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