I'm Sure It Made Sense at the Time

Despite its generally lightweight subject matter, never let it be said that this blog shies away from addressing the hard questions of the day. Such as: What is the song "Aces" by Suzy Bogguss actually about?



I mean, it's a great country song, all heartbreak and steel guitar, and the lyrics sound good, but the problem is that, as far as I can tell, they don't make any sense. Consider the chorus:

Now, you're ready to walk out/you're ready to run./Talk to me/Can't you see/I would never want to do what it seems I've done./You can't deal me the aces/ and think I wouldn't play./Don't let this be the reason you would walk away.

Okay, that's nice, but the aces are what, exactly? Love? Freedom? Easy setups for making bad puns? But then what's the playing that leads to the need to walk away? I've spent a lot of time with this song stuck in my head, trying to figure it out, and I can't come up with a way that the metaphor works.

Unless, of course, it isn't a metaphor at all. What if what the song is really about a couple who were running some sort of elaborate poker scam, and the singer was supposed to fold or something when she got a good hand, but her competitive nature got the better of her and she played anyway, ruining everything? And now her partner is about to drop her for someone who's better at sticking with a game plan, and she's begging for some understanding because, come on, she had aces, what did he think she was going to do?

Really, it's that or the pun thing.

Comedy Tonight

There are lots of good things about winter in the Bay Area, like that we don't have one, but the SF Sketchfest is right up there.* Without it, I never would have gotten to see Dana Gould in full monkey makeup, performing as Hal Holbrook doing Mark Twain for the benefit of John Hodgman, and neither would you. But more on that in a minute.

But first, let's watch an Australian sing about prejudice (contains some bad words, but not the one you're thinking):

(This one's for you Abigail.)


And now, to transition from music to monkeys, a song about a monkey (sort of):

Aw.

And now, a video that probably needs some introduction, but I'm not sure there's any way to make it make sense. But I can say that if you do not push play, then you may never see Dana Gould playing the role of Dr. Zaius playing the roll of Hal Holbrook playing the role of Mark Twain, and do you really want to live a life like that?



*Credit to Mary for introducing me to this, lo those many years ago.**
**2007.

Let's Do Some Math!

Drugs - People = Money

Drugs - Money = Huffing Whipped Cream Cans at Safeway

(People - Money + Drugs)*Dignity^-1 = VH1

People - Pictures + Words = Newsweek

People - Words + Pictures = Star

People + People = Hell

Money + Money = Problems + Problems

Money + Money + Money = Must Be Funny In a Rich Man's World

Money + Money + Money + Money = Money!

Socks + Boots + Drugs - Money = These.

"Fancy": A Revisionist Version

You know how sometimes there's a song you really kind of like, but you can't stand to listen to it because the lyrics are basically about how if you're a poor woman all you're really good for is prostitution? Well, for me, Reba McEntire's "Fancy" is that song. I have to admit, the chorus is very catchy, and she sings it with conviction, but I just can't get past the fact that the story she's telling is basically, "We were poor, so when I was a teenager my mom told me my only chance in life was to sell myself to men, so I did and now everything turned out great." Which doesn't strike me as the most woman-positive message you could send, so I thought I'd try my hand at fixing it up.


Fancy
By Raymond Douglas Davies
(Additional lyrics by Daisy James)


I remember it all very well lookin' back
It was the summer I turned eighteen
We lived in a one room, rundown shack
On the outskirts of New Orleans
We didn't have money for food or rent
To say the least we had no loot
Then Mama spent every last penny we had
To buy me an interview suit

Mama washed and combed and parted my hair
And she told me to stand up straight
Then I stepped into my brand new suit
That was pinstriped and charcoal gray
It was a linen-blend and it fit me good
Standin' back from the lookin' glass
There was a job candidate where a half grown kid had stood

She said here's some nice pants Fancy don't let me down
Here's the number for the jobs board Fancy don't let me down

Mama picked up my new notepad
And she kissed my cheek
Then I saw the tears wellin' up in her troubled eyes
When she started to speak
She looked at a pitiful shack
And then she looked at me and took a ragged breath
She said your Pa's run off and I'm real sick
And the baby's gonna starve to death

She handed me a heart shaped locket that said
Illegitimi non carborundum
And nodded as I threw away
My wad of chewing gum
It sounded like somebody else that was talkin'
Askin' Mama what do I do
She said be nice to the administrative assistants Fancy
And they'll be nice to you

She said here's the classifieds section Fancy don't let me down
Here's your Monster account Fancy don't let me down

Just remember everything I've taught you,
because if you want out
Well it's up to you
Now don't let me down you better start
movin' uptown

Well, that was the last time I saw my Ma
The night I left that rickety shack
The welfare people came and took the baby
Mama died and I ain't been back

But the wheels of fate had started to turn
And for me there wasn't time to lose
And it wasn't very long 'til I was waiting
In a temp agency in my sensible shoes

I knew what I had to do and I made myself this solemn vow
That I's gonna be successful someday
Though I didn't know when or how
I couldn't see spending the rest of my life
Playing a sucker's game
You know, I might have been born just plain white trash
But Fancy was my name

Here's your company dossier Fancy don't let me down
Here's your annual reports Fancy don't let me down

It wasn't long after that I got a job
Filing papers and printing spreadsheets
And one week later I was a permanent employee
In a five room office suite

I worked late, on weekends
Got a night-school MBA
Then I got me a nice apartment
And an off-lease Cabriolet
And I ain't done bad

Now in this world there's a lot of small-minded people
Who'd never think I could achieve
And criticize Mama for telling me
No matter what, always believe

But though I ain't had to worry 'bout nothin'
For nigh on fifteen years
I can still hear the desperation in my poor
Mama's voice ringin' in my ear

She said, here's your one chance Fancy don't let me down
Here's your one chance Fancy don't let me down
Don't let folks tell you, you can't do
'Cause if you want out, well it's up to you
Now don't let me down
Your Mama's gonna send you uptown

How About I Just Dislike You Because Your Song is Boring?

Apparently, we're doing pop songs based on irritating eighties advertising catchphrases now:



I can't wait for "Where's the Beef [Dance Remix]"

Josh Ritter: "Stuck to You"

One of my favorite singers performing an awesomely nerdy love song. So great:

I Like My Version Better

Recently, I mentioned to Cameron that really I liked the song "Dynamite" by Taio Cruz. It's fun and upbeat, the sort of thing that would make good workout music, and it had a lyric I particularly enjoyed, about getting ready to go to a club "wearing on my favorite pants." Unfortunately, on a further listening, Cameron pointed out that the line is actually, "wearing all my favorite brands," which is clearly correct (and better grammar), but not nearly as fun. I mean, who can't relate to the feeling of getting ready to head out for the evening, favorite pants on and ready to party?



Other songs I do my own lyrics to:
The Colors of the Wind by Vanessa Williams ("The herring and the otter are my friends")
Bad Romance by Lady Gaga (I've managed to get it stuck in my head with the corrected grammar.)
Kyrie by Mr. Mister
This one isn't even mine; a guy called into a radio show where they were talking about misheard lyrics and shared it, and I liked it so much I adopted it.

Everybody!

Carrying a laser down the road that I must travel
Carrying a laser through the darkness of the night
Carrying a laser where I'm going will you follow
Carrying a laser on the highway in the light

(@Abigail: possible theme song for your lab?)

Why Does Country Music Always Know?

This song captures my week so perfectly, I can't even tell you*.



Maybe not in the specifics, but definitely in the general sentiment.


*No, really; I'd get in some serious trouble.

A Day at the Races

If you were to see me today, you might notice that something is a little odd. "Why is she walking like a brain-damaged penguin?" You might wonder. If you had some free time, you might even ask me, "Hey, what's wrong with you? Did you lose a fight with a thigh-high bulldozer? Is it even possible to win that fight?"

"Actually," I would say, "I ran a half marathon yesterday. Do you want to hear about it?"

"No," you would reply.

"I'll take it from the beginning," I would go on.

5:30 am: Alarm goes off. Briefly consider throwing it across the room, but decide against because it's also my iPod. Stagger out of bed wondering why I ever thought this was a good idea. Dress in the running clothes I had laid out the night before (magenta quick-dry shirt, gray cullotes w/ yellow knee ties, plain but functional sneakers, blister-preventing socks, clips to keep my hair out of my eyes). Figured out (with help from Cameron) how to use the "lap" function on my watch. Ate a granola bar, drank some sports beverage. Wondered who I was and what I had done with Daisy.

5:52 am: Relayed the critical information that I was about to run a half-marathon via Facebook and Twitter.

6:15 am: Left for San Jose. We knew the way, and besides, the freeway signs are well-marked. I don't know what the big deal is about that.

7ish: Parked at HP Pavilion. Marveled at the percentage of females in the crowd. Apparently, if you think you never see women in the South Bay it's because they're all out distance-running. Walked over to the start area, decided to use the porta-potties before they got too nasty. Checked in gear, stretched, did a warm-up jog, realized we needed to use the porta-potties again. They had gotten nasty.

7:55 am: Ate a packet of mint chocolate gu. Not entirely disgusting. Said temporary goodbye to Cameron as we split off into our respective start groups.

8:00 am: Race starts!

What I Love About Country Music

The way it expresses subtle emotions:

Joey + Rory, "Cheater, Cheater"*



I think the errors add a certain je ne sais spelling.

Danielle Peck, "I Don't"



Not the greatest song ever, but with one of my favorite lyrics of all time in the chorus.

Speaking of which. . .

Hayes Carll, "She Left Me For Jesus"




All of which, of course, just leads me back to a classic:

Mary Chapin Carpenter, "The Bug"



Have to say, never really thought of Xena when I heard that song, but I'm sure I will now.




*What, exactly, is the point of posting a video on YouTube and disabling embedding? Do you not want people to do your promotion for you?

Quick Poll

Ahem. Would all people who are deeply disturbed by the fact that the song "Yummy Yummy Yummy (I've Got Love In My Tummy)" is being used to sell kids' yogurt please raise their hands? Thank you. Now, for all of you not currently raising your hand, go find a person who was alive in the seventies and ask him or her what that song is actually about. If you are not raising your hand at this point, please report yourself to Child Protective Services immediately.

That is all.

Shoesday: The Shoes That Weren't

There is no question that I am a fan* of online shopping, particularly where deals are involved. But there are downsides. The fact that you can't try things on first means that you need both a brutal level of awareness of what you can and cannot wear, and the willingness to give up on things that don't fit, no matter how much you want them. These shoes fall into that category-- very cute, but a definite half-size too small. So, back they go, because, like the song says, "shoes don't stretch.**"





*Some might say too much of a fan, to which I reply, "LA LA, I CAN'T HEAR YOU."
**"And men don't change," but that isn't really relevant here.

Emmy Awards Opening Number

The Emmys were, in general, so boring that even though I was stuck on a plane with a limited number of channels and nowhere else to go, I still ended up watching people race food trucks instead, but this opening number, featuring pretty much everyone on TV, is fantastic and you really have to watch it before they pull it off YouTube:

Shoesday: Get On Your Boots

Sexy Boots

Shoes so hot they need a soundtrack. (Not one of U2's greatest efforts, but points for the lyrics.)

How To Dress Like a Rock Star (Lilith Fair Edition)

(I couldn't exactly call this a Shoefinder post because, as you will see, there is so much more than shoes to talk about here.)

On Monday Cameron and I joined what must have been half of all the women in the Bay Area (and very, very few of the men) at Lilith Fair, where we had a fine time and heard lots of excellent music. And, being the shallow and predictable person that I am, I became mildly obsessed with the performers' outfits, and decided I needed to do a blog post where I showed you pictures of them and how to reproduce their looks on your own. Because, really, what else was I going to do?

(Note: I'm not trying to replicate the outfits perfectly, because that would be too much work. The suggested items are meant to invoke the same style as the original, some more successfully than others.)

The first person we saw performing (actually, heard before we saw, because the line to get in stretched around the side of the venue to the stage she was on, and by the time we got there she was already into her set) was Terra Naomi, who we had been to see when she played the Bottom of the Hill a few weeks ago. It was actually a pleasant surprise that she was on the lineup for the fair-- she hadn't been when we bought the tickets, but it turned out that she was playing two sets and we ended up seeing both. (Sadly, either because we missed the beginning of the first set or because she decided it wasn't quite right for the venue, we didn't get to hear The Vicodin Song, a new addition to my list of favorite really messed-up love songs.)

The Outfit: California-simple, tie-dyed maxi dress with a long necklace and black sandals (not pictured, because I decided that asking her to pick up her skirt so I could get a shot of her shoes crossed the line from "enthusiastic fan" to "creepy fetishist.") Clearly, the guy in the Borders booth approves.

Next up was the band The Submarines, fronted by singer Blake Hazard, who was tremendously nice to me when I came up to take her picture (at the time, she was sitting on the lawn, chatting with fans) even though all I could do was babble nonsensically about my blog and repeat several times "I really liked your performance." Also, their song Sub Symphonica has a video that is both trippy and adorable, which is quite a feat to pull off.

The Outfit: Indie-feminine (feminindie? no), sailor blouse, black miniskirt and the low-top version of the Comme des Garcons Chucks that I posted on David's Shoefinder, which are making me think that I need some low-top Chucks of my own, pronto. I kind of like the idea of these, even if they aren't quite the classics.




I don't have a photo for the next performer. Or, rather, I do, but it seems to be a blurry shot of my fingers and therefore not terribly useful in this context. I'll do my best to describe her outfit, but I can't even find any pictures online so you'll have to take my word for it.

Marié Digby is best known for her acoustic take on Rhianna's "Umbrella", which got her a contract with a major label and a featured spot on the Lilith tour, which isn't too shabby at all. Also not shabby: her outfit. (Smooth transitions: I has them.)

The Outfit: Light blue sundress, red belt, brown sliver-wedge boots, straw fedora. I thought at first the boots might be the Loeffler Randall ones-- and in that case that YouTube video would have served her very well indeed, but based on the fact that they had zippers I'm going to guess not. Either way, she was the picture of the cool hipster chick on a hot day, and it was working for her.


(This post is starting to get a little long, what with all the pictures, so I think I'm going to have to continue it after the jump.)

Songs of Summer

Well, we've had the sliding door open, and the cat has spent most of the day lying on his side in cool spots, so I am forced to conclude that it must be summer. And where you have summer, you have summer music, those annual songs played on infinite repeat on your local pop station for three months and then never heard again. This year is no different, well-populated with terrible, terrible songs-- I would rather gouge my eardrums out with a popsicle stick than to have to listen to "My First Kiss," "Billionaire," or (urg) "California Gurls" again. But there is hope, good music out there, some of which has hit potential. Therefore, here are my choices for songs of the summer that do not suck.


Michael Franti, "Shake It"



Fun, bouncy goodness.


B.o.B. feat. Hayley Williams, "Airplanes"



Already a hit, the only major summer song so far that doesn't make me crazy when it gets stuck in my head.


Taio Cruz, "Break Your Heart"



Actually made the charts a while ago, but I think it has the staying power to carry through August.


Clay Walker, "She Won't Be Lonely Long"



The first time I heard this on my country station, I thought it had been around for years. That's a compliment.


Adam Lambert, "If I Had You"



I'll admit, I was not Team Glambert during his Idol run. But this is just pure, catchy dance-pop fun, and the sooner it drives Ke$ha et al off the charts, the better, as far as I'm concerned.

This Octopus! Let's Give Him Boots!

O Fortuna: Misheard Lyrics Version



(via EW.com)

Thurscheese: It Tastes Like Wensleydale

Wensleydale cheese with cranberries

 Many years ago, when I was just a wee lass, fresh out of college with only three pairs of shoes to my name, I went on a trip to England. It was a full two months, mostly spent on a backpacking bus between hostels with two of my classmates (and the less said about those aspects, the better), but I did take a small detour on my own to visit the Yorkshire Dales.

It was a place I had always wanted to see, at least since my childhood obsession with James Herriot's books, where he made it sound like the most beautiful place on earth. Of course, it's a fairly large area and I didn't know anything about it, so when I went to choose my place to stay I settled on Wensleydale, made famous by this Wallace and Gromit episode, where they go to the moon to get some cheese and find it tastes like. . . well, you know (and if you don't, you should watch):




This was my break from 15-pound-a-night hostels, to have a little luxury, so I chose this hotel as my home base for the three nights I was there. I considered it deeply extravagant at the time (though looking at the rates now I realize that, even with the exchange rate being what it is, it costs significantly less that the stay at the Best Western in Ithaca that I just booked for later this month) and enjoyed every minute, even though the dent it put in my budget meant that at least one night dinner consisted of local cheese and crackers, eaten sitting on my bed and marveling at British television.

The cheese was, of course, Wensleydale, purchased from the Wensleydale cheeses visitors' center in the nearby town. It was crumblier and milder than the one I found here but, oddly, also available with cranberries. Tradition? Coincidence? Who's to say? I'm just happy to have found this reminder of my insufficiently misspent youth.


And, while we're on the subject of British cheese, come with me after the jump for my favorite thing about the World Cup. . .

#?*!

While I work to prepare today's Thurcheese selection, please enjoy this fine example of the art of country music with silly lyrics, and join me in being pleased that this sort of thing hasn't been pop-crossovered out of the genre.

Pound Sign, Kevin Fowler

(song will begin playing automatically)

Shoesday: Damn You, Jennifer Lopez

I love these shoes. I even wrote a thank you note to the Federal Government about them. Which is why it pains me so deeply that Ms. Lopez has written a tragically terrible song in which their brand is featured prominently; the kind of cheese-soak ode to conspicuous consumerism that wasn't that interesting when the Black Eyed Peas did it 2005*, and showed a serious lack of relevance in late 2009.

I'll admit it, as lovely as they are as shoes, part of my adoration does stem from the brand name, and those famous red soles. But-- and I realize that what follows may make no sense at all-- it's about ridiculous luxury and wholly inappropriate glamor, not some sort of dry goods scorekeeping, and certainly not the kind of crass materialism that thinks "luxury" is repeating a brand name over a lame dance beat**.

But, you know what? Whatever. The song was an instant flop and La Lopez showed up at the Oscars looking like she had gotten dressed by running headlong through a UPS store, and my shoes are still cool. So there.







*Though it was ever so slightly redeemed by, of all people, Alanis Morissette.
**I am not linking to the song here, because I really don't think anyone needs to hear it.