It's a digital age, man. So to you we present our virtual talk show of Nonsense: The Silly. The Beautiful. The True. In our own words or those quoted by others. With our own art or that created by others. We will laugh. We will smile. We will entertain you all the while. So grab a drink, come in and let's chat. We'd like to meet you, your mama, and your hot cousin Fred.
Showing posts with label Wake the Shake Up. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Wake the Shake Up. Show all posts
weekend n. Two consecutive days that allow for sleeping in, dining out, and temporarily forgetting that you have a job.
We received this little dandy from one of our girls, and oh my my how much we adore it. And maybe someday we won't, maybe someday we'll live for the weekdays too, maybe someday we'll adore what we do during those weekdays and we'll genuinely revel in the wonders of the working world.
But for now, munchkins, we live for the weekends, we live for the Saturday morning coffees and papers, we live for for the tangled sheets and the extra desserts and yes, the temporarily forgetting that we have any responsiblities come Monday morn.
So live it up this weekend, poppits. You deserve it.
O-six-o-sev was a doozy! Webster's added truthiness and wOOt as the words of the year. The veep shot a guy by acci. People are still peeved at FEMA. The news was completely and disgustingly consumed with Britney. Pam Anderson got married (again) and divorced (again). The fiery French prez divorced his enigmatic lady, and quickly took up with a new gf. We've got two Dems running neck-and-neck with more than plenty mudslingin' to go around. James Brown got down for the very last time. Pop meets indie meets hipster meets hip-hop got a lot more mainstream. Virginia Tech happened. Apple resurrected the video star. So did Youtube. The Patriots went undefeated. The Pakistani prime minister was assassinated. Imus demonstrated the definition of creeping meatballism. So did Isiah Washington. The Disney kids showed they just aren't that innocent (nudity...plastic surgery...pregnancy!) and uh, we think High School Musical is a bit more phoney now. The 7th and final HP book came out and and so did Dumbledore. Colbert runs for president....of South Carolina. Reality shows just keep getting grittier and trashier. And add Ty Pennington to the list of celebrity DUI's. Which have somehow become no big deal and possibly even a trend. Tina and others hopped on the Writer's Take On Things. Scorsese won for The Departed, well deserved well deserved clap clap. And we think the question of the year may be: Does Rehab Really Exist? But enough already. Let's talk. Whaddya think you'd choose for:
*The Song of 2006-2007? ...................................................................
*The Best Artist? ...................................................................
Sometimes you need a little encouragement. A pat on the back and an 'I love you, you're brilliant.' Come on, who doesn't like an 'I love you, you're brilliant?' But other times, it's not that form of encouragement you need. It's knowing that others have succeeded before you, and it is possible. Because, at heart, we're all 10-year-olds who need inspirational classroom posters read aloud to them from time to time. Anything is Possible. You Can Do it. And let's throw in an 'I Love You, You're Brilliant.' Because you are, and the world (and possibly The New Yorker) will someday know it.
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And so. A little inspirational love magic is clipped from an interview and pasted below for you dearies. Brought to you from Susan Orlean, a gem of a chick we've hearted since we were sporting braces. Which unfortunately wasn't that long ago. Pause. Sigh.
Ahem. We knew Susan was our literary female rockstar of a role model since the day we read "The American Man, Age 10." She went on to Orchid Thief/Adaptation/Meryl Streep semi-fame, but to us she'll always be our divine Miss Orlean, Talk of the Townie barfly. Pick her up. Let her woo you with her dreamy perspective and Nora Ephron-toting humor. She'll surely win you over and maybe invite you over for tea to discuss the Maui girls' divine love of their hair. Or something.
And you knew at that point what you wanted to do?
Susan: Well, I had read enough of The New Yorker to think, "This is what I want to do." But I had no clue about how you went about achieving it. I remember even mentioning it to a few of my friends who worked a lot for the Michigan daily and who I think just thought, "What? How would you do that?" And then, even more than now, The New Yorker was the Kremlin. You didn't even know who worked there, or who wrote the stories, or anything.
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How did you go about actually getting to write for The New Yorker?
S to the O: I had heard through a roundabout conversation that The New Yorker might be looking for new "Talk of the Town" writers, and I just picked up the phone and called. I got an editor on the line who gruffly agreed to let me drop off my clips, which I did the next day. I didn't know what to expect, but to my great surprise I got a call from this same editor inviting me to come down to the office and talk further. He liked my ideas and let me take a crack at a "Talk" piece -- an idea of mine about how Benetton teaches its employees to fold sweaters -- which I did immediately, and it ran the following week. I started writing "Talk" pieces regularly from that point on.
Um, so last year about this time, we were hooked on Amos Lee. And John Legend too. In a strange almost obsessional play-it-again kinda way. And Citizen Cope is by no means 'new' or the 'latest' but frankly old is gold and what's old is new again. Plus we live by Old Town. Furthermore, all we knew of him was that 'Son's Gonna Rise' song and blah blah blah just like Nestle Buncha Crunch, Clear Pepsi, and Butterfinger BB's, we all liked it for a while (come on, admit it). Sure, we did. We loved it. And the rest is pretty insignif and also just for historical purposes. Archiving, really.
But suddenly and like never before (!) a shiny and humorous greeting card landed in our mailbox sometime last week. How it got there we shall never know (!). Snail mail we suspect. The good ol' fashioned old school way (which sidenote we will NEVER repeat NEVER get sick of and ALWAYS repeat ALWAYS partake in). Anyway, in the very small space up on the left corner of the envelope read
K. Rose President Nonsensical Extreme Writing Letters Division Sexual Magic Extraordinaire Club Eastern Seaboard Division
So we knew it was our Spanish cousin. The one who is NOT repeat NOT registering for china or crystal for her 'ding (Okay?!). She sent it all the way from the eastern seaboard. But we still wonder why do people write their names soooo tiny on the corners or the tops of envelopes they is sending to others. Do they like to feel just a little littler that day and cute like a little garden knome or troll or are they feeling shy all of a sudden and they just don't want to stand out that much. We never know that but we always wonder because most of the time we like our return address to look like
FRANCES P.B. ROCKEFELLER COPPOLA PRESIDENT YOU BETTER BELIEVE IT LISTEN TO WHAT I SAY SEXY PEOPLE CLUB CHICAGO DIVISION
Anyway the moral of the story is now we is hooked on Cope. Like phonics. Like chocolate bunnies. But not dope (D.A.R.E. worked).
And yet another Brit rock band for you cherry pies. We were introduced to the fine young lads of The Enemy this weekend, and while Fran and Jude sometimes shout in sing-song British a cappella, "Howie, Darling, are you British?" due to his propensity for English music, this band was actually brought to our attention by Howie's darling friend, who, now that we mention it, looks a bit British himself.
But, we digress. The Enemy's new single "Had Enough" will make you want to dance, slap your knees and go on a high-speed car chase all at once. The video is such a joyous smelly high-speed chase through dreary dungeon-y city life that it will very likely cause you to flee your desk and run for the beach. Which we wholly support, young guns.
So enjoy, wake up and say "Hello life, are you British?" at the top of your lungs. Your coworkers will adore you and question their sobriety.
2. "This Will Be Our Year" by The Zombies (seriously listen to this song, it is gorgeous and fun and will surely make your dimples come out of hiding)
And while Spoon's sardonic, somewhat twisted video above does not at all do justice to the exquisite energy of this de lovely song, do us a sweet little favor - press play and go on to other things while listening to the bright cherub of a song that this gem is. Behold, happiness, bottled into 3 minutes, 51 seconds.
Oh, how many times have we listeneed to this zexy song by James to get riled, get going, get running, get out the door. Turn it up, Chris, we were born to sing along.
Ohhh, la-dee-dah, la-doh-poop... Press play, pretty please. This song by Beulah makes us float on clouds and want to sip tea out of pretty yellow china...
How is everyone on this fine Tuesday morn', anywhooty? Please tell us. We want to know like fat kids want ding dongs...
Shake it, shake it, mon cheries. It's Monday morn and it's time to get down to bizness. To get you in ze mood, press play and get sassy to some Electric Six goodness. Danger, danger, Will Rogers. It's High Fuckin' Voltage time...
but. we'd like to hear your opinion, ya little opinionated onion. a digital penny for your thoughts* on this. -f *yeah right. we is not made of money! more like marshmallow fluff and puffy yummy stuff.
Gonna miss errbody... oh, sweet jesus, how we adore this song. How it reminds us of junior high and Friday nights at the YMCA. Turn it up, Chris, cuz that's what you were born to do.
Have a happy Friday, kiddies. Wear flats, carry a flask in your pocket, and stay away from strangers.
Git it, git it! Get your heads in the game, precious monkey lovers. Crank up your speakers and bumpity-bump along to Basement Jaxx's 'Where's Your Head At?' Because really, dearies, where's your head at? And speaking of which, where's our head at? And our car keys. Where is our purse? WHERE IS OUR MID-MORNING SNACK??
Ohh, today's going to be quite a long one, tisn't it, moppet bunnies?
It's a spacey day, tisn't it, bunnies? Feels that way to us. Spilled coffee. Missed elevator. Sidewalk tripping incident. All in a morning's walk to work. So put on some Air love and space out dance out to the always beautiful, always kitschy 'Kelly Watch the Stars.' It'll make you smile. And maybe want to get in on some table tennis action.
And now, for your A-Ha! moment of today (in more ways than one! Haha! Get it? Get it??), press play and shimmy down the drainpipe, right into the sketchbook of a 1980s artiste.
It's Tuesday so hurry out to Vicki's for a sexy underthing... tomorrow's Hump Day, oh gosh oh my.
