Yep. That's right.

So I like Tumblr because it's so much easier to view and share little tidbits of interweb greatness. But I miss the personalization of my Blogger. So I'm going to work on some healthy median between the two. Any way it ends up going down . . . the Bitch is Back!!!

Really Boys?

I love matinee Celtics games, but if you guys lose ... I swear.

gr

I just want to tell people to "Fuck off!!!!!!!!!!" so bad, it hurts.

Why don't you put it on a blog . . .

I can't help but crank the volume up on the last half of the song. The rest of it is meh.




One of the sexiest videos I've seen in while.

I Believe in The Miracles

Don't you?










I definitely get down to the last one when they play that at the Marsh.

Soul knows no genre or language barrier. It's the foundation in art and it's either there, or it's not.

Que Sera Sera

Llorando

Skylark

A Trip to the Moon

Thank you NPR for the replay of the documentary on Rosemary. Made my day.

"And the melody [is] a stage on which the drum of a lyric is played out . . ."




Here's hoping we meet now and then.

Good night, wherever you are. ♥

Embarrassing moments

So I'm pretty sure the last time I saw my cousin, Paul, I was 4 and dancing on the feet of our Uncle Rock. (Yes, that's an actual name.) Then there was an awkward moment with his aunt (my 2nd cousin) who tried to gave me his email address in high school when I was struggling with math. I really don't know much about the man but yesterday at a family function my mother decided to embarrass me by telling every one that I, too, am a writer but that the only story I've ever let her read was one I wrote back in the 4th grade about my grandmother's cats as Private Detectives Peanuts and Popcorn. It was a murder mystery with a talking parrot as the key piece of evidence that helped solve the case. I've been buying my mother Lehane books and Raymond Chandler books this past year and she's taken to none of them. This morning she begged me to get up early and grab a copy of the Globe with a story about Paul in it. Now she wants me to go on a search with her to buy his books. "Don't order them online," she says. "If we make a store order them, maybe the store will catch on and order more." That's my mom, the thinker.

Kill me. Somebody please kill me.

The Real

I think it was in Kierkegaard's Either/Or where he describes a "real moment." You'll just feel it. You'll stop whatever it was you were doing and move. Like a panic attack, with all the anxiety, but rather than run from the thing, you'll run towards it. Can you even imagine the exhilaration? I imagine this song describes "real."

So good

(No matter where you're going.)

RE: list of things that make me happy 2010 (machine color)

a list in picture form and in no particular order


flipping people off, old people, vacation-wear, the beach


babies with fuzzy hair, cake messes


adidas all the way


books, wine, cakes with fruit toppings, burlesque dancers, queens, vests, ruffles, fishnet tights, boobies


Elvis, Hawaiian shirts, lays, ukuleles

Pirates are sexy

An interview worth reading.

I found this interview inspiring in a number of ways. I like that he came right out and said that what he was doing was illegal, and not morally sound (he did try to justify it, but I found some of those points compelling).

Maybe if the twinge of guilt is still there and the appreciation for the art itself remains intact, perhaps the means to acquire said art could be considered a secondary sin at best, er worst.

So kudos, The Real Caterpillar. Great handle!!

You wanna talk about games ...

Poor Ender Wiggin

The one real thing, the one precious real thing was his memory of Valentine, the person who loved him before he ever played a game, who loved him whether there was a buggar war or not, and they had taken her and put her on their side. She was one of them now . . . He had had only one memory that was safe, one good thing, and those bastards had plowed it into him with the rest of the manure--- and so he was finished, he wasn't going to play.

And who could blame him? We cherish the memories that remind us we're human .... whatever that means.

I wish

It's my birthday and I wish there was some nicer way to put this song on here.

Have we all heard some version of the Judgment of Solomon before? If not follow the link.

So now that we're all on the same page, it is what it is, it's just one of those things, it's complicated and . . .

"When the soul and the heart can no longer bear the burden, the lungs take over one half of it, so that the weight will at least be evenly distributed."--- Kafka, on his lung illness

Does that make it any clearer?

I don't want to see you torn apart, and if that means I breathe a little heavier, if things are a little rougher . . . well, that's just how it has to be.

Jump

Poetry Corner

But they'll still look in your eyes

to find the human inside . . .

Make me feel tiny if it makes you feel tall . . .

Yeah you're the shit, but you won't be it for long.

When you don't care then you got nothing to lose.

Flume

To download Peter Gabriel's cover of Bon Iver's Flume, sign up here.

All of Post Secret's posted secrets were great today. But this one hit home.




I didn't know anything at 22, and now just days before my 26th birthday, I must admit to not knowing that much more.

Maybe xkcd will shed some light with scientific prove of love.




In the movie Lars and the Real Girl, an important point was made about growing up. It's one of those things that sticks with me.

Lars Lindstrom: I was talking to Bianca, and she was saying that in her culture they have these rites of passages and rituals and ceremonies, and, just all kinds of things that, when you do them, go through them, let you know that you're an adult? Doesn't that sound great?

Gus: It does.

Lars Lindstrom: How'd you know?

Gus: How'd I know what?

Lars Lindstrom: That you were a man

Gus: Ahhh. I couldn't tell ya.

Lars Lindstrom: Was it... okay, was it sex?

Gus: Um. Yeah, yeah, yeah, it's uh, yeah, yeah it's kind of - it's uh - no. Well, it's kind of sex but it's not uh, you know? I don't know. I don't know. It's - uh - good question, good question.

Lars Lindstrom: Yeah, but I have to know

Gus: [dryer buzzes] Hold that thought.

Gus: [in basement] You know, you should ask Dagmar

Lars Lindstrom: I did ask Dagmar. And she said that I should ask you.

Gus: Okay, you know I can only give you my opinion.

Lars Lindstrom: That's what we want

Gus: Well, it's not like you're one thing or the other, okay? There's still a kid inside but you grow up when you decide to do right, okay, and not what's right for you, what's right for everybody, even when it hurts.

Lars Lindstrom: Okay, like what?

Gus: Like, you know, like, you don't jerk people around, you know, and you don't cheat on your woman, and you take care of your family, you know, and you admit when you're wrong, or you try to, anyways. That's all I can think of, you know - it sound like it's easy and for some reason it's not.

Sometimes you want to make the people you love happy. But then you look at all the facts, you count the number of times you've hurt them and as much as you want to keep trying to get things right you realize they just may be better off without you. And that's love. Just love of a different sort.

The Original