Totally useless crush

I never get celebraty crushes.  Just too remote.

But:

(1) I really love reality shows.

(2) I really love food.

(3) My bacon fascination is well-documented.

(4) And I obviously have a foundness for improv.

I honestly have no feelings towards Hardee's.

(via So Good)

Chairlift "Bruises"

I love 80% of this song. Simple and sweet. Especially the lyrics. And then the end just loses me. (And, yes, this is the song from the Nano ads.)

I tried to do handstands for you
I tried to do headstands for you
Everytime I fell you on yeah everytime I fell
I tried to do handstands for you
But everytime I fell for you
I'm permanently black and blue, permanently blue for
you

You-ooo etc...
For you-ooo etc...
So black and blue-oooo etc...
For you-ooo etc...

I grabbed some frozen strawberries so I could ice your bruisy knees
But frozen things they all unfreeze and now I taste like
All those frozen strawberries I used to chill your bruisy knees,
Hot July ain't good to me
I'm pink and black and blue

I got bruises on my knees for you
And grass stains on my knees for you
Got holes in my new jeans for you
Got pink and black and blue

Got bruises on my knees for you
And grass stains on my knees for you
Got holes in my new jeans for you
Got pink and black and blue for

You-ooo etc...
For you-ooo etc....
So black and blue-ooo etc...
For you-oooo etc....

Pandora

So I finally got around to really playing around with Pandora this week. I'm not a big music guy. I like music. (Really. Who doesn't like music? Saying you "like music" is like writing on your online dating profile that you "like kissing." Is there honestly anyone out there who doesn't like kissing? If so, THAT would be important to put on a profile. "I like deep discussions, dogs, and the Mets. Oh, I also hate kissing. Ick.") I just don't pay much attention to music. I hear something I like and I bop along to it. I don't really follow artists and their careers. I have a horrible memory for lyrics. I let a song hit me, wash through me and go out the other side. Or I will play one song over and over for two hours. So up to now Pandora has been a bit difficult. I just couldn't think of something to type into the field.

But Abra of Thank You, Robot discovered what we refer to as the "Phil Collins Hack." And, yes, Phil Collins radio is pretty darn sweet. It as if Mr. Collins is a nexus of awesomeness, a vortex of 80's/early 90's kick ass.

Pandora also has the band Pooka which I have been unable to find for years. They were a two women group from the early 80's. I first heard them as a barista at a coffeehouse/record store in Minneapolis. They came through town and played a set there. I believe there were three people in the audience counting me, the woman at the record counter and my friend Matt who was therw to play gin rummy with me. They were, um, über-cute and weird. Matt and I played their album tons in '93-'95 (often as background for roleplaying). Sadly their second album is all electronica and their Pandora station bores me.

But I mainly find myself listening to Liz Phair radio. I honestly don't want to know what that says about me. Actually I have a theory: I listen to music not as if I were the singer but as if it is being sung to me. And I like women with an edge and a sweetness and a sense of humor. And who swear.

Here's a fantasy I'm willing to share with the internets:

A smoky cabaret. I sit at a table over to the side, drinking a beer (even though there are people crowded up to the stage, dancing). The lead singer is tight on the mic stand, cupping the mic with both hands, holding it tight to her face. She's sweaty and has slightly running black eyeliner. Through most of the song her eyes are closed, the emotion of the song channeled through her hands and face. Until the last verse. Then she opens her eyes, locks them with me, and just sings. It's the sort of look you can't break away from for anything. Her band is wailing away, tearing up the night. The crowd a fury of dance and bodies. But across that void of chaos, there is a cord that attaches us to each other, her words shooting down it straight into me.

Yep.

(Yes. We later have sex in the bathroom, but that's not the point.)

Things I like

• Strawberries.
• People singing Christmas songs just for me in July.
• Bubbles.
• Tug boats.

Unrelated: I am doing karaoke on Wednesday for the first since I started doing musical improv. I am hoping my general fear of singing in front of people will carry over to singing real songs in a bar. I think I will sing Under Pressure. Man, I love that song.

Science of Crushes. Pt 4.

I have all of these "qualifications," this checklist I run through whenever I first feel something that resembles "attraction":
• Past the mid-twenties, not too deep into the mid-forties.
• Smart.
• Make's me laugh.
• Opinionated.
• Not moralistic/dogmatic.
• Working towards something.
• Reads.
• Quirky in some way (which should be everyone... but isn't).
• Cute smile.
• Both outgoing and bashful.
• Single.
• Female.
• Likes boys.
• Etc, etc.
Another problem comes when ANYONE actually matches this list. My immediate response is "Hell! I should be interested in them!" This sometimes ignores whether or not I actually like the person. Perhaps because I so rarely develop crushes (although I actually do enjoy having them), I jump at the opportunity. But, early on, I realize that my pseudo-crush is just based on The List. So I start to doubt it. Then I wonder if my doubt is doubt just because I think I should doubt it.

I think too much, that much is clear.

I certainly miss the days I would like someone for months, we'd both get drunk, she (out of frustration of me just staring at her all the time and not doing anything about it) announces that I'm being stupid, I kiss them and all is dandy. Ah, those were the days.

Science of Crushes. Pt 3.

First, I proved today (yet again) that I really have lost all ability to flirt.

Second, one can't control one's dreams. They happen. And yet I spent all day feeling vaguely guilty about my dreams last night. On one level, I realize that they are just a manifestation of my current tight focus on the very topic of crushes. On the other hand, they were pretty hot dreams.

Sigh.

Science of Crushes. Pt 2.

I saw Dan Deacon, Tom Tom Club and Devo at McCarren Pool last night. All three were great. Devo was especially interesting... in part because they are old. It is always a bit weird to see aging musicians get back on stage and watch them do what they've been doing for 20 plus years. But the Devo has aged particularly well. Once they were a bunch of New Wave nerds. Now they are new wave nerds with guts and grey hair. But they are still nerds still doing what they do and doing it hard. There is no chitter chatter bullshit in their set. They just play from one song to another, bring all the energy and style they had in 1984. It's not like they've been frozen in time but it is also not as if they are just going through the motions. They believed in what they were doing back then and it is still true now. They are just, well, Devo.

But none of that relates to the topic heading, does it?

I have this stupid thing I do in my head at concerts (or dance clubs or whatever). I dance (or I do something which I interpret as dancing). I am relative unselfconscious about it. But I do these weird scans of the crowd around me. What am I doing? I'm checking girls out. Because I still live in the fantasy world were I will make I contact with a woman and something magical will happen.

We'll lock eyes, smile at each other and go back to dancing. From song to song, we will cautiously check each other out and gravitate towards each other. Eventually we will find ourselves dancing side by side. By the time the encore hits, we are screaming the words to the song in each other's face. When the concert is over, we will be out of breath, sweaty and just happy. There will be an awkward moment of realization that we shared a "moment" but haven't even said a word. There will be a stumbling over words. "Wow." "Yeah... wow." "Um, hey." "Yeah, um, hi." She will sweep sweaty hair off her face. "I'm Chris." "I'm [fill in name]." "You want to grab a drink?"

Has this ever happened to me? No. Have I ever even approached a woman at concert? No. But I still have that fantasy. And I find myself scanning the masses, finding one woman, and then repeatedly turning back to her hoping she looks at me. And I can't tell if it is a romantic ideal or just pathetic.

When Walls Attack

(via Boing Boing)

An added note to the last post.

While poking around for links for the last post, I came upon Jen Wang's Touchfood.

Again, just an amazing artist with a wonderful mind. Touchfood also reminds me of some of the relationships I've had, for better or worse.

There is a light that never goes out

I don't know who Zoë Woodbury-High is but here she is covering The Smiths' "There is a light that never goes out."

Apparently she's from Portland.

Buy me this

Please?

(via Crave)

Life In Mean Season

Last night I finally got Rench's album Life In Mean Season. I'm listening to it now.

I am not done. Only five tracks in. But it is a haunting beautiful thing. This is that ground where country hits sorrow and regret and pain and memory. It is also joyous in its way. It is very much America, complex and unique.

I'm doing it no justic. Heck, go read what Rench was trying to do with this album. I think he succeeds greatly.

I will write more when I have had some time to process it, but go take a listen. And go buy a copy. And grab yourself a beer, go sit on the pack porch at sunset, and thing about those yesterdays that are gone forever.


(Yes, there is a Helen Keller tag on this. There is a long quote from her in the liner notes.)

I *heart* COBRA

Really that is all I have to say.

COBRA is really pretty amazing. For example, last night I sat on the floor of a basement being interviewed for French television (by a woman named, curiously, France). Their were four of us being interviewed at once. Very few questions were asked. We just talked and talked. Man, do we like to hear ourselves talk!

Later, more of us talked about the Idiotarod, the police, Bulahla, and god knows what else.

I want to write more but I must rush off to Thank You, Robot practice. But I will just leave you with this one thought, specifically for those out there who feel that they don't have anything to belong to:

No matter how weird you think you are, there are like minded weird folks out there. You just need to open the door and seek them out. And a willingness to look a little stupid helps.

Indexed

I've decided to add Indexed to my "What I Am Reading" list. It is just too much brilliance to not be seen by everyone.

Cleansing Snow

Yesterday was spent at Thank You, Robot practice, lunch with the boys, and then a great dinner with all of Thank You, Robot. It was just a damn pleasant finish to an mindblowingly kick-ass weekend.

There were some things about The Idiotarod that bummed me a touch (counting but not limited to: The JACKASS attiude of a lot of the racers, the slight smell of Crisco and fish still on my flesh, the loss of the cheese balls, the NYPD illogicaly shutting down the afterparty before it started, the dip-shit who I tackled as he started spray painting the park). There is also that post-event depression. All of that work and then it is over. Gone. Ephemerial except for the Flickr pictures and the smell. But Sunday but my mind on my future plans

As I come up out of the subway at Grand Army Plaza, I am greeted with flurries of snow. And it is sticking! Everything has taken on that special fresh snow quiet. The dirt of NY is painted with a fresh coat of white and it all seems so clean. The snowflakes kiss me and I kiss back and I am just filled with joy and calm.

Falling snow always makes me think clearer. I know what I want from the present and the future, and I know that I know what I want. But this weekend I forgot to say that. The snow told me that I could. That it is okay to speak up. Time is too short not to.

I am making plans and living in the moment, which is the balance I have ALWAYS have a hard time with. But not right now. And I have too much great stuff on my plate to worry about the potential that the Mystery Dish may be the best thing ever.. especially when the kitchen is still checking to see if there is any left. (Most tortured metaphor of the week.)

I spent a large portion on the morning trying to get the race results out, so I still haven't had time to write down my thoughts of the Greatest Race in the History of the World. Soon. Tonight. I promise.

Caffeinated Donuts

Doctor Robert Bohannon, molecular scientist, as developed a way to add caffeine to baked goods. Each pastry has the caffeine of two cups of coffee.

This may be the greatest scientific discovery. Ever. This is why I love science. I love Doctor Bohannon. Someone give him some more grant money.

My god. We live in a glorious age!

(via Gizmodo)

Jen Wang

Someone recently directed me to comic artist Jen Wang. I am in love. If anyone is looking to get me an expensive gift that would make me swoon, try getting me one of her originals. The above picture is "Post-mortem mate." Also be sure to check out the beautiful "Dance of the Flight Attendant."

(via Boing Boing)

Bruce Campbell's Old Spice Commercial

One more reason I love Mr. Campbell.

401, Thank You Robot, Gravid Water & Cage Match

My 401 improv class this week felt like a mini breakthrough moment. Certain things that had seemed contradictory in my brain just started to fit together. Things that seemed like constraints are now opening up, giving me freedom. I might be deluding myself but I think I'm making progress.


The lovely performers that I have been working with on Sunday practices have formed into a true improv team. We even picked a name: Thank You, Robot. Okay, admit it. That is an awesome name. Go make us your MySpace friend. We have lovely pictures of robots.

Last night I went to see Gravid Water at UCB. As always, it blew my socks off. Again, I never know how that show is viewed by non-actors and non-improvisers. There is so much of it that tickles me on technical/intellectual level. Last night they did the same scene twice, switching which character was player by the improviser. Fascinating to watch the subtle changes in tone and content. Gravid Water just reminds me how slippery words are and how poor humans are at communicating. That sounds like a back-handed compliment. It is meant as a true compliment. I think some of the truest character work I've seen in improv.

Anywhozits, it was fun to watch Dan Bakkedahl be an actor this time.

The Cage Match finals were last night too. Reuben Williams went up second and they were great. But they had a hard fight because of the stellar set Hot Sauce put up. Normally only a three man team, they were short on because Adam Pally was off exploring the Amazon (or something). So it was only 2/3rds of Hot Sauce but they put out an amazing amount of work. They are known for very quick scenes and they upped it with just Ben and Gil. It was like watching, well, a tornado of ideas and characters. Amazing callbacks and connections. So it didn't surprise me when they won. Props to you, boys. When Adam gets back and if he hasn't succumbed to malaria, I am sure he will be darn proud.

I also bruised my hip and ankle while performing acrobatics on the poles and overhead bars in an empty 1 subway train last night. My fellow acrobat apparently missed me falling four feet onto my back. But she had circus training so it wasn't a fair match up. Not that is was a competition. Either way, I feel like I got hit by a train... which is basically what happened.

My Weirdest Crush

Maybe "crush" is the wrong word. I use crush to mean people (or sometimes things) that intrigue me. People to whom I feel drawn, perhaps even in awe. There are occasionally people actually in my life who, for whatever reason, suddenly make me just want to be near them. Often the reason are not something about their actual personality or any inner being, but something they have achieved or a particular way they see the world or a particularly genius idea or concept of theirs. But sometimes it is just a series of things they are interested in that aren't "normal" but cross perfectly with things in my own brain.

Just as often (or maybe more often) is more in the celebrity realm. I have discussed my improv crush on Ellie Kemper. I saw her show Dumb Girls* this week and it was very funny. Immediately afterwards, I discussed the fact that every improv/sketch comedy boy in my particular world has an improv crush on her. Do we know her? Of course not. As far as I know she is an insufferable human being. But she can be so funny and is obviously extremely cute and has that smile of hers... well, it makes many of us melt.

But I don't get crushes on the Nicole Kidman's of the world. Even Rachel Weisz, who I find incredibly attractive and just love watching on screen, does not create a crush in me. Because I really have no idea of her as a person. Perhaps if a was her in flesh, listened in on a conversation at a cocktail party, heard what her actually laugh was like, she would slip into the "crush" realm.

There is the case of Sarah Vowell. Now, Vowell is not what one would call hot, but is certainly cute. An awkward cute, but still adorable. Vowell is definitely in the cute category even though I have never been in the same room with her. But I have listened to her on the radio and read her words, so I feel I know her voice. I feel like I have the slightest glimmer of what she is about. So the crush has developed.

But now there is the weirdest one, the one I don't understand at all. I have never seen her. I have even heard her voice, but I certainly now very very little about her personality. And the strangest part is that I don't have so much of a crush on her when she talks but how someone says her name once a week. This would be Brooke Gladstone, host and managing editor of the NPR show "On the Media." Yes, I love her interviews and reporting. But what gets me each week, what causes that twinge of a crush, is how at the end of each show, while reading the credits, her co-host Bob Garfield always says, "And edited by.... Brooke." That pause followed by just her first name. "Edited by.... Brooke." And I feel it. I am suddenly intrigued by Brooke. I want to know more about her. I wonder how she takes her coffee.

Man, that is just weird.

*I would also recommend James Santangeli's My Big Fat that is running with Kemper's show. And, hey, make a night of it and head over to the PIT theater for 9:30 show of This Just In.