Top five things I'm sick of

1. Being subtly blamed for the delay in projects. "I was waiting to get the specifics from you." Okay, so ask. Or consider that the job was emailed and addressed to you first. You forwarded it to me. I assumed you knew what was going on. And you don't seem to want anyone else touching the machine this job will be run on. I just need to figure out how to hound you. Have you run it, have you run it. Also, must stop assuming you've read the things you've forwarded to me.
2. My mouse at work that only works every third click.
3. The way I clean, which leads to bags and piles of things that are out of/have no place waiting for me to find a place for them.
4. My own laziness.
5. The jungle that is the second bedroom.

Top Five Most Embarrassing or something like embarrassing

1. Going to dinner at Racheal's Cafe, only to find it's open mic night.
2. Going to see the toy piano player, only to find no one is at the venue.
3. Going to Runcible Spoon for open mic, only to find it's not open mic.
4. Trying to parallel park in front of a gaggle of construction workers.
5. Going to dinner at Runcible Spoon, only to find it's open mic night.

Lot's of embarrassment over open-mic nights.

Ah Lo-fi Scott-pop

For me, Belle and Sebastian is perfect. There's not any more I can say.

Top five voice crushes:

Ray Davies (always and forever # 1)
Stuart Murdoch
Jeff Mangum
Joanna Newsom
Alan Rickman

Can you even dye my eyes to match my gown?

A salon in Denver is donating hair cuts to the homeless in anticipation of the DNC. Strip away all the differing opinions on homeless people and giving time and skill to other people is just a nice thing to do.

Oh BBC, you're so crazy

I'm behind on my BBC Business Daily podcasts so I'm listening to 9 Aug. It's the credit crisis anniversary edition. They're doing an audio montage of headlines through the last year, backed by "Heaven Knows I'm Miserable Now," by The Smiths. Love. I want to marry the BBC.

In sappy greeting card commercials there's that moment when the every-woman has finished reading the heartfelt message, written to represent a million people's birthday, anniversary, sympathy wishes, and she holds the card up to her chest and smiles through a tear.

Occasionally, Oscar reads my mind and I smile through a tear.

Why do people wait two weeks to tell you there's a problem with the materials they pick up from you?

Disappointing Scene

My friend Anne and I have been going to various local events. I want to see what's happening in this town because I need to fall in love with it. Last month we tried to go to the Art Hospital to see a toy piano player. A player of toy pianos, not a toy player of pianos. We got there and the place was empty of all human life. All that was there were some random things. I can't even categorized them from their randomness. A gumball machine, old signs, vintage bottles, vintage crap. So we left having not been witness to toy pianos and their player.

Despite this rather dumbfounding non-concert, we decided to check out Harry and the Potters a couple of weekends ago at Rhino's all ages music club. That made me feel really old. But it was nice to see kids being able to take part in "cool" activities at a "cool" venue. Most of them were middle schoolers who were each a little historical mirror of myself. Poor things. Someday, they'll make ever so har-har self-deprecating comments. Pre-show, there was a bouncy castle and face-painting and cake, which can only entertain tweens through one flip and three brushstrokes before they start skipping around with each other bouncing balloons and play fighting. I overheard a mother comment that the kids, skipping and laughing and bouncing balloons, must be really bored. She thought there would be more organized fun. . . . . If a kid is laughing, he's not bored. If a kid is having a finger sword fight, she's not bored. If kids are interacting with each other, they're not bored.

I got off track. Pre-show: awkward, awkward awkward. Opening band: Uncle Monster Face. They did a couple of Harry Potter themed raps/songs then a cover of "Like a Prayer." I like genre/style crossing covers--Travis, "Hit Me Baby One More Time;" Cake, "I Will Survive;" etc.--so "Like a Prayer" gave me good hopes, which soon came tumbling down on my like an avalanche of socks. Uncle Monster Face's gimmick is a sock puppet show. At the end of one song, a giant Uncle Monster Face man comes out in a suit and papier-mâché head. It reminded me a lot of the time Preston Hall elected Trogdor as wing liason. Their show was so bad that we left. There were two more bands to go before Harry and the Potters and it was already 2.5 hours after doors opened. And we were afraid of what the other bands were capable of doing, so we hesitantly left.

No Harry and the Potters this time.

Douché

I had a dream last night that Frank Zappa showed up to perform for my dad's birthday. He was so excited that he completely let loose with the happiness. It made me uncomfortable because I've never seen my dad that happy in real life. Pure, unfiltered, concentrated, elation.

Then, I was over at a picnic table with the Queen of England talking about douches. She thought it was a perfectly normal conversation about how English women douche all the time, while I argued that it messed with the balance down there and perhaps they shouldn't.