Roughing it

1. Finding employment is a lot harder than I thought.

2. I just came back from a weekend jaunt in Yosemite with Ed and David, then came back to the homestead for a birthday bbq for my dad. He's half a century old now. Holy crap, he's getting on ancient.

2a. I'm glad I'm one of 15 percent of Americans who use the word "jaunt."

3. I SAW A BEAR! That in itself makes up for the sheer lousiness of point number 1. Black bear cubs are as cuddly looking as you expect, and probably twice as dangerous.

4. Four is the number of freedom. You can figure that out for yourself.

Public Declaration: For Di and Jo

I miss you guys. A lot.

I'm glad we're friends/comrades in arms (viva the motherland!)/not enemies. I'm kind of saddened that we haven't had a hilarious hijink in so long. I can't believe you're miles upon miles away from me, even a freaking ocean! Di Lam, you know I can't swim nor able to afford a plane ticket to see you. And thanks Jo for putting me as your number one, you should know I plan to lord that over you for the rest of your existence.

P.S. Come back to me. Baby, I can change! I can change!
P.P.S. Steps of Rome's Nicola, hanging Jimmy, watching really bad movies, gelato, drunk dials, "You're going to have to snap it from the front!", 2 against 1, breakfast with Stacy's mom, Kool-Aide hair-dye, fruitful lands, tinfoil, waterguns to the crotch, mallrats, freshman year poker nights, "Look ma, no wheel!", passenger seat steering, Garden Cafe, and oh so much more.

Typed by Candlelight

Rolling Stone fucks with me like no other. I can't believe how mad I am that they awarded that many stars to the Interpol album. But then again, when did I ever take Rolling Stone's word? Maybe if this were a decade or two ago. Maybe.

Rilo Kiley's new album is almost out and about. I kind of like the first single, The Moneymaker. Cute Jenny turned into Sneering Jenny. And there's almost no way this band could go wrong. They sit on the pedestal of the indie world with a plaque reading: Beloved Darlings. If Jenny Lewis puked into a pump shoe, I'm pretty sure people would applause and acclaim her for bringing back the decadence of the 80s in such a chic fashion.

That's my two cents of being an elitist music whore. Onward to other things?

Sure.

I've developed a new chocolate vice. Ritter Sport Bars. I'm glad something good came out of Germany after all this time. I feel like I should stock up on them when I head over to Europe this winter. Cam across the pond? At last. I just have no itinerary right now or even an idea of where to start. But it's okay. I should probably figure out my living and employment situation here in San Diego first. Both items are still on To Do list and kind of not moving forward with either.

And after all these years, seeing the music video for California by Phantom Planet still makes me smile ever so wistfully. I'm really glad that's one of the things that hasn't changed in my life.

Our Love to Admire

The new Interpol album, Our Love to Admire, reminded me of what disappointment felt like. After sampling the first five seconds of each song, I was convinced my friend sent me Antics instead. There was absolute conviction that I heard the intro "The Heinrich Maneuver" on a past cd and this copy was a false leak. Confusion lead to research lead to hope lead to dismay lead to disgust. This album is far from "expressive" as the band members want me to believe. Okay, I give into the addition of a few wind instruments but Paul Banks is still singing in the same note on every song. I let that pass on Antics, but now, forgiveness will not be granted.

I'm so disappointed in you, Interpol, you were supposed to offer me something new, not this sloppy third helping of cheap dark and dank sex in an alley shit. Your debut was gorgeous and reminded me of Joy Division so much that I thought Ian Curtis was alive again. Find yourself another (music) whore because I'm not putting out for you.

Initial D and the Big C

The Boy taught me have to drive stick this afternoon, which could have been a recipe for disaster but everyone had their seat belt out and the engine didn't burst into flames. Win-win for all. Driving stick is a lot harder than I thought. I mean, don't you just hit the clutch when you change gear and call it a day? Apparently not. It's almost an art form of its own. So onward to Lesson Two tomorrow, where I'll still be working on first gear.

I also soooooooo geeked out at Comic Con last Saturday. I was elated to be within the same ten square feet as Joss Whedon. Although a certain part of me regrets not bum-rushing him just to declare my adoration. Oh well. Next time. And then squealing in excitement when I saw one of my favorite Korean comic distributors. Oh, hearing Ray Bradbury speak? Dream of my fourteen year self come true. I spent my early teens reading his works that I dreamt of tattooed men and merry go round that played procession marches. I also fell asleep during his lecture, but I think that's just an instinctive reaction from UCSD. Such a fan girl at heart.