New Year's Meme

In 2008, I gained a condo, a dryer that vents into my living room, convenient access to the DC Metro system and a view of the Capital Building from my studio room.

I lost a best friend. (I know that sounds dramatic and maudlin, but, well, that's still kinda how it feels.)

I stopped writing meaty blog posts on a regular basis.

I started a new job with a 35% increase in pay.

I was hugely satisfied with the internet's capacity to continue to provide me with oodles of fascinating filth for thought.

I am so embarrassed that I now actually have, in case of further emergencies, a locksmith's personal number saved on my cellphone (yes, that would be replacement cellphone #4, as cellphones #1-3 all met their, ahem, Waterloos in various porcelain facilities. Yeah, I'm embarrassed about that, too. As I am about that atrocious pun I just made.).

Once again, I managed to impress boys with my repertoire of yoga-generated party tricks.

Once again, I did not show the slightest bit of self-restraint when faced with shoe sales.

The biggest physical difference between me last December and this December is, I think, the (benign) lump in my right tit is more like a jumbo egg than the small egg it was last year. Otherwise, I think I look the same.

The biggest psychological difference between me last December and this December is I am no longer nursing any crushes on inappropriate men. (YAY!)

I loved spending time developing fleeting crushes on impeccably dressed DC denizens while riding the Metro. I did not so much love smelling some of the other ones, however.

Why did I spend even two minutes debating whether to leave my old job? They so did not earn even the smattering of loyalty I gave them. I know this is particularly true after having spent the subsequent 7 months making a lot more money and doing a lot less work. And feeling a lot more appreciated.

I should have spent more time doing yoga, organizing my finances, cleaning my car, writing and fucking. One can always spend more time writing and fucking.

I regret buying as much gas as I did. Given, my gasoline expenditures decreased significantly once I got situated here in the city, but even anyway... buying gas makes me feel guilty. No matter what.

I will never regret buying someone's time and expertise to paint the walls of my new condo for me so that I didn't have to do it myself even though with that money I could have paid off a chunk of my post-moving, bloated credit card bill. Saving myself the added moving stress of having to paint myself? Beyond worth it.

I slept in late only with S.

I didn’t apply to grad school. That's what 2009 is good for. I hope.

Sporadic internet service in my building, a sometimes-surly, sometimes-smarmy internet service dude, and a general laissez-faire attitude from my building's developers about the whole situation drove me crazy.

The most relaxing place I went was work, during the middle of my move. That's the only place where I got to think about something besides freaking out at the prospect of becoming a homeowner.

Why did I eat so many fucking cupcakes? I blame a duo of enabling women with whom I work. Bitches.

The best thing I did for someone(s) else was let them go. All three of them. (This one's cryptic to protect the not-so-innocent. Sorry.)

The best thing I did for myself was learn to say the word "pussy" without blushing. Finally.

The best thing someone did for me was when my whole family, in shifts, flew out to DC to help me fix stuff in my new place, pack, move, and clean my old place. A million thank-yous to my parents and my big brother.

The one thing I’d like to do again, but do it better, is write about film.

summer seven

There's another meme running its viral little course through assorted blogs that I read regularly. I didn't actually get tagged, but, like your bratty kid sister, I wanna play too. So, I'm tagging myself... and posting the instructions, just in case any of my blogger friends should also desire to tag themselves. But don't feel obligated, mes amis!

Here's the low-down:

List seven songs you are into right now. No matter what the genre, whether they have words, or even if they’re not any good, but they must be songs you’re really enjoying now, shaping your summer. Post these instructions in your blog along with your 7 songs. Then tag 7 other people to see what they’re listening to.

And now, Marjorie's Summer Seven:

1) The Black Keys, "Just Couldn't Tie Me Down"-- The whole album of Rubber Factory had been in very regular rotation in my car CD player for about a year. It's the perfect languorous summer loll of Dirty South blues-- even though the band's actually from Ohio. I always thought this song would make an excellent ironic, irreverent recessional at a hot August wedding. (Yeah. Don't tell me it surprised you that I'm not a fan of traditional ANYTHING at weddings.)

2) The Honorary Title, "Stay Away" -- I've just started listening to Scream & Light Up the Sky. Mostly, it's just a pleasant indie pop album in the vein of Guster and Wheat and maybe, Dexter Freebish. But I like the sort of melancholy chorus of this song.

3) Sigur Ros, "Gobbledigook"-- You guys all watched the video to which I sent you in this post, right? If not, get thee there. NOW. And get to know this band-- their new album release is immanent.

4) Paula Cole, "Feelin' Love" -- Paula Cole, I know, I know. You don't have to say it. For years after I made out with James Van Der Forehead that one time in college (Yep, I kissed Dawson himself. Oops. Had I not mentioned that here before? *sheepish*), every friend I ever had insisted upon singing the "doo doo doo doos" from "I Don't Want to Wait" to me every time they saw me. Thanks guys. I know it just means you care. But this song has sultry, nasty lyrics and a stripclub backbeat. Made for primetime TV, it's not.

5) The Raveonettes, "With My Eyes Closed" -- This summer, the Lust, Lust, Lust album is never too far out of reach. "Aly, Walk With Me" reminds me of Twin Peaks theme and the rest of it sounds like an early '60s girl group got in bed with, like, The Strokes or something. This song in particular, though, has the lazy tone of swoony Hawaiian surf anthems. What could be more apt for the clime? (A close runner-up for this list is "You Want the Candy"-- also from this album.)

6) Ryan Adams, "Come Pick Me Up"-- I found this song in a mix CD a guy I dated a couple years ago made for me-- one to which I'd never really taken the time to listen-- probably because of lingering feelings of ick as it was a very short-lived affair, to be sure. But now that I rediscovered it, I love this song. To me, it sounds like driving a rusted out jalopy down the dusty backroads with all the windows down and your hair enmucked into your sticky lip gloss. Here's the refrain:

I wish you would
I wish you would
Come pick me up
Take me out
Fuck me up
Steal my records
Screw all my friends
They're all full of shit
With a smile on your face
And then do it again
I wish you would

Damn, that's so sexily fatalistic. *swoon*

7) Vampire Weekend, "Walcott" -- OK, OK, Vampire Weekend gets plenty of flack for being pretty little white boys from the Upper West Side who like to ape assorted ethnic (African, Cuban...) beats to make snappy little pop songs. But, hey, newsflash, folks! What would this last 50+ years of American musical innovation be without white people appropriating ethnic cultural markers? It's what we do. At least these guys own it. And they do it with such sharp, class-conscious irony in their lyrics. To wit:

Walcott
The Bottleneck
Is a shit-show
Hyannisport
Is a ghetto
Out of Cape Cod tonight

Rhyming "shit-show" with "ghetto"? So good. And bonus points for working such an unpoetic word as "Hyannisport" into a song.

Happy summer listening. Just don't let cute boys bust you car-dancing at stoplights-- it's so embarrassing.