fuck the pain away, part 2

i should know better than to devise pre-emptive blog posts, because if i wait longer than 15 minutes to muse on a topic then i will certainly lose interest. the other day in the car, i imagined up a pretty good dissertation re: joanna newsom and why me and her should move to narnia and get down with mr. tumnus for life. it made me happier than most things do these days. then i got bored and days passed and i burned my hands off at work and i can't get the musicbloggery to come out of my charred fingers any more. basically, the gist is that her new album, ys (italics for album titles, anyone? quotation marks? damned if i know. someone get out yr mla stylebook and help a dump), moves me in a way i haven't been moved since explosion in the sky's the earth is not a cold dead place. if you know me, i guess you might know that that's kind of a big aural deal. if you don't know me (or don't care about how i get down to post-rock), i mean, the best way to explain my love for the earth...is that the album is 3 years old and i still get shivers when i listen to it. every time. which is often. also, i silently wept when i saw them live, and i sure as fuck am not the silently weeping type.

so yeah, joanna newsom, pretty much every bit as good as cap'n guthrie might lead you to believe. so i'll let my review stand at "fucking great" and let the cap'n hammer the point into the ground.

and then there was the thing about peaches. i saw her live nearly 2 weeks ago now, mostly on a total whim, and i got so pumped about being a girl that i wanted to write the most pro-vag piece i could muster. then, same deal, days passed, and then unfortunately i got kicked in the guts by the monthly cycle. now my ovaries hurt and being a girl sucks. so much for that. but for a time there, i really wanted to believe that i could make men do whatever i wanted. there was absolutely no existing evidence for that, and quite a bit to the contrary, but dammit i felt like i could. thanks for that, peaches.

so now i'm off to the nyc to hang out with some people (guthrie, gorgeous, and papa parcell) that i'm half convinced now exist only inside computers. 00101011, dudes.