The other day at the office I was doing my civic feminist duty by listening to the Bitch Radio podcast when one of the gals mentioned her personal favorite podcast, How Was Your Week with Julie Klausner. She raved a bit and moved on but I wrote down the title for investigation later. Having since investigated three or four episodes, it’s new my favorite thing. I want to hang out with Julie in a snack nest for a weekend.
I should write a post where I recap everything I’ve called “my new favorite” since I started writing here. I could even go back further to my now defunct and almost embarrassingly bad blog and pull from there too. I use “favorite” all too often. I swear I have some solid, unchanging favorite things. That might be another post in a world where I write steadily.
So, a flash mob happened. And the video will not embed itself lovingly into this post under any circumstances so here’s the link: http://youtu.be/vrrmeECJzoo
As a political statement a group of dancers to an unknowing audience isn’t the strongest move but the Courage Campaign got a lot of exposure and it was a really fucking cool thing to see up close. I was involved to the extent of holding half of a sign with a stranger that said, “YOU CAN’T PRAY THE GAY AWAY,” and waving a purple piece of fabric in the back row at the end. It wasn’t exactly volunteer work in the name of equality but I’m thrilled to have been there, goosebumps prickling up my arms, tears welling in my eyes, watching so many people of so many ages and backgrounds come together and do something wildly fun and bold to make a point.
-CJ
Filed under: music/podcasts
Lately I’ve been utilizing Pandora* to deafen the overwhelming silence that can come over my office during the work day. When I focus, I can hear only the hum of the air. Throughout the day, a train passes nearby. Eventually I won’t notice it.
(Quickly, in case you don’t know: Pandora is a free “radio station” that plays music similiar to any artist you plug into it.)
I have a few saved stations. Less Than Jake is what I’ll plug in when I’m energetic. Arcade Fire when I’m lethargic and tired. For most any mood or feeling though, I plug in Yeah Yeah Yeahs. They can do no wrong, in my book. My book is a huge YYY fan. Recently the song Help I’m Alive by Metric popped up on that channel. After a minute I recognized it nostalgically and ended up purchasing the MP3 through Amazon where I found Gimme Sympathy, from the same album, is available for free. I quite like it.
After all of this is gone
Who’d you rather be?
The Beatles or the Rolling Stones?
Oh, seriously
You’re gonna make mistakes, you’re young
Come on, baby, play me a song
Just thought I’d share. Happy Friday, y’all.
-CJ
I have been sleeping much too late every morning, despite technically needing to be out the door by 6:50 am on weekdays. I have learned that I can push it until 7 am, skip the iced coffee and most likely arrive at work on time. Most often though, obviously, I push it until 7 am and do not skip the coffee.
The late afternoon/early evening workouts (*flex*) require late afternoon/early evening showers, so I’m good and clean come morning time. I’ve even devised a hair situation that involves some mousse and some bobby pins, and la-dee-da, we have morning time waves that are a half-step above hipster bedhead. The morning routine really only needs to involve clothing, teeth brushing and deoderizing. When I’m feeling nice, I’ll get Kiddo on the move while her dad takes a forty-seven minute shower.
This morning I didn’t drag my body from the blankets and the direct aim of the fan* until 6:55 am. I am a half-step under hipster bedhead, needless to say.
*I just love sleeping under the big zebra blanket but July hardly allows that to be comfortable. Having the fan blow all night keeps temperatures good and balanced.
There was much to be celebrated this weekend. My sister’s sixteenth birthday was on Friday and my gift to her was tickets to a Dodger game, attended by five of us girls. Saturday was the day of the Hootenanny, which I’d been waiting for with wet hot anticipation since about here:
Sunday was for the celebrating of my most bestest friend’s birthday at her house, involving a Taco Guy, music, good people and many, many drinks. And the holiday that brought on this whole weekend-plus-one-day was done right at our friends’ house where there was more music, good people and many, many drinks PLUS a band and a ton of fireworks going up in every direction.
There is more to be said about all of these things. In due time.
-CJ
I was listening to the Hollywood Babble-On podcast during my lunch break yesterday. Kevin Smith and I generally share the same opinions and reactions when it comes to the “celebrity news” type of topics him and Ralph Garmen discuss. Roseanne Barr’s name came up, in that she might be slated to play Chelsea Handler’s aunt in the new show Are You There Vodka? It’s Me, Chelsea. Smith started going off passionately about this incredible article he’d read in the New York Times by Roseanne and I had to check it out.
OMG
I won’t paste the article in its entirety even though I want to, and then I want to Tweet it, line by line, and then send links to my entire contact list and then print it out to stick up on the refrigerator in the lunch room at work…
Behold:
(the whole shebang is here: http://nymag.com/arts/tv/upfronts/2011/roseanne-barr-2011-5/which and I highly recommend it be read and worshipped accordingly)
Marcy presented herself as a sister in arms. I was a cutting-edge comic, and she said she got that I wanted to do a realistic show about a strong mother who was not a victim of Patriarchal Consumerist Bullshit—in other words, the persona I had carefully crafted over eight previous years in dive clubs and biker bars: a fierce working-class Domestic Goddess.
…
It didn’t take long for me to get a taste of the staggering sexism and class bigotry that would make the first season of Roseanne god-awful.
…
It was pretty clear that no one really cared about the show except me, and that Matt and Marcy and ABC had nothing but contempt for me—someone who didn’t show deference, didn’t keep her mouth shut, didn’t do what she was told. Marcy acted as if I were anti-feminist by resisting her attempt to steal my whole life out from under me.
…
I grabbed a pair of wardrobe scissors and ran up to the big house to confront the producer. [...] I walked into this woman’s office, held the scissors up to show her I meant business, and said, “Bitch, do you want me to cut you?”
It just goes on and on in its greatness. Many applauds to this woman for experiencing what she did and then many more for putting this out there for us. Her show was a hit long before I could appreciate it for what it was but I am tempted to watch all nine seasons with all the coolest chicks I know.
-CJ
I bookmarked this article a while back. As with most things, I didn’t have time for it but knew I wanted to check it out. Finally, I paused Shameless so I could feel productive and I am so, so glad I did. It slaps a whiney turd like me across the cheek. Sometimes I need that.
Kevin Smith’s Secrets to a Successful
-CJ
ps, it is worth noting that if you aren’t listening to the Hollywood Babble-On podcast, you’re so missing out.
A few things: at the top there, where it says limited view? I don’t believe there’s a bad seat in the Gibson Ampitheater. I may not have counted Chino Moreno’s nose hairs or checked to see if Jerry Cantrell had split ends but had I actually sat in my mezzanine seats, I would have been more than pleased with the view. The Gibson is a fantastic venue for music or for comedy, both of which I’ve been lucky to see there.
For this show (Mastodon, Deftones & Alice in Chains) I took my sister, ten years my junior. She declared it the night the best of her life so I win. Our brother’s girlfriend was at the show too, somewhere in the middle of the venue, in seats a chunk of change better than ours so we followed her in the entrance at the start of the Deftones (the five freeway having sucked up all our Mastodon time) to see if we could find some empty seats. They were in abundance but naturally I chose two that were occupied by some dudes who’d run to the bar. We moved back a row, stood and sang and swayed and rocked out with the crowd. I was smug as shit. But it wasn’t enough. I wanted this one to be one of my sister’s best concert going experiences. I pulled her by the arm and down the stairs we went. Anything done with enough confidence will work. So we waltzed on, down down, to eight rows from the pit and made ourselves comfortable. Ah. Much better.
The show was pretty fuckin’ unbelievable. Chino’s energy was moreso than I’ve ever seen – be it all the weight loss or the celebrating of his daughter’s birthday, who was tucked at the edge of the stage with some others, sporting a tutu and slam dancin’ her six-year-old ass off. I’d never seen Alice in Chains and was thrilled to finally have the chance. William DuVall is a fantastic front man. I can’t speak for Layne, having never had the opportunity to see him, but DuVall is at least doing his vocals some justice. He rocks a Lenny Kravitz look that was unexpected and fantastic.
It was hard getting up on Wednesday morning for work but DAYUM worth it.
-CJ
Two weekends back, I boarded my friend Oscar’s truck and headed out to the Grove.
Ska shows are the best for eye candy. Shit howdy.
Skanking is the best new exercise for your thighs, turns out. If you have the means, I hiiiighly recommend these guys live. One of the most fun shows I’ve been to in a long time.
Songs!: http://mog.com/music/Reel_Big_Fish/songs
-CJ
On Friday evening, I headed out to The Glasshouse in Pomona. It’s an all ages venue that I’ve been to at least a dozen times. Some of the more outstanding shows I was lucky to see there were Save Ferris’ second to last show ever (between 2002-2004 sometime, I think*) and my first Glassjaw show in November, 2002 when I was becoming largely pregnant and required the surroundings of gentlemen who wouldn’t let a rowdy being near my precious frontal cargo.
*The time lapse part of my brain has broken. Things that occured six months ago feel very much like they were last week. This explains my maturity regression. Sometimes I think I’m sixteen.
The Juliana Theory are not the best band, nor one of my favorites, and don’t hold an especially meaningful place in my heart. But it was their first show in five years and their last show ever and I felt obligated a few months back (who knows how many?!) when I bought myself a ticket. I hadn’t seen them before but I’d worn out a copy of Emotion Is Dead when I was in high school. Plus, ya know, live music kicks ass.
It was really, really cool. They played really fucking well and I thoroughly enjoyed swaying around and singing along. I’m glad I got the chance to see them and hang out with my cousin Alex and her ladypants, Heidi, while doing so.
On Saturday I cleaned with fervor until only a few stray white cat hairs remained. We ordered the UFC fight and had some people over for burgers and dogs in bulk packages. Of note: I am really bad at feeding the vegans. My apologies to those friends.
The turn out was fantastic. I met and made merry for the first time with a friend I’ve talked to through a journaling site for a couple months. Some friends I was starting to lose touch with made an appearance and rekindling with my blackened heart. Even people I didn’t know showed up, causing me to whisper to Josh, “who the fuck is that dude??”
The fights were super disappointing. A geedee refund is in order. I actually left the room for the last few minutes of the BJ Penn fight and I had been pretty jazzed to see it go down.
A couple of us headed up the street where a 29th birthday party was occuring that included an ice sculpture and a stripper with few to no boundaries. These two things were not combined at any point, mind you… that I know of.
I struggle with my thoughts on the… stripping industry? I’m all for the freedom to do what works best for you, to flaunt your talents by way of gyrations and picking up cash without using your hands, feet or mouth. If you know what I mean. And I think that you do. Although then I cringe a little to think of the risk this girl may be taking some nights and how, above the money she makes, I hope this is what she wants to be doing.
There’s a whole feminist rant to be had for either side of that coin. I’ll leave it to the pros.
Making nice with new neighbors is always fun, even if you’re supposed to be 100 yards away from that block by law. Ahem.
Sunday was lazy and indulgent. Kiddo was between excitement and nerves for the upcoming first day of school, which went swimmingly compared to last year. There’s a new after school program that she’s excited to check out and new friends to make, as her closest is attending another school this year, and a new teacher to make crazy. As long as the kid is happy, I’m happy.
Would it make me a big meanie to say that I am so relieved school is back on? Let the routine fall back into its blessed place.
-CJ
I’ve been conducting a refresher course on The Juliana Theory’s Emotion is Dead album. I snagged a ticket months ago for their upcoming show.
PLUS. Reel Big Fish in a month. Doug Stanhope the following week.
And this weekend? My good lookin’ and I were invited to join one of the PR teams for the Red Bull Flugtag event. Someone said ‘open bar’ and I said ‘YESPLEASE.’
Without things to look forward to, I may crumble.
-CJ
