ZOOL.

God, I wish my fridge opened into another dimension populated by strange dog-like demons who spoke to me. Life would be so exciting! Maybe I would finally have someone to play Boggle with.

So lately I am loving Regina Spektor's "Hotel Song". There are worse things than suddenly breaking into song at your place of work with the lyric "a little bag of cocaine" ... I think. I've been finding Regina pretty hit and miss though. Either I love her stuff (Hotel Song, Samson, On the Radio) or the very sound of her voice hitting syllables all over the place makes me want to burst my ear drums with jagged chopsticks.

I've also been digging Seu Jorge's "Life On Mars" cover (think The Life Aquatic ... the guy who sings David Bowie tunes in French Portugese. Christ, Sovereign.) and "Ping Island Lightning Strike Rescue Op", which I might have mentioned last post. I figure it needs a mention again, because if y'all aren't dancing to that song like it's 1978 and you're overcome with the rhythm of the night, then you are MISSING OUT. And are no longer cool. And no one will sit with you at lunch in the caf. And Todd Valento won't ask you out for Spring Formal, and you will stay at home that night with your mom watching Wheel of Fortune, slowly adding layers of fat directly to your thighs with the aid of Doritos and emo tears.

But then again, what do I know. I didn't roll with a lot of guys back in high school because I spent most of my time between the computer lab, library and my basement room when putting pants on and not sleeping proved much too hard, so my prom date was Tanya Martyn. We were the most stylin' prom couple ever. My one bitter regret is that we didn't make prom King and Queen. On a sidenote, I remember when I first got my license I would drive the Buick to school ... a giant grey boat that really should've belonged to someone sixty times my age so that they could drive it recklessly around the elementary school ... and I would gaze out of it from the window in my Creative Writing class, longingly, desperately, sensually. I'd usually end up missing my afternoon class because the pull of my 1992 Buick would eventually have me running outside in slow motion, slipping behind the wheel and rekindling my love affair with Taco Time.

I am not sure why my Prom Date story lead to that Buick memory, only that I've gone far too long on this blog not mentioning either of those awesome events and .... really. Five years later, I think it's time.

Anyways, I must go prepare for the coming of Gozer, but I promise to update more often. Or at least make some vague attempt to stop making empty promises.

Labels: Film Geekery, Suitcase of Memories