Mnemonic Music Memorial Day

I know I skipped last Monday. And I know I said I'd be focusing on regional music, but what can I say? I'm a flip-flopping backslider. Anyway, the only theme I could think of this week was that of songs that have been stuck in my head lately. I figured that's a pretty good topic for Memorial Day: songs that burn into your memory. If you're one who is easy to pick up on an earworm, you're welcome!

1. Hey Mama - Black Eyed Peas. One of my coworkers has taken to greeting me with the phrase, "hey mama." I'm not sure why. Regardless, every time she does, I hear this song. La la la la la!

2. On the Radio - Regina Spektor. I blame Pearl for this. She began a post with the lyrics to this song the other day. Ever since then, I can't shake it. Friday night I began humming it to myself as Honey and I prepped dough for the next day's bread. Not missing a beat, he chimed in with "uh-oh!" at the right times.

3. Daughters of the Soho Riots - The National. I just love this guy's voice. The tune is sad and simple. And I'm hung not only the line with the title lyrics, but the phrase, "break my arms around the one I love."

4. With Arms Outstretched - Rilo Kiley. Just in love with the driving rythm. I swear to goodness, I feel the breeze of the plains blowing through open car windows when I hear this song. Not hung up on the lyrics so much as just the happy strumming. Can't shake it.

5. I Am Trying to Break Your Heart - Wilco. The lyrics, "I wanna hold you in the Bible black pre-dawn" have been scrolling through my brain for over a month, now. Big earworm for me, lately. Plus I love the tinkling of the top of the piano keyboard; it's like music that comes at you from a 43 degree angle or something.

6. Shot in the Arm - Wilco. Yeah, two in a row. First of all, I love "we fell in love in the key of C ... followed me down the neck to D." I can totally see a couple of high school band or orchestra standmates who make googly eyes at eachother during rests in the music. But how great is the chorus, "something in my veins, bloodier than blood?" Hooked. Hooked, I tell you!! Plus the repetition just makes it easier for me to be this song's crack whore.

7. All These Things I've Done - The Killers. I've always liked how this song starts off and then builds and builds. Plus, again with the repetition. Easy way to get me hooked.

8. Stronger - Kanye West with Daft Punk. It seems lately that everyone around me has been speaking in multipliers of emphasis. The correct grammatical term escapes me right now. But I mean "more" words, "-er" words. And they don't just say, "let's do this better;" they speak in series: "we'll make it better, faster, stronger, bigger." And I can't help myself. This tune creeps in and I bob my head. Sometimes I even gesture with my fake "daft hands," but no one knows what I'm talking about. Well ... one did once, but in case you don't know what I'm talking about, a version (though clearly not a single-take at all) is below:



Anyway, we're on vacation, so I should probably put this puppy down and clean up for dinner with our friends. Have a great Memorial Day!

Why-nonymous?

A few days ago, I added a real-life friend of mine to my friends list of my Flickr account - my latest obsession. I had left a comment on a photo of hers, though I wasn't sure she knew that it was me. My screen name is not my real-life name. I have also been commenting lately on her blogs, using this identity. It occurred to me that she probably didn't know me by either alias, so I emailed her to let her know who was behind the curtain.

Several weeks ago, I mentioned this blog, and that I use a pseudonym, to a friend of mine and he joked that Internet anonymity was passe.

This has gotten me thinking lately about why I use pseudonyms online. To begin with, I use my real name online more often than not. But I have various aliases that I use as usernames in forums or on a few networks here and there. The problem with "various aliases" is that I rarely use the same one twice - I really like making up names - so sometimes I forget which alter ego I am, where. When I began this blog, though, I decided I not only wanted to use a pseudonym, I wanted to keep personal details of my life vague as well.

This isn't uncommon. What's probably less common is how vague I am about where I live, and where I used to live. Though the casual reader could probably do some quick math after just a few posts to figure out where I live and the stalker could probably do some higher math to trace the wagon trail that led me here. But he'd probably trace me some other way, anyway.

I guess that's why I'm most protective of my identity on my blog. I don't care if you know who I am on MySpace or LinkedIn, and my Flickr veil is pretty thin. But my blog - this blog anyway - is a space I created for myself for two reasons: 1) to get myself writing on a regular or semi-regular basis; writing about anything that came to mind at all and 2) to think out loud on stuff that I don't always articulate well, or feel safe articulating in public. (Though, lately I've delved no deeper than "it turns out I really do love Grandma.") It's also, of course, part journal. I could achieve both those goals under my real identity, but that would open up an entirely different can of worms.

Could I really bitch about work or family or explore an unpopular/uncommon opinion or viewpoint without annoying - or serious - consequences? A friend of mine's colleague lost her job because she bitched about work on her blog, using her real identity. One of my best childhood friends is a writer and popular political blogger who lives very publicly online. A couple of years ago, she had our high school alumni site remove her contact information; turned out she was getting death threats. One wack job actually mailed her a turd! Granted, I'm sure there are legal loopholes and protections against job-loss for personal blogs and I've never, to my knowledge, posted my contact info online, but who wants the hassle of all that? And I can't just use my first name. There are too few people out there with my name. According to nameplayground.com, my name - or rather, the shortened version, I typically go by - peaked in popularity in 1892 at #818 in the top 1,000 popular female names. Do any search engine hunt on even my first name, and you'll find me in the first page of hits. I need a cloaking device way more than a Jennifer Smith or a Melissa Douglas or a Francine Webb.

But even if my name were as common as Michelle or Amy, or whatever people were naming their babies in the 70s, I would still - at least for this blog - use an alias. As one who has always had a bent for performance, costumes and alternate identities have always appealed to me. For instance, I always post wearing a set of fairy wings and a cowboy hat. It's just something I do. (Don't judge ... unless you're in the 9th Circuit court of appeals.) If I decide to ever start a blog about some specific topic or which focuses on promoting a personal venture, sure, I'll use my real identity. But until then, I'll happily type as Molly Malone, revealing myself to those real-life readers as I go. ... who I've probably "revealed" myself to anyway. You're welcome, real people!

Rain, Rain go away

Chispas! This has been a rainy (and chilly) spring! And for all the wetness, I'm still sneezing and the roof of my mouth still itching. What gives? I thought rain tamped down pollen? No matter. It's rainy (uh-gain) this morning and I'm not feeling particularly inspired to go to work. Rainy days make me want to do puzzles, play Scattergories or read the paper. That said, I thought you might enjoy doing a puzzle yourself. Don't worry, it's a simple 12-piecer:



I don't have any neato function that allows you to play Scattergories directly on my blog, but if you click here, you can go to their online game site. It literally takes a minute. Their timer is pretty strict. Or if you feel like reading the paper - one other than yours - search for one here. I've never used this site before, I usually use another paper search site, but what the hay?

I've been obsessed with Flickr lately. (Welcome to 2005, Molly!) For about a year, I've been bugging Honey to add more photos to his account, so I finally just started my own. I've been adding new pictures every day and seeking out groups with pretty pictures that interest me. I've got a few "contacts" and I'm slowly stealing contacts off of them. Anyway, in the spirit of Flickr - taking pictures of my life and finding beauty in the banal, I thought I'd include this little snapshot:

I bought these this weekend from 10,000 Villages. I like the repurposing of "waste." When we visited South Africa, local artisans commonly transformed aluminum cans, plastic bags and other items most of us would consider refuse, into truly cool works of art.

With no clear exit strategy for this post, I'm including a portion of a quizzy-meme that Pearl - who discovered the tasty tragedy of high fructose corn syrup while visiting America - did a few weeks ago. It seems like a rainy day activity. The original is long, so I'll just do a few. Feel free to tag yourself.

What would you do if you opened up your front door to a dead person?
I'd freak out that a dead person was able to ring my door bell. Then, I'd call Devinoni, because he'd help me prepare for the Zombie Apocalypse.

What were you doing at 8:00 this morning?
It's 7:45, now. I'd best be in the shower by 8, if I want to get to work on time.

When did you last throw up?
May 3: morning. As I didn't have much to blow, I'd call it the slightly-less-than dry heaves, but Honey insists that even thin watery spew counts as vomit. All due - I suspect - to me scarfing down the gourmet pizza the night before with fresho-licious garlic, to which I am woefully allergic. Why do I throw caution to the wind?

Do you want to get married & have children one day?
Checked one. .. and yeah, I'd like to get as many experiences out of this life as possible.

Do you like ice cream?
Why is this a question? Do I like air? What mental case wrote this?

Would you ever consider moving to another country to be with the one you love?
Well ... I moved to Oklahoma to be with Honey. So, yes. Another country wouldn't be much of a stretch.

Do you have strange dreams?
Clearly you've never clicked on my "dreams" tag. Which reminds me: two nights ago, I dreamt that Javier Bardem put me on this massive monster truck. When I started driving it, I lost all control of the vehicle and accidentally drove over other people's cars in a parking lot - in reverse. They were all angry and threatening to sue. And then Justin Long (the Mac kid) offered to represent me. Last night I dreamt of shoddy cruise ships, I think.

D'oh! Apparently, I need to add captions

Yesterday, I mentioned that upon discovering a childhood photo of my husband, I noticed his resemblance to Thomas Sangster, the little boy who played Sam in Love Actually. I included a photo of the young actor to give you an idea of what Honey looked like as a boy. Apparently a couple of y'all thought that was a photo of my husband.
First, I laughed my ass off. Then I felt badly that I wasn't clear about the photo. Honey laughed his ass off, too and suggested I actually post the photo. Apparently he's a little less concerned about anonymity than I am. (Happy, Jordan?)
In any event, there he is, to the left, my husband at age 11. Granted, he's not Sangster's doppelganger. Sangster has very brown, very round eyes. And Honey has blue, almond shaped eyes. (Mmm - almonds. slobber, slobber.) But their impish smirks are similar, I think. And similar hair cuts. But who really cares? I just wanted to clear up the confusion. There, to the left is the boy who grew into my husband. There, to the right - if scanning the Net, looking for his photo is any indication - is a boy who is a fixation for Brit film fans and wierdo old men. (shudder.)

Making me smile this morning

... that after what felt like an interminable 5 days of cold and rain and overcast and dreariness, the sun, that life-giving, bright and glorious and dynamic face of God has slipped the surly barrier of clouds to touch the face of Earth.

... seeing old grade school photos of my husband that my mother in law left him. In fifth grade he looks uncannily like the little boy from Love Actually, so innocent. By sixth grade, he's wearing a Coca Cola rugby shirt with the collar popped and his hair in a pre-Zach Morris spike, preening to be the heart-throb of his class. Adorable to "awesome." Awesome to the max.

... the cat, after several (blissful) years of ignoring us as we sleep, has decided he needs to start sleeping with us again. It doesn't hurt that since the weather has warmed up, the dog has opted for the floor. Apparently we're prime seasonal slumbering real estate.

Musicky Monday

I was so thrilled late last month when I got my Texas Monthly in the mail. (After years of making a ritual of picking it up in airports on the way home, I decided to finally get a subscription.) This month's cover story celebrates Willie Nelson's 75th birthday. While I'm not the Willie zealot that some of my cousins are, I do like the man and the portrait on the cover is just beautiful. So, I decided to let that guide me for today's superhappyfuntime mixtape. I considered doing an all-Willie mix, but then decided I should do a regional exploration series - as inspired by last week's Cinco de Mayo, Mexican theme - so this is about half Willie and half random Texas artists. I do recommend Twisted Willie, a fun tribute album from my college years. Good times.

1. On the Road Again - Willie Nelson. My dad used to always sing this whenever we'd travel the next town over to visit family. Or when we'd be off to New Mexico for a camping trip. Or whenever we'd be driving home from a school function or ... anytime we were in a car. I never paid attention to the fact that it was about touring with a band. I thought it was in praise of the great American road trip.

2. Running Away - The Polyphonic Spree. I've always enjoyed them. Last fall I had the pleasure of seeing them live and it was probably in the top 3 most moving live art performances I'd ever seen. Possibly in the top 3 most spiritually satisfying moments of my life - right behind the crazy psychic connection I had with the color yellow for a fleeting moment in 1995. I think I want to be one of their choir-girls when I grow up.

3. My Heroes Have Always Been Cowboys - Willie Nelson. Okay, there is no veracity in that sentiment for me. My heroes have always been people who spoke/speak truth to power. Not that that can't be a cowboy, just that I haven't idolized any particular industry laborer. However, this is another song I remember hearing around the house a lot as a child, much to the chagrin of my mother (see #5).

4. Rave On - Buddy Holly. I think I'm appreciating Buddy Holly more as I get older. Sure, he's the pride of Lubbock and we West Texans are happy to claim him, as well as Roy Orbison, but he's always just been the guy who died when the music did. But lately I think I can hear his influence in music more - "oh yeah, you do have your uncle's stubborn chin," as it were.

5. Angel Flying Too Close to the Ground - Willie Nelson. Not one I'm super familiar with, but what a great heartbreaker about a doomed love.

6. Sundress - Ben Kweller. I first heard this guy on Studio 360 on NPR. I was irritated that the host kept calling him Kweller. Since he talked about being from Texas, I assumed his name was Spanish: "Cuellar [kweh-yar], you idiot!" I yelled at my car radio. I - ahem - was wrong. In any event, I dig him. And the chorus of this makes me dance like Tracy Morgan.

7. Blue Eyes Crying in the Rain - Willie Nelson. This was apparently written by the same guy who wrote "Back in the Saddle Again." It's on "Redheaded Stranger," which Dad played relentlessly when I was a tot. It's so tender and mournful.

8. Private Conversation - Lyle Lovett. Okay. I grabbed this one because I couldn't find a good version of "If I had a Boat" or "She's no Lady." But this ain't bad. I actually met Lyle Lovett at an event last year. Very kind and polite.

9. The House is a Rockin' - Stevie Ray Vaughan. I dare you not to grab a bottle of beer, a nearby warm body and cut loose to this. This just fuckin' swings. God rest you, SRV.

10. Mamas Don't Let Your Babies Grow Up to be Cowboys - Willie Nelson/Waylon Jennings.
Just another Dad would sing and play around the house in my youth. It would drive Mom crazy. "If Willie Nelson can sing, then I'm the queen of England!" she'd spout. She still spouts it. This is for you, Mom.

11. Attesa - Balmorhea. (Not sure this one is working.) This is an artist I want to explore more. Sounds like mostly piano-driven mood music, but I'm largely curious about them because they're from (surprise, surprise) Balmorhea, TX, near where I wasted my youth.

12. Rainbow Connection - Willie Nelson. I've heard a handful of versions of this song before, but this is my favorite. Its sad earnestness reminds me of that of Johnny Cash's cover of "Hurt." It sounds like a completely different song than the original in his mouth.

"with every lesson learned, a line upon your beautiful face"

I've been keeping it in the medicine cabinet in my bathroom. I see it each time I put in or remove my contacts. Or, at least, I've seen it each time since I first discovered it two weeks ago. I'm not sure why I've been saving it. It's some creepy, momentous souvenir and I'm sure my hanging onto it reveals some bizarre character flaw. But as character flaws make for interesting characters, I can forgive my own behavior.

"It" is my first grey hair.

I discovered it two weeks ago in the bathroom at work. My hair is normally a blond/red rusty honey mix, like a reddish beer with sunlight shining through it or like ... well, like that picture at the top of the blog. (D'oh!) I always thought blonds didn't grey ... or at least they didn't grey until they were well into their 50s. (And when they did, it looked good, right? Please God, make me a MILFy sextugenarian!) My dad, who has dirty blond hair had a red beard all my life. It didn't start greying until after 50. Now, closing in on 62, it's almost all white. But he has no grey hair on his head. My mother is a dark brunette. Even she has very little grey hair - just a few laced here and there and some at her temples. And she didn't grey at all until after 40.

So what is this? How does the golden retriever girl with anti-grey hair genes get a grey hair in her early 30s? I don't even have kids yet. Aren't kids supposed to be the catalyst for grey hair? I have had a stressful year. Actually the last two years have been kinda stressful for me - the thesis that wouldn't quit, finally finding my career, buying our first house and most importantly: spotty health resulting in two emergency surgeries (one saved my life, ultimately) each within two months of each other. All things considered, I should be glad a single grey hair is all that testifies to the stress and heartache that I've been suppressing.

Why haven't I tossed it yet, though? I can't put my finger on my need to hang onto it. Partly I think I want to hang onto it to remind me to take better care of myself - eat right, exercise, pray, release, breathe etc. Partly I also think it's a battle scar. When I was younger, I said I'd age gracefully and be proud of my wrinkles, knowing each one told a story. Maybe my grey hair is a storyteller of sorts. Maybe I keep it around just for the novelty of it, like how my mom hung onto the first tooth I ever lost. Maybe I'm keeping it to remind me that I'm more mature than I give myself credit for (or live up to, sometimes?). Deep down though, I can't help but think I'm hanging onto as a reminder of my own mortality and a reminder not to fear it.

Got any better explanations?

Monday del Musica!

Feliz Cinco de Mayo! Contrary to popular misconception, today is not Mexico's Independence Day, we just celebrate it in the US with a fervor similar to that of an independence day. I haven't been to a Cinco de Mayo celebration in years - probably a decade or more. In my tiny Texas burg, there's usually a cabrito cook-off at the town park. Or maybe a menudo cook-off. I choose to stay by my memory of a cabrito cook-off, as I cannot tolerate menudo, but find cabrito marvilloso.

Even though I'm half-Mexican, grew up in Texas and spent my teen years in a bi-cultural small town in the border area, I really don't know much by way of Mexican, Tejano or Mexican-inspired music. My Mexican side of the family never played or passed on music, so I didn't get any input from them. And what little I knew of Mexican -inspired music was from the teeny-boppers in school who were crazy in love with Selena (when she was alive, long before her ghost made her visible to gringos). So, for the last week or so, I've been trying to catch myself up to speed on the music of my people. Here's some stuff I found:

note: I'm sure you can count and are saying to yourself, "why are you calling this mixtape 'cinco por el cinco' when there are clearly seven tracks here?" The short answer is: I found too much good stuff for La Llorona (details later), so I'm counting the three versions as one entry.

1. La Charreada - Linda Ronstadt. Kudos to Ms. Ronstadt for bringing some mariachi to the mainstream back in the 80s. I'm ambivalent about the singer herself, but I've always loved this stuff. She did a few episodes of Sesame Street and in one of them, she sang this song with some muppets. A toddler I used to part-time nanny would "aaahhh" along with her whenever she'd hit those long verse-introductory wails. It cracked me up.

2. Kiko and the Lavender Moon - Los Lobos. Most people know Los Lobos as the band that sang "La Bamba" for the Ritchie Valens biopic. Lou Diamond Phillips lip-synched to them. (Incidentally, "La Bamba" is a traditional Mexican tune - and dance - for which I cannot find a decent traditional recording.) However, I always associate this song with them for reasons unknown. I like its lackadais with a little picante flowing through.

3. Jay Perez - Sabes. I know nothing about this performer. I decided I needed to include Tejano, so I visited the site for the Tejano Music Awards. This guy was the performer of the year this past award season. Frankly, this song sounds like sappy crap to me. "Te necessito mas que'l aire; Te necessito mas que'l agua," (I need you more than air; I need you more than water): I remember many of my schoolmates listening to stuff like this back in the day. This is the kind of teen idol they'd swoon over the same way the chickies fawn over the Jonas Brothers. But I added it because it definitely reminds me of Texas - and shopping in the latino areas of Houston.

4. Somos Mas Americanos - Los Tigres del Norte. Los Tigres del Norte are pretty well-known in the Mexican-American music world and I remember hearing them some, growing up. I just learned they're from L.A., so I don't know if they count as Tejano, but boy do they sound it. I guess lots of border music share common influences. This one I grabbed at random, but started listening a bit to the lyrics. This is great, it seems to be - if my broken Spanish is worth anything - an angry repudiation of anti-Mexican (immigrant?) sentiment in the States. "somos mas americanos que'l hijo del anglo-saxon," "we are more American than the son of the anglo-saxon." Then they go on to sing about how mezclados (euro/indian mixed race "la raza") were here along the border region and in the west long before Manifest Destiny. Rock on.

5. La Llorona - Elliot Goldenthal and various artists. This is the style of this song I'm more familiar with. This is the style we'd hear at Cinco de Mayo fests or Mexican Independence Day festivals. La Llorona tells the folk tale of the wailing woman - a ghost who haunts the land looking for her dead children.

6. La Llorona - Lila Downs. I would've included just this, but it cuts off and wanted to include a whole version, above. This is a version I want to purchase, soon. It's so bloody mournful and thick. It evokes the terror of the legend and it empathizes with her grief as well. Excellent.

7. La Llorona - Ginna Allison. This must be part of some sort of Public Radio anthology, because when I Googled Ginna Allison, I discovered she does Soundprint pieces as well as other Public Radio stories. This piece on La Llorona reminded me of when I first heard of her. I didn't know the full story until I was in college (apparently, this tale may have roots in Mexican Indian legends). But when my family moved from the very white, very Baptist Panhandle to the much more bi-cultural, bi-lingual and heavily Catholic town in Southwest Texas, I began to learn more folklore. And it wasn't just La Llorona - who scared the shit out of my 12 year old self - it was the tale that when God kicked Satan out of Heaven, he landed on the very spikey mountain near town - the one created by the erosion of an ancient volcano, that looked like a perfectly creepy pyramid. There were other modern legends, like that of Bunny-man: an angry drunk was killed by an on-coming train on the tracks. It left him dead and legless. His red-eyed ghost hobbled around on his knuckles so he had the locomotion of a bunny. If you crossed those tracks at midnight, his ghost would chase you, and if he caught you, he'd get to keep your soul! Eek! I digress, but I loved this radio piece because 1) I love folkore and 2) it jostled the pre-teen in me and spooked her out!

Friday Film Flim Flam

Technically, it's still Thursday night. But I'm gonna have a crazy-ass hectic weekend, so I thought I'd just blither blather tonight.
Oh! First off, I'm very proud of myself because I finally got myself a blog reader, so I don't have to open each of your lovely blogs to see if you've posted anything. Now, my lovely RSS feed - or whatever the hell kinda web voyeur it is - will tell me when you've updated your page, saving me valuable time and hair-pulling. I would complain about some folks' foot-dragging, but frankly, I'm so prone to being remiss that I have no room to criticize. So, yea me! I joined the year 2005! ... it still might take me several days to comment on your posts, though. I put the "pro" in procrastination.

I love Tina Fey. I really love her. Honey and I finally saw Baby Mama tonight. (He really loves her, too.) She's fucking smart and her humor both hits me like a laser guided bullet, even when I don't know it and it's everything I wish mine was. She blends awkwardness and arcane references like perfect buttercream icing. And she's sexy and her sexiness is directly related to her intelligence.

In the past, Honey and I have agreed that had he and I never really hit it off, and more importantly, never married, he - the techy introvert - would be that guy who spends all his free-time online, gaming, cracking code and almost never emerging for anything other than work. Probably wouldn't play sports, like he does now, or do many other "social" things. (Yes, he is online a lot.) He has long told me that I would basically be Liz Lemon from 30 Rock: a comedy writer prone to public self-embarassment who dates a string of losers. We would both live off of frozen dinners. Though he'd probably eat Kashi because he could afford it, and is not cheap like me. I'd totally be eating the Healthy Choice kids meals - they have brownies! And he's right. (I'm already an expert at public self-embarassment.)



"I'm not against fun. I went up on my roof yesterday!" ... words that will probably come from my own mouth in a few months' time. And yes, were I single, and a young hottie wanted me, I'd feel exactly this weird.

Sorry for the tangent. I am gonna talk about Baby Mama. The reason for that preceding paragraph (and clip) was because it's not just Liz Lemon. Watching the movie tonight, I was struck by how much the two leads were basically dueling parts of my own personality: the slobby free-spirit who wants more in life, but has no clue how to get it, and the sophisticated, career-concerned woman who is ultimately a dork. It was particularly evident in the club scene. Tina Fey voguing, thinking she looks cool while Amy Poehler steals shots and other drinks when Fey isn't looking.

I really liked that Greg Kinnear was the romantic interest. After years of ambivalence, I've given in and like him. (Brief follow up to that post: I did see Auto Focus, finally. It was creepy.) It was a pleasant surprise to see Steve Martin. It was nice to see that he could do caricature and still make me laugh. Sometimes he can overwhelm me.

The film started off kind of slow, but really picked up about 15 minutes in - I guess around the top of the second act. Then it was classic Fey. Until the last act. That's my biggest beef so far. Particularly the ending. I could forgive the comedy film conventions that would never happen in real life: the contrived relationship between the women, the birthing coach with a speech impediment, the good friendship with the doorman. But the big confession, and how the parties dealt with it felt like rigid film formula - even with the snappy dialog. The courtroom scene injected calculated high fructose corn syruppy sap (snappy sap, but sap just the same) that I could've gotten from any old "insert-genre-here" movie. It was rote and kind of heartbreaking for that reason alone. The movie ends with each woman getting what she wants. (I'm trying not to let any spoilers slip.) What I was hoping for was that resolution might have come with one or both women finding that they have what they want, or that they create a mutually agreeable situation, not that accident hands them happy fates. I think that's what I loved about Juno, another fertility movie - nobody really got what they wanted from the beginning, but they learned to love what came about in the end as best they could. I'm not sure how I would've written this ending, though.

My comparison to Juno is kind of unfair. Baby Mama is a buddy movie or an odd couple movie, more aptly; that's where the humor stems from - that, and infertility, which is a riot (take a good look at John Hodgman's mug). Juno is ... another genre that my brain is too tired to conjure up right now. Nonetheless, each week on 30 Rock, Fey doesn't let her character win in her personal (and often in her professional) life and we love her all the more for that. I would have preferred that she save the nice bow to wrap another movie up with. I don't think this one was it.