I like cakes. Not really eating them per se, but just the idea of a cake is pretty cool. When I worked at a craft store I'd always be fascinated by the cake decorating section, and I especially have some kind of obsession with fondant. Cakes covered in rolled fondant are so pretty. I wish I had the talents to make cakes do that.

I also love bad, ugly, terrible looking cakes. Cake Wrecks is the place to go to see what cakes would look like if I'd decorated them. Some of them are unappetizing, but most are just failed attempts at cake decorating mastery.

But no cake has ever come close to this cake.

Yeah, that's a cake. That you can eat. With your mouth.

Now, as a cat owner, I've seen my fair share of cat shit. Obviously. Going near the litter box is one of the many dreaded parts of my day. And in my apartment, we have not one or two, but four cats sharing three litter boxes. There is a lot of cat poop in our house at any given time. So I should find this cake funny and adorable, but I don't. I mean, I do, but I don't think I could even come close to stomaching eating it. But, the ingredients sound delicious, so I hope someone out there is enjoying this little masterpiece.

The turd hanging off the side is totally killer. I hate when that happens.

Also:

You've just been Rick Rolled by a cake. Because Rick Rolling is still a thing that people do.

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Why hello there.

Remember a few months back when I made a couple posts about Chicago band Like Pioneers? And you of course took my advice, dear reader, and checked them out and fell in love with their music, naturally? Well they've finally sort-of officially released their record Piecemeal today, and you should go and pay for it! It's up for buying on the band's Band Camp page, where you can preview the entire fucking thing (!), and if you buy all the songs you get a bonus track called "Paloma." So we all know what I'm doing tonight (besides having my boyfriend drive me to the mall to get my glasses fixed, obviously).

Listening to it now, I'm wondering what my feelings would be if I were hearing these songs for the first time. It still amazes me that they let me hear the songs when they did (little old me!), and I've fallen in a crazy amount of love with this album since April. I really feel like I'd be kind of emotionally overwhelmed on a day like today if I heard "Ike" for the first time. I barely slept last night (which is becoming more like "every night"), and this morning the right side of my glasses fell off. Again. And this time I couldn't get the screw lined up right to get the little glasses arm back on, and had to put in my contacts, which I last wore on a trip to Six Flags in August. Not to mention my contact prescription hasn't been updated in nearly 5 years. I'm essentially blind, except for the little clarity bubble that extends about two feet in front of me. Total crap day.

Anyway, I'm so so so happy these tunes are now available for everyone to experience. An honestly solid record by a group of musicians I just might have to fly to Chicago to see. If it comes down to that. And I kind of hope it does, because I've been itching to visit Chicago for years.

Oh, and I hope this comes out on vinyl. Do want.

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Hello, folks.

Sorry for the lack of updates as of late. I am one busy girl in this office. Also, I squeezed (squoze?) a vacation in there somewhere. Spent time in Florida with my grandparents. 'Twas nice, except for the fact that I spent four days of the vacation in the car, and most of the time down there I was in pain due to a super-clogged ear. But whatever, it was still nice. I am, however, probably the only person who can take a Florida vacation and come back without a tan, even though I made several attempts.

While I was away, I missed a tornado hitting Bridgeport. Since I've been back, my tap water runs brown.

What devilry is this?

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Thing I learned today:

Ligers are real. Yes, I was unaware that lion/tiger hybrids actually existed. And tiglons are a real thing too. Who knew? (Apparently, lots of people).

Also, this exists: Dancing Alone to "Pony." You know, that Ginuwine song that came out right before I started 7th grade and had all the kids grinding all up on each other at middle school dances?

Well, someone made a blog dedicated to posting videos of this kind of thing. It's pretty self explanatory.

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Hi blog. Sorry I've neglected you.

Could this coming Sunday be any more nerve-wracking? It's the much-awaited finale night for "LOST," of which I'm a big fan. It's also the night the Rian Johnson-directed episode of "Breaking Bad" airs, right in the middle of "LOST." What the hell, universe?

I'm trying to plan out my night. Do I stay home, where I don't have DVR, and watch the whole night of "LOST" stuff, miss "Breaking Bad," and have to catch up on Monday or Tuesday when I go visit my boyfriend? Do I take over my boyfriend's TV, because he does have DVR, and watch "LOST" until 10, pause it, watch "Breaking Bad," and then continue monopolizing their TV until well after midnight?

What's a girl to do?

Just read this already.

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I can't believe it's taken me this long to post about this. Other things, like timely show reviews and pointless rambling have gotten in the way. But now, it's time.

Waaaaaaaay back in February, I posted about something called Hipster Puppies. You know, it's one of those jokey hipster meme Tumblrs, centered around puppies. I blame Look at this Fucking Hipster for starting it all, but it's still good for a hearty chuckle every now and then. These kids basically make fun of themselves.

Now there's Baby Hipsters, Stuff Hipsters Hate, Unhappy Hipsters, How Hipsters Date, and probably more I haven't stumbled upon yet. They're all funny and smart, even if the formula's a little tired. It's kind of like how I Can Has Cheezburger? will never get old for me.

But there's another one that totally takes the cake. And eats it. And spits it out all over the other hipster blogs: Rosa DeLauro is a Fucking Hipster. Like we need another excuse to love Rosa here in New Haven. My personal favorite (although they're all good):

"This isn’t middle school.  Of course my bike is a fucking fixed gear."

Bloody brilliant.

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I saw an amazing show on Saturday. To get the full story, we have to travel backwards in time almost a year, to last year's B.O.M.B. Fest (speaking of, to all you kids freaking out about it this year, where were you last year?). We received a package here at the paper with a pair of tickets and press passes, and I kind of still liked Say Anything, and my boyfriend kind of wanted to see The Cool Kids, so we decided to go.

First off, Harkness Park was basically empty. There were maybe 100 people at the show in the afternoon. Maybe. It's hard to guess when there were small clusters of people sitting in the middle of a bunch of high school kids running around and screaming. I can't remember who was playing when we got there, but after getting some lunch, we decided to stand center-field and check out the next band. I saw a cello and violin come out on stage and immediately got giddy, as I have a serious soft spot/guilty-pleasure-without-the-guilt kind of love for string-heavy anything. The band was Horse Feathers, and they blew my tiny, tired mind. The sound wasn't great, as it was mostly carried away in the wind brought to the park by its proximity to water and that day's chilly, drizzly weather. But Horse Feathers spreads a sonic warmth over everything within sound's reach, and we felt it. We'd already been there almost an hour and were thinking about leaving (I catch colds easily in cold, wet weather), but there was no way we were leaving during Horse Feathers' set. I remember trying to look them up on my phone, and maybe I tweeted about it, but unfortunately, since I didn't have the means to procure any of their records at this festival (I can't even remember if there were any merch tables), they became one of those bands in the back of my mind, just outside whatever I was paying attention to. No fault of their own. They're fantastic.

Anyway, fastforward a couple months, to when my boyfriend is talking on the phone to an ex of his who now goes to grad school in Portland, Ore. She's excited about this new guy she's seeing, and starts talking about how he's in this band called Horse Feathers. Talk about small planets. He tells her how we'd just seen them at a festival back our way not that long ago, and we both liked them a lot but still didn't have any of their records. Months go by.

Horse Feathers played SXSW this year, but we didn't get a chance to see them. We were told it would be cool to go up to her boyfriend, the violinist, and be like "Yo, we know your girlfriend!" but we decided that was awkward even for us, and were bummed Horse Feathers didn't fit into the already tight show schedule we'd set out to complete or die trying (not really). I really wanted to see them again.

After we get home, we find out Horse Feathers is on tour, and playing my favorite city in Massachusetts to see shows in: Northampton. David's friend let him know she'd be on tour with them for a few dates in the Northeast, and invited us to come up for the show. Since they'd played Boston the night before, they had some downtime in Northampton before the show, which was supposed to start late enough but ended up starting even later because of the early show's headliner being allowed to exceed his allotted stage time. Annoying.

We easily found parking and walked to Main St. where all the action is. If you've never visited Northampton on a gorgeous spring day, what's the matter with you? So much to see. So we met up with David's friend Lesley and her boyfriend/Horse Feathers violinist and saw player extraordinaire Nate, and decided it was about damn time we had something to eat. We picked a sushi place called Osaka, and I stuffed myself to the brim while we ate outside on the deck. We certainly took our time eating and still had a ton of time to kill before doors were slated to open, so we decided to walk around some more. Found an art gallery showing Dr. Seuss prints and statuettes (AWESOME!), and an exhibit of paintings by Max Standley that absolutely blew me away. (You can see his images that are on display here.) He "hides" faces in his paintings. It's crazy. So cool.

After marvelling at all that art, it was almost door time, so we made our way over to Center Street to wait outside of the Iron Horse Music Hall's heavily-postered entrance. The early show was still going on. More waiting. Eventually a line formed, and we ended up in the middle of it just by standing in the same spot. Nate got us in early, and we grabbed a table with a good view. I've been to the Iron Horse a couple times before, and always have shitty luck at the bar. No one wants to serve me. I can only attribute this to me not being a "hot chick" or a "dudebro." Needless to say, I was so so so happy when we learned that it was all wait service for people sitting at tables. Our waitress was attentive. Our drinks were cold.

After a little while, all the tables were filled, and we were all ready for some tunes. Opener Lay Low, a singer-songwriter from Iceland who was traveling with the band for a few dates, totally killed it. She exuded this adorable shyness, her voice was sultry and sweet, and her songs had that catchy folky/blues twang. At one point she commented that she'd never played for an audience so quiet, and someone shouted back "That's because we like it!" Truth. You can check out some of her music here. I would definitely love to see her play New Haven. So captivating.

Horse Feathers murdered their set and danced jubilantly on its corpse. Even with a couple minor technical difficulties (one of which was a broken string on leader Justin Ringle's guitar, whose changing led to a beautiful, haunting rendition of "Can't Help Falling in Love" by the other three members), the set was seemingly painless, with all members basically working together was one pulsating, breathing musical unit. Songs undulate and rise and fall, crescendo and decrescendo, and it all looked effortless. This band should be lauded merely for their synchronicity.

But it's the music you should really pay attention to. It's all the goodness of folk without any of the baggage of "country." I felt like I was sitting in the middle of a forest. If I were a tree sprite, and still had an iPod, Horse Feathers would be on it. The combination of acoustic guitar, violin, cello and banjo just drives me wild. Couple that with densely layered vocal harmonies and the occasional use of a tiny tiny drum kit, and I'm in musical heaven. Cellist Catherine Odell commands her instrument like it's an extension of her body, while occasionally providing auxiliary percussion. Nate Crockett handles the violin and makes it look like it plays itself. He plays the saw the same way. Multi-instrumentalist Sam Cooper, sitting behind what Nate called a "folk Swiss army knife" during the show (the small drum kit, a banjo, mandolin and some kind of organ[?]) provided punctuation and flourish to these already lush songs, sometimes playing drums and banjo at the same time, and sharing singing duties. And, of course, frontman Justin Ringle leading the way.

These songs are beautiful on record, but there's no comparison live. There's so much depth and warmth, I find it almost hard to believe you can get this much sound out of just four people. But I'm no expert.

I hope hope hope Horse Feathers tours close to Connecticut again in the future, if not stopping here altogether. I can't wait to hear "Working Poor" live again.

What extremely nice people. Thanks to Lesley and Nate for letting David and I into their world for a few hours.

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Last night seven kids from Cardiff, Wales, took what was left of my brain and melted it, along with my face and the rest of my head, and my entire body. In fact it's a miracle that I'm even sitting here in this chair typing this, and that's not because I got home past 3 a.m. last night (this morning?). Well, that's part of the reason. I'm not gonna lie, I'm pretty damn tired. But anyway. See I have this thing where I have a sort of mental checklist of things I need to do before I can feel complete, die happy, if you will. Not a bucket list per se, but more like a kind of growth chart. ANYWAY. Seeing Los Campesinos! live was on that list. And last night, despite Eyjafjallajokull's best attempts, they made it to the U.S. and made up their rescheduled New York City date last night, and I was there, and it was awesome.

The band's high energy stage presence makes for some intense crowd participation. I'm usually the last person on earth to jump around like one of the "kids," and I really really hate it when crowds are falling all over each other. But last night's LC! crowd, while doing all the jumping and flailing I expected, was pretty good at jumping up and down in straight lines and thus not smushing my feet in their attempt to "have a good time." It was much appreciated. That being said, it was hard not to get super into the songs, and a good chunk of the Los Campesinos! repertoire is rife with shoutable passages and spots for hand claps.

Singer Gareth Campesinos! (yeah, they all took on the surname, like you don't already refer to your friends in bands like that anyway) is like an angry bouncy ball shot out of a cannon in the housewares section of Target. His biting, insightful,observational commentary on his own life hits so close to home for me, and it was impossible to not shout self-applicable lines at the very top of my lungs. You know, the kind of lyrics  that end up in away messages and Facebook status updates on a bad day. Or just any day. Imagine being in the middle of a group of hundreds of people screaming "Shout at the world because the world doesn't love you. Lower yourself because you know that you'll have to." and meaning it. Every last word. Or a room full of angry early-20-somethings losing their breath over "I cannot emphasize enough that my body is a badly designed, poorly put together vessel, harboring these diminishing, so-called vital organs. Hope my heart goes first. I HOPE MY HEART GOES FIRST!" Tell me that's not some heavy shit.

Yeah, yeah, this is all just emo bullshit, you say. Well I say shut the hell up and let me enjoy my cranky, snarky way of dealing with things. I mean, these words, while not my own, definitely strike chords on my heartstrings, to the point where I'm battling inner demons with these lyrics as my only weapon. Shouting these lines which almost became like mantras to me over the past 14 months, it's like I'm finally applying their meanings to the people they apply to. I imagined a collection of people from my past lined up against a wall in front of me while I screamed along to "I cherish, with fondness, the day (before) I met you" at each and every one. It's cleansing. It's my way of writing shit down and the setting that piece of paper on fire. Not that I don't love lighting things on fire.

One thing I was surprised by: the seemingly anti-climactic crowd participation during "The Sea is a Good Place to Think of the Future." It's a brooding, slowly-building emotional epic about introspection while gazing out at the ocean, basically. A huge hard hitter for me, the epicness seemed to be lost on most of the crowd. Could be because it's very different than their sugar-fueled, bouncy rants that make up the bulk of their catalogue, but I honestly did expect more, given the weight of the song. Oh well, you say.

But dude, I found it awkwardly funny to hear myself singing these songs, so so loudly, with a British accent that I wish were real but sadly do not have. That's the way I sing along to this stuff in my car, and honestly I think it sounds weird not to, but man is it so weird hearing it out loud. We'd had a good bit to drink before the set, so it's not like I really cared, but I was laughing to myself almost the entire time anyway. I have no plans whatsoever to Americanize my in-car renditions, however.

Gareth made a couple excursions into the crowd, which sent most of us reeling backwards as the crowd parted to make room. I ended up on the front lines of his first trip out, and I couldn't help but reach out a hand and touch his shoulder as he passed on his way back to the stage. The 12-year-old fangirl in me took over, and couldn't resist passing up a chance I might've only gotten that one time. No, I'm not one of those crazy people that wants to never wash said hand again (anymore), OK , jeez.

So, yeah, it was a pretty amazing show. Cymbals Eat Guitars opened, and while we missed the one song I really wanted to hear because Irving Plaza forces you to check your bag, and pay to check it (grrrr), they still totally killed their set and danced on its corpse. Would definitely like to see those guys again too.

Here's a crappy picture I took with my phone!

I hope they come back soon!

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So, I had originally planned to make this post about a month ago. But, since I'd have been in Texas on the only relevant date it should have been posted, and posting it a week or so later was just silly, I decided to put it off, internalize it, and I'm writing it now. Unnecessary explanation time is over. Well, that's probably not totally true, but anyway.

March 21, 2000, was a momentus day in the life of soon-to-be-16-year-old me. It marked the release of boy band dreamboats *NSync's record No Strings Attached, and I of course had somehow coerced my poor mother into driving me to a Wal Mart (blegh) at midnight so I could get my grubby little hands on it. I probably forced her to let me listen to it in the car on the way home, too. Sorry, mom!

I must have listened to that CD almost unhealthily for months after its release. By this time, ten years ago, I'd have memorized everything and probably knew all the dances to the songs that had videos. If you ever wondered how I ended up this lame at 25, here is a glimpse. I have been, and always will be to some extent, a 12-year-old fangirl on the inside for anything I'm currently loving/obsessing over. But it didn't start in 2000, or 1998 when I first started listening to *NSync, or in 1997 when I discovered Hanson. I have been this way my entire life. (Mom, remember when you told me you thought the New Kids on the Block  were in the same Boston McDonalds as us when I was like, 6? And I freaked out so much I think I had my first panic attack?) I started early. I'm a nervous person. Anyway.

Having a record on CD that eventually makes it to your iPod allows you to temporarily put aside some of the nostalgia of listening to it. Yeah, the songs sound the same and I can access them anytime I freakin' want, but it doesn't really hit me how old this album is, how long I've had it, and how much I've changed since it came out if I'm not actually holding the jewel case in my hands and having flashbacks of carrying it around back in the day. It's something I think about often. At this stage in my music consumption career, everything was on CD and organized haphazardly somewhere in my room. I guess I hadn't yet developed what would become my pseudo-OCD organizational tendencies yet. I had to make sure my Discman had enough batteries if I had to sit through any kind of long car ride, and I carried my giant CD wallet around with me everywhere. I was annoying even to myself.

But now with my iPod, all the "guilty pleasure" stuff I still have is basically out of sight, out of mind. I don't think about this stuff until I need to, which has allowed me to compartmentalize what I consider to be my "library" and my "tastes" without actually having to hide certain records from my friends. I mean, occasionally at a party a friend will start going through my iPod and we'll inevitably get into the "Ewwww, why the hell is that on your iPod!?" fight, to which I usually just respond, "I do what I want!" ala Eric Cartman. Sometimes I get defensive. Other times I've already endured years of torment at the hands off schoolmates and friends over a certain band that I don't even give a shit anymore when people rag on me for liking them. Still, there's some stuff on there that really should just be a secret, between me and Big Tuna (yes, I named my iPod), like a good stash of porn. Or the candy drawer in your desk. And even rarer still are the moments when I can bust out Rockapella's "Where in the World is Carmen San Diego" theme song (the full end-credits version, complete with a line about when the show is on), and the response is usually, "Why do you have this?!" in the excited sense. Why do I care so much about what's on my iPod? Even I don't know. But I'm digressing.

Back to No Strings Attached. After I initially wore it out, I'd still listen to it occasionally, but less often now than maybe 5 years ago. One time in particular stands out, when I was an intern at Riot Act Media along with my friend Anna Marie, and we took a ride up to Mohegan Sun with RAM then-owner (and our favorite boss) David Lewis for Anna Marie's farewell lunch/day of ridiculousness. I'm pretty sure Anna Marie had the CD in her car, and that we weren't listening to it off my iPod. This is important because there isn't room for a ton of CDs in people's cars. (We'd also listened to Panic at the Disco!'s A Fever You Can't Sweat Out on the way up, but I hadn't gotten into them yet. Like it matters.) All I remember from this car trip is both of us rocking the hell out to "It Makes Me Ill" while laughing hysterically at ourselves. It was a telling prelude to how the day would go, as I ended up almost barfing up my lunch at Johnny Rockets while watching the waitpersons dance and sing to "Respect," and then Anna Marie and I locked ourselves inside a sauna at Brookstone accidentally. It was a very good day.

Listening to this album now, though, some of it is unlistenable. While I'm happy to think that my music tastes have grown in certain ways, while knowing I'll probably always shamelessly love a good pop song (if I allow myself to, that is), part of me is a little bit sad that I now dislike parts of something that I once loved so much. It's the part of me without ears, though, because seriously. Some of these songs are just bad. Not even awesomely bad. Just not good. But a good chunk of it is the cream of the cheesy early-'00s radio pop crop. I remember when I'd take a lot of heat for listening to them in high school, mostly from the kids in my band and chorus classes. I mean, those were probably the classes where I allowed myself to open up the most, as I was in my element, so to speak. The chicks in my chorus class who were also in the advanced singing ensembles made fun of me until "This I Promise You" popped up as one of our spring concert selections for some reason, in either my junior or senior year. I can't remember, it's all the same to me. As soon as they thought they might be able to put their spin on the solos, *NSync was suddenly kind of cool, but instead of finally leaving me alone about it, they thought it was time to sort of "bond" over mutual love of the song. Nope. Fortunately for everyone, our choir teacher was like "No radio solos!" and I sighed a sigh of relief.

No Strings Attached certainly hasn't stood the test of time, when compared with other 2000 releases I still listen to. A big one is Hanson's This Time Around, their follow up to 1997's uber-hated-by-the-masses-who-weren't-12-year-old-girls debut, Middle of Nowhere. That album does not feel 10 years old to me. At all. It sure sounds like it came out years after Middle of Nowhere, since puberty happened to 2/3 of the band, but they've also been growing as musicians and songwriters their entire lives, so it makes sense that every record would have some kind of hint of gradual maturity to it. In fact, a brief scroll down Wikipedia's list of albums released in 2000 reveals a mixed bag of stuff I'd either listened to then and have since abandoned, a few records I still like, and a bunch of stuff from bands I'm listening to now. Would I still be listening to these records if they weren't so easily accessible? I'm not sure. But at least I know that I can't blame my laziness for growing out of a band. Not all the time, anyway.

I think it's time for me to start going through my iPod and taking a listen to some stuff from 2000. I think it'll be interesting to see what still resonates and what I've completely grown beyond. Still working on being OK with deleting stuff off my iPod, even when I have room for it. That's something I haven't yet come to terms with. Working on it, though.

It's a metaphor, fool.

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So, I should be really excited for tomorrow. I was supposed to go into New York City to see Los Campesinos! at Irving Plaza. It would mark the first time I'd get to see the band live, and they are one of my favorite bands and have put out one of my favorite records of the year so far (duh, you all know this). But thanks to that goddamn volcano in Iceland that I'm not even going to attempt to spell out, the band is stuck in the UK and the show's been moved to Monday. IF they can get over here in time for that one. I mean, it's better than the show being canceled, and of course I want the band to be safe more than I want them to get the hell over here, but I can't pretend I'm not expecting this show to get canceled too.

They were supposed to fly out on the 15th and make a bunch of stops before hitting New York. Boston was supposed to have a show on the 24th. Originally, my boyfriend and I saw the Boston show as an unexpected golden opportunity as we'd be up that way for a wedding. Then we figured out that the wedding wasn't actually IN Boston, and got tickets to the New York show. Cue excitement.

But ever since I saw the band's tweet about being unable to fly out of the UK on Thursday last week, I've been waiting for this show to end up canceled in the same way that you'd watch a tire at a Nascar race zoom toward your head: unable to do anything but just sit there and stare at it until it happens. I will needless to say be beyond disappointed if Monday gets here before Los Campesinos! do.

So today, to celebrate the possible impending doom caused by all the flight cancellations, I'm listening to LC! and trying to get excited anyway. I usually subscribe to the crazy superstitions over listening to a band on the day you're going to see them, having found it to be incredibly unlucky for me. My friends disagree, but I stand by my beliefs. I'm wondering if I should listen to them tomorrow even though the show is no longer happening on that day. I feel like I might jinx something. Yes, I know this makes me a crazy person.

That's what's really keeping Los Campesinos! and other bands like Frightened Rabbit, and their fans, on total edge for the last week. Curse you, lightning cat!

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