littlewashu: (james t. kirk - frustrated)
The guy that worked in the office behind me, and listened to Christian pop music all day, quit a week or two ago. So I don't have to listen to Christian pop music anymore! That's nice.

However, another dude with an office behind me has been listening to his radio louder than usual lately. Now, I'm an old lady, and not up with the musical stylings of the day. But apparently there is a song that the kids are listening to with the refrain "like a G-6, like a G-6." I do not know what this means. I do not care. But when someone is listening to their radio, juuuust loud enough for you to make out repetitive chori, and the song comes on, it's not that awesome.

The song just came on for the THIRD time today. Seriously? I mean I know radio stations have particular songs in rotation, but three times in four hours? Seriously?

I make a good grumpy old lady, I think.
littlewashu: (james t. kirk - dopey)
Today is my birthday and I wish that I were not at work!

I am listening to the new Lily Allen album and wishing that we were best friends. I love her. I just can't stop. Everything she sings, I am like, "man, YES!" I love the way she describes being in love: that it's all staying in bed and playing video games and eating Chinese food and making fun of each other and accidentally calling me baby. I don't know. I just love her. I read her entire Wikipedia entry today and want to be her best friend.

Except that I already have a pretty awesome best friend: Michelle took me out to lunch today and we ate sandwiches in a dark dining room near a fireplace, and talked about . . . well, what ladies talk about. Michelle, we should do that more often. I love Michelle.

Also awesome today: my parents sent me flowers. When I went out to warm up my car this morning, Andrew had scraped the ice off of my windshield and was attempting to write "Happy Birthday" on my side window, because he is cute and thoughtful. Chris is cooking steak for me tonight, and he bought me a genuine work of art for me for my birthday. It is a painting of a grilled cheese sandwich.

Today is sort of . . . mild, weather-wise. For a string of four or five years (back in the late nineties/early aughts) the weather was unseasonably warm on my birthday each year. One of those years I took a physics exam whilst wearing a tiara. That stopped for a while (the unseasonably warm weather I mean -- but I guess the tiara-wearing stopped as well, and I haven't taken a physics test in years), but maybe this is a new beginning.

Happy my birthday, everyone! I love everybody! Life is great!
littlewashu: (Default)
I feel hated today, hated and ignored like I'm screwing things up all over the place without meaning to. I am too careless, perhaps?

It's rough to be disliked, but as I always say, there's no rule that says you have to like anybody. Anycertainbody, I mean. You don't even have to have a reason, if you don't want. And if you're civil and polite in public, and never make a big stink, then there's nothing I can say. But it still stings a little bit, I still want to know why, and yet maybe also don't want to know? It's none of my business. But it's still a bummer.

Am I being rude lately? Too abrupt? I used to love talking on the phone and now I can't really stand it. I get distracted. I'm in it until the first searching-around-for-something-to-say, and then I want out. Which, in my opinion, should be okay. Last night I was talking to my friend Jason from Nerd Camp, with whom I haven't spoken since . . . hmm, 1992 maybe? 1993? And we talked and it was cool and then it was 11:20 and we'd been talking for 25-30 minutes and I had just gotten home from a long drive and I wanted to get settled and ready for bed so I said I was going to go and he said okay and didn't sound upset or anything and I was so grateful, I hate being made to feel guilty about that sort of thing. I will get together with Jason and maybe Ill over a few drinks and we will catch up, that will be eight million times better than a phone conversation.

Or if I'm out. Or have company. I hate when people talk on the phone when I'm hanging out with them, I think it's rude, but I guess that's pretty standard.

My computer's still broken, folks. Still. It's been three or four weeks and I'm getting increasingly frustrated and miserable about it. I feel helpless, and that's my least favorite feeling in the whole entire world, helplessness. I want to just buy a new one but 1) I can't afford it and 2) I probably don't really need to. I just wish it would work again. Mitch has been on the case and doing research and seeking consultation and I appreciate all the work he's been doing on my behalf, but it's so frustrating that it's my computer and I have no idea what's going on. The other day I was trying to get some music to play because I had thought that my WinAmp would at least work but it wasn't and people were chiding me in a friendly manner and I snapped at them because I try to lighten up about it but I just can't. It's so frustrating, have I made that clear yet? Also people are always like "well what's wrong?" and like an ignoramus I have to actually tell them that I don't know which makes me feel irresponsible and stupid, and then if they're a computer person they try to offer advice, even though I just told them that I don't know what's wrong with it, and that makes me want to hit them or start crying. Maybe both, sih-multaneously. I'm going to try not to think about it right now.

I went up to Rochester with my mom to visit my brother this weekend and I met his girlfriend and went to a frat party and there are a lot of things I want to talk about in that regard, but I'm feeling so down and the weekend was so nice and I don't want to get those sentiments mixed up in each other because I think the blues will win, so I'll leave it for when I'm feeling better.

I have no work and Wojo left so now I have nothing to do, only this time I feel guilty about it.

So rather than paying for my car myself, I pay my dad. The explanation for this is long and boring and depressing, but please take my word for it that this was NOT my idea and I am NOT happy about it. (Notice, however, that I am not unhappy about it enough to have insisted I pay it in full. Not that I could afford to). I had, in fact, my first-ever can't-stop-crying panic attack when I found out that the car wouldn't be in my name. Man, my dad offered to stay over that night because he didn't know what to do, sleep on my floor, and I just looked at him and thought "that wouldn't help at all." I love my dad and think he is a good and nice and smart and funny man, but his presence alone would do nothing to comfort me. My mom, maybe, but not my dad. Poor Dad. Anyway, so as a result I'm paying WAY less per month than it is actually costing. My lease is up in December. And I'm so torn between being grateful for my dad for easing my financial burden, and resentful for doing so without me asking, and now leaving me quite incapable of affording a comparable car this time around. I could never afford the true price of the lease and insurance, not with the way I have arranged my life. I hate how I make a very decent salary, and still struggle to live on it. I live beyond my means and it makes me sick, there are so many people who make less than I do and have REAL problems, whereas mine are made up and still cause me stress. I really fucking disgust myself.

It is way too early in the week for PMS, I don't know what the fuck is up with me. Maybe the chilly weather?

To lighten up this entry, I will regale you with a tale of what a psychotic weirdo my cat is. Because nobody isn't entertained by cat stories!!!1

Last night I was getting into bed but Henry was in the way of where I would swing my legs, so I pushed him off the bed because it was easier, I knew, then pushing him into the center where he could turn around and nip me. So I pushed him off, turned to my side and lay down, and he jumped up again. I heard him sitting on the bed right behind my head, I could hear him breathing. I lay there for a minute and it didn't sound like he had laid down, so I turned halfway to look up at him, and sure enough, he was just sitting up, looking at me, breathing on me. Weirdo. I turn back and close my eyes. A moment or two later he leaps over my body so that he's in front of me. I realize that I've been gone for three days, and home for two hours, and I haven't pet the poor guy yet. So I start petting him a few times, he's all staticky. And he's moving around and liking it. Then I put my hand down on the bed. He sniffs it, then bites it, hard, but sustained. And lets go and jumps off the bed, because he knows it's wrong. I just roll my eyes and go to sleep. What a weirdo.

To further lighten things up, here are the lyrics to King Missile's "The Cheesecake Truck":

So then I got this idea about driving a cheesecake truck,
Because I figured at the end of the day I could take some of the leftover cheesecakes home,
And I love cheesecake.
So I went to the cheesecake company,
And they asked me if I could drive a truck,
And I said yes and they said you're hired.
So the next day I got in the truck with all the cheesecakes,
And I drove about a block and I just had to have a cheesecake.
So I pulled over and I opened the trunk and I got a cheesecake,
And I also took one for later,
And I took one for my friend Farmboy,
And I took one to bring home,
And by that time I had eaten one of the cheesecakes.
So I took another one.
Then I figured I might as well stop at my house to drop off all the cheesecakes.
So I take five cakes to eat on the way,
And I drive another block and a half to my house.
Now it's lunchtime so I eat ten cheesecakes and a cheesecake for dessert.
I should point out by the way that all of these cheesecakes were very delicious.
Anyway, I decided that the only thing to do would be to eat all the rest of the cheesecakes and hide the truck somewhere and leave town.
And I miss everybody a lot,
But I'm not really sorry,
Because they were very delicious cheesecakes.

Here's more about music. Last night I was listening to "All This Useless Beauty" by Elvis Costello, whilst in the car. It's a nice song and I like it and I listened to it four or five times and paid lots of attention but I still am not 100% sure I know exactly what he means. When I was in Seattle Eric said "listen to this song" and put it on the stereo and even though I'm not very good at that and don't think I can grok a song from one listen, I tried very hard and said it was nice, but if I *still* can't really figure out what he means, I don't feel badly for not getting it first time through. The only thing I'm sure of is that it's about some chick who is with someone who isn't worth it? Maybe? I think. But anyway, as I was driving home and deciding that this was mostly what it's about (but I feel like I'm missing subtleties here, or something), I also decided that I didn't feel sorry for this woman at all, and wasn't sure if I was supposed to. But I sure don't. If he's not good enough she never should have married him in the first place, and if he turned out later to not live up to her expectations then she should have left him. Sorry man, but no sympathy for her whatsoever. I don't know. I've made this stupid and self-centered and depressing again.

Here, look, a thousand lame cliche formula sitcom plots has occurred in real life. Next thing you know, someone in real life will be hiding a secret and their friend will say "I know what's going on!" and the first person will admit the horrible secret and the second person will say that they were referring to something stupid and benign, but now they know this awful secret.
littlewashu: (Default)
I sure do love me some horns in my rock-n-roll music, I'll tell you what.
littlewashu: (Default)
Goddamn, my desk here is messy. It makes my life more difficult. I should clean it up. I'm sure I'm going to screw something up ROYALLY by forgetting to submit a permit or something, some day.

I have a performance review today. "Sometime after ten." It's after ten. I'm not looking forward to it, but I also really, really want to get it out of the way.

Not that I don't love my life, because I totally do: but why would you want to be me for a day? I don't even get laid! The only thing I do is smoke, and you can do that yourself!

I'm (along with several of you) going to see Dane Cook in a couple weeks. Man, seeing comedians -- and not hack comedians, but real live famous you-already-know-they're-funny comedians -- live is always SUCH a freaking good time. I've seen Carlin, Stephen Wright, and Lewis Black. Thass all. But they all freaking ruled. I should make an effort to see more dudes. It's depressing, isn't it, at how across-the-board untalented at stand-up women are?

I feel restless. I am attempting to have this feeling pass by GOING places. Last week fucking RULED, camping. This weekend I'm going to see my extended family, which will be great, because I haven't seen everyone all together for over a year, maybe two. And then I'm going up to Cape Cod with my family. They're getting a house for a week, but I'm just staying til Tuesday. Haha, I said Til Tuesday. We used to go every year when I was a kid, so it will be nice and familiar and relaxing and I'll get to chill with my bro. I can't wait.

I wish I were going all week, but I want to save my vacation days. For a few more long weekends. This is my new plan that I've invented! Instead of going on two one-week vacations, you can go on FIVE four-day weekends! That's what I did when I went down to New Orleans! It was plenty of time! I have another short trip or two tentatively planned for sometime before the end of the year, but that's still all rather iffy. Oh and I was invited to go skiing in Killington for a . . . I don't know. Week, maybe. Few days. I wasn't paying attention. But that sounds expensive.

Michelle and I (and a bunch of other girls) are going to Mexico in January, most likely. For a week. [There goes my new plan: I'm using up HALF of my vacation days in the first month of the year. Oh well.] Puerto Vallarta. And it will be wonderful because I'm the type of person who'll want to see stuff in Mexico, like the pyramidy things, and go on a horseback ride through the rainforest, and so is Michelle! Hooray.

My brother went to see They Might Be Giants at Central Park yesterday. The first time he ever saw them was at Central Park with me, a few years back. On the way to the show I bought a pair of platformy Vans for $10.50. I remarked to my brother that it would be weird that this was sort of being billed as a "family" show, because then Flansy wouldn't be allowed to swear. One of the first things he said when he got onstage (Flansy, not my brother) was that he was going to have to be real careful not to swear. IT'S LIKE HE'S MY BROTHER! They played the best goddamn version of "She's Actual Size" I've ever heard, and Flansburgh played a bass drum for "Whistling In The Dark", which I think I've only seen him do again one other time. They played "Maybe I Know", and they messed up like THREE songs. I've never seen them mess up THREE songs. One of which was "The Sun Is A Mass" -- Flansburgh tried to do the talky factoids, even though that's Linnell's part, and he forgot them so they had to start over and Linnell did them.

I have an urge to just say "John" and "John" and let you figure it out for yourself, like in The Adventures of Pete and Pete.
littlewashu: (Default)
Oh my God I just want to freaking make out with someone. I think I'm going to scream. I honestly can't remember the last time I made out with someone. Hold on, calling up Histories . . . scanning . . . scanning . . . does frantic pawing before rough sex count? Didn't think so. Scanning . . . scanning . . . that's all I got. I think we're going to have to go back to when me and JEFF were going out the last time. Do you remember when that was? Yeah, me neither. That was more than a year and a half ago. I need to go out more. I don't have plans Friday . . . if I'm willing to settle for someone creepy, I guess I could hit the 700 Club. Jay doesn't go on Friday's, right? Phew.

In other news, I am falling deeper and deeper (more and more deeply?) in love with Elvis Costello. Man do I love his songs, but MAN do I love them when I'm high, I FEEL them. I want to have sex with Elvis. I want to have angry sex, tender sex, bitter sex with Elvis Costello, one after another and all at once. What's his marriage situation, again? So that I can have factually accurate fantasies?

It's because I don't listen to much rock music these days, is why. Electronic music doesn't really make you want to have sex with its . . . author. Neither does rap, though if it does, it's just "bouncin'", which is mad dirty and nasty. Only in rock music do you hear the bitterness and the crying and the . . . man. "My hand on your hip"? Are you kidding? Fuck me now, Elvis, seriously. Just five minutes, just give me five minutes, I don't care, anything.

Man.
littlewashu: (Default)
Preliminary review of the Elvis Costello concert: yo, I didn't realize this guy was going to rock. He fucking rocked the fuck out of that joint! He particularly rocked the fuck out of "15 Petals," is one that sticks in my mind. I've been listening to Elvis Costello for all of a week and a half, studying, for this show, and I knew like half the songs, it seemed like! Go me! And also Elvis! And he did an encore (that seemed almost as long as the set), and then he did another one, and then I think he was going to stop, but I was sending him mental signals about playing "Episode of Blonde", which I wanted so badly for him to play, and I'm pretty sure Jon was sending him mental signals to play "Lipstick Vogue," so he came back out to do a third encore to play those two songs, plus a third which I assume was called "I Want You." Man, thanks, Elvis! My night was made already, but then it was REALLY made!

And YO did the keyboard guy go nutz on that theramin. But seriously, you guys: Elvis rocked! He rocked so hard!!

Oh, okay, too more things I just remembered: he totally rocked out on "Pump It Up," too, and made "When I Was Cruel" a million-year long jam that did not, in my opinion, get old. Rock.
littlewashu: (Default)
I'm listening to Mink Car on my computer speakers, and there's this wakka-wakka-wakka in "Bangs" that I swear I've never heard before. Ooh, and now there's a . . . knocking sound in "Mr. Xcitement" that I've never heard before! How can this be? Does my car stereo, unbeknownst to me, suck a nut? I'll have to investigate this further.

But the thing that I came here to say was about Holidayland, an album given to me for Christmas. I put it on, and "Santa Claus" was eh, "Santa's Beard" I've always liked but it's very familiar . . . and then "Festival of Lights" came on. There's just something about a brand-new John Linnell song that makes me so very happy and so very sad all at once. Happy because I have a new John Linnell song, sad because the man seems so sad all the time. It's a great song, small and tender and naive and brilliant. And then "O Tenenbaum" -- I want to marry this man.

But really I don't. I mean, if I were married to John Linnell, I'd always be looking at John Flansburgh and thinking, "sure my John is a genius, but John can really fucking rock," and if I were married to John Flansburgh, I'd always be looking at John Linnell and thinking, "sure my John is 'cool' [by very nerdy standards, conceded], but John is just so misunderstood and genius". So I guess I'll just have to marry Dan Miller. I like his hat.
littlewashu: (Default)
This was a great weekend that I just had. A great fucking weekend. A great fucking weekend that culminated in the fantasmic Sunday evening when I had the distinct pleasure of seeing my girl Madonna perform.

I had a ticket to this sold-out, nobody-has-tickets show simply because I have intelligent, resourceful friends who have got my back and who understand and can relate to my undying respect and admiration and enjoyment of Madonna. I didn't deserve to go, but damn if I didn't enjoy myself.

I was having a blast before we (and by "we" I mean "Michelle and I") even entered the arena. I have never before seen a more eclectic crowd at a concert. There were young people and old people and gay guys and moms and goths and lots of cowgirl hats and people glammed out and people wearing khakis and lots and lots of females and everyone was absolutely ecstatic to be there. When the lights went down the crowd EXPLODED, but the amazing thing was that everybody SHUT THE FUCK UP when Madonna was singing. They got MAD HYPE when she closed the first part of the show with "Holiday", her first single, and they got MAD HYPE when she did "Music", off her most recent album, for the encore. Everyone was pretty much MAD HYPE in general. I think it's fucking fantastic that all of those people, all of those different people, were excited about the same thing. As we (and by "we" I mean "EVERYONE, up to and including the girls from Destiny's Child") shuffled out of the arena at the end of the show, people would start "whooping", and man, I was whooping right along with them. "WHOOOOO!" I cried. "WHOOOOO! Yeah, Madonna! Whoooooo!"

Ah, but I am getting ahead of myself. The show: the show was amazing. The show did not disappoint. The first half or so was all material from her two most recent albums, which pleased me to no end. Then she did songs from various recent albums since, say, "Vogue". And then she did "What It Feels Like For a Girl", but here's the kicker: I really like the music in that song, and the vocal line, but I think the lyrics are mad cheesy. But she sang it in Spanish! So I didn't have to care! Rock on! And went right into "La Isla Bonita", which just happens to be my favorite old Madonna song. And during this whole Spanish part, she played guitar while one of the dancers danced around Spanishly with castenets. (Is that right? Castenets?) It was calm and lovely.

Oh, you read right my friends, the lady played guitar. The first time she did it I thought, "oh, cute, somebody taught her to play that song," You know, something Michael Stipe-esque. But she whipped out a guitar for like, five or six or seven songs! You go, girl!

She had a whole Asian-ish section where she did a lot of stuff from Ray of Light. It started out with her in a kimono with sleeves that were like 30 feet long, each. And then at the end of the song the guys holding them up ripped them off and ran around with them like long colorguard flags. And the outfit she was wearing underneath -- man, do I want that to be my Halloween costume this year. It was phat. And she did -- I think it was "Nobody's Perfect" -- kneeling on the floor with a samurai stepping around her, not-quite cutting her head off. It was hot shit.

So the costume changes, the lighting, the effects, the stage, the trap doors, the dancing -- all fantastic. See, THIS I have no problem paying $50 for -- THIS is a show, my friends. Sitting in the grass watching some hippies in T-shirts jam for an hour -- that is maybe not worth the ticket price.

I can't say enough good things about Madonna. This woman is beautiful, intelligent, sexy, athletic, funny. Her cowgirl bit was a little overdone, but aside from that, what a fucking fantastic show. Enough dancing, but not too much. Her singing was fucking fabulous. The execution was impeccable. Everything was perfect. And the people in front of me stayed in their seats, which meant I could stay seated like the old fogey that I am and just groove. I had a headache the whole time, and I STILL had a blast.

So thank you Michelle, for joining me on such a joyous evening and having as much fun as I did. Thank you Kim, for scoring me the seat. Thank you designer of the FU Center, for making every seat a good one. Thank you people of the Delaware Valley, for being a happy and enthusiastic crowd. Thank you God, for causing all these happy wonderful things to converge. And thank you Madonna, for being such a fucking fantasic performer.
littlewashu: (Default)
I love listening to albums that I haven't listened to in a while; ones that in my mind are very decent albums with some very good songs; and rediscovering a bloody AMAZING record.

Last night and this morning I listed to They Might Be Giants. There are a few throwaway songs that are interesting only because they're weird and different; "Toddler Hiway", for example. But gawdamn, there are some good songs on there. Like "The Day", and "Absolutely Bill's Mood". And that's not even counting all the old faves, like "Puppet Head" and "She's An Angel" (perhaps the only TMBG love song that doesn't have a tragic ending -- assuming that no one ever found out, and he didn't end up throwing his body off a building) and "Don't Let's Start" ("everybody dies frustrated and sad, and that is beautiful" -- genius!).

I don't listen to music like I used to. The reason these albums get rediscovered is because I only really listen to music in my car, and I don't carry all my CD's with me, so a select 24 or so get stuck in the book in my car and cycled through again and again until I finally remember to take my travel book up to my aparment and switch out the discs.

I think maybe I'm old and set in my ways, as far as music goes. Isn't that awful? But I just don' t have the patience to listen to new music. The only new albums I buy are when artists I know I like release new ones; and half the time I don't have the patience to listen to them. I think I listened to The Fragile, like, once. And Kid A, while I like it, is really quite unsingable, which means it's not much suited to be my driving-around soundtrack.

Back in high school, I listened to music constantly: I think because I hid in my room a lot, doing a little homework and talking a lot on the phone, much like most teenagers. When I did watch TV, it was usually MTV, which I swear used to play videos once.

Nowadays, it's MY living room, with no infuriating parents or brother, so I can sit in it and watch TV without distraction. I don't have homework to do, I don't read enough, and I can't sleep very well with music on. MTV sucks, and Rolling Stone is too big, so I have *no* idea what's going on in the music world. I used to know everything. Even -- particularly -- about artists I didn't like. So that I could tell you exactly WHY Alanis Morrisette should be shot in the eye. Now I'm ignorant about Christina Aguliera's background. I still know she should be shot in the eye, but I haven't bothered to learn about her (ongoing) childhood. I couldn't give two shits. And besides all that bubblegum crap, which everybody hates anyway, the music that kids have to listen to today is not my cup of tea. Kids these days! With their loud guitars and all that screaming. Limp Biz-kit? Give me a break. I sound like my grandpa. I don't care. I'm going to make a very good crotchety old lady.

My point was left by the wayside somewhere around the second paragraph, but that's all right. It's lunch time. The weekend's almost here. Time for my apple. Later.

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