Dude… So What WAS Up With The Boots On Your Feet?

 

I guess we’ll never know.

 

(August 5, 1964 – May 4, 2012)

Fabulosity.

Edgy June Cleaver posted this video on Facebook a few months ago.  I believe at the time she called it “the gayest video ever”.  I’d say that’s probably pretty accurate.  It’s riotously OTT and sort of entertainingly all over the place in it’s references (and I mean, any song that rhymes “hoochie coochie” with “Susan Lucci” and then has a cameo of Susan Lucci in it… well, sign me up!  That’s just fabulous with a capital FAB).  And how amazing is Gloria looking these days??  Good grief.

While she’s not -much to her ongoing chagrin- allowed to watch the video, TLo is totally and completely enamored with the song and has to date (according to iTunes) played it 23 times on her iPod. 

She can sing the whole thing, of course.  That’s sort of entertainingly OTT in itself.

I’ve Been To Oklahoma. But I Definitely Wasn’t Born There.

This is the BEST. SONG. EVER. WRITTEN.

It’s so good, that I actually couldn’t even decide what version to buy.  There’s the well-known Three Dog Night version (have it).  And then there’s the fabulous Ike and Tina version (have it).  Apparently my mom’s favorite local band (Big Loo) used to do a version that she’s actually been known to bribe them with hundred dollar bills to get them to play live (don’t have it). 

And then, of course, there is this:

(Have it.)

 

BEST. SONG. EVER.

(Fine.  I know I said “Kashmir” was the best song ever.  Um.  Whatever. It’s not.  Today.)

Best. Song. Ever.

I ♥ AV Club.

 
Electric Six covers "You're A Mean One, Mr. Grinch"

Sorry, Jake.

 

I have absolutely nothing interesting to say about this.

 

Fortunately, it pretty much speaks for itself.  Because I’m too tired from all the tryptophan to really do anything.  Other than loll around and listen to music from the 70’s.

Which frankly is pretty much what I do all day anyway.

On the upside, I just bought a whole Roxy Music album that we apparently didn’t own. 

I know.  The horror.  I really have no idea how we survived this long without it.

Since Angie A. Beat Me To It…

…and already snagged AC/DC, I’m going with “Shake Rattle And Roll”.  I always did have sort of a soft spot for that psychotic pedophile anyway.  No wait.  That was Jerry Lee Lewis. 

I love Bill Haley.

This is an awesome clip, apparently from a Mexican movie.  Check out the clothes, Daddy-O!

 

Last night we had a 5.6 earthquake, apparently centered directly between me and Angie A.    The house was a-rockin’ people. (Oooo, could have gone with Stevie Ray Vaughn on that one too…) 

Angie agrees that it was probably caused by my blasphemously trash-talking Daniel Craig earlier that evening.

Fine.  She hasn’t agreed with me on that yet.  But I’m confident she will.

Just in case, I take back all the mean things I said about Daniel Craig and I promise to never, ever think bad thoughts about him again.

Well. 

You know. 

Some bad thoughts, of a certain sort, might slip through.  

I am not a nun, people.

Ready, Steady… You’re Old!

I had this on vinyl. 

You know… vinyl?  That plastic stuff they used to put music on? Seriously… plastic stuff. And you put it on this round spinny thing and it made music.  Then we all danced around the cave waving dinosaur bones and marveling at the miracle of fire.

 

Yes.  Back when there were dinosaurs.

 

 

….Top of the POPS? Good. Grief. Seriously? Just let them sing, for Pete’s sake. Sorry. This was the only video I could find…. Top of the flippin’ Pops…. mutter mumble… mutter… stupid tv…. grumble… ruining Billy Idol…. mutter… totally ridiculous… mumble…. lip-syncing… grumble… mutter….

Rave On.

‘K, so I was looking for something totally different but accidentally found The World’s Funniest YouTube Video (As Pertaining To The Word “Rave”).

I think the fact that it’s in Swedish makes it funnier somehow.  I’m not sure why… it just does.  (Which is odd since, as my dad is fond of saying, “Nobody likes a Swede.”  I’m maybe going to have to revise that opinion to exclude these two.  Also, of course, Alexander Skarsgård.

Although he basically looks like, you know, virtually every guy I went to high school with.  This is not a plus, trust me.  Big In Japan may or may not concur.)

I Need A Wall Like That.

I am on my fourth tracing.  Some day, I will actually finish this STUPID TUNIC.

 

It.  Will.  Happen.

 

Even if I have to resort to some form of supernatural power.

 

 

Preferably not involving Mexican radio.    I have a low Mexican radio tolerance.

 

 

Howdy Ho, children! It's Saint Patrick's Day!

No wait. That's Mr. Hanky. Maybe it's Mr. Hanky on Saint Patrick's Day.

We did our SPD celebrations last Saturday night at what was, to quote The Husband, "The World's Smallest Saint Patrick's Day Celebration, EVER."  Having grown up and lived in a place that takes it's Irish roots pretty seriously (rumor has it that Saint Paul, MN was at one point the number two contributing US donor to the IRA, second only to Boston... that's right. They gave more money than New York, people. That's alotta of money. Jeez. WTH?), let's just say I'm used to a little more... shenanigans in my SPD celebrations. This one consisted of about 300 people, mostly really drunk college girls dressed for trouble and really drunk college boys who were absolutely thrilled at the trouble they were finding. Whoo. Hoo. Let the good times roll.

Otherwise, we got to hear the Killdares play, who always rock.  I mean, they have a bagpipe player who, again in the immortal words of The Husband, "Plays to the audience like he's in K.I.S.S. or something. Cooool."  Actually, it is pretty cool.

This SPD I'm on my own. No soda bread. No cabbage. No Dreaded Corned Beef.  Everyone (but me) went up to OKC to go to the zoo (it's spring break for the Evil Monkeys and The Husband has today off so I sort of subtly suggested they all Get. Out. Of. Town. -ahem-  It was subtle.)

Anyway, Happy Saint Patrick's Day, people! Try not to throw up too much green beer. (Wait. Does that only happen in Saint Paul... and, uh... Boston... and, uh... New York?)

He seyde he lovede, and was biloved no thyng

As we all know, so many aspects of our lives are molded by... medieval English poetry.  Right?

Saint Valentine's Day is one of them.  So take an opportunity to say "I yow love" to all your loved ones, whomever they may be.  Extra points if you do it wearing a wimple.

 

Here’s Jackie.  He’s not wearing a wimple.  He is wearing a red lammé jumpsuit.  And moccasins.

Ahhh, the 70’s.

People Have Too Much Time… I Oughta Know

If you live in the United States of America, today is National Fun At Work Day.

I don't think my boss got that memo.

It's also, in case you were wondering, National Handwriting Analysis Week, National Nurse-Anesthetist Week and, rather bizarrely, National Thank A Plug-In Developer Day.  Uh.  Right.  That's at the top of my list.

I have a great love of strangely-rhymed lyrics. (Yes, this is totally apropos of nothing in the previous paragraph. Apparently it's also National Non Sequitur Week.  Fine.  I made that up.  But it should be, don't you think? I like peanut-butter sandwiches.)

This is one of my all-time favorite lyrical rhymes, from the inimitable Rickie Lee Jones:

"Downstairs at Danny's All-Star joint
They got a juke box that goes doyt-doyt..."

"Doyt-doyt"?  Totally, sister.   I hear ya.

Ok, so that is a classic.  But then, there's this:

"Hey Judy, get Trudy
You said to call you up
If I was feeling moody.
Hey little Donna
I still want to.
You said to ring you up
When I was in Toronto."

Seriously.  Anyone who can rhyme "Donna" and "want to" and "Toronto"... that's just genius.   Also, y'know, Canadian… but still—genius.

 

Thank you, Plug-In Developer!

Next week is National Catholic School Week, National Meat Week and National Intimate Apparel Week. Really? Why didn't they just go with "National Fetish Week" and get it over with? Yuck.

I Robot

We keep our iPod set to "shuffle".  We have 3974 songs on it.  According to iTunes, this is 11.2 days worth of music.  We have 6 albums that feature, in some way, Chris Cornell (3 Soundgarden albums, 2 Audioslave albums and 2 Chris Cornell albums).  This totals 94 songs.

And yet we hear Chris Cornell on average, I kid you not, every fifth song.

Even I am aware that 3974 divided by 94 does not equal 5.

Our iPod is obsessed with Chris Cornell.   I fully expect it to subscribe to a fan club any day.

Junk.

 

Do you 12-Step?  I don't.  It goes against several fundamental aspects of my nature.  Still, it seems like not 12-Stepping can make turning over a new leaf more difficult.  I mean, it’s hard to form a Help Group for the Fundamentally Anti-social and Smugly Superior.   Sort of, y’know, oxymoronic.

Mrs. Little Hunting Creek recently wrote a stirring testimonial about her addiction.  This made me laugh (because I always laugh at addicts-- I'm cruel that way).  Just the day before, I'd been in the midst of sorting and refolding my fabric, towards the goal of rearranging the studio (see Resolution #2, 2011).  I was quite proud of myself for having divested several yards of (perfectly good) fabric and making quite a bit of space in the storage cubes.  I said as much to the Husband. 

Then I informed him that very afternoon my mother had told me a good friend of hers was cleaning out stash and wanted to know if I would be interested in her "vintage fabric".  The Husband was visibly derisive and snorted, "Pssht. Yeah. Ask the addict if they want more heroin." 

Sadly, I came to the conclusion that there was little I could say in response.  Except, "Uh. Yeah."

More heroin, please.

I don't 12-Step.  I can 2-Step... if held at gunpoint... and forced to drink a whole bunch of tequila.

I didn't say it was pretty.

Fluff.

I don't watch Late Night. In fact, I don't know that I watch anything on network tv. However, I found this both funny and sort of impressive: Jimmy Fallon (as Neil Young) and The Boss (as himself) singing Willow Smith's highly-annoying "Whip My Hair".

(Sorry, can’t embed a copyrighted clip without the commercial at the beginning.)

That's one good impersonation.   Which I realize is a somewhat dubious distinction, but still... gotta hand props to Jimmy, right?

edit: I did look up the “History of Rap” and it was funny!  I love Justin Timberlake, he never seems to take himself too seriously.  I might have to start DVRing “Late Night”.

So Maybe All Of Life’s Problems Can’t Be Solved By YouTube. Maybe.

You know how sometimes you’re looking for something, some indefinable thing, and you just can’t seem to find it?  That’s how I’m feeling lately about… almost everything.

I didn’t find what I wanted on YouTube.  I did find this, however.  A pretty darn good clip of Ike&Tina.  You always gotta love Tina (not to mention those crazy backup singers, those girls are workin’ it).

I did spare your delicate sensibilities from the horror that is a clip of Tina on “Shindig”.  I mean, really?  White girls in go-go boots?  Glenn Campbell on guitar (that is Glenn Campbell, right)?  It’s sort of like watching Aretha Franklin on the Lawrence Welk Show.

You remember the Lawrence Welk Show.  “And uh-von and uh-two… everybody polka!”

Lawrence Welk was from North Dakota. 

We’re so proud.

 

(Ha.  I shouldn’t be ugly.  North Dakota has every right to be proud of Lawrence Welk and virtually every other 19th century pioneer who managed to survived a winter there to go on to do… well, just about anything.  You made it through the 60-degrees-below-zero winter with all your fingers despite living in a sod house and having no food?  You deserve commendation.  You play that polka music, dude.)

Mod-Not

I heart me some Modwear.  Seriously.  I mean, I stopped watching Project Runway halfway through two seasons ago and I’m actually almost sorry because I missed out on this guy:

And of course the anti-social rebel in me felt compelled to create a mod dress for TLo’s school uniform.  Because that’s exactly what school uniforms need more of: Mod.

In that vein, I attempted to make this dress for TLo.  It (technically) conforms to the dress code: sleeves, collar, solid color.  Right?  RIGHT?

Unfortunately, in my brilliance I decided to not (as recommended) use felted wool but instead use a slubby sort of linen-lookish cotton that I got... from somewhere.  (Probably from Fabric Mart in that bundle of stuff that included the Anna Sui Harses-Harses-Harses border print and the surprise pink dotted-swiss voile.  Just guessing.)

Anyway, I made the dress very specifically not from felted wool (and given that today –two days before Thanksgiving-- it's 81 degrees outside, that was probably not an unreasonable decision).  Which is fine.  Until I realized that one of the reasons felted wool was probably a good choice for this dress is that the ruffles on the collar are unfinished.  Which obviously works fabulously in felted wool, but not so fabulously in cheap linen-lookish cotton.

Oh, the humanity.

This tragedy might have been avoided by simply overlocking or zig-zagging the edges of said ruffles... except I didn't have any orange thread. And wasn’t about to go and buy some.  I could have used the white thread I used on the rest of the dress, but it would have really stood out and possibly made it no longer so “solid colored”.  So I didn't attach the ruffles.  Which immediately begged the question, then why make the dumb thing in the first place? 

I know.  It's a good question.  A mod dress with no mod ruffles... is just a plain boring dress.

I did make an orange fabric rose pin to stick on the front, thinking it would at least add some visual interest.  But it's too heavy and droops in a very unbecoming manner.

Hmmph.

Here's TLo, not particularly looking fabulous in said ruffleless dress.

Plus, she wouldn’t wear the white go-go boots.

I've decided Mod is not good for us.

But here’s a Mod-ish blast from the past… if your past includes early 90’s Canadian hip-hop.  Mine does.

 

In our next episode: BurdaStyle... apparently they think we have monkey hands for feet.  It's the only explanation for their belief that assembling this dress is possible.

Today

Today TLo asked loudly (at the crowded skating rink), “Mom, how old are you?”

To which TBO replied (in a bellow), “She’s 53.”

 

Thanks.  No.  Really.  Thanks.

 

Time for some music.  Unfortunately, watching this video makes me feel… about 53.

Good grief.  Baby-faces.  Remember when you were that young?  It’s slipping away from me.  But then, apparently I’m 7 years younger than my own mother.  I probably have some kind of dementia.

Love Bits… No wait, “Bites”

Google “Def Leppard – Love Bites” and see how many hits you get tagged “Def Leppard Love Bits”.  Seriously.  It’s pretty entertaining.

Did you know that Def Leppard -collectively- hail from Yorkshire?  I like to bring this up periodically in conversation with The Husband.  Because it irritates the crap out of him.  And I'm the kind of person who feels compelled to irritate her husband.  It’s for his own good.

The Husband will claim that Def Leppard annoys him because they're "a bunch of untalented wankers who couldn't get real work, just like the rest of us".  In reality Def Leppard annoys him because they were a bunch of untalented wankers who couldn't get real work just like the rest of them and proceeded to make millions of pounds selling records.   Which means many, many people must have liked them.  Many, many old people.

This is for Angie A.  She’s one of those old people.

 

And Angie A, you inspired me to write a poem:

Emo Is Dead

Emo is dead.
Get over it.
And get a sense of humor
While you're at it.

What, you’re like twelve, right?

Sheesh.

 

Hmmm…. I think “Emo Is Dead” is a great name for an all-girl punk band.  Feel free to use it for your next musical venture.  No charge.  A gift from me to you.

 

PS The brilliant verse above isn’t about Angie A, just in case that’s what you were thinking.  Well, because for one thing, she’s not twelve.  I did say she was old, right?  Right.  (heh heh heh… Ang, you’re still younger than me, for what it’s worth.)

People All Over The World

 

People.   Some days you just need to listen to "Love Train".   Or even better: watch it in a dance line on Soul Train.

 

(Did you see Re-Run?  Seriously.   It was Re-Run.)

 

Edit: Just to reply to the ever-lovely Kris O’s question (and to completely ignore Angie A’s attempts to convince herself that she is right and I am wrong, which she is not and I most definitely am… no wait… am not… uh… wait… what were we talking about?)  Oh yeah, Kris O’s perfectly reasonable question was “Have you ever done a dance line?”  To which I reply in a high-pitched shriek, “Are you out of your flippin’ mind!?!?”  Er.  Which isn’t, you know, entirely the appropriate response.  I do realize that.  To rationally answer her question I would say, “No.  No I have not.”  I might also add, “I would rather burn all my shoes or eat mud than agree to such a thing.” 

Did I ever mention that I have sort of a moderate case of social anxiety disorder?  You know, as bravely portrayed by Social Anxiety Poster Boy, Donny Osmund?  Yes.  Me and Donny.  We are so similar.   We are, in fact, both a little bit rock n’ roll.  But we don’t like to go to parties and, you know, tell people about it.  Ditto on the line dancing.  Although, it’s possible Donny would actually like this activity.  But then, Donny can dance.