The Pearl Of The Purchase

Barrett

2010-03-07T18:51:00.002-06:00

In the space of two days (in March ‘10), I saw three Barretts mentioned in a variety of places. There was an intern named Barrett whom I saw on the SPIN masthead; later that night, pouring over Rise of the Ogre, I saw Syd Barrett listed as an influence of Gorillaz; and, atop a web forum, in one of the pre-show ads for the Oscars, a Tweet authored by Spencer Barrett reigned supreme. Finally, Barretts, our status has risen above that of a solitary mention a month, or from that of “D. Barrett”, the random cardholder in that Chase ad.

And, no, I’m not plagued by neuroses when it comes to last names. Why ever do you ask?

The Ultimate Christmas Playlist

2009-12-25T16:46:00.001-06:00

... practically hinges on the inclusion of one song. Do yourself a favor and play "Fairytale of New York" today, in honor of Christmas.

Carving A Niche

2009-12-24T12:21:00.003-06:00

In my kiss off to the Aughties, I would like to first thank one man, a poet skilled in the sixth-form style.

It was in the magazine aisle that it happened— I was looking for the newest issue of SPIN (the one featuring Kings of Leon) and had to settle for Wired, when I was assaulted by the colorful swearing of another individual, perhaps on his cell phone: "You didn't? Well, shit! Keep trying."

It was then that I realized this could well be the unofficial motto for not only the coming year, but the new decade. Though I shall carry on with my entry below, I think it's best to remember that you should always keep trying. Uh, just don't shit, though.

[And, in a last minute burst of humor, I'd like to also dedicate it to two people in line beside me at another Wal-Mart the other night. (Wal-Mart has fast become my favorite store, if only for the odd stuff that happens there. "People of Wal-Mart" exists for a reason, you know?) Anyhow, I tried to discretely follow their interesting conversation topic—"that movie where they guys get in a fight in the sauna, and you can see all of the man". They went on to debate the title of the film, something with Eastern in it, which they both agreed on.

He mused aloud. "Yup, it's Eastern somethin', alright. Kawm Prawmissus. Eastern Com Promises."

It reminded me of the last time I went to Applebee's. A table mate commented on the "desert" shooters. (This isn't a war, I thought in response.) I swear, I don't bring this up to make fun of people; stuff like this just makes me giggle and brightens any low spots of my day.]

On to the post!

***
Everyone, when it comes to music, has their own individual taste. When it comes to the radio, even if you hate the performers because they suck the marrow out of the music, most of it is undeniably catchy. Of course it is; it’s designed to be that way. Just because something is commercial, that doesn't make it good. In recent years, everyone from alternative bands to Miley Cyrus have been subjected to a fate atop the same funeral pyre: commercial airplay makes them popular, which, to some fans is basically the kiss of death.

As everyone tries their damndest to be different, fans are lost as listeners search for a new alternative: their own little niche. Some of us, however, have already developed fallbacks, "pocket bands" and the like. Sometimes, when the outside roaring for a favorite or undeserving band gets too loud, it's a place where you can momentarily bury your head and your headphones.

For example, the people I associate with are as alternative as alternative in the J.P. can get (we don’t live near a major scene like Louisville—so we can’t claim My Morning Jacket, although we can somewhat claim Cage the Elephant.) When I started high school, I thought I was different. But now, after having classes with kids from different grade levels, being on the school paper, and working with other kids, I’ve come to the conclusion that I naturally gravitate towards the hipsters, nineties-junkies, and alt-kids.

And yet, like your bass-playing punk brother who holds a candle for West Coast hip-hop, it isn't always one-hundred percent alt or indie for me. I have two other niches: Britpop and house music.

For instance, I've attempted to organize my favorite house-dance-electronic-trip-hop bands and performers. What links these together, as opposed to all of a certain genre being filled with skuzzy guitars or something, revolves around the keyboard manufactured beats and keyboard samples. I always knew there was a reason Candida was one of my favorite members of Pulp. Without further ado, here are the groups who fit well into my second niche:

*Underworld
*Massive Attack
*The Chemical Brothers
*M.I.A.
*Bingo Players
*AIR
*Girl Talk
*YACHT
*Hot Chip
*Robots In Disguise
*The Prodigy
*Basement Jaxx
*Cassius
*SebastiAn, Justice, and Ed Banger Records
*Uffie
*Etienne de Crecy

And I’m sure there are a multitude that I’ve left off, in my haste.

But back to my first niche.

PULP- Anyone would do himself or herself a favor by listening to the sheer genius that is Pulp. It’s catchy on the noise-side yet nuanced on the lyric-side, personal yet seemingly as though it could happen just as easily to you. Whatever other Britpop bands could only try to do most of the time, Pulp succeeded at. They were less discussed than Blur and Oasis, and yet I still don't feel like I could write anything to adequately describe them. If I could write a little sub-headline for them, it would say, "Keeping it real...” Really entertaining. Common People have always L.O.V.E.D. listening to Pulp, whether on Acrylic Afternoons or strung out on Es and Whizz. That's also a primer on some of their best, by the way. My favorite band, my favorite lyrics... Jarvis Cocker rocks, from 1978 to now.

BLUR- A band not comprised of Charmless Men, Blur (a favorite of Girls & Boys alike) made it ran the rat race of Britpop and lasted To The End. Which was pretty much the end of Cool Britannia, no?

SUEDE- Suede was set on taking [you] over with a dose of music stronger than Animal Nitrate. A bunch of Beautiful Ones, that group.

OASIS- If Blur and Oasis were to Acquiesce, maybe Britpop would have Lived Forever. Or maybe not. Perhaps they’ll be back later, so long as Liam and Noel don't get into another Wibling Rivalry.

Other amazing bands that could have been classified as Britpop: Radiohead, Supergrass, The Longpigs, Sleeper, and Elastica.

In conclusion, I hope I've "created a little holiday magic" by spreading music and joy. Hooray, I say! Do not judge me as an aspiring hipster based on the high iTunes play counts I've tallied for the Strokes, Arctic Monkeys, and Kings of Leon. Instead, take note: influences and feelings come from everywhere, and it’s important to always take notice. Spread yourself out, but don't spread yourself thin. I have proudly become diversified.

NOTE: While on that topic, I am also not an outright enforcer of music and music labels: the kind that try to push their taste on others with absolutely suffocating force and then scream when that band is accessible on the local pop station. I am not a preacher by trade, anyway...

That said, a polo shirt might stand out at a metal concert.

EDIT: As of 2011, I tell people as such: “My top three favorite acts are Cassius, Cream, and Pulp. Other favorites that barely missed the top three are Air, Phoenix, Blur, and of Montreal. And, yes, I do listen to Kanye for fun!”

The Best of Radiohead: A 50 Word Review

2009-10-18T11:35:00.000-05:00

As a Sunday penance from my abscense of blogging, I "challenged" myself to post a fifty word review of a CD. Here lies my attempt at reviewing Radiohead's best:

The Best of Radiohead, true to its title, has all the beloved standards. It’s a great jumping off point for anyone who wants to dig further into the spacey-depths of Radiohead. Noticeably absent: “Sail To The Moon”, which “Pyramid Song” evokes; otherwise, its apparent why other stellar songs were included.
-S.B.

I Just Lost The (Football) Game

2009-09-21T21:45:00.000-05:00

Graves County v. Mayfield: This game was the highlight of my weekend. Even though we lost. (Photo courtesy of me, SB, and an excellent Canon Powershot.)

The Best Books I Have Read (So Far)

2009-08-24T20:20:00.003-05:00

As lifted from my MSN-favorites list:

The Great Gatsby , F. Scott Fitzgerald: The greatest book of all time. If you've heard what Rebel, Inc. said about Trainspotting... That's what I believe about this book. So many moving thoughts, so much beautiful language, and it's all told in a relatively small number of pages. My favorite book, and what I hope will be my all time favorite. The beginning of a trinity of my most cherished books.

The Bell Jar, Sylvia Plath: The second part of the trinity. Sylvia Plath was a tortured one, to be sure, but her writing can make you see tiny bits of yourself in her, or wonder how she comes up with such moving or crazy explanations and turns of phrase. Good writing is like a windowpane, and you feel like you get a glimpse of something genuine in this book.

Finding George Orwell in Burma, Emma Larkin: The last part of the trinity. The best nonfiction I've ever read.

The Last Tycoon, F. Scott Fitzgerald: Even when he was dying (though unbeknownst to him, I'll admit), Fitzgerald's ability was never squandered.

Saving Francesca, Melina Marchetta: One of the only recent teen-lit books that I think has a genuine story behind all the fun.

Me Talk Pretty One Day, David Sedaris: "Mr. Sedaris" takes the prize (along with J.D. Salinger, as discussed below) for writing a well-thought out short story, and he beats Juby (though she still is terribly funny!) for the book I've laughed aloud most at. I read the shortest story in there, and it still made me shake with laughter. I'm also never going to get over the guitar teacher story.

Trainspotting, Irvine Welsh: As of the end of July, I've only just started it, but Welsh wrote what is likely the epitome of Cool Britannia literature.

The Heart Is a Lonely Hunter, Carson McCullers: McCullers was an emotional genius. If you want to start an obsession with Southern Gothic stuff, or if you dream of running tragic around Lee's Alabama or Faulkner's Mississippi, then you have to read this book.

To Kill a Mockingbird , Harper Lee: Scout Finch reminds me of one of my cousins. Atticus Finch reminds me of a strong willed, brilliant person I've yet to meet, but would like to. Though it's the only book Lee wrote, you can see that talent ran in the family, and not just on Capote's side. Would you believe it's been banned? It's a necessary read.

Tender is the Night, F. Scott Fitzgerald: More from the mind of Fitzgerald. I read it on vacation, by the ocean. It's the perfect vacation book. Plus, it always makes me think of the Blur song "Tender".

A Tree Grows in Brooklyn, Betty Smith: Like Seinfeld-the show about nothing-"not much" happens in the plot of this book. And yet, everything that has meaning happens. It's a brilliant study of life.

The Catcher in the Rye, J.D. Salinger: What a phony. I'm only kidding, of course, because it's on this list.

Nine Stories, J.D. Salinger: The best book of short stories. At first, I thought Salinger was over-hyped, but even if you can't stand Holden Caulfield, this book was a nice read.

Raise High the Roof Beam, Carpenters and Seymour: An Introduction, J.D. Salinger: Further adventures of the always real Glass family.

Alice's Adventures in Wonderland and Through the Looking-Glass, Lewis Carroll: It isn't just the writing; it's the mathematics and poetics, too.

Miss Smithers, Susan Juby: Some of the best humor I've read so far.

Les Misérables, Victor Hugo: Eponine and Jean Valjean. Even though I know I'm supposed to say "the other two".

Madame Bovary, Gustave Flaubert: I've already decided-though I began Tolstoy at a later date-that Flaubert's Bovary is the French Anna Karenina. *sigh* Those Victorian-Napoleonic-Romanovian Europeans!

Gone With the Wind, Margaret Mitchell: Holds a secure spot in important Southern Literature.

Pale Fire , Vladimir Nabokov: A wonderful post-modernist book, written by a fellow synethesian.

Emma, Jane Austen: The best Austen ever wrote (including Pride and Prejudice). Well, this and "Pride and Prejudice and Zombies".

Little Women, Louisa May Alcott: This is one of the first "classic" books I ever read.

1984, George Orwell: What a story! This is the book that began my fascination with both the life of Orwell and the lives of those in Burma/Myanmar.

Animal Farm, George Orwell: What may just be required reading for you is a wonderful book, to me.

Thursday Next series, Jasper Fforde: These books were written by the master of "allusions". (Get it? It's a joke about alluding.)

Tao of Pooh and Te of Piglet Boxed Set, Benjamin Hoff: A neat way to understand the tao/calming principals-by imagining them applied to the life of an A.A. Milne character.

Horseradish: Bitter Truths You Can't Avoid, Lemony Snicket: This should be your personal guide book.

You Don't Love Me Yet, Jonathan Lethem: I love the book, though.

Ellen Foster, Kaye Gibbons: The writing is exceptionally fresh; the story is worthy. Gibbons is another person to take cues from in writing.

The Far Side ® Gallery, Gary Larson: Need a grin? Get a "laugh".

A Clockwork Orange, Anthony Burgess: Just read it. But before you do, make sure you get the one with the legitimate final chapter, not like the one that they originally printed in America.

Speak, Laurie Halse Anderson: Even if you're reluctant to read teen lit, it's an amazing lesson in storytelling, in my opinion. It's also written in a believable way.

Castro's Daughter: An Exile's Memoir of Cuba, Alina Fernández Revuelta: A superb memoir, written with conviction.

The Golden Notebook, Doris May Lessing: I originally read this because a group of people I heard about online were reading it, but it still has scenes-hunting in Africa, communist party activity in London-that stand out in my mind.

Schott's Sporting, Gaming, and Idling Miscellany, Ben Schott: The ultimate in miscellany. Besides miscellanies.info, of course.

The Complete Persepolis, Marjane Satrapi: Necessary reading for anyone interested in: comics, the Middle East, and/or life.

Confessions of Georgia Nicholson, Louise Rennison: Witty and British. What could be more pleasing?

13 Little Blue Envelopes, Maureen Johnson: Maureen is quite witty and hilarious. If you don't get the chance to read one of her books, at least check her Blogspot for a bite of humor.

Teach Me, R. A. Nelson: A moving book. It certainly makes you think, and it's a treat if you like Emily Dickinson.

Chicks with Sticks (Knit Two Together), Elizabeth Lenhard: Like knitting? Like Chicago? Like a dirty sounding title? This book is for you.

Uglies Series, Scott Westerfeld: Sci-fi for people who don't like sci-fi.

The Unabridged Journals of Sylvia Plath, Karen V. Kukil: An inside look at Sylvia's mind.

Good Night and Good Luck Moon

2009-08-09T19:49:00.000-05:00

From now until the end of what I define as summer, I'll revisit and review one book from my childhood, specifically, one book that I really enjoyed. This review is over the classic-that's-almost-impossible-to-properly-review Goodnight, Moon.

In my immediate family, we accumulate an extraordinary amount of junk for the average American family. I mean it- we have three different buildings for storing stuff. Two are sheds/garages, I'll admit, and are naturally used for storage, but we also own a house where nothing but loads of furniture and unworn clothing resides. Something else far too important-and yet truthfully forgotten about-that "resided" in storage? My copy of Brown's Goodnight, Moon.

As I said in my intro, it's hard to review a book like this. I don't feel like I can say enough glowing stuff about this book. Even if it is a simple read, and the longest page in the book has seventeen words*, it's great because it's simple and effective. I feel like I'm at a workplace management program in the early nineties, and all of the seminars are printed on an itinerary in Kredit font, when I say something like that. I mean it, though. Truth be told, if I were using the Rolling Stone-approved rating system, this is the only book I've "reviewed" (read: started to review, but trailed off into a story about myself) that I think deserves all five stars.

This book was hard to review, anyway: in lieu of a real review, because I was busy packing for a vacation-of-sorts, I just compiled a list of thoughts on the book together, to keep in mind in the event of a review. Here's some of what I eventually came up with:

"I've never really thought much about baby clothes and baby shoes the way other girls do, running past the groceries and clothes sized for them to faun over a tiny diaper. Still, I would gladly have a houseful of screaming and children if I knew I would be able to let them enjoy this book. Quite possibly, the best children's book ever. Once, I remember, some site or reviewer said how nihilistic and trippy the "goodnight nobody" section is, while I think the Sartre-ish "illustration" on that page alone makes the book.

Nevertheless, this is probably apt because of the Perseides coming up. Even if you miss the light show, you still have a chance to savor the night with a book like this."

*The similarly-titled K.O.L. song popped into my head at this point, thus making it the official song of this book. In fact, below, I've compiled all the artists or songs mentioned in this series into a teensy playlist below. Enjoy!

The Official KBR Playlist, By S. Barrett
(You better give me credit for this, too, buster, if you plan on using it anywhere, even in your car. Write my name on the CD in big, clumsy Sharpie-letters if you have to—but just know I picked these songs, specifically, for you to enjoy. A mixtape from me to you...)

Radiohead-“Sail To The Moon”
The Whitlams-“You Sound Like Louis Burdett”
Darden Smith-“$2 Novels”
The Gaslight Anthem-“’59 Sound”
Aqua-“Barbie Girl”
Hot Chip-“Ready For The Floor”
Serge Gainsbourg/Briggite Bardot-“Comic Strip"
Gorillaz-“Tomorrow Comes Today”
Led Zeppelin-“Black Dog”
Leonard Cohen-“Hey, That’s No Way To Say Goodbye”
Kings of Leon-“17”

**Also, on the issue of tagging this post, this book is, indeed, a vice, and something I have to save for posterity.

Vacation, All I Ever Wanted?

2009-08-08T21:57:00.000-05:00

Don't blame me, blame a (practically problematic) pre-planned vacation. I thought I'd give myself a disclaimer, before I post the very last of my summer book-musings. Last week's weekend review will be posted this week, because, last weekend, I found myself down in Tennessee, without a smidgen of Internet access. I only had a hillbilly word processor, that I bought at a souvenir shop. Hence, no children's book review-but on the bright side, I had more time to polish it for posting tomorrow. Because I didn't find anything blog-worthy (at least, that I'd like to mention) in Tennessee, besides an excellent book sale, I want to leave you with a thought/journal entry. I made this note the previous time I was "down that way"- in the mountains, of course, with stops in both of the Carolinas:

"So, here are the day's events:

We went to a lighthouse in Corolla, then we went to Kitty Hawk {and hiked to the top of a really steep hill}, then we went to the sea {right outside of Hatteras, where I penned yet another poem- "The Sea"}, we had a DQ dinner, we drove out to Roanoke {fancy yachts, and all}, I rehearsed my jocular All-Kazoo Revue. Then, we jaunced back to Edenton for a McDonald's snack at Albermarle Sound, or the brackish, or whatever it's called. It was a tiring {but very much worth it!} day.

And, alas, I'm very-veddy tired. So I'll say, "Goodbye for now!"

I didn't have the ocean this time, but I got a break. I'd like to think that that was enough.

Puppies (And Tears) For Sale

2009-07-26T20:28:00.000-05:00

From now until the end of what I define as summer, I'll revisit and review one book from my childhood, specifically, one book that I really enjoyed. This review is over the cuddly Puppies For Sale (or, even more pleasing, "the cuddly puppies for sale").

Oh, boy! It's that time of the week again: not only is it review time, it's the weekend. Or, rather, the close of a weekend. It's more commonly referred to as Sunday, or the Sabbath, and what would Sunday be like without a little inspiration. People find inspiration in different things, you know. Some people find inspiration in nature. Some, in music- I plan on listening to Zeppelin while I write this, not because they're so inspirational to me, but because I just got some "new" LZ songs for my music player of choice. (Also, because I find it sadly ironic to write about inspiration while listening to someone like Page play in the background.) Some people find inspiration in forwarded emails-although, sometimes it's hard to see why. Some people find inspiration in others. (For example: their preacher. I know a nice preacher who died recently, and we literally just went to his funeral. While I was there, my family was seated behind a spray of summer flowers, and the casket was obscured. They kept saying the gentleman's name-Harvey-over and over, and I realized I couldn't see him. "Ha!" I thought. "I'm just like Jimmy Stewart!" I had to put this in somewhere, because it made me smile, and it isn't really all that inappropriate. They also eulogized at the funeral that the man could never say "goodbye" on the telephone, and I thought to myself, "Hey, That's No Way To Say Goodbye".) Others find it in stories and books.

One big brand of inspirational books? The Chicken Soup stories. One of the creators of the fluffy stuff? Dan Clark. He, however, doesn't just arrange/"story-tell" Chicken Soup-quality (which may mean warm and fuzzy in some circles, and in others, sopping and runny) tales. He wrote a children's storybook, as well, entitled Puppies For Sale.

Puppies For Sale is about exactly what it sounds like, with only the tiniest of twist endings- meaning, there are no Hitchcock-worthy chase scenes down the Autobahn and over cliffs, no tumultuous fight scenes, and no car wrecks here. Unless a car wreck was the reason for one or both of the two main character's injuries, but that's completely different analytical territory... However, there are many of the traditional trappings of an inspirational book, which makes me conclude that that's why my parents thought this would be the book for me. There's illness and injury, like I already stated. There's cute, young, and fuzzy animals (done in a watercolor-looking style, by Jerry Dillingham) on practically every page. There is a child with sad eyes, with enough intensity in his stare to force me to put a sad emoticon here. There's even an underdog- quite literally. *sigh*

I could make the book really short, which, curiously enough, I haven't done with any of the others I've "reviewed" so far. Sans spoilers, even. Like a modern-day Hemingway: Shop owner sells puppies. Child comes in to inquire about dogs, picks one that's impaired. Man makes surprising offer. Boy refuses.* Boy and man argue, with the boy supplying the twist ending. Inspiration ensues. The end. Only that wasn't six words, it was thirty-six.

So, would you read it, or would you be content to make due with my literary-constraint version? Well, I'm just a-gonna leave that up to you. Who knows, though? Even if you don't take my word for it (I feel like I'm on Reading Rainbow after weeks of doing this), you may be inspired sometime later to try to find a copy of it. You never know what might happen. Miracles-and inspiration-can happen.**

*This sounds very un-PC or inappropriate for kid-lit, I know.
**This line sound straight out of Angels & Demons, which I also knew in advance.

What A Surprise, It's Marmee's Surprise

2009-07-19T21:08:00.000-05:00

From now until the end of what I define as summer, I'll revisit and review one book from my childhood, specifically, one book that I really enjoyed. This review is over the modified-classic Marmee's Surprise.

Not so very-long-ago, I remember myself as a fourth grader, a pupil at a small private school. When some people think of a private school, their mind wanders to something like Eton, with it's rigorous curriculum, boarding students, and sweeping hallways and libraries. The kind with curved roofs, and row upon row of books. But this (where I'm based) isn't England, after all. When I hark back to this school's library, I remember the shelves differently. We had four shelves of a non-descript variety, I think, one on each/nearly each wall of the room. Also, the library was on the bottom floor of the school, like a converted basement of sorts.

Quite far from Eton, eh? While I was a reticent reader early on, by fourth grade, I loved books. I mean, loved them. I don't think I'd ever read (what I considered) a long book, though, until Harry Potter came into my life. I started with the Prisoner of Azkaban*, but someone how I read one that was worth 30-odd points (a pretty good amount of 'em) on Accelerated Reader, our school's literacy-testing computer program of choice. I took said-reading test over it, and passed. I wasn't as proud of a child as some, because I'm still not proud of the things so many other people find pride in. But I was proud of my reading ability, and from then on, resolved to challenge myself in the greater part of my reading. (I said "greater part", even though it sounds pretty darn ridiculous, because I have read and finished some stuff I regarded as cotton candy pink fluff on numerous occasions.) Somehow, my teacher suggested I read Little Women.

The copy I had on loan was non-descript in itself. It may've been gray. Or was it green, or brown? it was rather dull at first glimpse, I think, but I soldiered through the book. I liked Jo and Beth-I fancy everybody claims to identify with them-more so than Amy and Meg, I knew, in the same way Melanie won me over more than Scarlett O'Hara did. Still, I remember I only finished the book by force, because I had to return it/do something about it the next day, and so I read it in a rapid-fire, restless way at my grandmother's house, taking it outside somewhere in the last twenty pages, and sitting on the low crook of a red bud tree trying to finish. Needless to say, I did. I found it wasn't such a bad read after all, and I read it once or twice more since then. My favorite part, I know, was always when the font grew smaller and you started to read the little newspaper the girls put together, but that's besides the point. I read it, and I retained it. I also think it was a book where I realized, hey, this thing is long, but that won't stop me from liking to read it, no matter what! (One could argue Twilight is a long book that little girls like to read no matter what, but then you'd just be arguing and not proving anything, wouldn't you?)

Yet before I had the Marches, and before I even had Harry Potter, I had something else: Marmee's Surprise.

Huh? Exactly. When I was young (something made me smirk wryly when I typed this), I had dozens of those Step-into-Reading, or Level 1/Level 2/Level 3 books. Some of them I remember loving; others I see and don't remember even giving them a cursory glance. One of these SIR (Step 3, which I imagine was right below the first floor landing) books I had was Surprise, which was basically a modified-for-kids version of Little Women.

This book is divided into four tiny chapters, written at about the average second or third grade reading level, by Monica Kulling- and these chapters cover the plot of about one chapter of the original, Alcott novel. It details the opening, the events leading up to the holidays, and then the splendid little Christmas party. It mentioned the Hummels' situation, as well as the Bibles (which were all red-and read-in this version), and Marmee's gifts. Only in passing was anything said about the Laurences, and their gift of a Christmas feast. Still, it's nicely written- and, as far as adaptations go, it's understandable. The way I see it, making an adaptation of another work is somewhat like trying to translate a short story written in another language. And Kulling puts it in a easy-to-read language for school kids.

So, what about the pretty, pretty pitchers? Diane Paterson is in charge of this. While you can't say it's revolutionary work, there's no reason to put it down, either. For instance, the watercolor-looking illustrating technique worked really well on one page, and it made Beth look like a sweet, demure little thing. In another, a soldier looks curiously like Thom Yorke in a Union uniform. Which I find ironic, because I already listen to a lot of Radiohead, and didn't know the band was going to be a part of my literature-based pursuits...

In the end, I judge it to be a worthy book. I'd hang onto it, especially because I know it could end up fueling a long life of reading.

Before I leave you to Amazon searching this book (if it is even on Amazon, because, as evidenced in the picture, I got it for a dollar at Dollar General), I thought I'd mention something. Today, I didn't just finish a re-read of this little book. I finished a loaned copy of The Heart Is A Lonely Hunter, and, I have to say, this chronicle of vintage Southern life has taught me two things I've known, but I often ignore: firstly, not everything turns out to be as it appears, and secondly, it's uncomfortable to lose something you've hunted for and struggled to find (or find comfort in). What a moving book. Remember, like I said, a book like Marmee's Surprise can always lead to more books, hopefully one as profound as this.

*To tag some humor with this entry, I got another snarky spellcheck with "Azkaban". The prisoner of Esteban is, according to Blogger, more fitting. It may be, under other circumstances. However, this entry isn't about romance novels, so...

Little Lit: Strange Stories For Strange(r) Kids... And Adults

2009-07-12T13:25:00.000-05:00

From now until the end of what I define as summer, I'll revisit and review one book from my childhood, specifically, one book that I really enjoyed. This review is over the boy-or-girl-should-you-read-it Little Lit: Strange Stories For Strange Kids.

I can't confess to being a big comic book or manga geek, though more than a few of my friends most definitely are. I think if I were pressed to tell, the only cartoon-related things I've had occasion to recently enjoy were said friends drawings, those Taint of Paint-things I make, and this t-shirt I bought with Disney-esque illustrations and panels all over it. Oh, and Persepolis- both the book and the movie. And what I've seen so far of Slow News Day. And a Dilbert strip this morning. And this one Clone High video on YouTube. And The Dark Knight-and, in turn, it would be obvious to say Hot Chip's "Ready For The Floor" music video here, too. And, on another music related note, the song "Comic Strip", with Gainsbourg and Bardot, which is too hopelessly cool for me anyway.* And, in a small part, Gorillaz and, a larger part, the "Common People" cartoon-thing that Hewlett drew as well.

So maybe I enjoy the written-and-illustrated word more than I thought. I just know, though, that there are people who enjoy it more than I do, because they draw manga obsessively/well. I, on the other hand, don't fit this description- I can switch from classical literature to modern novels to graphic novels and back to Tolstoy again-although it's anybody's guess if I'll be able to finish the copy of Karenina that I was lent before the end of summer, I've been so busy. That's not to say they can't switch around as well; it's just that I experiment with so much in my reading. If we were all destined to write a book near the end of our lives about what we've read, they'd be producing a new edition of Naruto every hour, and I would go out with a bang, a book cobbled together with pictures, anecdotes, a slew of grammatical errors, and globe-spanning problems- in short, nothing too worthy of an Orange prize.

Still, I hold an affinity for comics. I suppose it's a little odd, then, that I forgot to add to the list above on of my favorite comic-related things: Little Lit: Strange Stories For Strange Kids. For some reason, I think it was the male part of my parentage that bought me this, but I remember being pretty enamored with it- if only for a while. I remember most of all that there were three "Can you find the _____ in the picture?" drawings, and I was eager to find them whatever the _______s were.

As it turns out, though, I excavated this not from the little storage shed, but from our old house. It was stuffed in a big, plain cardboard box that we probably got from some grocery, and I rescued it, because I remembered how funny I always found it. To this day, or minute, rather, I can look at Claude Ponti's offering in this multi-artist book, "The Little House That Ran Away From Home", and smile, even at the ending alone. Based on the ending alone/I want a Minnie Castle of my own...

I found the David Sedaris-penned (Ian Falconer-drawn) story interesting, and kind of touching, to say the least, but I enjoyed it too- especially because I sadly have little experience in Sedaris. I just know that every time I go in a Target, I see one or two Sedaris books, and I think I've read some of Me Talk Pretty One Day, whichever one it is where he goes to some language class where there is a girl from Japan, or some other East Asian nation. Or maybe I'm just confused and associating the Sedaris story with that apt title. Jeez. I need to check out that book, after I finish the thirteen-odd books I've collected this spring and summer.

Still, Sedaris and Ponti are relatively different, as are many of the storytellers in the book. There's a Sendak cartoon, and there's a story by the late Crockett Johnson. Eleven more different stories/drawings sort of showcase the different styles-and senses of humor-of the writers, and I don't think there's a bad one in the bunch. Even the endpapers have been illustrated with "Cartoon Lessons", which provide quick laughs themselves. They also help you learn to solve the great mysteries of life. Want to learn how it's possible to make dirt shiny? Yep, it's in there. The coupling of Françoise Mouly and Art Speigelman did an amazing job with the editing and curating of the book, too, I guess, because it's an amazing little...anthology, I guess. I would thoroughly recommend this to everyone, from tiny Little Lits to my grandmother, who turns 98 tomorrow. (This is absolutely true. E.E. Barrett, born 1911- she's lived longer than Cummings now, but she's just as poetic.)

I'm going to hang onto this for the future, too. It's not so much strange as it is wonderful.

*I guess I'm back to picking songs-in-the-singular (except for this time) for each book, with this one- Hot Chip, Serge Gainsbourg, and Gorillaz. That'll get you in a bright mood. I think it would've been impossible to pick a playlist for Barbie, though, unless you're a big Aqua fan.

A Day In The Life, Pt. 2

2009-07-10T19:20:00.000-05:00

It’s time to play James Joyce again! However, this time (which originally happened two days ago) I christened Becca’s challenge “TOFSUT”- short for the wordy “Twitter or Facebook Status Update Thingie”. But, without further ado:

11:36: Standing under a group of trees (in Tennessee) with a woman from Murray and a woman from Tennessee. We all have cameras. Under the trees in front of us are these three [Civil War] canons, and some boys [and a girl] have been hired to paint them. One of them was slapped on the chest with a coat of paint, and he has a ghastly black handprint on him. (I’m sure he finds this comical, but all I can think of is how much it will hurt to get the industrial strength pain(t) off. Paint thinner, anyone?)

11:42: Just made one (out of four) good picture(s) of an eagle.

12:22: About to walk into a cemetery. Ooooooh...

1:09: Eating fries and drinking Diet Coke at the McDonald’s in Dover.

1:16: Staring at the place across the street, Barrett’s Tire and Auto. Heh; win.

1:37: Sitting on the wall by the Cumberland River.

1:49: Is on page 36 of Raise High The Roof Beam, Carpenters by J.D. Salinger.

2:39: Have been talking to Park Ranger Debbie. She’s like a good cop in the ‘good cop/bad cop’ situation. Don’t worry, is what I mean- she’s just one of Dad’s friends; she didn’t pull me over for drugs or arson or anything like that.

3:03: (Don’t trust me.) That was just a time pun for you, as we’re leaving the Civil War park.

3:28: Standing in Paris Landing, about to talk to Gary M. about getting a vendor’s license in Tennessee for my father to sell his photographs in this state… or, rather, in the state parks, I mean.

4:16: Leaving Sav-a-Lot, or as my dad almost always incorrectly refers to it, Sav-a-Ton. He often confuses it with the S-a-T gas stations. I just think it’s funny how it has no ‘e’ at the end of ‘Sav’, so, from now on, I’m going to pronounce it /sahv/, like you do when you say ‘savvy’.

4:55: Home sweet home!

5:08: Watching Spongebob, like I said I would the last time I did this TOFSUT experiment. The most perverse thing about it isn’t that I’m watching a stereotypical ‘children’s’ show; it’s that weird look Mr. Krabs is giving Spongebob, as he sis him on his knee while they talk about what’s so exciting about the first day of summer. My apologies, of course, to any kid who thinks I think that the show is perverted. It’s just that sometimes there really are references in Spongebob that are pretty nar-stee.

5:32: They are spoofing melodramas on television, and I immediately thought of the imaginary ‘melo’ subculture.

5:59: Just got in from Dairy Hill, complete with chicken and fries. Also, not more than five or so minutes ago, I finished a very short read called Stop Being A Hater and Learn to Love The O.C., by Allen Sepinwall.

6:07: I am going to watch The Simpsons, while munching on the aforementioned chicken. It’s also at this point that I realize how important food is in my life. Also, I just found out Homer is a fan of my favorite licorice candy, Good & Plenty.

6:29: Just learned (and this is quite stereotypical about immigrants and other people from Europe, so be ready) that an ‘Irish kiss’ is only slang for punching someone. Is it any surprise, though, that I learned this watching a Simpsons rerun?

7:28: I plan on watching Malcolm in the Middle for now, I guess. I forgot how much I used to love it, and think that the show was funny, even when it went over my head. Keep in mind, I was younger. Now I get it all, even when I don’t want to!

8:05: Am going to read a July copy of SPIN magazine.

8:17: Finished reading an article about Regina Spektor and her new album. She’s very interesting, but I thought it was neat how she was in MoMA in New York, and she stopped to look at Migrant Mother- that Dorothea Lange portrait that Mrs. Rickman always told us about in Photojournalism. Also, I learned what the real definition of ‘oneiric’ is- it pertains to dreams. (Note: Even my word processor, the word turns up unrecognized.)

8:40: I was rifling through more of SPIN when I fell upon (literally, I mean, knees buckling and face smacking into the page and everything) the Editor’s Letter, and I noticed the picture of the E-i-C himself, Doug Brood. I saw how he looks like the fraternal-but-not-identical twin of Elvis Costello. This will probably mean nothing to you, but I always love trying to recognize who people look like. You wouldn’t believe how many people I know who look like someone famous. I’m gonna go off and make a complete list, and send it to you someday, when I’m sure of it.

Very Busy Barbie, or Little Golden Books Take Over The Worlds!11!11!!

2009-07-05T15:27:00.000-05:00

From now until the end of what I define as summer, I'll revisit and review one book from my childhood, specifically, one book that I really enjoyed. This review is over the surely-you-bought-this-at-your-local-Wal-Mart ("Wal-Mart" would be very confusing to put another hyphen in, by the way) Very Busy Barbie.

It's early in the morning, and a rooster is confused. It's dark out, but he can still see there’s no roof to crow on, so he climbs upon a cracked book's spine to wake the Book World, area code 978. A toy train, despite being an anthromorphous object, gets the similar idea of cracking a book open so it can crawl through it like a tunnel. This floppy haired dog is "reading", too, and he or she looks like the only one of the set to have used their book properly: by reading it. A little bunny props open a book, sees a picture of itself, and jumps for joy. It's about as fame hungry as Paris Hilton, or an aptly-situational Playboy Bunny. A bear reads another volume, and yawns.

If you can't tell what I'm talking about, I'm referencing the inside cover of a Little Golden Book. What would the blessed Little American Childhood [I'm sure people in other locales across the world read these golden-spined books, but I'm just assuming that with the publishers based in Wisconsin, Americans must subconsciously feel a special place in their heart for them. Yeah, I know- Mazdas are in America, and Huffy had a bike factory in China, but whatever. Globalization be damned, I need something to build initials from]- the LAC [See?]-be without reading at least one Little Golden Book-LGB.

LAC, LGB... These will quickly replace the LBD in terms of style, after they finish making my above-paragraph unreadable. To make it shorter, without the notations it says: If you can't tell what I'm talking about, I'm referencing the inside cover of a Little Golden Book. What would the blessed Little American Childhood-the LAC--be without reading at least one Little Golden Book-LGB. There! I don't care if that draws out this entry, or bores people to death with repetition- I'm glad I did that, because, looking back, I know anyone who reads that will get a splitting headache. I only just glanced at it, and I started to feel woozy.

Aside from my digressions, I would like to both tell you more about this week's pick- and maybe digress some more. I was looking at the cover, and I hoped I would be like the dog, flop-haired and all. Although, I'll admit I knew I'd probably end up like the bear, curled up in pajamas, falling face-first into the bookbinding, because the decoration on the ever-mentioned spine is more fun. Why? I had enjoyed this book in the past, but primarily because of one reason: I was a five year old girl, and the book's subject was Barbie.

Barbie, as given away in the title, is very busy. Not to give away the entire story, but Barbie is a contender for a fashion job (huh, maybe my LBD-explanation--teehee, this looks like LSD-experimentation, I think, and I now know that kid lit has fried my mind and sense of humor--relates to the story after all), and Barbie is a sure winner... Until something happens, and her elderly neighbor, Mrs. Appleberry (how quaint) has to intervene. It's supposed to be charming- Barbara Slate, the writer, crafts a story where an iconoclast American woman has a job in beauty, and, in the process, she teaches a lesson (I won't say how) in showing good citizenship.

Let us move on: it's Illustration Dissection time! Winslow Mortimer draws the clichéd Barbie World perfectly-in the vein of Aqua, of course. There is pink on every page, save for one-and it revolves around a cabbie getting a flat tire. Also, I noticed that, like in some Tim Burton movies, it was drawn in a way where you can't entirely place the time period. There are clichéd-looking bus drivers, who actually wear hats that match their uniforms, and the sketches on the walls of "Lily Fashions" are, like, so totally '80s. Curiously, the computer pictured with Barbie on the cover looks very eighties, too- but if Barbie is going to be a model, why does she need a chunky computer and a desk, complete with phone and decorations? Still, it's satisfactory, because I never thought Barbie was too much on deepness- of course, you could make her deep if you wanted, because that was the expert thing about the creation of Barbie. She was whatever you wanted her to be. The flex of that, though, is that she could be a neurosurgeon one day, and homeless or decapitated the next. Once you get under the flowing blonde hair, however, you see the Barbie of this book in action, drawn in a realistic style.

Because, um, I don't think you'll ever see Barbie's Big Adventure, illustrated by Salvador Dalí, in your local Waldenbooks.

So-what's the consensus? Did GBPC, Inc. create their next Pokey Little Puppy? Did I turn into a bear, despite the fact that my nickname (Sara Bear-a) already has cast me as one? Will we ever know? Well, at each of these, I smirk in a lighthearted manner. What do you think, I want to say. And if I phrase it that way, maybe you'll be tempted to check out this work of literature- oh, and also, Slate and Mortimer won't be tempted to post my phone number and email address on their Twitter pages.

On finishing this Barbie book, as usual with many publishers, a list of other books can be found. Over columns of one hundred titles in alphabetical order, a sentence reads "How many of these LITTLE GOLDEN BOOKS ® have you read?" And I swear, though someone was only talking about them for a couple of minutes yesterday at a family reunion, I thought in passing of my relatively (heh, family pun) distant, by-marriage Syrian-American cousins, especially when I saw the title at the top of the list: Aladdin. I hope it doesn't seem like a form of racism, because it was not a stereotypical, dark-complected people-filled spice market image that came up-but it was an image of the Middle East just the same. And so, I thought of them, naturally, and their family, both distant and close while living overseas, with a big, respecting smile. I thought of them, and in the vein of their winning humor (which I saw firsthand at a wedding reception in Georgia), I may have to fight myself from giving a stupid smile to the list, too, and writing next to it, "Allah them".

My Summer Grocery List

2009-07-04T10:48:00.000-05:00

In honor of the Fourth, and also because I have nothing better to post until I write another spastic book review, I might as well post this short list(pops)icle-couldn't resist a summer related pun-of my favorite and/or necessary food for getting by in the summer. Especially on picnic-filled weekends:

Milk-2% or 4%. (Either one tastes better than Silk to country folk, and that's coming from a family where one of the grandmothers claims that unpasteurized milk taste better in the long run.)
Cool Ranch Doritos-Family size, as always. (Who cares if you end up with bad breath? Whenever I eat these, though, I get sticky fingers. Zoinks, I know.)
Kids Cuisine Meals-Two, but maybe more. Both should be chicken-"All Stars" and popcorn chicken. (I would say I suck terribly, but I'll pass this off as an attempt to recapture my early, early childhood.)
Vitamin Water?- Maybe.
San Pellegrino

So now I think it's safe to say that I've had my Turner Classic Movies moment-I've listed my Essentials. Have a happy Fourth of July, everyone!

My Favorite Book, or the Synethesiatic's Confession

2009-06-28T17:55:00.000-05:00

From now until the end of what I define as summer, I'll revisit and review one book from my childhood, specifically, one book that I really enjoyed. This review is over the I-was-a-hand-me-down My Favorite Book.

Contrary to popular belief, My Favorite Book is, um, not my favorite book. Now, don't get me wrong if you've ever read My Favorite Book (or my favorite book, for that matter, in which case, why would we argue about it at all?) and it became your favorite book... but I just want the freedom to say this: I look for honesty in a title, even if it is only a children's book. Unfortunately-or fortunately, depending on how you'll see it- I didn't know whether I would like it when I got it. Why? I didn't buy it, nor did anyone in my family. No, it was bestowed (and greatly appreciated then, before tongues start wagging) upon me as a hand-me-down. A pleasant one, at that.

(I don't think I'm going to get over the awesomeness that is saying My Favorite Book and my favorite book in the same sentence. Especially because my real favorite book goes by a different name, which is... Huh. I can't even think of a favorite, I like so many; and I've yet to go on- oh. This is literally one of those moments I have when writing or typing and I have a contradictory thought, making me go back and erase everything. I was going to say, I've yet to go on a literary pilgrimage, or re-read a book once a year, just like it was a holiday. But I have. I have- four or five times now, in fact, and the great thing is, I believe next year-or the year after- we are assigned that book in class. And I, for one, won't have a care in the world because I, SB, know The Great Gatsby forward and backwards. And also vertically, diagonally, and horizontally, which is actually quite similar to the fall of Gatsby himself.)

So, would it be safe now to venture that My Favorite Book is still pretty good, and I never will hate it, but it's not in my Top 10 (which in itself would be a good post on here someday)? Meh- I suppose so. To start with, I am going to look over it again right now, in order to tell you more about it, so that should be adequate proof that it's a book you can pick up with puking. See?

And, yeah, that's a fan in the background, 'cause it gets terribly humid around here this time a' year.

Well, first, let's tackle the illustrations. If you can tell what the art is from the cover, you have a good idea of the rest of it. The book was physically published in 1979, but the illustrations are straight from '59. (Hmm-hmm! Maybe I should make a playlist, or a specific song-because, let's face it, most people themselves can finish a kids book in the space of three to five minutes. If you can't, go listen to Pink Floyd or Cassius or Jacques Lu Cont, where every song borders on an hour. Still, the Whitlams went with the last one, and maybe, for taking-things-literally sake, The Gaslight Anthem will go with this one.) These, though, are the stuff of legend, the stuff Edward Gorey could draw and put a spin on, because it's vintage, cliched-images-of-boys-and-girls, spending summer in the country and stuff like that. If he were still living, I wish he could do this. Now that I think about it, I'm sure my childhood was sorely lacking in Ed Gorey stuff.

Why? Because I was reading this book, most likely. Now, we are on the subject of reading it, not just staring open-mouthed at pictures. I'll just pop right out and say it: this reads like one big poem about nature, God, and mommies and daddies. Which is not atypical for a children's book, all things considered. This, like many other books for kids, is no Heather Has Two Mommies. To trail off again, like I did with Ed Gorey, I think it would be great to write a spoof Halloween book, Heather Has Two Mummies; without purposefully trying to diminish the purpose of the real one, I guess. At least more people would pick it up, and not baulk at it.

Still, I'm just going to tag it under "churchiness", and leave it at that. It's a satisfactory book, and a good book for kids, but I doubt you'd be able to find it anywhere anymore, except maybe, like, eBay or something. You yourself probably wouldn't want to read it today, anyway, because, if you're from my part of the country, it's probably a rehash of something you already read as a wee one. The one saving grace I found in it, how-evah?

To diverge again, I'm going to tell you something about myself, besides that I flipped on Nickelodeon and saw Linda Elerbee. I love her, and I can't believe she's still on the tell-er-bee. Damn. That was a classy rhyme. But the other thing, the other thing. I haven't had cancer. I haven't had diabetes. I haven't caught AIDS. But I have had two (fairly minor) medical setbacks: I had hyperdontia at one point, in spite of my still pearly white and cavity free teeth; and I have undiagnosed (because how can you diagnose it without knowing yourself?) synesthesia. At my high school one day, I was in French class, and a science or health class came around with a three-question set of surveys, printed on little white rectangles. I think everyone got about one question in, and I could hear the "what?"s and snickers. Nothing vicious, but no one could believe what they were asking us. "If you see a word on the whiteboard written in black marker, does it appear multi-colored"? "NO!" But, for me, the answer is yet. I mean, typing this, the letters are all black. I doubt I would be able to type or write-my biggest hobby-if everything was reds and yellows and oranges and blues. I'd be much too dizzy. But I can associate any letter or numeral with a specific color. A's are red. B's are blue. C's? Yellow. I could go on...

My one big hang up is the E's, really. I didn't notice the others so much, but an E is just always a lighter forest green. It seems dorky, and I remember reading in People once about an autistic guy whose 3's appeared blue or green- I think I was horrified. I wasn't autistic, but I recognized that trait in passing. The real reason I found out I had (or believe I have) synesthesia was when I was researching Nabokov. Gasp, that's me! Which is quite pathetic, really- not recognizing yourself in one person, only so you can see yourself in another, more prominent guy. But Vera and Vlad both had it, and so did several other people, mostly writers, ironically (which may not be so odd, because writers seem like the only ones who have shared their stories), so it seemed more plausible all the time. I'm not just nuts or bored, spending all this time organizing an alphabet in my head, that's just the way I am.

Then again though, one day I was bored, and I decided to see what other objects I could assign colors to. I pretty much hit a dead end at the Roman alphabet, but I did reason that if one band was one color, Kings of Leon would be orange, or that yellow-orange of a fading double line on a road, because of this (courtesy of a list I made in a car):

*The tone?: Upbeat; but slightly somber, thoughtful, whiny, and cowardly in variations.

*Country?: Often associated with country and western, which is often associated with tan- tan boots, tan jackets, tan desert sand...

*Literally, a road?: Maybe I only think this because K.o.L. makes me feel like I'm going somewhere, the way listening to Blur makes me feel oddly limitless.

Oh, well. That's what ruminations get you. Anyway, I'm convinced that other people have to have it in this area, too, of course, but I never knew someone close to me might have synesthesia. And then I saw this:

I apologize for the poor quality of my cell phone camera when making pictures in the evening.

Some may leave it to childhood doodling, but I instantly saw it that storage-shed-clearing day, and I thought, My God, look at her I's! It was so astounding, I treated it like a medical discovery, and while I have yet to approach the woman in question about it, I told my mom, as lame as that sounds. I've told my mom about my "problem" before, so, when I told her, I knew she would understand it was plausible. I forgot exactly what she said, but I'm pretty sure she agreed.

Maybe I didn't find myself in Nabokov, after all. Maybe I found a teensy bit of myself in someone who only lives a state away, and in the end, it was all because of My Favorite Book.

Happy Birthday!

2009-06-21T15:51:00.000-05:00

In case you can't tell from the picture (which is, indeed, a genuine "Taint of Paint" creation), today is my birthday! Yeah- and, as you'll see, I applied rule number # on my Ten Things list. It turns out, the fish and I have the same birthday. Go figure- but at least it made me a wish list. I'm under full authority that the fish will get her bike, and, like me, put some south in her mouth and "cel'brate" tonight. Anyway, I hope everyone else has as good a day as I plan/hope to have- and as good a year as I hope to have as I "become an elderly woman"...

The Very Lonely Firefly, or A Father's Purchase

2009-06-20T18:11:00.000-05:00

From now until the end of what I define as summer, I'll revisit and review one book from my childhood, specifically, one book that I really enjoyed. This review is over the needs-to-be-a-classic The Very Lonely Firefly.

Not too long ago, I was in the shed behind my house, unearthing children’s books of yesteryear. And when I say yesteryear, I pretty much mean yesteryear, not “yesterdecade”, because, while a fair few of the books are pre-‘00s and pre-‘90s, most are either reprints, or they came out right around the time of my birth. Not too long before that day in the little white building, however, I was browsing the Internet-I think it may’ve been one of my favorite New York-based sites, like Gawker or Jezebel, actually- but I found a story or a link about the fortieth anniversary of The Very Hungry Caterpillar. I learned something, then- no, not because I got to read about Eric Carle that day, but I learned how to go back weeks later, search for said-story about E.C., and see how caterpillar is really spelled. When you are raised in a place where the timbre and accent of the South is used in full force, /katy-piller/ (catepillar) is used in favor of the r-containing variant. (I would like to put an aside here that Spell Check believes my written pronunciation above should be “lady-killer”. Hmm.) Although, I learned some other fun stuff, too, because the layout of links on the website I was researching the anniversary on linked me to a Whitlams album. Instantly, I think, “You Sound Like Louis Burdett” popped into my head.

Still, I wasn’t as interested in TVHC and adolescent butterflies and even the Whitlams as I was in something else: a different book, one of the books that fits into the “most-from-the-nineties-and-the-new-millennium” category. It’s name? The Very Lonely Firefly.

Carle’s book is a valid part of my childhood- because mine was quite a storied childhood, only because I had so many story books. Well, I feel bad saying “only”, but I think it shows how much more important reading was than anything else. To try to delve further into the truth, though, I’ve got to admit that I doubt they read to me more than two or three times a week, because I barely remember them reading anything aloud to me, except maybe at bedtime, when I was too sleepy to think. I also have a suspicion about the way they read to me, because, voracious reader that I am now, and a “good writer” as my friends have sometimes labeled me (this blog shows no indication of that, probably, so…), I have an acute memory of being sent home with a slip of paper in my report card saying that maybe I needed to be helped a bit more with my reading at home. Besides bedtime tales, though, I remember the time when my dad came to my Kindergarten class to read horror stories. I will give Dad credit, still, because the kids begged for him to read it again. It was, in fact, my father who brought Eric Carle’s books into my life. I caught up with him the morning I wrote this (“tapped this out” is a phrase I remember seeing in a recent-try last night-reading of Salinger’s Nine Stories, but it reminds me too much of “tapped that” for me to ever apply it in writing associated with families or kids), and he filled me in about his purchase of it. [Edit, less than a week later: When I showed my dad this blog for the first time, he told me "of course" they "read to me when I was little". Yet, in the memories of a four-year-old, none of the readings must have been one of the standout events of my early life. In any case, I've posted this disclaimer, to correct any possible fallacy.]

We live in a smaller town, now, but in my toddler years, we lived on the cusp of a city-town, where small businesses apparently thrived, and people still opened quaint bookstores. The last time I went to buy books in this town, Paducah, I ventured to the (n)ever-so-quaint Books-a-Million. Let’s just say the actual purchasing services there were better than at another Books-a-Million I’ve been too, in a state known as Missouri (and, no, I didn’t count on using the “b.b.o.m.” label when I was starting this, but it thrills me that I can make mental connections related to past topics on here). In Missouri, the people were just as friendly, and nice, but I got out of the Kentucky one as quickly as I intended, armed with two books for fewer than seven dollars to boot. Yet, a smaller bookstore always makes you feel as if, I dunno, you’re browsing Shakespeare and Co. or something. The last, small bookstores I went to in Paducah were located in the mall- one operated as a chain, and the other was a brilliant discount retailer, where you could find copies of Sugar Rush for two dollars (the Darden Smith song “$2 Novels” comes to mind), and books about how to become an expert screenwriter for five. Sadly, I think we all know which one is ironically still in the mall today, despite the business potential the other one had…

But flash-back a few years, when- and, to add a prelude, it still may be up and running there, who knows, but I’ve never shopped there or even heard about it since I was a child- a bookstore opened on Broadway, near a hospital. My dad, in an effort to please me, I guess, found a few books there, and bought them- and I think he liked the store, too, because I know I have more than a couple books from that shop. Anyway, he claims he read a review-unlike this one, probably- of the book, and about how well it went over with kids. Particularly because of the, um, stellar surprise at the ending- to this day, I still like it. Which, to give away a little slip of information, is printed on a page much thicker than all the rest, because of the batteries needed to literally power the book. I like the idea that my dad, who’s always thought I need a fall back besides literature, went online, or read in a magazine, a reviewer’s thoughts on a book, and then took the initiative to go to a more indie-like bookseller to make the purchase.

Enough about the background of the book, though. In some ways, I think I like the book primarily because of its background, but one look through the book dispels that. I like the book for what it is. Carle’s style of collage-illustration is easy on the eyes, in the true sense of the term. I think that parents enjoy the creativity of it, while the kids- and even little babies- can look at the pictures and be pleased. In fact, I really like the book because it isn’t hand drawn, or produced via a computer- though I’m obviously a fan of Microsoft Paint- I like it because most people haven’t seen anything like it before. Kids are still fans today, too- while volunteering at the library once, I had to restock books the kids either checked in or left strewn across tables. I know I’ve put away more than a few Carle stories in my day…

Besides the pictures, the premise is cute, too- a firefly is lonely, and he goes on a search for other lights. He sees several lights on the way-which I take it is an opportunity for kids to see which things in this odd world they came into light up… before they get older and try to see which odd things in this world they can light up, if you understand. Yet, the firefly goes through mishap after mishap, finding candles and fireworks-which are nicely illustrated, by the way- instead of his fellow fireflies. That is, until the great ending.

Which is? To take the words straight from the page: “A group of fireflies flashing their lights.” Five bugs are embedded with tiny flashing lights, and, when I first opened the book upon excavating it, I was sure it hadn’t held up. Just two minutes ago, I sat on the couch and opened it to the back, as a test, and, to the great surprise of both father and child, we had our proof that dad’s purchase, indeed, still glows.

The Lost Kitten, Feat. A Summary of 1992

2009-06-14T14:39:00.000-05:00

Again, I have failed horrifically. I was up late on Friday, but decided to wait on posting this week's book review until the crack of Saturday morn. I woke up on time, only to discover I had no Internet connection. This would be fine, except that everyone else I live with- even my old, junked computer- has a steady Internet signal. And that my connection has been gone now for more than a day. Everyone is trying to convince me it's my computer, but to that, I said, "Please." A never- dropped, Windows Vista-running Compaq should work better, than say, a butt-ugly, banged around, coming off of it's hinges, 2005 model-nothing, that's running Windows 2003. Apparently, my service provider left a cable unplugged over the weekend (I've come to that conclusion, even though everyone else says, "You're a tech idiot, and you aren't trying hard enough!" Then, I hand them the laptop and watch them buckle under the stress of trying make it work for fifteen minutes, after which they hand it back to me, still with a cry of, "You ruined it forever!") So, I've been reduced to publish this stuff on my old junker, which reminds me of a dog carcass left on the side of the road- at least when compared to the majestic, greyhound-like Compaq. Anyway, as I’ve said before, From now until the end of what I define as summer, I'll revisit and review one book from my childhood, specifically, one book that I really enjoyed. This review is over the wonderful The Lost Kitten.

1992. Great or innovative or exciting or creepy, depending on who you are, music was released- songs and albums by Blur, Nirvana, Joan Osbourne, etc. Bill Clinton was in office. The Player was actually in theatres, and not on somebody's Netflix list. People wore Calvin Klein. My parents got married. (No, I was not born out of wedlock, I'm just that young.) There was a fabulous, fabulous, and insightful article published in Rolling Stone titled "If You Think You Made a Mistake in 1992, Think Again". (Hey, want to hear something great? If you didn't read the far-above, I lost Internet service on the one computer I actually like to use, that I have all my accounts set up on. Well...because I had no access to the inside "outside world", and even Wikipedia; and seeing that no one would consent to my using "their computer" for more than five minutes- oh, and the one person who would let me use hers is someone who doesn't even believe I have a blog- I used one valuable source to find out about the earlier nineties. Bondi Reader's "Rolling Stone: Cover to Cover". I was illuminated. Literally.) The Lost Kitten was published by Jo Albee and the McClanahan Book Company.

Holy... look at all those parenthetical statements. (I’m making another one here, just to frustrate people who hate drawn-out parentheses when other people make them, but for some reason, always make overlong statements themselves. I realize I've probably bored to death or scared any first-time readers with all the parentheses and italics, but it's just something I've added now, in order to combat my computer- related rage.)

But before I give anyone too much of a clusterfµcқ, lets get to the reviewing... My mom bestowed me with this book, and I don't even have to ask her why. I've said it a thousand times before, even if a hundred of those times have been in my head. I've probably even said it on here, too, but: my dad is such a cat person, it isn't even funny. He puts Ernest Hemingway to shame. I mean, at one point, he lived a key away from Ernest's cat house (wow, that came across twice as disgusting as I wanted it to sound), and he even had a cat with extra claws, too. Apparently, he doesn't live life as a "CCM"- to use Cute With Chris- style phrasing- but he probably wants me to grow up to be a (more culturally accepted) CCL. In which case, I don't plan to own any pets until the time comes that I may/will get married or have or adopt children. At that point, I'm taking the steps to make it a bicameral-like house, with both a dog and a cat, so no one can accuse me of anything. Clearly, though, my family wants that animal love to spread, or at least they don't want to see me in that new "Puppy and Goose Abuser" section they have in the National Enquirer. (No joke.)

This story features a sweet-natured redhead named Jodi (and I've wondered now for only a little while, if that's “Jo” Albee's real first name) and a cat, from which the book aptly draws its name. ("Aptly draws its name". Huh. I feel like I should be saying "....with finesse..." or "...hues of pastel-ish yellows and blues..." next.) The kitten, in fact, remains nameless until you're eight pages in, and by then, everyone is calling it Princess.

When I say "everyone", I mean everyone in Jodi's family- they realize that this stray kitten may not be a stray after all, so the major plot involves Jodi making a poster about the missing cat, so that a flow of people can come in and ask about the cat, with little success on there part. 'No, my Princess isn't your Jasmine', Jodi thinks at one point, 'she's mine.' Though she goes as far as to make the sign, Jodi could be a budding CCL herself, because she and this cat love each other so! How much fun they have together! Why would she want to give the cat back to the woman with glasses (a woman who really need them, by the way, and who obviously didn’t just go down to Urban Outfitters to buy them. I almost typed "Decay" instead of "Outfitters", which is about as unfortunate as when I was talking to some people-older people-in Tennessee about Bonaroo, and my dad walks up and says, "Bonarito?") or the boy? Answer: She doesn't.

Princess is this adorable little thing, as evident by Grace Goldberg's illustrations. They aren't really as whimsical as you would want to say for kid's pictures- they're detailed, and sort of lifelike, but everyone has bigger eyes then normal people do- not in a Japanese, manga-ish way, but still quite cute, nonetheless. Look at the calico cat on the cover of the book to get an idea:

All in all, the book's a good read. You know, I can really almost hear my mom reading this to me today. That's actually because I handed it to her, and she read it out loud, trying to get a feel of the story, I guess. The best part was when she got to the last page, where Princess sits atop a book labeled Caring for Your Kitten, which reads, "And Princess lives with Jodi to this very day."

I then said, "It was written in 1992, so probably not."

My mom then responded, "That's awful." I guess I ought to be ashamed, but who can resist the fun and ability-to-make-jokes-and-puns-about that the children's books genre has wrought on my life. Also, who can resist the very best book from the nineties about little lost kittens?

10 Things I Want As Leader

2009-06-11T14:34:00.000-05:00

Once upon a time, not so long ago- try the beginning of June- a friend (Becca, most likely) sent me the following, meme-ish text message: What's ure [bad grammar makes us sic] first decree as ruler of the world? You should make a list of them.

So I obliged, as always. ("I will, and I have- it's a little wordy, but that's only because it will be officially ratified as law in two weeks!") Taking the role of appointed leader, I drafted the following list, and sent it out. But, here, for the first time ever, it enters the blogosphere. Enjoy!

10 THINGS I WOULD WANT AS LEADER*
1) Ladies first practically always, dudes! 'Cos your new ruler is a ladie. *puts a six-inch ruler in a doll's dress, just for show, and for a visual example for those unable to hear. I don't have anything for the both vision-and-hearing impaired to do, except maybe smell the ruler* Note: This wasn't meant to be offensive; it was meant to give me something to work on as the new leader!

2) When I'm not smiling- which doesn't always, and usually doesn't, mean that I'm sad or mad- no one has the right to tell me, "Don't cry!", or "Why so upset?" as if I'm going to collapse under the weight of my emotions. You can try to make me smile or laugh, however, just don't act like a know-it-all. Or a no-wit-at-all, either. Note: Almost cringes at this. I'm the punster amongst my friends, but still... sometimes even the resident fake-wit (read: Dorothy-Parker-she-is-not) agrees with the maxim "puns are often lazy writing". I'm still awaiting my probably well-deserved pun-ishment. Heh.

3) Free stuff- books, movies, music, etc.; and lots of it- for the deserving, and the deserving only. Which mostly means the poor and unjustly treated.

4) When I write/finish/refine/publish my book, all world citizens who have a monthly income at or over $20.00 or €20.00 must go out and buy said book. Conveniently priced at $19.99 and €19.99, respectively.

5) I can automatically stop talking to any persons, living or dead, and walk away-and they must not get offended by it. It's probably because, as your new leader, I'm too busy having business lunches with my favorite new underlings- I mean, good, close, respected friends, such as Pres. Barry Obama, PM Gordon Brown, and Pres. Nicolas Sarkozy. I didn't mean that to be offensive ("no disrespek!"), because these people were chosen to lead, unlike me, who just marched right on in, as you please, at a friend's request. (I still like O'Sarkozy- my celebrity coupling nickname for them- not so much Brown. But who am I to judge, because I'm not British. The Brits are the ultimate authorities. Oops. I mean, they were, until I came along.) Note: Keep in mind that the "underlings" thing is a mere joke. Or (it) is (it) it? Just kidding- there's a reason I joined a Young Democrats club, folks! And I'm making sure to reiterate this, because I know how sensitive people can be to horseplay, and a lot of this sensitivity is justifiable- especially in the nuthouse world we live in today.

6) I uphold feministic principles, alright, but I want people to start asking the fish if it ants to ride the bicycle. (See: Popular saying, "A woman needs a man like a fish needs a bicycle.") I believe in choice, and a fish has brain, too.

7) Anyone who has been mistreated, hurt, or offended by someone, and has had seriously hurt feelings because of it, has the opportunity to slap that person in public. In front of an audience of at least 2,000, including their family. Oh, and you get ten tries to hit them. No interference.

8) Every person must obey these laws, regardless of creed, sex, race, political views, and/or country or planet of origin. Oh, also, even the fictional characters must obey.

9) No censorship! What so ever! People must be informed, and I'll be darned if people can't come up in "my world" and learn and form their own opinions and then share them!

10) World peace, plz? Thnks.

A general consensus was reached, amongst those who saw it: the sure favorites are 2, 9, and 10. I liked this, but... My overall thoughts? "Those are all nice, my favorites, even- they benefit me AND the people the most-, but I like seven, too. Don't knock seven." Then again, after all the crazy stuff that's happened this week, I don't want to extol violence. Ever.

*The heading is bold, because I am so powerful. Duh.

Another Informative P.S. The italics tagged onto the ends of a few of them weren't on the original messages.

Cloudy, With A Chance of Family Vacationers (or, Bittersweet Bundle of Missouri)

2009-06-07T20:00:00.000-05:00

From now until the end of what I define as summer, I'll revisit and review one book from my childhood, specifically, one book that I really enjoyed. This being the first of my reviews, I decided to pick a sure favorite (that's going to be in the cinemas soon, actually): Cloudy With a Chance of Meatballs.

Surely, sometime in a bygone era, kids saw things they wanted on the back of a cereal box, and decided, "Hey, I'm gonna save some bar codes to get that watch!" Those times are forever over, right? Incorrect, my dear people (sorry how condescending that sounds, but that seems appropriate if I were giving this entry like a speech, as I would like to do). In fact, looking at some General Mill's box my grandmother (hereafter known as "Granny") had atop her bread box in the not-so-distant past, there was an advertisement featuring four movies on the back, which you could collect proof-of-purchase tabs in exchange for. This is 2009. But not over five years ago, people still read rather than watched movies incessantly. And, no, that was not to be mean or criticize the literacy rate in America-nor was it to devalue movies, because, I love movies. They even have their own tag here on the blog, and, though I mention no specific movies in this entry-technically-I'll tag this post with "movies", to prove a point.

Still, I remember saving the "proof-of-purchases" for literature. One book in particular, actually: Cloudy With a Chance of Meatballs. Whether I'd read it before or even heard about it, I do not know, I just remember being elated when I got it, and reading it several times, my favorite part being the last page. Not to give away too much, but I do love my mashed potatoes. With butter, naturally. But, hey! That makes sense! Give a child who loves cereal and food in general a choice of books, and her favorite will, without a doubt, be the one centered around edible items.

Really, one could also accuse me of picking up the book because I share the surname of both the author and the illustrator. which makes since, because I believe they're a married couple. Then again, this could be some type of White Stripes "husband-wife-brother-sister" deal. In fact, I think it would be much more entertaining if that were the case. But I can inform you that I would like it anyway. I mean, there's a reason besides last names that the cover is emblazoned with an "over 2 million copies sold!" label. Unless there are more Barretts out there than I previously believed. (That statement is probably unfunny, I know, because that sounds like something my dad would say if he were the one wryly reviewing books.)

I remember getting the book as part of a p-o-p deal, though, and boy did I like it- I didn't even care that it was paperback, and most valuable children's books are either durable board or durable hardback. Who cared if this baby creased, so long as I got to read the blissful, whimsical (yet another reason I loved it!) story, and look at the perfect illustrations over and over. What more can you tell me about the illustrations, you ask? (Even if you don't, I'm here to quench the person-next-to-you-who-is-too-afraid-to-ask-in-the-comments-section's thirst for knowledge. Gah! Again with the overly parent-like phrasing.)

Well, to be honest, the illustrations are impeccable, and you can honestly not realize the lines are not perfectly straight until you look at them up close. Ron Barrett had to have put a lot of effort in to make the pictures so detailed. It always makes it a genuine pleasure to look at.

Another genuine pleasure I associate with this book? Once, not too long ago, and right after I re-dug the book out, I was at Granny's house and I read the book aloud in my best Eliza-Doolittle- ("a-lie-za dew-lih-le")-meets-Liam-Gallagher faux northern-meets-Cockney. It was incredible fun, right down to the nouns. the nouns were the best, in fact...

In conclusion to my rambling, I'd just like to say, this book is what a kid's book should be, because it's great on all accounts. If you've read it even a hundred times before, it still seems good, and worthy of a re-read if you plan on seeing the film. Oh, and if you've never read it before (which is doubtful, but still), pick it up sometime. And maybe try reading it in a "Brish" accent, too.

~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*
Erstwhile, away from the literati, I was hauled off by a wily family member to the far side of Miss Ouri, as I now call "her". That was the sole reason why I couldn't post my next in the T.o.P. (sorry if you've been there a thousand times, but first of all, I doubt it, and second, I'm filling my standard blogger link quota) series of Paint, as well as some Facebook pictures- the Internet signal was so scarce, or I'd be infringing on someone else's signal. Say...

Still, I won't discredit the niceness that was swimming in an overly-chilled swimming pool, and then being able to send your friends pictures (via the reliable cell phone, of course) of you with a child's float around your neck. Also, I was dragged into the twelfth row in the audience at a stage show, which I'd seen before, unwillingly. I can't say I thought it too much better this time, but I did appreciate the lasers at the beginning, that made you feel like you were at a Styx, or a Phish, or a which-ever-band-shoots-off-near-seizure-inducing-lights-in-every-direction concert.

Also, I'm forgetting the delicious meals, the best of which was my almost-home-rest-stop-taquito. As I told my friend (great, now I'll be required to tag this "friends") in a text message on the way home,

"My mom must have eated [it's sic, I know, but on purpose] lots of peppers and chiles and paprikas and jalapenos that were imported to America in 1993-1994, when she was preggers with me, because when I was little I hated sour and "spicee" stuff of all varieties. But now...
Have a sea of barbecue sauce? A stack of onion-battered Buffalo Wild Wings? A pile of tamales and taquitos? A bowl of green olive-heavy Greek salad? To that I say: 'What-where's this party? Why didn't thou inviteth me? I'm the go-to-gal for sumat like that!'"

Well, you all- I guess you could say I'm a spicy girl, still pleaing for food.

I digress, as always. One other great musical-related thing about the trip, in addition to my previous ruminations about seventies-and-stoner rock? If you believe my phone's appointment app, where I've been known to make daily/weekly notes to myself, I came up with this little gem while going down the road, and taking a break from reading both "A Tree Grows In Brooklyn" and "Stories We Could Tell", available at Target and in the sale bin at Books-A-Million in Paducah (which has better service than some of tho others I've ragged about in the past), respectively:

"...I can say, though, at this time, the most exciting thing(s) about going is/are: A) Being able to take hurried snapshots of abandoned buildings, barns, and gas stations (they litter the landscape like acne, but they're much more pretty), and B) Playing "Sail To The Moon", and hitting a curve right when the cymbals and the guitar pick up over the piano. It was like Thom Yorke carved out the perfect raveling song, tailored to the very twists in the road. It couldn't have been better if there was a fat yellow moon in the sky overhead.

But here I am, trying to be like Freud and find meaning in everything, even a song whose lyrics rhyme "moon" with "soon"."

I couldn't have said it any better than I did then.

P.S. It's not even ten minutes later, and I just realized, because of my Radiohead-reference-thus-Britpop tag, along with my vacation to Missouri and flavor preferences, this post's byline should be "Bittersweet Bundle of Missouri". I just think I might love it better than the actual title, so I added it up there. Sigh.

A Day In The Life

2009-06-03T17:22:00.000-05:00

If my life were a book, it would be a James Joyce novel. Why? Because, if you were going to read about my life, I'd either use so much detail you'd want it to stop immediately, or because my life is best digested in day long incriments. So, while one of my close friends was at the gym the other day, she and I agreed to an experiment:

"Ok- I will let you know [what I'm doing today], like a staus update or a Twitter feed."

And so I did. The following is an accurate description of what I did yesterday:

9:23AM: Sitting in the dentist's office, right outside of Paducah. Waiting for dad's appointment to be over.

9:27AM: Reading chapter 35 in "A Tree Grows in Brooklyn".

9:33AM: Starting chapter 36.

9:43-44AM: Leaving the dentist's office.

9:58AM: Picked up the mail at our old house.

10:08AM: At the post office near South Side Wal-Mart. We got one of those "Abandoned Mailbox" alerts.

[I'm actually kind of proud of the composition of this photograph, even though it's simple.]

10:14AM: Still at the post office. Sitting on a windowsill, pressing my back to the window to stay warm after having to sit in a cold office.

10:16AM: My dad asks a postmaster (like a Toastmaster, only less prone to speeches) to "borry" something. My pride in "family linguistic skillz" has now ended.

10:22AM: A mint for all my/our troubles.

10:27AM: Is in traffic (I almost typed traffuc, because of both the closeness of "i" and "u" on the keyboard (heh, that sounds like a pickup line), and because of my dirty mind) on the South Side, still. Saw a Sarah Palin bumper sticker. Couldn't help but wince, just because, ad [sic] even though I'm in a car with a Republican.

10:34AM: I just discovered I have 666 shots left on my camera. Uh-oh. This camera is quite beastly, though.

10:45AM: Is standing in Books-A-Million. looking at the Fun and Fascinating table, which wouldn't be complete if it didn't have the Zombie Survival Guide.

10:50AM: Well! Looks like I found my next Christmas/birthday present!

11:02AM: Headed to the B-A-M checkout.

11:06AM: "Stories We Could Tell" and "Devilish" now officially mine. I've always thought Leeanna [friend's sister] looked a little, teens [sic] bit like Maureen Johnson (the woman who wrote Devilish). Well, not always, but at least since I've seen her.

11:11AM: Looking at cameras at Office Depot.

11:24AM: At Yesterday's, ready for a delicious burger.

11:54AM: I eated.

12:06PM: Passing your friend Miranda's school, on our way back home.

12:20PM: Told my mom a joke. It's sad when that's the most exciting thing that's happened to me in 10 minutes or so. Observation time: the clouds are pretty over Highway 45 north.

12:47PM: May go watch Spongebob. Yeah. I know. But sometimes it's comforting to set the bar low.

1:04PM: Found this pure moment of 'lol"-related brilliance while browsing the Internet. (Ironic) lol.

1:18PM: Texting Kara. Also, realizing how much an "8" and a capital "P" next to each other look like a cool kid giving you a raspberry.

1:43PM: Listening to music.

2:12PM: Watching various stuffs on YouTube. Dot com.

2:43-46PM: Wonders whether you've dissapeared all day long. You never say anything back, so it's like talking to John Singer. That could be a compliment, though.

3:21PM: Mail time! Fourteen items in my inbox. Bzzz. Make that fifteen.

After I reported all of this over the course of the day, one enterprising friend in particular (her name sounds slightly like "copious") wrote/typed me back an individual text for each one, filled with questions and observations. I decided to play it her way, so I sent her back the following, single message:

I'm going to accomplish a deadly feat right now. It's called replying to twenty-plus messages a [sic] once, and when I drop dead from finger pain (or from saying Rosebud, either way), at least we won't be going back and forth sending twenty messages at once, trying to follow what the other is saying. this may take a while, but here goes nothing (ie- everything):

1) Yes, ma'am. John (my dad) and Marion, in a union that lasted a little more than 10 years. I'll send you a picture of Debbie when she was a mere thing of two or so. She's 34 now.

2) No, just a check-up and cleaning, and it all went fine. if it hadn't, I'd've probably heard haunted-house worthy screams.

3) It IS a good book. I couldn't describe it to justice, honestly, even if I had five pages to write it all out on. It's about Francie Nolan and her poor family living in Brooklyn. All the observations and stuff, it's just so... pretty, even though everything is so desolate. You hafta read it sometime.

4) More than to me, actually. I'd heard it praised so many times, even by people who don't really like to read. And I was shopping at Target in Clarksville, TN the weekend before last, and it was on sale. I snapped it up.

5) Minty goodness!

6) We still own our old house- it's nothing special; we use it for storage. I'd say someone might want to buy it someday, because it's big enough, but it's pretty bad. We want to fix it someday, because we have so much old family stuff there.

7) A grandpa and his granddaughter at the post office. We were right behind them in line.

8) I'm the fairest (skinned) of them all, so I'm always "lookin' for Alaskan" (that's a book by John Green, by the way) climates, but the dentist's thermostat was set on PermaFrost.

9) F.L.S... Rosebu- *collapses*

*regenerates to answer more texts*

10) ENJOY the minty goodness!

11) Keep on singin'. (Until President Obama hires someone to shove a sock down ya throat!)

12) The camera's still a beast, but I took it down to 625.

13) (Good thing #12 wasn't this one; two unlucky numbers at once and all.) The Zombie 'Poco-lips is here before we know it- but I don't appreciate your comment. I know they especially like brainy types, and they judge a man on the size of his brain rather than the size of... you know. If I rely on my ninja skills, like Gaynor, I will survive.

14) For ME, of course. Put it in the mail by the 21st.

15) The books I told you about!

16) I did.

17) We were in a hurry to meet my mom for lunch!

18) Yesterday's is so > than McDonald's.

19) Aren't the schools right near each other? I got accepted there once, but I wound up going to Farmington. I told you that on AP testing day, in case you don't remember.

20) Most are delightful- and you would love them, seeing as you like to draw and all.

21) 8P. That was me, then, by the way, seeing as I'm so cool...

22) Oh, gosh! I listened to so much in between the texts, I'm not sure. I listened to a little mainstream and a 'ittle bit of indie stuff. I think I was listening to some random song by this guy named Graham Coxon. Doubt if you've heard of him, but cool nonetheless.

23) Meh. I like to do things the hard way. :-)

24) Sounds like you were pretty busy yourself. Also, when it comes to the phone charger, and even though I've done stuff like that meself a time or two, "fail!" I'm kidding, of course. Or am I?

25-26) Wow! I feel like I've just done one of those "25 Random Things" lists on Facebook. Hope you had fun on the Great Trash Journey. And *WARNING* don't try to start one of these yourself! I might pass out/get full-blown Carpal Tunnel if I have to type much more!

So, now that you've endured my many "by the way"s, you now have a break down of my non-Bloomsday.

End-of-(School)Year Graffiti Roundup

2009-05-29T16:32:00.000-05:00

At the close of yet another school year, it seems like a plethora of awards are presented every single day. In honor of said-graduation, I'm here to present the awards that I wish they presented at the ever-lasting (literally) Honors Day yesterday. Only, these awards are for desk graffiti. I only have time for fifteen of the "illustrations", though, but grab a seat and prepare for a glimpse of a generation made up of the next toys' and Banksies' artwork.

BEST DECLARATION OF LOVE

While I'm usually never rendered speechless, the only thing I have to say about this is, "Also a finalist in the upcoming honesty category...."

RUNNER-UP IN THE BEST DECLARATION OF LOVE CATEGORY

As far as I can tell, Karlee loves S. Probably not this S, though, and I'm not one to jump to conclusions. However, for an honest promulgation of love towards me, I either give her the main prize, or I get suspicious that she wants brownie points in this contest. And right now, I'm forced to believe the latter.

BEST USE OF FAUX CYRILLIC

Starting off, I know it's supposed to be an upside-down, mirror image style of font, but I decided to write the "Silly Rick" below it because, to my trained eye, the "h" part looks like a Russian Che (and you thought he was Latin!). Still, Cyrillic and Silly-Rick made sense to me at the time, because I used to believe Cyrillic was meant be pronounced that way. Also, I apologize if any of you didn't appreciate/didn't understand my Che Guevara joke.

SENIOR PLEA OF THE YEAR
The Seniors reminisce about another favorite teacher on this table. Actually, the drafting table this was scrawled on was in the Yearbook room, a place where creativity and openness is encouraged, not frowned upon. This is probably why the unidentified student likes their class and teacher so much...

But after all the reminiscing, it wouldn't hurt to have a little something to lighten the mood. Ah, but what is this? It appears we've reached the "Razzies" portion of our Academy Awards!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
WORST TABLE GRAFFITI

Why do I hate this table art, done in a nearby pizzeria? Is it because it's dull? Is it too unoriginal for my taste? Or is it even because it connotes Sexism (and makes me feel my feministic teachings churning inside me)? I may never know the real reason, but I know one thing for sure: it irks me.

NOT-SO-CLEVER CATEGORY WINNER
There's a reason this one didn't win Worst Table, and the other one did; but now I can't seem to think why there couldn't just be a tie in that category.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

After a little comic relief, because no one could look at either of those thinking the people who made them were serious artists-although I must say, the last one reminded me of an Emin sketch. Anyway, back to the "regular" ones...

BEST DISPLAY OF HONESTY

Remember my friend Kara? It turns out, being a friend of the judge doesn't make you ineligible for a prize, and she certainly wins in this category. This is probably a song lyric from some "emotional" song, but it feels like something even the preppiest of kids would want to put in their Flair section on Facebook. Still, that doesn't stop it from being an 'ain't that the truth' statement. While the thumbprint-pressed-in-glue (though fascinating) isn't hers, she did a great job with this one. Also, Kara, thank you for giving me the opportunity to drop a line about Facebook, after which I got to use the wonderful "FacistBook" tag I love so much, but rarely use. You rock.

BEST SHEEP

You heard me. I wasn't really feeling sheepish that day, but I did enter my self in this category, which, unsurprisingly, is quite competitive.

BEST SIMPLICITY
Sometimes, simplicity can say it all. Like Hemingway! (And I'd also like to think that that last sentence, totalling only two words, would please the man in question.)

BEST ERASER
...besides the Thom Yorke album, that is. In fact, though I usually abhor censorship of all kinds, I'm both a nominee and the winner in this category. I merely erased an unsightly strip of black nothingness, because it was, indeed, nothing but a squiggle. In its place, if you can't tell, I left a present for the creator: the words "It all gone now". I made the mistake in grammar and literacy on purpose, in an effort to appeal to my peers, the average Kentuckian and/or
Kentuckienne.

BEST "LAKELAND" ART
It's common knowledge here in the Pearl of the Purchase that we're about forty-five minutes away from two lakes, as well as several rivers. This time of year, people frolic to the "beach", and chalk graffiti becomes popular. Take this example I found last Friday night. It's multi-colored, which helps in the aesthetic department. Also, from what I take, Kelsey applied the principles of honesty, because, in order to chalk it out, she, indeed, "waz hur". (I'd almost give originality points for saying "waz" rather than "wuz", which is how most do it around here.)

MOST TIMELY

It may be patriotic, too, because this artist felt the need to make their subject a holiday, but the big thing for me was the timely part. Time is essential, and it's amazing that a stoner can keep track of time long enough to know when the date actually is 4/20. They probably jolt up when they hear it's the twentieth of a month; only to find out they slept through all of April, and most of May. Still, this kid nailed it down perfectly. If you need proof, I snapped this picture on that exact date. It isn't exactly new, though, is it, so it lost a few marks along the way.

BEST POLITICAL STATEMENT

Is it vandalism? Is it, or isn't it? This wit-in-artistry is worthy of Hirst or Banksy or one of those other YBAs; a wit unseen until the nineties, when the British equivalents to our American Warhol popped on scene. (Hmm. "American Warhol" sounds suspiciously of one of the names in Andy's inner circle: Candy Darling, Nico, Ultra Viole(n)t, etc...) I would personally like to congratulate this artist...

YOUNG ARTISTS' LIFETIME ACHIEVEMENT AWARD- "THE BEST IN SHOW"
... and luckily I can, for she is one of my friends. Here's Becca herself, pointing out some other graffiti that's surely worthy of some sort of honor. In that circumstance, I've decided to bestow it the Honorary Honor. To explain her (read: not the Honorary one) title to Becca, in order to get a laugh, I might say, "This is also what you'd win if you were a dog, but you're my friend. Even though, now that I think about it, dog's are (wo)man's best friends." You have proved that you are no dog with a mind like that, though, dear. Keep up the vandalism- I mean, art!

BEST CAT/BEST ANIME

Wait! We have a late entrant in the "All-Around Best" category, and here I was, a girl who wouldn't be surprised if Becca walked away with it all. I'm already going to give it a dual award, because there were some kids who got five-plus scholarships, so why not give a simple drawing two awards? Then again, I had the following inner monologue: "I'd hate for someone I don't even know to come snatch the crown or trophy out of one of my best friend's hands, but, eh? What if they legitimately deserve it? What else can I do, if it's the definitive best? Maybe I can just declare it "The Definitive Cutest"..." I'd almost still be debating it, but then I realized: If this drawing were a student, it would be the VALEDICTORIAN.

[EDIT; JUNE 2ND: I forgot! More praise is due to Kara for the "Best Bottlecap" category.

Let's just hope the key chain is a lie, though. ]

The Onion

2009-05-24T13:36:00.000-05:00

Here's a poem originally written for a French class:

The Onion
By S. Barrett

The man with the onion head,
Walks over the grass and lakes of a paper world.
He swims in black letters, all different shapes and sizes,
In blue-lined, pale tunnels.
He talks to the pumpkin-headed man,
With the bright orange face and the green Mohawk,
Enough to rival the onion man's green crown.
Pumpkinhead fights and bites through the wire frames of old glasses,
As if they are a black-barred jail cell.
Grenades are grenades, unless they are pomegranates.
Apples are apples, until they are compared to oranges.
But onionheads and pumpkinheads are people now, too.

Paint My Album

2009-05-19T15:55:00.000-05:00

Not to brag too much, but I ended up on the front page of Paint My Album on Sunday. Yep, that Cibo Matto painter is moi; and it's hard not to say I was proud of it, even though some (many? all?) of the other artists are more genius-like at things like these. Still, I thought I'd let everyone know that the hours I spent horsing around on Paint (see TOP, for further proof) weren't for naught!

A Deja-Vu Inducing Literary Experiment

2009-05-17T11:23:00.000-05:00

Yesterday evening, I was online, and I decided to research the emo subculture (don't ask why, just know I had valid reasons for research).I found a woman identifying herself as goth, apparently, and she had, in one of her entries, a widget-type deal. On closer inspection, it told you three different things about your blogging style. Don't think that I've never seen similar tools before- I remember when Jezebel linked to one a little over six or sever months (it seems like) ago. Still, three different areas at once? This was new, and I was game for it.

First, I tried the so-called "Gender Genie". Here are my results:

Apparently, when it comes to writing, specifically on blogs, I am sufficient in the lady lumps category...

...yet when I go to write non-fiction (or at least school-quality essays, because my blog isn't fiction, I know, it's just a less serious endeavor), I am a bona fide (make jokes here at your own caution) dude.

Moving on, I tried another "literary-merit" test. The following is calculated from my "Genie"- identified "female" sample:

I did a retry, though, with this post.

As you can tell, I'm still as self centered (okay, maybe a teeny-bit more focused on the world this time, to give myself a little credit) and focused on the present as ever. But it's a blog for "chrissakes"! I have an excuse- this isn't me trying to redo classic literature, or redo Hemingway or something. Not that Hemingway would need a blog, anyway- he'd settle for Twitter, you know. And I actually have one of those, and I'm still a little in touch with my masculine side- I'm totally becoming Hemingway next!

And, in a moment of passion, I tried the test on both Democrat and Republican blogs, with the following (obvious?) results:

Then again, from a different angle, here are the results from text I tested, written by an unidentified, fellow female blogger. I wouldn't be so shocked, but she was talking about Chick Lit that day*:

I felt extremely jealous at first, as if my writing had been insulted because it had only a touch more femininity, but then I realized how petty and against my principles it was to be ashamed of writing in a feminine tone. Lots of great women- and men who made the narrators of their stories of the female persuasion- have written and told stories that are both entertaining and influential. The reason this is classified as a "deja-vu " moment is that the author Maureen Johnson's most recent blog post (as of my typing this) was also about chick lit, and writing like a girl. To quote her (and her aptness) directly, "... if you want to call me Chick Lit, that’s fine. I’ll just take it to mean that I write like a woman. And there ain’t nothing wrong with that."

*Then again, she used the word "chick" with frequency, and saying "chick" to refer to women is overtly mannish.

Vices

2009-05-15T17:00:00.000-05:00

The cigarettes make my lungs turn black,

And he makes my heart feel gray.

Oh, it's very bad for me, and

My heart breaks if the world can't see,

But I am quite addicted to them.

Yet maybe not as addicted as to him.

"Vices", by me, S. Barrett. It's a poem I originally wrote for a friend.

Citizen Kane

2009-05-14T19:48:00.000-05:00

"It's great, though- I cannot help but think that just because we're kids, we don't understand it now, but we will when we're older.

Sure, it's fragmented, and it's in black and white- but it teaches a great lesson: all that work that Kane put into everything was destructive to other people at first, and then, in the end, it destroyed his soul. And what did he have to show for all his "work"? Nothing. Nada. They even burned everything he owned- turned it into nothing more solid than smoke.

What I mean to say is that it certainly will never be seen as a heartwarming family film, and a few people think it's stupid- which is why it reminds me so much of other good stories, like the Great Gatsby or Romeo and Juliet- but to me, it tells a great story: Don't get caught up to your neck in bad stuff like that. Else you'll end up like WRH- which is the moral of the story!"

-Me, in a text message (I realize I'm sharing lots of these lately) to Becca, explaining just exactly why we watched Citizen Kane in my photojournalism class

Beliefs

2009-05-10T21:09:00.000-05:00

"Huh? I know what I sent, but you need to re-phrase that last part of your question- no joke, and I'm not offended, I just am at a loss for what you meant for the last part?
I guess you just meant "why", and that's exactly why we go, but I only go about twice a year, and you don't even have to look at the priest when you confess. You also don't have to confess to anything you aren't sorry for- and if I'm not sorry for swearing, I sure as hell (that's just for example's sake) don't have to tell anyone I do or that I'm sorry for it.
Then again, I'm not a die-hard Catholic like some, and then again-again, most of my family is/were raised Protestant, save for a few Muslims (!- translating to, "Yeah, I know"), so I feel like I've got a natural predisposition to have mixed beliefs anyway..."
-From a text message I sent one of my friends on Friday, to answer typical questions about churchiness

The Followup Post

2009-05-07T18:38:00.000-05:00

Like any healthy woman should do, my grandmother regularly visits the doctor. Yet, for the first eighty-one years of her life, she never had a regular doctor. It's only been about half of a year since she started going to the doctor, and, because yesterday was her 82nd birthday, she had an appointment scheduled today. She went, everything was okay, and the doctor thanked her for showing up to her followup. (She was almost late, though, because the doctors have been playing musical chairs with their offices after a local clinic closed, and she had to wander through buildings to get to his office. When she finally hunted him down, he told her, quite simply, that "she had passed the stress test". This man is respected in the doctoral field, by the way.)

But I digress. The main thing to learn from this story is, however, that followups are always important. Therefore, I declare this the Day of Followups. This momentous occasion follows another one: me lacing up my shoes and going jogging every other day. I'm ready for this summer to come, even though, being the most curly-haired Kentuckienne you'll ever meet, I dread the humidity. Still, I think my followups are of a more pressing matter.

First, I hope you all remember some of my past qualms with customer service at several chains and franchises (and here, to use an inside joke, franchisii?) known worldwide. Earlier this week (which may've been yesterday, now that I think about it), I happened to jaunce to the local Wal-Mart to pick up some fresh roses for the aforementioned grandmother's birthday. It was great- beautiful flowers, a nice new vase, everything... (This is where I would say "the works", but won't, at the risk of sounding like a member of the male species.)

Everything, that is, until I got in line. The cashier was normal, as was the man behind me. I already had the bags and the receipt when, on my way out, I saw a tragic situation. Now, before we get anything bad started here, I may read Vogue once in awhile, but I am no genuine fashionista. I have nothing on Carry Bradshaw when it comes to outfits and ensembles. Still, I could not believe my eyes when I saw a completely decked-out Juggalo. Look- I've seen much worse outfits at Supercenters in the region, and I know they have had meetings in Cave-in-Rock, which is only about an hour or two away, but I didn't think I'd ever seen a Juggalo- or a Juggalette, as it was in this case- roaming the streets of my town before. I would've gaped longer, and then congratulated her on being willing to dress like that in Conservativeland, U.S.A. Believe it or not, while I didn't appreciate the attire, I know it takes guts to be yourself. And I don't think I belong to a smart generation, or an honest generation, either; but I do think we have the potential to be the gutsiest generation the world's seen so far.

It was then that I realized this was no real Insane Clown Posse "(ghetto) freak"- this was how this person dressed. As in, everyone in her party was dressed with some semblance of "normal", except for her, blue lips and all. I shake my head now and sigh. The things I have the misfortune of seeing at Wal-Mart... The next day, though, Kara had some PETA fliers on her desk; specifically, one about this. I leaned over, and, with clown fresh on my mind, said, "Ronald looks just like a juggalo in that picture."

I think everyone appreciated my irreverent wit.*

In honor of this whole Inane Clown- I mean, Juggalo incident, I believe (spoiler alert) that I will center tomorrow's Taint of Paint around a similar situation. You'll have to get on T.o.P. then to see, though. [EDIT: I realize people can be pretty lethargic, so for all you lazybones, here's the link.]

And, in my next followup, I would like to provide you all with a picture of me "defacing" the theatre in the nearest college-town:
Suck on that, film students (and, in another spoiler alert, I'm working on a T.o.P. about film school, but I have no idea as of now as to when it will be posted). It was a total win for S. Barrett.

*Becca sent me this text message yesterday: "Leeanna says that she loves you and that ure gonna be fanous someday for your creative writing." Let's hope Leeanna's telling the truth!

An Open Letter to a Friend

2009-05-04T17:12:00.000-05:00

An actual email I decided to send to a friend today, after she apologized following a long-standing argument:

I could start this off in so many ways. I could start it with an "Aw!", or something simple like that, but I don't really think I'm going to. I think I'm going to have to do a lot of talking- or typing, as it might be- first.

Okay; here's an easy way to start- I never actually read the whole message you sent here all in one sitting, until right now. I mean it- this very moment. I read it over Facebook Mobile, of course, and over the course of one day, too, whenever I got the time to. I'm only just now
replying because of this- I had to digest it for awhile also, I guess. I know it's been about a day since you sent it, so don't get the wrong idea- I'm not purposefully trying to ignore you and what you have to say. I needed my own time to mull it over. And, finally, I believe I have.

(This seems like another beginning, right here, but it isn't. Just bear with me at this point, because the overall meaning is pretty important.) I don't want to be too deep,and I don't want to get too wordy (I've always had problems with that), but I hope, when I tell you all these things, you'll see where I'm coming from. I'm beginning to see where you're coming from, too, if that helps. So, in other words, prepare yourself for a long story, if you really care about what I'm going to say.

If I remember correctly, it wasn't that long after the whole incident that I was already shaking it off. Moving out of one friendship, in psychologist- speak, and moving on to find others. I just dropped out of that whole situation, and I ignored it altogether. Mom asked me all
sorts of questions, and, if you got to know her any during our friendship, she was a very inquisitive person. She thrived on asking people questions, basically, and that's what she did to me. "Who's So-and-So that your talking to now? Why aren't you talking to Jessica anymore?"
And I won't lie to you at this point, either: I told her everything that had happened. She didn't say much; just shook her head, or something like that. She, like me, just thought it'd be best for me to start hanging out with other people, then, if you honestly meant what you told me. All of
this happened in December, I know, and after all that played out, I was genuinely looking forward to the New Year...

...but I probably shouldn't have. Here comes the sob story, too, but it has a purpose: January of this year was one of the worst months of my life. Two weeks after New Year's Eve- and two weeks after a surgery- my great-aunt died. If that wasn't bad enough, some of my family (the
people that I may have told you about once or twice, at Lifeteen) had to pack up and move all the way from Danville to Washington, D.C. Then came the event that affected everybody: the ice storm. Everyone was cold; or sick; or cold and sick, so I know I don't really have to explain about that... Still. When you think about it, three things like that shouldn't really "ruin a person's life", and they didn't ruin mine. I was certainly upset and bogged down, though.You may not think this has anything to do with you, and you're right. It doesn't.

It has more to do with me, my family, and thinking. When our winter was over, we went into spring cleaning yards, but also cleaning out a house, and putting it on the market. We were busy, and we were still sick because of winter. Someone- I don't remember who- said, "Something has got to change, or we'll all end up going crazy." Easter, and more spring-like weather, rolled around- and we were finally getting stuff done at my house, and at school, and at work, and so on and so forth. Everyone in the family was going through a minor reinvention for the sake of productivity...like you did, I guess. Like I said, it was Easter when it finally got better. That day, it was Mom, of all people, who came up to me again. She suggested- in the spirit of Easter or whatnot- to apologize to you, no matter what. For whatever you thought I'd done wrong, or whatever "rumors I may have spread", even though these situations were non-existent. I wasn't a bully, or demanding, at least to my knowledge- then again, most people aren't really that great judges of themselves.

I sat and thought about it, though. I promise you! I thought, and I thought, and I repeated this several times. I came up with nothing, though- except, again, maybe Alex or Mary or whoever else was a mutual friend had told you something and you were mad at me because of them.
I didn't believe that, though, but I still assumed I'd done something wrong. It was then that I realized, "How am I going to start a text or email anyway, besides "hey" or something, when I don't even know what to apologize for? Forget that!" I did forget it- I moved on with life, too. I
knew that, eventually, one of us would say something to the other, but I had no idea how soon that day would come.

That "day" turned out to be last night, apparently. I didn't get a chance to read any of it until this morning, and I'll be completely honest again; it was a major surprise. What was more surprising is what you said in it. I was happy, but I had mixed feelings. Are you really sincere? It's far from me to question any one's honesty, I guess, and "who-am-I-too-judge" and all that jazz- but, I did want to know if you were serious about all that you wrote. Regardless, I can't really resent you as a person now that I know how you feel. I'll also say that you're right- you could've saved some trouble for the both of us, probably, if you just asked me to leave you alone. I would've, honestly, and I understand the position you were in, somewhat- at one point in life or another, there are just times when you need space from someone, whether it's your mom or
dad, your boyfriend, or your friends. So- I'd've complied. I could always find more people to befriend, or "bother", or whatever- I have proof that I didn't just sit around waiting to give or receive apologies, either.

Yet, I'm glad that we reached this point, even though it'll be a different point than you'd probably like it to be.Forgiveness is slow, especially for someone like me- and that isn't a threat, it's just true. I don't think we'll ever get to be "B-F-omg-lyk-totally-F's", but, in a way, I'll have to accept your apology, and kinda take you up on your offer. Again- I don't think we'll ever be close to that for a while- but, I ask you, were we ever really that close to THAT kind of friendship in the end, if we're both being honest? If you have sincerity, so do I.

I'm proud of you, too, if you've truly gotten to a point where you are happy with yourself, and the things you say and do. I'm also happy if you're being honest to me, and not just trying to get a reaction out of me. I told you how suckish my January was, and I hope that if you were working on repairing the rough patches in your life at this point, you were having a much better time than I was. If you're happy with your change, so am I. I don't know how much I've changed, really, besides my hair, but that's rather superficial. And I'll tell you this much now: apology SEMI-accepted. I'll be thinking, sure... but welcome back.

P.S. for all blog readers, and, no, I didn't send this part:

Look what else I did while I was on Facebook, besides rekindling friendships. I rock:

Prom 2009

2009-05-02T20:29:00.000-05:00

Tonight is, indeed, the night- for prom! The theme this year is supposed to be Shanghai Nights, and this is a picture I snapped earlier in the week, at the place where it will be held. In an odd twist of events, though, prom and the Kentucky Derby are held on the same day, giving people in all corners of the state an excuse to be proud of themselves, and to flaunt any vanity they may possess.

Happy Belated Birthday!

2009-04-26T11:44:00.000-05:00

It's fairly belated. Less like "all of two weeks late"- here's thinking of you, Amazon- but more like four days... It isn't like I've forgotten; I've just been extremely busy- and I know this isn't really a stellar, whiz-bang way to start off a blog.

But this is:

HAPPY (belated) BIRTHDAY KARA!

If I could enable sparkle text here on Blogger, the way you can on Word, I totally would, for this consequential event. I'm sure it all went over well, as I saw her that day, and even presented her with a lovely hand-made card. I wanted to be productive, and my creativity was sparked on a particularly slow morning.

This is unusual where I'm from. We may live in a town with only a little more than 10,000 people, and we may frolic on weekends to the "big city of Paducah", where maybe two or three times as many people call home... but. We know how to have a good time. Just this past Friday and Saturday, I went to said-big-city twice (to the movies and the mall), and stayed up until ungodly hours both nights. Some people hang out at the mall or even Wal-Mart (and, if you read my last entry, you will see that I'm not one of them) every Friday, just so boredom won't set in and loom over the weekend. If you get too bored in Western Kentucky, though, someone will take pity on your poor, misguided soul and try to "show you a good time" as best they can. Someone will find something for you to do; it never fails.

I mean, look at it this way: In Fancy Farm, they invented barbecue. In Wingo, they invented donkey basketball. In Sedalia, they invented classic, humorous sunburns.

This place can go from sorry to the epicentre of cool in five seconds flat. At will.

Take today, for instance: I'm supposed to be going to a one-hundred (100, people) year- old man's birthday event, accompanying my own elderly grandmother. She's about twenty years shy of one- hundred herself, though, I'll proudly mention for her, but she doesn't look a day over seventy, especially when she's smiling and happy and has a glow in her eyes and rubicund cheeks...

[LATER: Here is a mini- collage of photos I made using my Samsung's fairly capable camera. It'll never be XTI quality, but, if you look at the few photos I've uploaded to Flickr at this point in time, it's hard to tell the difference between my phone- made photos, and my Powershot pics. That said, I'd still probably take my Digital Rebel everywhere I went, only A) if it were a tad smaller (for convenience sake; though I understand the bigger the lens, the better), and B) if I could keep it charged for long intervals. Before I drabble more and more, just look at the pics below:

I even titled my artwork, you see! Suffice to say, because it was an older gentleman's birthday, it isn't much like the Pulp song at all. Also, in relation to Pulp, to the two women who looked at me in the last shot: "taking" your picture does not "take" either one's body or one's soul, so lighten up. We're going for "Party Hard" not "Born to Cry".]

But I digress- the point was, there's always something to do, no matter how minor or major. Lately, it seems to be birthdays. Going to one party (though it likely won't be as loud as the mini- party we had at Becca's this weekend), and making cards for another. Speaking of, if you want to read more about the card I made, and the one Meredith made for Kara's back, just look at the colored text below the picture. And, you cannot blow up the picture to a higher resolution- or even if you can- you should visit my Tumblr page, where the picture was originally hosted.

The URL for the Tumblr is "tangled-original-sara.tumblr.com" with a forward slash at the end, but I'll provide a link here, just in case you are inclined to memory loss. I'm not even sure how many people knew I updated a Tumblr in addition to this, my "T.o.P." blog, and my own microblogger's masterpiece- my "Twit- her" account; yet I looked at my profile views for the first time in forever, to use a trite phrase, and I knew only about half of them belonged to me. It's possible people have looked at the "Tangled, original...' page, because any new posts I have on it are automatically shot to Twitter as my status update. My first post on there was about "Pearl", I think, so maybe someone linked through that, but I don't think I have any people going/linking in the opposite direction. However, the length and effort put into each post is greater here than on any of my other web endeavors. Still, in case anybody reading this has yet to find out about my other "Interwebz" accomplishments, I've given you two useful blog/ microblog links, along with two more.*

That all being said, it's been a week since my previous blog, and, unless I went into lots of detail about the two days prior, I wouldn't have much more to tell you. All was slow until the end of the week, a point in time where I had the time to see my friends. Also occurring around this time, though? Amazon shipments came in. I consulted my dad, a man who is smart, even when he's hard to get along with or on the different side of an issue; but even he agrees that Amazon has slowed down because of this incident. I was happy that Thursday night, because I had the promise of new material to watch and/ or read once I got back from Becca's. I didn't get all I'd purchased at once, either. Currently, I have Stanley Kubrick's A Clockwork Orange and the Gilbertified- copy of Ulysses. I've yet to get my P&P&Z, as I'm already affectionately calling it, the way a mother talks to a baby still in the womb. I pulled out my copy of plain ol' Pride and Prejudice this morning, but I can't wait for the zombie additions mixed with Olde Eng-a-land. All this coming from the girl who distinctly liked Emma much, much, much better than any other Jane Austen work.

In other words, please do bring on the zombies, but please don't bring the Swine Flu and madness and wrath of the Oklahoma legislature against good music!

Yes, you heard (read?) me correctly: I'm talking about that 'rock song of the state" issue with The Flaming Lips out in the great OK. (Ir)regardless- sorry, I had to fill the nonce word daily quota just then- of what you think of the band members or their opinions, you have to admit:

Ha, I thought when I found out about it last night. I can't imagine what it would have been like in Dust Bowl Central if they'd picked "The W.A.N.D." It would probably offend people in Kentucky just as much if we had to pick a Kentucky state rock song, though we'd probably end up with any nice little melody by My Morning Jacket. [EDIT: Can Cage the Elephant come in as a late entry? They're closer to my hometown anyway, so it may just be my preference.] Come on, Oklahoma, just accept it. It's a sweet song, and no one will have any qualms with you if you just admit this...

Well, there still will be some of us with qualms. I always thought there was a great display of redundancy on Oklahoma's flag, and I probably always will. I noticed it when we were eating at Lambert's, in Missouri. Of course, this redundancy and undisguised pride was always great when your elementary school teacher said there would be a test on state flags, and the only two you'd know from the very start were your own and Oklahoma's.

Unless your elementary school happened to be in Oklahoma. In which case you were, to put it politely, "s.o.l." Still, you were most likely screwed as is.**

*I'd just like to add that that's only my AuthSpot writing- everything else I publish through Triond will also be under the name "S Barrett". Wow. This is the first time I think I used a footnote for providing something that can be entertaining and useful.

**Just kidding, any and all Oklahoma natives. Now, go on back to the farm and talk to your pet tumbleweed... Oh. I just ended up ruining my "useful footnote credit", after all. (I'm still only joking, 'homans!)

The "O" Review

2009-04-19T10:53:00.000-05:00

A basic sketch I made in a French class that I thought could be related to this. It says "ces" three times, so it's "like" Karen. It kinda looks like her, too, no? Photo by Me, S.

Hold on to your hotcakes, all. Not that kind of "o", before you get to planning a lecture about my secular lifestyle. I'm talking about Karen O, and the Yeah Yeah Yeahs.

Why? Well, let me give you some background info first. I haven't been a huge fan of the YYYs, the way I have been when it comes to other bands; but I remember groggily waking up one morning to their 2006 song "Gold Lion" playing on VH1, and deciding I lurved them on the spot.

For a while there- and maybe to this present day, because I haven't checked it in quite some time- that very song was riding the top of my "Twenty- Five Most Played" on iTunes. It seemed it was always "Juicebox" and it going for the gold. (The Strokes are winning now, and probably will be for some time- even though my music has changed a little, and I've discovered new bands, At one point, I played "Juicebox" sixty times in one evening and night. Yes, you read that correctly. I think I fell asleep through twenty of them, though. It was on loop when I woke up late. Or early, as it may be. Whatever. It's been played, oh, 804 times...). Anyway, Karen seemed like she was cool, and she had this amazing voice, so what's not to love, right? Right?

Apparently, not for me. I didn't actively hate them, I did what most media people seem to think of as worse. I ignored/ forgot anything about them. I knew who they were, of course. I read stuff about them a lot- a Meg Cabot book references O's hair, a Modern Age item, a Spin cover story. I just kept it in the back of my mind. That is, until the Saturday before last.

(Does that sound like a Southern colloquialism or what?)

Remember how I missed Phoenix? I was not going to do that again. Besides, it was a Saturday, and even if it had been on a Monday, it was my Spring Break that week, anyway. If I couldn't go to Chicago like I had planned, or Coachella (we oped for St. Louis instead), I was going to make the most of it at home. Saturday Night Live was my choice. I think Efron hosted that time, too, because the next Monday I heard my minions and peers debating his looks. No, I mean comedic skill. No, I really meant looks. But I was going to be focused on the music, damnit!

I settled in, and watched the show. Later, the musical guest was announced. Speaking of, have you heard of Six Word Memoirs*? Well, alls I know is, when Smith decides to compile a book of six word music reviews, they must include this one: Triple-Ys on SNL. O sang "Zero".

Because she did- and she sang "Maps", too. It was fascinating. I was fascinated with her makeup, the fingerless glove on her right hand, and her leggings, too, to be honest. I'm fixated on finding a place where I can get any or all of the above... O(h), back to "Maps"! What a bittersweet song. When she started in on the echo- like "say"s in the second song, I recognized it, even on my YYYs hiatus. It's a great song, and it was a good live performance, which is just as important. The closest I'll ever get to a Yeah Yeah Yeahs concert? Eye- dee- kay. But was it a pretty good substitute? Heck, yes!

*ALSO: I would like to apologize for giving you a link to Amazon, but it was either that or Wikipedia, where you wouldn't be able to read reviews by the Times and Kirkus and Publishers Weekly. Let me just say one thing here: look. Look hard. Amazon really, really blew it this past Easter, and i don't advocate what they did at all- especially because it ruined something important for me, too. I was supposed to get some books on Thursday or Friday, but, in the aftermath of this, I have to wait until April 22nd for them to even ship. Argh! If that whole anti- gays-and-anti-feminists-but-pro-misogynists thing weren't enough to make me pull a head desk, I'll have had to wait more than two weeks for books I ordered more than a week ago already.

I don't want to reveal too much about my blog- entry planning, but I thought this some I'd write out an opus- length tale of my bad customer service and post it on here on some slow news day. I've had some bad customer service in the past few weeks and months, from Office Depot (The salespeople are hoverers, but I'm not sure whether they think we're all trying to shoplift in there, or whether they want to initiate relationships with us).

To Wal-Mart (There's always something wrong there, from the merchandise to the lines to, sadly, the people. Take today, for instance: aside from two nice former Murray State students and nice elderly people and a former acquaintance popping out of nowhere to talk about her daughters that I went to school with, there were weird, misguided-but-Biblical- minded people, paedos, and a swearing, fighting married couple, who insulted the parentage of their very own, a sweet and charming baby girl. This is pretty much my usual Wal-Mart experience. And that's in a nutshell.)

To Books-a-Million (wrong ring-ups; but that story's for later, as I've told too much already about other stores)... and now this. Amazon will pay for this. Just check out Twitter and the rest of the 'net if you don't believe me...

Liveblogging: The View

2009-04-08T10:24:00.000-05:00

For anyone who knows me... I hate it when people say that, to start a post, article, or book. It seems so commonplace these days in any "literature", but I know I've probably started six or so entries on here with those five words. Today, I resolved not to, but I need it to start this one. You see, if you really new the real me, you would know I have a dirty little secret. I like The View. And this time, I'm not just talking the Dundee- based rock band, though I'm leaving the disambiguation page for you here. I mean the television show. I rarely get to see it, not only because I'm busy at work and with school, but because I'm not part of the stay- at- home mom or 55- plus viewer demographic. But, today, I thought I'd give myself- and hopefully you- a little treat by "live blogging" today's show. Here goes...

10:00- 10:24- I commit my first act of hypocrisy. Already, I'm running around, hurrying to get dressed for another obligation, and trying to set a shower- and- dress- time limit. Can I do it all in ten minutes? Fifteen? The answer to both: an unsurprising no.

10:29- Rob Lowe begins to be philosophical about age and life, but who coming on The View doesn't pretend they studied under Lao- Tse at some point. He ruins it by talking about weight gain, of all deep things.

10:34- Still commercials, mostly local, because I live in the South, and we fill obligated to advertise everything down here. We have cars to shill, malls to advertise, and more cars... not as many drug advertisements as there are at night, either, so I have yet to see Smiling Bob, nor hear his ridiculous background music (background whistle?). I'd like to think if I had my own theme song, I would pick something cooler than someone blowing into an Elf Song®. The only cool "whistling song" is "Young Folks", anyway. Before I get more off- track, I'll say one more thing: there just went the obvious quilt store, Heartland Regional Hospital, and WSIL ads.

10:35- Joy! (And Whoopi, in her little introduction- "her time of the month" was pretty good!) I love Joy, though, because she is a genuine mainstay and key to the real humor on the View. Whoopi is great at getting the laughs, too.

10:39- Great use of the Joel McHale- interview technique. Even better use of the surprise ending!

10:41- Our ex- POTUS and Elizabeth finally act on their urges. I actually executed the "LOL" face at the "real ass" picture.

10:42- 10:46- Comm(unist)ercials. This would be intolerable for me, except for the fact that I just remembered something on account of the Communist/ commercial portmanteau. I was reading a book while visiting my grandmother the other day, when I found a fake glossary at the back. The (American) definition of Communist then (the fifties? the sixties?) was not much different than it is today: anyone who disagrees with you.

10:47- Damn, Whoopi! Another point for you on the humor- count chart. You and Joy are, as previously said, high up there; Sherri and Barbara are middling, because they try to add a serious edge and not just yenta blabbering; and Elizabeth... um. I'll just leave it at those two little letters.

I had to leave shortly after this, so I didn't get around to posting this until later, and I guess I missed the last five minutes of the show. I'm not really going to regret this, I guess, unless I hear they all did a LaChapelle- choreographed dance number; singing in Spanish with cherry bombs tucked between their teeth, but this won't ever happen. Or will it, Barbara?

But I digress. I also didn't post until later because I wanted to give a review of the show, as I promised before. Let me just say, it was great. It ranks in the top three (or four) of the best shows I've ever seen at the Carson. It was based on great material, for those who don't know: Fats Waller's songs. Waller songs are either jazzy or horny, but, most often, they are a mixture of both. Without a doubt, "Honeysuckle Rose" and "I've Got a Feeling I'm Falling" were the best in Act I, and in Act II, "The Viper's Drag" stole the show. Audience involvement + pot= FTW song!

It was all great, until one of those ticket checkers that you know hide under the seats and behind curtains waiting for you to do something wrong suggested politely that I put my feet down, as they were dangling atop the seat in front of me. I complied, because I knew feet- seating is bad theater behavior, but I was still a little unnerved. Of all the people to get chastised, I was picked. Still, I formulated a plan: the Carson Center has some sort of deal where you can get your name put on a gold plaque affixed to a theater seat, as a sort of memorial. Anyway, when the inevitable comes, I want my future offspring or whoever is around to buy a plaque and get it fitted to not the season- ticket- holder seat I sat at, but the seat below me, where my feet rested so nicely this past year. Seat, ye will be missed, I can already tell.

And, in another means of revenge, I took a (low- quality, cellphone produced) picture of the stage with the phone in my lap, and my foot bordering the top right of the frame. Here it is: a memorial for my feet and their seat... I mean, a picture (that looks like a Kountry Kastle jukebox, I know) to go along with the review! Enjoy!

Phoenix's "1901" (A Review)

2009-04-07T16:49:00.000-05:00

I promised a review of Phoenix's "show". I didn't lie. I told you it might take me some time, and I also told you it was going to be a short review, but I had no idea it would be something Twitter- status length: Good, from what I saw.

Good, from what she saw. Meaning, I never saw all of it. In fact, the most I can vividly remember was hearing some good guitar and seeing the flashing of green lights as their final song closed. I had nodded off periodically in between the Presidential opening skit and the performance, at one point even waking up with a crick in my neck. Ouch. It was with this same crick that I hobbled around in a haze, thus missing most of the performance due to my own inability to plan things out. I vowed to myself that I could get on YouTube or Vimeo the next day, and wait for someone with ripping and uploading skill to show me the full performance... so I wouldn't make any biased judgements.

But, instead, I just found a video of the single, and watched it. After all, anyone who I might influence to buy or download the song will be looking at the album- recorded, ninety- nine cent (or free, if you like to save money like I do, by hitting up their website and clicking on the MP3 link) version, and not some live recording from the SNL sound stage. Now, though, I know this will come back to bite me in the arse, when Lorne Michaels decides to cut a deal with Steve Jobs by offering this season's musical guest's songs in a $9.99 compilation...

Anyway, "1901" is a good song by a French band, to keep a long story short. This is, purely by coincidence, the second song review I've done here, while also being the second French- made song reviewed. Confusing, much? Especially if you know my taste runs more towards Sheffieldian (and other Anglo) bands and Athens- based rock outfits. Still, any of my Frenchie- lust (Francophilia, for the word- sorry, linguistical- snobs)wasn't a factor. The first time I heard this song, I made a mental note to re- listen to it later, and it was one of those that was just as good as you remember it. Drummy and laser-ish all once, it has a catchy chorus, and lyrics that sort of make sense- which is a feat for any foreign band, no matter if they're a French band playing in America, or an American band trying to captivate a European audience. Well, Phoenix captivated me with this song, and, if their skill is any indication, I'll give both performance and song five stars out of five.

Plus, the lighting was good, like I said before. If you didn't like anything else, you could watch the light show, the way we had to in elementary school when they put on plays and had to change scenes. They thought I was watching the primary colors on the ceiling, but I'm much more clever than that, Market House Theatre. I know I'm not the only one who did this, either.

My apologies, though, for all who thought I could stay awake to gather enough material to live blog the set. I was just tired after my trip south of the (state) border. I had no trouble whatsoever staying up late the next night, either, in case you did happen to check my Twitter- status. At one point, it read, "Tuned into House last night long enough to hear 'Teardrop"; went "MASSIVE ATTACK!"" And to think, I replaced the brilliant, "Tonight, it’s like I can’t blast “Misshapes” loud enough! And call me Encyclopedia Barrett- Browning from now on. Lifted a bunch of ‘em!" with that. (Of course, less witty 140- character tales soon came after to replace it , from everything about last night's showing of "Easy Rider" to a new copy of Rolling Stone to even shorter Tumblr re- blogs. That's another story, though, for another blog post.)

And, anyway, I at least kept a promise, by reviewing Phoenix- related topics, too. Who knows? When you guys need another review, I'll simply post my thoughts on tomorrow night's showing of Ain't Misbehavin' in Paducah. Hopefully, I can stay awake for the whole of it. I mean, it isn't Market House Theatre, you know.

Recent, Decent Tweets

2009-04-04T21:06:00.000-05:00

In the afterglow of a trip to Tennessee, I thought I'd make my blogging even more effortless (but hopefully quasi- entertaining, too). Tonight, I will share with you three recent (decent) Tweets. And, yes, one will be Cornified, to give away the surprise, but also to build the excitement. Now, are you ready to step into my mind?

There you have it. In the midst of all this sparkly happiness forever, I must say this: I'll probably have a short review up of Phoenix's, what, two songs either tomorrow or on Monday. But I guess I'll have to watch the set first before I can make any judgement, so I'll bid you adieu... for now!

The ChaCha Slide

2009-04-03T22:26:00.000-05:00

There is a literal ChaCha slide... and on that slide, the level of unreal, suspicious wit (or ignorance in disguise of wit) has risen. This rise has made the worthiness of ChaCha rise in the ranks of my heart, if only for a few hours. You see, a few hours later, I asked a question about the lyrics surrounding Deborah, the subject of Disco 2000, and I was given information about Candida Doyle, who is, to my knowledge, a living person, and not made up for a song who's lyrics I needed to know. I guess I should give ChaCha points for combining "female + Pulp member" in their search for info, but nothing beats this next story.

In the midst of Geometry, I found myself bored; to which I say, "quelle surprise"! I like the class better than some people do, I know, but after an hour of it (much less an hour and a half), my brain starts to curdle like a dairy product. Well, not really, but it's natural for me to want to pull out my phone. I was in the midst of texting someone, B, to go all Gossip Girl on you, when I got a "brilliant" idea. I would retest the abilities of ChaCha once more. Right at one in the afternoon, I typed out:

(ME): "What's your take on Cassavetes?"

My answer, which arrived only a minute later?

ChaCha:If you're talking about the director, I think his movies are great! *generic ad about tax refunds*

Oh, Cha. You kill me! I couldn't figure out whether to love the person because they may have caught the Le Tigre reference and chose to winkingly ignore it; or because, despite their ignorance of nineties music, they've watched something by Cassavetes. Then again, they could've always gone on Wikipedia or Google, and typed in "John Cassavetes", and found all this out- but I prefer to think not. The only reason I put that final option is so that no one will corner me later and say, "Of course that's how they get their answers, S!"

I just prefer to think of this person as cultured and gifted in the department of lowbrow humor through ignorance. Meaning, for you simpletons and non- Henry Higgins folks*, I have got to meet this person in real life, whether to congratulate them, or to give them lessons on the Seattle scene, or classic movies. And I will, oh, I will. Just you wait and see. Yet, tonight, I know the more important thing: ChaCha is getting good at this musical questionnaire game. I'll plot something great next time, unless anyone has suggestions. My proposed next question? "What's the frequency, Kenneth?"

*I just re- read some of my tags, and saw that one was Samuel Beckett. If he deserves a tag, then G.B.S. deserves one, as well.

The Best

2009-03-29T20:44:00.000-05:00

I know that this post is not exactly sufficient in terms of your daily brilliance quota, but I haven't posted in a "long time". In reality, of course I've been posting what I find to be a generous amount, and it is my blog, but some people wouldn't agree with the former. I want to please these people. Then again, these are the same genus and species of people who feel obligated to narrate every ten seconds of their lives on Twitter- and I only end up updating it, oh, around once daily, if I'm lucky and have enough time. Valleywag's Owen wrote about that principle- the "living" of your life 140 characters at a time- and its applied use this past Friday. It was very insightful.

But then again, I felt compelled to share with you this already-overshared-today piece of my life- my Facebook status. Well, at least I'm not posting my "twenty- five random things" list here. Wait.

Come to think of it, I never did make one of those, so I may as well start now:

1) OMG, like I luh-uh-uh- uhve "unacones", if you couldn't tell from my "short story" a few posts back. I have proof!

Unicorns exist somewhere, indeed. In my (or, probably Mariah Carrey's) heart.

Rain: A Poem

2009-03-25T21:05:00.000-05:00

RAIN
BY S. BARRETT

At 10:31, when all the other lamps turned to blackness,

Gray filled the sky, with its clouds and rain, and opened,

Drenching my earth, drenching my town,

Washing everything with the everything that is soul.

Not a soul paid attention,

Too involved in Simpsons and Seinfeld reruns,

Or The Phantom Tollbooth, while really seeing their own phantoms-

But, for a moment, I was the only one there that night,

Pouring my own soul out into words,

Like the rain that smears the ground and the windows.

Basketball, ChaCha, and Bananas: The Unrelated Three

2009-03-23T18:22:00.000-05:00

Well, they aren't exactly unrelated, I suppose. But they are more like distant cousins separated by circumstance than brothers or sisters. I will explain, in order.

I trekked up to Lexington just short of a week ago, to watch a great team play, to quote my former Facebook status, "the (w)hornets". (Look, I know an "e" could stand to go in there, but this is not a platform for grammatical debate, now, is it?) It was an exciting game, to say the least (or, to summarize the image above)... and we were beaten by only two points- which, in any world, be it sports or not- is a stunning defeat. Still, everyone was happy, because our team tried. Or maybe everyone was just happy because they were at Rupp, and not having to "waste" more than half a day in the drudgery that is school.

I pick the latter.

That said, I, myself, find myself hungry, more often than not. Way more often than not, rather, thanks to my appetence. So, on the way up, lunch was brought up, and McDonald's was the cure for my hunger pains ("or pangs"). When we rolled up, there was quite a line inside, so, after I finally got my order, to avoid the stares of people questioning my game- day attire, I pulled the typical shy girl move and pulled out my phone. Only: "No New Messages." What could I send, then, anyway? "See u @ the game"- no, too obvious. I mean, everyone was going to be seeing everyone at the game. "No duh" would be the only reply. Then again, was I supposed to text the few who stayed at home and leave a "nanananana, you aren't at the game"- style message? I think not. Then, again, in a sheer moment of brilliance, I knew what to do. Test out my thesis on ChaCha and the way they answered questions.

I was going to be less like a journo, and more like a doctor. I was getting a second opinion. I was re- reviewing ChaCha.

It started innocently enough:

ME: What's the story morning glory?

There was no way in a million years ChaCha could see past me. And I was correct- sort of, anyway. About a minute later, my jeans pocket was buzzing.

ChaCha: Morning Glory is a movie from 1933. Katherine Hepburn and Douglas Fairbanks Jr. starred. Wonderful old story. Thanks, ChaCha!

Cue yet another ad for the Fray. But I have to give Cha a little credit for that last bit: "Wonderful old story." I can honestly say that in that instance, if I were Holden Caulfield, it really would have killed me...*

*Ah! What a clever/ romantic/ witty ending! That's how it would end if I were Carrie Bradshaw, or one of the others, where everything goes according to plan. But then I remembered a promise (and a shoutout: RIP, Plath family!), and it isn't very often, if ever, that I break a promise. So, behold, the Nannerpuss spam!

THE Source of Unbelievable Inspiration. Thanks are due to hamjd on YouTube.

AIR's "Sexy Boy" (A Review)

2009-03-17T15:44:00.001-05:00

Here, I am going to stray from events- related- to- me to events- related- to- entertainment; just so I can give an (almost) Midweek Review.

For those who will ask, or have already been wanting to know... more about Air, "Sexy Boy", or (the very hyped- by- me) Cassius remix. And even though I always say I like indie, alt, or Britpop music the best; because of people like Air, and the Prodigy and Underworld, I have a little section of love set aside for electronic and dance- y stuff.

Air's original "Sexy Boy" (or the Etienne de Crécy and the Flower Pistols mix) feel like something you would dance to in a revamped upper apartment- i.e., the penthouse owned by the friend of a friend of a friend, someone who you don't know; and whom you never would've even met if you hadn't given up your job at a greengrocers in Bagneux for an internship at Chanel five years ago- of the Hôtel Meurice. Did you need to know all that "extra information" I put in? Yes, you do. Like a scene straight from le cinema, or maybe a Lee Howick colorama, a man walks up to you, pale martini in hand, and ask you, you "femme chic", to dance, right as "SB" comes on. So, the two of you do one of those twisty- sways (Chubby Checker approved, only not so dorky) back and forth; him looking dashing; you looking smart in a black lace short dress, trying to pull a Julie- Christie- style- meets- raven- haired- Stereolab- inspired- haircut- and- sixties- inspired- attitude. It's really the late nineties, but if you close your eyes you can will yourself back to the time of Beatles, hippies, Abbie Hoffman, and Woodstock. You can look at it as a game: if you pull it off, you win. And if you don't, at least you had fun for 4: 58 while becoming a naturalized Parisienne.

That may sound like a mouthful of a situation, but that's how I see it all. Yes, it really is just one of those songs. I mean, it doesn't even have words- well, it does, but it certainly isn't loquacious- it just has a laser beat, and this obviously cymbal- produced tintinnabulation that does transport you to Paris. I haven't even geeked out this way when explaining Pulp or Radiohead (whom, by the way, have become one of the most overused words in pseudo- indie literature, as much as I love them). Ever.

But- if you really know my opinions about musical issues... you'll know I started out liking the Cassius mix, oh, a bajillion times better. One night, I recall, I was trolling an XM radio, landing on a Bob Dylan song I liked and then being in quandary over what to play next. I flipped to one of the house- oriented stations, and, rather than hearing another Benassi- helmed mix... Cassius and Air simultaneously entered my life. For someone who had only read about Air (most knowledge came from a book, called "Poseur", and probably a little when I stayed caught up on any Air and Jarvis work- he's worked with them, too! Ah, I'm not the only one who respects Air, then, obviously), it was curiously amazing and mind- blowing and a million other adjectives, especially because I was listening to it in a completely dark room, and i got to have my own, pretend Euro- dance "freak out". It wasn't a dance party, but Air stuck on the back of my mind. Soon enough, I turned to YouTube, to see if the song was as good as I remembered. I wasn't sure if a midnight listening affected my senses. I found out it had. The only "Sexy Boy" by Air I could find was nothing like what I heard, so I just gave up, thinking it a "bad" remix. It only occurred to me later that maybe the one I heard originally was the remix, but I still never even thought about researching it any further.

Until, that is I found a new downloading service, and I was determined to find the songs I couldn't find on iTunes, YouTube, or even songs that I could find, but were only secret loves, and therefore, I reasoned, not worthy of even ninety- nine cents. I had all the songs I wanted, but I racked my brains, hoping to think of some biting, numbing, knock- your- knee- socks off songs that my brain had skipped. AIR, I epiphianized. I got my results, and downloaded three. The first two were standard length songs, I would say- and I mean, that night I heard a remixers- remix, not a Cassius Radio affair- and I played them, for about a minute each. But on the third one, I found gold.

When the Cassius remix first greets your be- headphoned ears, you'll feel like you landed in a video game. Mario, I'd like to imagine, but I don't know my video games as well as I should, now, do I? Anyway, this is how an average person feels hearing it the first time. I, however, was playing it after an (unintentional), winter- long hiatus, and I was browsing these beautiful- but- sad, touching pictures of Pripyat, the site of the Chernobyl madness, so, now, the song will forever be associated with the Ukraine for me, I suppose. I just like to hope this wouldn't be a song they would play for the clean- up workers.** In fact, to slightly "romanticise" the situation- and to crudely "ignore" the ever- important fact that the steam explosion really did happen, I can settle for "pretending" that, and knowing that Communism still fell, and after people left work at their Metropolis- styled factories, they could, I dunno, not go home and "pray" to Stalin, but could go into the city and fight face control for a chance to dance. Sure, it sounds like an off- the- wall scenario, but it's much better than (rightfully, I'll admit) associating the area with death and plutonium 24/7. I know it's a horror story, and I would never, ever try to downplay it, but I would try to be positive, and not pessimistic. Who knows? You could just look at the pictures like a slide show, and have Air as your background music- which is probably safer than dreaming up stories about lives (and former lives) of Ukrainians anyway. In either long, detailed case, I think I've been taught one thing. Godin and Dunckel make music for day- dreamers.

There you have it, now. My explanations and review of Air, and, to quote a satellite radio station, genuine air musique. Air could honestly be classified as a great (chouette, as my high school French book says) band, and that's saying something from a person who's currently listening to, er, Air. Okay- I switched it, but my mouse landed on Richard Cheese. Hmm. I'll put on some Billie Holiday, to give some weightiness to my opinion. And, while I'm at it, I thought I'd mention: if you didn't like my above attempts, that's fine- you got a free peek into my mind. But, if you did... you know, you could always tell me something else you'd like to have reviewed or explained, within reason.

Cause, you know... even if you don't, this Barrett will find something to lecture you about. Cats. Children. Europeans. Nannerpuss- and whether the team wins or loses tomorrow, be ready for a Nannerpuss spam coming soon. Even Ms. Holiday. "Southern trees bear a strange fruit", indeed. Billie, you got that right!

**Is that actually true, that they played music to keep the workers from going insane, anyway? I only just learned of that, but part of me wonders if it's a fabrication. What music did they play, too? I may not even really want to know- in a way, the photos have inspired me, at least in terms of wanting to photograph and value the things around me, for you never know what you might lose. Then again, in a way, some of the photos tug so many heartstrings, I feel... not voyeuristic, but as if it's too melancholy a situation for people to be making arty comments about. NEVERTHELESS, don't get me wrong. Those shots are excellent and well crafted, so take a gander at them, and good on the photog for feeling brave enough to go to the Exclusion Zone, and share those stirring "beauties" with the world!

Discoveries (Featuring Men)

2009-03-16T16:44:00.000-05:00

And just who are those men, you may ask? Well, look no further:

Dashing, no? Although, you probably wouldn't be the first to think the one on the left looks like a hairy Hitler. That being said, the major point is: I crafted both of them this past Saturday, when I was in Reidland, cleaning at our former residence. ** I found the Woolly Willy of my youth, sans magic pen, so I had to wait until I got back home- where I could steal a fridge magnet, and practice my skill. It's sad to say, but you can become a true WW artist if you practice- and I think the picture above- starting with H.H., and going to Mohawk man- shows that. I can't sell these to MoMA, or even the Tate, but surely, there's some market for me. GoMa? Coma, even? Or, if I get confident enough, there's always the option to pull a Banksy.

An image of my old bungalow.

Edit, Around A Half- Hour Later: In parting, I'd like to leave you with something brilliant, but only after a short preface: Whenever I go to that house, I always find my old notebooks and loose math papers and art projects, and I usually laugh at them, and set them back down. This time, however, I too one of the notebooks home with me, figuring that, though I love to write now, it wasn't always the case, and some of my grade school work could use revising. Here, for the first time on a semi- public platform, I will share the first "page" of a short storey. I mean stoory. I mean story. 'Cause, after this, it will be obvious that spelling was not my strong suit...

Prinsee and the Unacone

By S.

One day a prinsee named KC went to the woods. all alone! She past dark tree's. And spokey Bush's.

Maybe I wasn't a good speller, but I was a good psychic. There once was a "spokey Bush" (the one that was in office), indeed.

ChaCha

2009-03-15T19:55:00.000-05:00

I'll apologize in advance for the brevity of this post, but I thought it'd be best to share the news while it was still current.

I was reading a (recently gifted) book today, while I was out of town: Start Making Sense: Turning the Lessons of Election 2004 Into Winning Politics- one of those AlterNet books, you know. Anyway, one of the corporations most often mentioned was Sinclair Broadcast Company; a company that I am ashamed I didn't know more about upfront. Not being anywhere near the Internet, I decided to enlist the help of one valuable resource: ChaCha.

Below, you can read our "conversation":

Me: What can you tell me about Sinclair Broadcast Company?
C.C.: We're rockin' ur question! *The Fray will be on tour this summer! Don't miss ur chance 2 see them perform "U Found Me" & more! Rply SAVEALIFE
C.C.: There are several companies called I Commerce, but one of them has to do with Quixtar. Thanks! *See The Fray! Txt UFOUNDME

No, Cha. Thank you, for not answering my question! I'd like to have a pretend heart- to- heart with you. I mean, it wasn't half as bad as that "Eiffel Tower" accident (Google it, or search it on FAILBlog), but still. You're starting to fall apart, missy. Kind of like my dog, who sometimes leaves me presents, and reduces me to walking around permanently like Elvis Costello in concert. And if you've seen that guitar stance at all, ChaCha, you'll know it's cool, but not if you have to live with it permanently. Which kind of explains my opinion of you.*

*So, um, see you next time I have a direly important question?- S.

[UPDATE ON 5/20/09: Another important question came on April 3rd. I asked, to quote myself directly, "What is the girl's full name in the Pulp song "Disco 2000"?", only to get "Candida Doyle is the female singer from Pulp. ChaCha out!"]

My Own Personal Best Twitter Ever

2009-03-14T20:05:00.000-05:00

I'm pretty proud of this. And to think, I only started to watch the movie (rather than endure "Walk Hard" with the family, because I knew "Born to Cry" was on the soundtrack. It's safe to say Pulp was the only thing that drew me to this movie, until I heard this little gem, ironically about the state of the media. *grins*

Technorati Membership

2009-03-10T18:43:00.000-05:00

Technorati Profile

I said it on TOP, but I'll say it here, now and again: I'm on Technorati now! Plz b ma friend and favorite me!

Me, I say! ME!

G'eagles (Insert An Exclamation or Irony Point Here)

2009-03-10T16:15:00.000-05:00

My hometown- or home-county, depending on how you view the local school districts' reach-(basketball) team is going to play tonight in the finals! If we win this, we'll be well on our way to northern Kentucky, I presume, for the State Tournament.

(And, sorry, everyone. If you were expecting me to go into a witty monologue about my day, or a witty monologue about new bands, or even to make a witty crack about my old dog going crazy on the lawn this afternoon- the only speech I'm going to give today doesn't have "potential Dorothy Parker" written on it anywhere. Instead, it's going to be about sports. And 'lo! This marks the beginning of my motivational speaking career.)

So... even if I'm not a big part of the sport culture, that doesn't mean I don't appreciate a good game. I only played half of a season on an organized team, so I'd probably be more than a little lost if I were out there tonight. A Misshape on the post, if you will. Still, I'm off of the more important issue: Go Eagles! Get out there and win, rah- rah- rah, et-cetra, et-cetra. Just make sure you "do good" on the court, and (here's the greater issue) bring a little bit of pride for this area of the country back to my heart.

Wiki-list

2009-03-09T15:50:00.000-05:00

In lieu of spinning a yarn about this morning, wherein which my mother and I staged a production of "Waiting For Godot" outside of my advisor's office, I thought I would share with everyone the magic that is a Wikipedian story. Note- I did not say factual, Encyclopedia Britannica- worthy entry. I found it last night while researching journalism based topics. Apparently, blogs equal the new journalism, so much that, eventually, you'll be able to win more than a Bloggie for your site. A Pulitzer, even. Well, not if the following is true:

I mean, this couldn't be true. Hawnestly, someone besides me must be reading this. You really can't tell by the comments, but I know you're out there, reading the thoughts of this would be journalist. And then I realize- if I can't quit dragging Wikipedia into this, i won't be a journalist, I'll be a Wiki- list. Which is to say, "yikes!" P.U.- litzer, maybe, but, when it gets to that point, I can kiss my dreams of ever getting a hand on Joseph Pulitzer's $10,000 good-bye!

Annoying!

2009-03-08T10:14:00.000-05:00

Surely you remember my last post, wherein which I regaled you with tales of a Monkeys warbling the same three words over and over again? I found this annoying. Very annoying; in fact so annoying, I didn't think it could get any worse. But it did.

I had just started the Pogues "Sick Bed of Cuchulainn", when this specific player froze. (Man, I'm going to start using my iTunes more.) But instead of singing, "McCormack and Richard Tauber are singing by the bed", the only fragment coming out of MacGowan's mouth was, "are si". I heard this repeatedly, and I literally threw off the ole Apple headphones. But, I pulled them back on a second later, when I listened and saw that my media player was making him sing the lovely, melodic "arse-arse-arse-arse". Wonderful!

Fun (A Review Of)

2009-03-07T19:24:00.000-06:00

This may seem repetitive, but I thought I'd lay out an informative- yet- concise explanation of KY fun.

For fun in (Western) Kentucky:
During the week, go to Paducah.
On the weekends, go to Paducah, go to Illinois, or go to Tennessee.
That is all.

Only, this time, it isn't. We went to Tennessee both today and yesterday, a pattern we've been following for the last couple of weekends. This time, however, we went to Stewart County, to one of my father's favorite Civil War parks. There's no telling how many times I've been there in the past year, but it's always great to go. A lot of people in that area are enthusiastic about the place, and (again) a lot of Nashvillians (Nashvillites?) and people from other big cities come out to be in a more quiet place. And then there are the people who just come to pass through: people from New York, or Washington, or Alabama. I'm sure there are other, more "foreign" places, but those are some of the more memorable ones.

But why do so many people come? My bet's on the eagles. Even today, I heard so many questions about the eagles, I felt like we were becoming eagle authorities. Dad and I and about twenty other people) are regulars to the park, and, usually, these regulars come armed with Canons and Nikons with lenses so long, they would touch the ground if the photog in question leaned over as if to touch their toes. People are wild about getting great shots, and I feel like I have a few good eagle pics to my name. This is probably because I don't use the same camera I've used to take the photos I've posted on here. The pictures on here- so far- are just decent, in my opinion, but none are in the mini- portfolio I've started, and I doubt they ever will be. In time, maybe I'll post some of the better photos I've taken (I SWEAR, I do have better photos in that little green binder!)... but I'll have to yank most of them from memory cards on the Rebel and the EOS I use, not the little Powershot!

It's certainly been dependable, but I'm often more proud of what I get on my "borrowed" cameras. Today, as, at times, clouds came up, I was still able to shoot clear images, even if what I was capturing was a bit silly. But, whatevs! I was there to have fun, make pictures, talk to people... and look at cars. That's right. The car clubs have started again.

The Mazdas were down. And so were- if I'm remembering models correctly- the old Model T's. I think I shot about twenty frames of those, because it was pretty slow on the eagle front. I have one of them all parked, with a kid peeking out a window. Huh. (This may be one of the shots I post to prove my skill. That is, if I don't get slapped on the wrist for not having him/ her sign the model release first! Remember, kids: if you wantz to grow up to be LOLMawdle, you haz to sign release form!)

But that's just a summary of the beginning of the day: and, although it was fun (I mean, come on, even if eagles and birds and the cosmos and flora and fauna aren't your thing, I was out in the sun, turning rosy, and savoring fast- approaching Spring! Winter's almost over, baby!), I got to have more of my kind of fun later.

For instance- the Great Steak Sojourn occurred today, and from Food Giant to the plate, everyone felt happy and successful. It's sad that food does that to a person, but we live in the section of the country where everything revolves around fried food, pork-y food, and having soul(food, not the music or the quality, silly), so I believe it was, indeed, a success, as no one attempted to eat a raw steak in hunger. Or desperation. Anyway, when the feasting was over- no meat on Fridays for me, so I lived it up- I went around blaring Suedehead when it came on XM (or Sirius- XM, so as not to offend). Morrissey can join the ranks of Pulp and Radiohead in my the upper realms of my heart, but it's hard to give other bands/ singers that honor. On my Facebook, for instance, I've listed a bunch of artists, but, even now, there are some I haven't listed, because of recent discoveries, or re- discoveries. Portishead. Kings of Leon (this came after silly jibes at (s)chool). Air (I finally found the Cassius remix I was looking for, in case you wondered). The Pogues- who also equal love, in that Anglophiliac way. Sigh.

SO... that was my day, so far, in so many words. Only time will tell what happens tonight, but I'm back in the Pearl now, listening to downloads- currently, Coxon. I know I'm back on the music subject again, but I thought I'd take this as an opportunity to offer a disclaimer. I've been listening to songs the whole time I typed this, and I bet this already semi- boring, day-in-the-life thing seems more scattered because of it. Especially when one minute you're happily listening to Arctic Monkeys, and then, the next, you're hearing Alex Turner say he "thought is much" twenty times in a row, because the track skipped.

But, you know, I put up with it. Because I hadn't posted since the last of February, and I felt obligated to personally update this thing. Personally, I tell you- on a personal level. By relaying and replaying my day, or parts of it. And, you know, I actually did have fun today, getting away from it all. Or, as Holden might say, "Yeah, I cared for it, really. It didn't kill me, or anything." I assure you, it didn't.

P.S. When I liberally spell- checked this entry (I skipped some highlights- I know Portishead exists, as it is not only a band, but also a town, thank you, Blogger), it still told me my use of Nashvillians (or Nash-villains?) was incorrect. One suggestion? Machiavellians.

Ash...Saturday?

2009-02-28T17:23:00.001-06:00

In reality, it’s Ash Wednesday, but I haven't gotten around to writing about it until today— Saturday. Hence the renaming. As a lazy person, it probably speaks for me that I would rather lay around for a few days—and inadvertently change a church holiday's name—then get right to work on a post.

I mean let's face it. Far more interesting things have happened to me this week than the six PM church service. But not many people in the J.P. are Catholic so the least I can do is offer something informative every once in awhile.

Although... the shot I posted earlier, which has seemingly disappeared, was the only shot I could get of me in my Ash Wednesday outfit. (Outfit? As always, it all goes back to fashion, and I'm not even a member of the FashionSpot, or wherever else the hipsters go to talk about being a Bond girl these days.) Still, it gives you a little taste of what I wore to my reading of an epistle.

Ah, yes! Success! I spent yet another snowy Saturday (and this time, the snow was drippy enough to not stick to the ground) providing, oh, two people with an education. I’m so proud.

"It WAS Raining, But Now It's Pouring Something Else..."

2009-02-21T13:22:00.001-06:00

I'm going to keep this abbreviated, because there's not a lot to say, but... it's snowing again!

More On Movies

2009-02-21T12:40:00.001-06:00

Not moron movies, either. In the past few days, TDBATB has been on Starz, and The Graduate was on TCM. At about midnight, I flipped on the TV and the first person I saw was Dustin Hoffman. The first thing I heard was, naturally, Simon and Garfunkel.

Most people would be tired at this point, but the only big things I'd done that day were, in order:
1. GO TO SCHOOL: Ah, school. The final—or maybe first—frontier of learning. Learn about math. Learn about science. Learn about theory. LEARN ABOUT THE CRAZY PEOPLE WHO EAT OFF THE LUNCHROOM FLOOR!111!!11!
2. GO OUT OF TOWN: There is a joke in the J.P. that the number one thing people do for fun in (the small, regional, and sort of provincial) Mayfield is go to (the not- much-different, albeit-slightly-larger) Paducah. This is true.
3. WATCH OTHER VARIOUS THINGS ON TV: Television. The great box of learning. In fact, in an ironical way, I watched the episode of The Simpsons wherein Hoffman voices Lisa's substitute teacher, and she compliments the man on his "Semitic good looks". I laughed a lot; but I never saw the end of the episode. I had to go off and test the #2 item of the day.

Which means my list was out of order. Slightly.

Anyway, it was great to get in, kick back, and watch a quality movie. And then I thought, "Today hasn't been so bad after all. SHOT FOR POSTERITY!" So I pulled out my Canon, made a shot through my fan, and voila... memento for the day.

Today's memento? A mop and broom. It's wet and cold outside right now, after a little fall of rain, and we needed to clean anyway, as The Plumber may be making a visit soon. Sigh. One can only hope today’s conclusion can be as good and relaxing as yesterdays.

Jokes

2009-02-17T20:40:00.001-06:00

Or at least a place to save one until I can use it somewhere else. (In a comic, perhaps?)

I was just wondering who the Octomom saw when she first found out about her bundle of joy. That’s all.

Interesting

2009-02-17T16:13:00.005-06:00

Interesting for the Cibophiles (and not these kinds of Cibophiles): I had a turkey sub for lunch today. No toppings, except for the mayo someone lent me. Other than that, it was a paltry, "I-has-a-sad" affair.

So… now, on to the meat. (Another bad food pun, in case you didn't notice.) I heard that Chicago was going to be on AMC tonight, as part of the annual pre-Oscar glut.

I suppose I'm going to watch it, even though I could be watching TCM instead (where the whole Oscar affair is usually more revered), but I figure I might as well watch the movie all the way through. The first time I tried to watch it, I fell asleep halfway through, like a direct insult to Rob Marshall. I can’t say whether that was intended or not. But I might just give it another chance tonight, whilst I recover from this cold that has me blowing my nose so often, I look like I have developed a certain habit. Or, you know. I could nurse my faux-habit while watching SpongeBob reruns. Whichever gets me better sooner will work.

{P.S. I included that link not only because it’s a cool idea—but also because it was the first time I’ve seen both of these amazing bands mentioned in the same sentence. The first time in the new millennium, anyway.}

The End of the World

2009-02-16T17:23:00.003-06:00

Okay; it isn’t really. I jest. But in terms of the end of the world, it feels like the J.P. sits right on the edge of our planet.

There is corn—and I mean long fields with row upon row of stalks—everywhere you look. I used to think all of this was dull and boring... but the more time I spend here; the more I see that I don't give this place enough credit. (That still doesn't stop me from wanting to leave sometimes, though. Meh. That's probably just some pent-up teen angst speaking for me.)

But, all in all, the more people you get to know in a place, the more you will grow to like it. And that’s what I’ve thrived on, lately. I’ve lived here my whole life, but I like it better as I get older. I even like it now, after the bad ice storm, because everyone has reached out to help one another. I especially liked it when everyone was being helpful.

Anyway, that was supposed to be my insight. And I was hoping for gold there, but I think I actually did better philosophizing on my Orwell essay today. High school English classes rock.

Hmm. This is my first post, and I did want to start with a bang. Oh, well... you can’t do everything you intend to do, am I right, yes? Oui. Sometimes, it just so much easier to sit around and blast Bloc Party as one browses the Internet.

In conclusion, I guess I'd just like to do a shout-out, TRL-style. Happy birthday, Dad! And good-bye 'til next time.