Tuesday, July 31, 2007
You know that episode of Friends when Phoebe's fire alarm won't stop going off?
Yeah that was me this morning. The fire alarm in my room begin intermittently beeping yesterday for no apparent reason. And then out of nowhere it stopped. I figured it needed a new battery but then I forgot about changing it when it stopped beeping.
This morning it decided to start beeping again at indecipherable intervals. It was (insert sarcasm here) the best noise to wake up to when after not getting a good night's sleep, waking up sore from carrying an entertainment center down two flights of steps and being stressed about moving cross country and starting a new job in less than a week and a half.
I bolt upright out of bed and storm into the living room to get a chair to rip the thing off of the ceiling. As I'm getting down off the chair the alarm again beeps in my hand. Mind you, it's early and I was awakened by the shrill beep of the alarm. So I'm not really all there yet. The wires are hanging out of the ceiling and the alarm so in my mind that should be enough to make it stop beeping. (My mind wasn't working yet or I would have remembered that it's battery operated.) So when the thing beeped in my hand I was really a bit thrown off. After several seconds I remember the battery. I pry the casing off of the back and unplug the battery. I put the alarm on the bedside table, stumble to the bathroom and the thing beeps AGAIN....WITHOUT THE BATTERY IN IT. At this point I think I must be dreaming. I run out of the bathroom grab the alarm and put in on the counter in the living and head back to the restroom. I kid you not, while I'm handling the bathroom business I hear the battery-less alarm beep again through the bathroom door and my bedroom door. I am sleep deprived and PISSED OFF at this point. I storm out of the bathroom walk into the living room and pick up the devil alarm. I frantically look for a place to put. All I want at this point is to go back to sleep and wait for the Advil to kick in on my sore body. I open several drawers and find a partially empty one. I shove the alarm in the back and wait. Several moments go by and I don't hear anything. I figured what ever remaining juice that was stored in the thing is gone and I will finally be able to go to sleep. As I walk back to my bedroom and am closing the door I hear the thing beep one last time in defiance. I crawled back into bed, pulled the covers up over my ears, placed a pillow of my head and vowed to beat the living crap out of the maker of that alarm.
Monday, July 30, 2007
Okay first off I want to say thanks to everyone who sent me birthday love. It really meant a lot to me, despite how long it took me to say so. I have just been up to my eyeballs in packing materials. Which is the perfect segue to:
The Moving Chronicles or Escape from L.A.
So I pretty much HATE packing and moving. I moved around a lot as a child but I never really had to pack. My mother would pack all of our stuff for us and then unpack it when we got to wherever we were going. I don't even really remember packing when I was old enough to help. I probably blocked it out or something.
You would think with all of the moving that I did I would have picked up some pointers regardless of whether I helped or not. Not so much. I have some deficiencies that are horribly inconvenient when it comes to chores like packing. For instance, I have no concept of time. I can never gauge how much time has passed or how long something should take. Prime example, someone asked me when I had lasik and I truly can not remember a definitive time. I know it's been within the last 3 years but I would have to look at a calendar to find the exact year. You would think that I would remember the EXACT month, day and SECOND someone put a laser on my eye. But not so much. So having no concept of time means that things that I think I have enough time to do (i.e. pack) I really don't. So I spend every waking moment trying to catch up. And the denial I was in about how much stuff I had didn't help. More on that in a moment.
Another thing that makes moving problematic is my attachment to my stuff. There were times in my numerous moves growing up that a lot of really important things were lost. (Random aside: the fire alarm is beeping at irregular intervals, which is the BEST thing for my frazzled premenstrual nerves right now.) Anyway, because things that were very important to me were lost in the moves, I now have an attachment to my stuff that's probably a bit unhealthy. I like to keep everything close by so that I can control it. (We will talk about my Monica Geller control issues in another post.) So not wanting to get rid of anything means I have to pack EVERYTHING.
I really do try to get rid of things. I'd like to give them to Goodwill or something. But it's really hard to let go. I want it all. I love my cheesy blue shirt that says 70's funk in fuzzy stick on letters even though I can't remember the last time I wore it. And even though my tacky blue V-tech phone doesn't match anything I plan to have in my house, I still want it. And that is why I have a ZILLION boxes of crap that I will probably end up throwing away when I get them out of storage.
And can we talk about how much denial I was in up until about Saturday. I was seriously avoiding how much stuff I had that still needed to be packed, given away and sold. And then it all hit me this morning when my eyes popped open and I realized that all my stuff had to be ready to go on the truck by Wednesday, Thursday at the ABSOLUTE latest. And I'm not hardly done. Jesus be a time manager.
In fact, let me stop typing and finish packing.
Friday, July 27, 2007
Thursday, July 26, 2007
Again, this is a song by Rufus featuring Chaka Khan who I need to see in concert at least once in my lifetime.
I am a sponge for all things music related. I love music history of any genre and I soak it right up. I love to hear about the rise and fall of record labels, stories behind songs, and the unsung heroes of the music that has shaped the soundtracks of our lives (anyone want to get me “Standing in the Shadows of Motown” for Christmas? Anyone?). So when I found out that the Belcourt Theater was showing an advanced screening of “Respect Yourself: The Stax Records Story” that will be airing August 1st on NPT, I knew that I had to go.
I didn’t know nearly as much about Stax Records as I thought I did. In fact, I made the mistake of thinking that Aretha Franklin was on Stax and she wasn’t (she was on Atlantic Records which later owned Stax). What I did know was while Motown was representing a polished, pop friendly, side of R&B music to the world, Stax brought the grit. Motown had The Temptations, Stax had Sam and Dave. Motown had Marvin Gaye, Stax had Otis Redding. I don’t believe that one label was greater than the other, just very different in approach and intent. Let’s put it this way: I grew up with Motown but now I’m grown enough to GET Stax. Stax records just carry that blues bottom with them that’s hard to explain on paper so I’ll stop trying.
So I’m watching this movie marveling at how this little Memphis indie label changed the face of music; how Otis Redding, an old soul at merely 27, captivated audiences from Memphis to Monterey, and hearing co-founder Alex Bell, a more tolerable “Diddy” of his time describe how they went from a small label to calling the shots on their own distribution, producing movies, and being positively influential in social issues. It then dawned on me: Why aren’t we doing this (“positively” being the key word here)? Why isn’t this being done anymore? Where is OUR movement? How is it that a gospel act like The Staples Singers can be one of the biggest groups of their time by singing about social change, respect and pride? Why is it a risk to even think that Otis Redding would even go gold if he came out now?
After the movie was over, two members of the original STAX Records Family, Wayne Jackson and Bettye Crutcher answered questions from Nashville Scene journalist Ron Wynn and took questions from the audience. Wayne Jackson was a studio trumpet player for Stax and Bettye Crutcher, staff writer and only woman in production in Stax history, is best known for having penned Johnny Taylor’s “Who’s Makin’ Love”. I walked up to Ms. Crutcher initially to ask her about what she knew about the new Stax Records, which is now home to Angie Stone. As my knees started to knock together, a new question came to mind: what advice would she like to give our generation that she believes could spark a resurgence in great and authentic music enabling us to do what Stax did? Her answer was simple. “Love your craft. Love your art. Believe in what you are writing on that paper. Don’t worry about the money or royalties. Love what you do. Success will come.” Then she hugged me and I almost passed out from being so nervous.
I had a strong feeling that is what she would say. She said that one of the things that the film did not portray was how much fun they had and how you couldn’t wait to get to work every day. Never did I hear about the pressure of deadlines or the pressure to make a hit. The love they had for music and for one another that crossed racial barriers, a tremendous fete for that time in our country’s history, bled into what they created and thus produced a joyful noise to the world that could not help but become profitable. This whole principal reminds me of something I heard Terry McBride of Nettwerk Records say: “You don’t do good out of the abundance. You get the abundance out of doing good.”
I think that a problem with today’s music executives and artists is that while they may start off with good intentions and a genuine love for music, somewhere along the way they get caught up with abundance being the goal. I have heard artists say that they will compromise their craft and values to get put on but when (which nowadays is a strong “if”) they get to their second album they will do the music that they always wanted to make. This almost never happens.
It boggles my mind that artists like India Arie and Lauryn Hill are criticized for being too preachy while once upon a time the world was rockin’ out to The Staples Singers “Respect Yourself”…
If you disrespect anybody that you run in to
How in the world do you think anybody's s'posed to respect you
If you don't give a heck 'bout the man with the bible in his hand
Just get out the way, and let the gentleman do his thing
You the kind of gentleman that want everything your way
Take the sheet off your face, boy, it's a brand new day
I don’t remember the last time a timeless song was made such as this one. In fact I don’t know too many timeless songs made past the 80’s. It seems bleak but I do believe that if we could only get back to the love and respect of music and “Respect Ourselves” then there will be more great and timeless music to come.
Tuesday, July 24, 2007
Apparently this is the summer of the teaser. First J.J. Abrams now Maroon 5.
I'll start with the J.J. Abrams trailer. Without question the teaser for the new J.J. Abrams movie is the most cryptic, intriguing, freakin' frustrating thing that I have most recently seen. I saw it the first time when I went to see Transformers. It gives just enough information to get you totally pulled in and wondering what it's about. And then it ends and you have NO IDEA what just happened. You don't even know what the movie is called. All you know is that on Jan 18, 2008 you will be at the movies.
There are all kinds conspiracy Lost type theories floating around about this movie. And the website doesn't help anything. All it does is perpetuate the buzz and drive geeks like me insane waiting to see what it's all about.
So the clip is below. And here's the link to the clearer Apple version.
I am officially scared of Adam. And by scared I mean strangely intrigued and love him all the more.
Thus far my favourite song from the new Maroon 5 album is Wake Up Call. The fact that it's my favourite makes me wonder about myself a little. The song is about Adam coming home and finding a strange man in his bed. In his defense, you don't know what people bring up into your situation. So the fact that Adam shot him dead...well I ain't mad at him.
You can imagine how excited I was to see the myspace bulletin about the video for Wake Up Call. The teasers are just good enough to make you wonder what the hell is gonna go down when Adam walks in to find "another one" in his bed. I don't know why I love men who fight, but I do.
There are a total of six clips but in my opinion these are the only 4 that count.
I just a need a little of Adam's time. Just a minute to convince him why I need to be a part of his world.
Monday, July 23, 2007
Okay first off, I'm kicking myself for thinking that Puffy would allow himself to look like the ASS that he is on his own show. So I don't know why I thought we were actually going to be able to see Puffy throw the chair at Laurie Ann. Please....I thought about it as I was watching it. I think I read somewhere that Laurie Ann is pressing charges or something. And by showing the WHOLE tape we would really know what happened. And we would see that Puffy really is a phallus.
Other than that, so far anyway, there isn't much going on in this episode. I was surprised....ummm...what's his name....left on his own accord. And I know this sounds bad, but I'm almost glad Julius got hurt. He DOES NOT need to be in Satan's group. Julius clearly grew up in church. He clearly at least knows about the Lord. I don't want him to be brainwashed and and have his soul broken by the Prince of Darkness.
Oh shyza, Puffy just cut Dan. I'm not sure how I feel about that. I'm kinda glad he's going home. I mean, for his sake. But I'm definitely going to miss him. His commentary alone was priceless.
I will of course keep watching. I'm hooked. And I need to play catch up. I didn't see last week's episode. But since (I think) I saw all of my favourites, I"m sure last week was ll good.
Okay, that's all.
Sunday, July 22, 2007
But rest assured I will be partaking in an adult beverage later on.
I'm going to have to ease into this new decade.
ummm...wow....I don't know how I feel about this yet.
Saturday, July 21, 2007
Tuesday, July 17, 2007
Melanie the Wise Pixie sent this picture to me at work today. I squealed and quickly clicked it off as if random porn had popped up on my screen. *sigh* I could take him looking at me like that all day long. He kind of reminds me of Andrew McCarthy, "Blaine", in Pretty in Pink. I remember watching that and thinking "He's just a-ight" until he IM'ed Molly Ringwald at the school library and stood up over the computer and flashed that smile. Then I knew I had a problem.
Don't get it twisted, my crush is on Jim Halpert from The Office and not the actor that plays him, John Krasinski. I am not remotely interested in John Krasinski. I don't want to see any interviews, watch him on Saturday Night Live, nothing. I am sure he is a nice man. But it's Jim Halpert that looks into the camera and has me curled up in the corner of my couch on Thursday nights .
I know what you're thinking: Toya needs me a man. Keep me in your prayers.
Monday, July 16, 2007
I am on Beckham hiatus. I have seriously been in Beckham overload. I have seen, read and heard more than any one person should about people that I DO NOT KNOW. I can't even blame anyone. I wish that I could say it's the media's fault. And to an extent, it kind of is. It is freakin' PANDELIRIUM, not pandemonium not delirium, PANDELIRIUM, with the amount of press that the Beckhams are getting. It's all over the national news. And because this is Hollywood, it is all over the local news. I was at the gym Sunday afternoon and David was on the front page of the paper that someone had left on the elliptical. (Of course, I took it home with me.)
But it all came to a head this evening when I watched the Victoria Beckham, Coming To America, special. First off, I no longer think that Victoria is the emptionless robot made of silicone that I thought she was. She's really just seems like a rich chick who is trying to deal. She knows that she's rich. She knows that she's famous. But she also knows that she's a wife and a mom and at the end of the day that's the what's most important. That and what shoes she's going to wear. And I must say the black patent leather heels that she had on 2/3 of the way through the show were FIRE!!!!
Anyway, at the end of the show I found myself logging on to the interweb trying to do the following things: 1. Find out what shoes Victoria was wearing on the show. 2. Find out how much a Beckham Galaxy kit would cost. (For the none football watchers, a kit is what the players wear on the pitch.) 3. Find out how much tickets to the Galaxy games are. 4. Find out if the phone call that I got 10 minutes before the show was over about Becks being injured were true. 5. Find out ANYTHING more that I could about Becks. (FYI: there is a great advert about Becks on the Adidas website. He talks about how low he felt when he got a red card during the '98 World Cup and how he moved beyond the pain (and the death threats) to be a better player.)
It was after #5 that I realized that I was making my way toward obsession. I mean, the Beckhams have darn been elevated to the position of royalty. And since we don't have a monarchy here in this country that is no small feat. My biggest concern is that I'm going to bump into David or Victoria or even Victoria's main gay, Ben the hairdresser, and just lose my whole mind.
So from this point forward, until further notice, I am on Beckham hiatus. No more random searches about David. No more hunting for the maker of Victoria's shoes. No more looking for pictures of Victoria to take to my hairdresser so that I can get my hair cut like hers. (I know that last one sounds super staklerish, but I LOVE her hair cut. I would love it on anyone. It just happens to be on her head.) I am taking a break from the gossip sites and the media and most entertainment channels until I can satiate this thirst for all things Beckham.
However, being the person that I am, I'm going out with a BANG.
Saturday, July 14, 2007
Thursday, July 12, 2007
(stupid UMG won't let me embed the video. so follow the link)
I know I already posted a TVOW but I have been rocking this one for days now. I just can't seem to play it enough. What happened to New Jack Swing? Seriously, what happened to R&B? There are so few songs that make you have that, "Awww shoot" moment anymore. You just don't hear people saying, "THAT IS MY JAM!!!!" You know the songs that will make you stop whatever you're doing and just listen, eyes closed, swaying in the moment.
Don't get me started.
Marc Broussard at the FYE In-Store Performance: "Does anybody have any…"
Toya: "LOVE AND HAPPINESS, LOVE AND HAPPINESS, LOVE AND HAPPINESS, LOVE AND HAPPINESS, LOVE AND HAP-PI-NESS !!!!!!"
MARC: "She called it. Let's go."
I almost ran up on that little man and put him in a headlock.
Wednesday, July 11, 2007
I want to get married and have kids. I have since I was like 8. I'd be lying if I said I always enjoyed my singleness. And I have a lot of "awwwww" moments when I see little kids.
But I really am trying to be thankful for the moment. Single or not.
But I'm not going to lie to you. After watching Natasha Bedingfield's most recent videos, I don't feel so bad about wondering about a husband and kids so often. I mean, she just came right out and said what's on her mind about the babies. And she made me feel okay about the times that I have wondered if there is such a thing as soulmates.
I'm probably rambling incoherently at this point. I'm tired and I ramble when I'm tired. So I'm just going to post the videos and you can weigh in if you see fit.
I Want To Have Your Babies
By the way, the guys in Babies are all really hot. And even though I think Natasha was being a bit cheeky in this video, I'm sure there's some truth to what she's saying. And I ain't mad at her. I'm not going to lie to you. I have picked out the church and the names too. I mean, we're just being honest right?
Tuesday, July 10, 2007
Monday, July 9, 2007
Am I the only person who thinks it's trashy to see a girl's bra straps? It really bothers me when I see girls walking around in tank tops and you can see their bra straps. Not so much because the straps of their tanks aren't wide enough. But moreso when they just say "Forget effort" and don't even try to wear a bra that compliments the tank.
What I mean is if you're wearing a racerback tank, wear a racerback bra. You can get them anywhere. Vicky's, Target, shoot, even Wal-mart. If you're wearing a tube top, wear a strapless bra. If you're wearing a halter top wear a halterneck bra. For crying out louad you can get a halterneck bra at H&M for $12.90. And FYI, those "clear" bra straps are not clear. They just look like dingy strips of plastic cutting off the circulation to your arms.
Maybe I'm just old fashioned. But when it's time for my daughter to wear bras and tanks we're going to all of the stores to make sure she has the right bra with for the right top.
*gets off soap box and adjusts bra strap.*
I do not care what you say, Rick Astley is that boy.
I whipped out my Rick Astley Greatest Hits and I remembered how much I loved all of his songs. That skinny little white man was singing his heart out. I think my favorite songs are Cry For Help (when he had the long hair that didn't really seem to fit him. But the hair did make him look less Archie comics so I guess it wasn't so bad.) and She Wants to Dance with Me. I have been blasting those songs like they're new.
Forget what you heard, Rick Astley had hits. And he sounded even more like a big black man when he was singing live.
And in case you've forgotten who Rick Astley is:
(there's one spoiler at the end...sorry)
I'm sitting here watching a sneak peek of MTB4 and all I can think is, "If I could just whoop Puffy's ass just one good time...." That man irritates me like non-other. Seriously, he just thrives on drama. I mean, did he really need to bring in 11 new dudes? He even ADMITTED that he likes to start sh!t when he was talking to the new guys. I've said it before and I will say it again. MINION OF SATAN. Chief Minion. He and Madonna are tied for the position of highest living minion of the Prince of Darkness. And I would say it to both of their faces.
I have to admit that there are some really cute new guys. And there appears to be one goofy looking white boy. He's gotten no face time thus far leading me to believe that he will be going home. Plus he's really Opie Taylor looking. And I know this doesn't have anything to do with anything but I noticed that there are a lot of brothas wearing Target clothes. I have NO problem with them wearing Target. I wear Target. The problem I have is that I recognize the Target clothes. That's how you know you shop at a store entirely too much.
I don't know what Donnie is worried about. Puffy said in the last episode that he loved the girls reaction to Donnie. I.E. he's pretty. And pretty will win out over talent. It happens in every group. Think about every boy band you like. There's always one really good looking one. And sometimes that pretty one can not sing. Kevin Richardson, anyone? Now I'm not saying that Donnie can't sing. I'm just saying that he's just pretty enough to stay. Chris on the other hand, while gorgeous, just can't sing very well. Bless his heart he is going home. Plus he's pretty sensitive anyway. You can't be tender in the music business.
I can't believe Puffy cut Dre. And Dre is losing it. It hurts my heart.
I freakin' love this show. I really do. Despite Puffy's presence I really love this show. There are a hand full of people that I NEED to see cut though. Not because I don't like them but because I do. And I want them to have careers. But we shall see.
Sunday, July 8, 2007
I think I need a nap....yeah...a nap sounds good right about now.
OMG, A History of Violence is playing in the background and Viggo Mortensen's face is in a place that I did NOT expect it to be in when I looked up. Seriously, I just put the movie on for background noise and I look up and...well...anyway...I mean whatever. The woman in the movie is his wife and what happens in the married bed is undefiled or something like that, right? It's scriptural.
But a little warning would have been nice. A disclaimer or something...I know, that's not realistic.
Saturday, July 7, 2007
This was the first song that I ever learned to play on the piano. There are only 11 notes. I think I drove my mom crazy playing it on my mini casio.
And can we talk about how I didn't know ther words were, "She threw him bread and said make me scream. " I seriously don't know what I thought the lyrics were but I didn't think it was that.