Sunday, Bloody Sunday

Last Saturday was fun and stacked.  I don't have a problem with stacked, but Jude usually at some point will find something he doesn't like about stacked.

As we made our way home from Pasadena, where we'd spent the afternoon, Jude was making his negative sentiments known, loud and clear.  He is normally an ecstatic baby, but it was sort of getting to the point where Jeff and I were tuning-out, you know what I'm saying?  Food and beverages, toys, good old parental attention, etc. had been administered and rebuffed.  Even with tuning-out, or giving up on him obtaining happiness until his heart got what it most wanted--to be free of the car--Jude has a particular cry/whine that grates my nerves.  As this was blaring and threatening to ruin my tune-out, a song came on the radio!

Sunday, Bloody Sunday has always been one of my favorite U2 songs.  In Europe it might be strongly worded, but we are in America.  I think if I were to learn percussion, this song would be the one I'd spend all day playing.  It's a good one to sing extra loudly.  Jeff loves it too, and sing loudly we did.

And a magic thing happened.

Jude was hushed.

Was it love at first listen?  Was it because Jeff's car has a swanky sound system and that in addition to our own elevated voices was maybe a little too much noise for crying to be thrown in too?  We may never know.  But for that last stretch of the drive home, while my lover and I happily sang one of my favorites that I listen to far too rarely, Jude was content.

The End.

I listened to The Beatles today. Why don't I do that more often?

And I'm over being pregnant. OVER. IT. Let's do this already.

The End.

what was i thinking??

my life is pretty tame.

no behavior so wild to knock out very important teeth.

i don't have many regrets.

but today when i was at work listening to my ipod on shuffle, a song i'd purchased last year on itunes came on. i'd forgotten about.

i had just gone through a big break up, ok?? i'm not holding myself responsible.

Movin on.

Have you ever woken up one morning and been just SICK TO DEATH of every song you have on your iPod or in the CD case? I have been driving in silence all day, as I can't think of one single song I have within my grasp that I'm NOT overdosed on. I don't want a guy with a guitar (think BYU dorms + acoustic), I don't want a brother with his gold chains, I don't want an AI alumni, I don't want girl power, I have absolutely no clue what my ears are missing.

I need suggestions, my lovelies.

A Moment of Clarity

Warning: This post might only be interesting to you if you watch American Idol and/or knew me and my roommates in the Fall of 2004 at BYU.

I pinpointed it. Adam Lambert's style of music is a million miles away from anything I'd ever choose to listen to, his performance mojo gives me the heebee jeebees (roll that tongue up and put it back in your trap!), and I'd love to just get me a cotton ball, some Sally Hansen "Vitamin E Infused" nail polish remover and go to town on his nails (and maybe his eyelids). BUT, grounds to dislike him though that may be, I think there's something else afoot here. Last night, something in his reaction to being passed through to the finals (feigned shock and chuckle) sparked my attention. Although he's done it a million times before, something was a smidgen different last night.

As I was falling asleep, it came to me: Adam Lambert is JUST like my former roommate's former boyfriend!!! Despite the difference in sexual orientation, they have similar diva-ish mannerisms, "battle" with false modesty, and I think the only reason I haven't realized how extremely similar their faces are until now is because Adam Lambert's hair is quite distracting in all its wrongness. Anyway, this Adam Lambert twin that I knew at BYU (and who may or may not be one of my friends on Facebook) broke my dear roommate's heart out of nowhere. Broke it into about a million pieces, dropped her like she was hot.

I really don't want him to win, ok America?

Coachizzle Part III

Let's see...where to begin, where to begin.

People Watching never ceases to entertain, most especially while you're at a concert. Coachella was no exception -- in fact, it set the bar, and somewhere out in Jupiter's orbit.  While there was the occasional Lacoste polo shirt + loafers + Suddenly Silver couple, I'd say the sweeping majority consisted of 21st Century Hippies. Guess what, though: you can't be a hippie and shop at Target.  I don't know where hippies are permitted to shop, but I'm pretty sure if the Hippie Council found out you'd swiped your hemp debit card at Target, you'd get excommunicated.  I saw the same dress (the fashion industry calls it a "Maxi" dress, Jeff calls it a "Pioneer" dress) about a bajillion times, and I have one, and bought it with the gift card from Shauna, so...there. The proof is in the pudding.  Wannabe 21st Century Hippies.  And they were all over the moon about the fact that they were at a festival that quacked and walked like a Woodstock.  And you know what Woodstock meant, it meant (or so I hear) lots and lots of P to the Ot.

Which brings me to my next item.  You don't "burn one down" anymore.  You "sesh."  If I had a nickel for every time I heard, "Ah, man, we gotta sesh!" I would be able to quit my job and be a full time groupie for The Killers.  Brando was just telling us the tale of being burned by a cigarette at Coachella 2008 when a "sesh-ing" group above/next to us surrendered a burning ash and guess where it landed.  All for the love of the music.  

And I'm prone to over-analyzing, but I'm just NOT going to think about the possible reasons why I was more hungry after the concert than I've ever been in my ENTIRE LIFE.  Why, oh why did Jeff and I down a bag of peanut covered pretzels, every crumb inside that big Fritos bag, and half a bag of trail mix after we found our car in the dusty parking lot?  "Dude, munchies.  Who wants some munchies?  Hey, where's my office?!  I totally lost it!"  Name the tv show and episode.

And now, some visuals:

Pretty.

When one has tired of his mannequin, he has tired of life and all that it has to offer.

This is my boyfriend Jeff, and he likes to party.

No, I wasn't extremely tickled about having a VIP Pass or anything.  Why?

My sister calls us "Jeredith."

Brando's hard core.

No words.  Not one.

Erica and Robert, we will so babysit for free.

Coachizzle Part II

I lied.  Coachizzle Part III will be societal observations, and Part II is video.  Why I am putting on these videos I know not, because I rarely watch blog videos.  I never seem to be in the right place to do it (ie I'm at work when I read the blog).  Further mystery stems from the fact that I am hardly a videographer.  Half way through I start bouncing around because I just get to feelin that rhythm so much.  And my viewers become sea sick.  BUT I post just in case, I suppose.  In this first video you'll see Brandon "Brando" Brown rockin out, and my boo, who is also busy with a video of his own.  And, of course, the men of the hour on stage. I just knew they were going to open with this song. Maybe I'm psychic...or maybe it was just a hit single they released.

Next video. Have you seen The Holiday? If you have, you'll know why I'm screaming like a maniac one line of lyrics. I did that for you, Elizabean. This song is just way too much fun. Sam and Sadie used to LOVE rocking out to this song with me and Elizabeth in their kitchen while making dinner; they'd request it all the time. It's unfortunate that now Sam's old enough to catch on to the...ahem...more mature lyrical content. And with that rosy introduction, I give you:

Coachizzle Part I

If you have not seen The Killers live, make haste! Put thy limbs to merriment and march ye to the Woodstock of the new year! Have you ever been to a concert where you felt sure they picked the set list based on your every wish? Brandon Flowers is a total hunk in 3-D, by the way. A reluctant distant second to my date, but still nice to look at. I think one of the best things about going to a concert is you see in what sort of a jig the performers engage themselves. There have been some good ones in years past. G-love sat on a bar stool and slapped his knees together as if to guard the beat, Paul McCartney bounced a little -- less vigorously than he did as a 20 year old heart throb, but this is to be expected for a 60-something year old heart throb. Chris Martin did a variety of "I'm standing on hot coals" hops, heel clicks, and "kneel-on-the-ground and sing to the dust bunnies"s. Anyway, last night I got to collect a few more jiggy jigs. The Killers have a fantastic stage presence and it's clear that while they are all feeling that music, it's not in a postured or obnoxious way. It makes you feel warm and fuzzy they get to do what they so clearly love, and make some piles of money at it. What a great show; my affections for them just chugged an energy drink.

M.I.A. thud wold democracy, I got mo recods than the KGB...

I'm not going to spend too much time talking about her performance because the memory of the fog horns that some IDIOT on her tour crew thought would be just BRILLIANT to blast every 5 SECONDS might bring back the headache that it gave me last night. Besides that major lapse in performance sanity, she was pretty good, very casual. She talked about her baby a bit, and said, "I just wont you to know, just because I went and did the Grammies, doesn't mayn I gone and so'd out." Oh phew, because evolving from fog horns would be bad, very bad for the integrity of her craft.

Now concludes Part I. Part II's publication date is at the mercy of Jeff, for he was the dominating photographer of the evening, and Part II's purpose is visual and societal observations of the wonder that is/was Coachella.

Peace, love, and second hand dope.

current obsessions

1. pepperjack cheese (just bring a mint for a few minutes after, because what good could spice + dairy possibly do for a person's breath?)

2. my winding wheel by ryan adams.

3. kings -- the new tv drama with a loose biblical foundation. right now it's very promising, i only wish i could have a word with the person who's doing the princess' hair.

4. jethro tull...oh wait, no, i am NOT obsessed with jethro tull. they just play his tunes at work ALL. THE. TIME. what oh what is a bungle in the jungle?

5. i'm back on david sedaris. short stories just work better for girls with short attention spans such as moi.

6. cds in the car. maybe that's not so much a current obsession, but i do think it's worthy of a mention. i think my life expectancy just sky rocketed since i stopped bringing my ipod and don't have it to fiddle through while driving on the freeway. i basically listen to the same songs over and over again until i overdose on them, anyway. then i cast them aside like an ugly kitten.

7. bah. is it insane to wear the turtlenecks i love as the weather turns warmer?

8. sweet potato fries. remember when there was a big to-do when dan quayle spelled that word with an "e"? ah, the good old days.

9. let's go back to ryan adams. i always had this dream, this little tiny dream of taking a rocker in his miserable, narcotics saturated state, cleaning him up -- pulling a mrs. robert downey jr. if you will. our artistic inclinations would enable us to mesh perfectly, and it'd be love. then i'd have loads of songs written for me, and maybe one of them would have a harmonica in it. ever since i heard everybody knows by ryan adams about 1 year ago, and then heard a mini-bio from harry and sarah and cam, i decided if ryan and i ever came face to face, we'd just be MFEO and my mission for us would be mutually transparent.

it is with much cringing that i announce to those who do not already know that he just married MANDY MOORE. you know, mandy moore, the bubble gum walk to remember cheese bomber who once crooned a la revealed midriff the lyrics, "i'm missin you like candy" (don't forget that candy is actually said "cannnday-ay-ayyyy"). gross. my little hero dream snatched up by someone that emerged in the 98 degrees era. sometimes bad things happen to good people.

10. and last but not least, you. ;)

A good song I'd forgotten about:

this song gets me every time.

This will suck the Scrooge right out of anyone. The harmonies and the piano are unbeatable.

when the internet has a heart

at my last job http://www.pandora.com/ was blocked. don't ask me why, i didn't make the rules. therefore, pandora and i had a halted relationship.

at THIS job, facebook is blocked (healthy) but the illustrious pandora is mine, all mine (healthier).

pandora is quickly becoming my best friend. it is so in tune with what i want to hear or become better acquainted with. if ever there were a gift that kept on giving, this would be it. i'm almost starting to feel guilty. all give and no take. guilty toward a musical website? yep.

but the real crux came when pandora played a song i, in fact, just didn't quite love. not that i hate dave matthews, i just don't feel like listening to him, hardly ever almost never. so i clicked the little thumbs down button. immediately swooping to my screen was this massive, servile apology and promise to NEVER play that song in the future.

oh pandora.

if pandora were a person, i would have given it a big hug, said, "it's ok, i know you did your best, and that's all anyone can do," patted it on the head, and sent it on its way.

maybe even the internet has feelings. that would have made one bizzle-esque twilight zone episode.

dericious.

you: and meredith, what would newport beach happen to taste like?

me: well, i'll tell you.  newport tastes like creme brulee, spinach stuffed mushrooms, ravioli, butter cake, diet pepsi, and third eye blind.

you: surely not!

me: why yes it does!  

apparently it's been tasting like that regularly for the past two decades, i was just living under a rock all that time, because i never even heard of it until this week.  A TASTE OF NEWPORT is a bit of genius!  the event planners must be former girl scouts, because it savored strongly of "international day."  well, except for the fact that most of the attendees were adults dressed up in their weekend finery instead of grammar school students in matching togas and sarongs.  that was the only difference.  that and instead of inhaling little samples of international cuisine for a dime each, it was a collection of the OCs most neat-o restaurants selling commensurately priced servings of their biggest money makers.  then the wedding singers cleared the stage to make way for THIRD EYE BLIND.  whoa.  like, totally reminded me of like, high school and stuff.  GO IHS VAQUEROS! it was good to get reacquainted with them. 

you:  wow.  third eye blind.  aren't they getting old now?  like, do they have to dye their hair to hide the grays?

me: probably, although from a certain angle the lead singer looked a lot like bono, which he was probably going for.  and even if they are getting old and arthritic, there were some real, true third eye blind junkies there.  one in particular was my absolute favorite.  he did NOT stop dancing for anything, except to maybe puff on his girlfriend's ciggie.  i don't have any beef with someone boogy-ing down when they want/need to, but i was just in awe of how he danced as if it were keeping the universe afloat.  as if the fervent nature of his jig would obliterate every milligram of evil in the world.  i actually took a semi-clandestine video of him, but there's not enough memory left on my laptop at this moment to upload it.  another day, another time.  there were some other groupies whose behavior i'll just not going into describing right now.  i think concerts would be much less interesting in the people watching department if prohibition came back.

so can i get a woot woot for A TASTE OF NEWPORT?

you: totally.

"woops, uh, who put that song on there?"

the other day i was at this shopping center called THE DISTRICT. unlike the districts i knew on my mission, which consisted of sun burnt, benevolent, 19-20 year old boys, this DISTRICT is a day tripper's mecca. one of those 10 minute stops that penitently turns into 4 hours. panera, target, costco, a movie theater or two, michael's, DSW, borders, pinkberry, verizon, a smattering of banks to facilitate spending, rocky mountain chocolate factory, tj maxx, whole foods, lowe's, and ever so much more. it is quite huge. it is quite stunning.

one of the most stunning elements, the ones that makes you think, "wow! viva la 21st century!" is the fact that the parking lot light posts boast speakers, so that while i'm en route to tj maxx, elizabeth could be on the other end of the expansive district universe, skipping into lane bryant (kidding) and hearing the same tunes blaring from the light post speakers.


anyway, the other day i'm walking through the parking lot and they start playing the counting crows cover of joni mitchell's tree hugger tune, "big yellow taxi" and i just start laughing. if you haven't heard the song before, i'll help you out a little:

+1 to Radiohead of the World

-the opening band's lead singer does his big ol' bring in the fun introduction, "heeey los angel-eeees! heaven or hell?"

huh?

Radiohead of the World

last night peter and i went to radiohead at the hollywood bowl. i knew it was going to be horn-swoggling fun, but there were some delights even i hadn't anticipated.

i've now learned for myself that only at a radiohead concert can you:

-hear the featured artists "get over themselves and play their biggest freaking hit, karma police."

-buy a shirt (green in eco make-up and yet gray in human eye absorption) that says, "you used to be alright, what happened to you?" i would definitely wear that on a date with michael jackson...if he ever asked me on one...and if i were ever loopy enough to accept....)i was going to wear it to work today but it smelled kind of funny...see next....

-sit in, and i mean no exaggeration to befall this sentence, a thick cloud of pot the entire time. hold on, i'll be right back, i gotta go buy another bag of doritos. ooooh, and maybe some twinkies....

-have your mind blow over the lack of muffin tops. it laughs in the face of the long honored tradition that is attending a concert and spotting oozing amounts of people who prefer to ooze out of their pants. what, don't radiohead fans like to eat?

-see your very own fist fight after the concierto. i hadn't seen one since 8th grade!

-spot an RULDS2? couple. this was done after careful analysis and deductive reasoning. young, fleece (for him), 3 sizes too small shade top (for her), BYU bling, peaceful of countenance, short hair and clean-shaven. if we're going into details i'd have to also say they hail from texas or south jordan. i don't know how i know, i just know.

-be sucked into a vortex of high school nostalgia when they play the song from baz' romeo and juliet.

-see a girl whose outfit involved items i'd never thought could be clothing. her demeanor reminded me of luna lovegood from harry potter, and when she and her posse reached their seats' row she turned her head ever so slightly toward me and said in an ethereal voice, "tight."

-peter adds this one: "and the domino-like phenomenon of one person standing up in the front and then hundreds behind him / her have to stand up in order to see the stage." and wouldn't you know it, there were a few people a few rows ahead who drank, oh i'd guess, 5 million redbulls before the show, so they were shakin' what their mamas gave them like ravers from 1997 from start to finish.

the concert was genius. absolute genius. i intend to share a better slice in a moment. but there was a dollop of whipped cream for the evening's end:

because parking was stacked, we weren't exactly sprinting to the car after their 2nd encore finished. we sat to people watch, as there is no better circumstance under which to participate in said activity. right in front of us, dispersing leaflets to the masses, was this dude. he was saying to everyone, "halloween! lie to your girlfriend/boyfriend/wife/husband about what you're wearing! halloween! lie to your girlfriend/boyfriend/wife/husband about what you're wearing!" after a few rounds he'd start speeding it up, and then he'd slur it and trip over his words...and then he wouldn't finish the ad campaign. he'd kinda let it drizzle like a "niner" and then start over. the tragic hilarity of it is he spotted us watching him and he came over and half-whispered, "i know it sounds crazy, but i say it and they take the flier." i loved the dude justifying his chosen path of employment. meet halloween guy:radiohead, i salute you.

Video Killed the Radio Star

Almost 8 months after receiving it, my ipod has lunked out on me. my baby! my little baby with 40 GB of empty memory, where did i wrong you?

luckily it's under warranty and i can swap it for a new one this afternoon when i have my "apple appointment." however i can't drive in silence, and for the last 24 hours the only cd i've had in my car is joseph arthur's redemption's son. a good album, but too much of that melancholy stuff and you start writing existential poetry to rival that of a californian relocated to siberia.


i've had no alternative but to turn to FM. i was kind of excited to see what the new pop culture songs are; i generally just get music recommendations from people whose taste jives with mine and leona lewis and chris brown are somewhat enigmatic to me and my little ears.

i don't even know what the good stations are in vegas, so i just scanned and scanned until i wound up with 102.7, 104.3, and 106.5 (apparently those are the hippest stations in all 3 of the states i've ever lived in, just different deejays yacking away on each).

oh. my. gosh.


these are the greatest hits i've come across the last day of radio cruising:

-more sugar ray than my high school reminiscing capacity ever intended to handle

-LADY MARMALADE. i forgot how musical pink...isn't.

-a josh groban song about not giving up

-a celine dion song about not giving up
-another song definitely sung by a brothah about "we can fly through the night you and i together with the clouds"

-i listened to the spanish station for a while and apparently some singer's just died. sad.

-meredith brooks. i'm not kidding.

-rascall flats and more rascall flats.



lessons learnt:

-the 90s up until 2001 apparently chunked out the "classics."

One more thing I forgot I want to accomplish in this life:

Be the one that gets Rufus Wainwright to play for hetero team. Then of course I'll convert and marry him. Is that so wrong?