Knowing the Truth Doesn't Help

I was one of those people laboring under the illusion that Mitch Hedberg died from a heart defect. I learned otherwise today. Does it matter? Not really, just a new wave of sadness.

Screeching toward Bethlehem

So yeah, 12/20 already and the air is heavy, dry. Walking back from stuffing envelopes at Spare Change, I could barely breathe. Life at the moment is happening in stop-motion, like a pepsi commercial but way more significant: the stops are clear but the motion in between's a blur. I'm ok with that, tis the season and so on, but part of me is really psyched for, say, January 27, when it's all over and I'm sitting somewhere, just breathing. Yup, that would be good.

I hate Thomas Kinkade.

Figured I'd add a little vituperation since that's ostensibly the point here: I can't stand Thomas Kinkade, that light-painting bastid. There, I've said it. Well, I should say Kinkade is probably a nice person, but I just cannot stand his work. And then there's this. Ok, now I can let it go.

Pod-caffing

Ok, that title's a reach. But I'm a happy girl: I got a coffee-pod brewer as an early Christmas present (don't worry girls, it wasn't from Brad: he knows better than to buy me any gifts that require an electrical outlet). Now, I like this thing, and all the simplehuman things - sleek, efficient, utilitarian but elegant in a quotidian way. I know, cram it lisa, it's an appliance: there are people with real problems in the world, and you're going on about a damn coffee maker. But I appreciate all these little things I'm lucky enough to have, and everyday things should be fun to use and look at. This is one of those.

No Sleep 'Til Brooklyn

Welp, I put up this blog and now I don't have time to post to it. Where's this purported Lisa-energy going? Baking, wrapping, shipping, holiday hoo-hahs. I thought getting shopping done by T'Giving would help matters, but it just prolonged the season-of-sweating-it-out somehow.

The good news is, during all this flitting about, I've had time to listen to a lot of wonderful and horrible, and wonderfully horrible, music. This is going to offend some of my tender-eared music-nerd friends. So hang on to your OK Computers.

Sometimes, after a day such as this, I turn the radio on. I don't listen to a CD that I know what to expect from: I leave it up to my 93.7, my 92.5, my 101.7 to spin me a little somethin-somethin. Today's mix was a good one: First Matisyahu on 'FNX, which was a surprise, since Matisyahu was one of those things only us chickens know about, or so I thought. (I guess I need to revise my expectations of a major market's interest in a Hasidic Jew singing uplifting songs about his faith in a reggae tempo. Good, I am glad to do that.) Then, Whitesnake. Now, stay with me on this, math-rockers. Sometimes, just sometimes, Christmas means a little bit more. Sometimes it's good to hear a GFCD chord progression and completely predictable rhyme-scheme. Occasionally, on your way to the supermarket, your neurons might start firing to a 4/4 beat, or maybe cut-time, instead of the 6/8 or, God forbid, 11/8 and the like.

I'm not saying I don't appreciate the things you have to work for a little bit: I've spent many a fine evening discussing and absorbing your 'trane, your Bitch's Brew, even your Anthony Braxton. But I've got room in my life, it turns out, for both Glenn Branca AND David Coverdale.

Two-ness and Five-ness

2 modern geniuses (genii?): Ricky Gervais and Robbie Fulks. Over at Clampants there's a link to the Guardian's site, which contains a podcast of Ricky Gervais, Stephen Merchant, and Karl Pilkington mucking about for a half hour. It's stoopid fun. Meanwhile, Robbie Fulks has released an iTunes-only single called "Fountains of Wayne Hotline" which pokes fun at their winsome pop sensibility... FoW site is plugging it so clearly they are amused. Read about it on Yep Roc.

Channel Lisa

I have a lot of energy. I can use it for good as well as evil. I don't know what to do with it, most days. Thus, this.