Drunk Penguin

The First 3.1 Miles

2009-09-16T21:03:00.000-07:00

When I started the beginner's running program, C25K, this March, it stunned everyone who knew me. Far from being a runner, I had always been decidedly anti-running: "Why would anyone run unless they were being chased?" I absolutely hated it. And then, as I took on the C25K challenge just to show myself that I could accomplish whatever I put my mind to, I really started to love the feeling of pride I felt after running farther than I had before.

For the past 3 months, the extreme heat here in Southern Nevada has forced me to run only at night or early in the morning. Occasionally, in the middle of the day, I catch myself wishing it were cooler, just so I could go out and run.

This morning I ran week 9, day 1 of the program - 30 minutes - and then I kept going, until I reached 3.1 miles. It took me close to 40 minutes, but I did it. And on this coming Saturday, I'll run my first 5K. I'm certainly not expecting to get an amazing time. Just finishing it will be a victory that I could never have imagined just 6 months ago, and I'm looking forward to more to come.

As a side note, I just finished putting together my playlist for the race. Check the radness:

Yeah, my power song is by Jonathan Coulton. I don't care. That song was MADE for running. And yes, that is THE Final Countdown starting things off. You like it.

Checking in.

2008-08-24T12:09:00.001-07:00

Psst... Are they gone?

{Takes a sweeping glance around the empty spaces}

Okay, we can get back to it. Give me a second. I'll be right back.

We're on Mars.

2008-05-26T19:46:00.001-07:00

Truly amazing.

Violet Hill Alternate Video

2008-05-18T22:30:00.001-07:00

I'm not a big fan of Coldplay, but their new song Violet Hill (and accompanying alternate video, below) have me thinking I might need to check out the new album set for release in June. ...Or maybe not. Either way, the video's good for a nervous laugh.

"From the windows, they were watching while we froze down below..."

Much more entertaining than the original video, made up of Coldplay's usual fall-flat video stylings.

I cannot describe this.

2008-04-02T21:02:00.001-07:00

The strength of this urge is so GREAT - at times - my gritted teeth and clenched fists and straining ears can barely contain me - clawly at my shell - a NEED to crawl into another - the box of some crunching song or other - right there, all feedback and warm kick drum.

And you shake and you bleed while I sing my song...

You Ruined Everything

2008-03-30T17:58:00.001-07:00

If I ever wanted children - which I don't - and if I ever created a slideshow of pictures of my creepy little baby - which I won't - this would totally be the background music.

Leave it Jonathan Coulton to come up with a song like this that I actually like.

Falling Behind

2008-03-30T15:27:00.001-07:00

The next iteration of the Xbox needs to materialize soon.

The PS3, flawed gaming system that it is, is currently the cheapest and most versatile blu-ray player you can find. Then there's the Wii, which for all its shortcomings, is a fun little novelty and still offers a very usable and (for the Wii) sophisticated web browser.

Now that HD-DVD has been officially pronounced dead and the Xbox 360 still lacks a worthwhile internet browser, the 360 finds itself behind the pack in everything but gaming. For a console that was touted as being the home's all-in-one entertainment center, it's disappointing to find it becoming anything but.

As a sidenote: Third party applications such as MCEBrowser that are available for use on the 360 make internet browsing possible, just not practical. Frustrating to use at best, it's a poor substitute for functionality that should have been included from the start in a console distributed by the makers of the world's most popular internet browser.

Easy-post-isistible

2008-03-19T22:05:00.001-07:00

Oh goodness. Use your words, Jenny.

I can't.

Must...
post another...
video.

2008-02-02T17:19:00.001-08:00

Life Lessons

2008-01-27T23:25:00.001-08:00

50 Important Life Lessons

Among my favorites...

1. It’s better to sing off key than not to sing at all.

14. It’s not “political correctness” that dictates that we try not to insult others’ beliefs and identities. It’s common decency.

19. It’s never a shame when you admit you don’t know something, and often a shame when you assume that you do.

27. Four things that most people think are lame but really are a lot of fun: barn dancing, charades, volleyball and sing-alongs.

47. Your education isn’t complete until you’ve learned to take a hint.

49. Whatever your passion, pursue it as though your days were numbered. Because they are.

I don't have to care what you think.

2008-01-01T11:05:00.000-08:00

As with most of my minor epiphanies, this morning's probably won't last long. Let's hope it lasts all the way through this Los Campesinos song.

Smiles.

Drunken Rant #15

2007-12-21T20:52:00.000-08:00

Pretty Hate Machine is one brilliant album.
I was 9 years old when it came out, though.
That makes me feel less old than I have lately.

"But that's what I get..."

"Maybe it didn't mean too much, but it meant everything to me."

Oh. My brain operates behind walls 95% of my waking life, and when it escapes, in these mad drunken rushes, I scarcely know what to do with myself.

I do know that.... HAHA. Trent Reznor just growled, "I'm drunk and right now I'm so in love with you." You know. Love is really just a form of drunkenness. A kind of chemical imbalance that makes you feel all is right with the world.

"...the sweat in your eyes, the blood in your veins are listening to me. Well, i want to wrap it up and swim in it until i drown."

This is the only time I really feel alive.

Claude Lelouch's Rendevous

2007-12-10T20:34:00.000-08:00

Strangely compelling.

All you crosswalk gentimilade...

2007-12-02T11:38:00.000-08:00

Did I ever tell you that I dreamed up a new word in my sleep a week or so ago? I was part of or passing by some tour group walking the streets of my town, as I overheard the tour leader, a pretentious older man with a heavy British sauce all over his voice, warn, "And all the crosswalk gentimilade will do well to watch for cars."

I knew in my head, right then, "Hey, Jenny, that's not a word. Nonsense in dreams, sure, but nonwords?" But I also knew exactly what his word meant. It came from the Spanish word gente, meaning people, and the tail end of remoulade, a sauce mixture containing several different elements. Hence...

g�n�ti�mi�lade
n. A grouping or mixing of different kinds of people

My brain. Honestly, it needs to take a break.

2007-11-28T20:26:00.001-08:00

I am desperately unhappy.

2007-11-09T21:52:00.000-08:00

I'm filled with a heady mixture of simultaneous apathy and longing.
Talk about uncomfortable.

Delicious and Moist.

2007-11-03T19:49:00.000-07:00

"Aperture Science: we do what we must, because we can."

That's my lame attempt at an Aperture Science logo pumpkin to the right there. It's like a ten-year-old got hold of a knife, isn't it? Anyway, if you haven't played Portal, do.

Now.
No, really.

And afterwards, we'll have cake and refreshments.

2007-10-08T10:12:00.000-07:00

Hospital week.
It's okay. I'm feeling numb.

Breaking the Chains of iTunes, and It Feels So Good.

2007-09-27T21:30:00.000-07:00

Kudos to Amazon for getting things right when no one else seemed to be able. Their newly-launched MP3 service, featuring music that is truly free of digital rights management, is clean, expansive, and... did I mention DRM-free?

While other outfits, most notably eMusic, have long offered clear and free MP3s, their selection is fairly limited, and unless you're a huge fan of, say, Deerhoof and similar indies, you're often left out in the cold. Itunes, on the other hand, has just about any music you'd ever need, from the big labels and independents. It's just that it's, well, evil. {Evil, here, indicated by freedom-choking DRM limiting how and where you listen to music, as well as contributing to the growing design-trumps-all Apple empire where software doesn't have to work as long as it looks pretty.}

Amazon's MP3 downloads sound great. They're often 89 cents per song or 8.99 an album, beating out the usual 99 cent sale tags from competitors by walking away from the one-price-fits-all model. And they're ready-to-go, good old MP3s. No weird proprietary file formats, no 5 computer limitations, just straight-forward use-as-you-will goodness.

Thanks Amazon.
It's about damn time.

"Help! Help! I'm being repressed!"

2007-09-21T22:16:00.000-07:00

Four things:

1. No one can honestly believe that that college student at the John Kerry speech was doing anything but making a scene to get attention.
2. He aggressively provoked the school police into handling him the way they did.
3. Tasers are the safest and quickest way for police officers to squelch altercations that could otherwise become far more violent and possibly fatal to the officers or the tasee.
4. Monty Python and the Holy Grail is bloody brilliant. Always has been. Always will be.

Themey

2007-09-17T21:40:00.000-07:00

Recently, I somehow got it in my head that I'd like to throw a 1940's theme party ("somehow" she says, as though she has no idea... {coughbioshockcough}). Surprisingly, there's not a lot of wealth of information online about the subject.

On the other hand, if I wanted to do something based on the roarin' twenties or the rockin' fifties, I'd be set.

Curses.

Hipster Olympics

2007-09-16T10:54:00.000-07:00

"Next up, the contestants will have a chance, at last, to review their appearances during a brief pit stop."
"Here they're looking to make sure they've maintained their own particular counter-culture aesthetic."
"It's a full-time job, isn't it, Neil?"
"Sure is, Greg."

Well-played, sirs.

Big Daddy Day Care

2007-09-14T22:39:00.000-07:00

Fantastic.

Honestly, though, I have to get away from all things Bioshock. This obsession is becoming a bit scary.

I hear the silence of morning coming on.

2007-09-10T17:18:00.000-07:00

The Way of All Flesh

It occurs to me that I was once aware of my mother being 27 years old.

As a 7 or 8 year-old I understood the concept that my mother had been alive for 27 whole years. An entire world history to a 7 year-old. It's an odd memory, one not of an event but of a notion, the fruition of a thought. And though I don't remember thinking of it in any more poetic terms than, "My mommy's 27," as if it needed to be recited to strangers, at the moment, it feels prophetic. I sit here now, age 27 myself, with time barreling through me like tiny cannonballs, destroying me one minute-sized piece at a time.

But once, I was 7.
She was 27.

I'm nearly moving past her, so that even my memory is out of time and... younger than I am.

Lollapalooza 2007 (Part Three in Which Jenny Wraps It Up, Finally)

2007-08-27T21:00:00.000-07:00

Day Three was to be the longest of all the festival days, but we weren't prepared for it to also be the hottest. It was immediately apparent that the temperate dampness of Day Two was gone the moment we stepped outside our hotel. I was convinced that Becky, who had dressed that day in t-shirt and jeans in order to wear tennis shoes and thus avoid muddy sandals, would soon be regretting her attire choices. On the other hand, shorts, like the ones I wore, seemed to provide little comfort from the 95 degrees and 85% humidity choking the air.

After a brief brunch debacle at a downtown Panera Bread which made me a true believer that Chicago has the worst customer service this side of the Seine, we headed toward Grant Park to get a start on our 11 hours of music.

A flock of geese grazed on the freshly-watered fields in front of the massive Bud Light stage as I lunched on a hamburger and thought, naively, "The day can only get better from here."

Our Stage Stops
Sunday, August 5 - Day Three

The Postmarks. To our great misfortune, we arrived to our first stage about 15 minutes early, just in time to endure the last couple of songs emanating from Juliette and the Licks, playing nearby. {I'd like to take this time to ask Juliette Lewis to please, please, stop performing horrible music and go back to horrible acting. Thanks.} And once The Postmarks finally sauntered on stage before their medium-sized morning crowd and began their first song, I realized that we had endured the torment of Juliette Lewis' shrieking for nothing. The chamber-pop Postmarks, who I had expected to be a bit slow and soft, outdid my expectations beyond all measure and did only a hair more than sleep on stage. The lead singer, a girl named Tim, stood motionless before the mic in face-swallowing black sunglasses, whispering "doo-doo-doo"s above the delicate guitar and keyboards backing her. Audience members would inevitably arrive and leave within 5 minutes, trying to avoid falling unconscious, shrugging their shoulders and checking their programs for more lifelike options. I'm a huge fan of acts like this (Azure Ray, Au Revoir Simone, etc.), but if you're going to bring nothing to the stage, you may as well just stay home.

Break. Giving up on The Postmarks after four songs and knowing even less about the bands playing just after them, I decided our best strategy would be to do some extra-musical browsing around the park. After the looks Becky was making during our first band of Day Three, I didn't want to chance compounding the problem. So we eventually wandered into the tree-dotted area of the MOTO Mindfield where a surprisingly large crowd had gathered on shady bleachers to watch bad comedians host a Playstation trivia game featuring depressingly ignorant contestants. Hey, we had time to kill. So much time, in fact, that after taking a seat on the bleachers, we decided to stay put for the half hour after the trivia game ended to catch the Second City improv comedy group put on a show. Sadly, sketch comedy and myself have never been on amicable terms, and after sitting through just ten minutes of loud and unfunny one-liners and lame songs, I turned to Becky with a raised eyebrow and off we went.

Los Campesinos. On my program for each day, I had circled a band at each time of day that I wanted to peek in on. On no other day, however, were my circles filled with as little conviction and desire as on Day Three. With choices like Smoosh, Amy Winehouse, and Blue October, how could they not be? I think Becky nailed it precisely when she mentioned the fact that the organizers had to move all of the good smaller bands to non-headliner days to increase ticket sales. We were falling victim to monetary maximization. So, forced to choose something, anything, to do for the next hour or so, I led us to Los Campesinos. I know just one of their songs, a fun little indie jaunt called You! Me! Dancing!, but I thought, "Maybe if half their songs are as entertaining, we'll have something to do for a while." Within two songs, Becky had spit more glares at me and frowns at the ground than I ever thought possible from one person's face. When they launched into a five minute noise jam session featuring squealing guitars and random keyboard solos, Becky shook her head and walked off. "This is awful. I'm going over to Amy Winehouse." I personally thought the experimental, giddy little septet was doing an okay job, and I'd be damned before I ever lowered myself to watching trash like Winehouse. So we split up here for a while, and as You! Me! Dancing! began and I rose to join the crowd in bouncy movement, I wondered if we'd be staying on separate paths for the remainder of the day.

Kings Of Leon. After Los Campesinos and Winehouse had silenced their respective noise, Becky and I wandered back together, again at a loss for where to be. We wafted momentarily past the forgettable Annuals, through steaming masses of overheating crowds, moving like schools of fish swimming up narrow pathways, past smoky grilled food booths, and over dirt baseball fields before once again ending up inside the air-conditioned oasis of the AT&T tent. This time, we spotted a coveted empty spot on the floor, right in front of a set of the mammoth fans spitting cold air. Taking our seats there in the corner, surrounded by a group of quiet people looking similarly bored and heat-stroked, we noticed the Kings of Leon on the widescreen next to us. Incidentally, they were playing on the big stage just outside the tent's front door, but out there... no air conditioning. So we watched and listened to the echoing weirdness of the TV's split-second delay tripping in behind the actual music happening outside. A good half hour would pass as we watched the Kings spin their oddly-appealing, messy, Southern, prog-rock until we decided it was time to get off our asses and actually join the living.

Peter Bjorn and John. Though I've been sick of Young Folks for a year now, I thought it would be interesting to see the trio play live. Apparently, it wasn't meant to be. The Lolla sound curse reared its ugly head once again to silence PB and J in the midst of just their second song. The band, looking a bit confused and only slightly less comfortable with improv than the Second City troupe, stood motionless for a few seconds before one of them danced a sad little jig and the rest of them shuffled silently offstage. Though the huge crowd (which I'm sure was eager to hear that aforementioned song of which I'm utterly tired) seemed content to stand and wait for the technical difficulties to be resolved, I thought it probably wouldn't be worth the wait anyway. Off we moved toward the Bud Light stage in preparation for Modest Mouse.

The Wailers vs. Yo La Tengo. I like Yo La Tengo. From the Yo La Tengo I've heard, they're quite unique and yet still accessible. This, however, this was not Yo La Tengo. I don't know who these people were, but their set, from minute one, came at me like an ugly, spiked toad, croaking and lurching, and if that's the true Yo La Tengo, then I don't like Yo La Tengo. And it gets worse. Recoiling from the mess happening on the Yo La Tengo stage, Becky and I took shelter on a tree-covered patch of soil with hundreds of lounging and seated others. (The blue Playstation ponchos we had wrenched from the hands of that poor Playstation rep the day before were now coming in quite handily as makeshift blankets upon which to sit.) Unfortunately, this little patch of land sat nearly dead-center between Yo La Tengo's stage and that of The Wailers, so it soon felt like we were guinea pigs, being tested by crazy scientists as to the combined psychological effects of cacophonous indie rock and reggae. No Woman No Cry mingled with squealing, low-fi jams, and I began to lose my mind. So I stared straight ahead at the water fountain in front of us, with its unending stream of sweaty kid after sweaty kid filling their water bottles. I played with the mulch on the ground beneath our plastic blue blanket. I watched Becky stare blankly from behind her huge sunglasses, holding her complimentary AT&T hand fan mere inches from her face. I took pictures of my feet. And then it was time for Modest Mouse.

Modest Mouse. Seated half a mile from the Modest Mouse stage at the North end of the park so as to more quickly reach the Pearl Jam stage afterward at the South end of the park, Becky and I waited for the band to arrive as crowds filed in past us, slowly consuming every bit of empty grass. And finally, the band appeared, ant-sized from where we were despite huge monitors on either side of the stage. I thoroughly believe that We Were Dead Before The Ship Even Sank is one of the better albums of 2007, so I was anxious to get this show on the road and hear real music for the first time that day. So I waited. And waited. Until I realized, that that crackling, muffled, ice-cream-truck tuneage I was hearing was all we were getting. The speakers nearest our position meekly hummed out every other note, sputtering at us and teasing us with only occasional clarity. Heartbreaking. One of the only bands I was looking forward to seeing and hearing... and I could barely do either. After 4 songs (which I'm sure were amazing to those right at the stage's edge), I threw in the towel and admitted defeat. "Do you want to head over to find a spot for Pearl Jam?"

My Morning Jacket. By now, in the late afternoon, the park was beginning to swell with people. Every path choked and clogged. Every porta-potty had a line. Luckily, we had plenty of time to pick out a position on the sprawling field before the Pearl Jam stage. When we reached it, however, we realized that My Morning Jacket was still playing. So we slid past the endless groups of 20-something white guys, and camped out to wait beside the elevated sound booth. I have to admit some ignorance here, as I had convinced myself somehow that My Morning Jacket was just another obnoxious emo band (probably because of that pesky My Chemical Romance titular similarity). But I found myself pleasantly surprised to discover that nothing could be further from the truth. The band on stage was rolling out epic soundscapes of melodic guitar and string backed by an entire youth orchestra. They were dressed in purple tuxedos and stood before a backdrop straight out of a Candyland board game: a frosting-pink wall littered with candy and ice cream. The music was foreign to me, but felt strangely familiar and warm. Because I can't offer a single song name, though, we'll just leave it at this for now: I was impressed.

Pearl Jam. As some of the My Morning Jacket faithful filed off the field after their last song, Becky and I moved forward with the remaining crowd to get a better view. I was amazed at the amount of people standing in that field waiting for a band that I was not only mostly indifferent to, but at many times, also annoyed by. But this was why we were here after all, and I thought, maybe this is just one of those bands you have to see in person to understand. ...Sadly, I'd soon be proved wrong. This was still Pearl Jam, same old boring Pearl Jam, with a lead singer that sounds 80 years old when he talks and predictable crunchy rock. At most points, as I looked over at Becky, I was convinced she was bored, too. She has seen them 5 or 6 times now, after all. Maybe it was just heat exhaustion. The interesting points of the set came when Vedder mumbled at the crowd between songs. Near the middle of the set, he noted that he was hearing fireworks, which for some reason had begun to explode above and behind the stage midway through an extended Even Flow. Later, he muttered something obvious about Bush, incorporating his understandable dislike into a little ditty, and then later offered up a chant against BP Amoco, urging concert-goers to boycott the oil company for crimes against Lake Michigan. To me, it was the irony that surged through the "Brought to you by AT&T" banners astride the stage that held more meaning. (And hearing later that that same company had censored some of Vedder's politics for the webcast of the event made it even funnier.) The set, however, chugged along, and I waited it out on feet that had seen the ugly side of three days' standing. One moment made it worth it: singing along to Better Man, the one good Pearl Jam song I know, along with thousands of others. The front man left it to the crowd for the full first verse and chorus and then, sliding toward the mic and smiling, praised us. "Fucking beautiful."

And now, the envelope please...
Absolute Worst Band: Powerspace
Most Ungodly Noise Generated By: Tie between Yo La Tengo and Juliette and the Licks
Worst Sound Production: Every Lollapalooza stage but the one on which Pearl Jam played. Go figure.
Best Corporate Freebie: AT&T battery-operated hand fans, followed closely by Playstation's timely blue rain ponchos
Most Surprising Moment: Tie between My Morning Jacket and learning that you could buy chocolate-covered strawberries at a music festival
Most Serene Moment: Standing in a light rain surrounded by chanting Snow Patrol fans
Most Fun You Can Have At A Music Festival: I'm From Barcelona
Winner of Lollapalooza: Matt & Kim, for being obscenely happy, and rocking the stage not for one, but two energetic and super-fun sets.

Overall, it was a weird little time, filled with bands I didn't care about and plenty of disappointments, but also with a few extremely great moments and a new-found appreciation for my sister's ability to withstand high humidity and wacky indie bands.

Good times.