cal/daley

cal & daley; two of my favorites. took this on the bus. edited by daley, duh.

email highlight of the week

My favorite email received this week:

L.A. has been asking about you. Those electronic signs above the freeway, the ones that usually say "15 mins to 405." L.A. doesn't use Twitter, evidently.

something is going to happen

For a couple of months during 2007, I lived in a huge house in Michigan, where nine people lived, including two children. It was a really big house, and it was a really pretty house. There was a piano in the dining room, but I rarely played it. I didn't play a lot of music during the months I lived there. Not any music that anyone heard. One day I thought I was home alone and sat down in the dining room to play the piano.

I was surprised when Lucy, the five year old, materialized and sat down on the piano bench next to me. She began to tell me about how she loved music and loved to play the piano and had even written a song. I asked her to play the song for me.

Carefully, she placed her hands near middle C, and played a small, original piece. You know, whole notes, one hand at a time, about 10 second long. When she finished, she looked up at me with a look of serious expectation.

Then she simply said, "I love it. It's like you know something is going to happen."

I think about that all the time. I guess it's always interesting for me to hear children talk about music, because I vividly remember how I felt about music when I was five years old. I couldn't explain it like Lucy did.

It's like you know something is going to happen.

more youtube

I don't care if me posting youtube videos doesn't count as blogging.

Thanks to Don Miller, I had the joy of watching this band. This band is better than 80% of the live music I've seen in LA (granted, not that difficult to achieve). And they're a three piece. And my age is like all of their three ages combined. Well, not quite, but it sounded funny.

rap is the devils music, etc.

Given this video, I don't know how rap got a bad...well...rap.

It's a history lesson, more or less.

re-post

With That Moon Language

Admit something:

Everyone you see, you say to them, "Love me."

Of course you do not do this out loud, otherwise someone would call the cops.

Still, though, think about this, this great pull in us to connect.

Why not become the one who lives with a full moon in each eye

that is always saying,

with that sweet moon language,

what every other eye in this world is dying to hear?

-Hafiz

the ultimate break-up pin

One of my coworkers, Joe, made this pin. This is a common phrase used in the Michigan office. Since it was audit week, he bestowed me with one of a few of these pins that he made. With the audit comes the occasional reminder that we've been doing it (w)rong. Our auditor is quite lovely though, I love working with her. She has a sense of humor for the pin as well, and even made a nice spin on the joke during a meeting and proclaimed, "Ur doing it rite!" Yes, numbers can be funny.

I've since discovered that this pin is the ultimate break-up tool. Instead of the whole, "It's not you, it's me." talk, you could simply wear the pin. Because it's not you, it's me.

Ok, actually, it's you.

Ur doing it rong.

you deserved it, but allow me to help you stop failing.

I tell you the following story not because I think it's cool to get hit on by strangers, but because I know this happens to all women, worldwide. I also know it generally has nothing to do with the woman, and everything to do with the man.

I'm approachable enough, but a lot of the time when I am approached by a guy, my approacher exhibits obvious and almost instant regret. Recently, after a 10 minute conversation during one of these incidents, I was informed that I am a one-dimensional, neurotic musician.

Why, thank you.

My approacher eventually abandoned me, though I don't blame him, and was soon replaced with another victim guy. He had no better luck than his predecessor. I'm sorry; if your name is Pierre but you are Armenian, and you own a business in Russia, well, I suspect you're actually just trying to traffick me, more than attempting to take me on a future date.

I know, hard to believe I'm not swooning.

In his defense, Pierre was actually rather polite, so I decided to give him fair warning that I didn't get a great review from the guy before him, and that he may very well be wasting his time on me if one-dimensional and neurotic isn't really his type. Pierre assured me he could not understand why the Chinese guy named Hank (seriously, I beg of you to pick less obvious fake names), would have called me one-dimensional.

"You are at least two, if not three-dimensional."

Why, thank you. You are too kind.

Last night a guy asked, "Is it always a battle when you meet a new person?"

Thankfully, Betsy was sitting next to me, and over time we have inadvertently established a system on how to handle such unwanted solicitations. We've begun an impromptu training program of sorts: once the guy realizes he is failing, we begin to offer suggestions on how to possibly succeed in future similar endeavors. The best part is that usually the guy will realize we are giving him advice, and most of the time will stay to listen and ask questions. We really don't want you to fail again:

Don't dance alone in front of me.

Don't form a line.

Don't put your hand on my leg.

Don't sit between me and my friend.

Don't pretend to be cool if you're a nerd. Nerdy will always get you further.

Don't assume I'm single. (I am.)

Don't ask me for my phone number and my email address. Slow your roll.

Don't tell me where you were conceived.

Before approaching, decide if you are old enough to be my father. If the answer is "yes", a) go home to your wife, or b) now you know why you don't have a wife. If you are still unclear: have you received your first mailing from AARP? If yes, refer to a) and b).

Don't tell me you lived in Silverlake when really you lived in Oxnard for six months before moving back to Michigan. At least be educated about your lies. Make up cross streets.

If we're talking ancestry and I ask you if you're part Cherokee, just know it's over.

And most importantly, don't ask to kiss me before you have asked for my name (or after, really). And when you do, and I tell you it's Marianne, just know that the phone number I gave you will not be putting you in contact with me so much as it will be putting you in contact with Joe at Little Caesars, or whoever is working the cash register that day. I hope you like pizza.