Sexy Surprises

Hey, I'm no fool. I see the appeal in some pale British men: Jude Law, Ewan McGregor, anyone named Colin. But I was surprised when I discovered that women find the following actors sexy:

Benedict Cumberbatch

Sometimes it looks like his skull is too big for him, like Eric Stolz in Mask.

Robert Pattinson

Maybe because I can't take his facial hair seriously.

Nicholas Hault

Can look dim-witted, and looks like that boy from About a Boy. Still.

It's A Nice Day For A Nice Wedding - Part Two

After the ceremony a checklist appeared in my brain. Family photos. Trolley ride to next location. Wedding Party photos. Ride to next location. Entrance to reception. Dinner. Cake cutting. First dancing. Until we made it to dinner, I felt more stressed than I should have. I was riding around on a trolley full of great friends and alcohol, and yet I had a worry in the world? Gav started a "USA! USA!" chant while we were piloted through the Plaza, and I was up in my head? Not a great job by me.

Dinner was good. I wasn't too hungry but I was anxious to shove as much food as I could into my gullet so I could start drinking in earnest - I'd only had water and a shot of Tuaca on the trolley. It was more than an hour after dinner before I had a real drink, and my total for the night was one mere Jack and Coke followed by a few cans of Miller Lite.

Is this boring? Probably. All this text is just an excuse to get to this part:

When my lady and I were trying to decide what song to use for our first dance, I had one or two in mind. During the second New Pornographers concert we attended together, I waited until "Go Places" was played, suggested we use it, and she agreed. Knowing it was a 3/4 waltz beat, we assumed we could learn a waltz step for it, which we eventually did, five days before performing it, by looking at two YouTube videos and practicing for 30 minutes in our living room.

When we began to dance, Kim asked if I'd looked at my ring yet. Of course I'd had no time or mental capacity to do that, as she assumed, so it was during our first dance that she let me know she'd had it engraved with lyrics from the song: "Stay with me, go places ... Kim".

(Thanks to Bag's fancy camera and time for the photo.)

It was a great surprise, and well worth having that song stuck in my head for the following four days.

Then other reception stuff happened, then the reception was over, then we had a nice late breakfast the following morning, then we open some presents, then we drove home and that's where we live, together.

It's A Nice Day For A Nice Wedding - Part One

If I document my time in downtown Buffalo, I should probably write down some thoughts on my wedding weekend.

I waited until Rams and Alipete arrived at our Lawrence home before heading off to the big city to meet my dad - a decision I immediately regretted when Rams entered the house singing "Going to the Chapel". I shushed her, said my goodbyes, and left.

MEAL #1

This was the first of many difficult food and drink decisions made during the weekend. In all cases, I needed to choose a food with very low risk for causing indigestion, sluggishness, or other maladies. In this case, I also needed just enough food to last me until the huge rehearsal dinner. Two blueberry pancakes at First Watch in Corporate Woods, Overland Park. Pops had the same.

We then drove around a bit, stopping at Liberty Memorial to spend an hour looking at very old cannons, rifles, and sidearms. After dropping him at his hotel, I checked in at the Aladdin and schlepped all the luggage to the 15th floor. Floyd was given the suite room key while the groomsmen drove to the church to rehearse; he ordered a turkey sandwich from room service.

Nothing interesting happened at the rehearsal.

First Fridays complicated the parking situation at Lydia's, but eventually everyone made it to the upstairs loft for dinner, and eventually the staff figured out they needed a few extra chairs to seat us all. I gave an unplanned welcome speech - something about it being "Suspiciously easy" to integrate into Kim's family and "You all mean a lot to us" and "Please accept this pasta and fish as thanks".

MEAL #2

Ceasar Salad
Fettucine with Broccoli in Garlic Olive Oil
Grilled Salmon
Bracialone (rolled pork shoulder stuffed with golden raisins, prosciutto, and Montasio cheese, braised in tomato sauce)
Garlic Mashed Potatoes
Green Beans
Tiramisu

I had a glass of wine with dinner, and an unexpected drink of Tuaca after the meal, but was too concerned about ramifications to drink more, even as friends began to stop by the loft.

I got to bed around 12:30. I slept until 4:30, when I noticed my phone was chirping a text message notification. I had a hard time determining if I was really awake or if I was dreaming, and I asked myself that question at least three times before getting back to sleep.

MEAL #3

Serpentine, Nathan, Matt, Camille and I walked to the nearby Hotel Phillips for breakfast. Service was slow, but eventually my safe, non-buffet choice arrived - an omelette with bacon, onions, and peppers alongside fried potatoes.

Then came the annoyingly prolonged gap between breakfast and leaving for the church - about two and a half hours to sit in my room and wonder if I should put on my pants now? Or wait a couple more minutes? Save the tie for later I guess? I passed out the world least thrilling, most John Olerud-esque groomsmen gifts of all time. For the tornado alley dwellers: weather radios! For the coastal residents: solar/crank-powered radios! I don't know. The idea began as a survival kit for the coming end of days, but quickly deteriorated when I noticed many kit items (knives, fire starters) would be frowned upon by the TSA. This time was also used to present me with a trophy. The tradition of buying the groom a small, pathetic trophy cup with "Congratulations on your first marriage" engraved on the name plate began with Nathan's wedding. I cannot explain why. And similarly, who knows what possesses us to continue. Fun, I guess? It's pretty fun.


At the church, we sat around in a spare room with a TV, catching the end of the Royals win and a bit of "Timecop", greeting a few family and friends as they wandered by. I knotted my tie at an acceptable length on the first try, and dared not to improve upon it.

My anxiety was fine until I stood next to the pastor, preparing to make our entrance. Although I did pay close attention during the rehearsal, I had to specifically ask him if I was walking up there NOW, or if he was going in to do something first.

So, there I stood at the front of the church.

I get anxious before most anything. A few weeks ago, I prepared for a fantasy draft in a cold sweat. My heart races before scholar's bowl matches, pickup basketball games, unintimidating public speaking events...

So, at the front of the church, my breathing was good, my heart hate was up, and my face was twitching. That was a new and unwelcome symptom of anxiety for me. The muscle spasms stopped after the bride was next to me.

Hey - is it just me, or when you're standing in front of a crowd do you not really look at any faces, just the blur of humanity?

During the ceremony: very conscious of my posture and hand placement. Very hot under those lights. I listened closely throughout, but can't really repeat anything that was said aside from the "that's what she said" moments.

END PART ONE

"Book It!" With Alipete - High Fidelity

Given a lack of other thrilling material to work with (Want to hear about driving through Missouri with my lady? In the Chillicothe McDonalds, there was a kid with a deer hunting hat that said "Buck Star" and a shirt with "Lil Bro" printed above the number 10. The end.), I'm posting an email conversation with Alipete regarding the Nick Hornby novel / John Cusack film "High Fidelity".

(The title of the book/film, by the way, comes from an Elvis Costello song. At least, there is an Elvis Costello song called "High Fidelity", and I'd be really surprised if the title does not originate from that great song. You can listen to it:



End parentheses.)

I just read "The Corrections," and I will NOT recommend that. Now I am reading "High Fidelity," which is ruined because I've seen the movie a BILLION times. I also just read "What Is the What." Have you read that? I thought it was phenomenal, and now I am sponsoring a Sudanese student. That is not an exaggeration.


Well, lookie lookie. Somebody’s been reading books from dn’s collection. What is the What and High Fidelity. I have a lot to say about High Fidelity, if you want (but not much to add to What is the What. That book doesn’t really provoke much discussion except for “Yikes” and “Whoa”). I’d also seen the movie several times first, but cherished the book nonetheless. I read it in the midst of my blue period, which followed my worst breakup, and coincided with a lonely trip to Ann Arbor. Good stuff. Anyway, let’s book club it up when you’re done.

I guess I’ll go elsewhere for a book recommendation. Great, now Floyd is just going to tell me to read something about Russia.


50 pages left. I look forward to this discussion.

Also, I'm not really a "Men Are From Mars"-type person, but how unfortunate is it that guys get cool break-up, what-does-it-all-mean stories like "High Fidelity," and girls have rubbish like "Eat, Pray, Love"? The quality gap there is as big as the difference between, well, fiction and non-fiction, you could say.


Good point. Maybe it’s the pursuer vs. the pursued? They’re bound to reflect on things differently? What about Stella getting her groove back? Was that different than “Eat, Pray, Love”?


I don't know anything about Stella or her groove. And I don't know too much yet about "Eat, Pray, Love." I'm embarrassed to say I know anything about it all. It was purchased in a moment of weakness, OK? Anyhow, it is fundamentally very different from "High Fidelity," and I appreciate Rob Fleming's musings much more than Elizabeth Gilbert's.



Can you remind me if there is much in High Fidelity that is not in the film? I thought there was, but now I worry I’m confusing it with About a Boy, which was super different than the movie.



There's not a ton different in "High Fidelity." In the book, his relationship with Marie LaSalle is a little more involved, and his parents are bigger characters. He celebrates a birthday. There are actually five girls on his Top 5 Break-Up list, whereas in the movie, he kicks off the last one for Laura. And he doesn't start a record label; he goes back to DJing in the end... unless there's more to come in the last 10 pages.



For starters, I allege that it is a male-oriented fairy tale of a perfect breakup. Rob:

Gets to wallow in pity and surround himself with music

Gets proof that his exes are not that great, and he’s not missing out on them

Gets to bed a musician

Does not have to feel guilty about bedding the musician, because Laura is also with someone

Gets Laura back

Becomes a somewhat well-adjusted, comfortable adult

I'll agree. He doesn't have to feel guilty about anything: the post-breakup musician, the affair, the abortion, the debt. It's all forgotten, and he doesn't have to account for any of it.

And maybe you read it differently than I did, but it seems to be a pretty bleak picture of love. I feel like Rob thinks "Well, this relationship will never be new or even exciting again, but it's something. I'm too lazy/unlikely to find anything better, so this'll do." And Laura is the same. She knows the relationship is no good, but she doesn't want to look for someone who'd be a better match. Everyone is settling. Am I wrong?



I don’t think it’s bleak. I can only go on the film version, since I only read the book once, but I didn’t see it as settling. Yes, they are tired of looking for other, “better” people, but they’ve also realized that a more suitable match probably does not exist.

I don’t know the female perspective on this, but as a male, I can say without hesitation that the looking is exhausting. And I don’t mean dating – I mean looking. Looking to see how attractive (or not) a jogger on the sidewalk is as you drive by, looking at the receptionists in the ophthalmologist’s office, looking around on the bus or in the airport terminal. (It was only in the past few years when I trained myself to stop looking in some of those situations - really, what would you do if the jogger was attractive? Stop the car?) Rob is tired of looking. Yes, Laura isn’t new or exciting anymore, but every relationship loses that initial thrill. He’s realized that a Manic Pixie Dream Girl is a myth, and he knows if he just focuses on Laura they will be happy.



Yeah, I suppose. Something about it still strikes me as sad, though.

I agree that the looking can be exhausting. And I understand that the thrill of a new person can fade and that it's sad to run out of "firsts." I appreciate those sentiments. But I guess, in a perfect world, Rob -- being with Laura -- shouldn't be tired of looking; he shouldn't want to look anymore.

Maybe that's too idealistic. I mean, this is obviously more a story about maturing and realizing what "real-life" love/commitment is than it is a story about love. And the fact that I think it's kind of bleak probably points to some disappointments in my future. But, I get it. I do. The more I write and think about this, the more I get it. It's just a bummer.

I always liked the "Do I listen to pop music because I'm miserable, or am I miserable because I listen to pop music?" [See the 0:44 mark in the clip below.] debate. What a masochistic thing to do to yourself. Post-breakup, I much prefer episodes of "30 Rock" to sentimental pop records. But I guess Rob is a much cooler person than I.



Take it from someone who has made CD mixes titled “Breakup: Pessimistic” and “Breakup: Optimistic” – you do NOT want to indulge more than one or two listens to the pessimistic playlist. I’m convinced that error extended my blue period for several months.

Obviously he shouldn’t WANT to look anymore, but he’s a man, man! It’s in his biology; or, if you want to argue the sow-your-oats urges, you have to concede that he’s conditioned himself to seek and impress and conquer women for the last 10 or 15 years (I don’t remember Rob’s age). The revelation is that the cute tattooed girls that wander into his record shoppe aren’t better options, they’re just other options.



This book/story speaks to you more than it does to me. That's what I've learned here. Which is not to say that I didn't enjoy it. It's one of my favorite movies of all time. (Maybe I just enjoy this existential crisis more when I'm watching John Cusack endure it.)

And though I question Rob's methods, it's still a better way to deal with a breakup than eating Ben & Jerry's and watching "Love, Actually."

Last Friday Night

Our new restaurant of choice is the recently opened 715. I've still not heard if its proper name is seven-fifteen or seven-one-five; I've opted for the most literal: seven-hundred-and-fifteen. We arrived early Friday night, around 6:30, to beat the crowd, and were promptly seated near the door. A half-liter of the cheap white house wine. For the lady, a simple green salad featuring goat cheese and five thin radish slices, followed by potato tortelli with local bison ragu. I enjoyed the special -- a pan-seared, wild-caught striped bass over broccoli and calabrian chiles -- more than any fish I've ever eaten outside of Oregon.

Despite the allure of the after-dinner drink menu's hot apple cider Tuaca, I convinced Kim to join me for a vanilla vodka and Coke at Henry's Upstairs. Walking along Massachusetts Street, already discussing her dad via an unrelated thing, I told her what he said on the day after Thanksgiving, when I asked his permission to propose.

"Sure."

Her father shared one additional, deceptively simple sentence: "Just make her happy." I apologized for my lack of plans or timeline, and returned to silently chopping vegetables for the turkey soup.

I told Kim all this -- by now we'd trekked to our nearly empty destination, climbed the stairs, accepted our drinks, and sat at the same table where I'd first held her hand -- and I told her how happy she made me, and I asked her to marry me. It took a few moments to convince her to open the box in my left hand instead of looking at it, and me, and smiling.

From Connecticut With Love

WEDNESDAY

"Hey this is alicia. And my new .#"


FRIDAY

"Hey baby what is goin on tonite?"

"It's alicia. Baby I want you so bad."

"I think that is great. However, you have the wrong number."

"Isnt this eldin?"

"Sorry, no. Good luck with everything."



**

I was very tempted to keep this communication moving forward -- maybe see what the teens find so appealing about this "sexting" thing -- but I didn't. I felt guilty depriving Alicia of her much-wanted booty call. And my girlfriend wasn't really pumped about the idea of sexting a stranger with a Connecticut area code.

Careful backing up those address books, people.

The South American Experience: Matt's Letter

[NOTE: Matt has expressed an interested in being a guest blogger in the future. If you'd like to read more of Matt in future Tornado Slide posts, make your feelings known in the comments.]

“A Letter Written For Two Women I Saw On The South America Trip”

Hello again. Do you remember me? We met at the harbor in Montevideo where you work. You helped my good friend Dan and I after some retard in Buenos Aires fucked up our ferry reservations. I must say that I was entranced by your beauty. Your bright blue eyes were islands in a torrential sea of dark eyed Latin chicks. Your full, round, voluptuous breasts did not go unnoticed.

Let me get to the point. I love you. I think we should get married. I can just imagine how perfect our life would be together. I am not rich, but I could give you a decent life here in the United States. You wouldn’t even have to work. Our days would be spent hand in hand walking down tree-lined boulevards with flowers and bunny rabbits. Our nights would be filled with the mirth and moisture of love. Soon you would be pregnant with our first of many lovebabies.

I know that you will be a good mother to our children. The way you handled the problem with the reservations is proof of that. You made me feel so safe, so warm when all hope seemed to be lost. For the most part I will ignore and detest our children. Not so much because of the strain they will inevitably put on our finances, but because of the toll they will take on your body. After three or so children I will barely recognize you.

That is where you come in girl number 2. We caught eyes from a few tables away at Café Stranger in Buenos Aires. Your beauty is stunning. I would very much like you to consider the position of mistress. Although not glamorous, it does have perks: a private apartment, money for lingerie and a gym membership.

We could go on trips together to all the places you want to see. My wife will be busy at home taking care of our lovebastards. We will dine at the best restaurants, laze on private beaches and make sweet fuck on a nest of sea turtle eggs under a palm tree. I have to say “fuck” and not “love” because I am married and that would just be wrong, you understand. All this I offer. Also, I promise never to hit you, unless, of course, you were the stupid bitch that took the ferry reservations.

Affectionately,

Matt

Parking Lot Girl

I was upgraded from the far lot to the near lot in the spring, reducing my already low daily exercise output by 50%. The promotion also signaled the end of the Parking Lot Girl era.

I was intrigued by Parking Lot Girl because I might have been attracted to her. I say "might" because I never really got a good look at her. I would see the red Subaru Forester every day, but I would rarely see its driver. When we did cross paths, she was obscured by heavy winter coats or oversized sunglasses.

It became a little spying mission that I assigned myself to spark the workday: how was I going to figure out what she really looked like? And if I she was attractive without her accessories, what the hell could I do about it? Was I really going to approach a woman in a mostly-empty parking lot? What do you say to a woman in a parking lot? "Hey there. Now, I know that men that usually approach women like this are trying stuff them into their trunk before stealing their car, but I'm different! I saw your Douglas County plates and that impeccably clean interior and I thought, 'This is a lady that I'd like to get to know!' What do you say we hit the 'Bees and grab some chicken fingers?"

So nothing happened. Fast forward to last week, where I see her walking toward the near lot. She's finally been upgraded, and she's parked directly next to me -- but she's still wearing those huge goddamn glasses, so her attractiveness has yet to be verified.

Places you can't hit on a woman (because she will fear for her life):

NOTE: To qualify, each setting must be inappropriate despite the time of day and the size of the city. For example, picking up a woman at an urban gas station is possible during the day, but not at night; pressing the issue at any time of day at a rural gas station is not feasible. All settings are considered sparsely populated.

• Alley
• Parking lot / Parking garage
• Motel hallway
• From a front porch (as she walks by on the sidewalk)
• Cemetery
• Dock / Pier
• Hiking trail
• Cornfield

My Life In Song: Ben Folds Five - WEAEA

[The second in a very slowly developing series -- the first was about 2 years ago.]

One Angry Dwarf and 200 Solemn Faces

Like most, my first exposure to Ben Folds Five were the singles "Brick" and "Battle of Who Could Care Less". The song that led me to buy an album, however, was "Emaline", off the "Naked Baby Photos" album, which I heard on our college radio station long before I would go on to broadcast from its frequency. After enjoying "Naked Baby Photos", I picked up "Whatever and Ever Amen". It so happened that I went straight to my girlfriend's dorm after that purchase, so the first time I heard "One Angry Dwarf" play was there, emanating from a stereo that usually played Celine Dion or Trisha Yearwood.

Fair

I would usually skip over "Fair", because I found the chorus of "Ba ba bap"s annoying. This went on for years, until I attended a Ben Folds show at City Market. (Which I actually wrote about for Bag's now-defunct website -- that post is actually still available at the BenFolds.org forum.)

Guster came on stage to join Ben in a rollicking performance of "Fair" -- I was so impressed, "Fair" was the first song I wanted to hear when I got back to my home stereo. A live rendition had never before, and has not since, changed my feelings toward a song so radically.

Brick

I read an interview with Folds, possibly in "Rolling Stone" about his hit as I stood in Goodnow Hall in 1998, keeping my girlfriend company as she worked the front desk. I'm also reminded of a post-concert discussion with a different girlfriend. "I think I'm the only person that still wants to hear him play 'Brick'," she said.

Song for the Dumped

I can no longer distinguish between versions of this I've seen on TV and DVDs and live performances I've personally witnessed.

Selfless, Cold, and Composed

This was always my favorite piece from the album, but it's not attached to any specific memory.

Kate

I usually get bogged down by the lyric, "she hands out the Bhagavad Gita", because I learned what it was once, and can't really recall its significance. (According to Wikipedia, it's a text sacred to the Hindus and Krishnas.)

Smoke

I got Nick Hornby's "Songbook" for Christmas one year. He wrote a piece on this song, and I recall he liked its metaphor. To wit:

"Smoke" is one of the cleverest, wisest songs about the slow death of a relationship that I know... the heartbreaking thing about Folds' song is that it manages to simultaneously convey both the narrator's desperation and the impossibility of a happy outcome.

Cigarette

My previous car was armed with only a cassette player, so I had to dub a lot of CDs to tape. I fit most all of "WEAEA", "Naked Baby Photos", and "Ben Folds Five" onto one 100-minute tape. In order to do so, I rearranged the order of "WEAEA", placing the brief "Cigarette" at the end of side A.

Steven's Last Night in Town

So. I met this girl at a friend's party (it was either a party with the theme of "Pimps, Playas and Ho's" or a celebration for a gay couple that worked with Brad at Target and recently had a commitment ceremony -- tough to say which, and it may have actually been the same party... and no, we weren't very cool back then), and arrangements were (eventually) made to get together. I drove to pick her up, and decided that "WEAEA" was a decent choice for a good first (music-related) impression. Unfortunately, it took me a while to find the correct address. By the time she stepped into the car, the cassette was playing the obnoxious solo to "Steven's Last Night in Town", which sounds like background music for a trapeze act. I believe her exact reaction was, "This is interesting music."

We got to the theater and watched the death and destruction of "Saving Private Ryan" (it bears repeating: I wasn't very cool back then, or smart, so that's how I ended up with that film choice during this first date). Afterward, she mentioned she'd already seen it.

She was (somehow, improbably) interested in dating me after that episode. Even though we lived in the same dorm that year (if you're doing the math, you'll note that this was my second year of college, and just to hammer in the point, yes, I stayed in the dorms for my second year, and no, I wasn't very cool back then), I declined on a relationship. She was a year younger, and dating a college freshman seemed like a bad idea; I thought she should have time to spread her wings, see the world, and all that crap.

And what happened? She became involved with someone immediately, and married him a few years later. I've always been proud of myself for avoiding that relationship -- I like to think that I made her marriage happen.

Battle of Who Could Care Less

This was the first BFF single I ever heard. KICT played it a lot during my high school commute. When I hear it, I think about turning left on 13th from Tyler. I also heard Elvis Costello's "Pump it Up" a lot on my way to school.

Missing the War

I think about the live performance of this song seen on the "Sessions at West 54th" DVD, even when I'm hearing the studio version. This song has supplanted my previous favorite, "Selfless, Cold, and Composed". I like to try (and fail) to hit the high notes when I'm driving.

Evaporated

This song makes me think of a holiday -- either Christmas or Thanksgiving -- that we hosted, back when there was a CD player in my dad's house. I guess I tried to play a little music instead of watching the goddamn parade, and thought this album was acceptable for my aunts and grandparents. I'm sure it was my choice, because my brother tended to play more controversial music, rather than the music he'd expect the guests to enjoy. And that's why we didn't listen to Helmet that Thanksgiving.

Portland - Thursday, May 31

We've a layover in Denver, where the airport is cold and uncomfortable. A longer flight is just ahead, but we elect to eat breakfast burritos anyway. The entire restaurant is captivated by the televised spelling bee. Our waitress is amazed by the words these kids can spell. "There's no way I could do that," she says, and I try to express a requisite amount of faux-surprise through the movements of my mouth and head.

We touch down at Portland International, are shuttled to our rental car, and navigate ourselves across the Willamette to our hosts' home in the alphabet district in the city's northwest neighborhood. I glance at the Oregonian lying the kitchen table: the business section, below the fold. The headline reads, "IBM lays off 1,570 workers, including nine in Oregon".


Once, during high school, at Angie's house, Anna talked about her older sister -- how she had let her armpit hair grow out for a while, and how after she shaved it, her boyfriend said, "I kind of miss it." In between bites of my late lunch (rockfish sandwich, garlic fries, and a glass of Laurelwood's beer), I look up to see the young woman seated across the patio. She's got a lot of armpit hair, but I really don't mind. I'm in Portland, where the sun is shining brightly, and it's a gorgeous day for everyone exposed, save for perhaps nine ladies or gentlemen that are looking for work.

There are a lot of dogs in Portland, even one on the trails of Forest Park, the third-largest urban park in the country. We just passed two women that brought theirs along for a hike, possibly for companionship, possibly for some exercise, but definitely for cargo storage. The women have strapped ol' Rex with a doggie saddlebag; he's carrying their water bottles and maybe more. Rex was probably excited for this walk before things turned. Rex might be wondering when he turned from canine to mule.

We navigate through the up the trail, passing Rex and his captors, rowdy high school graduates, and downhills runners. We're catching up on recent dates and relationships. We climb around a giant, uprooted Douglas-fir that lays across our path, and turn a corner on a hill, much higher than where we started, but still beneath the forest's canopy. Light filters down to a blanket of ferns. It's Jurassic and beautiful, and I'm ashamed that all I can think about is how you water ferns with a spray bottle instead of a watering can.

"I don't think there's anywhere else in the world I would rather be right now."
"Even Spain?" I asked.
"Even Spain."


Our hosts treat us to dinner before paying our cover charge at a benefit show in southeast Portland. Every table is occupied, but by the time we've got our drinks, we're shown to one of the (previously reserved) tables nearest the stage. I've just eaten the best salmon I've ever had. I'm enjoying a premium drink. I haven't opened my wallet since Denver. Everyone is getting along. I feel great. And that's before her music starts. Before she walks out on stage. Before she puts down her case. Before she unlocks it, and before she removes the bottle of Maker's Mark. Before she takes a generous swig. Before she ditches the top hat. Before she loses the jacket. Before we learn her nipples are covered by electrical tape. Before she takes another drink, and sprays the whiskey above her like a fountain. Before she pours more of the liquor over her chest.

Before you wonder why you had thought it might be awkward to walk into a lesbian bar for a benefit drag show.

Tornado Slide's Hot 9

Yesterday, I noted several poor selections in Maxim's "Hot 100" list. Today, I highlight a few women that were not included on that list, as a way of pointing out the obvious, inherent problems magazines ignore when compiling such rankings.

Before we begin, I'd just like to point out...

...How easy it was to find ridiculously attractive women that were excluded from Maxim's list. I thought it might be hard -- I was a little concerned that I would be trying to tackle a problem too big for tonight's spare time -- but I was wrong. There's a metric shit ton of attractive, famous women out there, ready for the choosing.

...Maxim nailed one selection I assumed they had missed: Kristen Bell of Veronica Mars.

...the requirements for making my list were: A.> Rather famous, B.> Not jailbait, C.> Somewhat classy, and D.> "The Fergie Factor", i.e. "One assumes that this female, unlike Fergie, is free of infectious disease". And, as I mentioned above, these women were excluded from Maxim's list.

#9: Charlize Theron

(Excluded Peers: Catherine Zeta Jones, Rachel Weisz)

Here's the thing -- a woman can't be considered one of the hottest women on the planet and then, 4 short years later, NOT be placed in this top tier, even if they look exactly the same. Granted, Rachel Weisz was super pregnant a few Oscars ago, and that might have freaked us out, and Zeta Jones has popped out a few kids with Michael Douglas, and that definitely freaked us out, but these women look the same! You can drop them a few points, but you can't just exclude them, right?

#8: Naomi Watts

(Excluded Peers: Kate Winslet, Lauren Graham)

Naomi personifies a group of women that aren't quite mind-consumingly hot. They're just hot. And, apparently, they're usually foreign.

#7: Norah Jones

(Excluded Peer: Lisa Loeb)

Maxim included Hilary Duff and Mandy Moore -- fair enough. But Ashlee Simpson and Avril Lavigne? There's no way they compare to Norah -- she comes from the seed of the world's greatest sitar player! That's top notch stuff!

#6: Norah Jones wearing a wig and playing rock music

(Excluded Peer: Fiona Apple)

Yeah, she wore a wig once. I don't really have a comment here, except that if Norah tickling a piano is nice, then Norah slamming a riff is twice as nice.

#5: Winona Ryder

(Excluded Peers: Kirsten Dunst)

Until Winona Ryder falls into a vat of bubbling acid, shouldn't there be a rule that she's in these kind of lists? Same thing goes for Dunst, only she's out once her perfect breasts start to sag. Swing low, sweet chariot.

#4: Rachel McAdams

(Excluded Peers: Rosario Dawson, Elizabeth Banks)

Wasn't Rachel McAdams THE Hollywood "It Girl" as recently as 12 months ago? Wha happened? The Family Stone?

#3: Amy Adams

(Excluded Peers: Rashida Jones, Jenna Fischer)

These Office alums are all pretty hot, which makes the Scranton branch roughly 400 billion times more attractive than my own workplace.

#2: Zooey Deschenel

(Excluded Peers: Alexis Bledel, Christina Ricci)

I guess you'd call this group "unique-looking women with dark hair", which just happens to be my thing. Case in point...

#1: Natalie Portman

Seriously? Really? For true? You've got a list of 100 hot women, and Natalie Portman doesn't make the cut? I once turned down an imaginary BJ from Scarlett Johanssen for the same chance with Natalie Portman; as a result, Mr. Jack Serpentine called me a fag. Whatever. I love you, Natalie, and I will avenge you.

On Beauty

Maxim magazine. We all know it's garbage. We all know its demographic is chimps. On the toilet. Still, a magazine written by oversexed frat boys should be able to compile a decent list of "hot" women. Maxim's 2007 "Hot 100" is not that list.

It's not just that Lindsay Lohan is #1 (again, it bears repeating that this is a list for the current year, not 2004). Ashlee Simpson is #16, just one slot behind AVRIL FUCKING LAVIGNE.

I don't have time to click through the entire 100, so I'll stop listing the questionable choices there. Well, okay, one more... Fergie is in the top ten. Fergie.

I'm tired of these lists, full of "meh" women like Sarah Silverman, and wouldn't-touch-her-with-yours whores like Fergie. I'm going to make my own list.

Check back soon. Soonish.

Incomplete List Week: Marriage

Things I will silently hate:

a headboard for the bed
a massive amount of Christmas decorations
signing up the kids for a youth soccer league

Things I will resist, but eventually allow:

a canopy for the bed
pillows more decorative than comfortable
boy scouts/girl scouts

"I'm going out for cigarettes...":

faux mosquito netting draping the canopy of the bed
creepy religious decorations (paintings of Jesus staring at you, etc.)
giving the children names that rhyme (or all begin with the same letter)

Incomplete List Week: Tipping Points

characteristics of women I could date
vs
characteristics of women I could not date

plays guitar
vs
plays double-necked guitar

one tattoo
vs
many tattoos

piercing on something that does not have a distinct biological purpose
vs
piercing elsewhere

enjoys dancing
vs
dancer

Basic Cable Instinct

Shawn and I took some time out (timeout! Get it?) from the NCAA tournament this afternoon to view other programming. When you've got the chance to watch a TBS airing of "Four Weddings and a Funeral" with Shawn, you've got to do it, basketball games be damned. That man really knows how to mock Andie MacDowell.




We also flipped over to the Travel Channel. Samantha Brown gave us a tour of Barcelona, Florence, and Venice, and we gave her our hearts. She's the best.





It inspired me to write about my favorite, underappreciated cable TV ladies. Samantha was #2 on my list, second only to the hairstylist on TLC's "Ten Years Younger". I never watch that show in its entirety, but I've become skilled at switching over as the subject is getting her hair cut by Jenn MacDonald, the sexy stylist with bright red hair.

When I went online to find a photo of the lovely Jenn, I found out she was a lesbian. Not only did that fact bump Samantha up to #1 on my list, it took the wind out of my sails, resulting in this shitty blog post.

Tired Of Sex

I listened to the latest This American Life compilation last Sunday, on the drive back from Minneapolis. Right around the time I exited the highway for some snack mix and cheese curds, I heard "Infinite Gent", an interview with a man who used to be a woman. He spoke about life before and after massive doses of testosterone:

Before testosterone, I would be riding the subway...and I would see a woman on the subway and I would think, "She's attractive. I'd like to meet her. What's that book she's reading? I could talk to her. This is what I would say..." It would be a narrative -- a stream of language. It would be very verbal.

After testosterone, there was no narrative. There was no language whatsoever. ...I would see a woman who was attractive -- or not attractive, she would have an attractive quality, you know, nice ankles or something and the rest of her would be fairly unappealing to me. But that was enough to, basically, just flood my mind with aggressive pornographic images, just one after another. It was like being in a pornographic movie house in my mind, and I couldn't turn it off...

...I remember walking up 5th Avenue. There was a woman walking in front of me and she was wearing this little skirt and this little top, and I was looking at her ass, and I kept saying to myself, "Don't look at it! Don't look at it!" and I kept looking at it. I walked past her, and this voice in my head kept saying, "Turn around and look at her breasts! Turn around! Turn around!" My feminist, female background kept saying, "Don't you dare, you pig! Don't turn around!" You know, I fought myself for a whole block, and then I turned around and checked her out.

It's a stunning interview in all, but that part of the conversation was particularly striking -- it seems to excuse men from our tendencies to leer, to shrug it off as a matter of biology. This kind of evidence -- the smoking gun of testosterone -- might upset some women who argue the issue is behavioral, or a matter of discipline. Certainly, staring at breasts and wagging tongues are the result of both biology and will. I wonder, though, would women be more sympathetic to these actions if they knew how exhausting our behavior is? Or how discouraging it can be?

Take two examples from yesterday. (Note how far back I need to go to find TWO examples.) I was out with three other gentlemen, and our first stop was at a Kansas City casino, where cocktail waitresses dress like showgirls. One waitress stood with her back to us, taking a table's drink orders. She looked great, but we couldn't see her front.

"I'm trying to see if this chick is hot."
"Don't. You're going to be disappointed."
"I just saw - it's disappointing."
"I told you."
"Are you sure? I can't see. That guy's blocking my view."
"Oh! I just saw. Disappointing."
"Really? Are you sure?"

I was sure. There was nothing ugly about the woman, but her face could not meet the expectations that her body provoked. I was disappointed, but hardly surprised, because the same pathetic little scene plays out dozens of times each week of my life. Jogger on the sidewalk. Driver in the rearview mirror. Woman pushing the shopping cart. Every stranger that appears to be female is a target to be assessed, and 90% of the targets are appraised incorrectly.

I can't stress enough how discouraging this is, for most every glimpse of hope be crushed by reality over and over again.

I'm now at the point where my will has overcome my biology; to spare myself from disappointment, I'm no longer looking at joggers as I drive by, or checking out women in other cars. I've given up. I'm assuming that everyone is not worth seeing. It's hard.

You know how you see someone who's got an arm in a cast, or a missing leg, or a huge scar across their forehead, and your impulse is to ask, "What the hell happened?" Your mind is racing with possibilities: alligator attack, prison cafeteria riot, angry pimp, etc.? Then the injured person answers with something benign. Sports mishap. Fall.

I got tired of hearing those boring explanations, so I stopped asking altogether, resigned to the fact that the story won't be interesting. Now it's the same way with the possibly sexy stranger just out of view.

Discouragement is only one of testosterone's unwanted side-effects, second to exhaustion, which is illustrated in example #2 from last night's activites. After breaking the bank at the casino, we ventured to Westport for drinks and excitement. We settled in at Harry's, seated at a table facing a busy Westport intersection. Marry / Fuck / Kill: the Star Wars edition wore down, and we were belittled to "Who Would You Do?", starring every female that we spotted outside, moving along the crosswalks and sidewalks. Yes. Yes. Yes. No. Yes. Yes. No. No. Yes, but not the other one. No. No, but yes to the one with the hat. Yes -- no, I think that's a dude. No. Yes. Definitely. No, never. Well, not never. Yes. Yes. Yes.

You may be horrified to learn that this went on for about an hour. Indeed, you may think, "Didn't they have something better to do?" Well, touche. You've made wormsmeat of me. But ladies, have a little empathy. Our simple, testosterone-driven brains are locked into that game, and we men are required to play all day, every day. The only difference between that game at Harry's and, you know, our lives, is that we were thinking out loud on Saturday night.

A Model Idiot?

Floyd writes...

Hey Dan, remember Katie from the KU Calendar? The one you asked about hookworm worries? Well, she's still alive and kicking...

[Don't click that last link if you're at work.]

[Also, the links to the old Women of KU calendar models have expired. If you'd like to see the most recent calendars, have at it.]

Columbian On-The-Nose Candy

I made arrangements to purchase the Columbia frames this morning. Glasses are expensive. Especially when you get the lenses and whatnot in there.

The eyeglasses lady recognized me as the guy that took pictures earlier in the week. As we completed our transaction, the Columbia's lay on a table, between us.

"I know these frames will look great on you, because you have delicate features," she said.

"What the fuck are you talking about?" I didn't say. Delicate features? Is an Adam's apple that juts out 2 inches delicate? Is incredibly dense stubble delicate? Is a chin dimple delicate? Is it these soft brown eyes? Why do you have 6 earrings in one ear? What's that tattoo on your back? How old are you? How did you get this job? Are you turned on right now? Because I'm ready to rock this shit, lady. I am ready. When I come back here in a week, and we sit here again, and you lean over this table, and you look into these soft brown eyes as you perfect the frames' fit, we are going to have a bona fide moment. I am going to be turned on, and you... you are going to fucking freak out. Your knees will become weak, and you'll have to sit down, and then I'll be the one leaning in, my face hovering aside yours. The breathless anticipation will seem to go on forever, and you'll forget everything you knew about insurance reimbursement and UV lens coating and manufacturer's warranties. You'll see me in those Columbias, and you'll see a man that is marriage material. And then you'll mention something about your kid, the result of some fling with an aspiring singer-songwriter who sports a pair of Jhanes Barnes, and I'll lose interest, and you'll wonder if you can ever love again. You'll be horny the rest of the day, too.

I want to thank all of the people that took time to comment, email, and even call me to discuss my eyewear. It is comforting to know that you care enough to keep me looking presentable. A special thanks to all those that voice an opinion even though they're unlikely to ever see these glasses. (NOTE: This is not a reference to imminent suicide; I'm simply speaking geographically.)

A Bag Of Flour

Jack Serpentine drove us home from The Oasis, the type of bar you'd expect to be the only thing open on Christmas night -- an ugly space with a tiled floor, a garage door substituted for part of its east wall.

We began to discuss Jack's high school classmate; Jack was vehemently opposed to intercourse with this woman, he began to list objects he'd rather have sex with. "A bag of flour," he began.

His idea snowballed until we were proposing sex with items blatantly less attractive than the woman herself. I tried to bring us back to reality.

"I think I would rather have sex with Woman X than with a bag of glass," I admitted.

"But what if her vagina was lined with razorblades?" Floyd asked.

"And cats' teeth?" Shawn chimed.

"And it spoke perfect Arabic?" Floyd added, before our laughter ended the discussion.

Jack pulled into the driveway and shut off his grandmother's Camry, and we retreated to our respective cars, another Christmas past, the reason for the season obvious.

2006 Soundtrack

I’ve always enjoyed creating mix CDs; however, my production has dropped off in recent years. There are two main reasons for this. First, the distance between my audience and myself has increased. As easy as it’s become to burn tracks to disc, it’s comparatively difficult to make it to the post office to weigh the mail the package. (And seriously – can’t something be done about the hours kept by the US Post Office? How is a working stiff supposed to make it there between 8 and 5? Wouldn’t it make more sense to operate such customer-oriented government agencies – I’m looking at you, Driver’s License Office – when most people are not at work? Say, open from 6 to 10 a.m., then closed from 10 a.m. to 3 p.m., and then open again from 3 p.m. to 7 p.m.? It’s still an 8-hour workday, Uncle Sam. Let’s make this happen.)

Second, compiling mix CDs is less urgent these days. With the proliferation of flash memory and digital audio players, plenty of music can be heard sans disc. Still, you can’t share a playlist, and for the time being, that means the mix CD is still relevant.

In 2004, sparked by my hatred of Christmas cards and my love of mix CDs, I began to send one end-of-the-year compilation to friends. Previously, I had no set rules for the mix – I focused on including songs that my friends probably hadn’t heard. Now, the laws have changed. 2006 features two CDs: one traditional, stereo-ready audio disc, and one data disc filled with mp3s.

The audio disc is my 2006 soundtrack. Songs included on the disc meet relatively strict criteria. In order of importance, those criteria are:

1. Each song must evoke a snapshot of my year. For example, if I were compiling the soundtrack of my 1998, I would include the Paul McCartney song, “Souvenir”, which was playing in my Accord’s cassette player as I drove from Topeka to Manhattan, after viewing that movie with Paul Rudd (gay) and Jennifer Aniston (not gay), but before my girlfriend broke up with me. If I were compiling the soundtrack from my 1992 (?), I would include Tesla’s “What You Give”. I didn’t buy their “Psychotic Supper” album, but I did get the cassette single, and I really loved it. I seem to recall wanting to use it to inspire my kid-pitch baseball teammates. “It’s not what you got, it’s what you give!”

2. I must enjoy each song. (This year’s disqualifications include: The Red Hot Chili Peppers, “Dani California”; Fergie, “London Bridge”; My Chemical Romance, “Welcome to the Black Parade”; all the goddamned Maroon 5 I had to listen to when I was carpooling with Melissa.)

3. Songs shall not be placed in chronological order or in order of importance. They should simply fit together well – one song should merge into the next in a way that is pleasing, if not smooth. Audio files should be manipulated with Audacity software to this end.

4. Songs that hold no greater significance than “I performed that at a karaoke bar this year!” shall not be included. (This year’s disqualifications include: Tears for Fears, “Head Over Heels”; Chicago, “Saturday in the Park”; The Police, “King of Pain”; Soft Cell, “Tainted Love”; Modest Mouse, “Float On”; Fleetwood Mac, “Go Your Own Way”; The Cardigans, “Lovefool”; The Beatles, “Help!”, Coldplay, “Clocks”; Doobie Brothers, “China Grove”.)

5. Including songs I became familiar with through a friend’s mix CD is strongly discouraged, so as not to present him or her with a CD full of songs they already own. (This year’s disqualifications include: Damien Rice, “Volcano”; Nickel Creek, “Jealous of the Moon”)

6. Including two songs by the same artist is discouraged.

7. Significant songs with poor audio quality (such as live recordings or terrible bitrates) shall be pushed toward the end of the disc, if not excluded altogether. (This year’s disqualification: a live recording of a yet-to-be-released Shins’ song, “Circus Walk”)

The mp3 disc was designed to catch the tracks that failed to meet the soundtrack’s strict inclusion policy. It includes songs or albums that I discovered in 2006 and enjoy, but are less representative of my year. Dumping all of the "other" songs on the data disc also helps my psychologically -- I don't have to agonize over the exclusion of an awesome song, just because it wasn't on the radio when I learned I got a chick pregnant (for example).

SO. Without further ado, this year's tracklisting and liner notes:

1. Mates of State - Nature and the Wreck

I had to be in Hays on Sunday night, so I stopped in Manhattan on Saturday, March 25, to visit Shawn. We watched a lot of Arrested Development on DVD, but also found time to walk around campus and Aggieville. I bought the new Mates of State CD as a treat for my remaining drive.

So, it was Sunday evening before I heard the CD, and things were going okay, and then track seven played. "Nature and the Wreck" is a short song, piano and vocal. One of its vague lines begins, "Since the wreck..."

I slowly convinced myself that I was going to get in a wreck on my way to Hays, and that wreck would be fatal. I made it to about to Russell and ran into a storm, and the wind blew no fewer than six tumbleweeds directly into my path, and they crunched underneath my rented Stratus.

When I returned home, I began to write about the experience, intending to include it in an apology to the ex-girlfriend. The writing went less than smoothly, and I aborted the idea. In the end, I decided that I was entitled to be a dick sometimes, particularly when involved in situations with a girl who broke up with you.

You could consider "Nature and the Wreck" as the turning point in my post-breakup funk.

2. Mates of State - Fraud in the '80s

I rode back from downtown with Allison, Lindsey, and Kim -- my car was parked at Lindsey's house. Kim needed a ride home, and had to wake up early for a walk-a-thon or some such bullshit. Who would drive Kim home? Me? "I'm going to go inside and sober up," I said, and the rest joined me. A sober Allison took a sobering Kim home. Lindsey went to sleep. I went to my car, and this song was at high volume as I drove home, because it sounded FUCKING AWESOME in that moment.

This is probably the song I listened to more than any other in 2006.

3. The Flaming Lips - The Spiderbite Song

Shawn and I drank bourbon at Auntie Mae's the Saturday of my Manhattan visit. As we talked about our 10-year high school reunion, "Race for the Prize" played on the jukebox. "Other than 'Waitin' for a Superman', what is your favorite song on 'The Soft Bulletin'?" I couldn't decide at that moment, as the bourbon and the hot waitress with the vintage Clash t-shirt were fogging my capacities. When I returned home, I put the album in my car, and knew my second favorite was "The Spiderbite Song".

The album was still in my car as I drove to the Olathe airport to board a small jet to Garden City. I was still afraid of dying at that time, and I was pretty certain that our plane would go down. There was a priest on board - he's half-doctor, half-priest, and gave a powerpoint presentation like the rest of us passengers - and I called dibs on last rites. He thought I was kidding, but I wasn't.

I met Raegan on that flight - she sat kitty-corner from me on the jet, and she held my undivided attention until I finally noticed her wedding ring. Weeks later, on the night The Flaming Lips were set to play at the Wakarusa festival in Lawrence, I went to Raegan's house in Kansas City for a barbeque. I was thankful to get out of my hippie-infiltrated city -- I would have loved to see the Lips live, but I refused to associate with the mass of unwashed humanity that would also be attending.

There was a boom box outside Raegan's house during the party. It played their new album, "At War with the Mystics", which Shawn had copied for me a few weeks prior. I disliked most all of it, save for the opening track. It was on repeat, though at low volume, for the entire evening. We played badminton. It hailed. No damage.

4. Neko Case - Star Witness

I wanted to hear this song BADLY when I woke up to leave for D.C. I got on the turnpike, headed east toward the airport, and slid the CD into my car's player. Error. I tried again. Error. I was pissed.

This is my favorite song that was released in 2006.

5. Spoon - They Never Got You

I saw Spoon perform this at Day on the Hill, but before that, it played during a marathon poker game among Chris, Gavin, Bobby, and myself. When the CD changer was cashed, we watched the Synchronicity DVD, and still had time to view the Rattle and Hum DVD.

6. Franz Ferdinand - Eleanor Put Your Boots On

This CD was one of those stolen from my car early in 2006, and this song was the one I missed hearing the most. It played in my head for the majority of my Chicago trip, because Kim wore boots. And because we all shared a room, I witnessed Kim put her boots on.

7. Tapes 'n Tapes - Insistor

Long story short, my ex-girlfriend's friend was their bassist. Then I listened to their album, and I liked it, and I was excited that I knew somebody in an up-and-coming band. Then they got a new bassist. Oh well.

8. Jenny Lewis & The Watson Twins - Rise Up With Fists!

This album made me deliriously happy in 2006.

9. Yeah Yeah Yeah's - Gold Lion

"Gold Lion" was among the few likeable songs I heard on the radio this year, and I finally bought the Yeah Yeah Yeah's album after I heard the second single, "Cheated Hearts", on the radio. Other solid radio songs in '06: the Pearl Jam single, the Raconteur's "Steady as She Goes", and MAYBE one Angels and Airwaves song. Maybe. I am willing to admit that this is a function of KC-area terrestrial radio, rather than radio at large.

If you don't like this song, you're not listening to it loud enough. Turn that shit up!

10. Modest Mouse - Perfect Disguise

A little too much free wine in the hotel lobby. More wine during dinner at the restaurant. Looking out the cab window, watching the lights of Atlanta pass by.

11. Middle Distance Runner - Naturally

Serpentine and V took me to see Middle Distance Runner on my first night in DC -- not because the band was spectacular, but because the opening band invited V via MySpace. OMG! ROTFLMAO!!

I befriended a woman at the bar who claimed she didn't want to drink, but then ordered a chardonnay AND a club soda, mixed them together, and tossed it back. Turns out she was the wife of one of the band members, and she invited me to stop by the merchandise table. When I went, she wasn't there, but I picked up a demo CD. To my surprise, I liked it far better than their live show, which earned only a shrug from Serpentine and I.

12. Prototypes - Danse sur la Merde

I Google-translated the title one day at work, and tried to hide my browser the second "Dance on the shit" appeared. If I knew what this song was about, would I like it more, or less?

"Danse" was featured on my OKC Wedding Road Trip CD, and Matt took to it immediately, cranking the volume in the Corolla. Many times over.

13. Sleater-Kinney - Modern Girl

I bought this album used. Jeff had put a track on his '05 mix, and I was confident it would deliver the goods. This CD rocked my shit -- it's now my preferred "I'm driving and I'd rather not fall asleep" album. It also happened to be my, "Let's drive to SAS training in Overland Park 3 days in a row" album.

Anyway, I woke up one day and this song was in my head.

14. Fleetwood Mac - I Don't Want to Know

Chuck Klosterman discussed this song in "Killing Yourself to Live", which Corinne gave me for my birthday. He talks about the opening chords, and how you can hear a guitar string being scraped as fingers move down the guitar. I read this and forgot it until one fateful day, when the song began as I drove from the lab to the office.

15. Rilo Kiley - Ripchord

This would have been the song in my head as I drowned at sea, were it not for Nathan's rescue. I'm sure it popped in because "ripcord" is similar to "riptide", which is what carried me away from the shore. (And how awesome would it be to die with the lyric "and you're sleeping again alone, 'cuz nobody loves you" in your head? Good times.)

16. Tilly and the Wall - The Freest Man

This song was played during the air conditioning-less set at The Bottleneck. I said this vocalist looked like Becky Conner from television's "Roseanne", but everyone else disagreed.

17. Fiery Furnaces - Benton Harbor Blues (bonus track version)

I was all set not to buy the new Fiery Furnaces album, but after I downloaded this song I couldn't stay away. Fun fact: it's assumed that "Eleanor Put Your Boots On" was written about the Fiery Furnaces' female vocalist, Eleanor Friedberger.

18. Gary Jules - Mad World

19. Tears for Fears - Mad World

I was aware of the cover version back in '05, when I watched "Donnie Darko" for the first time at Shawn's place. (I was less than impressed with the film, by the by. As Jack Serpentine would say, "I can't believe the indie community lied to me.") These mp3s were up for grabs in '06, and hence put into heavy rotation. I kept looking for the Tears for Fears version at karaoke bars, but no dice. The Gary Jules version is now being used in a commercial for a video game.

20. Of Montreal - Wraith Pinned to the Mist (and other games)

Adrienne made a CD for the road trip to Minneapolis/IKEA that Corinne and I took in January. That's where Corinne found this song -- she had to play it at least 10 times. Jesus. But then again, it was a good change of pace from the 5 disc audiobook we listened to: Sarah Vowell's "Assassination Vacation". Of Montreal sold this song to Outback Steakhouse, and the music is now used in their commercials.

21. Dave "Diamond" Damm - Cherry Cherry

I went to several good concerts this year, but I was most excited to see my friend Dave play the hits of Neil Diamond in May '06. I walked around the house shouting "CHERRY CHERRY!" all day. We ate cheesesteaks in the evening, and arrived at the Jazzhaus before the band began to set up. I got kind of drunk. I danced like a moron. It was a good night. I hope to do it all again this Saturday night.