Snowball In The Sun

My Judy Garland Drug

Some of y'all might know I got to see Ani play at the Calgary Folk Fest this past weekend, and as I am every time I see her perform, I am knee deep in the infatuation once again. 

This video was made for one of my favorite Ani songs, Serpentine...and for those of you who haven't heard it, please bear with the 3 minutes of meditative introduction that leads into the lyrics.  Best ten minutes you'll spend all day, I promise.

 

Shameless.

And here is an old, old rendition of 32 Flavors, filmed at West 54th...for Radana who surprised me this weekend by knowing all the words.

And lastly, here's Untouchable Face, which always just speaks for itself.

Beaner Baby's Birthday

 

 

Sheena, a.k.a That Incredibly Homely Girl I Know, is celebrating her birthday today. She, like me, is now 24 years old.  Happy Birthday Beaner!

And, just for fun, I've included a picture of us from when I used to babysit you.  Time flies, huh?!  xoxo

 

Bloodsport

Driving through GP the other night, we were shocked to see the heathen method of performance enhancement practiced by local curlers advertised so boldly on the city streets.

 

 

Cheap Meat

One day a year, the local Safeway puts meat on sale.

No Clothes

For the past year, since its inception, I have been a regular reader of jezebel.com. Its readership is huge (belonging to the Gawker Media empire) so in no small way, it has its effect on young professional women- and it is a moral majority unto itself.  They aren't in on the joke, they decide on what the joke will be. Now- it has its acceptable points, in the sense that it's the stuff that I personally am interested in, but it oozes sanctimonious garbage from time to time, all in the name of feminism. Not your mother's feminism, but the obnoxious cow disease that our young men are now forced to deal with, and our young women are trying to emulate.  This is a site where the bitches will dissect whether or not Ryan Adams' poetry is still relevent, all because of the kind of umbrella he's carrying in a papparazzi photo. Cutting edge attitude, always far more intelligent than its readers.

These two geniuses, Moe and Tracie, were asked to participate in a NYC event called "Thinking & Drinking", where guests relax and 'get real' after a drink or two...and it promised to be an evening of "catharsis and hilarity" with young Manhattan media's it-girls, two figureheads of what's cool, what's smart, what's so fucking clever that it doesn't matter if the outside world can follow it. What we got instead were two bonehead sluts making babbling asses of themselves on company time.

If this is the best that's out there, I am more than ever convinced there is no them and us. We could (and do) meet women like this anywhere, any time, and we would be disgusted and laugh at them for their desire to be shocking while coming off as just sort of pitifully average in every way. Silently, we hope they grow up some day. 

I will link to it-- and clip 2, all about rape and how cool alcohol is, is especially....special. 

Big Balls & The People Who Have Them

It's not that I think that handicapped people and the elderly shouldn't have their own designated, convenient parking spots in public lots; I'm not cruel. I respect it and I try real hard not to park in those spots, even when the handi-sign paint is faded and it's raining and I could get away with it if I'm just going to park there for a second. But this is particularly galling to me.

He's not in a handi spot! Is this dude in denial?  Who would pass up a spot by the door? Or is this petty reverse psychology at play? It's martyr bullshit, nothing but condescending, take-back-the-night vigilanteism at its most boring, and had that minivan not been there, I'd have pushed his scooter with my own truck bumper all the way to Handi-Land, and given him one of the 48 empty best parking places near the front door.

 

Mr. Scooters Canada, if that's even his real name, should get a ticket for this. Too bad for me, I believe the man who drives it is also the local sheriff.

The Judge Of That

This morning when I left for work, Comfrey and Carnaby bolted outside and, since herding cats is not good for one's ego, I let them be. I went home at lunch, and the fat one reamed me out because did I know it was +30 and he needs to go inside where it's cool?

Then Comfrey ambled over, and showed me that his right eye wouldn't open; it was closed in a hard wink, and he did not want to talk to me about how it happened. Cat fight. I took Comfrey in my truck down to the vet's office, and eschewed the cat carrier I should have had him in. He was hysterical the entire way, screaming, growling and roaming freely around the truck cab. On 8th street, in busy traffic, he launched himself over me and got stuck in behind my brake and gas pedals.

We were approaching an orange light, and his entire body was keeping me from braking or speeding up. I careened diagonally through the intersection to a side street and pulled him out from my feet by grabbing onto his ear or his eyelid or something, and flung him in the back.

This is not a video of the debacle, but you must watch it anyway.