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Spring has sprung in the Portland area. Birds are chirping, flowers are blooming, inexplicably pale people are sneezing and the “summer music” is back. It’s inescapable: blaring from the grocery store sound system, oozing from the speakers at the coffee shops and blasting from the radios of neighboring cars at stoplights, and, finally, making its final descent, back into the part of my brain where really bad music lives during the off-season (May-early September). Sheryl Crow, Bob Marley, Steve Miller, that Canadian who wants to ride a highway, all night long… Somebody, at some point, while high on something, decided that this would be the soundtrack of the American summer. I, for one, would like to say that I think a revote is in order. Hell, maybe even a revolt.

Here’s the trouble:

1. Sheryl Crow: In a word, she is whiny. By all means, soak up the sun. But please stop singing. Lance pedaled away from the whining, and so will I. (note to self: learn to ride bike)

2. Bob Marley: Been there, smoked that, hung a rug on the wall and pretended it was art, and now I’m a grown-up. Goodbye, Bob. Thanks for the memories (of needing to explain to one of your fans, yet again, that you did not die of “toe cancer.”)

3. Steve Miller: “I bought you a crate of papayas, they waited all night by your door.” Papayas are disgusting. Any friend of papaya is no friend of mine.

4. The Canadian who wants to ride a highway, all night long: no explanation needed

So, what do I actually want to listen to during The Warm Months? I’m not telling you. I’m weird like that when it comes to music everything.

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I love grocery shopping.  By myself.  So this morning I dropped my daughter off at preschool and ran down to the grocery store for a few things.  As I was perusing the bulk grains I suddenly realized that The Spice Girls were playing over the PA system.  I’m not sure why but this struck me as absolutely hilarious.  There was something about the idea of seeing all of the little, old ladies scooting around the store to the tune of “If you wanna be my lover you gotta get with my friends…” that was, to me, unbelievably funny.  I tried very, very hard not to laugh but was fully in tears by the time I made it to the check-stand.  I tried to explain to the woman who was scanning my groceries but she clearly didn’t see the humor.  Once I got to my car I realized that my dress was on inside out.  I wonder if this, paired with my bedhead, slippers, and fist full of coupons made her think I was mentally ill?  Whatever, it was still hilarious…

The Spice Girls

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This is an oldie but I thought I would share.  I penned this tune on the day that Sarah Palin announced that she would be stepping down from her post as Alaska’s governor.  Unfortunately it was prior to the speech where she likened herself to a fish.  I would have included that as well. Alas, we cannot rewrite history.  Trust me, I’ve tried…

(The song is meant to be sung to the tune of Road to Nowhere by Talking Heads.  If you don’t, it makes a lot less sense.)

Bridge To Nowhere

Well we know Sarah’s goin’
But we don’t know where she’s been
And we hear she’s seen Russia
But we’re not sure what that means

And she’s birthed four children
But she still shoots wolf pups
Trig‘s future’s uncertain
Give her time to f*ck him up

Chorus:
She’s on The Bridge to Nowhere
Winkin’ that eye
Takin’ that ride to nowhere
With Todd by her side

Sarah and Todd

She’s leaving the governor’s office
And you know
She’s on the road to obscurity
Here she goes, here she goes

She’s on The Bridge to Nowhere
Winkin’ that eye
Takin’ that ride to nowhere
With Todd by her side

Wink

Maybe you wonder where you are
She don’t care
Am I in Juneau or Japan?
Moscow’s right there, It’s right there

DC is only in your mind
You’re gonna try to take that ride
It’s not alright, It’s not alright

DC is very far away
And they won’t let you come and play
But that’s alright, Baby it’s alright

Maybe I should come along?
You could help me sing my songs
It’s alright, Sarah it’s alright

I can tell you what to do
When they make a fool of you
It’s alright, Sarah it’s alright

Or maybe you should stay up there
And get eaten by a bear
It’s alright, Sarah it’s alright

Bear Sarah Palin

You’re on a Bridge to Nowhere……

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THAI_FOOD-2_largeSometimes while I’m perusing Thai menus I play a secret game in my head:  If I had a band and I had to name the band after one dish on the menu, which dish would I choose?  (Yep, my life is a non-stop party.  But I digress…)  Yesterday, I picked up the menu from Long Beach Thai Cuisine and spotted several contenders right off the bat.  #26: Crying Tiger.  Not too shabby.  Maybe an Emo band.  #37: Family Fried Rice.  Better.  I like that it could imply that a family has actually fried rice or that a family has been fried into rice as an ingredient.  Very Dahmer.  Maybe if it was a punk band.  I put it on the back burner, so to speak.  #81: Hot Superb Tofu.  This might be the one.  It has just the right blend of catchiness and hipness, while also being totally bizarre.  And now I’m hungry.  Just how superb is this tofu?

And then I turned the menu over, revealing the house specialties.  The specialties have no numbers and cost a bit more.  For $10 one can obtain “boneless skinless chicken breast smothered in yellow curry and vegetables.”  The name?  “Nirvana”!  (Gasp!)  Could it be that I’m not the only one who plays this “secret” game?!

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teshTwo things that are true about me: 1. I love music and 2. I tend to doubt most things that people tell me.  These two things are generally unrelated but did come tragically to a head one day last year when I decided to get my car washed.  As I approached the front of the line, the attendant motioned for me to lower my antenna.  I rolled down my window and explained to him that the power feature of the antenna had long since stopped working and that I would prefer to just leave it up if it was all the same to him.  He told me that the spray was pretty powerful and that if I chose to leave it up I would be doing so at my own risk.  I told him that it was a risk I was willing to take.  He raised his shaggy eyebrow at me, I scoffed at him and the conveyor belt carried me away into what turned out to essentially be Hurricane Hugo in a concrete box.

As I exited, popping my ears and drying my hair (yes, all of my windows were closed tightly), I looked in my rear-view mirror.  There was no sign of my antenna.  I looked in my side-view mirror.  Oh, there it was!  Damn…  As I drove home I decided that radio-use was overrated anyway.  It’s all homogenized crap.  And besides, I have this conveniently-located, mid-90s 6-CD changer mounted in my trunk!  Radio schmadio!

And this attitude has pretty much held until today, when I got into the car for a 90-minute drive and my CD player started flashing an error message.  What?  Maybe it’s just this disc.  Nope.  All of them?  With a sleeping child and 88 miles to go, I decided to try my luck with the radio.  I was able to get one station.  It was called, “Praise 106.5”.  Now, I am quite open to faiths of all kinds.  And when people ask me, “What kind of music do you like?”  I usually say, “Oh, I like a little bit of everything.”  Well, it turns out this isn’t true.  It turns out, when it comes to music, I am decidedly, unequivocally, 100% pagan.  For one thing, I imagine that every Christian singer looks exactly like John Tesh.  Even the female ones.  Also, all that talk of being “lifted up” and being “taken higher” frankly just brings me down.  And sort of makes me wish I was high.  And I don’t even do drugs.

So, the moral of this story is a twofer.  First of all, when you’re at the car wash, don’t get all crazy and act like you know what’s best for your antenna.  You probably don’t.  Try to remember this: WWTCWAD?  OR: What Would The Car Wash Attendant Do?  Depending upon your circumstances you may be able to apply this in other parts of your daily life as well.  Secondly, Christian music can and probably will lead to drug use.  It should be used sparingly and with adult supervision.  But I am not willing to be that adult.  No, siree.  So, if you have an extra ticket to the Dove Awards next year, don’t ask me.  I’m not your girl.  Unless you have some really good weed.  No, not even then…

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the-peachI’m cheapI’m poor.  I love a bargain.  While many people throw their Tuesday junk mail, full of supermarket Weekly Special ads, into the recycling without a second thought, I scour the said “junk mail” to plan my upcoming grocery shopping needs.  It was there that I learned of the “10 pounds for $10” sale on organic peaches that QFC promised would begin the following day.  I arrived at the store prior to 8am on Wednesday in order to get the very best selection of peaches.  Apparently there was not an overwhelming demand.  Not only was I not battling throngs of peach-shoppers in the parking lot but when I arrived at the produce section the peaches were not yet on display.  I had to track down the tousle-haired manager, who appeared to have been napping, and ask for them.  My daughter and I wandered around, looking at what was new in the world of dairy-free cheeses (frankly, not much) until he finally reappeared from behind his plastic curtain, peaches in tow.  He yawned, looking genuinely irritated, as he unpacked the first box of peaches and arranged them on the stand.  Timbuk3’s, “The Future’s So Bright, I Gotta Wear Shades” played over the in-store audio system.  While I do find this song to be one of the very worst of the 1980s (with the possible exception of every song ZZ Top wrote during that decade) I did see some humor in the situation.  He did not.  I gave him a smile, loaded up my bags with delicious, pesticide-free goodness and went on my way.

That evening my daughter and I went to the Farmers Market to stock up on berries for one last jam-making hurrah before summer’s end.  As I arrived at the market, with Timbuk3 still a most unwelcome twosome in my mind, I spotted a sign: “ORGANIC PEACHES!  $15/20# BOX!”  Well, I’ll be.  Sometimes the early bird gets the shaft…

timbuk3-lips

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phil_drumI have the very unfortunate problem of getting very unfortunate songs stuck in my head for very long periods of time.  It’s unfortunate.  Very.  Sometimes it’s a jingle from a TV commercial or a song from one of my daughter’s Wiggles DVDs, other times a theme song from a long-since canceled sitcom (“Empty Nest”, anyone?).  This week it’s Phil Collins’ 1985 classic, “Sussudio”.  This song has sullied every single conversation I’ve had in the past week.  At the grocery store, the pharmacy, the park, the doctor’s office…  I saw my doctor on Wednesday and for all I know he told me I have three months to live.  All that I heard was “Su-su-sudio OH oh!!”  Oh, and the horns!  The horns!  God damn those effing horns!

Oh, is “Sussudio” stuck in your head now?  Hey, sharing is caring.

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