Archive: music

The One Where I Do Other Things

I’ve been a busy lady doing stuff!

Our band Taken By Savages (which is me and the world-famous, multi-talented Joe Ziemba) just released a record today! We are super proud of it. If you could see our faces, you’d see a look that critics would describe as “satisfied” or “accomplished” or “shit-eating grins.” This record has been a lot of fun and also work, but very, very fun work. I’m not even sure if we should call it “work” because it would make actual “work” feel inferior and sad.

You can listen below. The record is available digitally to meet all your iNeeds, but it’s also available on VINYL. It’s two-color vinyl and when it spins, you trip balls. No just kidding. Or am I? PLUS: If you get the vinyl, you’ll get an “extra spesh” bonus digital EP. It’s “exclus” to people who get the vinyl because Joe and I always reward good behavior.

The ironic part in all this is that I don’t have a record player because I don’t have room. But Joe does, so if you guys all want to hear the LP, go over to his place. He’s got a wonderful selection of snacks and beverages too. Go for the music, stay for the snacks, just like Shakespeare said in that one play with that guy.* But also stay for the company because Joe is an amazing person who does amazing things. He continuously blows me away. How can one man do so much and still maintain a healthy head of shiny hair? Ask him when you get there.

*True story: I have a very good friend named Roger who, for the life of him, can’t remember any name or movies or actors. He once said “You know, that guy in the bike movie.” And after ten minutes of discussion, I figured out he meant Dennis Hopper.

Return of the Shredi

Every weekend, someone in my neighborhood straps on his guitar, faces his amp out the window, and lets it rip on full crank. He sounds like one part Ted Nugent and all parts suck. It’s awful. It’s like this faux classic rock wail that makes you feel sad. His guitar deserves better. It deserves a person who respects music and also respects NEIGHBORS, specifically ME. No one wants to hear someone’s music unless they are actively paying for that person’s music, say, at a concert, or if that person is famous, say, a person who is not my neighbor. Like if I lived next door to Eric Clapton, I’m sure I’d be ok listening to him play, even though I don’t particularly care for Clapton. (Here is where everyone goes awww come on, the Yardbirds? And to that I say, I still don’t like him and Clapton wouldn’t be living in this drafty-ass, pre-war building, just saying). But this guy is no Eric Clapton. He’s not even Eric Carmen.

I can’t figure out where the music is coming from, but I actually think it’s from a building down the street. Down the street! As in, a hundred yards away from me! What must that sound like to his real neighbors? Actually, the same: One part Ted Nugent and all parts suck. Anyway, my point is that this guy’s amp must be insane, which leads me to my latest Amazon review.

I have returned to the living.

OK everyone, I am alive. I apologize for being away. I didn’t mean to hurt you, to leave you like that. I didn’t mean to make you feel so sad and empty and alone. I didn’t mean to make you cry. I didn’t want to hurt your feelings. I definitely didn’t want you to write all that poetry. I really didn’t want you to do that. Listen, I was sick. I wanted to die. I was in Austin. My time there was ruined in many ways. I lost a lot of weight. Through my nose. My stomach is still debating with me. It says, you want cheese and crackers? You sure that is a good idea? Because I’m going to be honest with you, I do not like cheese and crackers. I will make it painfully obvious to you about ten to fifteen minutes after eating it, but hey, you eat what you want. I’m not the boss of you. So go ahead. I dare you. And then I say, no YOU’RE the dick, stomach, and then I eat my cheese and I eat my crackers and then feel sad for ever living.

So what is my current mood?

DISCO.

That is my current mood. I am very much into this Hercules and Love Affair business. I thank Erin for this. I thank Erin for many things, but above all, I thank her for disco. All the other shit she’s done for me? Like help me or whatever? All that is totally stupid compared to the power of disco. So what I’m saying here is that if it’s not disco, I am not interested. I am now downloading all kinds of disco. Oh yes. Disco. I am not ashamed. I also want to be in a disco band. It will be named “Poetry about Friendship.” We will wear shiny pants. It will just be me and Aidan. He plays everything and looks good in shiny pants. Or maybe we will call ti “Shiny Pants.” But that seems totally excessive and obvious.

The Answer!

The answer to the quiz was Mike Score, from Flock of Seagulls! Miss P was the quickest and she received her prize already. She is the winner. Who is the loser? Well, that would be me when I googled Flock of Seagulls and then got his picture. Ugh. I had “I Ran” stuck in my head, felt the need to see the video, and then I lost at life. The Internet is a blessing and a curse, remember that kids. The “I Ran” video led me down a horrible YouTube spiral that ended with “Heat of the Moment” by Asia. Dude. ASIA. I’m not proud of this. I’m not. I’m ashamed. Filled with shame. ASIA. A supergroup of pure crap. A bunch of guys got together, and they said, man we are so crappy apart, but together we can come together like Voltron and be supergroup of crap! And then they high-fived and did it. Awful. When I grow up I want to be a bouncer. Like not for clubs, but for life. Then I can say SORRY ASIA NOT TONIGHT, THIS CLUB IS FOR WINNERS ONLY. And then billyclub them to the ears. I’d be very good. Fair but strict. Honestly though, my club would be empty. It’d be like Clint Eastwood and giant pandas and a salad spinner inside.

Anyway, back to Mike Score, I do not understand when people lose their hair and they decide to “grow it out.” You should leave the “growing it out” to people who actually have it. Think of it as a beauty tip. Anyway thanks to all who played. He does actually look like Kelsey Grammer.

As for the SuperBowl, go stillers, etc. My friend Doug Jones was on the Pedigree commercial!!! as the friend of the dude throwing the frisbee to the water buffalo. That was a funny sentence out of context. Anyway I had no idea he was on it and then he just pops up and I am like HFS! DOUG! You can watch the ‘behind the scenes’ clip for the commercial here. Go Doug! It’s always a pleasure to turn on the TV and see someone you know. Not that I have a TV but you know what I mean. It’s nice to turn on someone else’s TV and see someone I know. Most of the time I turn on the TV (at someone’s house) and I see people who I really don’t want to know. Like David Caruso and everyone on MTV.

Also, I do believe I baby sat for Max Weinberg’s kid. Pre-Conan days. You know, not to show off or anything. Ha ha ha. No really. I AM NOT SHOWING OFF. He was a good kid actually.

The Blog Post Where James Franco and I Totally Do It

Thanks for all the good wishes for my friend yesterday. And thanks to everyone who checked their (or someone else’s) boobies. You are doing a great service to yourself and to boobies everywhere.

That’s a blue-footed booby, in case you were wondering. I am not a big fan of birds, but I do like me some boobies. And the pygmy owl. OH man I love the pygmy owl. Actually I like birds that eat other birds. But other than that, birds can suck it. You hear that birds? Suck. It.

Anyway the surgery went well, my friend woke up totally disoriented and then checked her boob and was like, oh my god, someone signed my breast! And sure enough there were initials on her boob. What happens in Vegas, stays in Vegas, that’s all I have to say. Anyway she was totally on drugs and crazy loopy and was crying, laughing, and then checking out her boob every two seconds, I can’t believe someone signed my boob! I heard the surgery makes your nips hard all the time ha ha ha! I was like I want to BE ON WHAT YOU ARE ON RIGHT NOW. How awesome to be so relaxed. I am not a relaxed person. That may be hard to believe. Hah.

I just doused my entire desk with spearmint oil. It smells like mouthwash. It smells nice. It will cover up the smell of rotting mice bodies in our office walls. Mmm.

So now I’d like to talk about James Franco and how I am going to do him.

OK there’s not much more to say other than that.

That is all.

Chinese Democracy

So today my coworker put a copy of the latest Guns n’ Roses record on my desk, Chinese Democracy (that’s the record’s name, not my desk’s name, though technically my desk has a name since it’s from IKEA). Anyway, yes. Guns n’ Roses. A record that is, uh, fifteen years in the making? Maybe more? Who knows. It is the most expensive record ever made. Each CD is covered by diamonds and orphans and delivered to you by a unicorn. Fact.

Anyway, it’s Guns n’ Roses. I think to myself, look, here is this CD. It is free. It is Axl Rose. He was part of growing up. The bandanas! The ripped jeans! The catcher’s outfit! The booze! The whores in the videos! I mean it’s Axl Rose! You know where you are? You’re in the jungle baby, and you’re gonna die! BUT, it’s Axl without Slash, which is like an Oreo without the creme filling, and instead of the creme filling it is some kind of fruit jam. In this simile, the fruit jam is Buckethead. A dude who wears a bucket on his head and somehow manages to shred on the guitar. Whatever. Listen, the CD was on my desk. I thought to myself, OK. Let’s do this, Annie. It’s free. Don’t look a gift horse in the mouth. If you don’t like it, you can just take it around the back and shoot it.

I pop it in. I wait. I listen. I think, this might suck, but THERE IS A CHANCE IT MIGHT BLOW MY MIND. I have not read any reviews, I have not heard anything about it. It’s just me and Axl Rose and the dude with the bucket.

And then the music comes.

And it sucks.

Oh my GOD it sucks.

How can something be so full of suck? I don’t know. I mean it took over ten years, there’s no way this record was going to live up to anyone’s expectations, but it actually was like, wow. Surprisingly, shockingly full of suck. It was as if Kid Rock had a baby and it’s name was Guns n’ Roses. Yes, that bad. I wanted to stab pencils into my ears but realized I had no pencils because we make Internets for a living and pencils are not needed in our line of work. But guess what? I muscled through the whole thing. Because I wanted to experience it. I thought there might be this nugget of solid rock. No. No nuggets. Not even a chicken nugget.

Anyway my coworker actually thought it was ok. He said it was “not as good as Die Hard 4 but better than Rocky 6.”

First of all, everything is better than Rocky 6. Nights in Rodanthe is probably better than Rocky 6. Die Hard 4? I didn’t see it but I thought Die Hard 3 was really bad (that’s the one where Sam Jackson sheds a single tear every so often), so if 4 was anything like 3 then my coworker is trying to say that this record sucked. Which it does.

But I think it’s more like the Waterworld of records. I think Cleopatra is the most expensive movie ever made after you take inflation into consideration, but saying that this record is the Cleopatra of records actually makes it sound good.

Anyway I am sad, but not surprised. But I’ve listened to it so you don’t have to. It’s like I’m doing you a favor. Stopping you from going home with the wrong guy/girl. Like yeah you might think it might be fun, but you’re gonna wake up feeling sad with a burning sensation when you pee. Just saying.

Das Marmotten

I’d like to introduce you to my new friend. It is a marmot. Which is like a lemming or a shrew. Except it’s a marmot. This one happens to live in the Swiss Alps, of Switzerland. You know, the country that looks like a melting scoop of ice cream, not to be confused with Sweden, the country that kind of looks like a flaccid penis-rod. When I was little I got Switzerland and Sweden confused. Listen, I’m not proud of that, but I just thought I should be honest and open about it. Give me a break, I was eight. On a slightly related note, there is a new Swiss restaurant in my neighborhood and from what I gather, it only serves schnitzel. For those of you who like schnitzel, this is your jam. For those of you who don’t, then it is like a big finger to you. The one between the index and the ring finger, if you have to ask. Anyway this restaurant happens to be in the space, I believe, that used to be a club where a girl got stabbed to death by the bouncer. Or maybe she was shot. I don’t remember. Either way now it is a Swiss restaurant, I think. Back to the story.

Aura and her sister Andrea gave this marmot to me. They were in Switzerland and they were like WAIT, WAIT DO YOU SEE THAT? WE HAVE TO GET IT FOR ANNIE. As you can see this marmot, which I have named Das Marmotten because I’m guessing that means The Marmot in Swiss German (Marco, am I right?), has an accordion. Please think about the last time you saw a marmot holding an accordion. Right, you have NEVER seen that! It’s magic, right? Magical shit happens in Switzerland I’m telling you. Anyway this marmot is not just any marmot, it also DOUBLES AS A KEYCHAIN. OH WHERE ARE MY KEYS I CANNOT FIND THEM IN MY BAG, OH LOOK HERE THEY ARE ATTACHED TO THIS MARMOT. Or maybe HAVE YOU GUYS SEEN MY KEYS IT HAS A GIGANTIC MARMOT ON IT. It’s bigger than my hand. There is no way in hell I would lose my keys.

But wait! Wait! There’s more! It PLAYS MUSIC. It plays beautiful, beautiful accordion music that is so beautiful. And now, with my iPhone, I can play it for you. Click here to listen. If you are at the office, I suggest you CRANK THAT SHIT TO 11 AND ROCK OUT. Dancing shoes are highly recommended.

Thanks Aura and Andrea!!!!!! Holy crap!

From the Guesthouse: On Rain and “Keeping It In the Pants”

Annie is “going hiking” in a part of Canada that I’ve never visited, purchase and likely will never visit. It is a place of cottages and Easterners. I get itchy just thinking of the mosquito bites. Lucky for me, Annie will be collecting the mosquito bites while I enjoy my West coast summer, which is like winter, except with less rain.

Anyhow, I spent all night wondering how I would “keep it in the pants,” yet write about Rain, the Justin Timberlake of Korea, not Vancouver’s main form of weather. I figured I’d get my mandatory Rain post out of the way on my first day in Annietown. Why? I want to win the love and affection of Anne-Mommy, whose adoration of Rain is greater than mine. And I want to stick to Annie’s Rules, because I like the way my neck works and really don’t need Annie to punch me when I next visit her.

So yeah. I’m writing about Rain…but I must “keep it in the pants.” This is hard. Things keep trying to leap out of my pants. I mean, look at him:

How am I supposed to “keep it in the pants”? I really don’t want to be punched in the neck or impeached or have loyal Annietown readers rip the special Annietown sash off me. I’m in a bind. Should I just comment on his dancing skills? Or on his much-improved wardrobe choices over the years?

I get it. This was a test from Annie. It was Annietown-style hazing. I think I passed. I kept it in my pants.

P.S. A big thank you to Nathan for fixing my tech issue! Otherwise, Annietown would have been a ghosttown all week and Annie would have punched me in the neck.

FEVER!!!!

Just because I do not feel “connected” enough, I joined Twitter. (Or, I should say more accurately, Nathan and Micah pressured me into joining.) I think Twitter is for people who are too lazy even to blog. Like, god, screw blogging with all those SENTENCES and, good gravy, PARAGRAPHS, why don’t I just blog one line at a time? Anyway it’s a micro-blog which sounds silly. I prefer mini-blog because, as we all know, if it’s mini, it’s adorable. Like a donut, mmm ok that might be tasty, but a donette? HOLY CRAP ADORABLY DELICIOUS I WILL EAT A HUNDRED OF THESE BECAUSE THEY ARE SO PRECIOUS. So find my blogette on Twitter. Let’s be friends, etc.

I saw Battles this weekend at SummerStage in Central Park. They were rocking, but what struck me was that they all appeared to have day jobs and seemed like responsible guys that show up on time and, like, hold doors open for old ladies. Like the drummer was wearing khakis and the bassist had tucked IN his plaid shirt. They were so regular “I shop at the Gap” but then they played and it’ s like your earholes explode and bleed rock all over your face. It’s so nice to see a band that just looks normal but shreds. No guyliner, no nuthugging jeans, no attitude. They were gracious and down to business. Thank you, Battles. For being not-assholes. But you know what? Maybe they are total dicks. Hard to say, really.

So my good friends Marco and Lizzie totally have Olympic Fever. EXTREME OLYMPIC FEVER, they need to be medicated. I showed up at their apartment over the weekend and Marco opened the door wearing nylon sweats and a dirty white t-shirt and flip flops. I was like whoa, don’t get dressed up for me by any means, and then I walk into their place and they have digital cable and a projector TV going. Olympic swimming is covering the entire wall of their apartment. Marco plops down on the couch and is like MICHAEL PHELPS!!!! They had just gotten digital cable just for the Olympics. So, boys and girls, that is an important lesson. When you get cable, you really let yourself go. Seriously. I watched so much Olympic coverage on shit I don’t even CARE about. Beach volleyball? I mean really? It’s only on TV because they are wearing bikinis, it’s totally retarded. Plus the announcers totally had a boner for one of the girls, it was irritating. And then I think Bob Costas was weeping when Phelps won and all I could think was, dude, there are THREE OTHER GUYS ON HIS TEAM LET’S TALK ABOUT THEM FOR LIKE TWO SECONDS. And then I found myself rooting for Tunisia because I decided I didn’t like the Australian swimmer because he was a germophobe and didn’t touch handrails and stuff and kept on whining about his physical ailments. Even my grandma didn’t do that when she dropped a pot of boiling oil on her foot. I was like omg, get a grip. Go Tunisia. See? This is what happens when you catch the fever. Anyway, I want to see the sports where people shoot stuff. I want to see like kung fu, etc. OK fine kung fu isn’t a sport, but you see where I’m going with this.

Something Something

In a horrible turn of events, discount I have songs from Aladdin stuck in my head. Selections include “Arabian Nights” (“Arabian nights/like Arabian days/something something/hotter than hot/in a lot of good ways”) and the one song where they are like all riding on the magic carpet and making out.

I feel shame. Deep, pharmacy deep shame.

Do not ask me how this song got in my head. I just know that they are here, hospital in my head, making me sad. I was even listening to something else and STILL SINGING THIS DAMN SONG in my head. It is like a medley, where I start with one and then somehow end up at the other song.

I am booing myself.