Category Archives: music video

Delirious: It’s Not Just a River in Spain

No blog yesterday – yeah, I’m supersure you noticed. DON’T TASE ME, BRO, I’m only human. Or am I??? No blog was the result of working all day and into the wee hours (look at those hours! they so SMALL!!) on job apps, paperwork, and tests. All kiiiinds of not-exactly-Turkish-delight. Then, I woke up about 3 hours later (hence the delirium), smooched today on the cheek, and proceeded to grab it by the huevos. Four job interviews, so much more paperwork, and more tests. SORRY, BLOG. In the life game of rock paper scissors, getting a job trumps blog.

After all the “round 1” testing and paperwork was done, I was informed that I’m really good at a myriad of totally random-yet-marketable things! Thank goodness… it’s bad enough to feel useless as an unemployed person, but it’s a doubly depressing setback to find out via standardized tests that you’re also a moron. (Hey, it’s happened before; there’s a reason I never pursued a degree in astrophysics. [<– that is NOT a joke. I really wanted to! Haven’t you read Contact??? If not, DO IT!]) High “hireability aptitude numbers” notwithstanding, I know I won’t get hired on scores alone. Tomorrow’s to-do list: MY FACE. Ha. Yeah right. I’ll probably just keep… I don’t know, doing whatever it is that people like me do that have and will never be professional “faces.” LIKE BLOGGING. Or practicing my mad grammar skillz (as they may actually be what pay my billz). Or scoping for dudes. LIKE THIS CHICK!

Spell check yourself before you wreck yourself??? THIS LADY HAS WRITTEN THE SONG THAT SINGS (or raps) MY TRUTH!!! Do I live my life spelling/grammar-error-free? Um, DUH NO. SPESHLEE not here on el blogo. But in life – and definitely in a JOB – I do my best. It’s like respecting mama. When she isn’t looking, maybe you do things she’d poo-poo. But when you’re in the house where mama raised you (aka adulthood), you show some fuckin’ RESPECT. The mama, pops, or village that raised you worked their ass off to fund your schools and pay your teachers. The least you can do is ACT LIKE YOU KNOW the difference between there/their/they’re. Don’t be an ingrate.

I’m deeply indebted to my parents and the massive village that raised me for all the lessons I’ve learned (and continue to learn). And I hope to one day be able to deeply embed the knowledge – not a single lesson, but the know-it-in-yer-bonez knowledge – that I was fortunate enough to receive. Some people think that this means I’d make a good mom. AU CONTRAIRE, MON HOMESKILLIT. Because, see, here’s the thing: in my opinion, being a good parent has NOTHING to do with how much you like kids or want to see them grow up to be exemplary grown chicklets. It’s much more about being good at PARENTING. Monkey’s Mo’ and I were flappin’ our yappers about parenting this weekend (cuz das how you DO when you hang out with people with kids). I said something like “GAHDAYUM, gurrrrl! You done had yerself the CUTEST BABY EVARRRR. and to boot, HE’S SO GOOD!!! Does it ever make you just want to baby seal club bad babies you see in the stores and such cuz they aren’t as good as Monkey?” She said “nah. It makes me want to club the parent, though. Most bad babies are bad cuz their parents suck.” Again, truthbombs over Baghdad were dropped, right there in that kitchen. And the people rejoiced. And it was good.

Now. Are there exceptions? DUH. NOTHING IS BLACK AND WHITE when it comes to things like nature/nurture and blanket statements regarding “all kids.” But. Monkey Mo’ helped me put into efficient words why I so often disagree with those who said I’d be a “good mom”: I don’t think I’d be naturally good at parenting. And presently, I have no interest whatsoever in overcoming this personal opinion. Would the kid grow up to be a dance machine with pretty much really awesome taste in most things that are worthy of excellent palate development? Prolly. That’s not parenting. That’s fairy godmothering. And that’s all that holds interest for me.


(ZOMGGGG GLITTER AND OTHER PEOPLE’S DWARFS FOR EVARRRR!)

SO. For all you babycrazy friends out there who see me having a grand ol’ giggly baby time with your kids, it’s cuz I love kids when they aren’t being bad. When they are bad, I don’t see it as a chance to rise to the challenge – I see it as the perfect time to give the kid back to you.

But then, Monkey Mo’ said “even though I lucked out with such a good baby, I know that I’m gonna do SOMETHING to screw him up. Everyone will.” BNNNGGGGG. Gong of life smacked me in the face: things NOT on my short- or long-term to-do list include screwing people up. Especially tiny baby people. They are DELICATE those ones!!! I think I’ll just stick to letting my friends screw up their own kids and getting myself a job that I will, undoubtedly at some isolated moment, screw up, but will otherwise love to work and crush with awesometude.

Oh, and in case anyone was curious, I basically type at the speed of light. JUST PUTTING THAT OUT THERE.

Now stop reading this blog already and go do something helpful for Japan!!!

OH. THANK. GOD.

SOME PEOPLE don’t like R. Kelly.  And you know what?  SOME PEOPLE are wrong sometimes about what’s amazing and what isn’t.  I have long been curious about what this video would look like if and when it were ever to be produced.  Well, mystery solved:  it looks like 110% pure R. Kelly genius*.

*genius is a loosely-defined term, sometimes used in an ironic or even facetious manner, but generally implying that a person or their actions are of advanced intellect, oft characterized by an abundance of originality and spontaneity.  genius can also be used to describe a person who just makes up their own fucking rules about how things go because they think your rules are stupid or simply baseless in the reality of their lived experience, regardless of whether or not that lived reality draws almost entirely upon socially constructed norms that would otherwise have been the groundwork for “your rules.”  When you look up “genius” in the dictionary, the first picture you see is of some old white dude whose likeness is probably cast in marble somewhere in a museum.   The second picture you see is of R. Kelly.  Deal with it.  That’s just how it is.

We are all weird, it’s okay.

Do you ever feel like you’re a weirdo?  And I don’t mean that in a “keep Portland weird” sort of ‘I’m weird, but where before I was a lone weird wolf, now my pack has grown so everyone I know is a weirdo and we are a giant wolfpack of weirdos.’ (aka anyone at the clown house on Alberta, nahmsayn??)  I mean, like, have things about you that y0u can’t change – or would change if you could but are secretly waiting for someone to discover your weird things and think they are really great and not like hairy warts at all?

Well.  even if you are a warty weirdo, it’s okay.  Because this music video exists.  You are almost certainly not weirder than this.  IF ANYONE CAN COME UP WITH A WAY TO EXPRESS THEIR EMOTIONS ABOUT THE HOT CHIP – I FEEL BETTER VIDEO THAT IS MORE ARTICULATE THAN ‘UMMMM… UH…. NO WORDS…’ I WILL CONSIDER GIVING YOU A DOLLAR.  i might not.  but i’ll think about it.  it’ll honestly depend on how far away from me you live.

Physical pain

In the vein of things that I find annoying about habits on social networking sites, I must admit that I am almost always annoyed by people who “complain” about being “so sore” from exercise.  That’s like saying you feel sad that you have so much more money than everyone else.  You worked out.  We get it.  You did something good for yourself.  Now do something good for me and shutthefuckupaboutitalready.  Shiiiiiit.  But truthfully, I’m not REALLY mad at people who complain about breaking a sweat as long as they make it funny or interesting.  Actually, one of the big inspirations for this blog was from my past experiences going to the gym (yeah… not really doing that anymore… but I’ve got BIG plans) and overhearing and observing the weirdest shit EVER.  Anyway.  The point is…

I am sore right now.  FROM LAUGHING.  I honestly haven’t laughed as hard and as thoroughly EVER as I did this weekend.  Jeebus.  My tummy huwwwwwts from all the laughing.  It was probably from all the ladies simulating foreplay choreography Friday and Sunday.  But maybe it was Tail Blazers vs. Muddy Paws.  Or my sister’s sudden inability to process basic information (LOVE YOU, SISTERPANTS.  YOU BROUGHT MY LAUGHS IN A MAJOR WAY AND THAT’S WHAT COUNTS.)  Or maybe it was ANYTHING that happened to me at all yesterday with Schmalex* and the Iditarod and waffles and mustard and bloody marys (maries?) and… I don’t even KNOW.  But I’ll tell you this: I’m not mad about my huwty tummy.

This morning, though, I was mad at my epic hangover.  I think I barfed up every sin I’ve ever committed.  Maybe that’s why they call it purgatory?  OHHHHHH!!!!  You just got PUNNED!  …although etymologically, the two are closely linked… ANYWAY.  The point is, when I am that hungover, all I am good for is watching music videos and hoping to everything that my gatorade stays DOWN.  WIN on goal A, FAIL on goal B, but hey, that still means good videos.  AND GUESS WHAT!  I found soooo many new favorites.  One of them was THIS amazing treasure from the Justice/Simian Mobile Disco collab.  DEAR OK GO: YOUR VIDEO WAS REALLY COOL.  THIS ONE CAME FIRST.

You know what’s always kind of a bummer to me?  When you get a really awesome video with a really shitty song.  Another thing that can be shitty is when you get a great music video concept, but the musician is so fucking awkward in front of the camera that the whole thing is a bust.  I saw a couple of those today, too.  At least the colors were pretty.