcycle-inspired bustier that I remember from when it walked the runway in 1992. It was cool to see it for real.

I wish that The Met site had pictures from the actual exhibit - like, how it was set up. That's part of what made the exhibit so great. The backdrops and lighting and positioning of the figures, all of it.

If you're going to be in NY before Sept 1, go, you'll love it. You don't even need to be a big geek like me.

Other exhibits we enjoyed this go-round:
Framing a Century: Masterworks Photographers, 1840-1940
New Galleries for 19th- and Early 20th-Century European Paintings and Sculpture, including the Henry J. Heinz II Galleries (This is a perennial favorite of mine, but the gallery space was new, so it was like seeing a new exhibit.)
Tara Donovan at the Met
Pop Art: Works on Paper

Also, The Met Store was having a good sale, so I got a Steinlen cat print because it was cheapie cheap.

So, confession time. Despite 3 years of living in New York and countless trips since then, I had never been to the American Museum of Natural History. I don't know why. But yesterday I did, and it blew me away.

We spent most of our time in the fossil halls, but we also visited the meteorites and gems, the biodiversity exhibit, the hall of human origins, the hall of ocean life, and the hall of Asian peoples. There were many other halls of people we could have visited, but by then my feet hurt sooooo much. Oh, we also ran through the American mammals, African mammals, etc, but I was really skeeved out by all the taxidermy, so when I say "ran", it was just about that. A fast trot.

NEIGHBORHOOD

For a change of pace, we stayed on the Upper West Side (henceforth known as the UWS). We were going to stay in the west Village, but I got cold feet and moved us uptown. I think we're going to stay here from now on. I can't tell you how happy I was not to experience even a glimpse of Times Square this trip, and my friend felt the same. We agreed that this was the most relaxing visit we'd ever had.

Most of that comes from the UWS neighborhood. It gets kind of a bad rap from the hipster crowd as being boring and slow. And it is, a little. It's mostly families, and not very touristy at all. And it's a bit quieter, I think. But staying on the UWS felt like I was living there again, not just visiting. We stayed at Jack and Judy's Bed & Breakfast, but it wasn't really a B&B at all - it was a brownstone, and we rented an apartment for a few days.

Another reason we liked the UWS was that it was super-close to the museums. The NH museum was only two blocks away.

FOOD

The restaurants in the area were good, too. Our favorite was Celeste, one of those little Italian places that makes fresh pasta and doesn't take credit cards. You're sitting so close to the neighboring tables that you would barely have to reach more than a few inches to grab a bite from another diner's plate. The food is heavenly. I had homemade spinach and ricotta ravioli in a butter sage sauce. Mmm.

Also good were two places we went for breakfast. First, Sarabeth's, which is a local chain but they make perfect eggs. They also have nummy chicken sausage over applesauce. The next day we went to the Popover Cafe, which is infested with teddy bears but has very tasty food. Their claim to fame are popovers as big as a baby's head. Unfortunately, I didn't get to try one, as I had the Coconut-Almond Crusted Challah French Toast.

Last night, we had Indian, but it was a slightly bizarre experience. All I will say about it is that it involved naan and canned fruit cocktail.

Oh, we also tried one of the many, many burger places that have sprung up all over Manhattan in the last year. Burgers are way trendy right now. We lunched at BLT Burgers yesterday. It was pretty good. In my opinion, the burgers weren't any more tasty than 5 Guys' burgers. Their sweet potato fries were yum, though.

I took a spare duffel bag with me so I could bring home lots of food. Yes, I'm one of those people. I don't care, though. I can't get this stuff normally unless I want to pay a fortune in mail order, so don't judge me.

H&H Bagels. The best bagel ever. ^* Located about 4 blocks from our apartment, yet another reason for staying on the UWS.

^* Mmmm, Montreal bagels probably are tied for best bagel ever, but it's like comparing a hedgehog to a sparrow.

Zabar's chocolate babka and rugelach. Nom nom nom. Located across the street from H&H.

Rocco's Pastry Shop on Bleeker Street in the Village. I get something different every time I go there. This year was little almond cookies, chocolate shortbread, and macaroons. And a few biscotti. I'm a little regretful that I passed up the almond horseshoes this year.

Murray's Cheese Shop Just down the street from Rocco's is a lovely cheese shop called Murray's. I got a few raw milk cheeses to share with some friends here.

Crumbs Bake Shop Cupcakes as big as a large man's fist. I got a black and white cupcake but I ate it immediately. They had the cutest little sampler of 16 different mini cupcakes but I knew they would never make the trip home without being squashed. Or eaten.

NON-FOOD SHOPPING

Honestly, between museums, eating, and buying food, there wasn't a lot of time for non-food shopping, and what we did do was kinda boring. However, we did make time to go to Lush on 76th and Broadway (yay, UWS!) where we both spent too much money. I did get a great deal, though - one of the items I wanted to purchase was a biofresh mask, because Lush doesn't do them mail order (very perishable). They were running a special where if you spent $40, you got a free mask! My friend didn't want hers, so I got two!! One smells like chocolate and I want to eat it. :)

Boy, this was long and rambly. And I talked about food way too much.

Oh, one more thing. Please wear your helmet when you ride your bike. We witnessed a terrible accident in Central Park where one cyclist had to stop short and another cyclist plowed right into him. The bike lanes in the park allow the cyclists to go very fast, and the impact of the collision drove the 2nd cyclist, an older man, right into the pavement, face and head first. He wasn't wearing a helmet, and if his skull didn't crack somewhere it's a miracle. So wear your helmets, kids.

"i require 1.21 gigawatts of electricity to party."

2008-06-19T03:02:00.013+01:00

I've been really super busy (as usual) lately, both with work and with pursuits outside of work, so I haven't had a chance to talk about the International House of Amandas' housewarming party that was held this weekend. But now I can!

This is Amanda. And Amanda.

Okay, so the Amanda in the girl apron goes by Mandy, whose face as you may know is a regular feature on this here blog. Her roommate, Amanda C, is just as awesome as the Mandy I've known and loved for ten years (jesus, we're old).

Because their new duplex was constructed in the 50s, they thought it only right to warm the house in the same style. So we all put on our very best pearl necklaces and took a good handful of qualuudes and proceeded to twist the night away.

Well, first, we had to do a little 50s recreation. Here are Matt and Mere - Mere is doing her job as a woman and keeping the house clean (and her parched throat satisfied with booze), while Matt makes sure she stays in line with a little bit of casual domestic violence. Gender oppression is fun!

(Also, while I have taken or seen tons of photos of Uncy Matt over the ten years I've known him - UGH! OLD! - I think this is the very best. He looks so cartoon-y!)

But 50s women didn't just make sure their floors were as sparkling as their reputations, they also prepared food for their hungry husbands to consume after coming home from a long day's work at the Savings and Loan. Here Anji demonstrates the appropriate way to prepare meals while also looking perfectly put together:

I can't wait for her pot roast! And that's not a vaguely inappropriate joke about sex! I just really like pot roast!

Everyone looked freaking amazing, and very authentic (down to the valium I took just to get through the day). Even Mister Rupert Fantastico got in the spirit:

Hey, hound dog!

But the best part of all was that the party was truly a family affair. Dig Amanda's awesome parents (to the left in both photos)!

And look at Mere and Miss Pretty Lady (aka Kasey, her sister), all decked out in pearls and polka-dots:

Hey, guess what? I got adopted and am now an honorary Borders! I was telling Kasey how sad I was not to have a sister (well, Aly's my sister, but, like, a genetically related one) and she agreed that she already has about 12 siblings, what's one more? So now I'm a Borders girl! yay!

I've saved the best guests for last! First, there was a TINY LITTLE BABY (eight weeks) named Beckett who was there, with his awesome Flo's Diner-waitress mama and his Tall Drink of Water daddy. Baby Beckett was a greaser, and he was Fully Committed to the cause. Look at his manly bicep!

Sarah, I can hear you squeeing from here.

Also, there was Mia Belle, aka The Lemur, who added frivolty and fun and gorgeousness to the party. I adore her! She's my favorite kid who isn't m'elle or Sophia!

That's an IBC root beer, by the way, for authenticity that's still legal.

Plus, she's sort of a tough cookie:

Trust me, you don't want to mess with Mia Belle when she's on a bender. Kid is fierce.

Thanks for hosting us, International House of Amandas! I look forward to many more evenings of keeping my mouth shut and not interfering in man's business!

In conclusion, here is a picture of TC, because I always love taking pictures of him (plus you can see Amanda and her awesome outfit in the background):

"gosh golly-day, Cathy, I'm super-sorry for raping you just then."

2008-06-16T02:55:00.005+01:00

One of the dumbest things about me is that sometimes I do something I know I won't like, but continue to do it, just to punish myself for being so stupid as to have had the bad idea in the first place. Not huge things; I don't stay with my abuser, or anything After-School Special like that. It's the little things; like ordering double-shot macchiatos when I don't even like coffee, and then forcing myself to drink the entire thing as a reminder not to be so fucking stupid in the future.

I've spent the last week doing one of these things.

See, it all started with that guy in Austria who locked up his daughter for 24 years and fathered seven kids by her. After picking my jaw up off the floor, I proceeded to tell anyone who'd listen about how much it reminded me of that V.C. Andrews book, Flowers in the Attic. The guys all went, "wha?" and all the girls went, "Oh my god, I know EXACTLY what you mean!"

It turns out there's sort of a secret society among girls my age; it seems like almost all of us spent our formative years reading V.C. Andrews books and have very fond memories associated with those books. And that's a truly terrible idea; not just because no 11-year old should be reading about rape and incest (and incestuous rape!), but also because the incestuous rape is poorly written.

Seriously. They are really fucking terribly written books. I sort of forgot how bad they actually are (also, I was a precocious 8 when I read Flowers in the Attic, so I wasn't exactly a literary critic just yet). But because I am stupid, and make mistakes and then persist on seeing them through to the bitter end, I recently purchased a copy of FITA and re-read it.

Oh boy. Ohhhh boy. Suffice it to say, its overly-florid prose, terrible characterization and numerous plot holes left me rolling my eyes and begging, pleading, with ol' Freaky Andrews to just get to the incest already. And when the INCEST is the high point of a book, you know you've got problems.

Another major flaw of mine is that I'm incapable of just letting things go and not worrying about their conclusions. I'm a freak; I have to read/watch the sequels to every book or movie, even when those sequels will surely suck, even when those sequels are not even written by the same author who wrote the original book. Y'all, I've read Scarlett, okay? And watched the miniseries. NUMEROUS TIMES.

So I already know that I'm going to have to follow up on this misadventure in terribly-crafted incest with the rest of the Flowers in the Attic series, which, strangely enough, I can still remember the major plot points of, nearly 20 years after reading them. (Incest, incest, incest, Bart's fine mustache, fire, fire, fire, Chris is in love with Cathy, Cathy does it with lots of boys, her kids are crazy, the end.) But I just don't feel like squandering my time and my reputation at my local Half-Price Books for absolutely no gain. And so, I present to you, A New Blog.

Don't worry; it's not taking the place of this one, or anything. There will still be plenty of my inane ramblings about cheese and revelry right here, and maybe even sometimes less-inane ramblings by my blog cohorts (that's a giant hint, guys). But I'm determined to share with the world (or, like, five people, whatevs) the true horror of V.C.Andrews, through reviews and general wtfery posts about these strange worlds she's crafted, where everyone - EVERYONE - does it with their brother eventually (sometimes their uncle - I remember the Cutlers!). Be afraid. Be VERY afraid. I certainly am.

(But while you're being very afraid, definitely drop by and say hi.)

I am not a monkey cause I don't eat bananas.

2008-06-10T04:12:00.002+01:00

The other day, Courtney sent me this link to hilarious science fair experiments. There's some quality stuff in there; I especially love "Crystal Meth: Friend or Foe?" I think I've discussed this on here before, but meth is just the one drug I cannot wrap my head around. Pretty much every other drug I've heard of has at least some good points to it. Heroin makes you completely useless in life, but I'm pretty sure it feels good at the time. Cocaine has a tendency to turn otherwise mild-mannered people into obnoxious, aggressive assholes, but on the upside, the kitchen counters are sparkling by the end of the high.

But meth is just the one drug I do not get. What is its upside? I suppose it does make you lose weight, but even I think that most guys would hesitate on banging some size 0 chick if she's covered in OPEN SORES. Not to mention that the jacked-up meth teeth add an unhealthy dose of danger to Ol' Faithful, the beej. And it tastes (I hear) and smells like slightly warmed over ass. Seriously, meth heads! What is the point?

However, that link led me to another link, which is sadder and scarier than the idea of our children schlubbing their way through the public school system. And that's the idea of children not setting one foot in a public school. And by "public school," I mean "school outside of the confines of one's own home."

Behold, The Creationists' Science Fair.

See, the name in itself is ridiculous, because Creationists cannot be scientists. I'm sorry, they can't. Science is anathema to the very idea of Creation, and vice versa. One cannot claim to legitimately believe that all of life was created within six days (and don't trot out that tired, "well, we didn't say how long a day WAS" argument that they tried to use on me in grade school) and also that life, the existence and maintenance of, is a mystery only to be explained through dedicated study, the answers to which we may never know, which is science in a nutshell. You can't do it! It's impossible! Or it is until someone can come up with a theory which argues that such impossibility is not truly impossible, backed up with reams of data and maybe some theoretical math thrown in!

And see, despite being a scientist, and an anthropologist at that, I take no issue with Creationists. Really. Believe what you want to believe, I say. However, THAT SAID, if you are a Creationist, quit calling yourself a scientist. You're not one! And that's okay! That's fine! But stop borrowing our language in an attempt to make your beliefs come across as less crazy!

The point of science fairs, besides the embarrassment and run on posterboard, which are merely bonuses, is to teach children the Scientific Method. That's it; nothing more, nothing less. Science fairs aren't meant to change the world or discover the cure for the common cold; their entire purpose is to teach children the difference between a Hypothesis and a Theory, studies and data. The goal is merely to make the student understand the process by which scientists study the world around them. So, "my uncle is not a monkey because he declined to eat a banana" is not actually a scientific statement. Hell, remove science altoghether, the entire idea is a fallacy. Is this what we want to teach kids? That just by saying something, it makes it so?

All that said, I find "Rocks can't evolve, Where did they come from, Mr. Darwin?" to be just shirty enough to warrent further investigation.

miz curtis will read from a prepared statement. no questions plz.

2008-06-08T02:07:00.003+01:00

hey, did you know that I'm sort of a big deal?

Well, no, that's not true, but my friend Sarah (aka miz poshdeluxe), with the help of Merelicious, interviewed me for her blog. You can read all about me here. I know, you're WAY excited.

I enjoy pomp AND circumstance.

2008-06-06T20:27:00.003+01:00

Hey, my grandpa's in town!

This is pretty awesome, since I don't get to see him too often. He lives in Mississippi where the rest of my family resides, plus he's, like, a month shy of 90, so it's not like he can just zip over any old time. Hi, PaTom! Give me like twenty minutes and I'll be saying hi to you in person!

He flew in today cause tomorrow's my little cousin Thomas's birthday. Here is a photo of my cousin Thomas:

No, okay, that's actually a picture of Napoleon Dynamite. But when that movie came out, everyone in my family had a good laugh, cause that's basically exactly how Thomas looks/sounds. We like to watch the movie when we all get together and then make fun of him. Um, in a loving way.

I actually know three people who are graduating high school tomorrow - my cousin Thomas, my family's friend Andreea and my brother's girlfriend, Staci. Yeah, my brother's dating someone in high school. And yes, she out-matures him.

I kind of love high school graduations, despite the hours-long ceremonies and the fact that I almost always run into people I don't like, if they're anywhere near Houston. Kind of like a wedding, there's just this overwhelming feeling of promise and hope, people standing poised to reach out and make their future their own. Or at least that's what we tell them, and then quietly chuckle to ourselves when they graduate and realize that college is just more of the same thing. Ha ha, grads, joke's on you!

My own high school graduation was AMAZING. I mean, I already knew it would be, because it meant that I got to say goodbye to all the people I knew in high school. And since I didn't like most of the people I knew in high school, this seemed like a grand prospect. But it actually turned out to be amazing in other ways; the transformer blew on the football field (where we had our graduation cause apparently our class was broke) so we did half of the ceremony in the dark over a megaphone. Someone smuggled in beach balls and silly string (and considering they did actually frisk us to make sure we weren't concealing weaponry under our robes, I have to marvel at where they might have stored this stuff) and the whole ceremony turned into a giant beach party. My mom told me once that while she expected to cry buckets, she couldn't do anything but laugh at my graduation ceremony, as groups of kids tried to spell out "Terry '98" in shaving cream on the football field. (I didn't tell my mom but they tried to spell out several naughty words as well, only they ran out of shaving cream.) And as I stood there laughing at it all with my little circle of friends, something really strange happened - all those people I couldn't stand came over and were friendly to me. I mean, for the past 6 years, they did nothing but torment me, and now all of a sudden, they wanted to be my BFF? I realized that they, like me, were just a little unsure of their place in the great big world that was about to greet them, and they wanted to latch on to someone familiar.

I smiled very nicely and then walked away. I'm sentimental, not stupid.

But it's a great feeling to graduate high school, to feel like finally your life is your own to mold and shape how you will. I think that quiet hope we have then is gift we give to ourselves, and I can trace the best moments of my life to when that feeling comes over me once again. When I can step back and look at my friends or my family or my job and think, "yep, this is the life I've made myself, and just look at where I can take it."

So congrats, Thomas and Andreea and Staci! I hope you all fulfill the promises you make to yourself this weekend! And if your promises lead you to a job which earns you a lot of money and/or free stuff, I expect that you will keep me in mind.

for sherrie, on her birthday

2008-05-31T04:16:00.003+01:00

It's my friend's birthday today.

I've repeated that to myself all day, like a mantra, like a wish, even a reminder, maybe, since she's no longer around to remind me herself.

It's hard to lose someone you love. That's universal - it hurts no matter how they leave your life. But when they make the choice to stop living, like Sherrie did, it becomes almost impossible. When someone commits suicide, the grief which overwhelms the living is tainted, I guess. It's sticky, it's hot, coated in anger and guilt and shame and fear. But maybe that's true of all death, maybe it's true of every ending; these are the things of which I am still unsure.

Last year on this day I opened a bottle of champagne, because Sherrie loved it, because we used to be rock stars, and proceeded to drink it methodically, almost maniacally, desperate to cling to memories of her. I didn't do that this year, but the memories still come. They are no longer unbidden.

I'm not sure when I'm supposed to stop grieving her. I'm not sure whether it should have happened already - am I getting better? I can't tell. Hearing her name only feels like being punched in the stomach most of the time now, instead of all of the time, but I still can't talk about her with most people. I watched the days slip by this week and fought back the rising tide of panic at the encroaching date of her birth, but today I woke up and it was almost a normal day. I've learned to blame less people for the circumstances of her life, and even fewer for the circumstances of her death, but the hate and rage still slick my stomach, and if I'm being honest with myself, I still blame everyone for everything. I blame strangers on the street for not knowing her, even. But mixed with that is a sort of pity, "I feel bad for you," I think. "You missed out on knowing a great girl."

I guess that's why I'm writing this here, which I normally would not do. Because some of the people reading this didn't know her, and I feel sorry for those people. They missed out on knowing a great girl. They missed out on knowing a girl who would hunt up decades-old used books from bookstores in Australia on the most ridiculous subjects because she knew a friend who'd be interested, a girl who would leap airport turnstiles to greet people, dressed in combat boots and a frilly skirt, a girl who'd craft little storybooks as birthday cards, pieced together out of glitter pens and construction paper and bits of magazine.

I miss you every day, Sherrie. And every day I keep expecting, hoping, that things will get a little easier, that hearing your name won't cause my stomach to twist in knots, that I can see a picture of Vinnie without being overwhelmed by guilt, that something funny or clever or stressful or heartbreaking will happen and I won't immediately think, "I wish Sherrie could hear this." That hasn't happened quite yet, but something I didn't expect - something I didn't know to hope for - has: every day I remember something about you I love; every day I remember something you said or did that I'm grateful for. So maybe I can't quite accept your death yet, but I'm learning a lot about celebrating your life. And that's why I can say happy birthday, and mean it, because no matter how you left, the point was, you were here.

"just play the feckin' chord!"

2008-05-26T23:12:00.003+01:00

This weekend was the host of a Very Large Checkmark In The Con Column in the lives of many people who are tired of living in America. No, I'm not talking about the release of Indiana Jones IV or some mishap involving a bbq grill and a can of lighter fluid, not even of Hillary Clinton vaguely alluding to Obama getting assassinated during the California primary, although that was certainly awkward. No, my friends, this weekend saw America once again missing out on perhaps the greatest spectacle ever to be simulcast on televion: EUROVISION.

Why is it that America, land of the free, home of the brave (eh, ish), inventor of the light bulb and the phone and cable tv cannot enter Eurovision? WHY? Oh, because we're not European? So? Who wants to be European anyway?

Well . . . I do. But only vaguely European. Like, can I be European, but only with regards to cheese? Would that work?

Even though Eurovision coldly and without good reason prevents the United States from joining the competition, it's still one of the greatest things in the world. I first learned of Eurovision like I learn of many things: through television. In this case, I learned about it through an episode of Father Ted, in which Father Ted and Dougal decide to enter a song in Ireland's Eurovision qualification competition. Their song is a MASTERPIECE, obviously:

In all honesty, I didn't realize that Eurovision actually existed. I thought they'd just made it up for the show. I mean, a giant, multi-country contest about SINGING? Seriously? The Olympics aren't cheesy enough, now we have to add power ballads to the mix? This opinion wasn't helped by Father Ted's video for "My Lovely Horse."

I think I persisted in thinking that Eurovision was a made-up comedy bit for about two years, until Courtney sat me down very gently one day and said, "no, no, Erin. You see, Eurovision is REAL. That's where ABBA comes from."

Which is true, ABBA did win Eurovision for Sweden. And even MORE AMAZINGLY, Katrina and the Waves won it for, I guess, England. (Germany? Where the hell are Katrina and the Waves from? I always thought they were Canadian. Don't tell me Canada's allowed to enter!!)

But perhaps you, like me, were unaware of the existance of Eurovision. Or perhaps you, like Meredith, are unconvinced of the awesomeness of Eurovision. Never fear! Thanks to youtube, all your musical prayers are about to be answered.

This year's Eurovision final was held in Belgrade, because Serbia won the contest last year. See, the winner hosts the next year's contest. This was Serbia's winning song/performance last year:

This gives you a general idea of your typical Eurovision entry. There are ALWAYS interpretive dancers in crazy costumes. ALWAYS. Sometimes the interpretive dancers are dressed like VAMPIRES, like in Switzerland's painstakingly literal entry from last year, "Vampires are Alive:"

By the way, the exclusion of "Vampires are Alive" in last year's finals really threatened to put me off Eurovision. For some reason, the people voting (uh, Europeans, I guess) are not quite on the same page as to what Eurovision is supposed to be about. It is NOT supposed to be uplifting Celine Dion-esque ballads performed by spunky lesbians. It is DEFINITELY supposed to be techno songs about vampires. Jeez, Europe. Get a clue, would you?

This year, I missed out on watching the English airing of Eurovision, with Terry Wogan's wry, steadily-getting-drunker commentary about all of the shitty performances, as well as his conspiracy theories about the Eastern European voting bloc and how Eurovision is merely a herald of the eventual rise of Eastern Europe and the fall of London and Paris. Sometimes I think poor Wogan's been through too many Cold War drills. But I can still bring to you some select highlights from this year's Eurovision contest:

Here we have Azerbaijen's entry. As you can tell from the DEVILS and ANGELS and their DANCE BATTLE, this country has the right idea about Eurovision entries:

Germany's entry, however, is not so great. In fact, the less said about it, the better. I do wonder how Heidi Montag (surely that is her, the blonde in white?) got a girl group together and managed to convince Germany to let her perform their entry.

And then . . . we have Bosnia. What they do well, they do REALLY WELL. I mean, crazy Flashdancing by a woman dressed as Raggedy Ann? Robotic lead singer who looks like a Hedwig reject? People in overalls doing dances with brooms for which I can only imagine is an homage to the Buffy musical? Yes, please. And yet, they had to RUIN EVERYTHING by putting a live bird ON STAGE. Bosnia! What are you DOING to me?? The 90s weren't bad enough? Now there have to be birds involved?

And now, let's narrow it down to the winners, shall we? Greece came in third, with their impression of a pre-breakdown Britney cribbing moves from Bob Fosse:

This video reminds me of one of the STRANGEST things about Eurovision: non-English speakers singing songs in English. I don't know why they do it, unless they're pandering for votes from the UK, but it always tickles me, because the songs don't make any sense. "To win a destination in the center of my heart?" Huh? What does that even mean, Greece? Sing in Greek! It's a lovely language! Why are you trying to sing in English?

Also, who is directing this show? Does he have to use the bathroom, or something?

Ukraine came in second, because their Fossian moves were better, plus the entire performance was a bit more eau de strip club:

But because Eastern Europe is going to rise up and take us all over soon, Russia won the show with their song from some guy who enjoys writhing around the floor and singing with a lisp. Well, who doesn't? I presume that they won for their addition of a random, nonsensical ice skater:

Seriously . . .why is there an ice skater? What am I saying? This is EUROVISION. Why isn't that ice skater wearing a live turkey on his head, that's the question I should be asking.

Still, though, if I had anything to say about it, and, as an American, I think we've established that I should have EVERYTHING to say about it, I would have voted Latvia as the winners of Eurovision 2008. I mean, how can you beat PIRATES? You seriously can't.

Sarah, Mere, why didn't we get these guys to play the Pirate Party? Would have been amazing. Plus, I am sorry, but "Wolves of the Sea" is really catchy. See if you don't start humming it to yourself at work.

I mean, it's no "My Lovely Horse," but what can be? Actually, Ireland's entry from this year, Dustin the Turkey, comes pretty damn close:

If you can't beat them, write a song mocking them and have it performed by a giant puppet turkey with what looks like disco balls for boobs, that's what I always say.

Okay, now that you've seen some of the videos, what is YOUR favorite part about Eurovision? And don't you think Americans deserve to enter, even thought we're not technically a part of that continent??

ni hao, world.

2008-05-21T00:50:00.004+01:00

I was uploading photos to flickr, and today's greeting is in Mandarin. But then I went back to the home page, and it was in Swedish. Hej, blog.

This past weekend was fun-filled and action-packed, like a summer blockbuster movie. I got to spend time with a wealth of Houston friends, which was great, because it's already getting to that point in the Texas summer where it's fight or flight - I either go out and Do Things and Be With People, or I spend all my time hiding in a cool, dark room, praying for it to be October already. I don't particularly like the latter way of getting through the summer, so it's glad I am that I have amazing friends nearby so that I can do the former.

On Friday, I met some of my friends at our local institution, Warren's. I love Warren's - it's walking distance of the Rice, which means free parking for me, they pour whiskey with a liberal hand, the bartenders actually know how to make a whiskey press correctly (this is v. rare, trust) and we go so often that they totally know our group, what we like to drink, even our names. Plus, we're a bit like a gang, and no one messes with our territory - the balcony seats are ours, Houston. In fact, except for the rare but deadly occurrances of BeCargoShorted Douchebags trying to court me ("good luck at your gig!"), Warren's is pretty much perfect.

It helps to have great people to hang out with, though.

Jerry, Patrick, Matt and Ray

Tabletops looks really confused. Except, I'm not supposed to call him Tabletops in public anymore cause he says it makes him look bad. FINE. Patrick looks really confused.

Mere and I, on the other hand, are totally going to be cast in some sort of Identity Switch movie, no? Maybe we're secretly sisters! But we're going after the same man! And he can't tell us apart! Oh, the comedy of it all!

Ray told me later in the evening that he tried really hard not to look at the camera once, because he was working on not being a camera hog. Ray, hello, that is why I love you! That, and your slick dance moves. And the fact that a lot of times you have a flask on you. So, okay, there are three reasons I love you, but the camera thing is totally number one.

Alexandra and Jill

Alex came! I hadn't seen her since . . . oh gosh, new year's? Can that be right?? It was funny, we were wearing the EXACT SAME SHOES. Only hers were black and mine were yellow.

Also, Sunday was Jill's birthday. Happy birthday, Jill!

Here is Ray studiously not looking at the camera. Even Juliet thinks he's being silly.

I can't remember why people decided to show me their muscles, but I remember telling them that I could take them all single-handed. And then Patrick showed me his actual muscles. They are bigger than my head.

After we had scared off the rest of the patrons of Warren's with talk of circumcision (don't ask) and rotting vegetable smells (REALLY don't ask), we decided to go back to the Rice to see Jerry and Jill's new apartment. It's super cute, and they have TONS of windows to look out on the streets below. We also drank Matt's AMAZING homebrew that he made for the St. Arnold's brewing competition (more on that later). It seriously was some super tasty beer.

Then we just hung around and talked till the wee hours, spied on people and had a dance party to MJ and also Kanye. It was a perfect way to close out a pretty stressful week.

On Saturday night, I went to have dinner with my BFF Aly, her husband Josh and their little girl, Sophia. (Oh, and Josh's brother Jeremy, as well.) I've known Aly for almost 24 years, which is so insane that I can't even wrap my head around the idea. She truly is my sister in pretty much every way but sharing DNA (does swapping it count?); her parents are my second parents, Josh is totally my brother-in-law, and I know that no matter what, I can always go to Aly with anything. It's funny, with her job and mine, and our family obligations, we don't get to see each other as much as we'd like to, but it's never weird or awkward when we do get together. It's like no time has passed - we spend three minutes filling each other in on any major surgeries (her) or boys whose hearts we've broken (usually me. sometimes her, though) and then we go about our business like we were never apart. I can't imagine what life would be like if it weren't for Aly; luckily, I don't have to.

Also, she just found out that she's preggers again. Yay, Aly! She and Josh have been wanting another baby for a while now, and since she just made the decision to leave work and go back to school for her Masters, it sort of couldn't have come at a better time. Also, if Sophia is anything to go by, this second kid is going to be a brilliant knockout.

Hi, Phia! ILU!!!

Sophia's so smart, guys; she can practically read already and can spell her name and do all sorts of crazy babygenius stuff. She's only two!! Plus, Josh always teaches her really funny phrases to say to people - this weekend she was running around telling everyone "Du hast mich!!"

After dinner, Josh started talking about Two Girls One Cup, which I had FORTUNATELY never heard of before. I say fortunately because my inquisitive nature would not allow me to rest until I saw it, even though everyone, even Josh (who once showed me a video where a man sticks HIS ENTIRE HEAD up a girl's vajayjay), told me NOT TO DO IT. Let me please reiterate their advice. DO NOT WATCH TWO GIRLS ONE CUP. DO NOT DO IT. BAD. BAD IDEA OKAY?

After leaving Josh and Aly's, I went to Meridian to see The Virgins/Be Your Own Pet/She Wants Revenge. I love Meridian; it's probably my favorite place to watch shows, because there are multiple bars and the antechamber has tons of places to sit and people-watch between acts. The Virgins and Be Your Own Pet were both really good - The Virgins were fun and peppy and everyone was dancing along. Here is video, not from me, and not from their show at Meridian, of them performing "Rich Girls" for your enjoyment:

I like how one of the comments on the video is "Film the bassist for god's sake!" It's like I spoke through this stranger on youtube, like I guided his/her hand while typing that comment. Actually, I should like to point out that at no point on Saturday night did I hit on a bassist, so I think I'm actually growing and maturing as a person.

Be Your Own Pet were, of course, exhausting, in the best possible way. Watching Jemina is like watching a wind-up toy which someone has put down on a stage; she just goes and goes and goes. AND GOES. Ah, to be young. This video sums up the movement, if not the noise:

I left in the middle of She Wants Revenge. As it turns out, while it's great to be a Joy Division fan, and while it's great to know Joy Division fans, being in the same room with three hundred Joy Division fans is just annoying. Especially when they're all there to watch a band who couldn't come close to the brilliance of Joy Division in their most fervent fantasies.

On Sunday, I met Mere, Matt, Jill, Daniel, Sarah and Henri (phew!) at St. Arnold's brewery. We were all there to support Matt in the homebrew competition. Look how supportive we look!

Actually, we look tired and annoyed. This is because there were two guys (The Beer Choads, for lack of knowing their actual names. No, that's not true; I did know one of their names. But Beer Choads is certainly more accurate) were having a competition to see who could be the most obnoxious and overly loud. I'm not sure who won, but I know who lost: all of us who had to sit there and listen to them. Only my deep and abiding affection for Matt would cause me to sit through that.

While Matt didn't win (although I still suspect a kickbacks situation), he had a super high score, and all the judges were really effusive in their praise of his excellent beer. I'm so proud of him! He worked really hard on that beer and the results were mighty tasty!

Here we all are celebrating his good score outside:

Jill, me, Mere, Daniel, Matt, Sarah and Henri

Okay, everyone else is celebrating. I'm busy thinking, "oh shit, I've put my 600 dollar camera into the hands of a total stranger outside of a brewery! What have I done??"

I feel like this photo accurately sums up my and mere's friendship:

Everyone else is busy focused on the reason we're there, and we're busy laughing over something privately.

After leaving the brewery, we decided to drive to some mysterious bar that only Daniel had heard of. We walked by this mysterious bar (still not convinced it exists!) about 5 times before realizing that it was closed. THAT IS HOW MYSTERIOUS IT IS. (That, or we were sidetracked by the American Apparrel shop windows. Hipster habits are hard to break.) So, instead, we went to Agora, where we had caffeine and booze and a few minutes more with Sarah and Henri before they had to leave to go back to Austin. Bye, Sarah and Henri! See you next month!

Daniel practices his life of leisure at Agora.

I'm glad I got to see everyone - with everyone's summer plans, it's going to be a long time till we're all back under one roof. Don't fly away too far, friends! Unless you're stowing me in your carry-on!

Hellllllllo, Miz Lady!

2008-05-17T04:13:00.011+01:00

I was really looking forward to seeing the new Indiana Jones. Now I'm starting to hear bad buzz about it, which makes me sad. I have a gene that makes it nearly impossible for me to spend money on a ticket for a movie that I know sucks.

I say "nearly" because the one time I went against my instinct, I ended up going with friends to see "American Wedding", a movie so bad that it made me want to cause harm to others and to myself. Everyone liked it except me, so maybe I was wrong, BUT I DON'T THINK SO.

Some of my friends expect me to see Sex & The City with them, and I probably will go, but I reserve the right to back out. We'll see what the reviews are like.

Here are movies I'm particularly interested in seeing this summer. I've already seen Iron Man (awesome awesome awesome), but it was the first theater movie I've seen in 2008, which I can't believe. I'm gonna try to see these (unless they get bad reviews, natch):

The X-Files: I Want to Believe

This has to be good. It will break my heart if it blows. I've already got a date for this movie - my mom, who turned me on to The X-Files in season 1 because I was too dense to start watching it immediately when it premiered.

Eeeeeeee, Billy Connolly!!!

Step Brothers

I really had no interest in this until I saw the preview at Iron Man. Will Ferrell's Pablo Cruise shirt hints at greatness.

Pineapple Express

Eh, this will probably suck. I've enjoyed pretty much everything Judd Apatow has touched, like, ever. One day he will disappoint me. I'm hoping this one isn't it.

Tropic Thunder

I know, I know, this is the third comedy in a row. Whatever. Robert Downey Jr. is a freaking genius, and I will beat down anyone who says differently.

I will even tolerate Ben Stiller to see RDJ in this role (although Simple Jack is so wrong it's right). Red Band trailer:

Hamlet 2

This film may never make it to my town, and I'll have to wait until it comes out on DVD to see it. But if it does show up, it'll undoubtably play in the art theater in my neighborhood. Hurrah!

"Rock Me Sexy Jesus" infects your brain like syphillis.

Soooooo many comedies. I do actually prefer drama, I swear. There's just not any coming out this summer that interest me.

Speaking of, I just saw The Orphanage, which was beautiful and heart-breaking and scared the hell out of me. I highly, highly recommend it. My friend and I talked about it for two days afterwards.

See it see it see it.

In conclusion, a baby hamster eating popcorn on a piano.

eeeeeeeeeeeeeeee.

2008-05-17T01:04:00.001+01:00

Dollhouse teaser at FOX upfronts

"Hyannisport is a ghet-to! OUTTA CAPE COD TONIGHT!"

2008-05-16T02:17:00.011+01:00

(the subject line is a lyric from m'elle's new favorite song, Walcott by Vampire Weekend.)

I'm going to do something I don't normally do on the internet, and that is brag about my kid. (I don't normally do this on the internet because A) I hate being That Person Who Brags About Their Kid, because I hate those people and B) I'm crazy-paranoid that some weird creep will save pictures of my kid to his hard drive or something, only to be found years later which Chris Hansen comes to bust him. I've seen too many episodes of Law and Order: SVU.)

Tonight, m'elle's preschool had their annual end-of-year program. All the kids get up and sing songs that they've learned (or, in the case of the younger kids, stand up and cry while songs are played over the loud speakers) for their family members' enjoyment and delight. Now, normally, these things can go one of two ways if you're a parent: your kid can either stand up there and sing loud and proud and totally shine in the spotlight, or s/he can stand stock still, perhaps with his/her back to the audience, and wail. It is always, always a toss-up.

This year m'elle decided to grace the audience with her very loud singing voice (taken straight, as you can tell, from the Callahan side of the family, bless her) as well as her amazing skill for following choreography (also taken from the Callahan side, thankyouverymuch). Unfortunately, they stood a tall giantess of a girl in front of my kid, so I had to sort of duck into corners to get photos of her. But see how intently she is doing her choreography?

She totally looks like a tiny little Revivalist, no? Her preschool is in a church, so I have to be on constant alert with my behavior, or she'll totally call me out. I also have to bite my tongue a lot, because I don't want my natural cynical nature corrupting her sweet and entirely humbling faith in something greater. Although I do have to speak up when she talks about Jesus taking away her boo-boos. "Listen, kid, let me tell you about leukocytes, okay?"

That kid in front of her is so totally uninterested in the goings-on of the song. KID! Maybe cop a squat or something so that people can see my kid instead, who is so totally ONE WITH THE MUSIC.

Here is an extremely low-quality video (like, seriously, I shove my old camera in a drawer for six months and all of a sudden it falls apart?) of one of the songs they sang. It's also shaky cause I couldn't stop giggling at how cute all the kids were. (The lady who comes to play air guitar in the middle is the school director. It was an artistic move that I, as cinematographer, was unprepared for.)

After m'elle's group sang, the graduating class walked out in their caps and gowns to get their diplomas. How cute are they?

After the program was over, we all trooped back to her classroom, where she showed us her end of year art projects. We also took a little time for what was obviously the highlight of the evening: cookies.

Also I took a photo of this religious artwork (not done by m'elle, but rather by a kid who actually goes to that church):

I think, if churches are looking for ways to make the Bible seem hip again, they might look to this picture. Having Adam and Eve wear matching black leather bondage-esque outfits would certainly attract a new and different crowd.

As you can tell, there was no rhyme or reason to this blog entry at all, other than to talk about my kid. So I'll leave you with this photo from a few days ago, when we went into The Sharper Image and played Jedi Knights. I, sadly, was wounded in battle, and m'elle emerged the victor. See, that's the greatest thing about having a kid - it means you get to be one, too.

"i dunno, maybe we should have let them win the war after all," part 1205

2008-05-14T00:36:00.004+01:00

My raging case of Anglophilia is pretty well known, I think; it is a disease for which I have found no cure, a disease I often fear is terminal. When a person is sat on a tube platform at four in the morning, staring at rats and thinking how happy she is to be in London, there's really no hope for her. (I often wonder how the English, being the parents of the language, can so horribly mangle the English language and its grammatical rules. And I also wonder why I pepper my own natural south of the mason-dixon dialect with other countries' shitty slang.) And while I certainly understand that my Anglophilia causes me to have blinders about some things - are sausage rolls really the ne plus ultra of breakfast foods? Actually, yes, yes they are - there are some ways in which it is QUITE CLEAR that the land of Her Majesty the Queen has it all over us poor American slobs.

Okay, one way. Well, two, but Magners is actually Irish and thus doesn't count.

That way? Television.

I'm sorry, but it's true. British TV wipes the floor with American TV, almost all the time. Sure, America's capable of producing some shows that England couldn't imagine in their most fervent nerdy wet dreams - The X-Files, for example, could never have worked over in England. They aren't nearly paranoid enough about their government (I mean, CCTV! And NO ONE questions this?? People, rise up!) to relate to Mulder, and also I don't think the British Parliament is so loose-fisted with their security budgets as we are - how else do we explain Scully's season 4-and-later wardrobe? Plus, no offense, England, but I've seen your iconic sci-fi show, and apart from the charming and hot Scottish fellow playing the titular character, it kinda blows.

Also, England could never produce something like Gossip Girl, because all of their soap operas are about really ugly, middle-class, downtrodden people. I don't get that. If I wanted to see ugly people's ugly problems, I'd go outside and make friends. No! I want to see pretty people's glamorous problems! From the safety and comfort of my couch!

But apart from sci-fi metaphors of our search for God in a godless world, and shows about Blair Waldorf being awesome, I have to say that England tends to do it just a bit better than us. Here are three examples, from three different genres, that wipe the floor with any sort of American counterparts:

Surreal Comedies:

This is The Mighty Boosh:

Pretty much everything you need to know about The Mighty Boosh can be summed up by this photo: two men, one has great hair, the other a great mustache.

No, really, The Boosh is an amazing surreal comedy about two friends, Howard and Vince, and the trouble they get up to going about their daily lives. Vince befriends polar bears and is worshipped by aliens and loves Gary Numan and has an amazing assortment of hats. Howard loves Jazz and accidentally gets taken to Monkey Hell and is hated by the Wind and had his first kiss on a rooftop on his 32nd birthday. With Vince.

Okay, so there's really no good way to explain The Boosh, except to say that it's like watching someone else's pot-and-ecstacy-inspired daydream, and that there's singing involved. Singing, Mod Wolves, people with heads made of cheese, a mystic shamen who has an ape as a familiar and a villain called Betamax.

And while The Boosh does air, edited, on BBCAmerica and has gained some popularity over here in America, the truth is that we just can't deal with such a strange, surreal comedy. The most surreal comedy we have is probably Flight of the Conchords:

And they're from New Zealand.

Reality TV:

No, Anne, I'm not going to mention ASBO Teen To Beauty Queen, even if it is possibly the greatest thing I've ever seen in my life. :)

The truth is, we steal a lot of reality tv from the Brits. You can blame them for Dancing With the Stars (aka Strictly Come Dancing, a title that makes no sense to me no matter how many times people explain its origins. Yes, yes, Baz, I know.), American Idol (aka Pop Idol, originally, and now in the form of the fantastic The X Factor, which is so much better than AI, I cannot even tell you), America's Got Talent (we do?), Trading Spaces, What Not To Wear; NBC has even picked up the terrible Baby Borrowers and will be airing the American version this fall.

But for the most part, these reality shows have about the same level of quality (if any) across the ocean. Only one really stands head and shoulders above the rest, only one is so far superior in its UK version than in its poor American imitation, only one can tempt me to actually BUY A HARD DRIVE to store it on during the summer.

Ladies and gentlemen, I present to you, Big Brother:

(Hi, twins! Hi, Chiggy! Hello, Emily, you racist slut! Cheesy Quavers! Oh, all my old friends!)

I've only watched one season of America's Big Brother: last year with Evil Dick and his fascinating rape fantasies. And it took me approximately one week to cycle through all the stages of Reality Show Depression: shock that this show made it to air, obligatory old-man comment about how it used to be different in my day, guilty facination despite myself, outrage when someone is kicked off before their lamer/viler/uglier/dumber co-contestants, oversaturation, total boredom.

Big Brother US is just not fun, guys. It's missing - well, it's missing everything that makes Big Brother UK so great (and it is so great) - Julie Chen's weird bobblehead in no way bests Davina McCall's excited shrieking, the US tasks aren't nearly ridiculous enough, and no blonde, vapid US villians will ever be as amazing as Nikki:

Oh, Big Brother. I can't wait until June, when you're back in my life! Like an old friend, you always know just what to do to cheer me up. And it usually involves someone shrieking about ass herpes.

Dramas About Time-Travelling Mancunian Cops

Okay, so this is a bit specific, but it was brought on by mere forwarding me information about the ridiculous, blasphemous, sure-to-be-shitty David E. Kelly remake of one of my very favorite shows, Life on Mars. ABC picked up the series for this fall, and guys, I know I am the girl who cries wolf about this stuff, I know that I basically threatened people with bodily harm if they watched the US remake of The Office, and yes, I can admit that that ONE TIME, I happened to be wrong (although to be fair, based on the first six eps of the first season of The Office US, I was still right. And how was I to know the appeal of Jim Halpert?), but PLEASE BELIEVE ME when I say that the US remake of Life On Mars is going to be one of the shittiest things on television. I can say confidently, without hesitation, that David E Kelly will fuck that show up so very bad that you'll want to throw away all your Bowie albums just because he'll remind you of this soon-to-be show. Trust me. Because, friends, you may be able to, if not upgrade, at least pay loving homage to Ricky Gervais and Steven Merchant, but no one, NO ONE, will be able to upgrade these two people:

This? Is Phillip Glenister and John Simm, better known as Gene Hunt (Trust the Gene Genie) and Sam Tyler. They make Life on Mars. They are Life on Mars. They elevate it from the quasi-spooky, vaguely hokey drama that it could have been into the witty, cutting, quasi-gay, heart-wrenching, edge-of-your-seat-must-see-more SUPERNOVA OF A SHOW that it turned out to be. Please do yourself a favor and watch the original (read: BEST! ONLY! TRUE!) Life on Mars series. It's only, what, 16 episodes long? I watched all of them in a week. In Mississippi. If it can be done there, it can be done anywhere. Because, I promise you, if you happen by this shoddy American remake on ABC this fall, if you accidentally catch a few minutes of its watered-down, sentimental claptrap, you will have spoiled yourself; you will have ruined what could have been the greatest relationship between you and a television show you'll ever have. Love yourself, people. Watch Life on Mars before it's too late.

Also, if it helps? The soundtrack's amazing. And that fellow on the right gets naked.

continuing adventures in fake hitting things

2008-05-12T21:50:00.003+01:00

My Body Combat class continues to excel itself. Yesterday alone it had:

- a woman who worked in Lush, with glitter up her arms, who smelt delightful, and filled the whole room with candy creamy goodness. For the first fifteen minutes, and then she smelt of sweat like the rest of us.

- a jump kick routine set to a dance version of Jump by Van Halen.

- the last song, a flurry of punches, set to ' You can't stop the Beat' from Hairspray. Hardcore. (I totally came home and downloaded the song.)

Genius. Now if I could only manage to get a place in a class more than once every two months.

In other exercise news, I can now swim half a mile! Quick question though- if you were going to have a chat with a friend, why would you chose to stand in the slow lanes of the pool at the busiest time of the day? Surely there must be some other, less damp places to chat?

Please don't fooled into thinking that i am in anyway fit and healthy by the topics of this post. It's just that going to the gym is still so rare that I feel compelled to mention it each time ;-)

the internet is for kicking james blunt in the pants

2008-05-08T01:50:00.005+01:00

There are a lot of reasons I love my friend Miggie: she is witty and sarcastic and cutting and kind, she knows approx. twelve languages, she has amazing boobs and she has dressed individual members of Franz Ferdinand, which is pretty awesome.

Also, she does things like this: makes up a game where you can kick James Blunt in the ass.

Kicking James Blunt is supremely therapeutic. Try it, you'll see. And see if you can beat my current best of 104000 m.

You might wonder what would lead miggie to create a game like this. The answer is pretty simple. Miggie really, really, RLY hates James Blunt. m'elle used to sing "You're Beautiful" in the car before I told her to stop or I'd sell her to gypsies, and once I made her sing it for miggie's voicemail, just to make her scream. Good times.

And, from Sarah, who I think got it from mistah katz, the Montana Meth Project. Oh, meth. You're the sexiest of all the class A drugs.

Top Ten Things I Love About Austin

2008-05-07T00:13:00.003+01:00

This happens anytime I visit Austin these days; I am filled with love for my old place of residence and dream wistfully of all the places I wish I could go every day. (Don't worry, then I dream about getting on Mopac or having to drive downtown past 12 at night or running into certain ex-boyfriends who want to glom all over me with their gross emotional issues, and I remember why I left.) So because I'm still on an Austin high, here are my Top Ten Things I Love About Austin (to be immediately supplanted with other things as I think them up later):

10) Driving through 360/Bee Caves and looking at houses.

When I was at school, Mandy and I used to climb in my car on weekday afternoons and drive around the hills of Austin. We'd make up stories about the people who lived in the giant houses towering above the lake and plan our own lottery-winnings-funded dream houses. I don't have any made-up stories of people in houses to share with you today, but instead you can have this true story:

I was a sophomore in college and I needed a new job, having been burned out (and burned, period) at my previous 40-hour job at the hair salon. (You guys, hair is SRS BZNZ, okay?) So I decided to nanny.

I know. It's cool; I'll wait till you stop laughing at the idea of me taking care of kids for a living. I laughed too.

Anyway, so this family included a previously-divorced woman, her new husband (who I never saw in five months of working there), his 18 year old son who lived in California, and their two girls, aged 5 and 7. I was never really clear, actually, on whether the girls were the absent husband's or the first husband's, and I thought it rude to ask. To paint a picture of the mom, who was the only non-child family member I ever saw, I will just tell you that she wore designer track suits and had her makeup tattooed on her face. Tattooed. And she wasn't like Mia's grandma in The Princess Diaries, you know, 70+ years old. She was like 40.

The first time I came to the house to meet the girls, the mom had the youngest one take me on a grand tour of the home. I was charmed by little Kayla's impestuous nature, but started to realize exactly what I was getting into when she led me into the third-floor playroom. Looking out the window, she said, "This window has to stay closed all the time because of Alli." (Alli was the 7 year old.) "Oh," I say. "Did she try to climb out of it?" "No," little Kayla replied, matter-of-factly. "She got jealous because the last babysitter was braiding my hair and not hers, so she threw the cat out the window."

Yeah. Threw the cat. Out of a third story window. Because she was jealous.

Why I didn't just cut and run then is still a mystery to me, although it may have been due to the size of my bank account. But no, like the moron I usually am, I stayed. Stayed through the fights and the tantrums and the spoiled princess behavior, stayed through 6 solid weeks of going to Chuck E Cheese EVERY DAY because their mom asked me to take them, stayed through the Friday afternoon drive to the kids' psychotherapy appointments (I am not even kidding), Alli pitching a fit because she didn't want to "color some fucking house" and Kayla humming to herself like a space cadet.

Oh, it was a time. The final straw came when Kayla pitched a fit because I wouldn't let her ride her bicycle in the house, due to, you know, the priceless works of art and also the fact that it's Austin in October and it's gorgeous out. She walked over to the grand piano and started kicking it and hitting it, picking up sculptures and vases and slamming them against the keys. That was the point when their mom came home, and I explained what was going on. She said she'd handle it, and she certainly did, in her weird hippie-mom way: "Kayla, I appreciate that you're expressing your anger artistically."

That was is. That was the reprimand. "I appreciate that you're expressing your anger artistically." That was the point when I knew I just couldn't do it anymore.

I often think about little Alli and Kayla, who'd be teenagers now, and wonder if their mother has completely destroyed any hope of normalcy for them. But when I pass those big houses in the hills, I always figure that is exactly what's going on behind closed doors.

9)Dolce Vita gelato shop in Hyde Park

This is one of those Austin places that make me sad now, because it's gotten really snobby and expensive and lame, I hear. And, to be fair, it was always a little snobby and expensive, but it used to not be lame. Katherine, Mandy and I would go here late on Tuesday nights and eat gelato and drink cappucino and smoke expensive hand-rolled cigars that we bought from Mojo's (that'd top my list if it were still the real thing) and generally be pretty douchey and snobby ourselves. But I am a firm believer that everyone deserves a little luxury, even poor college kids who just want to talk about whether Leo and Greenlee are ever going to FINALLY get together.

Also, since it's an italian dessert shop, I never felt guilty about taking my Italian books there to study. I was ABSORBING CULTURE. In the form of pomegranate gelato.

8) B Side/The Showdown*

I had to list these together because they represent my two favorite bars in Austin, for two very different reasons. I lived next door to the Showdown for five freaking years, and I am not even kidding when I say that I used to drink there in my pjs. Why not? It was just next door! Jeannie and Grae's boyfriend Mel and I used to skip class and go play pool all day, drinking pitcher after pitcher of Shiner until we were so stumbling drunk that we could barely find our way home. Which was NEXT DOOR. Of course, The Showdown is now sort of Dead To Me, after they kicked us out one time after catching Mere drinking without an ID. It was my celebratory "I can drink again!" night, too, which is just uncool, Showdown.

My other favorite bar in Austin is B Side, both for its laid-back-yet-sort-of-swanky-atmosphere and the fact that it never, never checked IDs. The first time I ever went there was when I was invited to a photograper's gallery opening after-party. There I was, nineteen years old, surrounded by skinny models (he was a fashion photographer, and he dated my coworker) and tons of rich Austin people. I had no idea what I was even doing there and sort of wanted to fade into the walls, but instead I got pulled up to the bar, bought several rounds of drinks, and ended up making about 10 new friends. And then, later on in my college career, my bestie Lucas and I would always end up at B Side, because we were both unbearably posh but also sort of poor (B Side's perfect clientele!). I miss your Manhattans, B Side!

*Yes, yes, Mugshots is totally number three.

7) The Enchanted Forest

What's that you say? I can't include it on my list because I just discovered it? I don't think so! The Enchanted Forest totally deserves a place of honor. It's enchanted.

6) Whole Foods flagship store

That's sort of a cliche, but it's true, so what can I do? I'd moved away during the construction of the flagship store, and I came back to visit Austin and randomly ran into Matt at Taco Shack (more on that later). We decided to hang out for a while, and he asked if I'd been to the new Whole Foods. When he learned I hadn't, he just laid a gentle hand on my arm and said very solemly, "Erin, the cheese section. You're going to need someone to catch you when you collapse." He was so right, too. UGH, MARRY ME, CHEESEMONGERS.

5) Mozart's

This is Mozart's:

It is my number one studying/thinking/espresso-shake-consuming place in Austin. I miss being able to go there whenever I wanted and enjoy delicious baked goods in the cool breeze off Lake Austin.

4) Waterloo Records

Where else can you stock an entire esoteric record collection in a half-hour's time?

3) Mexican Martinis at Trudy's.

Look, I know Trudy's is overrun with people most of us want to avoid (i.e. all of Austin), but that does not change the fact that Mexican Martinis are possibly God's greatest gift to mankind, right after free will. They are delicious and toxic and cause everyone to love each other in all the right ways.

If you've never been to Trudy's, let me explain the rules. You are allowed two Mexican Martinis. That's it, no more. They come with the glass and the shaker, so two actually equals about 8 or 9 regular martinis. Of course, like with everything, there's a way to get around this rule. If you sit at the bar before you go eat (or eat and then sit at the bar), you can order a Mexican Martini there as well, bringing you to a grand total of three Mexican Martinis in one evening. I have prepared this simple chart of the effects of Mexican Martinis for your perusal:

Half of one Mexican Martini - stop obsessing over your Italian final which you're pretty sure you just bombed.

One Mexican Martini - start thinking you did pretty damn good on the Italian final that you maybe didn't even bomb.

One and a half Mexican Martinis - start speaking in Italian about your Italian final that you are now sure you aced. Probably you will earn some sort of award for being a genius at lo coniugazione di verbi imperfetti.

Two Mexican Martinis - Summon the nerve to ask out cute guy in your Italian class.

Two and a half Mexican Martinis - Ask out the cute girl in your Italian class, too. The more the merrier!

Three Mexican Martinis - think it's a really swell idea to dive into the shallow end of a pool, forgetting that A) you don't really know how to dive, B) you are wearing all of your clothes and C) when you slam your chin against concrete, it tends to really hurt.

Three Mexican Martinis plus one Dos Equis in the hot tub: Stop feeling chin pain altogether.

For the record, the above did happen to me, although on two different nights. The night of the Italian final, I ended up sitting on the floor of Trudy's, giggling and talking about Francesco, the hot Italian grad student. While Francesco's girlfriend was sitting right next to me (also on the floor). The pool incident also involved a trip to the steam room. SUCH A BAD IDEA.

2) BookPeople

BookPeople is my absolute, favorite store in Austin. When I first moved there, I just wanted something that would remind me of my absolute, favorite store in Houston (BookStop, natch), and I found and fell in love with BookPeople. I love that store so much. Just . . . so many books! A children's area that even I want to read in! The science section alone, people!

But the best part about BookPeople is that the people who work there love books and want everyone to love books like they do. When I was a junior at UT, I decided to read The Divine Comedy. In Italian. In the original Italian that Dante used, not a modern abridged copy. So I went to Barnes and Noble and asked the customer service person how I could go about purchasing this book.

Me: "Hi, I'm looking for a book. Dante's The Divine Comedy, but in Italian."
Her: ". . . ."
Me: "See, I've written down the title for you in Italian - just right here - I was wondering if there was some way you could order it? Because you don't have it in stock."
Her: "Who is . . . Dante? Is this a new release?"
Me: "Um, no, it's . . . The Divine Comedy? Dante? Can you just search for it?"
Her: "Oh, here we go. The Divine Comedy. It'll be 120 dollars and it'll take three months to get here because it's out of print."
Me: "Okay, never mind."

But I just couldn't get the idea out of my head, so I went to BookPeople and asked their customer service people.

Me: "Okay, this is stupid, but I'm looking for The Divine Comedy. But in Italian."
Him: "Hmm, okay. Do you have a translation of the title that I can search for?"
Me: "Sure. Here you go."
Him: "Hmm, I'm not showing it in stock . . ."
Me: "Yeah, I figured."
Him: "So we'll just order it for you. Should come in in about a week, okay? What's your number, I'll call you when it gets here."
Me: "Really? The Divine Comedy? By Dante? In Italian? You can order it and it'll be here next week?"
Him: "well, sure."
Me: "awesome!"

- one week later -

Me: "Hi, my name is Erin, I got a call about a book - "
Girl: "oh! The Divine Comedy, right?"
Me: "Yes! In Italian?"
Her: "Yep! Here it is, right here. We put your name on it so no one would take it. Do you want to purchase it?"
Me: "Oh, well, I sort of figured I had to at this point."
Her: "No, not unless you look at it and approve of it."
Me: (looks at book.) "Yeah, I'll buy it. Um, how much?"
Her: "Twenty-three dollars, please."
Me: "Oh! Great! Okay, here! So I was just wondering how you got it so fast?"
Her: "Oh, we just researched until we found an independant book store in Milan and ordered it from them. They were happy to ship it quickly."

So, that's my BookPeople story. I came in with a silly request, and not only did they know what I was talking about, but they found me a book from some tiny little bookstore in Milan and paid the shipping costs. ♥

1) Breakfast Tacos

Oh, sure. Other places have Breakfast Tacos. Bob's Taco Stand in my hometown of Richmond has amazing breakfast tacos. But no city has quite the proliferation of The Most Holy Of All Foods like Austin does. Everywhere you turn, there are breakfast tacos, and they're all delicious. Mmm, chorizo. Marry me.

So I don't really have a question to ask today, like "What are your favorite Austin things?" because not everyone who reads this has even been to Austin before. But I'd like to know what your favorite things are about any town you miss, so please tell me!

"you guys want prayer? you want some prayer?"

2008-05-06T02:29:00.006+01:00

Good news, Blogger now offers publish-on dates and times. That would make me look a lot more prolific and/or prescient. Well, I don't think it can publish things IN THE PAST so it looks like I knew what would happen months in advance, so prescience will have to wait. Damn.

My friend Brianna, being otherwise a very smart girl, has decided to leave Texas and move back home to LA. This is, of course, the most ridiculous thing I've ever heard until such time as I need a place to stay in Los Angeles, at which point it will become an act of sheer brilliance, unparalleled in these modern times. But we decided to have one last hurrah in Austin before she spirits away to the homeland. This is a true account of Saturday, 3 May. Well, all the parts I can legally publish without being sued.

I was, of course, running super late (I am either 30 minutes early or an hour late to everything. It's one of my more annoying flaws.) and didn't get to Austin till around 4:30, an hour and a half later than I told Brianna and K (her roommate and also my friend and also leaving Texas - what the hell?) to meet me. They were late too, though, so it was all for the best. Eventually, though, I met up with them at Waterloo. And they brought Taylor! Taylor's their friend from Fort Worth, but now he's MY friend too, and I love him and want to keep him on my keychain so that he can be around me all the time, offering witty repartee and mocking strangers.

So we scoured the used records section of Waterloo, debating the finer points of Tony Orlando and Dawn and discovering that there is, indeed, a "Teen Scene" in Fort Worth - three volumes of music worth!

As you can see from these photos Brianna took, we also managed to engineer the DNA splicing of human and 12 in. vinyl, creating the perfect Human-Record mutant. Look for Radiohead to steal this technology in their next album release.

Taylor dresses up.

I bet you didn't know that Lucius Malfoy had released a Greatest Hits album, did you?

After we got tired of annoying the Waterloo staff and patrons, K and Brianna decided to show me and Taylor The Enchanted Forest, which is possibly one of the greatest places in Austin and I never even knew it existed before now! I don't know how I could have lived in that town for so long without discovering the magic that is The Enchanted Forest, but I know now that I will drag everyone I meet there.

The Enchanted Forest is off Oltorf, and from the outside, it looks a bit dodgy - rundown shack and creaky, ominous gate. But we walked inside and it was like a world of wonders had opened up before us. There were so many amazing things to discover!

This is like my own personal alter.

K and I decided to live in this tiny little house. Look, it even comes with a change of clothes.

Of course, not everything can be perfect. I ran into my nemeses, but I cut a wide path around them.

These fowl, being fake, are much more palatable.

On the Coast of Coromandel/Where the early pumpkins grow/In the middle of the woods/Lived the Yonghy-Bonghy-Bo.

The whole place is like this, full of treasures large and small.

I feel like that's an accurate summary of my life: "starts like theatre ends like circus."

Of course it wasn't all fun and games:

Dolls are always creepy. Hanging them by a noose just ups the creep factor.

This jungle gym went to nowhere. Also it was too tall/held together by duct tape, so we didn't try to climb it.

After we left The Enchanted Forest, we stopped at HEB for refreshments of an adult nature. Also, I tried explaining my Brilliant New Plan of reading/reviewing every VC Andrews book and blogging about them to Brianna and K, but I think they're too young to appreciate the kitchy appeal. And/or they just never spent a lot of time reading trashy novels at age 10 like I did.

After that, we went to meet K's cousin Micah and his friends at the doggy park on the lake! It was the perfect way to spend the late afternoon - drinking champers and making new friends, both human and canine, while watching the sun slip down over the hills.

I don't know, but it was RLY FUNNY.

I feel these photos accurately explain Brianna's animated style of talking:

Micah's amused.

But Micah's friends are confused.

Okay, and then after Micah and his friends left (bye Micah! See you in about 4 hours!), I fulfilled a life-long dream of mine - taking jumping pictures.

It turns out that jumping pictures are REALLY hard to take. You have to hit the shutter quick enough to focus the camera, but late enough to catch the jumping. Most of my pictures turned out like this:

K is a superhero.

But finally, FINALLY, it worked:

MENTOS! The freshmaker!

We were so excited about our success that we RADIATED happiness. Awesome.

After we took on the world of professional jumping, I got some food because I hadn't eaten all day (why do I keep doing that?), and then we drove to Taylor's friend's house. Only Taylor's friend was still out to dinner, so we parked in a church parking lot and talked about life, etc. All of a sudden, a church van comes roaring up to our cars. The driver of the van rolls down his window, and the following encounter ensues:

Me: "Oh . . . hey. Sorry, we can leave, we were just awaiting directions from a friend and we thought we'd park somewhere until he calls us back."
Church Van Driver: "No, it's okay! It's totally okay!"
Me: "Are you sure? Cause we can leave, it's not a big deal."
CVD: "No! It's good! It's great! We're pumped! We've got the spirit tonight!"
Me: "That's . . . great."
CVD: "We've got a van full of teenagers with the spirit!"

At this, the map lights of the van turn on, the doors open and I would not be exaggerating to say that 15 teenagers spilled out on all sides. It was like something out of a horror movie - should I run? Should I bravely stand in front of my friends and face these people down with only my wits and a heavy purse? (To be fair, that purse had my camera and a bottle of Stella in it, so it might have made a good weapon.) Should I start quoting scripture?

Me: "Oh . . . my . . ."
Girl from Van: "Hey, guys! How are you doing tonight? You guys want prayer? You want some prayer?"
Me: "No, but we'll take some conversation?"

And then they just got in the van and left. It was surreal, to say the least. I hasten to add that their church was one of the new-agey, renovated airplane hanger churches. I mistrust those churches, where everyone wants to be your friend and take you bowling. I'm a Methodist. In my mind, church should be full of starched shirts and old women in hats and The Apostles' Creed. These are the things I am comfortable with, not being offered prayer in a deserted parking lot off 51st street, bottles of Stella quickly stashed in the seats of the car. Although I suppose from the youth group's point of view, this is the exact reason I should have been offered prayer.

So, after that, we high-tailed it out of there (after denouncing a certain pyramid scheme which poses as a religion and which I will not mention in public by name as I am afraid they'll sue me/take me to their mother ship) and went to Taylor's friend's house, which was really super nice. I miss nice, affordable living.

Then we drove to pick up Micah from his apartment, and stopped at Starbucks for a much-needed caffeine boost. We all had plans for later in the evening (Brianna and K's included stalking Jack White) and we all needed our energy up for the hours ahead. Ahem.

Here is me and Micah and Taylor! We're so happy with our caffeine!

After we got revved up, we went downtown, where we ran into kids coming out of prom! It is a not-so-secret facet of my personality: I effin' love prom. I mean, not my own, which were sort of lame, but other people's. In fact, one time in college, my friends and I crashed a prom and had a fucking blast. We played only the music we wanted to hear ("You want Toby Keith? Sorry, you're getting Warren G.") and brought flasks and basically did all the things we should have done at our own prom, but didn't because we were busy being studious and well-behaved. It was amazing, and extremely cathartic.

After walking around downtown for a while, we came to a stop at Cedar St courtyard, which was playing an amazing assortment of Divinyls and MJ and Sir Mix-a-Lot. And that's where I had to bid a fond adieu to my new friends and my old ones, because I had plans with someone else for the rest of the night. But although I already miss everyone terribly, I know we'll see each other again soon. In fact, The Most Rubbish Band In The World is going on US tour in November (we think, or maybe we're just spreading that rumor until it comes true) and we already have plans to hijack them. Until then, we'll always have The Enchanted Forest!

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2008-05-05T03:33:00.001+01:00

I think Roger Waters would totally have caucased with me. P.S. Show is amazing.

Top Ten Movies for a Sunday Afternoon

2008-04-30T00:44:00.004+01:00

(These are all movies I love, but don't own, because their proliferation on basic cable is enough to ensure that I see them at least a few times a year.)

10) Mermaids

Did you know that I operated under the assumption that Bob Hoskins and Danny DeVito were the same person for TWENTY YEARS before I discovered the truth? Okay, so they don't look anything alike NOW, but seriously:

I mean, come on, they're practically twins. Okay, so, maybe they don't look EXACTLY alike, and maybe one of them is English and an accomplished actor of stage and screen and the other is Danny DeVito, but to my preteen eyes (and, uh, embarassingly, high school eyes, and early years of college eyes, which is the point when I finally realized that Bob Hoskins was not just Danny DeVito really acting the shit out of something and being vaguely sexy while doing so), they looked exactly the same. So for years I thought this movie was a Danny DeVito movie, and yet I still loved it.

FFS, it has CHER! And teenaged Winona Rider, which is the Very Best Winona possible! And tiny little Christina Ricci, who looks remarkably less bobble-headed at this young age. And Winona thinks you can get pregnant from KISSING. Isn't that quaint? Also, it features perhaps the Greatest Playroom Ever Created, with the under-the-sea mural and the little revolving lamp. (fun fact: while unsuccessfully googling to find a photo of that room, I came across Mermaids fanfiction. Which just proves my point that you really can find fanfiction for any damn thing.)

9) Pretty Woman

I first saw Pretty Woman during my 11th birthday slumber party. Now, some might question the decision of showing a bunch of young, pre-sexualized girls a movie about a hooker, but I feel that Pretty Woman has tons of important life lessons to impart, life lessons which help young girls navigate the often cruel and treacherous terrain of boy-girl interactions. For example: Life Lesson Number One: always carry condoms in your thigh-high boots. I cannot tell you how many times this has saved me from STD- or baby-contraction. Life Lesson Number Two: always hold out for more money from people you're negotiating with. "I would have stayed for two thousand." "I'd have paid four." Oh! Vivian! Your impestuous nature has led you astray! Life Lesson Number Three: if you are low on cash, the garnishes at a bar make for acceptable snacks. Life Lesson Number Four: Always work in a job you enjoy doing, no matter how much it pays. If you don't, you end up a blowhard who lays down way too much money on a hooker and has some weird obsession with people not answering phones. Life Lesson Number Five: It's only love if you kiss on the lips!

Plus, it has one of the all-time great female characters: Kit DeLuca. My adoration of Kit DeLuca (plus my weird crush on Enrico Colantoni) is basically what made me watch every episode of Just Shoot Me that ever aired. All I wanted was for Maya to say "Cinder-fuckin-rella," just once, but she never did. SEVEN YEARS of David Spade, Laura San Giacomo. I hope you can live with yourself.

8) Mother May I Sleep With Danger?

Best.Lifetime.Movie.EVER. I'm not sure if you can even own this movie - and I'm not sure who would want to - but anytime I see it in the tv guide on Sunday afternoon, I have to watch it. It has everything a good Lifetime movie needs: transparent characters, low-budge-scenery, a Mother Who Knows Best, and an actress best known for her role on a teen drama, now desperately trying to make a name for herself beyond learning-disabled-characters-who-aren't-allowed-to-graduate-because-they-accidentally-got-drunk-at-Prom.

7) Clueless

Clueless is sort of a shameful addition to this list, because of course I SHOULD own it. However, much in the way I don't own any of my absolute all-time favorite songs due to the risk of oversaturating myself, I can't own this movie. I would watch it ALL THE TIME, if I did. Like, I am not even kidding, every day. I'd become That Girl Who Watches Clueless Every Morning Before Work, and then my entire day's dialogue would be peppered with "Barneys" and "Baldwins" and "I had two mochaccinos and I feel like ralphing" and I would be even more obnoxious than I already am, which is, let's face it, pretty obnoxious. And, of course, I'd feel like none of my ~~after-school activities~~ wardrobe choices would be good enough.

Also, if I owned Clueless, like, IN MY HOUSE, I'd really never go out and meet people, because who could be more awesome than Paul Rudd as Josh? Absolutely no one, that's who. He cares about the environment! Loves Shakespeare! Participates in dance parties! He even sees the wisdom in shaving off his douchey facial hair far sooner than most boys his age (with Cher's help and guidance, of course).

So, instead, I wait to see it on TBS or TNT on Sunday afternoons, clap and jump up and down when I find it on the tv guide and settle down to spend some time with The Very Finest Literary Adaptation Ever.

And, while in that vein,

6) Emma

My love affair with this movie is well-known on this blog, and I shan't get into it again, except to say that when I first saw Jeremy Northam as Mr. Knightley tell Emma "badly done," I knew what it was to swoon.

5)Heathers

I actually DID own this movie for most of my life (first in VHS format, then the DVD), but someone borrowed the dvd in college and forgot to return it, and I've never repurchased it. Heathers is sort of a strange addition to this blog at well as it's always heavily edited for tv, and you are better off just seeing the theatrical version. However, I credit Heathers' long-standing spot at 4pm on Sundays on TBS with its popularity among the zeitgeist of this nation. When even the lamest of lame people, like my brother, can bust out an "I love my dead, gay son" reference, you know a movie's reached the heart and soul of this country. Also it is, bar none, the most true-to-life movie about high school ever written.

4) Who Framed Roger Rabbit

A) See above, in re: Bob Hoskins/Danny DeVito.
B) You have to admit that, given all animation and effects are done by hand, it's a really fucking amazing technical achievement.
C) Has the best line ever uttered by a femme fatale: "I'm not bad. I'm just drawn that way."

3) Howard the Duck

Don't judge me. I was six, and I loved Lea Thompson and I thought ducks were cute and I was obsessed with aliens. And, apparently, bestiality.

Don't judge me, I said!

2) Joe Versus the Volcano

Okay, yes. I could have picked from any number of Meg Ryan/Tom Hanks films. Sleepless in Seattle? Love that film! You've Got Mail? Um . . . legitimately like that film! Well, love the scenery in the film, anyway! And Parker Posey! Love her. (Whoa, I just realized I managed to get through a whole Top Ten list about films and not have one with my Life Coach and fellow Mississippian, Parker Posey. I think that's because I own almost all of her movies.) But if I'm being completely honest, Joe Versus the Volcano wipes the floor with any of the other films, and a hell of a lot of films in general. Last week at lunch, I said to someone, "Tom Hanks has done one good film, and that's 'Big'." I totally forgot about JVtV because, in truth, I forget it's a Tom Hanks film! That's how much I love it! (I have . . . issues with Tom Hanks. His face is the face of a gummy bear. A melting gummy bear. I find him uncomfortable to watch. Have he and Renee Zelwegger done a film together? They have, haven't they? Those two . . . should avoid mating.)

Joe Versus the Volcano is an amazing film to watch on Sunday afternoons, because it allows for a little pre-Monday wish fulfillment. Don't we all dread going into our boring corporate offices on Monday, even if we otherwise enjoy our jobs? (I'm just saying, color, Unnamed Company That Employs Me. It's a crazy concept, I know, to decorate with items not in greyscale, but it just might work! Look into it.) Don't we dream of being mis-diagnosed with a brain cloud and just deciding to say, "eff it, I'm going to throw myself in a volcano?" Of being adrift on the endless sea at the ends of the earth with a giant moon filling up our vision and finally realizing the beauty of being present in this world? "Dear God, whose name I do not know - thank you for my life."

And even without all the inspirational nonsense, it's just so funny! The luggage guy! Shopping montages! (I love shopping montages, trust.) Meg Ryan, all charming and incorrigible. Tom Hanks, not making that face he usually makes. I just love, love, love this movie and anytime it comes on, I know it's going to be a good day.

1) The Cutting Edge

True Story! This past weekend, I was lazing about my parents' house Sunday afternoon and watching The Cutting Edge on TNT. This is the REAL LIFE STORY of the conversation between myself and the woman who gave birth to me, although how you could even tell that we're related is beyond my comprehension:

Her: "What is this, what you're watching?"
Me (in my best "duh, mom" voice I perfected in grade school.): "Um, The Cutting Edge, hello."
Her: "What's it about?"
Me: "WHAT? Have you never seen The Cutting Edge after TWENTY EIGHT years of being my mother?"
Her: "No, I must have missed it."
Me: "Well, you see, Kate, that's Moira Kelly. You know her from The West Wing."
Her: "Oh, yeah. okay."
Me: "Yeah, I hated her in that. ANYWAY. So Kate is this spoiled ice princess who has figure-skated all her life in the hopes of winning the Olympic Gold Medal and thus gaining her father's affection and respect. But she's sort of a spoiled twatbox -"
Her: "Erin, please."
Me: "Sorry. So she cycles through partners a lot. But then her coach found Doug, who was ACTUALLY a hockey player before an injury to his eye forced him to retire and lose his college scholarship, and he's learning how hard it is to be a figure skater and she's learning that she doesn't have to be a spoiled tightass all -"
Her: "ERIN."
Me: "SORRY. A spoiled princess and of course secretly they're in love and want to do it like bunnies, but she's engaged to Hale who is such a douchenozzle, like you wouldn't believe -"
Her: "Where do you hear these words?"
Me: "The tv. Anyway, but they fall in love and get together and skate their way to the gold medal, the end!"
Her: "Huh. It looks stupid."

It looks stupid. IT LOOKS STUPID? How can this person share my DNA, SRSLY? The Cutting Edge is NOT stupid. It is perhaps the finest Sports- or Sports-Adjacent RomCom ever made. It contains the immortal words of both ice skating, in particular, and life advice in general: "TOOOEEEEE PIIIIICK."

Stupid. STUPID. She is disowned.

Although, the movie does have one flaw. Following the logical age progression with regard to the plot, Doug and Kate are probably about 23, 24 at the oldest (Doug says that the last thing he read was the letter cancelling his college scholarship - let's assume he was a junior at the time, at the latest - and that was one year before Pamchenko came to recruit him, making him 23ish. And Kate's of course nearing retirement age, so she's got to be about 23 or 24 as well.). So why did Kate dress like Blanche Devereaux all the time? Kate! You're a figure skater with an AMAZING body. Whyfor the shoulder pads and giant caftans, baby?

End of Conversation with Mom, post "Stupid" comment:
Me: "I can't BELIEVE you would say that. This movie is amazing. This movie is my number one, all time movie to watch on Sunday afternoons. I mean, if I were doing a Top Ten list, like, about movies I like to catch on cable tv, this would top it. {Pause} Hey, is it winter or summer Olympics this year?"
Her: "Summer. 8.8.08."
Me: "Cool. Where are they?"
Her: "ERIN. CHINA. Are you living under a rock?"
Me: "Oh, yeah! With the protests, and the relay and everything. Cool, I get it."
Her: "Sometimes I don't know how you're my daughter."

Okay, you know the drill: list me your top ten. Think carefully about them!! Please know I will be silently judging you and forming ideas about the future of our relationship based on your answers.

Oh, by the way, while getting the link for The Cutting Edge, guess what I found? That's right, The Cutting Edge fanfiction. I'm totally going to read it right now.

"i'll make you a tape."

2008-04-28T19:46:00.002+01:00

This weekend in between weddings and dinners out with friends, I read Love Is a Mix Tape, the memoir by Rolling Stone's Rob Sheffield. (I also finally got around to reading A Heartbreaking Work of Staggering Genius, which was much better than I expected it to be, being surely the second most overrated book in the world, behind Anna Karenina.) The book had been in my To Read pile since it was published last year, but I'd sort of shuffled it to the bottom week after week, because I wasn't yet ready to face a book about people dying both suddenly and young and/or the rise of Hanson. Do you remember when VH1 put out I ♥ the 90s, like in 2001, and it was a miserable failure? It was just too soon, and that's how I felt about this book.

But I'm glad I've read it now, as it was lovingly crafted and deftly written. Sheffield writes of the relationship between he and his wife, Renée, about her early death and how he goes about trying to pick up the pieces, and does so under the banner of fifteen different mix tapes from different periods of his life. It's really warm and moving and you totally fall in love with Renée, so if you, like me, kept shuffling it to the bottom of the pile, I urge you to pick it up and read it.

But that's not really what I want to discuss today, because that would be depressing. Rather, reading about Rob Sheffield's old mixes led me to think about some of mine. I was the queen of the mix tape in my younger days. I think I had a mix tape or cd for everything I did. I had one for the morning ride to my high school - it was a lot of angry grrl music that validated my sense of isolation and self-importance. There was Aly's SuperAwesomeMix mix, which had everything from Garth Brooks to Cowboy Mouth to Aretha Franklin, which was what we played when we needed a self-esteem boost. (All the songs were designed to tell us how SuperAwesome we were, natch.) I had one for showers when I was a freshman in college which was mostly classical - I remember that Tchaikovsky's Pathetique was on there, as well as the Moonlight Sonata. Two bonin' pieces, really, so I don't know why I relegated them to the showers. There was the Sunday Afternoon mix when I was a junior in college - all Etta James and Billie Holiday that produced the desired effect of me lounging around in my pjs and drinking whiskey while finishing up human ev coursework. I remember one from when I was eight that was just 15 different Michael Jackson songs, taped off the radio, called "The Boogie Mix." My parents had one from a party they had - Dance Mix 2 (I never could figure out where Dance Mix 1 had absconded to) - which I stole from the tape deck after the party and played on my Walkman for three months straight. I am not even kidding when I say that it had a track from Alabama on it. I remember one tape Mandy made for one of our many rambles somewhere that had Dr Demento, KMFDM and Paul Westerberg on it, which is so Mandy that if there was a course called Mandy 101, that tape would be in the list of required materials. And then, of course, Matt's Spring Break '99 (2002) mixes 1 and 2, which provided the perfect soundtrack for our group's drunken tour of Austin's scenic highways. (Don't worry, we had a DD, obviously.) That featured both Tiny Tim *and* Journey, which is how you know it's a good mix.

Over the years, I've made tons of mixes (tape, cd, and iPod playlist form) for friends, boyfriends, strangers on the street. I consider them to be the perfect 90-minute introduction to Your New Friend Erin. I mean, what about me can't be summed up by the simple fact that I love, without shame, Paula Abdul, Kanye and french music? Nothing; there is nothing more to add to the wonder and glory that is me - I adore the pop culture of my childhood, I harbor affection for self-involved whiners only if they can make me dance and I like immersing myself in languages which I cannot speak. et voila, you have Erin.

So my question for you guys today is two-fold: One) what's your most memorable mix? Did you make it or was it given to you? Did it have a purpose beyond being, was it for a specific event, etc? and Two) Make me a mix about your day! I don't mean that you have to ACTUALLY make one (although I will of course accept one), but tell me what would be on it, and why. If I had to make a mix today, it'd be full of music to bop along to, like Mika and the Jackson 5 and Chuck Berry , because I've had a busy day and I don't drink caffeine, so something has to keep me on my toes. What would be in yours?

In other news, today is gingerbiscuit's birthday!! Happy birthday, Anne! I wish I were there to sit on your couch and watch Buffy and talk about how I want to marry your brother.

sxsw day three, or, "things tend to get a bit . . . wet."

2008-04-25T02:25:00.004+01:00

All week I've been struggling with a general sense of ennui; I know there are things I should be doing, even want to be doing, but I can't seem to be arsed to do any of them. And that's doubly true for coming up with a blog topic, as everytime I sit down to my computer (in my fixed apartment, hooray!), I sort of give a half-hearted sigh and then give up, flop on the couch and watch episodes of Top Model.

Maybe sometime this weekend I'll find it within myself to talk about this week's Top Model, and the tragedy contained therein.

As I was driving home from my department's team building exercise of go-karting (which, I might add, I unilaterally sucked at. Also the go-kart people misread my nickname of E² as EZ, which is so not the impression one should make amongst coworkers. Unless your company is on a street corner in the Third Ward somewhere or you are a cast member of The Hills. However, I did take home a lovely head covering which can be used as part of an executioner's outfit, should I ever feel the need to axe someone to death.), I was pondering prospective blog topics. Then The Wombats came on shuffle and as I was singing along to a story about strippers, it hit me: I still haven't finished my sxsw coverage. So, I should probably do that.

You thought you'd get away with not having to hear anything more about sxsw, just because it was almost two months ago. Sorry.

Okay, so where we left off, I'd spent the day waiting in one form of line or another and was haunted by giant pandas and tranny vampires. Day three of sxsw dawned bright and early, as I had to get my roommate/partner in crime Courtney off to the CLE by 10:30. Sometimes it pays to know a lawyer, but I don't think this is one of those times. While Courtney went to continue her legal education, I chilled out in the convention center next to Johnny Flynn:

He was writing a new song, and it seemed entirely in the spirit of south by to relax and listen to a musician tinkering with his lyrics for a while. I passed an enjoyable hour reading the Chronicle, drinking my mimosa-to-go and watching the world go by.

Eventually though, I knew I had to buckle down and get to work. My primary target for the day was Filter's day party at Cedar St. Courtyard. It was one of those magic line-ups, where I wanted to see everyone on the bill. I love parties like that because I am lazy and hate darting from place to place.

First up were Sweden's Shout Out Louds, who are a great, fun little pop group. Their song Please Please Please has been in heavy rotation at casa de erin all year. It's just so much fun! Even if it is about the dangers of being an aging hipster. Amusingly, this song is right next to Please Please Please, Let Me Get What I Want in my itunes/ipod, which makes for an interesting contrast. Fucking Morrissey is always bringing me down.

Besides being a fun pop group, the Shout Out Louds are also really attractive.

Well, at least that guy is, and as I was standing right in front of him, that worked out well for me.

I should mention that by this point (about noon), it was already 88 degrees, with no breeze to speak of and the sun a giant ball of fire bearing down on us. Y'all, it was m-effin' hot that day. And all I'd had to eat or drink was that one mimosa, so I was feeling a little bit like dying. This feeling would only progress as the day went on.

You know how, sometimes, you'll find out that you were in the same place as someone else that you know of, but don't actually know? Somewhere in this crowd near me is Becs, my friend Kaisa's bestie, of whom I have heard many a delightful tale. We apparently stood right next to each other and never recognized one another, despite both of us having seen photos of the other. Ah, well. Maybe next year, Becs.

We'd already seen how the Swedes fared in the hot Texas sun, next up were even less likely subjects - Wales' Los Campesinos! (ed note: The exclamation mark is part of the name. I do not feel quite so strongly about Los Campesinos! to express that adoration with grammatical markers, although their excitement about themselves does tend to infect those around them.) It had become even hotter by this point, and the sun was so blinding that no one could see their equipment readouts:

Despite the unbearable heat, though, Los Campesinos! still brought their infectuous Welsh excitement to the stage. They also brought an asthma inhaler, sunscreen and awesome fashions for the girls:

(I fell a little in love with her. I don't think it was the heatstroke talking, either.)

At one point, the lead singer decided he was too hot to be wearing a shirt and took his off. This was such a bad idea. He got very, very sunburned.

This little girl was watching from a window upstairs. I envied her both her view and her a/c:

The lack of water or food led me to create a fanciful story about this girl, and how she was trapped in a tower like the Lady of Shallot. This girl didn't die, though, in my story; instead she started a punk rock band and did a lot of performance art.

This is Matt Bowman, of Leeds' The Pigeon Detectives:

Matt Bowman enjoys pints of lager, Michael Jackson, and spitting on people. I got spit on (and sweated on, and gyrated upon) a lot. It was the closest to catching the syph from a musician as I'd come in quite a while.

He's also very, very energetic:

Good on you, Mr. Bowman. At this point in the day (3 pm), I could not even summon the energy to clap for people. You, meanwhile, are doing cheerleading moves off the drum kit. Of course, you, unlike me, had probably consumed food that day. And maybe some cocaine.

Of course, I perked up when I saw Cherub taking his rightful place on the stage:

This is Cherub. He's The Wombats' stuffed, well, wombat, which as I recall they got after finishing two cases of some sort of Australian wine. He is their faithful companion and goes to every show (except for the one they did on Saturday; apparently he was back at the hotel pool being blown by prozzies). I love him. It is because of Cherub that Courtney and I even know about the Wombats: we caught the tail end of their set at last year's sxsw and quickly decided that any band that played on stage with a stuffed wombat was a band worth listening to.

Plus, they're just the most fun people ever, what with their barbershop quartets about marsupials and their slice-of-life ditties about strippers, caravans and attending your ex-girlfriend's wedding.

Also their adorably pudgy lead singer plays a flowered guitar:

The last act of the day party was Lightspeed Champion, which was great for me, because I love and worship Dev. Like, if there was a Church of Dev, I'd be the alter girl.

And he had the charming/adorable/poignant/lovely Emmy the Great with him as well:

And also this fella:

Oh, Lightspeed Champion. Sing songs about how everyone is listening to crunk all the time, okay?

By this point, Courtney had stopped learning things about the law, and we went to get some grub:

First meal of the day - 6:30 pm. It was gone in less than 2 minutes.

We were meant to go to see Santogold/MGMT/The Cribs at Stubb's, but I just couldn't take all the people after the long and hot day I'd had. So we decided to go over to the NME showcase, where we saw this guy:

Amazing, no?

This is Aimi, of Make.Model. We talked to her a lot before the show and she was super-lovely. Also her hair is amazing.

After Make.Model's set, I went to the bathroom, and who should I run into but Ed Larrikin (see Day Two)! We chatted a bit and he scolded me for going to see The Pigeon Detectives. He told me he was there to support ox.eagle.lion.man, and at the time, I wondered what interested him about them.

Within about five seconds of ox.eagle.lion.man's set, I figured it out:

It's like if Cousin It and an extra from Witness got together, read a lot of Becket and decided to sing about pain. It was . . . tedious. To put it mildly.

And then I ran into Sarah 3! I met Sarah 3 (so noted to distinguish her from Sarah 1, a contributor to this blog, and Sarah 2, aka poshdeluxe) last year at a Locksley show, so it was nice seeing her again. We made fun of people we don't like, which was also nice.

After that, it was time for Fanfarlo:

In the crowd? The mysterious and notorious Becs who, along with my friend Kaisa, is a friend of Fanfarlo's. Did we notice each other? No, we did not. Maybe next year, Becs.

Fanfarlo were having tons of problems with their equipment, and at one point actually had Courtney and Sarah 3 playing their rhythm section for them. This led Courtney to tell me that she was now a sxsw showcasing artist, and that I should treat her with the according amount of respect and awe. So I punched her. (However, Courtney, I'm meant to tell you thanks from Fanfarlo for playing the egg, according to Kaisa.)

Around 1 am or so, we called our friend Jeni and told her to come meet us for breakfast:

ILU Magnolia! And I miss you always!

Jeni and Courtney talked about their upcoming (now: currently on) trip to England while I constructed a metaphor for the meaning of life with my avocado omelette.

After breakfast, Courtney and I went to Wal-Mart, because . . . I'm not really sure. Because it was four in the morning and we weren't quite ready to go to bed yet. We bought heel gel things for our shoes. It was v. exciting and glamorous.

And then we went back to our hotel and crashed, because we had to be up even earlier for Day Four. So long, sxsw day three! You were hot and sweaty, but you sure were fun.

the chance to be a kid again

2008-04-22T02:35:00.004+01:00

So it seems like every six months, something majorly weird happens in my shitty apartment (from which I keep meaning to move out, but I have not yet found a nice place in Houston that I can afford which will not have me fearing being shot after sundown. If anyone knows of anything, I'm all ears.). One year the water-heater broke and I had to take cold showers for a week, which makes it sound like maybe I was trying to subdue my powerful sexual attraction to someone. It really wasn't all that sexy. Then one August my a/c broke, which was a nightmare, because I am notorious for my complete intolerance of the heat and like to keep my apartment at a cool 66 degrees. (Global warming isn't all assholes in Hummers, guys. Mostly it's spoiled princesses like yours truly. I make up for it by never turning the heat on.) And then there was the five-month span when my garbage disposal didn't work, and my repeated entreaties to the maintenance people went unanswered. That really hindered my primary method of relaxation: baking.

But now, it's like all of that has teamed up into one super problem. The power to my apartment is . . . half-assed? The lights flicker and fade; the computer reboots itself every five minutes, and none of my major appliances - or anything that takes more than 40 watts of power, it seems - will work. Air conditioning, washer/dryer, water heater, stove . . . nada. Which is inconvenient, at best, and really effing miserable, at worst.

I'm lucky enough that my parents live close to where I work, so I can stay in my old bedroom instead of couch-surfing at my friends' places. (In actuality, the surfing would be minimal. I'd show up on Matt and Mere's doorstep with my cherry pie pjs and the X-Files dvds and demand to sleep on their couch. I would perhaps make them cupcakes as compensation. Being my friend is a constant trial, I assure you.) And while the idea of spending what has now become the fifth night in a row at my parents' house might seem lame, I'm actually really enjoying the break from responsibility. Every morning, I wake up and wander out to the kitchen that I didn't have to clean, flip through the paper I didn't have to subscribe to, shuffle off to shower in the bathroom with the fancy, fluffy towels that I can't afford . . . are you sensing a pattern? And then, when I get home from checking on my kitties and spending as much time as I can stand petting them (it's okay; at about 78 degrees, the apartment's not too hot for the kitties. It's just too hot for me.), I get dinner that I didn't have to cook or buy. Why did I ever move out? Being a kid again is great!

To be honest, I'm already chomping at the bit to be back in my own place (going on day four of urgent phone calls to apt mgmt - nothing has yet been accomplished), as I'm at heart a bit of a loner and I don't like sharing my personal space. But still, a sense of peace has slipped over me the last few days, a calmness which comes from not having to take care of everything in my life, of knowing that, when I need to lean, I've got people to lean on. That's pretty special.

It could be the increased melatonin from the blistering sunburn talking, though.

So while I hope and pray (and plan to go to my apt on my lunch hour tomorrow and kick ass personally if I have to) that they'll have the wiring sorted by tomorrow, I've enjoyed these few stolen days of carefree living. It turned out to be just what I needed to recharge after the hectic month I've had.

Which leads me to today's question: what's the one adult responsibility that you have that you hate? What one thing would you love to give over to someone else and wipe your hands of completely? If I had to pick just one, I'd say vacuuming. I have to do it every day because I'm allergic to my cats, and if I could just have someone take over that one chore, I'd be so much happier. You?

what are your winning numbers?

2008-04-18T20:52:00.003+01:00

You know, I'm always reading about lottery winners who say that they're going to keep their job at the plant or Wal-Mart, even though they're now a gazillionaire, simply because they like working. I would totally not ever say that. I hate working. I mean, don't get me wrong, I believe in being productive or whatever, but I am first and foremost a lazy person, and there's no way I'd work if I didn't have to. I'd much rather spend my time lounging in bed, reading Jane Austen and dreaming of Messers Darcy and Knightly than getting up at six am and fighting traffic to get to work. Also, if I won Mega-Millions, I'd probably be rich enough to afford to pay Colin Firth and Jeremy Northam to come act out their roles in my living room. That would be the best Masterpiece Theatre ever.

But, actually, if I had all the money in the world (or a good chunk of it), I know exactly what I'd do. First I'd quit my job, because as much as I enjoy my new job, it still requires me to get up really early in the morning and make a passable attempt at dressing like someone who didn't find today's clothes shoved under her bed. Also, I don't think flourescent lights are particularly flattering to my complexion. After I quit my job (making sure not to burn my bridges, of course, because despite my deep and abiding affection for math, I have dyscalculia, and it's caused me these sorts of trouble before), I'd donate twenty percent of my winnings to various local charities in and around Texas and the Gulf Coast. I'd do a few standard charities, like the Red Cross, or whatever, but most of them would be really strange, out-there charities, like United Effort To Tip Sonic Workers (cause I always feel guilty that Sonic workers don't make more money. I mean, shouldn't we be rewarding those wonderful people who walk our Route 44 Strawberry Limeades out to the car with cold hard cash? I think so.). Or something.

Oh, also, I'd donate however much money as is necessary to the University of Texas at Austin so that there would be the Erin Curtis School of Anthropology. Take THAT, Red McCombs!

After I'd taken care of my community in the financial sense, I'd start on my family. I'd buy my parents one of those ugly McMansions that my mother seems so fond of, with a shed out back for my dad's ammo-making equipment, and plenty of spare rooms and extra wings so that they can avoid each other when they're having one of their fights about what brand of cat food to purchase. I'd set my brother up with a V. SMALL trust fund so as to pay for the rest of his education, and maybe I'd buy him a car or something, but that would be it, because my brother would totally become a trust fund kid, doing lines of blow off LiLo's back. And of course I'd set up a trust fund for m'elle, but with the rules that it couldn't be accessible for anything other than education costs until she turns 35. Cause obvs I want her to have a good head on her shoulders and this would also ensure that she had several post-graduate degrees. I might also buy her a pony.

Then I'd buy several houses in several locations throughout the world, both for the good investments and because they'd be good places to crash when I get the urge to travel. I would buy a private jet so that I don't have to be crammed into coach class on long flights, but then I run the risk of being That Person With The Jet In Her Backyard, like John Travolta. No, thanks. Plus, I'll be a gazillionaire, so I can afford to fly first-class. And I'd fill up all my houses with things I see in catalogs, because I am a White Person, and white people love catalogs.

After I've done all that (and had a shopping spree at H&M. Can you imagine how much clothes you could buy with three thousand dollars at H&M? You could buy out the store!), I'd get to work on actually doing some work. Most notably, I'd implement my dream of owning a bookstore that's actually just a converted house in the Village (um, Rice. Not New York.), where every room was decorated just like a home and held a different genre of books. This would soothe both my love of reading and my obsessive-compulsive need to have everything in my life assigned to a certain place. And I'd serve wine and whiskey in the evenings, so that people could curl up in a cozy armchair by the fire (let's pretend I'd have donated enough money to the global warming-reversal effort as to make it actually cold in Texas) and spend a few hours living in someone else's world. Plus, I'd have tons of book clubs, because I love the idea of book clubs, but have never had the courage to actually join one.

And then, with the five bucks I'd have left over, I'd buy myself a sandwich.

Today's Friday, and we could all use a little escape before the weekend officially begins, so tell me: what would you do if an enormous pile of money fell in your lap? And, subquestion: would you buy me a sandwich?

"cat stevens was a total asshole to me. I mean, before he found Allah."

2008-04-17T02:06:00.005+01:00

Hey there, blogosphere. Did everyone turn in their taxes by the deadline? Are you getting money back? If so, come sit by me, because I could use it.

Today I'd like to write about two people who seem to give me quite a lot of money, as well as my short stature and smartass nature. That's right, my parents, or Mr. and Mrs. Moneybags, as they are more formally known. Today's my parents 31st wedding anniversary! (Note to self: send email to father reminding him that today is his anniversary.) Isn't that crazy? It's even more astounding if you actually know my parents or have witnessed one of their many days-long arguments over such important matters as the volume of the television set or which way to park the cars in the driveway.

Like many married couples today, my parents met in college, and even though my parents are obviously old and decrepit now, it turns out that when they were in school, they were kind of awesome. They both attended the University of Mississippi, or Ole Miss, and first met when my mom was enrolled in a martial arts class that my dad was teaching. That's right, my mom was totally hot for teacher. And, apparently, roundhouse kicks. Hey, sensei! They didn't get together or anything at that time, because obviously that would be super unprofessional of my dad as a sensei, and Splinter, aka, the Greatest Sensei To Ever Live, would not have let him be a Ninja Turtle. But several months later, my mom was given a job as an assistant to the Dean of Students for her work study program. Her assignment? Keep my dad out of trouble.

You may not know it to look at him - and his gun safe - now, but my dad was totally a teenage rebel. He listened to a lot of bootlegs and wore his hair long and made use of Ole Miss's marijuana research project in his spare time. (Well, he denies that, but I totally know what's up.) And he had an awesome job as Entertainment Coordinator for Ole Miss, which means that he got to book all the concerts and stand-up shows for the school. Fortunately for me, and the five people who are glad I was born, my dad's sort of not the most tactful person ever, and he was pissing off a lot of the artists by laughing at their unreasonable demands, so my mom was roped in to be the soothing voice of reason. Also, someone had to keep my dad from implementing his idea of turning the entire campus into a giant hash farm.

So they worked together for a few months, booking such Time Life's "Sounds of the Seventies" acts as Cat Stevens, Joan Baez, Chevy Chase and John Belushi, and I guess a lot of late nights - and my dad's totally fly early 70s feathered hairstyle - led to them holding hands and kissing on the cheek (cause I refuse to believe my parents have ever seen each other without clothes on or touched each other in a carnal fashion. Ew. Obviously, my dad accidentally tripped and fell on my mom and made a baby. Twice.). And they were a pretty happy couple until they had to ruin it all by running off to get married in a Holy Roller church. Begin as you mean to go on, Parents. I mean, did you think that a marriage ceremony spoken in tongues would really be a good idea?

But, however much they fight or have oral sex in the living room (i.e. "Fuck you!" "No, fuck you!"), I think we can all agree that, by being married for so long, my mommy and daddy have brought something pretty darn special into this world: a 28-year-old fully-grown daughter with an overwhelming fear of commitment due to witnessing all of their marital discord. So thanks, Mr and Mrs Moneybags, and may you manage to just barely avoid divorce for another thirty-one years!

my cats are named Schrodinger and Heisenberg

2008-04-15T03:20:00.003+01:00

(or, as m'elle calls them, "Schroder" and "Hamburger.")

So can you really blame me for passing this youtube video on? Much thanks to the marvelous Courtney, who knows how much I love cats and jokes about engineers.

a sea chanty of sorts

2008-04-15T00:55:00.006+01:00

Hey, guys! I'm back! Have you missed me? Don't all say yes at once.

I'm so sorry for the radio silence; I've just been too busy to blog lately. See, normally I write my blog posts on my work computer on my lunch break after sending Meredith a whinging email which basically reads: "Meeeeredith. Tell me what to write about today!" And then I either save them or email them to myself, spruce them up later, and post them quickly at the end of the day. But I've been in training (to be a superhero) for the last two weeks, and while I did manage to check my email and compose several odes to my class instructor's wonderful hair during the training session, I thought blog writing might be frowned upon. And I was too busy at night with 1200 birthday celebrations (some of which were even my own) to do much of anything at my apartment other than feeding the cats and shuffling off to bed.

But now training is over, so you can look forward to reading more of my ridiculous diatribes against avians, if that's your sort of thing. (I might add, however, that none of my blog contributors cowboyed up during my absence. I am breaking up with them.)

So what did you guys do over the weekend? I was a pirate! That's right, an actual skull-and-crossbones wearing, rum drinking, yo-ho singing pirate. My fierce crewmates and I took to the high seas (of Lake Travis) and totally swashbuckled our way into pirate legend! But perhaps I should explain exactly how my pirate's life came to be.

Henri decided to have a Pirate Party, if for no other reason than to get Sarah in a very tiny outfit.

He roped the Drafthouse into sponsoring it, which opened the party up for tons of pirates I'd never met before (a few of whom I perhaps got to know too well by the end of the evening. Ah, rum. You do it to me every time.). And what pirates they were! Henri had specified that no one was allowed on board if they weren't dressed as pirates, and everyone took him at his word. There were some amazing looking pirates up on that boat, y'all. Look at this crowd shot from Sarah:

Doesn't everyone look arrrrsome? Have you started stashing your bounty in a safe place yet?

There were also some ill-advised breast adventures happening, much to my delight and many of my friends' consternation. One lady in particular had corseted her lovely lady lumps in such a way as to have them creating a third and fourth breast, which was just no good. No one likes quadraboob, lady. Sadly, I don't have any photos of that to share with you, but just go to a rennaissance festival somewhere. You'll get the general idea.

My crew was, of course, the fiercest around:

Look at us! You don't want to mess with us, do you? Cause we will cut you with Mandy's plastic sword, and it will totally hurt for at least a few seconds.

Speaking of Mandy, doesn't she look AMAZING with facial hair?

You guys know my type: full beard or nothing at all. But I think I can find it within myself to love someone with facial hair as fierce as that.

We boarded the boat and set off for parts unknown, immediately trading in our drink tickets for a fantastic concoction of rum and sugar-water and seeing who could consume the most ceviche in the shortest amount of time. Mandy won, because she is the Rainman of pickled foods, but I gave her a fair run for her money. Then we all just sat and chatted as Henri spun classic boating songs such as "Rock the Boat" and the Love Boat theme song. The weather was gorgeous; the lake a rippled mirror for that big Texas sky. The air was cool but the sun was warm and it was just the perfect pirating weather. My crewmates and I danced and caught up on each other's lives and generally had a great time:

(the delightful Josh and Erica are studiously ignoring Mandy's slowjamz.)

Upon discovering an uncharted isle, however, we came across our first pirating obstacle! We encountered a party boat full of frat boys and their poor, soon-to-be-date-raped companions, and a fierce battle ensued. We waved our swords, they waved their genitalia . . . it was not pretty. John and I stood way back as we were unsure about the airborne capabilities of the clap and thought it better to be safe than sorry. I mean, just look at these people:

courtesy of sarah

Would you want their fleshy manparts anywhere near you?

Eventually, our pirate fortitude (or, as Henri put it, "the power of geeks in groups") won out and we claimed the isle in the name of . . . wait a tick, we're pirates. We don't need to claim anything for anyone but ourselves. That's the beauty of being a pirate!

Docked, we scrambled on the island in search of gold. Henri surveyed his crew:

I didn't get any gold, but I did get a tear in my stockings and a chat with a lovely woman called Amy for my troubles, so all in all, it wasn't a total waste.

Back on board, our thoughts turned, as they naturally do, to Dance Party! Luckily for us, we'd taken Car Stereo (Wars) hostage and he provided us with ample jams to which we swashbuckled and plundered all evening:

He also provided me with tummy flutterings, cause he is v. cute fer srs. Also, he played NKOTB for me (what? That is a totally topical musical choice.), and as we all know, the quickest way to my heart is through my eleven-year-old crush, Joey McIntyre. (Oh, Joey McIntyre, with your Smiley shirt and your gorgeous eyes. Let's hold hands at recess.) So thank you, Car Stereo (Wars). Also, your computer looks really complicated.

As ever with a dance party, I roped a bunch of strangers into dancing with me. This totally led to me making out with two of them, which was an unexpected gift-with-purchase of my pirate adventures. I must say, either my dancing's gotten better or everyone was a lot drunker (I think it was the latter) because that doesn't usually happen during dance parties. Which is probably good news for my reputation, if not my ego.

I think this photo accurately sums up both the craziness of our Pirate moves and my current state of inebriation.

After I just couldn't dance anymore, I went down to the lower level of the boat, where I ran into the delightful Tim League, who insisted I should drink more, not less. Tim: "I'm Tim League! I own this boat!" Me: "No, you don't." Him: "But I own the alcohol, and I'm giving it to you!" So even though I really, really did not need any more booze, Tim supplied me with several more drinks. Yo ho!

As the party wound down and we shuffled back to the marina, I exchanged cupcakes with Sarah and got Amber in return. Which was a pretty good trade-off, as we had a great time in the backseat of Matt's land-vessle. (Talking, obviously. Get your minds out of the gutter, mateys.) Matt took us to the douchetastic Treasure Island where we met up with some of our brave crew for even more dancing. And, in my case, pouting because I thought I'd broken my camera. (I didn't, it's fine. Yay!) But my emos over the possibly-broken camera were too great to suffer a bunch of frat boys, so Matt and I went over to Bull McCabe's to see Randy. Yay, Randy! I can't remember the last time I saw him, so it was really nice to catch up. Plus, more free beer:

After closing, a still-piratey Meredith and Henri joined us:

And then we all went safely to the various homes of various people, but didn't actually get to bed until after five. Arrr.

You know, earlier in the day, as we drifted down the lake, it occured to me that with the water, the waves, the houses wedged into the hillsides and the taste of spring on the air, I could pretend I was anywhere in the world. France or Italy or somewhere in the Pacific. And I realized I'd not want to be anywhere other than right where I was, seeing old friends, making new ones and feeling connected to a whole boat of strangers. I guess a pirate's life truly is for me.

seriously, you guys. You guys. Seriously.

2008-04-04T17:56:00.002+01:00

Hello, internet! I assure you my total blog silence has not been due to post-birthday emocakes or anything lame like that. Rather, I've just been too busy! Too busy for even the internet! I'm never too busy for the internet! That's like being too busy to eat, which is something that has never happened to me and which I cannot possibly understand. Too busy to eat? Delicious food? That's insane!

It's totally true, though; even my planner is full to bursting of ticket stubs and to do lists and my calendar for the month of April is essentially one continuous scrawl of red and purple (Always plan things in color, I say.). You should see the state of my apartment; I think you can track my entire social schedule for the past week in the trail of shoes I've left along the entryway.

I am totally going to try to sit down someday soon and blog about the 400 life changes I've had in the past week, but today is not that day. Instead, I'll be getting a free meal (those are my favorite kind) as today's my baby brother's birthday. Happy birthday, Daniel! Stop punching me in the face, please.

I don't even have anything fun on the internet to show you, because I haven't been online all week. The world could have ended, and we merely particles in an exploding sky, and I wouldn't even know. Whoa. Heavy stuff.

Check back later this weekend for (I hope)a report on Henri's birthday, my birthday, Bill's birthday and my brother's birthday, plus a true account of street thievery and the outcome of a battle royal with a crawfish (hint: Crawfish loses).

Happy Friday!

Rick Astley is never gonna:

2008-03-27T21:49:00.003Z

a) give you up
b) let you down
c) run around and desert you
d) make you cry
e) say goodbye
f) tell a lie and hurt you
g) all of the above

No, I promise you're not being rickrolled, guys. But I had to give a nod to Mister Astley, because I wanted to talk about viral videos.

You know the ones - prisoners dancing to MJ's Thriller, Chris Crocker and leprechauns being crackheads and getting hold to the wrong stuff - those videos forwarded to you by coworkers or friends, the ones passed from blog to internet magazine to the local news. Some are funny, some are just wrong, and some involve tigers hugging people!

I love viral videos, folks. They're the best kind of email forward, because they rarely involve anyone telling me they'll pray for me or little .gifs of an American flag. And as I was saving everything on my work computer today as the computer will be taken away from me tomorrow, I came across three viral videos I'd saved and totally forgotten about! (Um, please don't tell on me, people at work. I know I'm not supposed to have non-work stuff saved on my computer.)

My very favorite viral video is the Aicha boy, partly because he reminds me of my cousin Thomas, and partly because I really respect the conviction that must come from shooting a video next to your Minnie Mouse bedsheets. Also, I find the popup text to be extremely helpful in narrating the story of Aicha, because I, too, find myself asking, "she move how?" when people are singing about movement. You should hear me when I'm listening to Patrick Swayze's "She's Like The Wind" (get better soon, Patrick!) - there is a lot of moving of smybolic stuff through the metaphorical trees in that song. And don't even get me started on The Kooks' "She Moves in Her Own Way." Actually, just don't get me started on The Kooks, period.

And if you think I do not know every second of this choreography, and do not perform it along with Gelliman everytime I watch the video, then you don't know me very well, do you?

The second video I found on my hard drive was the Kosovo video! I love the Kosovo video. I know this makes me patently unhip, but "Kokomo" is actually my very favorite Beach Boys song. I know, I know. And yes, I own Pet Sounds. I just can't help it! I always immediately want to run off to vacay on a tropical isle when I hear it. With Kermit as my faithful companion.

The Kosovo video stars a bunch of Norwegian (I believe) soldiers who walk around without shirts on, which is always a plus in my book. And they sing about Milosevic. Plus, it teaches you about current events. Um, current ca. 1998, that is. So it's totally educational as well! Also, I believe this video marks the only time anyone affiliated with the UN ever apologized to Rwanda at all. So how can you not love it? Fact: you can't. You must love it, because it is awesome.

The only thing that would make this video better is if these lads had spent more time working on their choroeography and less time gay-bashing (although I do appreciate the water, boys. I am only human.).

And then, of course, there's the video I always watch when I'm having a bad day: C4's Celeb Swear Words advert. I dunno; there's just something about hearing the word "fuck" 40 times which really soothes me. Of course, I must add that my future-husband-when-he-stops-liking-men, Derren Brown, has the exact same favorite swear word as me. It's FATE, y'all.

Watching these videos, I remembered why I kept them on my hard drive for four years in blatant disregard for my company's IT policy: they really cheer me up. That's the power of a funny minute-long video, that it can completely lift your spirits and put a smile on your face.

So, internets, what's your favorite viral video? Link away in the comments!

sxsw day 2, or: "you are important. to the parish. npr could not care less about you."

2008-03-26T20:09:00.003Z

I have been so lazy lately, guys. Also somehow I managed to actually burn off a section of my hair, so I'm going around everywhere wrapped in scarves to cover up my carmelized bangs. My sunglasses of the season are giant, too, so in all I've got a bit of a bored chanteuse effect going on. Not bad, except that people at work are laughing at me. I mean, more than usual.

Okay! Where we last left off, I had spent an enjoyable day wearing silly hats and listening to people from the UK sing country music. What could be in store for our intrepid narrator today?

After an appetizing breakfast of mimosas and . . . well, just mimosas, Courtney and I went downtown and went over to charlieuniformtango to see Mandy!

Hey, Mandy! CUT is in the middle of tons of renovations, as they're now going to be taking over all the floors in their building, so Mandy took us on a tour of the construction zone. We didn't even have to wear hard hats. She showed us where the new editing bays and her new office were going to be. It's going to look even more swanky and uptown than it already does (which is pretty swanky). I can't wait to see it all fixed up, which, let's face it, probably won't be until next sxsw.

Then we went on to the NPR day show at the Parish. I didn't figure it'd be too difficult to get in, despite indie darlings Vampire Weekend playing at four, because we were so early. Um. Wrong.

There was a really long line, guys. I was at the front of it, and it still took us an hour to get in. During this hour, I: texted Sarah and Daniel to see if they were coming over (they did not), listened to this total tool in front of us bore this poor girl about the talk-radio format, and MISSED my Swedish boyfriend Jens Lekman. I was, and am, bereft. OH JENS. Come back soon, okay?

But we did finally get in, in time for Yeasayer. I've had their album for a while, but to be honest, it hadn't really grown on me that much. But they were much better live than I'd expected them to be, so I was glad I caught their show. They have a whole lot of hair, though, I must say.

The next act of the show was a personal favorite of the festival for me: bon iver. I got For Emma, Forever Ago off the recommendation of a friend, and was really blown away by it. But that was nothing compared to seeing him in person, five feet away, and having his haunting voice reverberate throughout the room. He started a singalong for The Wolves Act I and II and I am not ashamed to say I cried, a little.

Also? Beard.

Last up were the big draw for most of the crowd, Vampire Weekend. I was set to talk about how overrated VW are (before I even saw them, cause I am near-Pitchforkian in my cynicism), but to be perfectly honest, I think I've listened to their album about 200 times since I got it. It's just . . . infectious. Also, who doesn't like people who sing about Cape Cod?

I wonder if any of them would be willing to do my taxes for me.

Oh, also: the show had free Shiner and Lone Star, and tiny chopped beef sliders! I could have eaten twelve of them, but stuck to just one. I'd like to say that I'm super-disciplined, but it was only because I had already had about five free beers.

After the party, Courtney and I went to eat some Vietnamese food. I had bun and coffee:

Yes, I draw shapes with my sriracha. You're lucky I didn't draw some lewd pictograph of what I'd like to do with Liam Finn. I am also lucky, because that would be very spicy!

Then we decided to go hang out at the convention center for a while, because our feet hurt. My feet hurt because I was wearing these shoes:

Sparkly, but lacking in arch support.

On the way to the convention center, I was beset by a giant panda:

I hate it when people in giant animal costumes touch me. I have no desire to ever go to DisneyWorld, simply for this reason.

While we were wandering around the convention center, I heard, "Erin! Erin!" It was Leah! She and Daniel were chilling up there as well:

Leah worked up at sxsw all week, because she's super important. It was nice running into them, and I told them to come see popup later if they didn't have anything on their slate. (Note: I found out later that Jens was playing at the same time as popup. Sorry, popup, I'd have gone to stalk Jens if I'd known.)

After meeting Leah's boss (that's him on the left) and hanging for awhile, Courtney and I went over to the Habana Annex to see the aforementioned popup. On the way, a homeless man gave us flowers. And then extorted money from us. Courtney and I are a notoriously soft touch; I'll just let you know now that it's really easy to get money out of us for pretty much any reason. One, we are usually too distracted with talk of gay sex to be aware of our surroundings, and two, we're both so WASPy that we don't know how to say no to a direct request. I'm just letting you know this for the future. Also, it should cut down on muggings, because really all you have to do is ask.

This marks the second sxsw in a row where I have run into members of popup in a bar - last year, I ran into Michael and their manager Alec at the Needles/Metro Riots show on the last night (also, Damo told me the other day that the Needles have broken up, sort of, and that news is basically like a punch in my gut. I love them.) and this year I ran into Nic and Adi at Latitude on the first night. Next year, I expect I'll run into them exactly halfway through the week. (Also, why is it always a bar? Why is it never a street corner or perhaps a charming model village?) So it's a little weird actually GOING to a bar with the expressed purpose of seeing them. I tried to get a photo of all of them together, but see above, in re: free beer. Also Michael likes to turn around and play with his back to the crowd, I guess:

Never fear. You'll be seeing tons of photos of them for day four.

They were, of course, totally fun, as usual, and I even got a song dedicated to me! That's only like the second time that's happened, and the first time that hasn't involved Authentic Gnome Voice^TM and the dedicator trying to snog me in the middle of conversation (i'm looking at you, bgarz). Awesome.

After the show, Courtney and I had to be on to our next adventure, so we walked over to Latitude (I can't help it! British Embassy! Leah's people! Accents!) to see the fantastic Emmy the Great. At first, the people at the door weren't going to let me in, due to my camera, but once I made it clear that there was no way in hell I was leaving my baby out in the car, they relented. Unfortunately this means I didn't get any good photos of Emmy, but never fear! I got plenty the next day, so stay tuned for her absolute cuteness. I wish I'd gotten a shot of her merch, though - she has a totebag with a cat on it and it says "I CAN HAZ EMMY?" That is A+.

Emmy made me a bit melancholy, actually, as her voice was just so lovely that I longed for someone to share it with. Unfortunately, all I could find was Talkative Scottish Photographer, who yakked my ear off for almost an hour about Tilly and the Wall and why every band I like is shit (general consensus was because there were boys in them). Courtney and I had meant to stay for Johnny Flynn, but we had to escape the TSP! So we made a subtle exit ("uh, we have to be . . . somewhere else.") and went over to The Rio, where we ran smack into a long line of douchey MGMT fans.

Don't get me wrong; I wanted to see MGMT too. But I am not a douche. Or if I am, it's a relative douchiness, like, 1 part douche, 3 parts sparkles. These people? Were douches. They worked for The Sun, y'all. I mean, no lie, part of me wanted to be their best friend and ask who they'd choose in a Jordan vs. Jodie Marsh fight to the death, but mostly I just wanted them to shut up, because they were overly posh and obnoxious. It became quickly clear that I, a lowly wristbander, would never get in to the show, so I left Courtney in line and high-tailed it out of there.

I didn't really have a plan, so I decided to just wander around. I ended up over at the Mohawk, where bon iver was once again playing, this time on the outside stage. The line to get in was way too long, but I could hear him perfectly, so I climbed up on some construction barriers and laid down, stared at the hazy sky, and dreamed away for an hour. It was a lovely respite from the bustle of the city.

Courtney texted me to tell me that the crowd at the Rio had cleared out when MGMT left the stage, so I walked back over there to see I Was a Cub Scout and The Pan I Am. IWACS were good fun - they're a band I enjoy a lot without feeling the need to delve any further into them. Pink Squares comes on shuffle; I dance, basically.

The Pan I Am was . . . wow. I still don't have words to describe it, nearly two weeks later. Suffice it to say that it was not what I was expecting from Ed Larrikin (whose last project, Larrikin Love, is probably in my Top Ten Bands of All Time list). He's a lot . . . darker? And, um . . . scarier? And his guitarist may own and operate an S&M dungeon and demand to be known only as The Baron?

After the set, which was super-short at only about 15 minutes long, Courtney went off to the bathroom. When she didn't return after ten minutes, I went to look for her, and of course she was talking to Ed Larrikin backstage (Courtney has this insanely awesome skill of being able to talk to ANYONE. I envy her a lot, because I am actually really shy [I know, it seems like I'm joking], so I tend to clam up and/or go stupid around anyone who isn't a close friend. It causes problems.). And he was totally lovely and not at all like a scary tranny vampire! He was trying to pay another girl two dollars not to see The Pigeon Detectives the next day ("you don't have to go to my show! Just don't go to theirs!") and was demanding high fives and mocking people for having their own thoughts ("oooooh! OWN THOUGHTS!") and I know this doesn't paint a wonderful portrait of him, but he was genuinely lovely and not at all like you'd think he'd be from this:

Appearances (and music. and performance. and inter-song banter) can be deceiving, I guess.

And that was basically it for day two! We're halfway through!

i want it harder, baby

2008-03-24T20:19:00.002Z

Ugh. For some reason unbeknownst to me, but probably due to the fact that the place is a craphole, my apartment complex has randomly changed from hard water (good) to soft water (gross). And it's affecting EVERYTHING. I can't even drink the water in my Brita pitcher anymore because it just tastes gross and overly-conditioned. And speaking of gross and over-conditioned, my hair is disgusting. I am sorry, but soft water is just no good, especially if you, like me, are cursed with pretty fine hair to begin with. Now my hair's all gross and limp, like asparagus which has been cooked one minute too long. And it looks like I didn't even bother to shower, which is of course not true. I shower every day! Sometimes several times a day! Showering is at least 7 minutes spent upright and devoted to my personal hygeine, and I want credit for that, damn it!

Luckily, Lush makes a soft water shampoo, so there's help out there. But that will take at least ten days to get here, and what do I do until then?

Also, in news that is upsetting me: a friend of mine (who will remain nameless, so as to save her from gaining internet fame from this story [the internet fame that would come from all ten people who read this]) told me that a certain celebrity in tight trousers who I love and adore was a bit of a charmless bastard to her whilst trying to get her to shag him in the bathroom of a club. I mean, no lie, if I'd been in her place, I'd have shagged him senseless, because A) he's hot and B) I love seedy bathroom hookups as much as the next ex-barfly, but I was sad that he was apparently really intimidating and sort of stroppy about the whole thing. Don't be like that, unnamed celebrity! Be the charming Essex imp we all thought you to be!

friday's for internet-lovers

2008-03-21T19:13:00.002Z

Also, as your friday afternoon interweb link, I must say, Dinosaur Comics has been cracking me up even more than usual lately. I suddenly have the desire to condense every song I know into limerick form. ILU T-Rex.

sxsw day one; or, "are you from brooklyn and if so are you Vampire Weekend?"

2008-03-21T15:57:00.003Z

I think sufficient time has expired between the booze-fueled dance parties of last week and the vague sense of ennui of this week to finally get around to doing my sxsw write-ups. I tend to want to put sxsw behind me every year after it's over; it always seems like a bit of a losing battle to capture exactly how I feel as I wander along the streets I used to call home, catching snippets of flirtations and heartbreak and desperation and always, always, the feel of music pouring out from every corner to cruise along my skin. But then when I don't write it down, I tend to forget it all in a month anyway, so that I can't even remember essential things like exactly what Ginger Fratelli said to me when he was trying his best to woo me. So recaps it is.

Your father's writing me all the time/He says he just wants to say hi/I send him Out of Office Auto Replies.

After thinking that I was going to be the late one (I'm always the late one), it turns out that I got to our hotel a full half-hour before Courtney did. So I waited for her in my car and listened to Jens Lekman singing to Nina about her father. While I was waiting, I studied the other characters in our hotel - there was one who looked just like Donny Tourette who I ended up seeing out and about all week. Sadly it was not actually Donny Tourette, whom I adore for being so fantastically rubbish. Courtney FINALLY showed up, and we proceeded to talk about stalking Russell Brand through the streets of Austin while we got changed. Then we were off to the convention center to pick up Courtney's badge and my wristband. I thought it might be crowded, but check it:

Very few people were in line.

While Courtney was getting her badge, we saw Elijah Wood. He is really short, y'all. I mean, I know that's what everyone says when they first see Elijah Wood in person, but he is RLY short. He is wee. Poqueno. Petite. Pixie-like. However, he totally seemed like an awesome, regular guy - he was getting his badge himself and waiting in line and not pounding away on his iPhone (unlike yours truly, who was totally trying to mobile-blog the fact that I was standing mere inches away from Frodo). Also I found out that his label reps The Apples in Stereo, and I love them. So, in summation, Elijah Wood has it all over my celeb-encounters from last year, who were all douchebuckets.

remember me/honestly i don't/remember who you are

After getting our respective credentials, I dragged Courtney over to the austinist/gothamist party at the Mohawk so that I could see my one true love, Liam Finn, play. We got there a few hours before his set, so I quickly got down to the most essential part of sxsw business:

In case you've never been inside the Mohawk, it looks sort of like this:

Pretentious music snobs come extra.

The first set of the week that we caught was Johnny Flynn and the Sussex Wit, who have sort of a traditional sound which has been given rock sensibilities. I really liked them and when I got home, I instantly legally purchased everything I could find for them. Also, despite being twelve, Johnny Flynn is totes cute:

You can tell from the angle on this shot that I had yet to make it to the front of the stage, but never fear! My powers of persuasion are strong indeed. Also I've learned that after you manage to smuggle in a dSLR without a press pass (srsly, next year? I'm getting a press pass for my camera. I got nothing but grief from the door all week. I even tried to buy one off a photog, but nothing doing.), people seem to think you're a professional photographer and will totally give up their front-row spots to let you get better photos. This worked out well for me all week, actually.

After Johnny Flynn, Phosphorescent came on. I'd never heard of these guys, but it was clear the audience had, because they went nuts for them. There was an inebriated fellow to my right who would clutch the bassist's monitor and sort of sway back and forth to a beat known only to him. Then he would offer up his own vocal interpretation of the song lyrics, punctuated with a lot of "yeah"s and "UH"s. And then he'd use the monitor as a base for pogoing, even though the music of Phosphorescent is not what I would recommend for bouncing up and down.

This is a picture of the lead singer from Phosphorescent:

In case you're invested in BeardWatch '08, I must say that this fellow's beard did not impress me as such. I think it's just a little too crazy. Calm down, buddy, BeardWatch '08 is not a competition (Note: BeardWatch '08 is TOTALLY a competition.); the quality of the beard is more important than the quantity. Let's just tone it down some, okay? And maybe invest in some concealer.

Moving on!

Next up was my number one, can't-miss act and also the man to whom all other men pale in a race for my affections, Mr. Liam Finn. I am not going to continue to go on and on about Liam Finn in this blog, I promise you (liam, call me!), since we've already discussed him, but I did want to show you EJ Barnes's shoes, for they are awesome:

Yes! Red, sparkly Converse All-Stars. Like if Oz had a street basketball team. She told us that she'd gotten them for free, just for singing with Liam, which is probably the second best perk she could get for singing with Liam - the first obvs being that she gets to give him a cuddle whenever she wants.

Right. Moving on from Liam Finn. I mean it. Right . . . now.

in the meantime let me tell you that i love you/buona sera, signorina, kiss me goodnight

Okay. After the show was over, Courtney and I went over to Jamie's, which is just next door, and ate dinner. She had chicken mole and I had verde enchiladas. And, of course, sangria:

Mmm, delicious sangria; nectar of the gods.

After dinner, we wandered over to Antone's for the Domino showcase, but paused on our way to take over a haberdashery:

I really wanted this hat, but it was 70 dollars and Courtney pointed out that I do, in fact, live in Texas and would never need it. But it was so comfy!

On our way over to Antone's, we randomly ran into Dev of Lightspeed Champion doing a stand-up interview for MTV. He talked at length about Vampire Weekend and tried to sell us a joke with the punchline "A-Punk." It was about as terrible as you would imagine. I love Dev, though; I saw him everywhere last week and he was always friendly and happy. All through the interview, this guy standing next to me in a blue-striped sweater was laughing, and then when it wrapped up, he stepped up to talk to Dev:

Why, it is John Norris! That was very strange for me. One just does not expect to run into Skeletor on the streets like that. I mean, I grew up with John Norris. Running into him on the sidewalk outside Antone's would be like if Kurt Loder came to my door to sell my Girl Scout Cookies. It just doesn't seem right.

But John Norris was actually very nice and friendly, and so I almost feel bad about spending most of my formative years writing tortureporn screenplays in which he starred as the evil, scarred villain who is so ashamed of his own terrible visage that he must lift the skin off pretty blonde girls. Almost, but not quite.

We got to Antone's and there was already a line, but we happened to run into some friends there, so we snuck into their spot. Whoever was running the show at Antone's that night was perhaps not well-versed in the whole idea of sxsw, as they didn't open the doors until ten till 8 pm. By that time, the folks with badges were lined up around the block, and I knew there was no way a lowly wristbander like myself could get in. So I hied myself down to the We Dreamed America showcase at Latitude 30, where I'd heard of a grand total of 0 bands performing, but figured there might be English people to chat with.

It actually turned out to be a pretty good choice - the music was all Americana and roots, but for the most part performed by UK people, who definitely had a purer interpretation of the music than their American counterparts would. The highlight of that show were Kitty, Daisy and Lewis, a jump and swing band from London. They're a family band, which is always sort of creepy, but I think maybe it cuts down on the possibility of any Fleetwood Mac-ian shenanigans going on. God, one would hope. At any rate, the eponymous members are all still teenagers and they were going to town on their instruments. It was totally a dance party, as captured here:

That man in blue up front is Joe Lean of Joe Lean and the Jing Jang Jong and I am here to tell you, the boy likes to dance. Badly, but who cares when he's that cute?

"despite being a racist homophobe, he wasn't a bad guy."

It seems like every year at sxsw, I'll have a random encounter with someone which will determine the course of my entire week. For example, last year Ginger Fratelli randomly walked up to me in a bar (there's a punchline to that, somewhere) and then we ran into each other approximately 200 times in the week. Which was lovely for me, because, see below in re: scottish, bearded, ginger bassist. Especially scottish bearded ginger bassists who like to whisper things in my ear.

At latitude I randomly ran into various members of popup, and as I've just been texting a friend of mine who was at their Dallas show last night and is traveling to Austin even now, I think it's safe to assume they were my "jesus christ, this town is small" band of the year. Popup are everywhere; it's a testament to their Scottish charm that I'm not completely sick of them already. I don't know if I can say the same from their end, as I fear they were beset on all sides by myself and my vast network of friends, but if they're tired of us, they're hiding it with good grace. Extremely good grace in some cases, from what I hear.

the resentments ride high/but emotions won't grow

The last act of the evening was Alabama 3, who I guess sing the Sopranos theme song. I don't watch the Sopranos (a quote from our gingerbiscuit about the Sopranos pops into mind - "It is possible to be a decent, upstanding citizen in today's America. Obviously you have failed, but . . . ") so I had no idea who they were, but it was clear that I was the only one. They were okay, but to be honest I was a little thrown by the visual of a small Asian woman and a man who thinks he's Lou Reed singing country music. Also, there are clearly four people in Alabama 3:

They started things off with a cover of uncle Ian's "Love Will Tear Us Apart." I might have to legally purchase that as it's sort of my thing to have as many cover versions of that song as I can find. But for the most part, I wasn't all that impressed, so when Courtney showed up at quarter after one and suggested we call it a night, I concurred.

And so ends day one of SxSW, which is already fading from my memory. That's the after-effects of too much free beer.

xx erin

"i'm going to listen to country music, the music of pain."

2008-03-20T18:55:00.002Z

So it's come to my attention that for the past three or four days, I've been, quote, "a cranky, mercurial, emo bastard and would you just get over it already?" Which is totally true. And I hate being a cranky bastard, although it is my default setting, because mopey people are annoying and also because pouting gives you chin wrinkles.

But, internet, I just don't know what to do. My iPod is no help; it's on shuffle right now, and honest to god, these were the last five songs it played, IN A ROW: "An Olive Grove Facing the Sea," "Heaven Knows I'm Miserable Now," "Candy Says," "No Name no 5" and "Cars and Telephones." I mean, COME ON. That is not cool, Kaiser 2: Electric Boogaloo. Not cool at all.

So I'm tasking you guys with cheering me up - youtube videos, links to more lolcastic stories of 90210 spinoffs, pictures of cats with stuff on them, whatever gets the job done. Cause no one should ever go through their day saying, without a hint of irony, "Only Morrissey knows how I feel."

xx erin

hidden corners in drafty places

2008-03-19T19:25:00.003Z

I really love discovering something new about something or someone that you thought you knew everything about. You know what I mean. Like you one day find out your best friend used to breed pygmy rabbits, or something, as a child, and all of a sudden she's become so much more interesting to you.

That happened to me last night, not with a person, but a place! Last night, Jerry, Jill and I went to see a band called popup (this blog will be inundated with hundreds of photos of them as I let their tour manager go off with my camera last saturday. obvs you can tell by this that I have an uncommon level of trust in and affection for these people, because my nikon is my baby.) at notsuoh, which is a Houston venue downtown. notsuoh's pretty awesome, because it's full of dark corners (for doing dark deeds?) and sometimes you can still get away with smoking in there. I don't smoke, actually, in general, but when I drink a lot, I always crave cigarettes, and it sucks to have to go outside to partake in my once-a-year vice. Also, if you play there, you get free beer all night. I don't play in a band*, but I imagine that's a pretty sweet deal.

But I thought I knew all I needed to know about notsuoh. Not so! While hanging out last night, someone discovered a secret building upstairs from the bar! We got in through a busted window and went up a steep staircase, and what greeted us was the most amazing place I've seen in a long time. There were rows and rows of shelves lined with really old shoes, a dusty out-of-tune piano and tons of spooky shadows and hidey holes. Broken furniture and old canvases scattered the floor, and you could hear the scurry of mice and rats as you walked along the groaning floors. Even better, we found really old bottles of beer, which we felt honor-bound to partake in (because rules for living state that anytime you find yourself in a dark, deserted building, you must consume whatever food or drink you find there. How else will the serial killer know that it's time for him to show up? Actually, I guess he's still not allowed to show up until some girl has sex there. Sex leads to death by serial-killer, everyone knows this. I didn't see a serial killer, in case you're wondering.). The whole place was super-spooky and awesome, and finding it was like having a shiny treasure that you can hug to yourself.

So that just goes to show me that you can find excitement and intrigue anywhere, even in people and places you thought you knew by heart. You only have to look.

* Yet. Of course I currently have about four musical projects in the works - Unexpected Bassist, The Funky Meercats, Soundcheck (where the only lyrics will be things like, "check, one. two. check. can I get a little more guitar in my monitor, please?" It's going to be GENIUS.) and of course my 32-member experiemental-rock band, Secret Baby and the Big-House Bruises, which is still recruiting members, if you'd like to sign up. I myself will be playing the fire extinguisher and wearing a funny hat.

"they can fly so high and they can shit on your head."

2008-03-18T21:25:00.003Z

No, don't worry, I'm not blogging about Kate Nash. Things have not got quite that dire yet. Actually, Meredith challenged me to write about something I don't like, and since I've been in a pretty good mood lately, I really had to struggle to think of something. Luckily for this blog entry, there's always my old standby: birds.

I effin' hate birds, guys. Like, on the list of Things Erin Hates, not even Hitler, or my emotionally manipulative ex-boyfriend, or, say, the Keane album come anywhere near the number one spot. That spot is reserved solely for birds, those disgusting, creepy, maniacal creatures.

Background: I used to like birds. Well, okay, that's a lie, I never liked them. I didn't want them as pets; I didn't want to watch them eat things from canisters hung on trees; and I didn't think they made particularly soothing Sesame Street residents. (I'm sorry, but am I the *only* person creeped out by the idea of a SIX FOOT TALL bird who is nosey and gets all up in everyone's shit all the damn time?) But I wasn't afraid of them, or anything. Until one memorable day at the beach, when I was tired and punchy from staying up late the night before to watch "The Birds." That's when MY LIFE CHANGED.

There was this kid at the beach, the son of my mom's friend, and he was tossing up mini-chips ahoy to the seagulls. Now, first of all, that is a perfectly good waste of mini-chips ahoy, which as we all know provide the perfect amount of dry, crumbly, quasi-cookie flavor for all your snacking needs. I don't like to see snacks being misused in any way; it's like seeing a Native American chief cry or something. It just makes me feel guilty for living. But also, seeing giant air-rats swoop down to munch on cookies is a little disconcerting. Like, why are birds so gung-ho about eating free food? Did they never get the freshman seminar about not accepting free drinks or food from a stranger? There could be roofies in those cookies!

(Note to self: check availability of patent for roofie cookie.)

Well, this kid (we'll call him Chris. Because that is his name.) noticed my discomfort at these greedy little winged bastards and decided to do what all boys do when they like a girl: torture me. He'd fling those little cookies at my head so that the birds would swoop down next to me to catch them. He was totally Hitchcock and I was his Tippi Hedren, just like in that Vanity Fair article that mere told me about last week. It was creepy and scary and I was very upset.

But, with the resilience of youth, I bounced back. I calmed down and forgot all about his little torture-show, and laid down on the beach to take a nap. I awoke to a strange feeling on my stomach, like a massage by a prozzie who has 3-inch long Lee press-on nails. What could it have been?

Yep. Birds. That little fucker Chris had put chips ahoy all over my stomach and the seagulls had LANDED ON ME to eat them off. I screamed and freaked out, of course, and have been terrified of birds ever since. Ask Courtney; I avoid them at all costs, even if it means I have to cross the street to get away from them.

So this is all to explain how much I hate birds. They are creepy and carry disease and stare at you with their beady little eyes. I mistrust them, and it'll be a happy day for me when they're all extinct.

xx erin

iRobot Roomba

2008-03-17T23:50:00.005Z

AKA, the best 300 bucks I've spent in a long, long time.

Years ago, whenever I'd go to Home Depot, I'd stop and watch an early generation of the Roomba do its thing. Corralled in a little carpeted pen, it would (seemingly) randomly roll around and suck up bits of paper that had been spread about. I always thought, "I'd like one of those one day, when they get a little cheaper and smarter."

I honestly don't know if they've gotten any cheaper, but Roombas have gotten a hell of a lot smarter and I have a higher salary now. So, since (a) I have a lot of cats with a lot of hair that tends to shed and quickly become gigantor dustbunnies, and (b) I am a very, very lazy person, I decided to invest in one.

Before I chose one, however, I researched the Roomba thoroughly first. I found a Roomba community full of fanatics who love to collect Roombas, dissect their Roombas to see how they work, and hack their Roombas to make Super!Roombas that will probably take over the earth one day. Like proto-Daleks. (I am so not kidding about that last bit.)

Anyway, their forum was extraordinarily helpful, and I decided to get the Roomba 550, which is sold at Costco (and perhaps other places, but it seems like a lot of retailers sell the 560, which is pretty much the same machine as the 550. I don't know what the differences are, if any - it's not immediately apparent.).

For those who don't know how a Roomba works, I'll try to explain. There are two brushes underneath the Roomba that rotate towards each other. There's probably some sucking involved too. Also, there's about 8 little brushes on a wheel that spin around. They're good for corners and baseboards and whatnot. The Roomba "sees" dirt through its 3 or 4 electronic eyes. I think. Uh, that's really all I know about how it does its job.

The 500 series is the newest generation of Roombas. The reasons I decided to get the 550 are:

comes with a docking station and these little things called Lighthouses, which act either as virtual walls (emits a beam the Roomba knows not to pass) or as a beacons that tell the Roomba to finish cleaning one room before it moves on to another
has a scheduler so you can program the Roomba to clean whenever you want (I will eventually use this feature but I haven't as of yet)

I've had my Roomba (which I would name if I was one of those people who names things like cars and laptops, but I'm not so I won't) for about a week now and so far I love it. It does a much better job than I would do with my vacuum and half-assed attitude. My floors are super-clean and kinda shiny. I wish I had some carpet so I could try it out on that, too (Roomba goes effortlessly between carpet and hardwood!).

Roomba does a great job on floors and baseboards and a decent job in corners. It goes under most furniture, too, which is fab because that's usually where the gigantor dustbunnies like to nest and clone themselves.

It looks like it's randomly moving about, but Roomba actually does some fancy mathing with its electronic eyes and figures out how it wants to clean the room. It slows down when it approaches most furniture and walls.

Fun Video!

When the Roomba is done cleaning, I just pull out the chamber where all the dirt and hair are stored and dump it in the trash. Voila.

There are a some things I'm still monitoring, which is why I haven't let it run on its own yet:

It tends to get caught up in the cord that runs from my electric mattress pad to the wall. At some point I believe that it will yank it out, so I need to figure out a way to get the cord off the floor. I will say, though, that the Roomba knows it's caught up in the cord and tries its darnedest to extricate itself and most of the time it succeeds.
It has a hard time seeing furniture that's less than a few inches wide (like my bar stool legs) and bangs them a bit
It got stuck under my TV cabinet once because the cabinet is not quite high enough to let the Roomba under it (which is good, because there are a lot of cords under it).
It ate a cat toy, which rattled around inside it until I removed it (my fault entirely).
I'm afraid the cats will vomit on the floor and the Roomba will try to clean the vomit, which would, I believe, kill the Roomba dead.

Speaking of cats, I was curious to see how my 3 cats would deal with having a robot around. The first night went about as expected, with a lot of emotional upset. But, less than a week later, the Roomba is part of the family, and nobody wants to kill it anymore, with the possible exception of Coco, who smacked it the other day while she thought the Roomba wasn't looking.

So, to sum up, Roomba = awesome. I'll bet your vacuum doesn't play a jaunty tune when it's done cleaning, does it?

Music Monday - Liam Finn

2008-03-17T16:55:00.003Z

Can I even get away with Music Monday on the day after south by southwest? Isn't that a bit like a rehash? Well, whatever, I don't care. Let's talk Liam Finn, people, who's just released his first solo album.

Fact: I love Liam Finn. I love all Finns, I was a Crowded House fan, I've got this recording of Neil doing a cover of MJ's "Billie Jean" which is amazing and, also, covering Michael Jackson is the easiest way into my heart; basically the entire Finn family is one I want to hang out with and cook for. So you may think my love for Finn the Younger is due to his musical heritage, but I assure you that is not the case. Like snowflakes or the voices of young children at play or pure uncut columbian powder, my love for him is pure.

Why? Well, there are several reasons, which I will enumerate for you here:

1) The beard. I love beards, all scruffy and charming. I am extremely pro-facial hair on a man. And Liam's beard is amazing - both scruffy AND ginger! (Erin's Requirements for Hotness are as follows: bassist, Scottish, scruffy beard, Jewish, curly hair, ginger, and sarcastic. The more of those factors men hit, the more I'll want to shag them senseless. It is just my way. You can't fight nature.) Liam can turn his guitar into a bass and he has curly hair, so he's really hitting the upper registers on my attraction scale. He's sadly not Scottish, but he does have a charming kiwi accent, so that's something.

But, srsly, check this beard:

Don't you just sort of want to rub your fingers along his jaw and watch him purr like a cat?

2) His vocalist/harpist/munchkin basketball player, EJ, is amazing. I'm sort of in love with her as well, despite the fact that she doesn't have a beard. This is EJ:

Does she remind you a little of Summer Glau, or is that just me?

3) The music. (it does, eventually, come down to that. Even I am not so shallow.) Basically, he crafts songs using just his guitar and a lot of equipment. He lays down chords and then loops them and distorts them to build the rest of the song. Then he goes and bangs the hell out of the drums:

Also, all his equipment looks like it'd be really fun to play with, even though my brain gets crossed just thinking about all the pedals and monitors and stuff. (I would, however, have the perfect job as a roadie. I don't know shit about making music but I love running wires to things. It'd basically be like the fun of installing home stereo equipment, but as a JOB. I mean, I guess installing home stereo equipment is a job also, but that one doesn't have the same perks.) Look, he even has a joystick:

If you'd like to see exactly what I mean, check out this youtube video of Liam doing his thing:

Just ignore David making the same old lame joke about "giant cds." Shut up, Dave.

So, anyway, go out and buy his album, I'll Be Lightning.

I mean, look, he's JUMPING on the cover. Bearded AND jumping? Yes, please.

xx erin

2008-03-16T20:39:00.002Z

On this season of ER, there is a plotline about one of the doctor's college-aged son going crazy. That plotline really kicked into gear when the son turned up at County General. He'd driven cross country to tell his dad about a book, The Road by Cormac McCarthy. On the show, this was a sign of an early psychotic break. For me, it kinda made sense.

The Road is the best book that I have read in a long time. It's beautifully written in sparse, powerful prose with not one word out of place or unconsidered. There are some issues with the plot, but it's generally covered by the fable like nature of the story. However, I give you this recommendation with a health warning. This book has f'ed me up. It's the unrelentingly bleak story of a man and his son walking across post-apocalyptic America on the slimmest hopes, while trying to evade the rest of the survivors, who mostly want to eat them. It's grey, bleak with occasional flashes of the most shocking images- and the even more occasional flashes of humanity in the relationship and love between the man and the boy. A week and a half after finishing the book, I'll suddenly remember something from the novel, and then just despair at the pointlessness of it all for a short while.

At the moment I'm reading What is the What? by Dave Eggers, the fictionalised autobiography of one of the Lost Boys of Sudan. Coming after The Road, it almost counts as a light read, even with descriptions of the horrors faced by an eight year old caught up in a civil war. It is disappointing me- I love A heartbreaking work of staggering genius, and this is not striking the same stylistic high notes, or the same ability to portray tragedy.

Next book to be read is the lead singer of Franz Ferdinand's record of a year of food on the road. Fluff, happiness, food and skinny indie boys-phew. Unless something very dramatic happens during their world tour this should be just the cleansing sorbet of a book that I need at the moment.

Shameless TV Pimp: Gavin and Stacey

2008-03-16T19:30:00.004Z

Because I am fortunate enough to be British and to live in Britain, no less, I get to see all the best TV shows before many of my anglically challenged friends. And it's taken a while, but after I pointed out that I was the first person to recommend shows such as Skins, Spaced and The Mighty Boosh, I like to think that my recommendations count, nowadays.

Today, I am here to talk to you about Gavin and Stacey.

Gavin and Stacey is a BBC3 show about a boy from Essex and a girl from Wales who are in love, even though they have never met. They have talked on the phone every day for six months, and this is their story. It's only six episodes, and it's not exactly high concept. But as anyone who has watched really good comedy knows, it doesn't have to be.

The relationship between the titular characters is very real and very sweet. The thing that stood out when watching this show was how contrived it wasn't. There are secrets and lies and conflict but the whole point of the show is that Gavin and Stacey are a good couple. They work through the obstacles. This is a show about them becoming a couple - it's not about them breaking up.

As with most good comedy shows, the best characters aren't the leads. Their respective best friends, Smithy and Nessa, routinely steal the show. But then, James Corden (Smithy) and Ruth Jones (Nessa) wrote the script, so perhaps that isn't accidental. They're both crude and awful people, but completely devoted to their best friends. Because although Gavin and Stacey is hilarious and slightly inappropriate at times, it's also very sweet and very believable.

Plus, the cast is awesome. Matthew Horne plays Gavin, and he's been in a bunch of stuff, most notably doing the Martin 'slightly bewildered' Freeman face in The Catherine Tate Show (and also Teachers, which he was much better in). I totally don't recognise Joanna Page who plays Stacey, but she's adorable. James Corden was in Teachers and The History Boys, and is currently making a name for himself by working the awards ceremonies and making epic acceptance speeches.

And Ruth Jones has been in Nighty Night and Little Britain, so she knows a thing or two about comedy. And then you've got Rob Brydon cropping up and being funny and Welsh, and Julia Davis mostly being awesome. And loads of, 'Hey, it's that guy!' ...s.

I don't want to say too much because even though it's the kind of show that you can't really spoil, because it's about the dialogue and the interaction more than what actually happens, I don't want to sit here and go through the plot. I want you to watch it. Because you'll totally love it. It's adorable.

And, let's face it. I'm normally right about these things.

"oh, what, was he AMAZING? Was he the best thing you'd ever seen?"

2008-03-15T16:31:00.002Z

Oh man, it's already the last day of south by, and trust me, I'm starting to feel the fatigue. I sort of shut down every year around this time - I'm not a people person by nature and more than three days in the constant company of thousands of people makes me edgy and exhausted. Today I'm going to try to stave off sxsw-related hatred by going to a house party in the afternoon and chilling out on the lawn. I need some space.

Yesterday's day show was Filter at Cedar Street Courtyard, and its hallmark was the resulting heat exhaustion and sunburn. Foolishly I'd had nothing to eat or drink all morning and was standing in a close space with the sun beating down. It was going to be tragic, there for a minute.

The party started off with Shout Out Louds, a swedish pop band I love. They're so much fun, but they were flagging a bit in the heat. As was I- I didn't have the energy to dance my little heart out like I wanted to. Los Campesinos! followed them up, and I can confirm that hot Texas sun + pale Welsh skin = a lead singer who is probably today in throes of agony. I felt so bad for him; his back was bright red by the end. But they were lots of fun, and I envy the collective wardrobe of all the female singers.

The Pigeon Detectives came next, which was a welcome relief as Lead Detective likes to spit and pour water on the crowd. Apart from having to be quite quick with hiding my camera, I was grateful. I just hope he doesn't have the syph or anything. But they were great; high energy and lots of fun. I did entertain a brief moment's fear that the lead singer was going to kill me - he spent lots of time hovering on the monitor in front of me and kept slinging the mic cord around. I envisioned all of us on the front row bearing slashes in the face from the cord, like an extra on the Whip It video.

The Wombats came next, which was great, because I love them. We caught them by happy accident last year and have been devotees ever since. I mean, they have a stuffed wombat, y'all. You can't beat that for cuteness.

Lightspeed Champion came next, and the adorable, delightful Emmy the Great was there as guest vocalist. I have such a girl crush on her. I want to put her in my pocket. LC were great as well - it was good to finally see him, since I wasn't able to see him at Antone's on Saturday.

Can you tell I'm tired? Every adjective is "great." I promise I'll do better when I actually do write-ups after this is all over.

Then, for the evening, I was meant to go to Stubb's for The Cribs/MGMT/Santogold. But that sxsw-fatigue kicked in and I just found myself unable and unwilling to stand up for five more hours in a crowd of thousands. So Courtney and I hied our way over to Wave for the NME showcase, and saw Make.Model, Fanfarlo and ox.eagle.lion.man. I also ran into Ed Larrikin again and listened to him bitch some more about the Pigeon Detectives. He really hates them. I'm thinking of starting a feud between the two.

More later as there's lines for the convention center laptops right now. When this is all over, I'm going to sleep till I'm dead.

xx erin

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2008-03-15T02:42:00.000Z

ox.eagle.lion.man are Amish angst rock? This has been a weird week, man.

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2008-03-15T00:57:00.001Z

Don't you reckon Dev gets hot in that hat?

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2008-03-14T22:21:00.001Z

All you need to know about The Wombats can be summed up aw this photo. They have a stuffed wombat on stage.

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2008-03-14T21:19:00.001Z

This is the calmest that the Pigeon Detectives were for the whole set. I do hope that this man does not have the syph as i have tons of his sweat and spit on me.

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2008-03-14T21:15:00.001Z

Los Campesinos! are even less used to the Texas sun than the Swedes are.

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2008-03-14T19:15:00.001Z

I knew if I stuck with it I could see Shout Out Louds. It is mercilessly hot today. I fared only slightly better than the Swedes.

"this is rock and roll, but you have to clean up after yourself."

2008-03-14T15:08:00.002Z

The achiness of my feet and random bruises cropping up are enough to remind me that sxsw is now half over. And what stories to tell.

Celeb sightings:

None which would interest you, unless you're a regular listener to NPR or the BBC.

"Look at this line. Maybe if I'd donated more to NPR, we could just get right in."

The NPR party with Jens Lekman, Yeasayer, Bon Iver and Vampire Weekend was the most popular show of the day, so of course I was stuck in line for it. We finally got into the Parish around 1:30, missing Jens Lekman altogether. I was bereft. I wanted to hear more about how he couldn't be Nina's boyfriend because she has a girlfriend. Yeasayer came on and were much better than I'd expected them to be. I have their album but it hadn't really wowed me - live, they are 100x better. Bon Iver took the stage and broke my heart with his beautiful voice. And then Vampire Weekend came up to show us all that preps aren't as square as we all thought. Combine all this with free shiner and lone star and tiny little chopped beef sliders, and it was worth the wait.

"I'm sorry; I'm just talking bollocks to you in a Scottish accent.

Thursday night saw us dancing along to Popup, and only the second song dedication of my entire life, this one not performed in Authentic Gnome Voice. Daniel and Leah showed up as well, and it's lovely running into friends at sxsw. Makes it all seem more like home. After Popup, we went over to Latitude to catch Emmy the Great, who made me wistful and melancholy. For a brief moment in time, I longed to be in love with someone, just so I could share this overwhelming joy and heartbreak I felt with someone. Unfortunately, however, all I could find was a middle-aged scottish photographer with a Tilly and the Wall obsession, who talked my ear off for over an hour. We left to escape him and then walked to the Rio for the BBC6 showcase, and ran smack into a long line of obnoxious MGMT fans. It was badges only, so Courtney went in and I went to have a bit of a wander, ending up outside the Mohawk listening to Justin from Bon Iver's majestic voice floating through the street. Then I headed back over to the Rio (as everyone had left after MGMT got off stage) and saw I Was A Cub Scout and The Pan I Am. IWACS were fun and a good time. The Pan I Am is . . . wow. I just . . . I don't . . . yeah. I really can't say anything about The Pan I Am because I don't think there are words in the English language to describe what went on on that stage (and on the floor, and halfway onto each). I've never feared for my life so much as I did the second Ed Larrikin locked eyes with me. I honestly thought he might try to consume my soul.

And then, running into him after the show, he was as delightful as can be! Overly invested in high fives ("high five, Jane! high five!" has already entered Courtney's and my lexicon) and harboring an intense hatred for the Pigeon Detectives, but charming. I was so very confused. I still am. I do know that if you are poor, Ed Larrikin will give you two dollars not to see The Pigeon Detectives, so keep that in mind if ever you find yourself needing a bit of extra cash.

Today is The Wombats, Lightspeed Champion and (yes, Ed Larrikin, keep your two dollars!) The Pigeon Detectives at Cedar St, and Santogold, MGMT and The Cribs tonight at Stubb's. If I can get in.

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2008-03-14T06:58:00.001Z

I used to think that Ed Larrikin was a fun wood nymph. Now I know that he is a tranny vampire who will eat your soul.

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2008-03-14T06:07:00.000Z

Directly after this photo was taken, the lead pies from I Was a Cub Scout dove into the shallow fountain at The Rio.

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2008-03-14T06:05:00.001Z

Listening to Emmy the Great puts one in a bit of a melancholy state. Her lush and tender voice makes you want to be in love with someone, somewhere, so you can share it with them.

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2008-03-14T02:23:00.001Z

Maybe you guys are wondering why i keep posting crap photos. Apparently the blog won't accept regular texts. This is popup, who I was delighted to run into again this year. If you live in Texas, check their myspace, as they are touring all month.

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2008-03-13T21:51:00.001Z

This is Vampire Weekend and they live up to the hype.

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2008-03-13T18:56:00.001Z

This is the line to get into the npr party today. Do you think, perhaps, that headliners Vampire Weekend are just a bit popular?

sxsw highlights, day one

2008-03-13T06:49:00.003Z

Celebrity spottings:

- Elijah Wood, while we were checking in and picking up badges/wristband. He is very short, but seems totally normal. He was getting his own badge; he didn't have an assistant doing it for him.

- John Norris interviewing Lightspeed Champion on the streets. John Norris is, in fact, not Skeletor, as I had always previously assumed. He's actually quite nice and friendly.

Bands:

- LIAM FINN. I can't EVEN, you guys. Ugh, so amazing. For those who don't know him, go to youtube and type in Liam Finn + Letterman to get an idea of what his set is like. He uses loops to build a bass line and a guitar lead, and then goes to fucking town on the drums. His vocalist, EJ, is completely adorable and was wearing a pair of red sequined converse, like if Dorothy played basketball.

- Kitty, Daisy and Lewis. I got DENIED from the Antone's showcase, so I did what you're supposed to do at sxsw - went to see a bunch of bands I'd never heard of. They were all good, but these guys were the standout. They're a family of five - the kids are only 14, 17 and 19 - and they play balls-out Americana music. They're all so talented and their music makes you want to dance your face off. If you get a chance to see them, do so.

Something funny:

- Lightspeed Champion's interview question: "Are you from Brooklyn and, if so, are you Vampire Weekend?"

- running into the members of Popup, a Scottish group I saw last year, and them being chuffed that their showcase was highlighted on my schedule. I love people who are easy to please.

That's all for tonight, guys. Keep tuning in for crappy cell-phone picture updates tomorrow, when I see: Shout Out Louds, Bon Iver, Vampire Weekend, Popup, The Pan I Am, and more.

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2008-03-13T04:22:00.001Z

You may not be able to see this very well but this is Kitty Daisy and Lewis. They're a family (that's the mom on the double bass and the dad plays guitar) and they play rockabilly. But not in a douchy hipster way. Just in an awesome, dance your face off way. I highly recommend.

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2008-03-13T03:37:00.001Z

This is The Young Republic. There are approximately 12 of them. Although they are dressed like characters in a spaghetti western, I recommend them.

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2008-03-12T22:50:00.001Z

Fact. Liam Finn is fucking AMAZING. I can't even. As I said to his vocalist EJ (herself also amazing and wearing red sequined cons), everyone else will have to work extra hard to top them.

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2008-03-12T21:24:00.001Z

Phosphorescent at mohawk. Alt-country meets prog. Drunk fan boys accosting the amps. Very scary.

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2008-03-12T20:34:00.001Z

Johnny Flynn at mohawk. Vibrant traditional music with a rock vibe.

south by so wasted, here we come

2008-03-12T13:31:00.002Z

I'm off to sxsw today, so you won't see much by way of essay-type updates for the next few days, although I am going to endeavor to do a daily wrap-up, if I have the energy/sobriety to do so. But all is not lost! I've enabled mobile updating to this blog, so expect several short posts a day about the bands I've seen or the musicians I've accidentally insulted, or any rubbish celebrities I come across. (As I was telling Mere yesterday, I'm terrible at spotting actually awesome celebrities. I always run into the lame ones. Last year, it was Perez, Tom from MySpace and Joe from Girls Gone Wild. Ugh. If only I'd run into Harry Knowles, they could have formed the Douchenozzle Barbershop Quartet.)

So keep checking back throughout the day, readers, and experience the joys and agony of sxsw yourself. Through the internet.

South by Southwest Preview

2008-03-11T21:03:00.005Z

Erin has pressed me into service to write an entry about bands I'm looking forward to seeing at South by Southwest, which begins...tomorrow, actually. So here, in no particular order, are four of them.

The Pan I Am - Project of Ed Larrikin, formerly of Larrikin Love. The Pan I Am takes Larrikin's penchant for writing slightly twisted story-songs and transposes it from Larrikin Love's indie rock backbeat to a surreal, but still melodic backdrop of electronic sounds. Little known fact: The Pan I Am was Larrikin's second choice for a band name after record label execs declared his first choice, "The Pot I'm Not," to be "too negative" and "not fun enough." See also Vampire Weekend's original name, "Vampire Monday Morning Staff Meeting."

Joe Lean and the Jing Jang Jong – It’s just so fun to say! Jing Jang Jong! JING JANG JONG! Little known fact: On his rider, Joe Lean demands his dressing room be stocked with Jenga and the collected works of Jung.

Los Campesinos! - How can you not like a band that's so obviously excited about their music that they must append exclamation points to everything they do? In fact, I’ve started doing this to add excitement to my own life. You! Me! Doing the dishes! Doesn’t that sound better? Little known fact: In their spare time, Los Campesinos work to foment revolution among the underclasses in South America, using a combination of Marxist theory and synthesizers.

Hanson – To maintain my indie cred, I must point out that I was compelled to list Hanson by Erin. You see, over the past few months, we’ve become addicted to the Hanson Secrets LiveJournal community, watching it as if it was some sort of soap opera. I’m just waiting for a secret to show up with the Evil Hanson Twin. The lure of seeing the players in this little drama in the flesh is simply too strong to ignore. Plus, I can totally see if that one Hanson wife is as big of a whore as everyone says she is. Little known fact: The Hanson brothers are no longer 12.

Note: Some facts in this post may be complete lies.