Monday, August 21, 2006

Love musis

Lest you think all I do is walk my dogs, I'd like to tell you about how I have made good on a vow I made earlier in the summer: to see more live music, or, as my too-fast-typing sister refers to it, love musis.

The flagship show of the summer stills remains the best: Jenny Lewis with the Watson Twins, at my new favorite LA venue, Spaceland, which is in Silverlake just two blocks from the apartment I should have moved to but didn't know I'd be offered a job downtown that would have meant like a 15 minute commute instead of the 45 minute commute I drive twice a day from all the way over here on the westside. I tell myself it's okay that I didn't move to that very cute, albeit amenity-less, apartment because one of the amenities it lacked was parking so Spaceland, instead of being my new fave venue for rocking out and cheap pool, would've been my new bane because parking would suck so bad every night there was a show (e.g. every night) I'd be bitter neighbor Starpower instead of rocking-out, pool-playing Starpower so all in all, it was a great show. I'm just saying.

Later that week I went to the Dreadful Hollywood Bowl to see The Shins and Belle and Sebastian. It was not fun because it was too much of a pain in the ass to be fun: driving home to WALK THE DOGS (shees, can I write a post without mentioning them?!) and then all the way out past my then workplace and into dreaded, dreaded Hollywood--naturally the home to the Dreadful Hollywood Bowl. Let me be clear: Hollywood doesn't suck because of its weirdos or street performers or hookers or movie premieres or general vacuousness (which is far worse in West Hollywood, anyway). No, it sucks because it's so hard to get to: not super close to desirable freeways and always much further north on stupid La Cienega than you ever remember needing to go. Blech, Hollywood. Which is pretty much the mood I was in by the time we got to the Stupid Hollywood Bowl and had to stupid park at Stupid Hollywood and Highland and stupid walk and in the shoes that were clearly a bad idea and then wait in line for the one stupid beer you can get and still be a responsible driver three hours later and oh how were The Shins? I wouldn't know. We got there too late. I fear I like Belle and Sebastian less because of the stupid venue. That and Stuart Murdoch's theatrical application of and purposeful smudging of mascara to better illustrate a particular song's message. Nothing against dudes in make-up, but definitely not down for theatrics at a show. Stupid Belle and Sebastian.

A few short days later (this was "show week" which immediately followed "Grand Canyon long weekend") I went to the Troubador in West Hollywood to see Built to Spill. I have been a fan since 1994 and have seen them several times. Allow me to say that I LOVE Doug Martsch. Should I ever be lucky enough to fall in the kind of love that makes you want to get married, I would likely leave my husband for Doug Martsch. I say this for several reasons and by several I mean one. He's mesmerizing, absolutely mesmerizing. For every single Grateful Dead show I was lucky enough to go to, for every Phish concert I ever saw, I always, at one point or another, got bored. At Dead shows it was invariably Space/Drums (ugh, 15 minutes later, enough already!). For Phish, it was always some rabbit hole they'd fall into mid-song. Needless to say, I was very happy once they'd find and work their way out--often with some fabulous crescndo that made me happy again. But Built to Spill, or Doug Martsch, rather...that guy can wail on guitar for twenty minutes and I am rooted to the ground watching with rapt attention, wanting more, not less, and wail is the absolute wrong word because it is something entirely different: more language than sound though it has none of that weird my-guitar-sounds-like-it's-talking crudeness, no. It's not like he's even communicating with the audience so much as communing with his guitar and we're, it just so happens, standing there, watching. So yeah, I'd leave my imaginary husband for Doug, my imaginary boyfriend. I don't want to tell you about that show because, setlist-wise it was not the best I'd seen and, musically, their new album is far from my favorite but I have to tell you my love for them has become fully-realized this summer, like the boy next door who suddenly looks hot as hell even though you know he looked exactly the same way he did last summer there's just something different and maybe it's you and maybe it's him but does it matter, really?, because there's a great blue sky and breezy breeze and the sun is just so and don't forget the tall trees and the ocean and it's all like a daytime buzz and it's all perfect and I'm not sure when it happened but I think Built to Spill is my favorite band.

That's it, no more writing. I'll tell you about Mates of State (missed'em, too late)/Spoon/Death Cab as well as The Like/The Sounds another time.

Friday, August 18, 2006

Hi, I’m the Joneses.

Be it far from me to EVER brag about myself, but I have noticed something recently that—though others may not know it—casts me in a fabulous light. A trendsetter, if you will. A Grassroots Fitness Movement Maven, if you also will.

It all started out simply enough; yet another attempt to shut my damn dogs up when I walk them in the park. I thought [hmm]:

  1. The Dog Whisperer says exercise is the most important thing for dogs
  2. He also says to distract them when they’re about to do something you don’t like, like barking at other, far more well-behaved dogs with owners who think you--or at least your dogs--suck

I thought some more [hmm. hmm.]:

What can I do to distract and exercise my dogs? Then it hit me: run them instead of walk them! So, mid-walk one evening, I started to run and, attached to me by leashes, they had no choice but to follow. Heh.

So we’d run. Did I look like a jackass running in heels and a dress? Totally, but in sort of a dog show kind of way. Did they (and “they” is usually just Mr. Shortpants) stop barking as they ran past other dogs? Totally not. But we passed them faster, so the offense was minimized. Yes! Did my ankles and knees benefit from this running-in-heels-at-worst-but-still-supportless-flip-flops-at-best? Nope. So I adjusted. I switched the running to the morning with full running gear on. We go a little farther every morning (by like two feet, but that’s a lot for dogs with legs 4 inches high).

Aaanyway, since implementing our new little exercise/shut-the-hell-up-already regimen, I’ve noticed my neighbors have begun to do so as well. People who used to hardly even walk their dogs so much as stand in one place for minutes on end now come out with sweats and running shoes and take their pooches for a little trek down the bike path JUST LIKE ME.

It’s heartening to realize that this whole time I thought they couldn’t stand me they were actually just waiting for a way to emulate me.

Sigh. I am really the fucking best.

Wednesday, August 09, 2006

SOMEONE's gonna be grossing $50 more a month!

So I should let you know that I quit my job (read: WOO-HOO!!!!) because I got a new job (read: woo? hoo?). I think the new job'll be great and all, it's just that it's going to be a real job with a real commute and I'll have to wear respectable clothing. Ugh.

BUT--I'll get to be the boss of someone! They'll have to answer to ME! Mwa-ha-ha. No more stupid busywork for me, no sirree, because that'll all be passed on to my (heh heh) UNDERLING--the one bringing me decaf soy lattes and picking up my dry cleaning. I can't wait. I think I'll really shine the light to a brighter future for UNDERLING. As a boss, it's my job.

I'll still be a good time, though. I'll be one of those cool bosses, the one that can hang, the one that--during happy hours--lets it all hang out. Should there be a Welcome Starpower Happy Hour--and if there is, that will be my suggested title for it--I think my just-one-of-the-guys behavior will show that I am not just above you professionally, I'm beneath you personally as well. Something like this.

Wednesday, August 02, 2006

Another reason I'm awesome is...

...that I'm sooo cutting edge.

Tuesday, August 01, 2006

Which means more? Reputation or wack conviction?

So I wonder if Mel Gibson's career will be ruined. I don't think so. If Woody Allen is out making movies while making out with his one-time daughter and if Michael Jackson still manages to have hoards of fans worldwide despite too many things to list here, then Mel's despicable drunken display will all too soon be forgotten and he'll be back from his doubtless-publicist-mandated stint in rehab in no time. I don't think this is acceptable, but I think that's how it's going to go down.

It begs the question, though, when Mel does make his inevitable come-back in some hero role where he's so charming the (non-Jewish) masses forgive him, is he going to be grateful and pleased that he regained his career or is he going to feel defeated to discover that, gasp, the Jews don't own Hollywood after all?