I haven’t posted even once since last Friday.  I’ve been busy with these guys, and getting ready for this, and listening to this, and shopping for one of these.  Whew.

I was suppossed to go to an Elvis Costello concert next week, but it was canceled because of this and the damage that was done to the roof of the venue.  I was very sad.  But now we have tickets to see this guy, and I am happy again.  So here is our Friday Night Video.

Everyone at our house is singing “Boom Dee Ah Da” tonight.  This is so darn catchy.

That’s what I said to my husband Saturday night as we sat in the emergency room waiting for my tetanus shot.

It was like Trading Spaces, I argued, because it involved home improvements (me, removing the tile from our kitchen wall so I could install a fancy new backsplash behind the stove) and the couple from next door coming over (to watch our kids while my husband took me to the ER after I gouged myself with a brand new super-sharp 3-inch putty knife).  On a Saturday night, no less.  Just like a new episode.

If we had color-coordinated shirts and a perky host, then yes, it would have been JUST LIKE Trading Spaces.

There were no stitches for me, which was both a relief and a disappointment (because I felt like a ginormous ass for seeking medical attention for the cut on my pinky finger when there were heart attacks occurring just down the hall).  But I did get a tetanus shot and a professionally-applied Band-Aid* (which probably costs 500x a normal Band-Aid applied at home), as well as a 10-day course of antibiotics – this may have been for the cut (which foamed up like a root beer float when the nurse poured peroxide on it, signaling “ack! germs! bacteria! pieces of wall! bits of tile!”), or just the standard of care for anyone spending time in the emergency room on a Saturday evening.

I took the putty knife along with us to the ER, in case anyone asked to see it.  They didn’t.

Sadly, I have no pictures of the bloody mess, although I did shoot several pics for this site while at the hospital.  I promise to post photos of the new backsplash tile once this project is done.  And perhaps a photo of the putty knife.

Thank goodness for good neighbors, good insurance, and a good stiff drink.

* The best product placement/linkage Johnson & Johnson has gotten from any blogger not present at Camp Baby.

If you had told me a few months ago that I would be rooting for a boy with dreadlocks and a ukulele singing “Over the Rainbow”, I would never have believed you.

Carly Smithson’s music career, it seems, was never meant to be.

Ascots and Aerosmith do not mix well, Michael Johns.  And I still do not believe that you are 29.

My husband’s opinion: David Archuleta needs to be chained to a rock and played Toys in the Attic by Aerosmith and Exile on Main Street by the Stones for three days straight.  Then, perhaps, he will be cured.

P.S. My new favorite Idol commentary is Grammar Idol at Editrix.

There are very few artists whom I’ve addressed directly on this blog in an “open letter” — I believe Laurie Berkner and Dan Zanes are the only two (although that Dan Zanes entry isn’t so much an open letter as a shout-out).  My latest open letter is a “Dear Johns” letter — for John Flansburg and John Linnell of They Might Be Giants.

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Dear John and John,

You probably get tired of having adjectives like “quirky” and “clever” applied to your music.  I can totally relate.  My brother used to refer to my husband and me (back in our starving artist days) as “avant garde” and try to associate us with other things he considered “avant garde” – including a mixed drink he discovered at some holiday party.  So I will try not to use those adjectives in discussing your new kids’ album, Here Come the 123s.  Instead, I’ll call it crazy-fun, mind-blowing, and possibly — in some cases – too hip for the room.

You probably know me only as some anonymous mom somewhere with a laptop and too much time on her hands.    Some “Brenda in a bathrobe” type who rarely leaves her house and likes to mouth off about things she really doesn’t understand.  Someone your publicist may have told you could provide a valuable (and timely - not so much!) soundbite about your new(ish) CD/DVD, Here Come the 123s.  Well, at one time, I did have too much time on my hands.  And I do have a laptop.  But I never wear a bathrobe after 8 am, I have a fairly sturdy grasp on music (kids’ music in particular), and I’m terrible at soundbites.

It’s possible that you know me better as the crazy stalker-like woman in the kiddie mosh pit at your July 2005 concert in Cleveland. 

The one in the braids and the pink shirt who couldn’t take her eyes off of your accordion (Linnell) or your guitar (Flans).  The one who lifted her shirt (to feed her 4-month-old) in the middle of your first set.  The one who nearly ran up on the stage to dance when hearing you open with ”Alphabet of Nations” and who enthusiastically demonstrated that she knew all the lyrics to “Go, Go, Go, Go for G.”  That was me.  Hello, it’s nice to see you again.

Getting a promo copy of Here Come the 123s was one of the most exciting musical happenings in my life since hearing the first chords of “Alphabet of Nations” at your live show in 2005.  (Don’t get out much?  Yes, that’s me, too.)  So it’s taken me some time to listen critically and not like a fan-girl (fan-mom?), and to formulate some intelligent opinions about this album.  Here they are.

John and John, you had me at Here Come…

This album could have been Here Come the State Capitols.  Or Here Come the Mysteries of the Rosary.  Or Here Comes the Bill of Rights.  Or Here Come Fifty Ways to Leave Your Lover. (Stop me.  Please.)  Or Here Come the Seven Habits of Highly Effective People.  (Okay, admit it.  That was worth just one more, right? And Johns, I want a cut of any of those albums that you end up writing.)

Regardless of the focus or theme of this latest kids’ album of yours, it was bound to be brilliant.  Because writing within fairly rigid boundaries seems to be a strength of yours, whether it’s the 123s, the ABCs or State Songs.  And on top of focusing on numbers, you created several challenges for yourselves within that theme — like “let’s write a disco song” and “let’s write a bubble gum pop song.”

Here Come the 123s has been in heavy minivan rotation here since it arrived back in January.   Fourteen of the tracks are about individual numbers (zero through 12, sort of — you do the math), but some of the best material on the album comes in the next six tracks, with songs like “813 Mile Car Trip” and “I Can Add.”  (And by the way, was the verse in Spanish, prefaced by the line “I don’t even know Spanish, but I’m going to sing it in Spanish now!” by any chance a nod to Dan Zanes?  Because if so, HILARIOUS!  And if not, well, I’m thinking way too hard about these things.)

Of the zero-to-twelve songs, “One Dozen Monkeys” is remarkable both for the catchy counterpoint between the bass and vocal lines and for the outstanding vocals of 12-year-old Hannah Levine; and “Seven” stands out as signature TMBG kids writing.

There are dozens of songs out there I could play or sing for my kids to teach them to count, but very few to teach them about infinity, nonagons, or concepts like the omniverse.  It’s possible that some parents might learn as much from this album as their kids, or that some of the ideas and images here might be over the heads of parents (although right on target for a five-year-old).  But it’s also possible that I’m a bit of an elitist and don’t give other parents enough credit.

Just as I smile at the idea of a politically conservative family bringing home a Dan Zanes album after seeing a couple of his songs on the Disney channel (because if it’s Disney, it must be good!) and hearing songs celebrating immigration and the labor movement, I also smile as I imagine parents completely lacking in musical taste bringing home a copy of Here Come the 123s (because it’s educational! and it’s Disney!) without having any idea about the music.  Blowing parents’ minds while teaching kids to count - that’s subversion at its best.

Lastly, my three-year-old thanks you for the inclusion of the super-awesome extended version of ”Hot Dog” and the “Mickey Mouse Clubhouse Theme”.

John and John, you guys rock.

Very truly yours,

Mrs. Davis

If I ever complain about a lack of privacy, please remind me of this post.

I’ve been playing around on Facebook for a few months now and finally decided to mention it here.  It’s taken a while, but I’m finally enjoying it (which, if you were one of the Facebook friends I Rick-Rolled on April 1, you probably already know).

And I’m Twittering.  Because I think a lot of people probably care about my minute-to-minute whereabouts and goings-on and what I’m having for lunch.  And because if I ever get caught in a hostage situation or stuffed in someone’s trunk, I can notify the entire world with one little text message.  I’m still trying to figure out what I’m doing with Twitter, so if you start following me there now, you can enjoy my awkward phase.

There’s nothing better than pulling out summer clothes that have been packed away for the last 7 months and finding things I forgot I even owned.  Except, perhaps, trying them on and seeing that they fit.

The people who answer the Poison Control line are very calm.  Also?  It takes a lot more than three children’s multi-vitamins to constitute an iron overdose in a 3-year-old (according to the person at Poison Control, who is probably not a doctor and neither am I, so please consult a real-life medical professional before taking my advice on any of this).

Pollen bothers me much more than it used to.

The Ped Egg really works and is totally worth $9.99.

To Brooke White: You rock.

To Michael Johns: An ascot?  Really?

To Steve Guttenberg: I used to find you hot, but Police Academy was nearly 25 years ago.  Dude.

 

The latest happy meal (or whatever a happy meal is called at Subway) toy: the Naked Brothers Band do-rag.  Because Naked Brothers + ham sandwiches = marketing wizardry.

Right?

We are so glad that Battlestar Galactica is coming back soon:

We are such geeks.

But geeks that we are, we were glad to have spent time this weekend with some of our old geek friends.  Friends we hadn’t seen in YEARS.  Pre-kid friends, whose kids we hadn’t even met until yesterday.  I said, as we were getting ready to leave the house on Saturday, “I’ll bet they’ve been watching Galactica.”  I was right. 

We bonded over kids, careers, schools, travel, houses, food, Easter-egg dyeing, and (of course) Battlestar Galactica, as if no time had passed since the mid-90’s.  We’re so glad to have friends like these.