Raaawr-publican. De-meh-crat.

Can I just say that it absolutely makes my skin crawl to think of being affiliated with a political party?

I want NOTHING to do with it. Either one.*

Let me clarify.

I'm still going to vote in a couple days. But I'm just saying that in terms of everyday life, I am not, nor will I ever be, a Republican OR a Democrat. I just-- I can't think of a worse way to define myself. I know for a lot of people their affiliation is very important to them, or it's at least a part of their life that they take some pride in or find at least a pinch of identity-- but for me it's just not. I'm sorry.

I mean, I'm not sorry. I just think the whole operation is vile. It has NOTHING to do with who I am.

I believe what I believe and behave how I behave because of Jesus in my life. And I don't think my personal convictions don't have anything to do with power struggles and peer-pressure and obscene amounts of money and grown men bashing each other like savage children. I do think it's important to know where you stand on major issues. I'm actually in the process of working out in detail my personal opinions on the major controversial issues, so I can contribute to the banter whenever I come upon it. But I have a feeling, that even when I come to the end of all my discovering and locate my X&Y on the conservative-to-liberal spectrum-- I will still not be able to classify myself as a donkey or an elephant.

I'm just...

(sigh)

I am a leaf on the wind.**

I'm kidding. But seriously... call me a woman. Call me a Texan (even though I'll fight you on it. Sometimes.). Call me a writer and a font snob. Call me a biracial person. Call me a single twenty-something. Call me a Christian! (Even though I really feel like even that term has become a problem and a just casual blanket word for both hardcore followers of God as well as the gross majority of the church-going or used to go to church community... but that's another blog.) Anyway, throw me in the club with the Tall People, the Daydreamers, the Chocolate Eaters, the Occasionally Unsafe Drivers, the Sci-Fi Nerds, the Restaurant Industry People, the Bondservants Of Sallie Mae and ACS, the Only Children or the Wannabe Broadway Showfolk.

I'll own all of that.

But do not call me a Republican.
And do not ask me to define myself as a Democrat.
It's just not me.


*I know there are more than those two. But really? Come on now. Let's be serious.

**Just watch from 1:50-2:50. Or the whole thing. There's actually no spoiler.

Adele Just Slapped Me In The Face With A Piano.

Oh my goodness.

First of all, God bless iTunes celebrity playlists. I got three songs from Alicia Keys' "Secret Life of Bees" playlist tonight and they are all phenomenal. A little haunting Nina Simone (and I though Feist was the original artist of See-Line Woman. Ha!) and a little Duffy (I want her whole album now!).

But the most astonishing is this girl ADELE. 

Holy. Cow.

Her album is called 19 because she's 19. It should be called 19 and genius. Her voice is a little Norah Jones and a little Amy Winehouse... maybe even a tic Lauryn Hill. But cleaner. Lovelier. Fuller. Heartbreakingly so.

I have not been so surprised by a song since I was driving in my car and first heard John Mayer's "Dreaming With A Broken Heart". Before the song was even over, I started it over just to hear him say "Gone, gone, gone, gone, gone..." again.

Even that was a different kind of move.

This? This... I can't talk about it yet. It's too new. I'm only listening to it the third time in my life as I type this.

Just go to iTunes right now and buy the song "Make You Feel My Love" by ADELE.

Then turn it up and just-- listen. 

So. Beautiful. On so many levels. Just let it hit you where ever you are.

p.s. also, she's apparently the musical guest on SNL this weekend.

Hopefully she'll play this song. I but recommend listening to the song first, without pic or video, no anything. Just music. Go. Now.

*Learned tonight that this song is a actually a Bob Dylan cover. Also, 2 country covers of  it were featured in the movie Hope Floats. Good on all that-- but I still like this one a LOT.

Seventeen-Year Old Angst Is So Hot Right Now...

I always liked this one.

Alone With Night

(written 6-26-2001)

For disenchanted lovers

Unresolved since a bitter fight

For shattered dream and broken hearts,

It's always worst at night.

There alone, you contemplate

The flaws of humankind

You foster fears and hopeless thoughts

In a weary, lonely mind.

Distractions are invaluable

When your head is doused with worry

Dear friends and soothing music

Cast out sadness in a hurry...

But close your eyes and there he is

Not far away, yet hazy

And once again you're solitary

Making yourself crazy.

He's the same and you remember

Whether you wish to or not

You agreed that things were gonna change

But they haven't... and he's still hot.

*sigh*

Distressed minds detest the dark

From Milwaukee to Dallas

And lonely hearts wish for nights

Under *Aurora Borealis

See with the moon, comes time to think

And musings drive out sleep

Imagination rides the sky

And quiet angst flows deep.

But never should you feel alone

When the sun has ceased to light

For all lovers know, that when lovers go--

It's always worst at night.

*I think at this time, I had also just discovered and fallen in love with the movie Frequency.

Vintage Poetry

I went and got a new driver's license today. It only took me about 45 minutes, which is definitely something I would toast to if I was holding a glass of wine.

In honor/commemoration of my new DL, I present to you some vintage poetry (I discovered a whole binder full yesterday) written in frustration on the day I got my very first license. I used to write poetry when I got upset. That muse has since abandoned me.

On Attempting To Obtain A Texas Driver's License (or Mos Eisley II)

Written August 8, 2001

The DMV, The DMV,

Wretched hive of scum and villainy.

Take a number, wait in line.

You're 85! They're on 39.

Plastic chairs that smell like-- plastic.

People's children running spastic

Bored of the colorless, dreary fort

Filled with drivers of every sort.

Or non-drivers, who long to be,

Waiting with members of their family,

But no one tells ME they had to come!

So I show up and wait and then feel dumb.

Anyway...

This place must have been here since Abe Lincoln.

Green chairs in the bathroom? What were they thinkin?

But the seats in the lobby are blueish-teal.

And connected together. So they're harder to steal?

The clerks have all been there three hours too long

They just stamp you and sign you and move you along

But there's always one chick who thinks she runs the place

And she's snippy and obnoxiously up in your face.

You think they'd hang a sign;

"Doesn't play well with others!

Keep out solo teens and expectant mothers!"

But that'd be too nice, so they let her run free

Chewing out poor civilians, who just want some ID.

Of the years in your life, waiting takes up three,

And I bet at least one's at the DMV.

The numbers glow on the talking sign;

"Now serving 46 at counter 9."

"Please watch for your number."

"An Army Of One."

A Wanted poster.

Oh wow, this is fun.

Cell phones are ringing.

Look, no more chairs!

"Join the "REAL" Texas Rangers."

NOBODY CARES!

We all just came by to get an ID,

And to take a bad picture that no one should see.

Just in case we get sirened for running a light

The cop will have proof that we wasted daylight

Standing here in this office,

the DMV,

Wretched hive of scum and villainy.

Bat-Pack Hugs

You know how babies get fussy and you pat their backs to try and make them burp?

I HATE it when people hug me like that. With little pats in rapid succession on my back. It really makes me uncomfortable.

The only people I know who do this are older people, mostly aunts or maybe somebody's mom who you don't know very well. 

Also, people who aren't used to/don't enjoy giving and receiving hugs.

Or people who are really nervous about hugging you for whatever reason.

But I am not a fussy baby. A regular embrace will do just fine. Even just a quick one. If you're that nervous about it, you should definitely opt out of the pat-back hug and just give me a secret-handshake-style high five. 

I'm not meaning to offend bat-pack huggers-- I just don't get it. It's awkward. Can anyone explain this to me? If I've just missed something, I want to understand.

"Standing In The Shadows Of Motown"

Okay so... it's really hard for me to remember to watch things. Or be motivated to watch things.

And a lot of times, when I do get around to watching things, they still aren't worth recommending.

This is an exception. :)

I just finished this fantastic documentary. It's about a group of musicians, hand-selected by Berry Gordy (the founder of Motown Records) who became The Funk Brothers-- aka the driving force behind every major hit during the golden age of Motown.

These guys were so together, so en pointe from having played in a group for so many years, that when you listen to their tracks, you barely notice them. It's easy to take their artistry for granted because they were SO good at what they did-- being the accompaniment. They're like a machine. And they were, really. A hit machine, utilized by every major Motown artist.

Together, these 16 men are the heartbeat behind such classics as:

Do You Love Me

Heard It Through The Grapevine

Heatwave

Please, Mr. Postman

You've Really Got A Hold On Me

Ain't No Mountain High Enough

Stop (In the Name of Love)

My Girl

The Way You Do The Things You Do

What's Goin On

How Sweet It Is (To Be Loved By You)

Ain't Too Proud To Beg

Uptight

Dancin In The Street

Shop Around

Shotgun

What Becomes of the Brokenhearted

My Guy

Jimmy Mack

Tears of A Clown

Come See About Me

Baby I Need Your Lovin

Ain't Nothin Like The Real Thing, Baby

Ain't That Peculiar

Reach Out, I'll Be There

Just My Imagination

Get Ready

Signed, Sealed, Delivered, I'm Yours

And many others. A lot of these hits were written in one or two hours and recorded in ONE TAKE by these incredible musicians in a studio nicknamed the Snake Pit. And you know the craziest thing???

The Funk Brothers played on more number one hits than The Beatles, The Rolling Stones, The Beach Boys and Elvis Presley-- COMBINED.

Yet most people have never even heard of them.

Get your name OFF that list.

"Standing In The Shadows of Motown" is the documentary that tells their story. If you've ever bobbed your head to any of the songs listed above, you should check it out. It's not just a really entertaining history lesson-- the film also features are some excellent live covers performed by artists like Ben Harper, Joan Osborne, Bootsy Collins & Chaka Chan, accompanied by the Funk Bros.

So... find it and  watch it! You really should. 

It's better than most of the crap that's at Blockbuster right now.

Numbers vs. Numeros

Curious what it's like inside my mind sometimes?

This occurred to me when I woke up this morning.

When you say them in English, I feel like the numbers 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 8, 9 & 10 are in the equivalent of a bicycle gang. 

One's the leader, of course. Two's the sidekick. Three is the kind, lanky kid. Four and Five are fraternal twins; one wears glasses and the other has terrible handwriting. But they both play soccer. Six is the hot chick. Eight is her bff, who's pretty and sweet, but doesn't talk as much. Nine is the smart kid. And Ten is the muscle.

But Seven is out of the loop. Seven is the outcast. Less Allison Reynolds and more John Bender-- but not as cool. Seven also talks to himself and doesn't wash his hair. Maybe he's really not a bad dude-- but the other numbers just won't give him the time of day. Dirty looks abound. Because he's different. I'd even go as far as to say that Seven is Six's little brother. But he's a liability. An annoyance. A yawning pothole in the middle of an interstate. 

But in Spanish? Different story entirely. Uno, Dos are twin boys of the Weasley variety. Amusing troublemakers.  Tres, Seis & Diez are the pretty girls who go everywhere together and laugh all the time.  Quatro, Cinco & Ocho drive fast cars and play cards, gambling their lunch money away. Siete & Nueve are artistic. They write poetry. And they probably smoke.

None of the Spanish numbers are lonely though. They might not be bff's, but they can all stand to be around each other. They're more balanced. They get along and accept that they all make each other more interesting. They don't leave anyone hanging out to dry.

I think that I've unconsciously felt this way my whole life.  

Or at least since I learned how to count in Spanish.

How did I reach these conclusions? 

I unconsciously organize numbers by how many syllables are in their names.

Does that make sense?

No wonder I suck at math.