Friday, January 27, 2012

Jack and White: Cute Overload

My journalism career was a flash in the pan that I usually view with mixed emotions. On the one hand, I was happy to see it go (Hollywood journalism did not grab my writerly ta-tas, if you will). But on the other hand, I sometimes miss being Gretta Parkinson, intrepid girl reporter to the beautiful people. Just kidding. What? Who said that? Did it just get hot in here?

The most fun I did get to have back in my scrivener days was while writing features for Eliza Magazine (super cool project, IMhumbleO) which is helmed by the painfully stylish Summer Bellesa. One of these features was a cover story on Brooke White. Perhaps you've heard of her? She's only, like, the most precious, bespectacled, blondie in the American Idol-alum Sea of Great Talent. And can I just say to you, she is as lovely and pleasant and eye-squintingly shiny as a person could possibly be. Truly! A real treat.

Not that she's had a lot of time these days, what with her music and and entertainment career (Girls With Glasses, anyone?), but this week, she's releasing the EP for her new project Jack and White. Check out their new video for Night After Night:



I'm not going to lie...I'm a little bit of music snob. But let me tell you what I hear: a super sing-able hook and two ultra-blendable voices. I love the way Jack and Brooke sound together—almost like the harmonies are coming out of the same sqwak-box! And I'm pretty in to the indie pop/male-female duo sound myself (what can I say? Maybe it's because it matches my own pipe-like dreams...). To me, these kids are a bit reminiscent of Pomplamoose or the Weepies, but with their very own raw, Jack and White-ish edge.

Check out their Youtube page yourself and give them a listen. Then let me know what you think in the comments. I mean, if you want. It is a free country, after all. Alls I'm saying is, you might just love it so hard that your cheeks get sore from all the grinning.

Thursday, January 26, 2012

Particles of Articles

I don't remember much from high school. Not because I've ever done anything even remotely interesting or drug related. I haven't. The closest I've gotten is watching Breaking Bad. And if real guilt is anything like the vicarious guilt I feel after watching that show, I'm thinking illicit substances probably aren't for me. I don't remember anything from high school because I'm a space cadet with a head full of movie quotes. But I do remember long phone conversations with my friend Brandon. They were primarily nonsense-based, but sometimes I would say a thing—a very silly thing, to be sure—and Brandon would tell me he was writing it down. Was he? Only he and the chickens know for sure. But I've always been curious...what were those pearls of teenage wisdom? And how mortified would I be if I saw them today?

It's not often that I say something I think anyone needs to remember. In fact, most of the time I hope people just hear a muted trumpet sound when my mouth diarrhea starts acting up (which, for the record, is all the damn time). Mine was a chatty house growing up, and it instilled in me the fallacious belief that the things I think should be turned into audible words. The result, inevitably, is ridiculousness and sheepishness, as you well may know if you have spent any time with me at all.

But every now and again I say something that pleases me. Mostly because it's tricky to articulate our thoughts and/or beliefs in a perfectly true and understandable way, isn't it? Aren't we mostly wishy-washy about a lot of things? Maybe you aren't, but I certainly find myself fumbling and mumbling whenever I try to say whatever it is that I really think about something at a certain moment. So I've started writing some of these things down. And by writing, I mean violently striking them out via typewritermachine because what else am I going to do with my incredible typewritermachine?


This is just a start. I mean, I hope. It's possible likely that I'll never have another worthwhile thought again. It's also possible likely that I'll think something miraculous and then promptly forget it. But thinking and remembering useful and original things is a good goal for me, so I'm going to stick with it. At least until I forget.


What are your brilliant thought-nuggets?

Friday, January 13, 2012

Feel the boobies!

My dad is a cancer detective. Watch him talk about yabbos.


Alright, ladies of age. Go get yourselves felt up.

And, you're welcome.

Thursday, January 12, 2012

This post has no unifying theme.

School started again on Monday and I have nothing to offer the Internet but my thoughts on how boring Democracy, an American Novel is. You don't care about that and frankly, I don't care about that either. I care much, much more about what's going to happen in the final episode of the first season of "Breaking Bad". Why, oh why am I so awesome that I had to buy us seasons 1-3 for Christmas?

Another thing I care about very much is this fairly new friend I have. Her name is Leslie Duke Kitterman and she married one of my most bestest friends. At first it seemed like all she was going to be was cool and fun and beautiful. Turns out, she's also a professional illustrator and makes the loveliest art. Treat your eyes to her work at her Paper Wings blog.

Also, I've written the first of what I hope to be many typewriter poems.


My goal for the next ten weeks is to crawl out of my hole more than once and enjoy myself from time to time. It's not as if the Titanic just sank, throwing the whole situation of male heirs to the family estate into complete upheaval. Or like we live in New Mexico. See? There is joy to be had.

Friday, January 6, 2012

Thank you.

You all have been so great at loving Bags. I know she's been overwhelmed with the outpouring of kindness from friends and friends of friends and total strangers. And I was completely blown away by the little miracles that came about because all you people are so good. Thank you, thank you. A thousand times.

Heather's stepdad died today. The family is completely heartbroken. Heather told me that this morning was the  hardest morning of her life. And I wished with all my might that I could scoop her up and hold her tight and drain the sadness right out of her. I wished I could poke her shattered heart with a syringe and extract all the ache and gloom from it. Then I would gather up all the happiness and joy that I could and funnel it straight into her chest.

I don't know a lot of things. I guess at a lot and I hope for quite a bit. But there are some things I believe. One of those things is that death isn't the end for us here on this rock. It can't be. And I think that God—or the Universe, or whoever you go to for answers—is not that big of a jerk. He (or she, or it) loves us more than that. I believe that. I believe that there is more to life than just living and dying and missing each other. We get to love each other, too. And I believe we get to love each other forever.

You can still love Bags. And thank you, again, for the loving you've already done.