Faith without deeds is dead

-- Albertine, by Brooke Fraser

Firstly, apologies to Sam and Kami for making them wait so long for an update. ;)

So way back in the beginning of September, Sam and Mush and I went to see this little-known (in the US) singer by the name of Brooke Fraser. She’s from New Zealand, and she’s pretty popular in her home country. Over here, not so much. Yet.

I prefaced the concert with fair warning to both of my fellow concert-goers: Brooke Fraser is a religious songstress. She writes lyrics that, if you’re listening closely enough, can seem to be about such religious Hot Topics as abstinence, following in the path of the Righteous Light, etc. I bought the tickets because she could have been singing about garbage cans and I still would have listened. She has an AMAZING voice, and YouTube led me to believe that it would be just as awesome live. So as we fought the throngs of Jesus Is My Homeboy teens, I secretly hoped that Sam and Mush wouldn’t regret coming along for the wave-your-hands-in-the-air (No, not like you just don’t care. Like you’re at church on a particularly holy Sunday) ride.

After being trampled by people who thought my shoes looked like a comfy place to rest their asses before the opening act, the curtains went up to much applause … and You Are My Sunshine. Now, this song holds a special place in my heart, and it always will. But putting your whiny falsetto boy voice and an acoustic guitar behind it doesn’t really make it audience-worthy. It was cute, but the poor nameless boy-man who sang it is going to have to give me a little leeway. I didn’t pay to see him sing Itsy Bitsy Spider, I paid to hear Brooke Fraser sing about “waiting ‘til we’re ready,” dammit. So I waited patiently through his set, and clapped like the crazy NOTW adolescents when Brooke Fraser took the stage.



Holy Scheisse, that woman can sing. I have to honestly say, she sounds amazing on the record but she’s damn near flawless live. I always judge by how closely the singer sticks to the harder notes they hit on their records versus when they’re live. Take Meiko, for instance. She cut most of her longer notes in half, and was considerably lower on some of the high notes. She wasn’t bad, but she also wasn’t the same. Not so with this one. Ms. Fraser held the long notes longer, and added some nice vocal freestyling that showcased the fact that those pipes are the real deal.

After her first song or two, she had a nice conversation with the audience wherein she asked someone to let her in on the secret to opening her bottle of Arrowhead water. She couldn’t get the bloody Sport Top to flip open, so she ended up just twisting the whole damn thing off (per audience instruction). The whole thing was terribly endearing, and was marked as such when Sam turns to Mush and me and states with a little bit of awe, “she seems so nice, I wanna be her friend!” Coming from Sam, that is one solid Stamp of Approval!

The rest of the night proceeded with more adorable stories, including the ever-important story of the title track off her newest album, Albertine. Turns out she went to Rwanda in 2005 and, like anybody would be, was struck by the war and poverty and all-around anguish she saw there. Flash forward three years, and she’s made it her life’s mission to help these children and give them the opportunity to enjoy simplicities that people who haven’t had to live through that kind of home-grown horror tend to take for granted. After making everyone in the audience feel like graduates of the A is for Asshole! University (in the most non-threatening and adorable way), she gave us the chance to redeem ourselves and sponsor some children or buy merchandise to donate proceeds. People raised their hands to sponsor the kids, and the night was back off on its merry little way. A few songs and a wacky but enjoyable attempt at a sing-a-long to Kings of Leon’s Day Old Blues later, and it was go-home time.

While waiting for the valet to bring my Shirley back to me, some lovely young chanteuses decided to cap the night off with a warbly rendition of Ingrid Michaelson’s The Way I Am. Word to the wise: love the song, let’s let the professional handle it, shall we? Kthxbai.

I know better not to be friends with boys with girlfriends

Oh, I know better than that
I know better
You'll play the victim and I'll be the bad guy
-- Boys with Girlfriends, by Meiko

Firstly: AMEN, Meiko. Most of you know what I mean. So there's that.

Now, I owe you pictures from the Meiko concert that Mush and I attended last week.

(Click here for larger images)

It was a fairly awesome night, and there were a few firsts for me:

- First time I ever stood for a concert. I don't think my lower back has forgiven me yet.
- First time I've ever been thisclose to the stage. We were literally at the front; I could only have gotten closer if I were the camera guy who showed up in the middle of the set, stepped all over us and spilled alcohol everywhere.
- First time I ever heard Mush say anything so sentimental as, "I felt him in my heart." That will make me laugh for the rest of my life.
- First time I ever heard of someone being schocked by a Shirley Temple. Mush was at the bar ordering us out Temples, and the guy next to her looks over and says, astounded, "What's that?!" Such a concoction, that deliciously red substance! What ever could that be, and how quickly will it make me intoxicated beyond legal and logical limits?
- NOT the first time I've wanted to punch someone in the nose for getting their enthusiasm all over me. To the chick who felt it was acceptable to touch me for an extended period of time: I understand being "moved" by the music. Just ... be moved in your own personal space and leave mine alone. Kthxbye.

And just think, Mush and I get to do it all over again next week. Rock on!

I wanna explode Watch me, I'm a lucky girl

-- Explode, by Uh Huh Her

I love Uh Huh Her. They make some darn good music, and they’re “underground” enough that tickets aren’t ridiculously priced. So I felt it was justifiable to spend $10 on their (first) full-length album, Common Reaction. I ordered it through their website, as it came with an advance download of the single, Not a Love Song. What I conveniently forgot, however, was that is also came with a signed album insert! Imagine my surprise when I open a letter-sized envelope and this tumbles out along with the CD:


Now, maybe it’s not a really big deal to those of you who don’t know of them (or who are less prone to random bouts of fangirl than myself), but I was inexplicably excited to see those Sharpie marks! So imagine my further surprise when I pulled this out of the envelope next:


I sort of gushed about it for a few minutes, in that oh-so-predictable vein of “OMG, that’s Camila Grey and Leisha Hailey! And they wrote my name!” Embarrassing though that may have been, I blame it mostly on the fact that I completely forgot that the album would be signed, and then the personalized photo came out of left field! No matter, I wear my UHH Fangirl badge with pride, yo.

Come to think of it, so should you. Srsly, go listen to them now. Dreamer, Covered and Common Reaction are good places to start. I would caution against the music video for Common Reaction, however, since the band seems to have been struck simultaneously by an ill-advised bout of 80’s nostalgia and retro-modernism. And unicorns.

But their music more than makes up for the occasional video mishap, and the fact that Leisha is part of the tiny contingent of actors-turned-musicians-that-don’t-suck just adds to the awesome. If you like ethereal-ish, sometimes semi-techno à la dance -- or even just plain ol’ good music -- put Uh Huh Her in your playlist. And then when you realize how great they really are, you can be jealous of my signed memorabilia.
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In other, oddly less exciting Signed Paper news, I got my diploma. It arrived in a nondescript cardboard envelope, and the whole affair lacked a certain ... excitement ... I think I was expecting. Something about waiting so long after the ceremony makes the diploma little more than beige cardstock with screen-printed calligraphy. I got all my official You Graduated paperwork ages ago, so this was a mere formality; I’m more proud of my final transcript than I am of this thing. Is that weird? Regardless, I can’t help the internal, “I graduated, and there’s not a thing you can do to take it back now!” every time I see the darn thing. Now that? I know is not unusual.

When will it stop?

-- Masochist, by Ingrid Michaelson

The crazy, that is. When will it stop? Let's discuss the numerous instances of crazy over the last week.

Monday: This day sucked. Well, the morning did. It was the beginning of Sans Boss Lady Week, as she was out on vacation. It sunk in on Monday that I'd be dealing with SBTL all week and that I still had no clue how to work this software that is absolutely central to my job. I was uber-frustrated with myself for being so dense about business and all its stupid procedures and financial ... stuff. Luckily, mommie talked me off the ledge, and I spent the rest of the day wading through tutorials and practice runs to learn the Damn Program.

Tuesday: SBTL is at my desk answering yet another of my questions re: the Damn Program. She explains, then turns to walk back to her desk.

*cue earthquake*

She takes off like a shot for the nearest sturdy object, which luckily was not far away. She looks back and forth between me and MA/WME* with the single most terrified look I have ever seen in person on her face. Poor thing. It probably wouldn't have been as funny as it was if she didn't insist on the Tough Broad attitude. Needless to say, the rest of the day was lost to Earthquake Freakout / Recap Time. Lunch with Sam was rushed and short because I was still shaken up. (See what I did there? Yay, puns.) Not so much from the earth moving, but from the "Oh, by the way. We have a last-minute, but SOOPER IMPORTINT project due nao. Go." I got from The Owner just before lunch. Sheesh, Tuesday was a wreck.

Wednesday: Has been nicknamed The Longest Day Known to Man Me. The crazy on this day? Nothing happened. I think I gave up and read at my desk at one point. I can't be sure because the sheer boredom of the day erased random parts of my memory. Dinner with Sam and Mush was the only thing that kept me from losing all my marbles.

Thursday: My immune system decides to take the day off. Luckily, Giggly has just gotten over her cold. Oh wait, no she hasn't.

I proceed to catch the remnants of her week-long cold and incubate them to within an inch of a full-blown cold of my own. I stave off completing the process of infection with massive amounts of Airborne (yes, I know about the lawsuit, no I don't care) and vitamin C. And some nose-swab thing that SBTL gave me. She must be warming up to me if she's willing to share her cold-fighting weapons with me, right?

Friday: The King of Crazy for the week. MA/WME asks me to call and order a brochure for her. We have the old ones, and we need new ones to show clients. I call, and find out two things:

1) The company is located somewhere in the South
2) EVERYONE is out of the office or away from their desks

So I send an e-mail to their Literature Request Department. In it I state that I need printed copies of the brochures, not the PDFs that they offer online. Only the best for our clients. I get a call back about an hour later from one of their representatives, who sounds like she's sixty and only has cats for friends. She just wants to confirm our shipping address so she can overnight the brochures.
This is how the conversation goes: (bear in mind this woman sports a ridiculously Southern accent)

Southern Salesgrandmalady: In your e-mail you mention that you want printed copies instead of-- what's this now? A pee. Dee. Ayf?
My Brain: *silence and flashbacks to "Shiny Disk" Man*
Southern Salesgrandmalady: A pee dee ayf? What's that now, honey?
My Brain: *still computing how to explain a PDF in simple terms to someone who doesn't know*
Southern Salesgrandmalady: Hello?
Me: Um, it's like a ... picture ... of a document. Does that. Make. Sense? Like the ... digital ... brochures you guys have on your website.
Southern Salesgrandmalady: Oh, sure sure. So I'll send you them brochures overnight, sugar.
Me: Thanks? *has no idea what she's going to get in the mail now*

The girls and I laughed about that ALL DAY. I understand being a bit of a luddite, but if you can turn on your computer and open an e-mail, surely you know what a PDF is. Am I wrong?

Saturday: Shirley. 'Nuff said.


Whew! So there it is, the week in review. And looking back, I think I don't want the crazy to stop. Well, except for Monday's crazy. Good riddance to that.

Sorry if this was boring and long-winded. At least you got the Reader's Digest version, I had to live it! ;)
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* = MexicAsian / Worst Mexican Ever, the office nickname for this woman, not mine. She hates tortillas, can't cook and won't eat spicy food. Her own mother branded her the Worst Mexican Ever. And apparently Giggly decided she has Asian eyes, thus MexicAsian was born. They were both too good to pick just one blog alias for her.

Jump in my car, we'll go 100 around the bends

-- 100 Round the Bends, by Missy Higgins

Two disclaimers here.

1. We will not be going 100 mph. Ever. I don't like getting tickets.
2. This is the car you'll be jumping in:


That's right, folks. I got myself a nice new set of shiny shiny wheels. And it was about time, too. Denny Crane served me well through most of college, but he's 11 years and 170k miles old and seriously rough around the edges. Anyone who has had the distinct pleasure of driving with us in the last several months is aware of the state of disrepair into which good ol' Denny has fallen. Or, more accurately, has been in since before I inherited him. He recently started mumbling something about needing new brakes and an electrical system thisclose to short-circuiting in the middle of my morning commute.

"But Erin, what about all that talk of getting a Smart Car?" Well, ever-observant readers, that dream was quickly squashed upon discovering that the wait for a Smart Car is nine months, easy. Since Denny's brakes were not nearly that long for this world, my mom and I thought it would be best to circumvent that cost by looking for more available alternatives. Enter Shirley.


Alan Shore: Shirley? What about senior partners? There would be nothing wrong with me, lusting, say, after ... you? Would there?
Shirley Schmidt: Go subscribe to National Geographic. Make a list of the places you'll never get to visit. Add to that list, Schmidt.
-- Boston Legal

Yes, my new car is named after the inimitable Shirley Schmidt. The snarky, intelligent, sane counterpoint to Denny Crane. And played by the equally-awesome Candice Bergen. Keeping the naming scheme within the Boston Legal line was a simple decision. Denny Crane (the car) embodies everything that Denny Crane (the lawyer) is. Both were lovable, had Mad Cow Disease and were embarrassingly unpredictable. And while Shirley (the car) is considerably younger, even in car years, than Shirley (the lawyer) is, she hits all the other points of similarity. She's quick-witted and cool; unshakable in her confidence. The exact opposite of Denny.

So, while I still love him dearly, I do need to find a new home for Denny. If anyone's looking to score a cheap vehicle in need of a few repairs, let me know. Denny's flaws are mostly cosmetic, although he does need new brakes, like, yesterday. He's taped up in all the cracks that threaten to ruin the electrical when it rains, so there are probably a couple thousand good miles on him yet. If I'm honest, though, I'm pretty sure he'll make his last change of ownership into the hands of a charity. Which I think would be a wonderful way to go. He will be happier frolicking in the big junkyard in the sky than he ever was sitting in LA traffic. Rest in Peace, Denny Crane. You were awesome.

Here I am, insecure for now

-- This is Only for Now, by Charlotte Sometimes

One: My secondary boss-type lady (SBTL from here on out), the one I was convinced hated me at first but has been slowly warming up to me, is crazy. It’s a very long, very complicated story, but the gist of it is something like this:

- SBTL asks me to keep track of this flood of warranties that vendors are e-mailing to us.
- I decide to create a spreadsheet to organize the relevant data. Vendor name, product, date warranty was received, who sent it, etc.
- I show said spreadsheet to SBTL before she leaves, so she knows which vendors we have yet to hear from.
- SBTL calls me an overachiever.
- Cue massive WTF? moment, while I try not to shrivel up from the emotional cramping.

She said it like she was joking, but she wasn’t. The term “passive-aggressive” comes to mind. And yet, I still maintain that she abhors my very existence a little less every day. Okay, maybe every week. Let’s not get ahead of ourselves here.

Two: My giggly co-worker (we’ll call this one Giggly), who is basically spearheading the effort to integrate me into the circle, invited me to her birthday party this weekend. At a club. And I said I’d go. Let’s recap, shall we?

- I don’t really know any of these women, though they are all genuinely sweet to me.
- I’ve never been to a club, nor do I have any real desire to.
- Drinking is at the bottom of my fun scale. It’s the title of theirs.

Oh my, this will certainly be memorable. I am tentatively forecasting good stories when I return. :)

Three: I LOVE this job. It’s unreal how much fun I’m having. And I harbor no delusions about the fleeting nature of this feeling, but I’m going to enjoy it while I can. So I would like to take this opportunity to thank the gods of luck for the generosity they have bestowed upon me, yet again. *genuflects*

I'm from a land called Secret Estonia

Nobody knows where it's at, no
Nobody knows where it's at
-- Creepshow, by Kerli

(It's here, between Russia and Sweden, btw.)

Obviously, I’m not from Estonia. Secret or otherwise. My latest musical obsession, however, is.

Meet Kerli.

Kerli - Walking On Air (Official Video)

Her latest (first?) album is called Love is Dead, and it is pretty much made of solid awesome. Although Kerli has been somewhat accurately compared to Björk, the likeliness exists in vocal styling alone. There’s a gravelly-but-not-too-deep quality about their voices that is unique enough to catch your attention and plant you firmly in “love it” or “hate it.” But unlike Björk, Kerli’s music is a bit less edgy in its composition. It’s definitely got that same air of techno to it, but she fits nicely into the pop/rock genre, with a healthy dose of Goth that bands like Evanescence only wish they could achieve. And I love me some Amy Lee, don’t get me wrong, but this stuff is just so much more ... creepy.

In interviews, Kerli has mentioned growing up in a culture where you showed your love for your children by beating them every night after school, and twice on Sundays. She writes songs about being positive in the face of too-tough-love and Communism, and being who you are no matter what people say. Even if you happen to be a little creepy. Perhaps especially then.

Trust me when I tell you to go forth and has. Srsly.

Artist: Kerli
Album: Love is Dead
Start Here: Walking On Air, Bulletproof, Up Up Up

Hello, I've had you on my mind

For hours, there's no doubt
No use wasting time
Hello, by Tristan Prettyman

So, I've toyed with the idea of starting a blog ever since my typography teacher suggested it as a means of overcoming some hideous anxiety about my writing. Then Kami suggested it as a type of newsletter to keep the Six Musketeers in the loop of every one's hectic lives. What results here is a mash-up of the two. For the fistful of you (see: Kami) who read this thing, expect equal parts boring life story and bad creative writing. Feel free to comment on either. Please note that the writings I post here are copied directly from my moleskin, where they were written exactly as I thought them. I haven't edited them, which is part of what I was told to do to help with my squeamishness every time I pick up a pen. We'll see how that goes.
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Post-Script: All of my posts (except the writings) will be titled with quotes from various places. If the words are from a song, then there will be a link that points to a download. If they're from a story or other written material, the link will lead you to more info on the source. Sound good?
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Post-Post-Script: I should probably let everyone know what the final tally in my mommie's Adventure of the Great Gangrenous Gallbladder of '08 was. Mommie: 1. Gallbladder: DED.

After the ER doctor sent her home Tuesday night with a cool, "your gallbladder isn't distended -- despite everyone but me being sure it is -- so go home and have fun writhing in pain," her oncologist told her to march back to the hospital. They had been sent strict orders to admit her, what with the trial chemotherapy she was on having a 45874329.6% success rate in DESTROYING patients' gallbladders. Several tests and a wowed surgeon later, and the diagnosis was official: mommie had gangrene. In the (of the?) gallbladder. Sweet. At least, that's what the surgeon said.

Apparently, the guy had never seen such a horrid case of dedness, and was naturally thrilled at the procedure he was about to perform, however simple. Since UCLA is a teaching hospital, he documented the surgery well so that all the little interns could see what happens when a patient is denied a common operation. Repeatedly.

The end result is that mommie comes home tomorrow, sans gallbladder, but feeling much better. Woot!!