My, we are not very good at updating this weekend. Sorry, y’all! I don’t know about Rachel, but I have had a week of enough schoolwork and feelings to last at least two weeks.
But I digress.
Penny Arcade’s take on Mad Men:
The Filmmaker sent me a link to this on Facebook. Oh, Filmmaker! You know me too well. (On a related note, the Filmmaker moved to fancy-pants Brooklyn yesterday, in achievement of a long-held dream. Congrats!)
This cover of “Kids”:
It’s like someone in this band said, “Hey, you know what’s great? That song ‘Kids,’ by MGMT. You know what would be EVEN GREATER? If we redid it using ukuleles.” And at that very moment, the winds stopped howling and the clouds parted, and God stuck his head down into the sky, held out a raised thumb and said, “That shall be awesome.”
The phrase “The Barefoot Diaries.” Earlier this week the State recommended I name my thesis The Adventures of Bulldog and Rocket Bitch, or, failing that, the The Motorcycle Diaries. Which then made me think of _____ Diaries titles, and I think The Barefoot Diaries sounds like a great title. Right? Doesn’t that sound like a great title for something? Except that right before I started writing this post, I googled “barefoot diaries” (to verify that, as I thought, it wasn’t already the name of a book/movie/whatever), and the first hit is for a photographer specializing in foot fetishes. The second hit is for the blog of a self-identified prophetess and the third’s a travel blog about backpacking in Thailand. There’s also a LiveJournal. Ah, well.
We’ve talked about this already but WE TURNED IN OUR MOTHERLOVING THESES!
Queer karaoke. We went to a gay bar’s karaoke night this week, and man, was it the alternate universe of karaoke experiences. Everyone danced! Everyone belted to “On My Own” from Les Mis! And I wasn’t that obnoxious girl who nags at her friends to sing! Win/win all around.
Oh! Also, Grooveshark. Without it I could not have listened to Wham!’s Make It Big all afternoon yesterday, and how terrible would that have been? Pretty terrible. As gloomy as Andrew Ridgeley’s post-Wham! career. (Poor Andrew Ridgeley. Being forever known as “the guy who’s not George Michael” would be a hard deal to shake, I imagine.)