I've been reading Sarah Vowell's wickedly funny book, Take the Cannoli.

A couple years ago I saw her and David Sedaris read some of their works at the Scottsdale Center for the Arts. My favorite story is Music Lessons, I suppose because I can relate to it, having endure countless years running across a football field festooned with a giant hat that made me look like a human Q-tip.

Alternately, I've also been reading e by Matt Beaumont. Set in the backstabbing word of a London ad firm, the story is told in a succession of emails. The bad thing about that is like most corporate emails, I just skim through them and only read what interests me. By the time I got to the end, I realized I skipped over the major plot, so I didn't really know what was going on. I'll have to go back some day and really read it.

Permalink | File Under: Sharing

I got an email from my friend Nicole who lives in Texas. She said that she got excited when she saw her name on my blog until she read it and realized I was talking about someone else. So to balance the scales, here's a little ditty about my other friend Nicole.

My college years would have been very boring had I never met Nicole. We met our freshman year in a music theory class. At first glance we were a mismatched pair. I was in the band. She was in the
orchestra. I was obnoxious. She was quiet. I was a little bit country and she was a little bit rock 'n roll. (Okay...I made that last one up.) By our junior year, Nicole and I would discover a common bond that would cement our friendship forever: our mutual disdain of everyone and everything that is annoying and/or stupid.

If there was someone to mock, we were there to point and laugh. If there was something insipid and pretentious, we were there ready to roll our eyes. Cynical and sardonic, we were merciless with our wry observations and our we-don't-care attitude. We were the original Enid and Rebecca from Ghost World. "This is so bad it's gone past good and back to bad again."

Nicole and I had this friend who left college and moved to Texas. To try to keep in touch, we'd record these tapes (think Felicity) to send to her, but by the time we were done, they were so funny to us we never sent them. We took the tape recorder everywhere; to class, rehearsals, the library, restaurants, shopping. One store kicked us out because they suspected us of recording prices...cause you know, we'd be that obvious.

Last year I found one of the tapes and played it for my roommate. She couldn't believe how awful we were. My favorite part (and one I had forgotten) was when I was walking into the Fine Arts building and this guy walks up to me (I think his name was Perry or Percy or something like that) and says, without any provocation, "My tooth hurts." Without missing a beat, I said matter-of-factly, "Nobody gives a shit." and then walked off. (Years later, Nicole made a tape to send to me. In it she does an inspired rendition of Rod Stewart's Hot Legs.)

Now I realize to the uninitiated, Nicole and I must sound like horrible loathsome creatures. Please know that we were never cruel to anyone who didn't truly deserve it. Puppies, nuns, homeless people, the terminally ill...all were granted our compassion. However, the smug, the self righteous, the hypocrites, the sluts, the psycho hose-beasts...they all got what was coming to them.

Over the years, I think Nicole and I have softened a bit with age. Maybe like all adults we have discovered what is truly important. Also, in context, we were in college, and everyone is an idiot in college. Don't get me wrong, we still have absolutely no patience for stupidity, we're just less vocal about it.

Maybe.

Permalink | File Under: Friends

Check out Jonatha Brooke's version of Emmanuel. It's a duet with Kevin Gilbert who was one of the musicians on Sheryl Crow's Tuesday Night Music Club.

In other news, My friend Nicole is building an online gallery to feature her artwork. I really miss her.

Permalink | File Under: Music

One of the letters to the editor of Out magazine (Jan 2002) asks that more affordable items be featured in its fashion layouts instead of high-priced couture. Here is the editor's response:

"Readers who look closely will notice that the majority of Out's fashion spreads include goods at a variety of prices. For a fashion pictorial that features affordable items almost exclusively, please see our "Shades of Gray" T-Shirt story in this issue."

(That's right...he said T-shirts. An entire layout of male models wearing gray T-shirts. By the way, did you know that a gray crewneck mercerized T-shirt from Prada cost $130? A ONE HUNDRED THIRTY DOLLAR T-SHIRT?! There is just something very wrong with that.)

I find this response kind of insulting but it's pretty common for Out magazine. Out has sucked for quite sometime, but this year has been exceptionally remarkable. Most of the year they have elected to put straight celebrities on its cover instead of featuring gays or lesbians. The tackiest covers featured straight male fashion models who, after reading the articles I discovered, have no real connection to the gay community other than being lusted after by tons of gay men. I realize that sex sells and most people would rather look at Abercrombie + Fitch models instead of Nathan Lane, but it's offensive month after month to have a magazine called Out look more like a gay man's Maxim.

Also, there is a noticeable lack of lesbians in the magazine. I can't even think of a lesbian who was on the cover this year. (Oh wait! Allyson Hannigan from Buffy the Vampire Slayer was on the cover this year. Oops! She's straight. "I'm not really a lesbian. I just play one on the TV.") This appears to be a conscious decision. Case in point: The current issue features some guy from the next season of MTV's The Real World (Hey-he's gay at least. That's a start). The article features a lot of photos of him and two of another cast mate who is a black lesbian. I have to wonder why they didn't feature her on the cover. Is it cause she's black? Lesbian? A healthy normal sized girl (the guy is very athletic and chiseled looking)? Here's a thought...why not put them both on the cover? Won't that appeal to more of the market?

It's not like the editors haven't heard this before. Every issue they print letters chiding them for their inability to produce out cover models. Maybe they feel vindicated from any responsibility if they print the letters. Maybe they are just trying to sell magazines. Maybe they don't care.

Maybe I'll cancel my subscription.

Permalink | File Under: Ranting

The birthday/Tupperware party was a success. Everyone has a great time and Candye was a big hit. She sang a song a cappela, did her presentation, spent time with people individually to help them with their orders and was kind enough to let us take pictures with her. It was a lot of fun.

On my way home, I realized I haven't hosted a party this scale since 1990. Now I remember why...it's exhausting.

Permalink | File Under: Life

If you are looking for something a bit non-traditional for Christmas, I recommend You Sleigh Me: Alternative Christmas Hits. It's not a great album, but there are some really nice songs. I really like Tori Amos's version of Little Drummer Boy. I can do without anything by Donna Lewis (ew!). There's a song that Juliana Hatfield wrote for the TV show, My So-Called Life. Dillon Fence's (who the hell is he?) song sounds like mopey 80's music, but it has a certain charm.I bought this album for one reason, Jill Sobule singing Merry Christmas From The Family. It's funny as hell. Here's a sample:

"Brother Ken brought his kids with him
The three from his first wife Lynn
And the two identical twins
from his second wife, Mary Nell
Of course he brought his new wife Kay
Who talks all about AA
Chain smoking while the stereo plays
Noel, Noel, the first Noel."

Ah. Reminds me of my childhood.

Permalink | File Under: Music

Sunday I'm having a birthday party for my friend Karla. When I first started at work, Karla was my trainer. We hit it off right away and soon became friends. Karla oozes fabulousness (a favorite word of hers I rarely use...more on that another day.), so no ordinary party will do. One of Karla's favorite singers is Candye Kane.

It seems in addition to being a terrific blues, swing, rockabilly singer, Candye is also a Tupperware Lady, so Candye is going to host a Tupperware party at our birthday soiree. Candye's bringing her vintage apron collection, which she makes everyone wear one. She'll show some Tupperware, give examples of unconventional uses, sing a few songs etc. This is not your mother's Tupperware party.

Candye tells me it's very kitschy and fun. I can't wait. Candye seems like one hell of a lady and is pretty damn sweet on the phone.I normally don't host parties of any kind. They are too much of a pain to organize and I get party giving anxiety (which I did suffer a bit of at first..."What if no one shows up?! What if no one buys anything?! What if Candye hates me?! What about the cake?!"...I got over it), however my friend Karla is so worth it. She is one of my best friends and is one of the sweetest, most thoughtful people I know and if anyone deserves a celebration, it is her.

Permalink | File Under: Life

Last night, my friend Michelle and I went to the Arizona Science Center to see "Titanic: The Artifact Exhibit." At the beginning of the exhibit, we were given a "boarding pass" printed with the name of an actual Titanic passenger. We were told that at the end of the exhibit is a wall were we'd find the fates of our passengers. I was Mr. Richard Charles Geddes, a member of the crew.

I died. Go figure.

When I got home, I read a review in the New Times about the exhibit. This was may favorite part.

"I toured the center's gift shop, where I tried to decided which item I found most offensive. It was a toss-up between the Titanic commemorative plates and the Chunk of Actual Titanic Coal Necklace, until I spotted the Titanic Super Squishie Mondo Water Wiggle, a goo-filled polyethylene bag containing a submerged Titanic, a tiny iceberg, and a lone life preserver."

Permalink | File Under: Life

I had the strangest dream last night. I only remember bits and pieces about it: a huge white house, an overcast yet bright day, an open garage, a dark swamp, a lady with a machete, a sense of mystery, maybe some fear. Justin Theroux from Mulholland Drive was there. He seemed familiar but I was apprehensive about trusting him. When I went to the Internet Movie Database to find out more about him, I saw that we share the same birthday.

Hmmm. Very strange indeed.

Permalink | File Under: Dreams

I've been listening to the Roches? Christmas album, We Three Kings. I just got it yesterday. The Roches have unusual sounding voices but they make beautiful harmonies together. (You may recognize them from background vocals on Indigo Girls' Rites of Passage.) The album was recorded in 1990, so it sounds a little corny and dated. It?s not so much putting me in a Christmas mood rather than putting me in a Christmas mood a decade too late.

Permalink | File Under: Music

Although I am suffering a mall-induced headache, I am happy to say I am finished with my Christmas shopping. I think this is the earliest I've ever gotten it done. To be honest, I hate shopping for gifts. It's much easier to by myself stuff. That's not to say I'm some stingy bastard, just I know what I want...I don't always know what someone else wants or needs.Also, I think gift-giving is a viscous cycle. Earlier this year I felt compelled to give this psuedo-friend of mine a birthday gift because he had given me one for my birthday. I knew he could have cared less if I gave him something or not (we are more or less friends by association) but in the checks and balances of my neurotic brain, I had to get him a gift to settle the score. (Isn't it so silly to think that way?) Anyway, I broke the cycle this year by not announcing my birthday or having a party, so he forgot when it was.

Last night, I was babysat T's 6 year old. While we were at Borders, I let her look around the children's books section. When I told her it was time to go, the Little
Comedienne decided to play a joke. She said, "I don't know who you are! You aren't my daddy."

For a split second I was mortified, then I deadpanned "Whatever Shecky. Let's go."

Permalink | File Under: Life