Riding the train

Currently I am on a homeward-bound train.  I don't mind the five-hour journey as I can usually find a multitude of ways to entertain myself.  First, I scour the content of bawdy gossip magazines in hopes that Hayden Panetierre's beach-toned body will magically transfer over to mine, shimmering magazine gloss intact.  Once we get to around Connecticut, I scorn my materialism and listen to Nick Drake while admiring the scenery.  Sometimes I'll munch on carrots, one train ride it was a pear.  I'm unpredictable like that.  

But my favorite part of the ride is arriving at Penn Station.  The train takes a giant loop around the outskirts of the city, giving you a nice panoramic view before taking a sharp right and diving underground.  It embodies my prefect New York where it's at such a distance that the Big Apple appears polished.  Too bad actually going into the city is akin to rolling around in a dirty newspaper intermingled with the scent of poop and peanuts.

Riding the train also presents an opportune time to check some books off my reading list.  I've read Gilead by Marilynne Robinson, which constitutes a dying priest's last recollections of his life addressed to his son.  Definitely a slow read, but full of beautiful prose.  Half of my copy is dog-eared from all of the quotes that stayed with me.  I also just finished The Trap by Daniel Brooks.  The author examines how the people in our generation must choose between taking a job that goes against their values but pays well or a more altruistic pursuit that pays less.  His main argument is that we must adopt egalitarian systems such as universal healthcare to even out the playing field.  Not only are Brooks' arguments compelling, but he often presents them in a humorous manner (for example comparing a creative job in a corporate context to prostitution).  All in all, another recommended read.

I'm going to California for a few days.  Be back next week.

Old People

I've been dissing regular mattresses since 2004 in favor of the inflatable kind.  One drawback to my insisting on sleeping on an airbed is that my bed at home has sprung a leak.  This leaves me with a nasty surprise every morning when I wake up to discover that I am being swallowed whole by deflating vinyl.  Luckily I roll in style and rock a remote control that allows me to inflate the sucker on command.

Saw Away from Her yesterday.  Objectively it's a movie that takes the woman with Alzheimer's and the man who loves her plot and sucks the idealism out of it.  As any critic would probably tell you, it made for a movie that was sad, beautiful and uplifting all at the same time.  But I'm shallow.  I don't like my movies to portray romance with any sort of emotional complexity.  After I finished The Notebook, I sobbed on my couch for a good 45 minutes while clutching a spoon laden with the sorry remainder of Ben and Jerry's Phish Food.  After Away from Her, I muttered "Old people are sad" and finished eating some pretzel sticks.  

Hey, click here to learn some vocabulary and feed some people.  Oh and here's that song from the Toyota Matrix commercial.

Oren Lavie- Her Morning Elegance

Madonna

I just found the new Madonna song featuring JT and Timbaland.  For some reason I can't physically download the song, but have linked to it here (press the play button at the bottom).  I'm a biased listener as I think anything that comes from Madonna is fabulous... the woman shits gold and farts rainbows in my book.  

I have just blasted the song four times in succession.  Poor Margot is attempting to compete with this by playing the ethereal, atmospheric music that she's been digging lately next door.  Unfortunately for her the rump-shaking dance dance revolution that is occurring my room is an all night party with never ending horn loops and galloping beats.  

My deep love of Madonna can be blamed on my mother, who decided to infiltrate the impressionable brain of a toddler with The Immaculate Collection, as well as foster within this aforementioned child a favorable reception toward high ponytails and cone-shaped bras.  After an incident in kindergarden where I got a little too involved with pelvic thrusting while singing "Borderline," I was put on Madonna probation.  But like the subject of any good psychological study, this punishment only gave me forbidden fruit syndrome, making me spend countless afternoons searching the house for the Madonna cassettes my mother had hidden from me.  I became obsessive and fantasized about rolling on the carpet of my My Little Pony themed bedroom wearing a wedding dress.  

When the tapes were finally returned to me, I was so appreciative that I holed myself in my room and listened to "La Isla Bonita" on repeat while crying with happiness.  Since then, I have learned to make my Madonna dance parties private events.  It's probably best that way.  

Also, I am seeing this as soon as it comes out.  Just saying...