Wednesday Giggles

In honor of the dearly departed Olympics

Video Posted from Olympics's Gallery on Takkle.com

I love the puff of chalk. Its the perfect finish.

In Other News

I have a few more update type tidbits that I would like to share in a disjointed and unrelated manner:

- I'm currently obsessed with Eddie Money's "Take me Home Tonight"

- I went to a midnight party for Breaking Dawn and read the thing and was barely not under whelmed. On my Awesome Scale* it got a "thumbs up" and barely that. The highlight of the night was my friend winning a Twilight poster much to the verbal disappointment of a sea of teen girls and seeing him give it to a deserving awkward and grateful one.

- I'm still enamored with Greg Laswell's new album and Patrick and I are seeing him at The Hotel Cafe again this Friday. We're also seeing Mandy Moore on Saturday (don't laugh! her new album is actually non-cotton candyified and very good. She dated Greg for a stint too and he rubbed off. Thankfully.) and Rogue Wave next week if you're in town and game.

- Temple dating during the early stages is a bad idea. It gets you too close too fast and you end up saying things that you didn't intend or want to say and you both end up running a bit scared. Wait for a stint -

- I remain addicted to the Olympics but them Chinese are a bunch of cheating knaves. Nastia was robbed and gymnastics judging and scoring is BOLOGNA!! That Chinese girl,whatserbucket??... He - she is NOT 16! I'd put that on .... something valuable and meaningful.... my membership to the Huntington Library! Yeah!

- The Huntington remains to be one of my favorite places ever and I'm proud of myself for sharing it with people. I used to be a bit selfish in this respect but I've decided anyone who is willing should go and I will take them.

- Michael Phelps is - erm - how do you put it? Ah ---- HOT! Who else can go from absolute dork, to sheepish bashful, to fearfully fierce to flaming hot all within about 3 seconds? Mr Phelps, thats who. Love you Mikey! Thanks for being 'Merican!

- I'm still disgusted Pres Bush took the liberty of a bootie pat or two with the women's beach volleyball team. Head shaking disgusted.

- My car is making funny noises

- I, and a few others, moved NaToya down to San Diego on Saturday, sweated profusely for 7 hours straight (Seriously. 7 hours. Two gallons of water consumed. Didn't pee once.), put a table and bed together, and didn't break a single nail. Who is an awesome domestic and beauty goddess? Moi!

- My September Vogue got here last week and I am one happy kitten. I've been pouring over it and finding a lot for the "It Would be Nice" file

- I had a massive girl attack yesterday and fell in love with a ring. I think my unswerving 21 year devotion to my Tiffany ring might be compromised a little bit. I just glossed past the ad in my Vogue five days ago and yesterday the image came careening from the back of my subconscious and hit me square on the interior of my frontal lobe. I went home at lunch, found the ad, tore it out and it's currently in the file and out of drool range. I'll just say its a Caressa piece and looks Elvin. Buy the magazine to see. It's worth it.

- I'm liking Michael Kors and Gap of all things best this season. They have some new designers on the job and you can tell

- I went to the optometrist and my contact prescription for both my eyes have worsened by one whole point in the last year. If I don't get a non-computer job soon I will end up, not only childless but blind and bitter as well.

- I'm going wakebording for the first time in my life over Labor Day weekend with my brother in Utah. I'm excited. The only anticipatory images I have of the trip is me being dragged and skipping on my stomach behind a speeding boat and hanging on for dear life, burbling and trying to keep water out of my lungs as I go. It sounds sort of fun and I can't wait to see my brother. It's been 7 months. WAAAAY too long.

- I've transfered my records back to the single's ward. I was being teasingly accused by certain someones that I had given up on the YSA program by going to the family ward and after some thought I realized that certain someone was right. I've shied away from Institute and Firesides at a regular pace. I don't connect with too many YSA types and I'm constantly afraid of burning out the ones that I do. AND, on top of that, my interests go outside of movie nights, Denny's trips and volleyball and most YSAs don't. That's a grossly unfair generalization and I've realized that. I can't deny how much more fed and strengthened I feel after church in this singles ward as opposed to the family ward I'm in. So yeah - I'm going to make my last year go out with a bang.

- I've also decided to change my hair. Drastically. I've been debating this particular change since I was about 12 years old and I think I finally have enough gumption to do it. My beautician cousin will be doing the honors over my Labor Day Salt Lake City trip so many surprises will be found when I get home and I'm excited. Pictures to follow.

*pinkie swear promise*

* Liz's Awesome Scale
5 - Exploding High 5
4 - High Five
3 - Thumbs Up
2 - Thumbs Down
1 - Raspberry, very spit filled raspberry

Nhime Ahheinteen

"Nhime ahhein teen by murrf daye do taye"

Does anyone else remember Kermit's "Frog Prince" and the princess who couldn't speak correctly and sing that song she sings when it's your birthday? Yeah - me too. Or maybe its just a dyslexic kid thing.

*reminder* start at 6:30 or so

You know its been far too long since you've been on Blogger when the interface is totally different from the last time you were here.

HI EVERYONE!!!

Sorry I've been in a self imposed cone of silence, bloggily speaking. It's been for a mixture of reasons and circumstances but I'm here now and that's the material point is it not?

Things are as they ever were. I'm mainly in the thick of thin things, happy thin things, but thin nonetheless. I've been in a media coma of sorts. There are so many blogs and books and albums to get lost in to distract you from the hard things in your life. One could disappear for years if they wanted to. I always pull my cards a little closer to the chest around my birthday. I get introspective and pensive, a bit self-deprecatory and even sometimes a little panicky.

I've suffered a birthday curse since I was about 16. Things usually melt down in some fashion or another and tears are usually spilt. Mine, my mother's or both. So, for the last 3 years or so I've tried to either ignore the fact (which I'm rarely allowed to do. Mom thrives off of ceremony. One year she wouldn't stop ranting till a cake, a candle, some blowing out and a song were in play so we found a bagel and dinner taper candle, lit it, sang and there was end and mom was placated.) or have something low key.

When I've left festivities up to mom in the past it usually ended up with a scavenger hunt for microscopic bottles of saffron (Rachel - testify!), mountains of bread, backwards meals (ie: dessert first and soup last). Meals that Babette would envy mind you, but backwards nonetheless and a general fluster of angst and non-birthdayness.

This year I was a bit scared because not only was it a birthday but I was turning 30. Yes, I am 30. I'm OK with it. It's a bit of relief. It's not this social grim reaper looming outside my car window every time I pulled up anywhere and behind me during post-fireside over-refreshment introductions. It's here and the reaper isn't so bad. He has a good sense of humor and doesn't mind dishes.

Yes my ring finger does feel more naked than it did before and I did have a mild nervy b at the temple the other night when I took to heart a comment a medical type person made informing me that after 35 a woman's chance of a complicated pregnancy goes up exponentially and I realized I only have 5 more years to have a family and even if I did I would be ancient and retired by the time they got out of high school and I had just blown it. I also dealt out a good deal of censure for waiting so long to get serious about settling down. Not that I've never not been serious about marrying and starting my family, but I've never felt any urgency either. I dunno, it was an interesting session for me. Had I been anywhere else it might have been an absolute meltdown instead of the nervy b that it was. So yeah - my womb is shriveling as I type and there seems to be very little I can do about it...

Back to the birthday -

Mom got to throw a party. I specifically instructed her "No themes. No sparkles in any form, no maypoles, no costumes". I know my mom, these limits were necessary. If she could have looked up skywriters she would have. Toya went ahead and made a 4' maypole (which I adore in my heart) though. We went to my favorite mom and pop Indian place. Invaded would be a better word I think, all 25 of us commendeered 3/4 of the physical space and all of the emotional space the place had. Half of North India was in full garb and having a wedding in the room next to us which made the night that much more fun. It was one of the best nights of the year for me.

My favorite thing to do is nothing with my favorite people. Add some garlic naan and some funny stories and the Celestial Kingdom can't be far. Not *all* of the favorites could be there, they're scattered across the US and the rest of the world for that matter, but the ones that made it were fantastic. Patrick got everyone telling their favorite Liz stories (and if you have one I'd love to hear it). Wendy recorded the ones that were told there and is threatening to YouTube them, and if the world wants to hear about my Irish accent exploits at the Getty and loosing my glasses and calling in stupid to work, by all means - tune in.

It was a marvelous night. I really think this one broke the curse. I think I might be in the clear for normal birthday times from here on out. It wasn't the road trip up the 1 in a convertible Mini that I was hoping I'd do for my birthday, it was better.

Mom got all my favorite white flowers and made these sprawling centerpieces (sorry about the stinky lilies again Rachel) and there were mylar balloons and yummy gourmet suckers and glow sticks and noise makers and mint chutney and friends and friends and friends with nothing but love and stories and smiles and giggles. It was amazing. It was a night that could have warmed anyone's heart, naked ring fingers, shriveling wombs and all.

How can anyone feel sheepish and defeated about turning 30 with so much love around them? I don't know. I really don't. I am a blessed and amazed girl and if I could adequately tell everyone in that room, or those who wished to be there, how much I love them and how much it meant to me that they were there and giggled along with me I could. But I don't think I can. I get all glowy and warm inside just thinking about it.

And present speaking I got art, tea, books, tea cups, smellies, blogging programs and gift cards galore. All the things that I value, treasure, and love.

Avatar on DVD would have made the night unreal and you've got to leave something for Christmas right?

Viva la Appa and happy birthday to me. :D

Wednesday Giggles

Inconsistent and a bit late but this is WORTH IT!!!
No spastic satirical camera make outs this time - I promise.

Just Joss Whedon's newest project, a much needed Nathan Fillion appearance, and some awesome comic book storytelling.

It's a bit long so make sure you top your soda off and your boss is at lunch.

The sync is a bit off so if 'its driving you super crazy here is the direct link.



AND

yes yes yes - this is a two-fer special today -

I've been in a Demetri Martin mood this week and it's been a while since I've featured the bloke so....



Culture is attracted to squiggles!!

(I knew it!)

The Space Between

I love music.

I always have.

It's been my best friend/boyfriend/life coach for many a year. It's is one of those things that helps me feel a little bit less lonely when the feeling creeps up.

I'm a huge fan of live music and especially of live music by the singer/songwriter types. I'm a puddle for an honest piano and literate lyric. Consequently, one of my favorite places in the entirety of LA is a little place on Cahuenga called The Hotel Cafe. It's a music club that’s a singer/songwriter zone only; little, intimate, quality and 1000% awesome.

I love it. I'd work there if I could, for free even. That way I could be there chronically, frequently, and often. This last Friday one of my favorites was playing. Greg Laswell - he was releasing his new album (Three Flights from Alto Nido - go get it right now right now. You'll thank me and bless my future children. Buy them trusts even. It's that good.) and he was having the release show & party there. Needless to say, Patrick (my partner in musical crime) and I were some of the first people in the door.

Greg is awesome. He’s been on my iMeem list for the last year and a half but I hadn't seen him live until the Hotel Cafe Tour show in April. I was a bit nervous to see him because sounding good on an album is one thing, and I really liked his album work, but I bank my love and devotion on live performances. He totally delivered. He's money, absolutle money. He's a rare bird and on the favorite list for this reason; he's a brilliant song writer that is an honest performer. It's a transfiguring experience to see him perform. You just get sucked into the song, launch, and hover above yourself and your life for a few brilliant minutes. It's indescribable.

I know I'm getting caught up in Lizisms, sorry....

Def:
Honest Performance -

I think there are a lot of amazing songs out there that aren't necessarily honestly performed. Ex: Jewel. She’s an amazing writer, but there is a dissonance between the sobriety of her writing and gravity of her meaning and the uppityness of her music. read: me-no-likey.

Contrastingly, I think a perfect example of someone who is completely honest in writing and performance is Tori Amos. There is total union between her music and her poetry in my opinion. There are myriads of others too but shes the first one that comes to mind

I mean, there are bad songs that are honestly performed. Like, I totally believe that the Pussycat Dolls really did want to drive nice cars and have boobies when they grew up, I could just give a damn. Usher really DOES want to make love in that club, but like I said....

Back to Greg-
He is beloved because I think about his stuff. I see his images and relate them to things outside of my iPod. They harrow ideas and memories out of me that typically I don't take out. And sometimes I swear he has peeked into my brain because so many of his images and ideas are intimately familiar to me. Especially June bugs.

**btw: This blog isn't an attempt to get on Greg's street team, I just can't explain the "Space Between" epiphany I had at that show without this slight background**

Patrick, myself, and a few other friends who share our neurosis about meaning have debated over his songs in the past and our current email discussion was regarding one off of his EP, "Salvation, Dear". We all had different ideas where he was coming from and why and were all kind of locked in the folded arm "I'm right" stance.

Q:How awesome is this music if it gets 4 totally different people recreationally discussing meaning?! That don't have the English major reflex like me?
A: very.

Back to the show -

When we were walking in from the valet Greg was coming around the corner and simultaneously Patrick and I thought, "There he is, lets ask him about it!"

Not "ohhmigoshhohhmigoshhohhmigoshh - It's Greg Laswell, maybe he'll sign a CD. " No, we wanted to talk about lyrics. We're geeks. We know. We own it. We love it. That's what family is about.

He was trying to get situated for the show and stuff, but he was insanely cool and stopped and listened to this 6' 4" red head and chubby brunette burble on about speakers and POV and motivation. He was really excited to talk about it too - more cool points. Actually Patrick ran the approach and I joined when it looked like a discussion and not just an over the shoulder hallway conversation. I was trying to be respectful. First rule of LA culture: don't harass or approach the talent. Anyway, I don't think he was anticipating the fire hydrant of questions Patrick and I had.

And honestly, it's an intensely personal song about not being ready for a relationship and our questions were along the lines of "Why weren't you ready? What were your reasons for turning away happiness?" and he gave a polite non-revelatory answer like "I wasn't ready for something and she was so I had to let her go" and that was about it. Then he went on to let us know that his guitar player was about to go on and thanked us for coming out etc.

So as we were walking away Patrick said "Well that explains everything" and I said "What are you talking about? He didn't explain a single thing."

And in all honesty, if two complete and utter strangers had came up to me and asked me to spill my guts about an amazingly painful time in my life I'd start talking about the weather and conditions of the roads as well.

What was fascinating to me (more than the song in question obviously) and what I was in my head about the rest of the night, was the difference in idealistic space crashing together in the physical space between me and Greg. It was like this 18" wide weather system of realities. This was my first time meeting the guy and shaking hands and discussing his work and all that. As a fan I had this really solidified idea of him that I had gleaned and pieced together from his music. What his life has been about, what he must think, his candor about his experiences etc. But seeing him there (he’s much shorter than I imagined) and hearing him speak to things and getting that other 90% of human communication of body language, was someone completely different.

He went from Greg Laswell the idea or voice out of a box, to Greg Laswell, the whiskey drinking guy that forgot to wash his shirt that morning (because he did). There was this precious space between my understanding of the guy and what he wanted me to understand him as that crashed and meet in the foot and a half between us.

The relationship between artist, art and viewer has been debated since the beginning of time, I know. I'm painfully unoriginal, but it’s such an experience, such a mental deflowering, but not in a bad way.

I wasn't let down at all or disgusted by his not knowing me as well as I felt I knew him or being as open as I hoped. That he didn't connect with me like I had connected with him. I mean, I wanted to know why he wrote that song and what he was thinking, but after 30 seconds i knew he wasn't going to really tell me. He was a genuinely pleasant and awesome guy, patient too. Patrick and I have to be quite an experience and getting blindsided by one of us, much less both.... well - it takes a champ.

I'm sure artists deal with that disadvantage of perceived intimacy all the time. It’s got to try your sense of reality after awhile. I don't envy them a jot but I am grateful for ones like Greg.

The show was phenomenal, swelteringly hot, but worth every lost electrolyte.

Seeing Elijah Wood at the valet, Evangeline Lily at the bar and actually briefly meeting Dominic Monaghan was icing on the night.

Man I love LA, and despite it not being very comfortable, I love the Space Between. It keeps me alive you know; feeling, thinking, and wondering. That's art. That's what it’s all about and it’s a realigning experience I hope to have over and over again.

So - see you at The Hotel Cafe next week?

Wednesday Giggles

OK -

So over at Best Week Ever one of their bloggers found this hilarious yet disturbing video that is supposed to be a Converse ad but it didn't work too well because I could only watch about 15 seconds of it.

So they decided to help the millions of Internetites out there and publish this
How Not to Kiss short and it made me laugh like a laughing loon




The whole schpeal is here if you're curious or if you just want a good laugh there you go.

Wednesday Giggles

This was my heartiest laugh this week. Maybe I've been dealing with finicky HR people for too long but I just lost it.