And I don’t care what anyone says.  The new-ish Oasis album is fucking rad and I can’t stop listening to it.  I even sing it in the shower — which I neva, eva do.  And I don’t even care if I’ve typed this out to you before because I think it’s worth repeating.  But maybe not so good that it warrants a 6th sentence…

Probably one of the funniest things I’ve ever done at 3am had to have happened the other morning.  My friend from work sends me a lot of forwards and pictures and stuff.  Surprisingly a lot of them are really funny and cute.  But one of them was one of those bucket list e-mails.  So I had this brilliant idea that I should make a list of all the things I wanted to do before I died.  Here’s 3 pieces of it, but only because my entry would be weak without providing evidence from said bucket list.

1. Hang glide from that cliff in the Mexico tourism commercial (yeah, I’ll just wander around Mexico until I find that cliff.  And I’ll disregard the fact that I’m terrified of heights)
2. Watch the ball drop one New Year’s Eve in NYC (hmmmm… this one might work if I can stay awake past 9pm and not freak out when there’s more than 20 people in a 50 foot radius of me)
3. Read all the books on Modern Library’s Top 100 Novels (I tried this and I’ve actually read a lot of these books, but I eventually gave up on, say, A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man, and opted for something horrible like American Psycho)

Don’t get me wrong, I think it’s awesome to have goals.  I think it’s paramount in your life, it definitely gives you something to work towards and keeps you on track, but I find that when I make lists like that I start thinking that I need to become more exciting than I actually am or have more adventures than I really want to. 

But.

What’s the worst that could come of hang gliding?  They give you a helmet right?

I’ve said it once, but I’ll say it again: I love little kids singing.  And I love them singing in this new Peter Bjorn & John song.

***

Dear Blog,

I don’t think people send enough mail.  I can remember when I was younger we had this book, 99 Free Things Kids Can Get in the Mail or something like that.  I think I spent an entire Saturday mailing off for some of the stupidest stuff — stuff I didn’t even want — but because it would be coming in the mail it was suddenly absolutely necessary.  And what’s funny is (I’m honestly laughing as I type this) I don’t think even half of that crap came.  I probably got a pencil and a couple of return address labels in the mail and nothing else.  Oh, and some seeds.  Yeah, I know.  What’s an eight year old going to do with carrot or beet seeds or whatever they were?

But now it’s more of a chore to get the mail than anything.  Unless I’m expecting a package it wouldn’t matter to me if the mail sat out in the mailbox for three days before I went to get it.  All of my bills are paperless and most of my friends either call or e-mail me.  Sometimes there is the exception to the rule… but most of my correspondence is done online.  Which, in my opinion, is kind of sad.  It’s a fact universally acknowledged that letters are so much more personal than an e-mail (no matter how many emoticons you add or how many times you change the font). 

I don’t know, maybe I’m just saying all of this because it’s snowy and I don’t want to walk across the street to get the mail {because I know there’s going to be 1) a JC Penney catalog 2) a coupon for the dry cleaner and 3) a flyer trying to recruit me for the National Guard}  Surely the Guard can wait several days for my decision right?  At least until the snow melts?

All my hearts moons & clovers,
Leslie

One of my favorite Christmas presents this year was a 2 year subscription to ReadyMade Magazine that my kid brother got me.  If you don’t know anything about the mag the tagline is “instructions for everyday life” and it pretty much tells you how to do/make/create anything all by yourself (with some help from bought or found materials).  It has to be one of my all-time favorite magazines and a Bible for DIY-ers.

So I got my first issue the other day — February/March 2009 — and it’s titled “Live It Up {Without Leaving Home}.”  And, as I’m sure you guessed, it instructs you on how to throw a “stirring cocktail hour, rowdy craftathon, must-see movie night, etc.” all “without breaking the bank {or a sweat}.”

I was so let down.  Not only is the magazine only 76 pages, half of which are ads (which would seriously piss me off if I had paid the cover price of $4.99), but doesn’t everyone know how to throw these types of get togethers without “breaking the bank?”  Four words: bring your own ( whatever ).

And because it’s a Feb./Mar. issue there’s a small (small) section about Valentine’s Day.  This is the highlight of the issue for me.  Not because I have anyone to send a valentine to, but because the writers got kind of creative.  They had artists design “exclusive ReadyMade valentines” and you can either cut them out of the magazine and give them away or print them off online.  Supposedly.  When I went to type in the address to get to the printable valentines it just took me to the main page of the website.  Bogus.

The same goes for their “customizable valentines.”  It’s a pretty cool idea actually.  Take sticker printer paper and print off new wrappers for things like Altoids and Almond Joys and Good & Plenty candies and suddenly they become “Je T’aime – Curiously Strong Love,” “Good Love & Plenty of It,” and “All My Joy.”  I’d like to link you to what they look like, but… well… you know the drill.

I would be handing those valentines out to everyone I passed on the street if I could get them to print off ReadyMade’s website, but for V-Day 2009 I guess I’ll have to settle for the old cardboard cutout stand-bys.  Spiderman’s always a classic though, right?

I interviewed for a job a few weeks back.  Let’s say it was a… beekeeping job.  And, actually that might not be that bad of a job now that I think about it.  I don’t think you’d have to work a full eight hour shift and you’d never have to worry about what to wear to work. 

Anyway, I digress.

So I interviewed for this beekeeping position and this interviewer asked some of the worst questions.  Man.  Like, “Will you be prepared to give us 150% here at Acme Beekeeping Company?”  And I just kind of stared at her, thinking “Lady, this is a bee farm.  You have bees in your hair and honey on your face.  I do not know what to say to that.”

Needless to say I left the interview fairly quickly.

But when days turned into weeks and I didn’t hear from her I got kind of pissed.  I mean, who is she to tell me that I can’t be a beekeeper?  I have [fairly] steady hands and I’d look good behind a mesh face guard and giant tent hat. 

I wouldn’t even be bringing this up had I not seen her at the hospital yesterday.  Yeah, I know.  A beekeeper at the hospital.  Imagine that.  She was, uh, getting a stinger removed or something.  And when she came up and told me that the position was still open, that they were having “some problems with HR” I just kind of smiled, nodded, and said, “I’ve accepted another position.  Have a good day.”  Then I turned around and walked off.

Yeah, I know, right?  It was like that episode of The Sopranos where Carmella tells AJ’s counselor that she’s “getting back with [her] husband” and she turns around and walks off with this look of horror on her face.  Except, you know, without all the dead bodies and prosciutto and stuff.

I don’t care.  I bet the insurance is high as hell for beekeepers anyway.

I had this dream last night –

Whoa, whoa, whoa, whoa.  Before you send me a litany of complaints and moans and groans… I hate hearing about dreams too.  Mostly because I rarely have them (I tend to repeat this line a lot — you’ve probably heard it before).  But this dream is going somewhere.  I digress.

– where I was missing my left forearm.  Imagine that.  It reminded me of this documentary I saw on IFC in high school.  I couldn’t remember the name, so I did a little digging this morning.  I found a pretty rad article on Slate by Carl Elliott, apparently the documentary is called Whole by Melody Gilbert and it came out in 2003.  It’s about Body Integrity Identity Disorder, also known as Amputee Identity Disorder.

When it comes to films I can handle a lot… gore, blood, tears, guts, black humor.  One thing I still have a tough time with is the fragility of the human mind (I sound like something out of a freshman psych text).  So needless to say I had a tough time with Whole, but I’d definitely watch it again.

Oh, I’m sorry.  I’m not telling you a thing about the film.  See, the whole premise is that the people in these films feel as though they were born to be without one of their limbs, that in order to be whole (eh?) they need to have their leg or arm or foot surgically removed or shot off with a gun or damaged so far beyond repair that there’s nothing doctors can do but remove the injured body part.  The remarkable thing is that no one really knows why these people want to have their limbs removed, especially them.

It’s an interesting concept and I’m not sure where I stand on it — and I probably don’t deserve to really have a stance on it at all considering I don’t battle with the disorder myself or know anyone who does.  Sometimes I think that the best thing you can do in situations where you don’t understand the full picture is just to have an open mind… I think that’s the best advice I could have when watching this film. 

I wish I could say that I found a site where you could watch the doc, or at least a clip of it, but all of my searching turned up only a director bio and a bunch of very strange amputee sites.  So I’ll leave you with the Body Integrity Identity Disorder site, a site set up for people who want to “have their body physically match the idealized image they have of themselves.”

I’ve been on the prowl for some new music lately and imagine my surprise when all the latest indie music blogs are telling me that it’s my favorite actor that’s putting out the hippest tunes these days.  That’s right, the intense yet dreamy Ryan Gosling ‘s band, Dead Man’s Bones, is putting out an album this summer.  Gosling met and formed the band with his pal Zach Shields in 2005.  

They release their first interview with Pitchfork today where they discuss, among other things, their first single (titled “In the Room Where You Sleep“), how they met, and the struggles they encountered with Gosling’s “unconventional” voice.

The album, which is apparently a concept album, is unique in that it has a children’s choir from the Silverlake Conservatory of Music singing on it.  I was really excited when I read this in the interview.  I don’t think kids are given enough advantages or opportunities in music and, if done correctly, some really awesome things can be done with a child’s voice (example: “March of the Camels” by White Rabbits or “Mango Pickle Down River” by M.I.A.).

But I think it’s funny that I’m even giving Dead Man’s Bones a chance considering the major brush off I usually show to most actors and their musical attempts.  I mean, just because you played the man in black doesn’t mean you can suddenly do a cover of the black album, Joaquin.  Dead Man’s Bones leaves listeners intrigued after their first single and instead of being acutely aware of listening to an actor sing for 4 minutes one is able to become absorbed in the song itself and all the voices singing it.  I really recommend checking it out.

I’ve probably mentioned this (but I’m too complacent in my Headline News and cup of black coffee to check) but I’m looking for a second [full time] job.  I think I did tell you this… about how I’d had more than one interview but none of them had gone anywhere?  And you were all, “awwwww, that’s too bad” and I said, “yeaahhhhh” and then we finished Steel Magnolias and everything was cool?  Yeaaaah, you’re always down like that, wordpress.  haha

So I’m going to be brief with my point because I don’t want to come across as whiny: on more than one of these interviews (and I’ve had more than one of these interviews) they ask me, “Why were you majoring in English?” as if I studied tap dancing for 2 years.  It’s a real pisser.  One of the interviewers was — get this — a library.

Sometimes I wish I was good at math.  Accountants never have to answer these questions.

My favorite tracks from midwest bands.

Doctor Suplex– “LH Spinechiller Supreme”
– When to listen to it: when you’re burned out on Ratatat and you want someone hardcore, yet debonair to whisper the sweet somethings of electronica in your ear
– Why I like it: I hear it’s sold out of the back of a 1983 VW Rabbit. 
– Where should it be played: Everywhere.  And as the Adult Swim theme song

Slim Dixon — “Every Paycheck”
– Who can  you find the band drinking with on a Friday night: tow truck drivers and go go dancers
– What are the members most likely to get busted for on Cops: smuggling things (fruit, vegetables, illegal aliens) across the border in their beards
– Where to turn after this song: try “I Would Never” for a real treat in minor harmonies and pounding pianos.
Ross Taylor — “Oh me”
– Present he would most likely get you for your birthday: a mixtape of his favorite Bob Dylan songs.
– Found under his couch cushions: guitar picks, number 2 pencils, and possibly a manuscript
– What RT would bring to a knife fight: a guitar.  Oh, and a knife.  And maybe a camera just because stuff like that is fun to put on your Facebook.

Lately I’ve been on a DIY craze.  I made my brother’s girlfriend’s Christmas present using Talavera tiles from La Fuente, and I made this butterfly picture in 15 minutes and for under $25.  I really like those mounted butterfly pictures, but they’re expensive.  I’ve seen them online for up to $1,000.  Needless to say I can’t afford that.  Plus, there’s something kind of disturbing about having dead butterflies on your walls (no matter how pretty their carcases may be).

Neither are very difficult to make…. for the butterfly shadow box you just buy the materials at a craft store and glue the butterflies with some hot glue and voilà.  And all you have to do for the Talavera pictures is glue the tiles to your piece of wood.

I made this picture for my mom’s family room a few years back.  It was really cheap to do because I got all the tiles at a surplus supply store (I’m talking like ten cents a tile).  And I’m really fortunate to have a dad who’s handy enough to be able to make me pretty much anything I ask him to, and such is the case with the frame for this picture.  There’s no real rhyme or reason to the tiles and their pattern, but I dig it like that.  It’s about three feet long by a foot and 1/2 wide (give or take). 

My next project is inspired by a picture I saw on Flickr.  Can’t be that hard, huh?  I’ll update with photos.

What’s funny, as you can tell from my picture above, I inherited her list-making gene.  Right before I go to bed at night I make a list of everything I need to do the next day.  And mornings, as I drink my coffee, I scrap the previous night’s list and make a whole new one.  And god forbid I should make a mistake writing… misplace an apostrophe or misspell a word… I have to start the whole process all over again.

I thought about it once.  No, but really, really thought about it.  And I think it has something to do with crossing stuff off the list and then at the end of the day [hopefully] looking down and seeing a page full of pay cell phone bill and fill gas tank and make bed (I kid you not, I’ve been known to put “make bed” on my list on “slow days”).

My friends tease me, saying that I’m the least spontaneous person that they know.  Ex: if our plans include dinner and a movie and they want to go get coffee afterwards they turn to me and ask if it’s okay, if it’s cool to “deviate from the list” (laughing).

I won’t lie.  Most times I say “no.”