Songs on Repeat: I'm Awake, At Last, Awake

It's weird writing a music post on a day like today, but since I don't actually listen to Michael Jackson on repeat (sorry, big guy), I don't feel too qualified to talk about his impact on my life, which is limited mainly to several disastrous attempts at moonwalking and being freaked out in general by his nose.

I will say one thing, however. The man could dance.

Moving on.

I was going to start off with something along the lines of "there are few songs that make me want to burst into spontaneous dancing," but this is not true. There are hundreds of songs that make me want to bust a move on subway platforms and such, but Bishop Allen's "Rain" is high at the top of that list.



Obviously, that lovely little bongo-drum-thing going on in the background has a lot to do with the whole dancing thing, but I am embarrassingly obsessed with Bishop Allen for a reason, and that's largely because all of their songs have a very carpe-diem kind of quality to them. It's why I play them when I'm trying to wake up in the morning and when I'm heading out to random indie shindigs and when I'm driving with the express purpose of getting lost. More than almost any other band I know, they manage to capture the sort of excited uncertainty that comes with being young and broke and in the middle of a massive city, which is more or less my summer right now. In short: well done, boys.

Tuesday Newsday: Can't Keep It In

Twitter and I have sort of a love-hate relationship, mainly because my life is usually not interesting enough to lend itself to minute-by-minute microblogging (although this does not appear to deter almost everyone else on Twitter). However, I have to give it props today, because it's part of the reason Iranian protesters have managed to organize massive demonstrations over the country's disputed presidential election for the past two days.

Reading some of the posts from Iranians on Twitter makes me feel like the most vapid person in the world. My most recent Twitter entries are on spotting Rob Pattinson outside my dorm yesterday, while the latest missives from Tehran are on violence and arrests and protests. It's scary stuff, but it's also pretty cool to follow what might be a revolution in the making.

"Citizen journalism" is not one of my favorite concepts, mainly because over here, actual journalists do it better (and more ethically, Mayhill Fowler). But in a country where the press has been banned from reporting on the streets, where foreign journalists' press credentials have been revoked, where the government is reportedly starting to crack down on electronic media, citizen journalism might be Iran's last best hope.

One By One All Day

I think I've written about five of these sort of apologetic posts since I started this blog, but because I a.) live in New York (well, temporarily) and b.) have a job (albeit unpaid), I am chalking my failure at blogging and life up to sheer busyness (yes, that is a word) and the following factors:

30 Rock. I work here. Bam.

Beaton, Kate. The reason I want to go to Canada as soon as possible/the reason I feel better for obsessing over obscure historical personages. Stalkee at my comics convention this weekend.

Blogging. What I do while I wait for my laundry to dry.

Boats, rowing across gorgeous lakes in upstate New York of. See WHY LIFE IS WORTHWHILE.

Broadcast personalities, the spotting of. So far, six.

Brooklyn, New York. Sometimes shadesville, always classy.

Comic and Cartoon Art, Museum of. Facilitator of the dorkiest thing I have done this summer, which is attend an indie comics convention, stalk down all my favorite webcomics artists, and freak out accordingly. See GEEKERY.

Decemberists, the. Best hyper-literate prog-rock indie-pop folk quintet around and apparently now powerful enough to sell out Radio City Music Hall Wednesday night for a concert of epic proportions. See SPASMODIC DANCING, CAUSES OF.

Goddard Hall. We have an elevator made out of plywood. Seriously. See RESIDENCE, PLACES OF.

Lemon, Liz. I am still secretly hoping to run into her. See IMPOSSIBLE DREAMS.

Manhattan subway system, the. I told a tourist how to get to Times Square the other week. See PRETENDING TO BE A NEW YORKER.

Maps of New York. Mine has disappeared.

Matthews, Chris. Technically, my boss, although I see him about once every few weeks because he films out of Washington and my internship is with Hardball's production team in New York. Drinks black coffee. Knows my name now, which is sweet.

Meconis, Dylan. Indie webcomic goddess and author of the brilliant Family Man. I met her last weekend, and it was fabulous.

MGMT, music videos of. Getting me through the week. See WILLIAMSBURG, THE ENTIRE POPULATION OF.

Mohonk Labyrinth, the. The most frightening thing I have ever done. See MOUNTAINS, CLIMBING OF and TERRIFYING DEATH CREVICES, SQUEEZING ONESELF THROUGH.

Novels, the reading of. Makes you look cooler on the subway.

Philadelphia Phillies, the. Who destroyed the Mets this week? Oh, right. See BASEBALL, THE DOMINATION OF.

Rain, the abundance of. It's June, not April. Come on. See APOCALYPSE, WEATHER OF THE.

Topic banners, the writing of. My job last week at Hardball. I am responsible for such gems as "The Looming Confirmation Battle" and "What's Next for the GOP?"

Village, the. Best place in the world. Besides Brooklyn. And Philly.