Writing: A playlist

Sorry for all these lame-ass posts lately but I seem to have caught Cory's cold and, frankly, it's taking every bit of energy I have to even think about this.


Obsessive compulsive listening, Courtney Barnett edition

Today in lieu of a real blog post (sorry, this month will probably see lots of, um, 'cheat' posts. It's November. I'm crazy busy, Also, sometimes, just lazy), I wanted to take a moment to insist you check out a song by one of my favorite current artists.

Throwback Thursday, '90s Sacramento pop edition

Been browsing through SN&R archives recently and came across this, my very first story published in the paper.

Saturday afternoon jam, March 22 edition

This must be the first Saturday in at least two months that my day has not been swamped with some sort of obligation, work-related or otherwise. I mean, don't get me wrong I've done a little bit of work (for school) but mostly this has been a very Saturday kind of Saturday: Lazy and unproductive.

Last night a clock radio changed my life

Sometimes I'm not entirely sure how I became such an OCD freak about music. Neither of my parents was really into music (my dad liked 70s folk/rock/pysch stuff and my mom's tastes skewed mainly soft rock).

Every 1's a winner

This Hot Chocolate song has made almost every single damn playlist I've concocted in the last eight months. It just narrowly escaped my annual holiday comp.

The song played over that scene in Frances Ha--you know the one when Greta Gerwig's character is in Paris, alone and trying to figure shit out--just did me in.

Your Saturday afternoon jams

Cory and I had a pretty chill Saturday afternoon--well once we got done talking to the tax woman (and not about poetry, unfortunately). After that though, it was all nice. There was sunshine and lunch and record shopping and driving around in the car listening to oldies, including The Coasters' "Poison Ivy," which turns out to be a favorite of Cory's.

Goodbye, Edith Piaf

You came down in late afternoon, bearing coffee and bags of sweets
That before your knock, I would have found unbearable

Edith Piaf played through the speakers like through a tin can

Predictable for a rainy day but because the first drop remained

We agreed: Perfection

In your face I saw the quietest of grief.
Soft and waiting.
But, also, joy.

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