the sloppy copy

Well, kids, I’m back. Went on a brief sojourn to Indiana, bookended by a stop in every major airport out of which Delta Airlines flies. It’s a long, not particularly interesting, story but I’ll tell it later. For now, here’s a variety of SOTDs to summarize my trip to make up for the dearth of previous postings:

This first one was a Trivial Pursuit question answer (question: how many tickets to paradise did Eddie Money have?). We found that increasing the number of tickets and changing the song lyrics is a more entertaining way to sing the song (i.e. “I’ve got 14 tickets to paradise! And I’m taking my immediate family except for my cousin who rarely showers!”). This one’s for you, Jamie:

“Two tickets to paradise” / Eddie Money (1977)

Next, a little number from Everyone’s Favorite Former Symbol. This one goes out to Casey: may your son one day grow to appreciate Prince as much as you do.

“Wonderful Ass” / Prince (1987)

And last, an homage to the college bar at which we played a drinking game called Sink the Biz with pitchers of ice-cold Busch Light. We are classy, yes, but we are also economical.

“I love college” / Asher Roth (2009)

“If I ever leave this world alive” / Flogging Molly (2002)

REO Speedwagon’s “I Can’t Fight This Feeling” translated from English into Spanish via BabelFish, then translated from the Spanish back into the English:

I fight of this sensation longer
but I’m still scared to let demonstrate it.
Begun what since friendship has grown more fort.
Desire only that had the force to let demonstrate it

I say that I cannot be maintained towards outside by always.
I say that there is reason of my no fear.
Because I feel so surely when we are together.
You give my direction of the life, you you do everything so clearly.

And even during vague, I am maintaining seen to him.
You are a candle in the window in winter’s cold, dark night.
And I am obtaining more close than I never thought that I could.

And I cannot fight this sensation more.
I have forgotten so I began to fight.
And if I must drag to me on the floor,
come crashing through its door,
baby I cannot fight this sensation more

My life has been such eddy since I saw him.
I have around been working in circles in my mind.
And it seems whenever I am following to him, girl.
Because take me to the places that only never would find.

And even during vague, I am maintaining seen to him.
You are a candle in the window in winter’s cold, dark night.
And I am obtaining more close than I never thought that I could.

And I cannot fight this sensation more.
I have forgotten so I began to fight.
And if I must drag to me on the floor,
come crashing through its door,
baby I cannot fight this sensation more

Oh, Sufjan, you always get me right *here*

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5Mr_VkAXWZA

“All the trees of the field will clap their hands” / Sufjan Stevens (2004)

misty (smokey?), flannel-colored memories…

“Possum Kingdom” / Toadies (1994)

I just heard this song on the radio. Why hasn’t this song been written before now?* Also, Jarrod Niemann does not look like I thought he looked like.

“Lover, Lover” / Jarrod Niemann (2010)

*Coincidentally enough, I like this song for how it’s written. Guess this dude has written a lot of songs for a lot of other people. Go fig.

There were only two times when this song was not funny to me. Also, sorry for the crappy video.

“She’s on time” / Barenaked Ladies (1998)

“Chemo Limo” / Regina Spektor (2004)

I cracked open a new-ish stick of deodorant today, and before you get your underthings all in a wad at my addition of “ish” to “new,” it was a stick that I bought for a trip taken a few months ago. I used it while I was out of town, then carelessly tossed aside.

Or so I thought. Turns out the tossing was thoughtful; as I sit at my computer, I am overcome with a stench that can only be described as “shit-nasty.”  Unfortunately, it’s all I have, and I’m going to work soon, and I should probably not reek of the charcoal-grill smoke, after-rain, and extreme humidity smells I accumulated on my person this afternoon.

Or should I? Those odors are certainly more pleasant than the one currently radiating in horrific, tear-inducing vapors from my axillae. I’m pretty baffled, actually. The label describes the scent as Fabulously Floral. False advertising, indeed. I’d describe it as more Fabulously Fucked-Up.

And yet, I am stuck. I could thoroughly cleanse any traces of deodorant from my skin, but what happens later this evening, when I am stuck indoors in a building that is essentially full of hot air and steam from the cooking of so many dinners? A quick search of my Mom’s cabinets-upon-cabinets of “spare” soaps, shampoos and razors produced no satisfactory result. I found a stick of some solid with a passably-pleasant aroma but yet: I am wearing a black, short-sleeved shirt to work and have not yet mastered the skill required to pair solid under-arm fragrance with the wearing of dark colors.

So here I am, digging through a plastic baggie of perfume samples that Carynn sent to me as part of one of her famously-random care packages. If that fails me, there’s always the Sample Page in this week’s Macy’s ad to rub on my pits.

Desperate times, friends. Desperate times.

It’s not Friday, but hey – who’s counting?

“This is how we do it” / Montell Jordan (1995)