Moving Out

Click here to be directed to my new virtual home! I've been hard at work getting things ready over there, so change your links and join me...

Music Musings

Not too much has grabbed me in the music world lately. I'm currently holding my breath waiting for the new Amy Millan (of my beloved Canadian exports, Stars) record Honey From the Tombs. It comes out in the States as an import next week. If the two tracks I've heard from it are indicative of the album as a whole, we're in for a stellar solo debut.

DD and I subscribe to Paste Magazine; by far the best feature of Paste is the 20+ song CD that accompanies every issue. This month I can't get enough of the opening track, Matthew Sweet and Susanna Hoffs' cover of the old Left Banke tune "She May Call You Up Tonight" from Under the Covers. Super, super catchy. (Incidentally, I'm sure MS would like to get "under the covers" with SH in the literal sense...). Oh, and speaking of Matthew Sweet, has anyone seen a picture of him lately?? It appears he may have eaten the rest of the Bangles...

Mafia Love Fest

Last night Pencopal & A and M & R came over for a season finale double-header: The Sopranos and Big Love. The verdict: we were one for two. The former blew.

I've always been wary of hype -- so much so, in fact, that I often avoid pop cultural entities steeped knee-deep in the hoopla (gotta love the Starship reference!) for fear that they won't live up. It's my way of warding off what will more than likely result in disappointment before I'm actually hit with the sting. But, for reasons that still elude me, I religiously watched the recent Sopranos season.

I should have known better. Nothing effing happened. Nada. Zilch. Zero. Tony's family didn't go to war with New York. Carm didn't discover the truth about Adrianna. No one got whacked. The biggest shocker of the night: Melfi used the word "fuck."

At two minutes to ten we all collectively looked at our watches.

"Okay, something's gotta happen," we mused, sitting on the proverbial edges of our seats.

But no. After a seven minute Christmas scene in Tony and Carm's living room, complete with AJ's Hispanic, single-mom girlfriend and a call from Meadow, the credits rolled.

WTF?

Next up: Big Love. And it didn't disappoint.

The polygamists got outted! At a royally inopportune moment. And Nicki sexified (I'm making up a word, I realize) herself. She lost the braid and the prairie outfit.

Even better: there wasn't a single glimpse of Bill Paxton's coin slot. Now that is a season finale.

Tube Sock Chic

My dad is a great guy. But sometimes amazing people make horrible fashion decisions. It's simply a fact of life.

On Friday night DD and I went out for dinner with my parents and some longtime family friends. Somehow we got into a discussion about my sister's apparent mortification concerning a recent faux pax on Dad's part. As the story goes, my father was on his way out the door to the gym when my sister stopped him in his tracks.

"Dad, you CANNOT go out dressed like that," she told him.

"What? Why? I'm just going to the gym," my dad replied, utterly confused.

"Not until I get you some new socks!" she countered.

Ever since I can remember, my father has sported these terrible tube socks from time to time; although those are not his feet in the above picture, they serve as a pretty good example of the sort of horror I'm referring to.

I should also mention that, at my mother's urging, my dad has been taking a stress management course at Penn that teaches both yoga and meditation (in case you didn't know, my father had a mild heart attack last fall).

"Dad, I bet you do a mean Down Dog in those socks," I told him the other night.

All he did was laugh, which leads me to believe that he has, in fact worn those bad boys to class.

Please tell me that the fashion police are on their way.

Random Friday Strikes Again

Okay, Kids. It's Friday and you know what that means. Break out those iPods, get them a-shufflin' and tell the blogosphere what's playing. The rules are old hat at this point: the first ten songs. No apron-wringing.

Here are the goods:

1. Half a Person (Best I) -- The Smiths
2. Can't Get a Line (Satellite Rides) -- Old 97's
3. Parachutes (Team Boo) -- Mates of State
4. Can't Stop the World (Beauty and the Beat) -- The Go-Gos
5. Splendor in the Grass (The Ladybug Transistor) -- The Ladybug Transistor
6. Revival (A Decade of Hits 1969-1979) -- The Allman Brothers
7. The Littlest Bird (Blue Horse) -- The Be Good Tanyas
8. Maria (No Exit) -- Blondie
9. My Name is Jonas (The Blue Album) -- Weezer
10. Saddest Quo (Discover a Lovelier You) -- The Pernice Brothers

General Thoughts: Not too much 80s this week. A little more indie rock. I like it.

Seen Live: None! Shit, that's a rare thing indeed.

Favorite Song: This is a toughie, so I'm going with a tie between "Can't Get a Line" (super catchy) and "Saddest Quo," my anthem this year.

Least Favorite Song: Truth be told, for as much of a Smiths fan as I am, "Half a Person" just doesn't do it for me. Unless Patty Griffin's singing. Take that, Moz.

Favorite Album: Satellite Rides and The Ladybug Transistor.

Least Favorite Album: Allman Brothers. I'm generally not a fan of the jam band (I find the noodling self-indulgent and annoying after a while), but DD loves these guys and I do dig "Revival."

Need more shuffle in your Friday? Head on over to Apartment 2024 where Marisa always plays and compiles a Master Link List...

So About Divine Justice...

KJ proposed the idea of "divine justice" as our prompt for this week. I suppose I should say, first, that my relationship with the "Divine" is fairly nonexistent, at least in the more traditional sense. Perhaps a bit of background would be helpful.

Religion was kind of complex growing up. My parents have an interfaith marriage. My mom grew up Protestant and my dad grew up Jewish. My dad, despite his Jewish heritage, considers himself Agnostic (as do I at this point). My mom wanted to raise us with exposure to some sort of religion, even if we'd later reject it -- she wanted us to at least consciously make that choice. So we went to Methodist church and Sunday School (since my mom was the more religious of the two, Christianity won out. However, we were still exposed to Jewish traditions like Passover Seders etc.).

I can remember the definitive moment when I decided that church was not for me -- our Sunday school teacher had, completely seriously, told our fourth grade class about how his tape deck was possessed by Satan. Following that, he recounted a story of meeting Jesus Christ at a party. (Jesus was apparently dressed like a beggar and asked him for a ride.) I remember thinking the guy was off his nut and that religious folks "believed way too much."

Despite that experience, though, my mom wasn't ready to let me completely give up on the religious thing. I continued to go into middle school and then we had a deal -- I would go to confirmation classes to "check them out," to make sure, one last time, that it wasn't for me. So I went and decided absolutely not. At that point, our church had attracted quite a faction of holy-rollers, people my mom referred to as being "high on the Lord." The confirmation teacher was one, and I was so out of there.

My mom was totally cool about it, not only because I think she started to not like the direction the church was headed in, but because she knew I'd given it a shot and had formed my own opinion. Also, it wasn't like I didn't get any religion/spirituality. (I went to Quaker school from first through twelfth grades and attended Meeting for Worship weekly from the age of six. I enjoyed that.)

Religion has been pretty much a nonentity in my adult life. That said, though, I am a very spiritual person even though I don't always express it outwardly. But spirituality comes in forms other than organized religion -- I find it in art, for example, and I've certainly been on a journey of the soul-searching variety this past year or so. What's interesting is that the older I get, the more interested I am in developing this part of myself.

I've never been comfortable with the term "God." In fact, when DD and I got married we wrote our own ceremony and vows and took out all of the churchy language. For a long time I was also not comfortable with the idea of faith, although recently I've come around to thinking that the world is a pretty dark place if we can't believe in something.

For that reason I kind of hope that there is some larger-than-life force flowing through the universe. But if there is, it clearly isn't doling out hard and fast justice; it doesn't always spare the good and punish the bad. It can be hard to reconcile at times.

Recently, as I've been having some trouble with my chronic digestive issues again, someone told me to pray.

"I'm not telling you to do so in the religious sense," she said. "Just ask whatever it is you believe in for help."

I could go through the proverbial motions and just DO what she suggested, but to truly do it would require some degree of faith. And how can I have faith in any force that clearly isn't just? Why should I think that said force would help me on my path to a calm stomach when it just slapped my friend JW with eye cancer? Isn't it all just a crapshoot?

I know it's cynical, but it's the nature of the intellectual to question. Maybe ignorance really is bliss sometimes.

Jumping on the Big Love Bandwagon a Little Late

DD and I watched about half of the season premiere of Big Love when it was on. For some reason, though, we weren't hooked. The other night HBO was replaying a more recent episode and we inadvertantly got sucked in...to the point that we're now in the midst of playing catch-up in time for the season finale this coming Sunday. It'll be a marathon Love Fest, but I think we can do it.

A couple of thoughts:

1. Nicki's a bitch and dresses like she belongs in Little House on the Prairie.

2. Marge is hilarious. She's definitely my favorite. Leave it to her to be prancing around in her granny panties in front of Ben... Gotta love the cluelessness. Or the facade.

3. The "What are you wearing?" thing never did it for me, but polygamist phone sex is REALLY not hot. There are just no two ways about it. Sorry, Barb.

4. I like the show in spite of the fact that I have to see Bill Paxton's ass about once every fifteen minutes. That's saying a lot.

Can't wait for more lovin' later...

Rockstar Kitty

MS LOVES this pic. So, this one's for you, dear. Miles apparently couldn't escape the paparazzi that night; it's tough being so damn handsome.

Upside-Down Cat

My blog is image-starved (M, I love the fact that you take so many amazing pictures!). Thus, Miles makes his debut; he tends to get comfy on the desk while I work. Here he is striking a pose...