Beth's Must List 8/30

5) "Brighter than Sunshine" by Aqualung. This song has been driving me crazy, in a good way. Very catchy song-writing--think of a happy Elliott Smith. I couldn't be more pleased about it being in the top 10 of mainstream radio.
4) CNN Coverage Of Hurricane Katrina. New Orleans is 80% underwater, and you're not going to watch? We're talking refugee camps in the U.S., people.
3) The 40-Year-Old Virgin. One of the first consistently funny movies I've seen this year (besides Wedding Crashers). Somehow manages to be both hilarious and sweet, despite a premise that could have easily been neither.
2) Google Talk. Skeptical at first, but this is a strong program. It provides the normal IM functions, but you can also call anyone on your buddy list and chat direct for free. The audio is crystal clear, too--all you need are speakers and a microphone (most people have this, although inexplicably Smith does not). If you'd like an invite (which you must have to join), let me know.
1) "Paste" Magazine. This is the music magazine I've been looking for to replace Rolling Stone. In fact, some people have described it as the "thinking man's Rolling Stone". Thoughtful, in-depth interviews with good artists (Death Cab For Cutie, Damien Rice, Ben Harper) as well as sophisticated coverage of other media such as books, films, and concert reviews. On top of this, each issue comes with a full length CD sampler, featuring all the music covered in that month's issue. No more reading an album review and trying to decide if the CD's worth tracking down--the proof is in the pudding. Highly recommended.

If You're Nerdy And You Know It, Clap Your [Pale & Sweaty] Hands

I really want to make fun of these guys. They are, after all, essentially having a Starcraft LAN party in a public place. I discovered them by accident as I popped out of Horizon Books, and had a good laugh about it. (I had already bumped into Loren playing Sorry! outside of Mustards earlier that day). But two things disqualify me from having the right to tease, much as I'd like to:

1) I initially left the boys to their gaming, but decided later it'd be nice to sit outside and read the newspaper, so I returned. Smith took this to mean that I had nothing better to do than watch them play Starcraft. I contest that it's simply more enjoyable to be out in fresh air with friends nearby than to stay holed up in one's apartment. Katy showed up not too long after, so I was in good company. We sat and ate Fun-Dip that a stranger had given us out of a paper bag, and revelled in the defiance of all the basic survival principles we'd learned in kindergarten. (I didn't die, Katy--did you?)
2) But here's the other thing: I'm something of a geek myself. It took awhile to admit it, but there you go. The thing is, every single person on this planet is a geek in some way--and if you think you're cool, you're kidding yourself. For example, I am a huge fan of Harry Potter. I think the books are excellent. They've actually prompted me to get back into reading, something that's been sorely missing from my life. Also, I love studying. I'd take college classes well into old age if I could (who knows, maybe I will). I love anything to do with words and language, and I like strategy games. I watch CNN approximately 3 hours a day. I used to have a crush on Conan O'Brian, but now I'm more of a Jon Stewart girl. And I range from being something of an introvert on good days, to an all-out loner on bad ones. Being at the center of the party has never been my thing.

So this begs the question: who am I to judge them?

And come to that....who are you to judge them?

Instead of sweating over what other people think, why not embrace your inner geek and just confess what makes you uniquely nerdy. It'll be liberating---all that pretense of coolness can be exhausting. For example: Katy, you could share with everyone how Loren is teaching you to play Magic. Get the idea?

If you must insist you're cool, go ahead and put up your best defense. But I promise, the rest of us will be able to tell you what you've overlooked.

An Ode to The Apartment's Former Glory

There are many things missing from the frat-boy apartment on Union Street, where Kyle, Loren, Aaron and Justin live. A vacuum cleaner, to start. A dishwasher. Lysol. A female inhabitant to combat the overwhelming smell of gym. There are, in fact, very few things that the apartment doesn't need. I've always been hard-pressed to find one....that is, until I came over last Saturday, and found a strip pole in the living room.

I'd like to say this was some crazy idea of Aaron's or Justin's. Even Loren couldn't be ruled out--as Rob Stow noted, Loren's ideal woman would be a hot, genius grad student who strips her way through law school. Any of these guys could easily be responsible for something like this. Hell, even Baylee is still technically a roommate--and I have no doubt he could mysteriously whip a strip pole out from underneath his cot. But none of these fellows were to blame. Instead, it was... Kyle. Kyle brought the strip pole in. Any emotional damage that occurs to those who witness it being used (not all girls were built to be strippers), must be traced directly to him. He's an upstanding insurance agent by day, and mayor of Sin City by night. (Kyle inherited the strip pole from his sister when she moved, so in fairness he didn't go out and buy it or anything. But a strip pole in that apartment can only bring sadness.)

The rest of the story was inevitable. We returned Saturday from a fantastic night of back-to-school Kart at Lars' house to an apartment that had all the uneasy tensions of an impending party: hip-hop music drifiting out from Aaron's room, people we'd never seen before standing awkwardly in the living room, liquor bottles and shot glasses lined up by the sink. We immediately headed to bed, nevermind that it was only 10:30. Kyle can sleep through anything. I, however, tossed and turned as the following events transpired outside our door:
*Throngs of people gathered in the hallway and kitchen to scream, drink, and hit/drop things
*Justin and Dani had a huge fight in Justin's room
*Someone started puking violently in the bathroom, audibly missing the toilet. They must have locked themselves in, because at one point Aaron was beating on the door and screaming, "Open the fucking door NOW, goddamn it!"
*The unmistakable smell of marijuana started drifting up from the stairwell

By the time Spin yelled "Who left the gas burner running on the stove?" I was wide awake. Figuring all the sober people could easily burn to death in their beds, I got up and went on a food run, then hung out in the computer room (safe haven for the sane) until everyone went home. I thankfully missed the hour or so where Megan was walking around topless.

As this party was only the latest in a string of bad parties, I didn't think much about it. But when I remember all the good times we used to have there, it's hard to ignore how much the apartment now sucks. Baylee is leaving soon for U of M, and our little Loren is going off into the world to study at MSU. Kyle is working at Farm Bureau, I'm at Hagerty. Everyone is growing up, moving on. I have fond memories of the apartment, but it's not the same anymore. It's a different crowd--most of them drunk, unemployed, and/or homeless. And my priorities are starting to change. Getting wasted and puking down the stairwell doesn't look glamorous anymore, just sad.

So with that---farewell, old apartment! We'll miss you....just not as much as we once thought.

I Went To Warped Tour And All I Got Was This Lousy Sunburn

I am a brunch person. I am a forgiving brunch person; I will overlook burnt toast, the occasional stale bagle, even O.J. from a can. That is how much of a brunch person I am. So it is with great confidence that I can say that I will never, under any circumstances, eat the Sunday brunch at T.G.I. Friday's again. There are Zimbabwean babies who would not touch that food. Miraculously, Kyle made the most of it.

It was the beginning of a long day.

Warped Tour is admittedly not my first choice of music festivals. I do like some punk/rock/emo bands, but not very many. Mostly I like shopping for cool band t-shirts no one else has. But this year, something was missing. And that something was: clouds. Oh sweet clouds, mystical protectors of the Irish people. There is a reason the sun does not shine in Ireland. If someone with Irish blood is exposed to the sun for more than 10 minutes, they will immediately burst into flames. My father is a great example of this; most of my childhood memories are of a gigantic flaming red man limping back to the car from the beach, screaming whenever we accidentally touched him. So with no clouds to protect us (me especially), Kyle and I both got badly sunburned approximately 17 minutes into the festival.

We'd only been there a few hours when we split up, Kyle to go in a mosh pit and me to hunt down some much-needed ice cream. Warped Tour is one of those places, like the movie theater, where under certain circumstances--mostly a lack of alternatives--you will gladly wait in a long line and pay $3 for a water, or $5 for an ice cream cone. And you won't even die inside more than a little. So I was waiting in line for ice cream going on 25 minutes, and was finally getting near the front. As I practiced my lines---"Double-dip mint chocolate chip, waffle cone, please"--I noticed that things were beginning to look...darker. And fuzzier. And they were moving too fast. Then suddenly a blonde girl with a giant ice cream smiley face apron was swirling in front of me, and it was the big moment to say my lines, but what I really said was something like, "Double-dip me waffle mint please." Somehow she understood my request, because next thing I knew I was holding a waffle cone, and the next thing the guy behind me knew, he was holding an unconscious girl whose waffle cone had just dropped on his shoe.

Luckily, this story has a happy ending. I got loaded on to an EMS golf cart, driven over to where the firetrucks were spraying the crowds, and was revived back into nauseous reality. Also, I got another ice cream cone, which was all I was really concerned about; to wait in line for almost a half hour in the sweltering sun, only to pass out just as you finally get to order, is something only Orwell could appreciate. Kyle emerged from the most pit and it was decided we'd leave early, missing most of the bands we came to see. But it was a good learning experience. Next year I will stay in Traverse City for the film festival, and Kyle can go alone and buy the cool band t-shirts for me. Some solutions are so brilliantly simple that you just overlook them.

Fianlly, to the owner of the silver sedan parked next to us at the Silverdome: sorry about that. We were in a hurry to leave because I was sick, plus we didn't have anything to write with. But say, wasn't that some festival?

Post Your Film Festival Stories Here

I missed most of the Film Festival this year because of my trip downstate. I did go see Jaws at the Open Space, which was a great time in spite of the rain (we had the best seats in the house--thanks Aaron). And Loren and I went to the film panel Friday morning. But that was the extent of it for me this year. So how'd it go?