Mixtape Monday

Today is all about Honey. He deserves this for several reasons today, but he had a particularly crappy weekend and his Sunday flat out sucked. So, I'm hoping he enjoys this. These are all on the theme of Honey - he either likes these songs or they make me think of him.

1. Sex Bomb - Tom Jones. He knows why it's here. You think you do, but you don't. But go ahead and think you know why ... because that's probably not far from the truth anyway.

2. Would? - Alice in Chains. Because I know he likes that Puget sound. (HA! Get it? Man, I'm good!)

3. What Sarah Said - Death Cab for Cutie. I was averse to listening to or liking Death Cab because all I knew was that they'd had a song featured on The O.C. and their name was silly. Honey mocked me for writing off a band before I'd even heard them. (As always, he was right.) He had them on his iPod and I must've heard them in the car with him, because I changed my mind. And I think it was this song that did it for me. I like them. He won!

4. Hips Don't Lie - Shakira w/ Wyclef Jean. He likes the Columbian songstress. Plus, guess who else has honest latin hips? ;)

5. White and Nerdy - Weird Al Yankovic. Who doesn't have an affection for Wierd Al? As a self-professed geek and a spouse-professed tech god, this song is appropriate for him.

6. I Wasn't Prepared - Eisley. Just a band that's gotten stuck in our heads lately - his especially. Nothing particularly significant about this song. It's just a good example of what I think draws him to them: their voices float above the crowd and hang their like mist.

7. Portions for Foxes - Rilo Kiley. Again, nothing significant about this song. Just a band he likes. ... except I think there is some mystery left.

8. #1 Crush - Garbage. Honey likes pretty much all of Shirley Manson's musical manifestations. This song was popular when we started dating.

9. Storybook Love - Mark Knopfler. This was the theme song to The Princess Bride, one of my most favoritest movies ever, ever, ever! And it's also just a really sweet love song.

10. Gunshots by computer - Nine Inch Nails. Honey really likes Nine Inch Nails. This song makes me think of his almost nightly habit of playing first person shooter games online with his friends. Of course, that's not really what this song is about, but this is my collection of songs that remind me of Honey, so suck it!

VIDEO BONUS. I wanted to add an 11th song (because 11 is always better, right?), but I couldn't find a decent copy to add. In addition to being smart, talented and good looking, Honey is evolutionarily superior. You see, he is a supertaster. There are at least two people - Darla D and Jordan, actually - who when told this lit up and asked, "like 'John Lee Supertaster?'" Yup. In fact, sometimes Honey quotes the song to describe his super ability. Honey is good to have around when choosing wine, but like John Lee, he cannot tolerate coffee or beer. What's a supertaster, you ask? Well ... let They Might be Giants, with the help of a fan-produced Sims video explain it to you. (I couldn't find a musician or concert video.)



Happy Monday!

Filmstuffs Friday

Okay, I know I said I would start adding new mixtapes each Friday, but I thought about and decided to move the mixtapes to Monday. Why? Better alliteration: "Mixtape Monday/Music Monday" and "Film Friday/Filmstuffs Friday" just sounds better.

Today, since I'm excited to go home even for a measley 25 hours, I thought I'd add some clips from movies I like that are filmed in (and usually based in) Texas.

CLOAK AND DAGGER - old lady at Alamo

It's probably been over 20 years since I've seen this movie. I was 14 before I ever went to the Alamo. I was so disappointed that it was way smaller than it looks movies. I loved this movie as a kid, but I can't remember much of it, now.

TRUE STORIES - "Hey Now"

This is one of my favorite movies. I love that David Byrne set the movie during the Texas Sesquicentennial - a whole year of crazy celebration in the state, ignored by everyone outside the state except Prince Charlie, apparently. This movie has everything I love: lonely characters, wierdos in general, lots of bright colors, suburban satire and musical numbers. This scene comes near the top of the film.

RUSHMORE - trailer

Filmed at Saint John's School in Houston. Pretty part of the city. I think my brother used to play lacrosse against them. I like Wes Anderson. Haven't seen this one in a decade. Need to revisit that!

NO COUNTRY FOR OLD MEN - trailer

Had to include this one. It was filmed in my old stomping grounds and for as dark and bleak as this film was, I thrilled everytime I recognized a mountain or vista. I was also just really impressed how well this movie captured the reticent West Texas man.

I feel like there's another clip I wanted to add, but I can't remember it right now. Eh.

Any movies filmed in your hometown/state that you like? It's always fun to spot a landmark.

What's Molly Dreaming Now? Edition 6

I'll try to keep this brief because I still have to walk the dog and take a shower and go to this little shindig called work.

Until I heard some poet on NPR this morning talking about his grade school teacher, I'd forgotten what I'd dreamt. But it was this - or this was the part I remembered most:

I'm in a school building. A student friend/acquaintance tells me that I need to leave within a few moments. He's wearing a black trenchcoat and has an ominous bearing about him radiating a nefarious purpose. It's clear he's warning me, giving me a heads up. He doesn't want me to get caught in his cross-fire.

I go into a detention hall being monitored by my 4th grade teacher (whom I loved) and Amy Poehler. They both seem pretty intent on making sure detention is served. "Mrs. H, Amy, you've got to get out of here! We have to leave, now!" They don't quite get it, and I can't tell them directly what's going to happen, because I don't know details and mostly because I don't want to alarm them and send the other kids into a panic. But I'm straining to stay composed as tears begin to well up in my eyes. I don't remember if they catch on.

The next thing I know, I'm outside the school and some teachers, hall monitors and cops inside have taken up guard like positions, awaiting the coming violence. But there are no guns drawn by the cops. Everyone is just standing openly, waiting. Their at once both watchful defense is both defiant and inviting, like by their physical vulnerability they're daring them to let the cowards bullets fly but also asking the perpetrator(s) to approach them civilly for comfort and reconciliation. And I'm frustrated that my teacher and Amy Poehler didn't quite get it and I'm sad that my friend wants to unleash such violence on his peers and I'm confused and scared. And the dream ended with us all just waiting. We knew what was coming and people were preparing what defense they could, but we were all just waiting.

Any prognosticators or diviners want to take a crack at this one?

ink, exercises in futility, fuzzy ambitions

Three beautiful things this Earth Day, a la Clare's blog, yet again.

1. The handstamp ink from last night's show faded into the back of my hand. The way the ink sunk into the crevices of my skin, the resulting pattern reminds me of a faded screen door, or a lesson in cross-hatch shading from 7th grade art class.

2. The mother in the grocery store yesterday with 3 children in her cart, negotiating with her son in the basket and her son hanging off the basket to stop fighting. "If you can be nice to eachother for 7 whole days, then you can pick out whatever toy gun you want. ... we'll make a chart and put it on the refrigerator so we can keep track." I couldn't hide how this cracked me up. I looked over at her and she glanced over the tops of their heads at me. We exchanged and amused look. We both know those boys can't last seven days, but we also both know that if they last at least one, she's gotten what she wanted out of the deal.

3. Dreaming last night that I was part of the Daily Show creative staff, even if the staff was completely fictional. Rob CordDETT?

Movie Monday

YOUNG AT HEART


I've seen this trailer at least 3 or 4 times in the last two months. I don't know if it's in my area yet (it's theatrical release is currently limited). That means it'll probably be a Netflix rental for me. But I am eager to see this. How much fun to have old people sing music beyond their generation; how challenging and life-affirming. I can't watch this trailer without crying - so I know I'll need to have a kleenex box handy when I do see it.

The video below is of a member of that group singing Coldplay's "Fix You." That song is one I like to play when I need a want to be swallowed by a warm blanket and need a catharsis. I heard this version yesterday on NPR. He's not in the theatrical documentary. This singer breathes with the aid of an oxygen machine. According to the youtube summary, this was to be a duet, but his partner died leading up to this performance. If you don't at least fight back tears, you may have no soul.

Fred Knittle singing "Fix You"


In other news, we saw I Am Legend this weekend. It's one of those movies I'm sure I'll eventually forget. Nonetheless, it filled the purpose we had for it: mindless scariness. If you have any desire to see it, note there are spoilers below.

What I liked:

• good, faithful, happy dog;
• monsters around the corner - made me scream even when I knew it was coming
• Will Smith - c'mon! he's like a high school buddy by now
• that the cure for cancer turns those few it doesn't kill into vampires
• Emma Thompson's cameo at the top of the movie
• deer hunting in Manhattan
• Manhattan being reclaimed by nature; reminded me to add that book that that guy wrote about what Earth would look like if we were to vanish today to my Amazon list. What's that book called again? Anyone?
  

What I didn't like:

• dog got infected, had to be put down (screw you, screenwriter!)
• that his family is killed in front of him
• that a soldier utters famous last words before they die: "Don't worry, colonel, I'll guard them with my life," or something to that effect. (screw you, screenwriter!)
  
• that it took a successful medical trial of a vaccine on 10,009 humans to decide they had the cure for cancer, but the successful trial of the anti-vampire vaccine on only ONE human to decide he had a cure for vampirism. Even I know that's bad science.
• the underdeveloped butterfly as metaphor theme
• the pedestrian choice of a butterfly as metaphor
• that according to the posters still up in Times Square at the time of the outbreak, Legally Blonde is still on broadway at Christmastime 2009

I'm hoping to see my girlfriend Tina Fey's newest, Baby Mama, next weekend:

I loved Mean Girls and 30 Rock is 'bout the best thing on network TV these days, so I can't wait for this!

Got any other movie-night suggestions for next week?

Mom really DID love you more!

Enjoy it now, folks. This is probably the only time I'll ever post a photo with an unobscured view of my face. That's me, and my little brother. I was four, and by the looks of it, he couldn't have been more than a month old. Oddly, I think my parents still have those Raggedy Ann and Andy bedsheets.

Wait, Wait Don't Tell Me referenced a recent study that proved that parents are harder on their elder children. They punish them more and generally place higher expectations on them. Younger children get away with so much more than we elders ever could. Here's what the Telegraph wrote about it. (I was amused that they referred to study done by "Maryland University.")

Part of me wants to send this article to my parents to show them that I wasn't imagining things when I'd complain to them of letting Bro get away with things that I would've been roundly punished for. But what's the point? They raised two functioning, happy, compassionate adults who've found healthy, permanent relationships with people who understand math and finances better than they do.

The resonance of this study for me now is less as a child with a grudge than as an adult pondering and witnessing parenthood, myself. Mom was the second of 5; Dad was the fifth of 5, so my complaints of unfairness fell on deaf ears. Honey and I both come from two children families, and he's the baby of his. At least we'll have two perspectives to bring to any children we may have.

Beyond that, though, this study reminded me of how it's only been in the two years that I've realized how important I was (am?) to my brother. He's always been important to me, of course, but I didn't really recognize, until lately, how much he adores me, and has his whole life. I always assumed that he lived to annoy me, until he reached junior high, by which time we became more peers and friends. When I turned 30, he sent me a really touching card extolling how great a sister and steadfast role model I've been for him. (My drunken, cussing, graceless, directionless ass - a role model? Poor guy!)

Apparently he also knew before I did that the only reason he existed was because I wanted a sibling. My mother was content with having only one child and Dad was down with it, too, but apparently I began begging for a sibling once I could vocalize it. I was so eager for one, I began telling people - friends, family, strangers on the street - that my mother was pregnant. She got pregnant so as not to make a liar of me, I assume; that, and because she and Dad decided one more was probably okay. I told this to Bro last year and he said he'd known it for a decade.

His admiration of me though has really only become more evident to me since he and his fiancee got serious about a year ago. I'm really looking forward to her being added to the family. As he began to regard her opinions and incorporate them into his lifestyle, I realized he was acting on influences of hers that I had, for years, been trying to exert on him. For instance, he now eats sushi - not frequently, but that he does it at all is amazing - and has begun to drink wine and looks for new wines to try. This, from a boy who just two years ago was immovably a steak and beer guy. I've always said he needs a girl who is smarter than he is, and I think he's found her. Why she wants to hang around my fart-bucket brother, I don't know, but I'm happy she does.

But I digress ... much as I like her and am happy for them, I feel myself being replaced as the primary female peer relationship in his life. (Assuming, I had that role, to begin with.) And I've found myself kind of jealous as he's begun aligning himself with her family. And I can only assume this jealousy is because I've been used to being listened to by him for the last 28 years and now that's shifting. It's a good thing it's shifting. But, holy cow! Is it possible my parents were right: the reason why he'd copycat me was because he looked up to me? And maybe I've been the bossy older sister the whole time and never known it. Crap. Next thing I know, I'm going to find out I'm a Cylon. Frak.

Milestones

Today is my grandmother's 80th birthday. That's her on the right, as she was when she was 5 years old. I haven't called her yet. We're having the big family she-bangy bang in Texas next weekend. Why next weekend and not this, I don't know. I'm looking forward to it because I enjoy family gatherings - even with the fundamentalists on my mom's side. But I think I'm also looking forward to it because my relationship with my grandmother has changed for the better over the last decade or so.

My maternal grandparents are the only set I've ever known. Dad was orphaned by 24, before he and Mom started dating seriously. Grandmothers in our society are always painted as being doting and forgiving, lavishing their grandkids with unearned praise and affection. I never knew any of that from her. I never knew where that myth came from, because it certainly wasn't my experience. She and Grandpa provided my brother and me with afterschool care when we were younger, and when we lived in the same town, we'd sleep over at their house often. They were both critical of us, but Grandpa's was constructive and delivered lovingly; it was obvious he believed his corrections would make us better people, whether we agreed or not. But Grandma was a snapper and her criticisms were almost always personal in nature, even if what she was addressing wasn't personal at all. That I loaded the washing machine differently than her, for instance, was a poor character reflection on me, not simply a different - if less efficient - style. As a result, for years, I thought she didn't love me. (As another result, I'm often offended by people offering me a different or more efficient way to go about a simple, obvious task. I always have to remind myself it's not personal.)

But she's changed in the last dozen or so years. And I have, as well. With some family transitions that conflicted with her "perfect" script, she's mellowed greatly and is more accepting of me and others. Having grown into adulthood myself, and lived the married life, I've come to sympathize more with her than ever. Also, I knew that my mother felt similarly disdained by her mother growing up, but I've since learned that her baby sister always felt imperfect to Grandma for the same reasons Mom and I did.

After my cousin's funeral 12 years ago, Grandma stroked my hair, turned to a now ex-aunt, and proudly and lovingly told her when God made me, he broke the mold. That was the first time I ever realized that she truly loved me for me - despite the years of her attempting to shoehorn me into her narrow ideal. It was liberating. It opened my eyes to who she really is, beneath the shell and how her personal history shaped her dealings with her family. She's not just a meanie; there's a reason - right or wrong - she interacts the way she does.

As we both grow older, patience and delight seem to be the themes of our relationship. I actually enjoy talking to her now, and seeing her. Life is too short for her not to love me for the anti-ideal that I am and for me to get hung up on the emotional bruises she didn't mean to inflict when I was a child, anyway. We may as well enjoy this time.

Mixtape Friday: Ni Higgim Gaelach (sic)

I've had so much fun playing with my newly-discovered toy that I've decided to make it a weekly theme. Which I think is actually good because then it gives me something to anticipate and write to and hopefully the content of these will inspire to me write more things outside of this blog. I had originally put the photo of Dublin's Molly Malone statue* on the cassette box, but when I went back this morning to edit the order of the songs Mixwit went stupid and lost it and for some reason won't let me put it back on and is now giving me a reason to be irritated on a Friday. But it should work, right? Deep breath. Letting it go.

*When we visited Dublin a few years ago, we passed this statue a lot and finally on the last night we got pictures of it. Blurry and bad. Honey gazing down her cleavage, etc. But my favorite part was that while Honey as posing with the legendary fishwife, a couple was seated at the end of her cart, breaking up. HY-larious!

I promise, there's a "tape" below.

Before I go further, I was chided after I posted this for not providing a link to the friend who turned me onto this nifty service. It were right wrong of me not to. So, an update: go check out Jordan's blog today - after you finish this post and drinking in the loverly melodies I have for you this fine Friday - and be awed by all that he knows. Seriously, the boy has an encyclopedic knowledge of and passion for music - pretty much all genres - and the technology by which one may experience it. If PCP doesn't open your mind to possibilities, I'm sure his blog will.

"Ni higgim Gaelach" is Irish for "I don't understand Irish." I can't verify that I spelled the first two words right. Over a decade ago, I went through an Irish phase. Lacking funds, I had to drop out of college in the middle of my Freshman year and move to Houston to live with my family. My family had just moved there months earlier. I had no roots nor friends there. Randomly, and without impetus, I started listening to celtic and celtic-inspired music - mostly The Chieftains; I read Yeats and Irish folklore. Maybe I supposed the Irish and Celts understood dejection and loneliness. Who knows? I just knew that by February of 1995, my life's fantasy was to move to Ireland, live alone in a cottage on a small farm with my herding dog and work the land for the rest of my days. (A year later that fantasy gave way to living in a cottage in the woods of New Hampshire with a golden retriever; the walls of my abode adorned with portraits of all my lovers past and present. I am more than content with my current reality!)

Though I'm no longer obsessed with Irish culture - not as much anyway - I still do very much enjoy Irish and celtic-inspired music. I have no track by track explanation for these songs. They're just songs I like. Some are modern originals, others are folk tunes revamped or whatnot. I was particularly pleased to find Factory Girls, Flogging Molly's collaboration with Lucinda Williams. (I really like her.) I want to get to know Flogging Molly and the Dropkick Murphys better. As for House of Pain - okay, really it's just the bagpipes at the end that celtify this; though I associate very much with Saint Patty's day, which is of course, more Irish than Ireland herself.

If you've made it this far and still owe me feedback (you know who you are), I have another secret word for you drop in conversation/email/comment: arugula.

Have a fantastic Friday!

Democrats doing what they do best: shooting themselves in the foot.

The more Hillary attacks Obama on bullshit "issues" like his pastor, that he doesn't always wear an American flag lapel pin, or that he referred to a certain demographic as bitter*, the more I want to kick her out.

*btw: wasn't she attacked in 1992, as an anti-family sorceress for saying she didn't want to stay at home and bake cookies? heaven forbid a candidate doesn't plot every word every now and then!

There are plenty of real issues and policy proposals she could go after him on, and he her, but instead her campaign focuses on the petty. Seriously? Are we 13? If she gets the nomination, I'll be behind her. I do think she'd make a better president than McCain and any other Republican currently serving anywhere. Not that intra-party campaigns have to be simpering and sweet, but her attacks on Obama have seemed as shallow as the attacks that will come his way from the Republicans and the attacks that the Republicans have hurled her way through the years. (Maybe this is a case of the bullied becoming the bully.)

Aside from my deep displeasure at the prospect of yet another White House dynasty on the rise, I guess this really all goes back to me feeling betrayed by her regarding the Iraq war. I've been watching her for the past 8 years, because I have been curious if she would make this run. And I've been disappointed. Until 2007, she had not put enough daylight between her and Spanky for my taste - more rhetorically than legislatively, I believe. And I was particularly upset that she joined the war bandwagon in '02. Even with all the chest pounding and appeals in 2002, I smelled a rat. (Maybe because I was one of the 30% of Americans who realized that Baghdad was not in Afghanistan and that al Quaeda was not the Iraqi Army.) At least Edwards recanted his vote. I was impressed by that. I liked Hillary in the 90s - frankly, I still like her and look up to her - but she just has not impressed me as a Democratic senator during one of the most embarrassing and mismanaged administrations in my short life, if not in American history.

I also wish she would come the realization that plenty of us who have grown up among the "bitter" voters outside the iron-clad ideological bubbles of the Metro East Coast Corridor, LA and San Francisco have: she will not win. She may win against the corpses of Benedict Arnold or Adolf Hitler, but that's about it. If she gets the nomination, she'll have a strong showing against McCain because Dems are tired enough of Bush, but she will not win. She is deeply and desperately hated out in the middle. Both Clintons draw the same ire in some parts of this country as W does here on the East Coast. She's hated by Democratic women, even: she didn't ditch Bill when he publicly humiliated her with the Lewinski scandal, so she's beneath their contempt. (Granted had she divorced him, the right would've slayed her for being a wicked wife breaking her vows, so she really couldn't have won either way; but don't tell that to my mom.) The disdain for her among even moderates living in Red areas is so thick and unmovable as to make molasses look more fluid than water.

Hillary has good ideas. Obama has good ideas. Either will make a good president. But Obama has broader appeal and more successfully articulates what's been on my mind than she does, so for me, he's the man. The Democratic nominee will be crucified on the way to the White House this year simply because he or she will not be the traditional white man. Expect swiftboating the likes of which will make Kerry's attacks look like a booze cruise. Hillary may personally withstand slings and arrows well, but I think Obama will withstand them better politically.

In the meantime, if the Dems keep this up, the Republicans may not need to prep the crown of thorns for the nominee. Democrats are doing what they do best: starting of strong only to taper into a disorganized mess that practically begs voters to seek refuge in the Republican nominees.

Things that made me smile

Doing a slightly different twist on Clare's Three Beautiful Things, this morning and reflecting on things that made me smile in the last 24 hours.

- Yesterday 8:55 AM: a plump robin red breast perched on the end of a low fence behind the parking lot at work. The morning sun backlit him such that a halo glowed around his feathers, revealing which were smooth against his puffed, orange chest and which were splayed about. My car was right beside him, in the entrance to the lot, so I rolled down the passenger side window to stare for a bit. After I parked, I tried to creep up behind him to take a picture, but his survival instincts were strong, and he hopped off and around the corner.

- Friends trying to encourage me to join Facebook, after I sent an email asking if it was worth it.

- The symphony of birds this morning as I took Babydog for a walk; the percussion of a woodpecker somewhere, amidst the chirps, tweets and calls.

- Seeing The Cap'n on his morning constitutional this morning. I've only started seeing him, probably because I'm just coming out of winter hibernation to start walking again in the mornings. He's probably between 70 and 80 years old, wears a tan, cotton peacoat that looks perfectly VanDeKamp-ish and a black nautical military cap. He walks with a cane. And I love him. As we passed him, this morning, he touched the brim of his cap in greeting. And he chuckled at seeing Babydog's little orange furry-ness strain against the leash to cross the street to say hello.

Movie Monday

So I'm kinda ripping off Joe's Video Monday, except that I want to make today's post about movies I saw during the week or want to see soon, not just videos.

To begin with: a few words on a movie Honey and I saw this weekend, The Departed. There are three key aspects to this movie which (mostly) make Molly reach for whatever the hell is next in her Netflix cue, even if it's The Wedding Planner (which for the record, it never would be): the mob/organized crime as the subject, gratuitous/bloody violence and Jack (choke on your smirk) Nicholson. However, this movie was frakkin' awesome! I think I was largely drawn in by the rapid-fire dialogue, for which I'm a sucker, but the performances - even from that one-note, shriveled, squinty ho'bag - were pretty damn good. It kept me on my toes and though it's 2 1/2 hours, it flew by.

Anyway, I spent a little time yesterday on Apple's trailer site, as I am wont to do on weekend afternoons. Here are a few I found which caught my eye. Don't necessarily want to see them all, but the caught my attention.

THE FALL

First of all, this looks lush. A big yippee in my book. Secondly, it's fairy-tail-istic which is another yippee. I worry that this may end up suffering from the Across the Universe effect, though. That is, I really want to see it because the set and costume design seduce me, but that it ends up getting a tepid reaction from critics and audiences, so my desire is cooled, even though it may end up being the best bloody film ever. (I hear such mixed things about ATU. My biggest hesitation is that a Beatles musical ... egh ... if you don't knock it out of the park, you probably shouldn't even pick up the bat. Anyone know anything?) Also, anyone know the music playing in this trailer? I know I recognize it, but I can't recall the composer or title.

WHO'S YOUR MONKEY

With that title, how could I not watch it? Aside from suffering the common movie malady of being a trailer that reveals too much (ooh! I'll call them trailer trollops!), this movie just looks terrible. It looks like it wants to be Very Bad Things, but will be a very bad version of it. Another tip-off that it's going to suck is that they chose to use a Don LaFontaine sound-alike. A bad sound-alike, at that. If Don himself was beyond their budget, they should've chosen to tease the trailer with clips and text. Boo. Way to make me not want to see a monkey! Bastards.

THEN SHE FOUND ME

I do not want to see this. Looks contrived and silly. I'm not a huge fan of Helen Hunt, and the idea of seeing something she directed is a little less appealing to me than seeing her act. However, she's a 45 year old actress playing a woman 5 or 6 years her junior. And guess what? She's got actual wrinkles! I can't help but love her for not trying to look 25. Way to fuck the Hollywood female standard, Helen! Just seeing her looking her age makes me feel better about being a woman who looks her own age!

Mixtape - Play With My New Toy!

Trusting that the embedding instructions I was given work, you should see a cassette tape above this. Go ahead. Press play and then read below.

A few days ago, a friend of mine introduced me to Mixwit where you can create mixtapes. I hadn't made a mix tape in about 10 years. In fact, I think the last one I made is still in my car. "Driving" - to keep me awake as I'd haul between college and Honey's first job. But I digress. I'm getting hooked on this diversion. So I decided to share one of my mixes with y'all.

Growing up in far southwest Texas, I had few options for music, period. There was only one radio station for about 100 miles (not exaggerating at all) - okay, three: the AM station that played high school sports, big band and CBS News; the FM (owned by the same family) that played popular country music and the FM station of the regional university whose signal was very weak and played mostly country and Tejano. If you wanted anything rock, pop or hip-hop related, you had to visit El Paso or Odessa or you had to watch MTV. My family was broke. We didn't have cable - the only way to get television as far out as we were - so I relied heavily on my best friend, whom I'll call Marie. Her father lived in El Paso and was a musicphile, so she was exposed to more stuff with him than I was in the heart of the desert. Her mom and stepdad had a satellite, so I'd get some MTV fix there. Since I could afford maybe one cassette every few months, she'd copy her CDs for me.

During my junior year, an arcade opened in town. It was really an oasis for me and my friends. This tape includes songs I remember choosing frequently from the jukebox there. Below is a track-by-track summary of why I chose that song. A caveat: I've found that some tracks screw up and don't play (this is streaming media shared by other strangers), so just hum the tune and move on.

1. Nirvana - In Bloom. I liked to play this track for the line, "nature is a whore." I still giggle at that one.
2. Pearl Jam - Alive. I moved to our burg at age 12. I was always a newcomer to this tight-knit town. And having more liberal ideas than most my peers only hurt my "social life." I frequently felt suffocated. I like the refrain, "I'm still alive;" reminded me that I was.
3. Salt n Pepa - Shoop. I think Sara or Marie used to choose this one. It's fun. "I like how you do what you do when you do!"
4. The Doors - Riders on the Storm. Frankly I think we would choose "The End" more often than this, but as I couldn't find a copy that worked and I assume you'd rather not slog through a 12 minute song, I give you this. Plus, storms (severe mofos) are a huge part of life in West Texas - particularly in the Panhandle, where I was born - so it was kind of evocative of that for me. Felt lonely and sad, like this is a modern cowboy ballad or something.
5. Porno for Pyros - Pets. I think it's the boi-yoing of the guitar string at the beginning that had (and still has) me hooked. Or maybe I love the verity in the line that says we're doing ourselves in much faster than the dinosaurs did.
6. Santana - Black Magic Woman. Just something we played this at the arcade a lot. But also my brother's best friend's dad had a band in town and Marie and I would go see them occasionally. They'd cover this a lot. I remember I'd love whirling like a dervish during the interlude.
7. Salt n Pepa - Let's Talk About Sex. Mostly a fun song. But as my high school produced about 2 babies a year (considering there were fewer than 300 students between grades 9-12, it felt like a lot of babies), I really wished more of my peers talked about sex before jumping into it. It frustrated me to see. I simply liked that this song encouraged dialogue. Plus it embarrassed people at the arcade. If you can't join 'em, beat 'em.
8. Annie Lennox - Love Song for a Vampire. I'm a romantic at heart. And I just fucking love this song because it's the kind of desperate poetry that at 16 I so craved to hear from a paramour. I still wouldn't mind hearing it, sometimes. Plus, I'm a sucker for Biblical references and we all know Song of Solomon (or Songs of Songs) is the book of seduction and sex, even if it's only sexy to people from that culture.
9. Divinyls - I Touch Myself. Did I mention that I never quite fit into my small town? Imagine how that affects dating and one's perceived date-ability. Yeah. This was pretty much the only action I was getting then. Most of the boys in school were raging assholes anyway, so it's just as well they took no notice of me. (Totally. Over. You. Fred.)
10. Nirvana - Lithium. Again. We just played alot of Nirvana, there. Probably all of Nevermind and most of In Utero. But then this wouldn't be a mixtape if I just added those albums. I think this track cuts short. Sorry.

There you have it. As the friend who introduced me to Mixwit has an even shorter attention span than me, I'm adding a secret word: succotash. I'll know you read through if you use it in conversation. Sorry for the length.

Lost Teca?

Saw this poster outside my office window the other day at work and thought immediately of Sonnjea's friend's dog. Yipes! As I'm pretty sure Teca is on the West Coast and here I am on the East, this certainly is not the same doggy. However, I can't help but worry a little about them both. Luckily, this one has been found by responsible people, it seems. Poor baby. I hope his/her mommy or daddy finds the pup, soon.

What's Molly Dreaming Now? Edition 5

First of all, my apologies to Joe and Honey. Apparently both men felt misled by the title of my last post. For the record, "orgasm" referred to the video I embedded.

Honey wanted to know if I was blogging about our sex life again. Again?! When did I start? ... so I've decided that must be what his poorly-hidden secret wife blogs about. At least I hope it's his secret wife; I'd be heartbroken if it were someone else entirely!

So, sorry boys. Maybe next time. Onto today's post!

I had a fantastically strange dream two nights ago that I really wanted to blog about immediately upon waking. Unfortunately, I got distracted by a project I had begun the night before. But it was completely fun, diversionary project, so not a huge loss. All that is to say, I'm going to try to recall it as best as I can, because I thought it was an interesting one as my funky dreamlife goes.

Queen Amidala/Natalie Portman. I jumping between first and third person in this one. Sometimes I was Amidala as portrayed by Ms. Portman, and sometimes I was watching her in this adventure. I was in danger. In a shack. I was being hunted, stalked, really. And who was after me? OBI-WAN KENOBI! Not the hot, young Ewan McGregor Obi-wan, the old Alec Guinness Obi-wan. (Let's be clear, Ewan McGregor stalking me would not be terrifying at all - or unwelcome, for that matter.) But here I was Amidala/Portman, in a shack by a road and the doors wouldn't lock properly and people would kind of come in and out to check on me and the whole time I felt like I had to catch my breath because I was never sure if it was my assailant. They would bring word of him, or would tell me they were returning shortly. For my part, I would lie on the floor of this crummy two and a half room shelter, and keep my eye on the window facing the front. This was where Obi-wan was sure to appear.

The windows were large, taking up a huge portion of the wall. The shack was on the side of a rural mountain road, like just off the shoulder. The road curved off toward the north. From the window I could see the bend in the road and the gravel shoulder and a cluster of trees at the bend. I would get up off the floor occasionally and check the doors. They would shut and semi-latch, but not lock. I had to hold them against the wind. Outdoors, it was beautiful - about as beautiful a day you could ask for: 80 degrees, sunny, the grass was dappled with the shadow of the trees' leaves. Inside, the shack was three shades of grey occasionally accented with a mud-colored table or cabinet. It was chilly inside, and the floors were covered in dust. It was filthy and depressing inside - Dickensian, almost - and beautiful outside. I kept trying to decide when I would sneak out the back of the house, to escape Obi-wan. For some reason, I thought it prudent if I saw him coming toward me, first.

Then some visitor - Anikin, maybe? - alerted me that Obi-wan was on his way, and he'd stop at nothing to kill me. He knows my thoughts. There is no place where I could hide from him. At this point, I seem to remember jumping to third person and seeing Natalie Portman; I was hovering over her. She was Amidala, but dressed more like Padme. (Just rent the frakking movie, Virginia Gal, it'll make a ton of more sense!) Then, somehow, Padme had escaped. She/I was on a bus - like a school bus - riding into ShangHai. Though it was definitely a school bus, the seats were arranged more like an airplane. As we drove into ShangHai, it became clear to me that Obi-wan was going to attack me on this ride. I was back in first person now, sitting in a window seat. The bus began to fill with smog. Not LA smog, not Mexico City smog (which is formidable, let me tell you), but vengeful, wicked ShangHai smog that was doing the bidding of Obi-Wan Kenobi.

The smog was so thick that I couldn't see the bus driver or the first few rows of the bus, and I was only in the middle of the bus. I knew it was Obi-wan, after only me. Slowly, all the other passengers dissipated. Hanging from the roof of the bus was a leather trunk-like compartment. It resembled the emergency raft roof hatches on some airplanes, but was much more primitive. It unlatched and drifting down from it, towards me, was Obi-wan, like the angel of death. Alec Guinness in his brown cloak floating toward me like Voldemort before he had his body. I had been breathing deeply for a spell, while the smog had been rolling in. I was having some sort of asthma attack. As Guinness approached (wow, actually, a Guinness sounds really good right now), I jumped to third person and watched as he wrapped his hands around Natalie Portman's throat. She was scared and gasping.

I know the dream went on longer than that, and that I and Padme/Amidala/Portman survived, but I can't remember it. I just know that Obi-wan was neither conquered nor sated. And I woke up both scared and excited.

So, what do you think this all means? Background/caveats: I did watch the last half of "Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone" Monday night because TiVo thought we'd like it and captured it. But I have no idea where the rest of this came from. Thoughts?

Organization and Orgasms

I spent all yesterday afternoon and night cleaning up the tags on my blog. I'm hoping that the tagging system makes a little more sense than it did in the past. And, if you're interested, I hope you use the tags ... maybe I'll start using yours, then. Reciprocal scratching eh? [wink, wink; nudge, nudge!]

This morning my plan was to blog on either a movie we saw last night or on the practice of blogging itself. Both of those posts will have to wait. Today, I am blatantly ripping off JoeInVegas. Of course, I blatantly rip off Three Beautiful Things all the time, but today, I don't even bother coming up with my own content. And that's because Joe's bit was right up my humor alley. So, thanks for starting my Monday off right, Joe! (still hoping i've got this video embedding business down.)

Good Time Girls

A lot of what I do at work is in support of informational campaigns, often it's blatant advertising. Usually these campaigns are for internal audiences, but some campaigns that we've supported are external. For the external ones, think mostly regional and low-level national.

Yesterday, one of my coworkers was looking at old-school propaganda online and came across this little gem to the right, here. It really cracked me up, for various reasons, but also kind of bummed me out, as well.

My first reaction is that it's hilarious that the government will tie anything and everything
to whatever the current national effort is: "Don't dip your wick where it don't belong boys, 'cause if you do, you may as well be handing the keys to Il Duce!" The featured girl's face is so apple-pie that even I wouldn't suspect her to have the clap. And, of course, it's easy for me, 60 some years on to laugh at the concerns of my forebears. That's what we do!

However, what bums me out is that this ad just perpetuates the notion that sex - and any consequences that follow - is solely a woman's accountability. Men can't be held accountable for their actions. Those poor souls are programmed to bang anything in their path with an orifice. Women are wily and want to destroy them whether it be with STDs, babies or the allure of that most destructive of all powers, love.

Look, I get it: on the whole, men seek sex more aggressively than women. And men in wartime even more so. And the government and society want to make sure soldiers are healthy. So, I totally understand why that campaign was created, and probably still exists to some extent today. And for sure, I wish there was more of a pop culture notion of sexual discretion and discrimination (not sexism, but partner discrimination).

For instance, one of mine and Honey's current favorite shows is Entourage. We both really like it - though I'm sensing a post soon on it, because I tire of its portrayal of women. However, I have yet to see an episode where someone either doesn't have sex or the show doesn't end with a segue into someone about to get laid. The guys' only goals in life are sex, getting stoned and material goods. They're so promiscuous, I'm astonished they've not mentioned burning pee, yet. And why wouldn't they mention it? Because there's never any indication that they use condoms. It's never discussed. Think about it: when was the last time condom usage was discussed in any movie, TV show or widely and easily accessible morsel of the pop culture diet? Aside from Knocked Up, none comes readily to mind. As one who went through puberty and adolescence in the late 80s and early 90s, I was bombarded with AIDS, and by extension, STD prevention information, a huge chunk of which was dedicated to condom usage. MTV had PSAs every other commercial break; posters about safe sex, waiting and partner discrimination were all over school; Channel One did sex ed segments all the friggin' time. I didn't watch much in the way of 90210, but I seem to remember them, and shows with teen and young adult audiences, at least positively addressing condom usage fairly regularly in the 80s and early 90s. By the time I was 13, I knew full well that a supportive tangent to the "abstinence till marriage ethic" of my household, was the cultural ethic of "know who you're sleeping with; make sure you're both clean; get tested; use condoms." It didn't occur to me not to use condoms by the time I was having sex - even when I was on the pill. And then it just seemed to stop right around 1996. Poof! AIDS wasn't killing as many people, so we can just stop letting condoms get in the way of our sexy characters having sex. Rubbers aren't sexy, so why should we spoil the moment? Where did our pop culture sense of partner discrimination and condom usage go? I would love to see a return to some sense of sexual responsibility on TV and in film.

That mini-rant is to say: I appreciate the government's having wanted to persuade soldiers to be cautious.

But there's still something about that poster that just smarts. Maybe it's that the girl does look so innocent. Certainly, just because you look healthy doesn't mean you are. But there's an interesting dualism in the message of that poster, I think. It's the tacit acknowledgment that boys seek out the "innocent" kind of girls as much as the "slutty" ones, because they're safe: a virgin can't tell you if you're good in bed or bad; she won't have an STD; you can trick her into your pants with the promise of "love." And that that's preferred - because boys can't be expected to only masturbate! And the flipside of this poster goes back to what I brushed up against, earlier: women are out to lure you into a trap; some of them use their innocent looks to ensnare you and leave you with a pus-filled penis!

As a society, if we buy that women in relation to sex are to be viewed essentially as succubae, then it makes it easier to punish us for being us. It allows for stupid rape laws, like one I remember reading about in Italy in the 90s: it cannot be considered rape if the purported victim wore blue jeans, because jeans are too difficult to remove and therefore she must've consented. (I really hope that's been struck down.) Or like the legal conversation that comes up every now and then: if the victim asked her aggressor to use a condom, then can it be considered rape? If that's not rape, then I propose a scenario where a man is mugged, stabbed repeatedly and not wanting a withdrawn death, asks his assailant to slit his throat: he hasn't been murdered, he's committed suicide; his attacker should go free. But beyond stupid rape laws, the woman as succubus idea punishes us in other ways: well, if you wanted to make a good living, you shouldn't have had babies; if you wanted to climb the corporate ladder, you shouldn't have worn a short skirt (or worse, you should have). Or in other far less fortunate countries: well, if you wanted to learn to read, you should've been born a boy! Woman, you knew what you were in for - you created sex!

Blech!

It seems as though we're taking a step backward these days what with both anti-sexuality in many abstinence-only movements, and hyper-sexuality in pop culture. It's like those two conflicting points of view are pushing us back, making sex more male oriented and promoting succubus-driven attitudes on sex. However, I do feel, very much, like attitudes towards women, sex and our shared responsibilities have shifted a lot in this country in the last 100, 60, 40 and even 20 years. So for that, I'm tremendously grateful. And if/when Honey and I have children we will definitely instill in them shared sexual responsibility, none of this "boys will be boys" and "girls must be guarded a Swiss bank" bullshit. But I don't look forward to the uphill battle we'll face with the ghosts of that poster in our culture.