It's been a while since I've posted a music blog. And this year has been an exceptionally great year for music. And so I've picked out my favorite 5 songs that came out this year and the reasons why.
I'll Be Waiting, Adele - Holy crap this song is amazing. It's more upbeat than the other stuff off her fantastic 21 album, and it also feels like a timeless song. It's as if this song should have already existed. I'm surprised it hasn't been released as a single, but perhaps the greatness needs to be shared quietly among the masses.
Sunrise, Childish Gambino - The beat of this song is perfect accompaniment for a run, but stopping and listening to Donald Glover's lyrics will not only paint a vivid picture, but it'll also have you laughing your sneakers off. Any song with the lyric, "I've seen more than John Mayer's penis hole" easily enters classic territory for me.
Violin, Amos Lee - I was lucky enough to see this song live in a very small club in New York. The song is epic, but in the most intimate way possible. It worked perfectly in that small venue, but would easily be perfect while driving on a late summer afternoon with the windows down.
You and Me (But Mostly Me), TheBook of Mormon Original Cast - It's not easy to create a listen-able wink and nod to Wicked's Defying Gravity while being funny, pushing the narrative of the play further, and making a catchy song. But they did it. And it'll have you singing in the shower.
Your Love Is (Love Song with Metaphor), Paul and Storm - True this song didn't come out this year, but I came across this in my rapidly-expanding appreciation of Paul and Storm. It's pure genius in that it combines innocence and love with pure evil.
I started this on my Twitter feed last year, basically juxtaposing a good Christmas and a bad Christmas. As I have no other messages for this holiday season, I figured I'd give you the whole collection. Happy holidays!
Good Christmas: Sitting on Santa's lap. Bad Christmas: Shitting on Santa's lap.
Good Christmas: A morning spent opening presents. Bad Christmas: A morning spent opening cold sores.
Good Christmas: Singing carols to your neighbors. Bad Christmas: Singing carols to your prison guards.
Good Christmas: Roasting chestnuts. Bad Christmas: Roasting your nuts.
Good Christmas: Leaving cookies out for Santa. Bad Christmas: Leaving cookies out for Satan.
Good Christmas: Making a house out of gingerbread. Bad Christmas: Making a house out of sweetbread.
Good Christmas: Waiting for Santa to come down the chimney. Bad Christmas: Waiting for Santa to cum down the chimney.
Good Christmas: Hanging balls on the tree. Bad Christmas: Hanging infidels on the tree.
Good Christmas: Spending time with family. Bad Christmas: Spending time with the Manson family.
Good Christmas: Enjoying the warmth of the fireplace. Bad Christmas: Enjoying the warmth of Chlamydia.
Good Christmas: Looking at houses covered in Christmas lights. Bad Christmas: Looking at houses covered in landslides.
Good Christmas: Reciting the nativity. Bad Christmas: Inciting the natives.
This year, instead of going back through all the great things that have happened to me in 2011 (which was a lot), and talking about how much I love my family and friends, I'm taking a different course. I'm handing out my first-ever Asshole of the Year award. Granted, there are many people who should receive this award. Politicians, religious nut jobs, that Barista at Starbucks who fucked up the milk to coffee ratio in my caramel macchiato last week. But one guy takes the cake and I don't even know his name.
A few months ago, I was flying from San Jose to Houston when a loud, boisterous Texan got on and placed his out-of-place in Silicon Valley cowboy hat in the overhead bin. A few minutes after, a solider in camouflage attempted to put his stuffed bag into the same overhead bin without realizing the other man's hat rested comfortably inside. His bag was big, but with some finagling, he could have made it fit. The Texan began to flip out.
"What are you some kind of damn idiot?" he asked with a twang that reeked of regional cultural insensitivity. The soldier said nothing, took his bag out and looked for another bin. The Texan continued, "You goddamned fool!" Reaching into the bin, he grabbed his hat, "Oh man, look what you did. You bent my damn hat!" The solider apologized and let it go. The Texan was steaming, "You are a fucking idiot man. I swear to god." Still, the soldier let it go.
At this point, I was pissed. Now I wouldn't say anything because I'm a pussy who hates confrontation, plus I was several pages into Sky Mall at that point, but the nerve of this asshole yelling at a soldier for mistakenly touching his cowboy hat was enough to make me mutter to my seat mate, "Well, this guy is a fucking asshole."
And so, whoever that Texan with the crumpled hat is, you sir are my asshole of the year. I hope your horse runs through a bramble of roses, gets thorns stuck in its under carriage and mistakenly thinks you're a mare - finally butt raping you with a thorny horse penis.
The ride up from Laguna Niguel was hazy. Lindsey had a headache and was currently asleep in our rented minivan, mouth wide open, and snoring. Watching the clouds pour over the coastal mountains, I knew this wouldn't work. It was grey. It was cold. It wasn't perfect.
Then we made it to Santa Barbara and the clouds disappeared. It being Lindsey's birthday, I surprised her with three nights at the Four Seasons. We were both surprised when they upgraded us to a suite the size of a small European country (complete with gas fireplace and patio.) But everything was suddenly going as planned and it was time to man-up and get this started.
So we made our way to Butterfly Beach in front of our hotel and watched as the sun sank below the Pacific. (6:47pm ... a time indelibly marked into my brain as the time the sun sets in Santa Barbara on September 25th). Finally, I told Lindsey I had another birthday present for her, but this one was more dangerous.
The next part is a blur. I remember getting down on one knee. I remember unexpectedly tearing up. And I remember her saying yes ... which was probably most important.
And so, somewhere between 6:30 and 6:47 PST on Butterfly Beach outside Santa Barbara, Lindsey and I got engaged. And we have the photos to prove it...
And the surprise champagne and chocolate covered strawberries from Heidi were pretty amazing as well.
It should be stated that I'm not a good dancer. However, when I get a little tipsy, I like to think I'm a good dancer. And normally, my dancing skills only come out when I'm not dancing with my girlfriend. (See: dancing with my best friend's wife here.) Such was the case this past July as I made a fool out of myself on the dance floor at a wedding (again) ... dancing this time with my girlfriend's best friend.
Much like we did five years ago, Tim, Tom and I decided to head down the Mill River after a week of heavy rains. This time, we ditched the kayaks and replaced them with a white water raft ... with a slow leak.
