in the interest of full disclosure, rob's posting this one.
some people ask me why i don't try out for, or watch aMERICAN iDOL. i give you exhibit A++prime
**PLEASE NOTE YOU WILL BE SUBJECTED TO HILLBILLY PROFANITY AT ABOUT THE 1:10 MARK. YOU'VE BEEN WARNED**
i would also like to say THIS is exactly the reason why the record companies aren't selling any records. they're pandering to her. to people like this. hell, she may be a perfectly nice person when she's not wrapped up in the cocoon of the fictional idea of success and happiness of a dreadlocked hippie white girl, but this is is insane.
... i digress...
the dying music industry panders to this mouth-breathing atrocity, so people who thirst for good music go underground. they go to the dark recesses of the internet to find beautiful, remarkable, inspiring music -- music that the record label won't take a "chance on", until the band's already found a way to sell 50k+ copies on their own. (but unfortunately, those same dark recesses of the internets also shine a dark, sad, doomed light on things like this)
if you'd like to hear another, less-biased opinion, i invite you to read the post from which i originally found my utter disgust and revulsion for the bowels of america.
Wednesday, May 26, 2010
I've decided a book deal would be a great way for Rob and me to assuage our perennial financial distress. Other money-making tactics have proved to be far too elusive. Like, say, being a sign artist at Trader Joe's (which sounds to me like the funnest job EVER) or, you know, my husband getting paid an actual living wage in this God-forsaken claptrap of a town. (Just kidding! LA is the BEST! It's as overcrowded and expensive as New York and infinitely less charming. Loves it!)
So after a night of extensive research (going to Barnes & Noble and looking at stuff), I've decided that the best way to get a book deal without actually, you know, writing stuff is to keep a blog documenting other people's startling and priceless stupidity. Mostly photographically. And then make derisive and bitchy, and therefore hilarious, comments. Observe:
Regretsy. I want to be best friends with this woman. She's like a ridicule ninja.
Passive Aggressive Notes. After living with roommates in Provo for four years, how did I not have this idea?
Cake Wrecks. Things that look like poo and/or wieners are hysterical to me. Because, apparently, I'm a 14-year-old boy. My husband is so lucky. Also, grammatical errors and misspellings are funny when they're in my food and not my newspaper.
I am neurotic. If this had been my idea, I wouldn't have had to bother with submissions. Could have written the whole damn thing by myself.
I need my own idea. Which means I need your ideas. What? If I'm not clever enough to write, like, an actual book, how can I be expected to decide what to write a funny blog about? Feel free to leave your ideas...I mean our ideas...in the comments section.
Saturday, May 22, 2010
Friday, May 14, 2010
Monday, May 10, 2010
Friday, May 7, 2010
See that cute lady right there? That's my mom. I love her because she birthed me, she kept me alive, and she helped me make sure my shoelaces were precisely the same length* before she slapped my bum and shoved me off to kindergarten. She taught me how to read music with flashcards, how to perform, and how to graciously accept compliments when you think you don't deserve them. She has tolerated me in my most intolerable times, like the time I kept her awake all night before my purple belt test because I was too nervous to sleep, or the time I wailed from my bedroom window on Sepulveda Blvd. for someone to "pleeeease help me!" because she'd sent me there for being naughty.
Because of this lady I like cats even though I hate the idea of them and I love dogs even though I hate the smell of them. She saddled me with what is apparently a genetic obsession with miniatures, potato chips, good grades, and wild mushrooms.
My mom is one of those people that has so much talent, it's rude. People always tell you that everyone has her strengths and weaknesses, and you totally believe them until you meet my mom and find out she's a world class musician and painter and gourmet chef and she's brilliant AND she's pretty AND she's nice and her only flaw in the world is that she takes too long to order at restaurants. A flaw which I totally inherited, and which is infinitely less endearing in me.
I'm glad she decided to have kids instead of become a famous violinist. I wouldn't have wanted a different mom. I like being a mushroom person.
*I've got problems.
Monday, May 3, 2010
After about a year of not having a working light in our bedroom, we finally called the land lady and got it fixed. Which means we can have the curtains closed when we're getting dressed in the morning. Which means the neighbors don't get to see us in our underwears anymore. Which means, now, they just might start making eye contact with us.