Pop Quiz

Where have I been?

a. Working security at the DNC.

b. Winning like 5,000 gold medals in field hockey. *I did go to a college for ladies...

c. Welcoming baby Bee-Spot into the world!

d. In a room at 900 E. Main St., Norman, OK.

e. Washing my hair.

f. Two words. Gender reassignment.

g. I'm now Mrs. Bee-Spot!

h. Preparing for ACL by immersing myself in thousands upon thousands of mp3s and irony.

i. Filming with the rest of the new cast of Real World: OKC.

j. Waiting in line at Wal-Mart to pay for just one tube of toothpaste.

k. First month of medical school!

l. Boycotting all things blog.

m. Watching every possible Lost episode and webisode in preparation for the impending season.

n. Hospitalized for Diet Coke OD.

o. Totally sweet and awesome vacay!

p. Preparing for the US Open, only to be knocked out in the first round.

q. On the campaign trail with McCain.

r. Lost in Forever 21.

s. Knocker reduction surgery.

t. Drinking.

u. Drinking.

v. Painting my face and body crimson and cream for tomorrow's opening game!

w. Hosting the eighth hour of the Today Show.

x. Just watching the Today show (full time occupation).

y. I predict no one makes it this far down the list.

z. Wallowing in self pity, despair, laziness, beer, wine, and Taco Bell.

Baby, I'm going to sine your pitty on the runny kine!

Do you sometimes look at your inbox and want to ctr + a and delete? I do. There's nothing particularly awful about the content of my inbox, there's just a shit ton. And most of it consists of absolutely crucial pieces of information like "thanks" and "ok" and "ok, thanks" and "thanks again, ok." Those messages infuriate me. I've kind of stopped responding to all of the thanking and other such bullshit at the risk of coming off like an asshole. I think of it as my tacit way to help minimize inbox clutter and that all who email me should be grateful. Also, it prevents me from responding with Pootie language, like "cole me on the panny sty". I assume you've all seen "Pootie Tang," but if not, I implore you to give yourself over to the surreal combination of Chris Rock, Louis CK and Bob Costas. Trust me. It's pretty much totally baddy daddy lamatai tebbie chai, my damies.

Sa da tay!

I hate the radio more than fraternities and hippie dancing: A post in two parts.

Occasionally, I accidentally hit the preset and lead myself away from the safe confines of Michelle Norris's lovely voice. Usually, I end up at 98.9, where they play the top 40 drivel of the day. Sometimes, I really slip up and hit the band and find myself listening to the Sports Animal. Always, I want to maneuver my car into oncoming traffic.

I. I Kissed a Girl - Katy Perry

If your ears work, chances are, you've been aurally assaulted by this song. It's caught fire faster than California. It's freaking everywhere and every time I witness someone rocking out to the popish bigotry, a little piece of my liberal Smith attending bleeding heart dies. On the surface, one might think that this song of purported sexual exploration is actually a validation that being a lesbian isn't so taboo these days and that the young kids don't really give a crap who you're screwing, just as long as you're on Facebook and at least one article of clothing comes from Abercrombie. However, under its semblance of innocent curiosity lies the same old shit. Katy sings (barely audible over Britney Spears worthy production noise) "It's not what good girls do / Not how they should behave." Really? It's fucking 2008. I would argue that while some might deem these lyrics as harmless without real impact to the perception of homosexuality in America, these dumbass lyrics and so many others that spread through the earbuds of so many are absolutely culturally lethal. Say what you will. I'll think what I want.

II. The Sports Manimals

I won't bore you with the spectacular disaster that is The Sports Animal. Basically, it's a local sports show featuring people I don't really know or care about. The Lost Ogle does an excellent job of distilling just why these turds are so ridic* so I won't say much. I was driving back from Texas last week, and TSA was the only station that would come in clearly. Also, my mom needs to know what's happening with the OU football team in the dead of summer at all times. So I listened for a bit before I drifted off due to extreme boredom. When I awoke, somewhere in the Arbuckles, I was plunged into a 20 minute long melee about what the score of some game was last season. There are like 1200 people in the studio or on the phone. It's not like they were trying to recall the score of the Paoli/Wayne 1A championship football game of October 1967, it was the score of OU/Missouri or some shit. Even Dean Blevins didn't know. WHAT THEY HELL IS THEIR JOB THEN I ask you? Do they not have computers that can access espn.com? WTF! They make more than I'll ever make for knowing less than my mom about football (she was furiously screaming the answer into the windshield). Seriously, I would rather hippie dance at a frat formal to the Bird on a Wire soundtrack than listen to that show in its entirety.



*Julie Gongism #13

In which I am a horrible person with a completely unfunny sense of humor.

The other day, I ventured onto Facebook, my official nemesis, for the first time in some time. It's absolutely terrifying to see your social world fit onto one screen. Everyone is literally connected to everyone and I don't like it. I need to befriend some oldies without computers besides my parents. I am apparently friends with the workstudies in my office. They are adorable. They're roommates and also work for one of our performing arts camps, which means they sing songs and wear funny costumes as they work. I thought it would be hi-larious to make a comment on S's wall that said simply, 'less facebook, more work.' HILARIOUS! I thought, by now, she had picked up on my inappropriate abuse of nuanced sarcasm bordering on cruelty. But alas, I guess she didn't. I should've noticed when I asked her if everything was ok and she tried to murder me with her stare. Today, she pops her head into my office and asks if we can talk. Then, almost teary eyed, she asks why I wrote that on her FB wall, and furthermore, clearly I was on FB myself during the day - she checked the time. I screamed at her, 'that's why it's funny!' She was not laughing. Finally, we hugged, a real one, not a FB application one. I think we're good now.

7-17 through 7-21

on lamecation. Will write more soon.

Love in Christ,
B.

Monsturd!*

I work in a basement. We call it the Garden Level. However, it's still a basement. The bathroom in this basement is cold, dank and has terrible lighting, I hope. God, I hope. It also has a scary drain in the middle of the floor, under which, I imagine lives a monster. A smelly monster. Not smelly in a poo way, per se, but in a moldy, generally icky way. I brought in some Glade products earlier in the year, but turns out they were stinkier than the drain monster. Point is, I don't go in there unless I absolutely have to, but that's a lot since I have a bladder the size of something very small [will insert comparison later]. Every few trips or so, I notice that there's an interloper in our mole midst. What are these women doing, wandering about the bowels of the building? Crapping. It's got to be. They totally go downstairs to the monster bathroom to poo out of shame. Well, I'm totally onto them. I could go on about how women are weird about pooing, but we're all familiar with that song and dance, so I will let it be and give them the evil eye.

*I actually watched this movie on purpose one time. For real.

Zack Harrison Memorial Monday: Wedding Edition

Hey y'all. I was in the TX this weekend. More specifically, the DFW. The BF's college BFF got hitched to a chick from TX A&M. Mostly, this meant lots of driving. Did you know that from any one point in the greater Dallas area, you are exactly and approximately 35 - 98 minutes from where you want to be? It's amazing, really. We made it into town Friday night just in time for the rehearsal dinner. It was lovely. I knew no one. When I know no one, I turn to the one thing that never stares at me awkwardly fumbling for the words to respond to my totally inappropriate comment, red wine. And lots of it. By the end of the night, the table knew more about me than I know.

Saturday was spent in various states of recovery and included a trip to Taco Delite prior to gussying up for the wedding. It was hot as balls outside and in the church, but overall a lovely ceremony in spite of the reverend repeating that marriage is only for a man and a woman and that if you are single you suck. Well, anyway, the bride looked beautiful.

We bailed on the reception (it's complicated) and went to the Angelika to see War, Inc. It's so nice to have a theater that isn't afraid of to show the potentially unpopular. Here in the OK, your choices usually range from five or six screens of the latest blockbuster. Yay. Right, so, the movie was meh. Until I was reviewing the credits and noticed that it was co-authored by Mark Leyner. If you've never read Mark Leyner, you probably should. Just a little. Start with the short stories like Tooth Imprints on a Corn Dog. It's hard to concisely describe the reading experience. Oddly enough, it was the namesake of this post that turned me on to this guy. RIP.

Speaking of which, songs not to play at a reception:

Song for the Dumped - Ben Folds Five
Fifty Ways to Leave Your Lover - Paul Simon
D-I-V-O-R-C-E - Tammy Wynette
Still Haven't Found What I'm Looking For - U2
Single Again - Fiery Furnaces
Love The One You're With - CSNY

Songs I would play that everyone would hate:

Two of Us - Beatles
Our Way to Fall - Yo la Tengo
Harvest Moon - Neil Young

What would/did you play? You know, just in case I plan someone's wedding.

Hate this! Thursday: They've got a devil's haircut on their heads.

Have you ever accidentally watched mtvU? I was recently flipping through the channels, probably toggling between Good Eats and Family Guy wishing that new episodes of It's Always Sunny in Philadelphia were airing, when I happened upon a music video featuring some prepubescent dudes whining to unimaginative music sporting the dumbest haircut yet. Now, I'm sure this 'do has been out there for some time, but remember, I spend most of my time in a basement working or watching Battlestar Galactica, so I'm not really in the know. Also, complaining about this means I am officially old. Like not haha I'm getting close to old old, but real old. OLD.

Exhibit A

Maybe there was a sale on tight-ass lady jeans? And perms.

Exhibit B

Maybe there's a whole generation of boys born with hair that has no part?


Exhibit C

Notice how there's always one dude who just can't grow it.

Exhibit D

There's a lot to not say about this picture. What I will say is that Chi is making a fortune off of these douches.

Exhibit E

Make it stop.

Ah haz no readerz/America's barfday/Songs I like/Fancy Feat, etc.

I haz no readerz

I see how it is. I actually have fewer readers now than I did when I initially started blogging. Amazing, isn't it? On the upside, I've decided this means I have free reign to post whaeverthefuck I want. Watch out!

America's barfday

Oh, Fourth of July, New Year's Eve of the summer. I never have the right plans. There were no hotdogs, no lake, no beer even this year. I did watch Norman's abysmal fireworks show from the roof of the stadium parking lot where some hipster tweens were blasting My Morning Jacket. Turns out, MMJ is a good soundtrack for loving America. Next, I found myself at a river lighting far too large fireworks in darkness. So maybe it wasn't so bad.

Songs I like

These two diddies have caught my ear as the ethereal, ephemeral, euphoric sounds of summer:

Happiness - Goldfrapp
Lights Out - Santogold

Fancy Feat

I have a roommate. He has a cat. Zatara and I get along ok, when he is not trying to put his sphincter in my face. What I have a problem with is the fact that the roommate refuses to stop feeding Fancy Feast to Zatara in spite of the rancid butt volcano it inspires. Last night, I made a delightful shrimp curry accompanied by a potato/garam masala/onion/garlic/pea concoction not unlike the innerds of a samosa because I had no basmati rice. Needless to say, the place stunk. Like a lot. But not as much as when roommate makes tuna helper. As I was sitting on the couch trying to figure out why I was actually laughing at moments of Drillbit Taylor, I had a rare stroke of brilliance. I'm not sure how I knew this, but I was suddenly aware that a small can of Sunkist is exactly the same size as a can of Fancy Feast. Moments later, the BF was removing with surgical precision, the labels from each can. He then adhered the Starkist label to the Fancy Feast can with perfection.

Observation #78

The other night, I made the comment to a coworker that my blog has died because all I can come up with are dumbass musings that no one cares about. I then realized that is pretty much the basis for any blog and that I should just go for it. Here's what I'd come up with: there are two kinds of people in this world. The kind who buy soda in liter bottles, and the kind who are sensible and don't. The advantages of the three liter have always been a mystery to me. If you want to drink brown, flat liquid, why not just drink what's left in your coffee pot or a Guinness. Seriously, unless you are chaperoning a seventh grade dance and need to fill a bucket with ginger ale and orange juice, there is simply no need for liter bottles. Later that night, I came home to a three liter of Diet Coke sitting on my kitchen table proferred by the BF. I'm not sure where to go from here.

Vacation

There are lots of kinds of vacations, I am learning. A staycation is where you stay home from work, but go nowhere interesting, instead preferring to catch up on laundry and Maury. A mancation is where dudebros go to Vegas and get lap dances and STDs. There are probably other kinds, but I'd rather talk about my upcoming lamecation. I am going to Galveston, TX with my mother next weekend. The "resorts" and "hotels" actually provide you with wipes for tar removal.

Confession

I am hopelessly addicted to Battlestar Galactica. Please don't judge.

Read it:

http://menwholooklikezachbraff.blogspot.com/


Extras

I am reading In Defense of Food: An Eater's Manifesto. Read it before you go to the grocery store.

Zack Harrison Memorial Music Monday: Stolen Edition.

Since I have an apparent aversion to blogging, and since my coworker, let's call him Bor has almost identical musical taste to mine, which is scary, for him, I present you with a stolen list of stuff that he's selected to which you should listen. Try it. You'll like it. Thanks Bor!

1. "Mardy Bum" by Arctic Monkeys
2. "My Struggle" by The Black Lips
3. "Futures & Folly" by Blitzen Trapper
4. "Magazines" by The Hold Steady
5. "Torture" by King Khan and The Shrines
6. "Rage in the Plague Age" by Les Savy Fav
7. "Drop It Doe Eyes" by Los Campesinos!
8. "There She Goes, My Beautiful World" by Nick Cave & The Bad Seeds
9. "Song For Today" by Pete & The Pirates
10. "Bros" by Panda Bear
11. "Do the Panic" by Phantom Planet
12. "Old Friend" by Rancid
13. "Money in the Afterlife" by Saturday Looks Good to Me
14. "Mountains" by The Spinto Band
15. "Vans Song" by The Suicide Machines
16. "Trouble" by The Rakes
17. "This Is How We Kiss" by Throw Me the Statue
18. "My Time Outside of the Womb" by Titus Andronicus
19. "Right Hand On My Heart" by The Whigs
20. "Soldier's Grin" by Wolf Parade

The internet is the best!

Zack Harrison Memorial Music Monday: WTF? Edition.

Summerteeth is my go to Wilco album. When I'm feeling weary, I like to listen to "She's a Jar" very loudly and ruminate. On what I'm not sure. Probably mostly about how my life would be so much better if I had TiVo or something. In any case, what the fuck is that song about? Anyone?


She's a jar
With a heavy lid
My pop quiz kid
A sleepy kisser
A pretty war
With feelings hid
She begs me not to miss her

She says forever
To light a fuse
We could use
A handful of wheel
And a day off
And a bruised road
However, you might feel
Tonight is real

When I forget how to talk, I sing
Won't you please
Bring that flash to shine
And turn my eyes red
Unless they close
When you click
And my face gets sick
Stuck, like a question unposed

Just climb aboard
The tracks of a train's arm
In my fragile family tree
And watch me floating inches above
The people underneath

Please beware the quiet front yard
I warned you
Before there were water skies
I warned you not to drive
Dry your eyes, you poor devil

Are there really ones like these?
The ones I dream
Float like leaves
And freeze to spread skeleton wings
I passed through before I knew you

I believe it's just because
Daddy's payday is not enough
Oh I believe it's all because
Daddy's payday is not enough

Just climb aboard
The tracks of a train's arm
In my fragile family tree

And watch me floating inches above
The people underneath

She's a jar
With a heavy lid
My pop quiz kid
A sleepy kisser
A pretty war
With feelings hid

You know she begs me
Not to hit her

Zack Harrison Memorial Music Monday: Foie Gras Edition.

Once upon a time, when I lived in a land far far away that had stores like Trader Joe's and Whole Foods, I ate far better, albeit far more expensive food. I rarely ate out. That is a lie. When I did eat out, there was a plethora of ethnic restaurants from which I could choose to stuff my face with relatively healthy morsels. Now, back in the heartland, I have stuffed my face with five kinds of fried. For a couple of months I was in the making-up-for-lost-time mode, easily justifying gorging on Oklahoma delicacies like fried pickles and free chips and queso (with extra salt!) several times a week. After that excuse wore off, I moved onto oh-man-I'm-so-tired-from-working-so-hard-and-also-I'm-still-somewhat-healthy-
from-my-previous-eating-habits-so-it's-ok-to-still-eat-like-this mode. Now I'm in lazy asshole mode.It's not good. I've effectively turned myself into foie gras. Seriously. My honeymoon with Oklahoma cuisine is over. It's time to get back on the bandwagon of healthy eating (I see a few trips to Central Market in my future, and yes, I could find food here, but not all in one location - by the time I've driven all over Norman and OKC looking for the good stuff I could've been to Dallas and back, plus it's part of my inevitable future to become a yuppy/hippie) and leave my keys at home. It's time to suck it up and become a bike person. The BF has made the leap and I will follow his lead. Maybe you'll see us out and about Norman, almost getting hit by cars because the heartland is not a place for cyclists. The point of my story is, I need work out music.

In the earbuds now:

Superstition - Stevie Wonder
Crazy in Love - Beyonce
Love Me or Hate Me - Lady Sovereign
Love Fool - Cardigans
Move Your Feet - Junior Senior
Toxic - Britney Spears
Work It - Missy Elliot
Black Betty - Ram Jam
Don't Stop Till You Get Enough - Michael Jackson
Around the World - Daft Punk
Don't Call Me Baby - Madison Avenue
SOS - Rihanna
Sexyback - Justin Timberlake
Ooh La La - Goldfrapp

Help! What do the cool kids work it to?

Hate this! Thursdays

I need to share the hate.

This Thursday features the worst radio "show" known to radiokind, Jack and Ron: The Best DAMN Morning Show on KYIS 98.9 here in the metro. I don't know much about radio broadcasting (nor do I really need to know since it's surely on the same path to demise as Polaroids and the Walkman - hand held cassette player, not dance), but I do know if my potential audience was 500,000+ I'd have a website that didn't look to be a homework assignment for a third grader. I can't really judge the lameness of their MySpace page because MySpace pages are inherently lame (and yes, I have one). I would rather watch a Two and a Half Men marathon than listen to their daily bullshit. I don't listen on purpose - just sometimes, when I'm slamming on my breaks because some asshole decides to go 40 in the passing lane on I-35, I lurch forward and accidentally hit the preset. Today I was thinking that maybe the nature of morning shows is ultimate douchiness, but remembered my old radio station back in Noho, The River. It was totally sweet and awesome. I can't really articulate their terribleness other than equating it to the same feeling one gets when watching Dennis Miller laugh at one of his 13 minute long jokes. Do not believe the hype, people. It is not the best DAMN morning show.

R.S.V.P.

There are several things that happen when you move. Some of these things include noticing that you no longer have a bathtub (sadcakes), acquiring a cat (sneezecakes), and losing your mail (wherearemybills?cakes). Actually, it's not so much losing it as my former roommate hording it and not telling me about it. Needless to say, both Lacey and I missed the invitation and subsequent date of our friend's wedding shower. We suck. To atone for our oversight, Lacey has taken it upon herself to organize another shower/bachelorette thingy. We will be taking pole dancing class. Stripper themed fitness classes are nothing new, I know, however, it's new to me. You would think the obvious question is, what will I wear? Or not wear? But, you would be wrong. The real question is, what does one bring as hors d' oeuvres to such a gathering? Apparently, the facility allows for and encourages outside food and especially drink to create more of a party environment as you work the pole. Personally, I don't see how you could need anything more than some Mad Dog, a can of Easy Cheeze and a box of ranch flavored Wheat Thins. However, I've perused several recipe and party planning websites hoping for inspiration, but none of them have "pole party" listed as an occasion. So, since Sandra Lee has failed me, anyone out there have any ideas?

Zack Harrison Memorial Music Monday: Commute playlist #47

Over the weekend, I was told that perhaps some of you do read this blog and actually look forward to don't actively avoid ZHMMM. Since I can't seem to get my shit together enough to do much of anything else, I will strive to provide you with what I'm listening to most. It's not good or anything, just what I like. I don't think I'll try to provide links - that always seems to get me into trouble with one blog or another. I suggest elbo.ws. Happy listening.

Flashing Lights - Kanye West: Summer without Kanye is like Gina without Martin.




Pumpkin Soup - Kate Nash: It's girly bullcrap. I know.

Que Onda Guero - Beck: It sounds like riding bikes in the city.

Shut Up and Let Me Go - The Ting Tings: Ubiquitous summer song.

The Israelites - Desmond Dekker: Old school fun.

Be Be Your Love - Rachael Yamagata: I will!

Got to Give it Up - Marvin Gaye: This song actually physically relaxes me.

Ramblin' Woman - Cat Power: She always sounds like she's recording in a bathtub.

Fighter Girl - Mason Jennings: Usually, I find his whole thing cloying, but this one, I like.

You Don't Know What Love Is - Sonny Rollins: Good for Sunday mornings.

Hello Brooklyn - Jay-Z (feat. Lil Wayne): I dunno. Because.

Littlest Birds - The Be Good Tanyas: Darling, just darling!

Nobody's Baby - Sharon Jones and the Dap Kings: I cannot say enough good things about 100 Days, 100 Nights.

Rattlesnake Charm - Sean Hayes: it might seem monotonous, but really it's quite something.

Shades of Black - The Raconteurs: I'm a sucker for Brendan Benson. I'm a sucker for a horn section. I'm a sucker for songs that are Billy Joelesque. Ergo, I am a sucker. For this song.

Valerie - Amy Winehouse: Sometimes I think that there are no original songs left. Good thing there are covers.

OMG! SATC!

This evening, I accompanied Shain, Lacey, her mom and my mother to Sex and the City (finally, I know - it has been out for over 48 hours!). After I blanched at the completely unoriginal plot, made fun of the cerulean bird that apparently flew into and became part of Carrie's veil, and determined that Samantha's wardrobe was merely suits that didn't make the cut for the third season of Designing Women, I began to reminisce about episodes from the past that didn't suck like the majority of the movie.

I thought back to the episode where Samantha got something stuck in her vadge and Carrie had to fish it out. And then to the one where Charlotte hands over her massive, but defunct engagement ring to Carrie so that she could make a down payment on her apartment. And then to the one where they all hang out together, eating, drinking, and engaging in general merriment bullshit. I started to think: why is it so hard to make good friends when you're old like me*?

In my experience, it's not too difficult to find a gentleman caller who will rummage around your lady business, drop some money, or call you all the time, but it's exceptionally hard to find and keep a good friend. It seems that once you're out of school, you're only option is work (unless you go to church, which I don't, or participate in a club sport, which I won't). If your work environment isn't the perfect storm of people your own age who don't completely suck, you're up shit creek. I just want some kids to hang out with, that are interested in the same things as me, or, who will tolerate me without making fun of me to my face. Where's the match.com for friends?

bee-spot
I am unimpressed with your Utne subscription

2*-year-old woman
Norman, Oklacoma, United States
seeking friends 25 - 35
within driving distance that's not too annoying

Relationships - Mostly old high school friends since I moved back to the Sooner state
Smoke - Only when tipsy
Drink - Social drinker, maybe one or eight (plus six)

About me and who I'm looking for:

I am bad with birthdays and rarely remember to return what I've borrowed. I'm not looking for much, mainly someone who won't screen all of my calls.

for fun:
Arguing, putting down your music choices, talking about stories on NPR last week, eating, drinking, eating and drinking outside, eating and drinking while watching TV, cooking while drinking then eating, concerts, talking about concerts, beer pong, shopping, swearing never to eat or drink again, pedicures/spa treatments, bitching, board games.

favorite hot spots:
Bars. Bars where you can sit outside. Couches. Fancy unaffordable restaurants. Hole in the wall restaurants. Places where you can listen to music. Blogosphere. Spas where they give you wine while they scrape last summer off your feet.

favorite things:
See above plus going to garage sales. And brunch. I like brunch. And you need friends for that.

last read:
thelostogle.com

About me:

Awesome.

About my friend:

Education: not dumbass
Job: produces entertaining stories and/or discounts/hookups for shit, other potential friends
Income: enough to hang out, not enough to make me want to hang myself
Drink: by the case
Relationships: some good friends
Turn-ons:
indecisiveness
poor judgement at times
mozzarella cheesesticks
Turn-offs:
Facebook

Send me a wink. In the meantime, I am still trying to figure out this. It's a lot of look, Carrie.

*Shain and Lacey don't count. They're on to bigger and better things than the OKC metro area can offer.

Zack Harrison Memorial Music Monday: Memorialize this, bitches.

Lacey and I went to see the documentary Young@Heart, featuring a chorus comprised of darling elderly folks rocking out to Coldplay, Sonic Youth and The Clash among others. Turns out, the chorus practiced in the community center not half a mile from my apartment in Florence/Northampton, MA. I walked Zealand (dog stolen by ex) daily around those parts, but I never knew such things were happening inside. I am now, of course, terribly homesick. I long for a burger at the Northampton Brewery, a trip to Pop's package store, a walk at the dog park, shopping in Thornes, parties on Eastern Ave, beers at the Dirty Truth, debauchery at Hugo's, and taking naps on the boathouse deck at Paradise Pond. Oh, to be young again. But I'll never be young again. Instead, I can only hope to be as kick ass as these folks as I go gray. The film follows the group through their rehearsals for a performance at the Academy of Music in Northampton, interspersed with snippets of chorus members' lives. Lenny can't sing his way out of a paper bag (not to mention drive on the highway), Joe faces cancer with astounding honesty, and Eileen is a 92 year old sex pot. In spite of the inevitable heartbreak, it's quite inspiring. And so it goes. Below, a tribute to Joe who passed before the concert by his former duet partner:





In the spirit of summer music, take a listen to these:

Jamie Lidell - Multiply



Coconut Records


The New Pornographers - Electric Version

More powerful than two Cleopatras

There is only one person who can get me through the five plus hours I still have left at work tonight (the end of the academic year brings peace to some at a university, but not to my department). And that definitely crazy, possibly racist, certainly reclusive, once in Sister Act II: Back in the Habit person is none other than former Fugee herself, Lauryn Hill. The Miseducation of Lauryn Hill is kind of the perfect album for anything whether it's slumping to the floor of your bedroom when you accidentally find an old picture you and your old boyfriend looking so young and stupid ("Ex-Factor"), sexytime ("Nothing Even Matters"), or windows down afternoon driving ("Doo Wop - That Thing"). Hell, I'll even consider religion when "Tell Him" comes on. It's truly applicable to any situation, except stalking people on Facebook. That should be done in silence. I would say, without hesitation, that it's a musical staple (you will find a small sampling below, but seriously, click your way to a copy).

Ex-Factor