Recently in the this year's model Category

Favorite album, that is.

I think I sometimes project an "anti-pop" image, which is so far from the truth. Many friends have expressed embarrassment about my pop tendencies, but I think they're just a bit small-minded. I've been fighting my The Prodigy/Def Leppard urges for the past few days (yes - make sense of that one if you can) and have found that the one pure solution? Good, old-fashioned, 90's pop. Post-grunge pop-punk. (EBPM, anyone? And whoever says that P is "punk" is an ignorant motherfucker and just plain wrong. Or delusional about what punk means.)

And the best album from that era is of course Moz's preferred Born to Quit by Smoking Popes. You may or may not know of the song "Need You Around" - it was on the Clueless soundtrack.


It may seem surprising, but this is probably on my top 25 all-time favorite songs ever list. There's something so classic and melancholy about it. It's the best love song I can think of, depending on what you would consider a love song. Josh Caterer has the perfect voice for this kind of music. And I love the fact that the album can't really exist anywhere but in the mid-90's - it's as if a grunge hangover seeped into the pop. There's that oh-so-Seattle existential crisis and despair, but not in such a depressing way. Now that they're sort of back together, I think I need to see them.

My other favorite song from the album is "Rubella" - he's just so Moz-y in both voice and cadence. With that excellent pop-punk background. It's kind of perfect. And less depressing than some of the other stuff. Sort of. I'd be interested to be that girl to someone, but I think were it to happen I'd be grossed out. Let's be honest.

This all seems strangely appropriate, like a good hair of the dog to the melancholy rain music I've been listening to over the past week. It's certainly a better cure and smoother transition than the aforementioned Def Leppard and The Prodigy.

The rain is gone, but I can't shake the melancholy. Rain - or more specifically drizzle - is the reason I could never live in Seattle, despite my love for the city. I would without a doubt become a serial killer. Despite my vampire tendencies, I am quite dependent on my Vitamin D.

It lasted long enough that I made a rain playlist. With the oh-so-boring Zepp-inspired title "The Rain Songs." It's not an entirely logical playlist and it certainly doesn't capture my mood. It's missing something.

"Geronimo" - Yann Tiersen, Black Sessions
"The Rain (Supa Dupa Fly)" - Missy Elliott, Supa Dupa Fly
"The Rain Song" - Led Zeppelin, Houses of the Holy
"Sit down. Stand up. (Snakes & Ladders.)" - Radiohead, Hail to the Thief
"Gun Street Girl" - Tom Waits, Rain Dogs
"When the Levee Breaks" - Led Zeppelin, Led Zeppelin IV
"Gimme Shelter" - The Rolling Stones, Let It Bleed
"Rain When I Die" - Alice in Chains, Dirt

In fact, the only song on it that really correlates phonically to my mood is "Geronimo," by the genius Yann Tiersen with vocals by Neil Hannon. It reminds me of Paris.

I forgot how much meaning people attach to Valentine's Day. Last year, being in Italy, I was sort of removed from all the commercial hullabaloo. We had Porn & Chocolate day. I fell asleep, but still really enjoyed myself.

This year, Facebook seemed all about Valentine's. Couples were being coupley, singles had statuses about "Singles' Awareness Day," and all I could think was, "why do you guys give a shit?"

That said, I celebrated in customary fashion, i.e. with a playlist. (I was also celebrating Pitchers & Catchers and Injured Players Day, so it was admittedly hard to be unhappy.) Appropriately enough, the shining star of the playlist? St. Valentine's Day Massacre and no, not 50's. Rather, the three song LP by motörheadgirlschool. It was kind of awesome.

About two years ago, I threw together a webpage for my club in literally about five minutes. It was supposed to be temporary, but it's still up. The design is pretty ugly. I'd worked on mock-ups for a new layout last year, but lost them to a hard drive crash. I decided that we're going to have a real website this year.

I spent the past three or so days (on and off, of course!) working on my initial plan: simple background, clean navigation. I spent quite a bit of time working on a kapa inspired pattern for the background. I ended up making a texture I loved, but no amount of fiddling with Kuler or anything else was able to help me find a color scheme that worked with it. It's hard to find something nice to go up against three different but strong browns. It's also the kind of design that might be off-putting or weird to people who don't know what kapa is and looks like.

In the end, it had to go to the junk pile. There was no way around it. I was looking through various Hawaiiana I keep around and got to some vintage postcards, then was struck by inspiration. This never happens to me. I put on Kings of Leon, as a courtesy to a friend who harassed me into giving them another try (they sucked at Coachella. I'm sorry. I loved "Molly's Chambers" pretty much since the week it was released, but if you can't put on a live show...). So I've been listening to "Sex on Fire" and fooling around with Photoshop for the past three hours, but I got something I really like. And yes, it looks shitty, but it's a JPG because I didn't want to waste space on a PNG.

Now I just have to code it. I don't even care that I'm up three hours after I intended to go to bed.

There is little in life as satisfying as finding that one song that suits my mood when none of my other music will do it for me. My restlessness tonight needed something that for once was neither metal nor grunge nor "Harder" - which, no thanks to Oliver, I listen to quite often.

The thought occurred that Portishead might be good restless music.
And so I'm listening to "Glory Box." On repeat.
All of Dummy would probably work.

Upon leaving Europe, there was little doubt in my mind that there would be no mens in Berkeley, per usual. Whatever if I cop out a lot: the fact of the matter is that I can count on one hand the number of guys whom I've met here and to whom I've been instantly attracted.

That said, I find myself at a crossroads of sort. Which is a bit of a luxury, but then again, my interests read like a "pick me to be your girlfriend" application. I've never been sure how to respond when people ask me why I'm single, but I think it amounts to this: if life is too short for bad coffee and frat parties, what makes it long enough to deal with relationship bullshit?

The fact of the matter is that it isn't. Don't get me wrong, I like people. But I prefer the company of me to the company of someone I don't really care about. I'm a third-wave feminist in so very many ways. But I am tired of playing. It is exhausting.

Would that there were an expotition to forgo.

I usually bake to Yann Tiersen, but have not gotten that far in the whole "adding music back into iTunes" project. So I'm going through what I've got. Alice Cooper? Umm... no. Amy Winehouse? Umm... definitely no. Arthur Lyman? If I were making babingka, maybe. Eventually I got to Benoît Charest's soundtrack to Les Triplettes de Belleville and, having no Django, that seemed the best fit. So cheers to the French.

It's been nearly a year since I've baked anything because Italian ovens scare me. Luckily, mine is electric. I probably shouldn't have taken such a long hiatus. I get by with a little help from my friends, I'd say, as a friend's party (theme: Secret Ingredients) prompted the return of the prodigal baker. And the dish? Chocolate Sauerkraut Cake.

I know what you're thinking. I'm sure I was thinking the same thing.

How does one rinse sauerkraut? I attempted to do what I do when I'm washing rice, except I use a colander. It seemed to work okay. If this cake freaking tastes like cabbage, we'll know what's up. This is the point at which I remember that I don't eat cabbage (except in Chinese Chicken[less] Salad) because I don't like the way it smells.

Cream the butter and sugar. Aha! And here is roadblock numero uno. Because I? I have never creamed anything without my handy-dandy Kitchen Aid. And Martha I am not. All I can think of at this point is how nicely my hands would fit around Chris Isaak's throat. Needless to say, the music gets changed. To Metallica. And it's never a good sign when I'm baking to Metallica.

Okay, the rest is pretty straight-forward. Even without my usual devices, I can't really complain about difficulty. Although the issue of measurement is a trying one. At best.

And I love batter. E. coli be damned. So I taste it. And it is deliiiiicious. Gabby Pahinui is on and life is good. Now to make the glaze. Corn syrup? Oh dear. I did not notice that. Even if I did, I doubt that it's easy to find in Italy.

No toothpicks here either. But it's okay.

Post-cake-mortum: bundts are very hard to get out. I cut my finger wide open before I finally hit the removal jackpot in the way of a steaming hot towel. The glaze - I ended up making simple syrup. I also added marsala wine, cinnamon, nutmeg, and a tiny bit of ground pepperoncino cioè red pepper flakes. Going overboard. It's a good thing.

There are times in my life when I realize that I need to re-evaluate my priorities. For instance, I rescued (from the sinking ship that is my old external drive - thank you cyclic redundancy errors and non-spinning drives) my DJ Assault music folder before my Dizzie Gellespie one. I think that means I'm surely going to hell. I'm sure that means I'm going to hell. What did Twain say? Better company?

My first final is in four days and all I want to do is go dancing.

In this the week of our musical discovery, another revelation was made. "Two Headed Boy" is a Neutral Milk Hotel song. I know the song and the In the Aeroplane Over the Sea cover - it's aesthetically what I aspire to be. Now I can put two and two together. They always make up five.

While spending time with friends this evening, I was reminded of the fact that I have no school tomorrow, and I'm confused to admit that my first reaction was something in the vein of dismay. I don't like Mondays, never have, but I do like the feeling of a fresh start. And, with that in mind, I intend to wake up as early as I would have had class not been cancelled. I intend to exercise outside, weather permitting.

Given the recent rain in the area, it seems hard to believe that swimsuit season is once more upon us. I'm more than willing to admit that I do not feel ready for it. I hate feeling fat in Europe. So it comes full circle as I am now in search of the swimsuit worn by the cover girl.

I've had Crowded House stuck in my head for most of the week; this struck me as odd as even before the downfall of my external hard drive, there was no CH to be found amongst my musical "possessions." Some small, repressed memory of "World Where You Live" from the first (first!!!) Live from the Archives CD managed to manifest itself. Being a regular YouTube junkie, I found myself pursuing this direction. I have come to several conclusions.

1. Crowded House made "Don't Dream It's Over." Every time I hear this song, I get frustrated with my lack of 80's knowledge when I cannot name the artist. No longer will this be a problem.
   
2. I probably shouldn't have forgone CH at Coachella 2007 in favor of Airspace, having bolted at the end of Willie Nelson's set.
   
3. The settling of my computer issues has made me more amenable to 80's pop. Whereas, of late, I've been tending to Rage Against the Machine, Queens of the Stone Age, and Metallica.