Finally. made this

and it's lovely.

Understand Music from finally. on Vimeo.

Can't go back. Can't go on.

Trying to get a hold on this.

You would sense that the dearth of action here at desastre inminente may mean that all signs of imminent disaster are gone. There is nothing more inaccurate.

I choose not to spend time on this blog because of several reasons:

• An unfortunate inclination of mine is to treat it like a journal. This blog is amateurish, but nothing's worse than an amateurish blog about feelings.
• I'm not a good writer. There are folks out there who have the knack for describing a sequence of events and simultaneously conveying their thoughts on said events succinctly, without boring the reader to sobs. I am not one of those people.
• Who really cares about what happens to me? Not you. (And that's okay.)

Recent lesson learned:
No matter how many straightforward DIY instructions you find online, do not think you can fix a plumbing problem especially when you've historically never fixed a plumbing problem. $340 later, you'll absorb the importance of this lesson.

Upcoming event:
Milestone high school reunion. I've checked the current "Who's going?" list and I can safely say that I'm the only unmarried gal of the bunch. No apprehension there. Nope.

And the requisite link to anything:
Here is a great remix of the underwhelming comeback single from No Doubt. It almost feels like Diplo wants to force you to like this song by bringing back the Holla that you've missed all these years. I also reach optimum speed doing household chores with this on repeat.

Is there no Justice in futuristic roller foot-lacrosse ball?

Actually, there is. Yes.

Prometheus rising...

Have you seen it yet? No.
It's a little perplexing. Is it?
It's definitely not as good as Aliens. That's too bad. Maybe I'll see it next week.

And...publish.

The more I think about this blog, the more I think about how unnecessary it is in my life and in anyone's life. It is an afterthought. It aspires to achieve nothing and it fulfills even less. It is flotsam in the universe of interwebs.

Yet it continues. Possibly analogous to my existence.

So, did you see these sandwiches?
Want.

The Killing

The fact that I'm utterly fascinated by music videos depicting murder scenes is telling. Or just completely effed up. I suppose visual storytelling without dialogue speaks to me. Especially those depraved stories. It's doubly riveting when I'm already a fan of the music.

Δ - Breezeblocks

Blood Orange - I'm Sorry We Lied

Hot Bodies in Motion - Old Habits

Blue-eyed soul

She's skin and bones, isn't she?
Skin, bones, and lungs.

The power of ginger

I think the singer in this band only eats vegetables.

The Random Adventures of Brandon Generator

Edgar Wright is the pseudo-geeky dude that us geeky girls always had a crush on but could never land because we weren't pretty enough. So seemingly in the same league. And yet, not. Nonetheless, he had me at sex bob-omb.

I think this is worth watching. The music is pretty great, too. But I'm a little biased since I've been a fan of David Holmes for at least 14 years. I'll leave all the interactive stuff to you creative types.

Just push me down

I wear chucks all the time.
Mark Foster's not so bad.
I really like Kimbra.
And I've been known to dream about lucha libre.
Free song, y'all.

Old Flame

Everyone needs a new anthem every few years. This one practically slapped me in the face. And when this becomes an American single and gets its own KCRW acoustic session and finally hits the karaoke circuit, it will be SO VERY ON.

kimbra - old flame

Home is not where the money is, you stupid shit

Q1 2012, for the most part, has been kinda good to me. Lots of catching up with old acquaintances, a bit of travelling, familial obligations, many fun group dinners, and work sillyness (which is thankfully in contrast to work boredom). I even made physical contact with my boyfriend for the first (and god help me not the last) time. But prolonged bouts of good fortune are only for the weak, yes? That's what I've been telling myself since my apartment got broken into on Wednesday.

He She IT, a.k.a. the morally bereft motherfucker, jumped three feet, risking a 6-story drop to the ground, from my fire escape to the itty bitty ledge of my open window. I know it's partially my fault for leaving a window open in this godforsaken town but GOD DAMN IT ALL TO HELL. It opened every box and went through my extremely cluttered desk. It rifled through every dresser drawer with Its greedy hands, including my underwear drawer, because where else would I keep my secret cache of DIAMONDS AND PEARLS? It undid my bed and went through my pillowcase covers, because I can't think of a better place to hide MY FUCKING LIFE SAVINGS. It turned on every light and looked through all of my closets and my bathroom. In the end, It only took a drawer full of jewelry -- most was cheap costume crap but there was a bunch of expensive gifts and several irreplaceable pieces that my mom had left me. And It exited through my front door.

My anger is still excruciatingly palpable. Can you smell it? Nothing is more emotionally withering, though, than the fact that I've managed to lose much of the only material vestiges I had of my mom. Rationally, I am fully aware that I should view this as just a material and financial loss, and not a failure. But my heart sinks every time I think about it. I've succeeded in restoring most things to its usual untidyness and clean off all the charcoal residue from the fingerprint powder. But I haven't touched my bed in days, its disheveled state a 3-D screen capture of the entire incident, and I've resorted to sleeping on my couch since then.

I'm pretty sure It didn't touch my couch. I think.

Home Again by MichaelKiwanuka

Slainte

It's St. Patty's Day, people! It's the one extremely popular holiday that causes me to recede under my comforter and pray for something good on TV!

I'm not one to want an occasion to drink myself into oblivion. (That's what Tuesday is for.) And, unfortunately, I do not possess one modicum of Irish pride. I did try once...last year. I got all dolled up and put on heels and decided to brave a few pubs with a couple of non-Asian friends that can't get enough of this holiday. Although it was fun hanging out, I've never felt so out of place in my entire life. It's actually quite easy for me to feel out-of-my-element in social situations (not proud of this) but jesus henry christ, only one person wanted to talk to me -- a very large bouncer-like black man with sunglasses. (I think he felt out of place, too.) Subsequently, I spent a good two days reciting a Stuart Smalley "I am not ugly" mantra to the bathroom mirror. No worries, I'm fine now.

I wish you all a crazy evening. Party hard but party safe.
Here's some mashup while you ready yourself.

Miss Mix-a-lot.

Back in the 90s, I classified people into two groups: those that made mix tapes and those that did not. Which group were you in???? I used to painstakingly produce the entire affair. What's the theme? What mood do I want to set? Who is the ultimate audience? Does this mix warrant a 60 min or 90 min cassette? My covers would never be a pedestrian list of songs, but a curated and mildly graphic liner note. And I never ever allowed more than 2.5 seconds of dead air between tracks.

Whatevs. This one took 15 minutes. Thanks, 8tracks.com!
I have a few others if yer innerested.

... from pyjamadonna on 8tracks.

NB: I remember being overly fond of a four-tape series I made in college that was named after a variety of cheeses. "Gouda" was especially good.

Portrait of a Family

The family is a curious construct. Blood ties breed the most salient and indestructible of bonds, but they can also weigh down relationships with an intense hostility that refuses to erode by distance or time.

I've so many friends that despise their families so much that they're self-pronounced orphans. I try but I can't really relate. My clan is large and disparate but not (for the most part) estranged. It's not without its own share of black sheep, deserters, rebels, angels, cast-offs, models, disowners, and survivors. I got to see a few of them recently at a shockingly well-coordinated surprise 50th birthday party for my cancer-conquering cousin. There was the usual gaiety, over-abundance of food, and youthful antics performed by the millenials, but this time there was also (I'm gonna get hokey here) a sense of overarching joy — the warmth and fuzziness from being happy to be alive and together to enjoy each other's lunacy company. I genuinely felt really lucky to be there. I just hate the reality that I'm clearly becoming that smiling spinster wallflower-of-a-cousin.

When my branch withers, this family tree would still undoubtedly flourish.
From this I take solace.

feist - past in present

Gold on the Ceiling

The motivation gene. Both of my folks had one but somehow it bypassed me completely. I know I'm a carrier. And i'm pretty sure it lies between the ambition gene and that gene which enables you to take out the recycling and clean out your fridge. Recessive.

This song prompts me to do stuff.

The Fox

If you were to say that Niki & The Dove are not influenced by Kate Bush or Björk, I'd call you a lying liar. I love the fact that this duo exists today in an indie climate awash with frat-diluted dubstep. This video for The Fox has bizarre and stunning imagery from Seattle's Wintr.


Niki & The Dove - The Fox.

I'm not leaving without you

There's nothing like the feeling of getting humbled by a swarm of musical theater folk at a karaoke bar after delivering an arguably passable version of Gaga.

On a faux-holiday.

This year, at least, I averted the despondent loneliness.

RIP

Her gorgeous voice reinforced my love for song during my most formative years...

My trouble comes with bluest eyes

Went to a show last night at a small venue in Williamsburg. Attending gigs like this was such a defining part of my existence back in the day. It was really more than just a hobby but a source of joy. I mourn the fact that this is no longer true but the memories bring me warmth. I've followed these guys since the very first EP and I got to meet the lead dude after their set last night. He's a sweetheart and a cutie. And I found myself briefly reliving my 20s again.

I liked it.

snowden - anemone arms

snowden - between the rent and me

Your soul descent to madness has just begun...

"Black white and blue"...my corporate colors!

Good happenings are extremely rare here. When they happen, it is in my nature to question how I can deserve such happenings, especially when horrible things are happening to people I care about. I am still questioning...but I am goddamn grateful. I received a ridiculous promotion and a ridiculous raise this week...only after three months of tenure. Thank you, manager. Thank you, universe. Thank you, temporary (yet inexplicable) ghost of self-affirmation. Feeling worthy is a state of mind. So nascent and remote.

Irrelevant and mediocre music video to follow. (I like the song.)

All I can do

...is extend my hand. And I know it's not nearly enough.

ray laMontagne - let it be me

Love at first sight

I don't do this, right? Oh god do I do this?
Still,not giving up gin.

Home is where the cable is

When you don't have a lover or a mother's arms to sink into, nothing really compares to the warm comfort of having a sleepover on a good friend's couch. Living alone is freeing but sometimes god-awful.

iron and wine - my lady's house

Conductor

The subway just got played. By Alexander Chen.

Because i'm going to miami...

fink - walking in the sun

Common misconceptions

There are not nearly enough references to Plavalaguna in the world.

Just let it.

A great friend of mine once espoused that feelings are incontestable.

Yes yes fuck yes.

Don't move

All you do is
Shake shake shake
Keep your body still, keep your body still.

They Draw and Cook

Yup. They do both.

Hungry now.

Twinings is a pretty good tea.

I'm gonna keep posting half-ass videos like this until I have something meaningful to impart. But really, my self-absorption is both tiring and tiresome.

I want to buy Jhameel a drink.

The intertubes tell me that this pretty boy is ridiculously talented and they have never been so right. His arrangements for Broken Social Scene, the Knife and Fleet Foxes are sound but his originals are fantastic in their own right. And they're FREE. He deserves many record deals and mountains of money.

Jhameel had me with T-Pain, though. T-Pain!

In a parallel universe...

I would be leading this life.

Bronte

I'm still on my feet

Desperately wanting to drink a case of someone again...despite knowing that I'll be completely eviscerated when I suffer through another inevitable end. How am I still standing? And how do I keep coming back to this?