count your blessings

It is a quiet, chilled, evening tonight. The sun fell beneath the buildings early today (at least in my opinion) and ever since four o’clock, the city has been draped in a bleak darkness. I am currently writing this while cuddled next to the radiator under the kitchen window. A colorful blanket (that I got for my great deed of graduation, if you remember) is wrapped around my legs like a butterflies cocoon. I have two pairs of socks on to cover my tingling toes. My hands are purple. I know it is from the lack of blood they receive due to my disease, but I like to pretend it is just because they are too cold, like in cartoons.

 

            Looking outside the window, there is no light, except from an apartment window a few rooftops away. The curtains are drawn; open wide, and I can easily see the figures of an older male and female dancing. It is a slow dance, their bodies crippled with memories of a good life, but you can see they are in love. I sit here, imagining their lives. I guess they have housed three kids, two boys and one daughter, who are now all grown up and on their own travels. Maybe they fell in love early and were surprised with a child at a young age, pulling the idea of marriage faster than they thought it would come. The way they are holding each other is frail, beautiful, and supportive. It makes me think of my parents dancing on Friday nights after my Mother has had a stressful week at work.

            My Father used to always put on Macy Gray at five on Friday nights, in anticipation for my Mother to come home. Gabrielle and I, dancing together, watching my Dad nod his head and stir whatever meal he was making, a glass a wine swirling in his hand. He always comes over and grabs me, rocking me side to side, twirling me out. Ever since I was little my parents and I would dance together. I think they are the reason I love it so much and, not to brag, is why I am pretty good dance partner. My mom would do this twist to the floor as soon as she got into more comfortable clothes.  It is her signature move that the two of us always pull out at weddings. We wouldn’t eat until eight or nine, but no one cared because we were too busy in the music and the environment.

            I wonder if this couple does something similar. I hope my parents never stop dancing together and that one day I will stand outside of their house and look through their window and see the same image I see in the apartment a few blocks away.

And of course, it is music monday! Enjoy "Drop Names Not Bombs" by Louise Burns 

xoxo

tokyo police club.

"turning into black and white, underneath the swinging lights, barely awake, but I still have my stripes, because you're the killer with the colored kite." - Bambi

"its why i had to keep you in the dark, less big words and more exclamation marks" - Big Difference

"my hook catches your lip and i reel you in and as you rise up to my floor, the hook impales our two tongues" - Cut Cut Paste

don't dial any numbers off of "how is my driving?" bumper stickers unless you want to have sex for 15% off.

I am sitting on deck this morning, just got home from the gym, and I am eating Special K Granola with "a touch of honey." Yum. It tastes good but there are not enough large clumps of honey granola goodness. Bummer. Anyways. I had planned on writing this post yesterday, and then when that didn't happen, last night, but that did not happen because I did not get home till the break of dawn. (Okay i lied. I got home at midnight, but one is allowed to exaggerate for emphasis that I was out last night late.) So anyways. I do not know where I was going with this. . . OH I should tell you about what happen to my mother and I driving today.

So we were driving right, me and mother, (i feel like I said that already) and we came across this car with a bumper sticker on the back that read "How is my driving? Call 1-800- EAT- SHIT" (pardon my french) And my Mother- being the carefree, wonderful, curious, women she is- said "I wonder if that is really someone's number?" To me that clearly was a hint to dial it and find out. I typed it in carefully making to spell EAT SHIT correctly. It rang once. Than disconnected me. I immediately received a text message. I opened it up and it read something along the lines of " Want to have steamy sex tonight with a hot babe in your area? Reply Yes to this number right now and you can get 15% off your next sex session" SO that was abbreviated and it did not have all the language and vulgar terms- i thought i would do you a favor and nit expose your innocent ears to such language. Moral of the story is don't dial any numbers off of "how is my driving?" bumper stickers unless you want 15% off sex.

I think it is high time for a music monday! Yay! I know it is not Monday, and it is in fact Tuesday, but you were deprived of music mondays yesterday so I would like to catch up. (I know this will be only the 2nd time Music Monday's has happened, but let us forget about that slight detail. Okay? Okay.) Today's musical artist is Memory Tapes.  (You probably have not heard of them due to the fact you are probably musically uneducated. But That is why I am here. )

Hometown: New Jersey.

The lineup: Dayve Hawk (vocals, music).

The background: The music of Memory Tapes is somehow creamy yet computerised, rapturous yet rhythmic, danceable yet dreamy. Dreamy is the word: Dayve Hawk, who is Memory Tapes, makes electronic dance music that is like a dream you might have had of a bunch of ghosts, of tribal dance around a blundering fire, or a swirly, psychedelic disco – the songs sound like what you have always imagined the aforementioned artists would make, even if you never got round to hearing them; like all the descriptions, all the evocative adjectives, you have ever read about them, transposed into sound. It's the best thing i've heard all week. (So that is a lie. I do not choose favorites. Songs might get left out.) 

Mr. Tapes is quite aloof and elusive, even if he does state that it's not his intention "to be wilfully mysterious". He's a stay-at-home dad of 28, "just some dude from southern New Jersey", who's "not that great with computers", can't drive, and doesn't own a mobile phone. Typical. He's remixed Yeah Yeah Yeahs, Peter Björn and John, and Britney Spears, which has predictably wowed the blogerati, and Michael Jackson's "people" have invited him to do one for a remix album, although he insists, "I'm not a DJ, and I'm not trying to rock a party" (even though he rocks my party) He describes himself as "a real spaced-out kid – I used to walk around in circles and envision this world happening around me. I would just come home from school and mess around in the basement until bedtime: recording, hooking things up, learning different instruments." He began working on material for Memory Tapes in high school, and ended up "having an email correspondence with the Cocteau Twins", who offered to bring him to England to record at September Sound, but it didn't happen – no phone = no plane ticket to Blighty. Now he makes budget-lavish, languorous disco, over which he warbles ethereally – many assume he's a woman. He's not, he's just in tune with the liquid and libidinal.  

Memory Tapes - "Bicycle" from Jamie Harley on Vimeo.

Memory Tapes : Treeship from Chris May on Vimeo.

Site & Sound: Memory Tapes from VanLou Media on Vimeo.

Enjoy. 

Lets talk about that lightning last night. Incredible. I do wish that it was raining, but the flashes in the night sky were insane. Last night in general was pretty enjoyable. It was nice and needed. Especially for my beastie Becca- who had a bad day. Here's a list: (you know how I love my lists) 

• do not have the dude behind the counter open your sparkling water unless you are going to go drink it right that. it will go flat and it will loose flavor and you will end up drinking it for hours and people will think you are weird
• did you know you can not really see your computer screen when you are out in the sunlight working? well you can't. 
• i edited my musical library last night and gave every song a title and artist (i had a lot that didn't have titles are artists.) I am proud of myself. Happy Ipod. 
• thats what she said jokes are not funny unless sung about in a song by Kramer and Max
• according to some people- shark week is more important that hanging out with friends
• Bonniville has a nice play ground but you should not go in the tunnel because things happen in there... AHH 
• Baja Blast Mountain Dew is not as good as others might say- but it is a taco bell original 
• you should always carry around a piece of paper and a pen so Paul can write down the titles to every song on your cd that you do not know the names of. 
• Jocelyn got a new cat. 
• and last but not least... how many blow jobs is enough blow jobs? 

Have a good day folks. Love you. xoxo