Why is everything so much better in Paris?

Back in 2005, Bloc Party's Silent Alarm album was one of my Best Of albums, and "This Modern Love" was probably my favorite track.  It was both upbeat, but also pretty melancholy, and so I was totally into the fact that I could dance around singing lyrics like "baby, you've got to be more discerning/I've never known what's good for me" without feeling ridiculously emo about the whole thing.  This video for an acoustic version of the song, which was recently filmed by "Take Away Show" outside of a Parisian pub, sounds more desolate than any other version of the song I've heard and yet something about it makes me just so happy.  Perhaps it's the panning of the camera to show all the people who have gathered to listen, or the man who comes outside to have a smoke and seems totally surprised but unimpressed by whole scene:

Bloc Party, 'This Modern Love' - A Take Away Show from La Blogotheque on Vimeo.

Still, it doesn't warm my heart nearly as much as the "Take Away Show" video of Menomena's acoustic version of Wet & Rusting, one of my favorite songs from 2007:



Really, there's nothing that can top the cuteness of those little French children.  I wish I could make that little boy just appear whenever I need a little bit more awesome in my life.

If the party starts at 9:30, I will be there at 8!

Yesterday I took the day off to volunteer for my CSA and then to head to the MET to catch a member's only preview of the new exhibit Philippe de Montebello: Curators Celebrate Three Decades of Acquisition (more to come on that when I actually have time to write a thoughtful summation of a truly spectacular and intellectually exhausting show).  So, what did I choose to do when I got home and had a hurting brain?  You guessed it.  I watched the newest ridiculousness to hit the Bravo reality circuit, The Real Housewives of Atlanta.  At first, I didn't think I'd be able to tolerate it, but then NeNe–who is without a doubt the most genuinely hilarious and unselfconscious character–decided that she'd interpret a song that Kim–who is an aspiring country singer, has two children, is financially supported by a mystery celebrity she calls "big poppa," and who claims to be 29 (I call complete and utter shenanigans)–wanted to record with Dallas Austin.  It was the trashiest, funniest two minutes of television I've watched in a long while and I couldn't be happier that Tracie (formerly known as SlutMachine) over on Jezebel thought it was good enough to capture on video.  Since I'm mostly html illiterate, I can't figure out how to embed the video, so head on over the check it out and be prepared to lawl at work.

Is she a femme fatale?

via Stereogum

Looks like The Long Blondes have been forced to call it quits because their guitarist suffered a stroke earlier this summer and they aren't sure when or if he'll be able to return to the instrument.  This makes me really sad because a) what a tragic reason to have to break up a band b) how sweet that the entire band is behind him and is choosing to go their separate ways instead of deciding to replace him with someone else and c) Giddy Stratospheres is probably one of my favorite songs of all time and it's sad that it seems to be heading to an early grave.  Still, I'm glad that I was able to see them last year and dance my pants off this gem of a tune:

For the record, I also highly recommend Autonomy Boy for immediate download.

A Green Crab's Shell

I was just reading through Publishers Lunch and noticed that one of my favorite poets of all time, Mark Doty, has been nominated for the National Book Award.   Reading him makes me nostalgic for high school and the days when I really fell in love with the craft of writing.  While I've never considered myself a poet, I can say with a certain amount of confidence that, when writing poetry, I often tried to mimic the language and style of Doty (and, to a certain extent, Eavan Boland) and my adoration of him all started with the poem below.  (I'm sure I'm breaking some sort of copyright law here, but, well, it's all over the Internets).

A Green Crab's Shell
by Mark Doty

Not, exactly, green:
closer to bronze
preserved in kind brine,

something retrieved
from a Greco-Roman wreck,
patinated and oddly

muscular. We cannot
know what his fantastic
legs were like--

though evidence
suggests eight
complexly folded

scuttling works
of armament, crowned
by the foreclaws'

gesture of menace
and power. A gull's
gobbled the center,

leaving this chamber
--size of a demitasse--
open to reveal

a shocking, Giotto blue.
Though it smells
of seaweed and ruin,

this little traveling case
comes with such lavish lining!
Imagine breathing

surrounded by
the brilliant rinse
of summer's firmament.

What color is
the underside of skin?
Not so bad, to die,

if we could be opened
into this--
if the smallest chambers

of ourselves,
similarly,
revealed some sky.

It's so beautiful and so masterful.  I  can almost smell the salty air along the shore, and can see with perfect clarity the Giotto blue from his Italian frescoes.  Congrats, Mark, you are so deserving of this great honor.

Sarah Palin: Sentenced

This humorous and cute little article from Slate (thanks for the link, Vives) makes the point about Sarah Palin that I've been arguing for a long, long time.  Do we want someone who sounds like "an undergraduate who stayed up all night boozing instead of studying for the exam" to be our Vice President (and, let's not forget, potential President should McCain be elected, cross off the last item on his bucket list and then kick the actual bucket).  While I certainly understand that we need a (vice) leader who is relatable, I don't think that should mean we need that person to sound like the lowest common denominator of American intellect, even if he or she is actually sort of smart.  Sigh.  Is Obama president yet?

Vote or Die

Even though Diddy comes across as being mostly ridiculous in this video, I can't help but agree with him.  Sarah Palin scares me, too.  She'd probably scare me more than the boogie man, if I believed in that sort of thing.

Seriously, though, I cannot wait for this debate tonight.  It's too bad what she might say is so unexpected that you can't prepare a drinking game ahead of time. (Which, by the way, is what my friend Jodie did for Friday's debate and it was awesome.  An example of a rule: Any time John McCain mentions his time as a POW, salute the tv and then take a drink.)

Red Moon

You know how sometimes, even when you try very hard to avoid it, you have a song that just won't leave you alone?  For the past month or so, I seem to always be singing (in my head) The Walkmen's Red Moon even if I haven't been listening to the album or song in days.  Sometimes, I wake up and there it is, and it sort of freaks me out that I seem unable to escape it.  The brass section of the song makes it feel timeless and even though it is ultimately a gorgeous song, the sadness that underlines it is, I think, what keeps me coming back.  Really, my heart breaks a little bit every time I hear last 45 seconds or so.  Sigh.

How to not win dates or the Nobel Prize

You know what is really effing precious?  Men with really cute, really tiny puppies.  Like this little fella:

You know what is sort of heinous?  When that guy says, "yeah, I got him because my girlfriend doesn't love me anymore."  True story.  Happened last night at Daddy's in Brooklyn.   At least he wasn't also playing nudie photo hunt?

In other, unrelated news, this crap about the Nobel Prize is outrageous.  I guess I can't really argue against Americans being, in general, "insular" but I would argue that those Americans aren't the ones who are writing the sort of books that could be in contention to win the Nobel Prize.  See, this is why we need elect Obama, because the entire world thinks our country is ignorant and incapable and we will only perpetuate that world view if we elect McPain.