Redunkulous's Last.fm Journal

Feist note triumverate!

Wed, 16 Jul 2008 01:05:15 +0000

Last one about Feist, I promise. (This is very clearly a lie.)

Concert - July 13, 2008 Checklist

*Cheering for Canada: Yes.
*Broken Social Scene songs: Yes - one line of Loverspit and another one I didn't know.
*Just about every song from The Reminder: Yes.
*Let It Die, Inside And Out, Mushaboom: Yes.
*Anything from "Monarch (Lay Your Jewelled Head Down)": No. =(
*Merchandise purchased: Yes - a pretty tote bag and tiny buttons!
*Spanish understood from Argentinian opening act Juana Molina: Minimal. =\ I am rusty.
*Laughter: Yes.
*Tears: Yes.
*Ecstasy: Yes.

In short: OMG.

A note: Reprise

Mon, 9 Jun 2008 07:47:10 +0000

So Feist pretty much sees into my soul. That's What I Say, It's Not What I Mean? Good Lord.

My excitement for her concert is reaching levels where it cannot be quantified.

If she sings Open Window (the wedding song), I will probably die - on the spot - an obscenely happy woman. Feist + Sarah Harmer is like the recipe for aural immortality. In Canada, anyway.

I have now excited myself so much that I doubt I will be able to sleep. Redunkulous.

Just a cage of rib bones and other various parts.

Fri, 23 May 2008 04:42:42 +0000

It's generally accepted that when something's in a fragile state, you don't mess with it.

It's also generally accepted that I am a dolt and never give myself time to become unfragile.

In exactly how many ways could this ruin me?

We are just breakable, breakable, Breakable girls and boys.

A note, featuring Feist

Thu, 22 May 2008 00:05:17 +0000

I've been thinking a lot lately about the proper way to handle Past In Present. It's that fascinating and almost always soap-opera-worthy phenomenon where, when everything in your life is going swimmingly, something or someone crops up from your closet full of skeletons and tests The Limit To Your Love, your devotion and essentially your resolve to leave them, indeed, in the past.

Sometimes my Intuition will let me know when my particular harbinger of PIP is going to crop up. It's a little tingle, a tiny lurch, a miniature red flag that pops up and says, "Danger ahead; fasten your seat belt and get the chocolate ready." Unfortunately for me, there's almost always Brandy Alexanders or some cocktails involved when this happens, causing me to rush right past the Gatekeeper of my sensibilities into trouble's open arms.

Being Lonely Lonely (even when I've no good reason to be) is the unfortunate character flaw my PIP chooses, sometimes wittingly, I think, to exploit - if there is one thing it knows, it is How My Heart Behaves. I Feel It All- the laughs, the sighs, the bitter promises of things that could have been. Call me nostalgic, call me touchy, call me emotional, even - but unfulfilled potential makes me a bit damp around the eyes. And so I let myself fall, for just that One Evening (or perhaps two, if I'm really being a lush), into my Secret Heart of hearts, into that cubby hole of memory where I'm not So Sorry, like I know I will be in the morning.

"Well, that doesn't sound very healthy," you say. And you know what? It's not. I know, and have known for a while, what I should do. What I need to do, because it would be better for me, both Inside And Out, even if the "out" part is ostensibly only my tear ducts.

I need to Let It Die. The Reminder of it is almost too much to bear, let alone when it's PIP. It's the actual doing so that's the hard part.

But I'm going to try. I'm going to Let It Die. That way, if it ever comes back, it'll be a zombie and that will effectively prevent me from having anything to do with it - I hate zombies. You're dead, you should not be able to sprint. Simple as 1234.

P.S. Feist ftw.

On why blogging is hard and how I'm not reeeeeeeeeally back-peddling, am I?

Fri, 4 Apr 2008 18:13:23 +0000

To say this is the first time I've sat down to rattle off some more nonsense since my last post would be a gross lie. Many such stabs at composition have been thwarted by something or other (mostly by my falling asleep mid-sentence, since most of these attempts occur in the obscenely wee hours of the morning), the thoughts in my head getting lost on the synapse highway and never quite making it out of my fingers and onto the screen.

I could play it off as lack of inspiration, but that would also be a disgusting falsehood. I've had so many half-baked ideas lately for fun (ie ridiculous) posts - why Journey is simultaneously dated and timeless, how David Bowie brings people together (or at least how Flight of the Conchords' Bowie Song does), or how when I'm tipsy, Britney's Toxic is suddenly not so awful.

Now that I've put all of those out there, I doubt I'll actually write any of said posts (except the one about Journey - the world needs to know). I will, however, share the startling revelation I had while the Today Show was on TV at the laundry mat this morning.

I've come to terms with the fact that despite my hang-ups with the cast, I'd really like to see the new comedy Leatherheads. Anyone who's seen O Brother, Where Art Thou? knows that George Clooney + comedy = brilliant (I am of the opinion that anything + George Clooney = brilliant, but that's just me ... and about a bazillion other ladies), but Renée Zellweger's been downhill for me since Bridget Jones' Diary, and I've already touched on my issues with the character associated with John Krasinski. I'd touch again - bow chicka wow wow - but I have soapbox tendencies. (Soapbox Tendencies would be an awesome band name.)

During a promo interview on the Today Show with J. Kizzle - that's when I had my epiphany (an entirely mental bodily function, even though it sounds quite the contrary). At first I rolled my eyes as he was talking, but then I realized I was doing what I hate all fangirls (and fanboys, too - fanpeople? Fanpersons?) for doing: refusing to separate the character from the actor. Ergo, I watched the rest of the segment with fresh eyes, and was thrilled/horrified to discover that John Krasinski is smokin' hot - and intelligent to boot.

I immediately confessed my inner conflict to the gods of the silver screen and boob tube - how could someone who plays something so bad be sooooooooo good? Would I have to recant all of my previous malice for Jim Halpert? After agonizing internally (it lasted for all of 30 seconds - but it was intense agony!), I decided that no, I would not have to change my soapbox stance or retract any of my Office rants. My beef is with the character, not the man behind it! (Make your own joke about the "man behind it"'s beef here.) Jim Halpert is deceit; John Krasinski is delicious. Jim Halpert is lies; John Krasinski is lickable. (I don't know this for sure, but would be more than willing to find out, J-Kras. Have your people call my people.)

Lesson: watch the Today Show more often. A hotdish post of half-baked ideas wasn't such a bad thing. Don't be surprised if I take the easy route from here on out.

Love of the Week: Maroon 5

Thu, 20 Mar 2008 04:20:55 +0000

Let's talk for a minute about sex. Just for a minute! It'll be painless and I promise we'll do it again. (Wow, that sounds ridiculously (in?)appropriate in context.)

Some people just have that certain something that makes them ooze sex out of every pore. It's not premeditated, they're not trying; it just happens. Everything they do looks like it should be accompanied by a porn soundtrack (not the "Bow chicka bow wow!" kind, either), and they turn knees to water by just walking down the sidewalk. Adam Levine of Maroon 5 is one of these people.

It certainly helps that the pop-funk sound his band produces is irresistibly danceable. The lyrics of their songs are sometimes sensual, sometimes sorrowful and always awesome. The combination of the throbbing beat, the murmur of things like "All alone with the negligee that still hangs above my bed" in Back At Your Door, those penetrating eyes and those chiseled cheekbones all culminate in an undeniable urge to layer on some skanky eye makeup and say, "Yes, Adam Levine, I will let you take me into that dark corner and do things that will make me unable to look at myself in the mirror in the morning." It also makes me want to go out and buy another negligee. You know, just in case his bed wants a little variety.

On why winning streaks rule and some stereotypes are okay.

Tue, 18 Mar 2008 09:03:03 +0000

A handful of occurrences in the past 72 hours have left me feeling ... oh, let's say "empowered." In the months-long stretch of essentially feeling useless to society, this refreshing turn of events has reminded me of my worth, both to myself and other people. I'll be the first to admit I don't kick ass at everything, but I do, in fact, rock at a little of this n' that.

And so, in my perpetual pursuit to make my life more cinematic, I've decided I need a theme song. Once all the starving children in Somalia have their iPods and I can obtain one, I will need sweet notes in my ears to accompany the wind blowing my hair into my eyes and forcing me to trip over the sexy-but-not-trampy stilettos I was strutting my stuff in up until that breeze came along. The choices, of course, are myriad. Do I want something strong yet still feminine, like Peggy Lee's "I'm A Woman"? It suggests independence and domesticity simultaneously; it declares "I will kick your butt, then cook you dinner!" It wears an apron, but a sexy one with flirty ruffles that skim the top of its stockings.

Or do I want something stronger, something more insistent? Something unapologetic and suited to those of us born of jackals, like The King's "Trouble"? There's no doubt about the message here - "don't you mess around with me," because I will school you so hard your mom will feel it next week, mofo! It's rough and lazy; it says "Screw you and your dinner." Its apron is leather, and it's got a riding crop instead of a spatula in its hand.

Anyone that knows me will tell you I'm a strong proponent of debunking certain stereotypes (do not get me started on Disney movies and Jim Halpert from "The Office"). But you know what? The femme fatale is a-okay with me. Here's a woman who knows who she is, what she's capable of, and she will destroy you by doing it. There's something to be said for morals and all that, but the emphasis here is on a woman knowing what she wants and getting it. It's wielding her power effectively, the ultimate "work with what you've got," and that's awesome. For me, "Trouble" is the embodiment of the femme fatale - strong, sexy and vicious.

It was a femme fatale kind of weekend; I hope it keeps up. After all, if you're lookin' for trouble, you came to the right place.

On why I'm bothering and don't care about offending you.

Fri, 7 Mar 2008 21:25:20 +0000

Whenever I'm posed with the "Would you rather be blind or deaf?" query, I always answer quickly, definitively and assertively: blind. It's not that I don't appreciate a colorful Hawaiian sunset, a parade full of loud (and tacky) floats or a lovely shirtless boy; I do. I just find that on the whole, the auditory is a much more integral part of my life than the visual.

I am wholeheartedly of the opinion that life should be a musical a lá Rogers and Hammerstein (it can be achieved! See that episode of Scrubs if you don't believe me). Even though I am the last person on the planet to not own an iPod for a walking soundtrack - seriously, they're giving them to kids in Somalia now - I have my own little song scheme running constantly. My high school English teacher (who is cooler than yours - I will fight you to the death about it) once shared a quote with me about how you bring your own history to a book and read it on your own terms. Music is the same way. One song - Falling Slowly, for example, since I just saw "Once" and am totally in love with its soundtrack, can mean different things to different people and I love that. Completely polar realities meld into one melody, even if it's just for three minutes.

This has turned out wholly more serious than I expected it to be; it's really just a convoluted way of saying that I wanted to blog about music and the thoughts that it inspires in me occasionally and I'm too lazy to start a real blog. I have enough trouble with one. (Yay shameless self-promotion! Expect lots.) Inspiration is an infrequent visitor lately (you could say I've got life block), so I want to latch onto it when it happens.

No one will read these on accident or anything, anyway, so I'm not worried about offending anyone. (Not that I was anyway. Whatever.)