You know what’s hard? Biking uphill after yoga and squats. I’m not sure I can get up the stairs. I might have to crawl. Or maybe I’ll sleep on the couch.
There are videos on The Daily What today that I’d like to watch, but they’ll have to wait. I’d rather listen to John practice playing his banjo. (Oh, yeah. John got a banjo.) Then I’ll figure out how I’m going to make it to bed. Later, but soon. Like maybe now. No…almost. Now.
I’m totally worn out from today. I spent the work day getting more and more frustrated, and then I went to the gym for two hours (class night) and didn’t think about work for even a second (which was wonderful). But the gym drained all of that frustrated energy out of me (and more), so now I’m all limp and noodly. Relaxed, but in an I-can’t-lift-my-arm-above-my-head kind of way.
I heard the prettiest version of Over The Rainbow during yoga today. I don’t know a lot about Eva Cassidy (she was local to the area and she’s dead – that’s the extent of my knowledge), but I have really really liked everything I’ve heard her do.
It’s not cold enough. I should be happy about that (I hate being cold), but it’s hard to feel Christmas-y (or Hanukkah-y – yes, I’ve been lighting candles this year. Please pick your jaw up off the floor. That’s not sanitary.) when you barely need a coat to go outside. I’ll get over it. Just as soon as we hit the road. Which can’t be soon enough for me. What I’m really looking forward to is the time off. I need a long, long break. Or maybe…yeah, we don’t talk about that on the internet.
I also didn’t mean to publish that yet. The Publish button looked a lot like the Save Draft button just then. Whoops. (For those of you coming late to the party, first of all, shame on you. Get it together and be on time. Secondly, it’s kind of obvious what just happened, so this explanation is unnecessary.)
I regret my choice of post title now. Not just because it’s dumb, although that should be enough. No, I regret it because that song is stuck in my head now. I like it fine, but I’ve been having this problem all day, and I can’t settle on a song I’d be happy to have looping through my brain all day. I woke up this morning to the theme from The Price is Right (thanks to the episode of How I Met Your Mother we watched last night), but I started to tell John about it and immediately switched to “You Were On My Mind” by We Five. (John, you were right. It’s We Five.) Maybe I can get that one back. I’ve always liked that song. Wish me luck!
I am, I am! Tomorrow is Les Mis. YAY! Tonight, I pick Sparky up from the airport. Yay! Also, it’s Friday (yay!) so PRESUMABLY, I can sleep in a bit tomorrow. Got up before 5 this morning, people. (John is not pleased. I tried REALLY hard to have everything I needed in the guest room so I wouldn’t wake him while I got ready, but I needed one little thing and, of course, I needed it 15 minutes before his alarm was going to go off. Sorry, John.) We’re having a kick-off meeting this morning, and I was in charge of bringing bagels, and traffic has been HORRIBLE this week, so I figured I’d just get out the door earlier. Guess what? I over-corrected. I was up the elevator and in my little conference room by 7:20. Just a little bit earlier than necessary. A tad. Still, it’s better than the alternative.
Can someone please get Maroon 5’s “Moves Like Jagger” out of my head? I don’t like it. I keep trying to force it out, but it creeps its way back in every time I think I’ve won. Stupid little whistling part.
I don’t know what it is about this song, but every time I hear it, I cry, starting from the very first time I heard it. Like tears streaming down my face cry. Sometimes with sobs, sometimes not. I don’t get it. I mean, I like it. I like it very much. Maybe it hits me deep in the hillbilly roots I don’t really have.
I blame Netflix for putting The Final Countdown in my head. I searched for Eureka on our Roku, and a Europe concert came up in the results. I need to search for something else quick ’cause it’ll be there every time I look until I do.
…starts now. I’ve been eating and breathing statistics for over a week. I took my midterm this afternoon, I’m home now, John’s in charge of dinner (I think), and I don’t have to jump right into the next statistics chapter just yet. I have a glass of wine, random French jazz in the CD player (CDs Mom burned and gave me – no idea what the specifics are, but I was in the mood for something unusual and mellow), and a new book. And I’m going to slice some cantaloupe. Cantaloupe will get me through this heat wave.
Midterm’s done. I’ll let you know how it went (it took me almost two and a half hours) when I find out my grade.
The band is rehearsing for the first time in weeks, if not months, and the classical music I’m listening to isn’t loud enough to drown out the bass line two floors below me. I might need noise-canceling headphones. Tonight, statistics is on the menu. Because, oh yeah, right, I forgot. I’m taking statistics, too. And I have a quiz due Sunday. So I should start reading. I can’t get away with not juggling two classes anymore.
Blah blah school and stuff. Not what I want to write about. Oh, I remember. I heard this on the radio on the way home from the test and liked it.
Grace Potter and The Nocturnals – “Paris (Ooh La La)”
Sorry about all the short posts lately. I have the attention span of a gnat. Also, my face hurts. Although not as much as I was afraid it would. This whole procedure sounds more painful than it has turned out to be. Thank the whatever from high atop the thing. Seems like it would have been fairly simple, right?
Not so simple. Fake teeth don’t have roots. They have screws. Screws that have to be longer than the roots because, I don’t know, they just do. And in order for the new fake tooth to be sturdy, the screw has to be completely surrounded by bone. Can’t have the end of it sticking out in space. It wouldn’t be as sturdy. (What space? Right, the space in the sinus cavity above my teeth and behind my cheek.) The solution is to fill in some of the space with bone. I didn’t ask where they got the bone. Maybe I should have. Anyway, that’s what they did. My sinus cavity is not as big as it once was, and I have a screw sticking out of the hole where my molar used to be. Once it heals completely (about four months), I’ll get a nice new fake tooth.
In the meantime, I get several days on the couch. I’ve watched movies (Whale Rider – good, Saint Ralph – good), lots of TV (catching up on Scrubs and The Good Wife), started watching Harry Connick, Jr’s latest concert DVD (In Concert on Broadway – my good buddy Geoff Burke is in it! Very exciting. (I realize that seeing him play from 3 feet away for an hour and than talking to him for a grand total of maybe 15 minutes at the bar does not a best-friendship make (wait – I haven’t told you about that yet), but don’t think I won’t use every connection I can think up to get backstage the next time Harry is in town. Besides, he was cool. And really good.)), and played on the internet. A lot. And I finished my book (The Forever War). It was very good (as expected). I’d been looking for it in used bookstores everywhere I went, but couldn’t find it, so I finally bought it new. I’m glad I did. The latest edition has a foreword by John Scalzi, who has quickly become my favorite contemporary science fiction author. And blogger.
I’m rambling, so I’m going to quit here and soak up some of this sun before it dissolves into more torrential rain (yesterday was CRAZY with the rain) and read my book on the deck.
…to miss New Orleans? [Written Wednesday night, March 30th, edited today.]
Honestly, I haven’t left yet, but I imagine I’ll know pretty soon. These last two nights have been among the best ever. Everyone I know is missing out. Last night, I went to Preservation Hall and met Shannon Powell (drummer for Harry Connick, Jr, for six years (not anymore) and on what I consider to be his three best albums), and tonight I saw Mr. Powell play at the Palm Court Jazz Cafe with some awesome New Orleans musicians AND Jerry Weldon and Wendell Brunious, both of whom have played (and do play) with Harry Connick, Jr. Jerry Weldon plays tenor saxophone, and I swear I recognized his tone (not his face) the minute he started playing. Have you heard him play “A Nightingale Sang on Berkeley Square”? I have, at least a thousand times. I’d recognize that sound anywhere. (Branford Marsalis plays it on the album, but Jerry plays it on The New York Big Band Concert video, which I unfortunately only have on VHS. That will change soon.)
Here’s how it went: Last night, Shannon told me he’d be playing at the Palm Court tonight at 8. I made plans with a coworker (that would be Crazy) to go there for dinner. She got waylaid by our clients, so I went there by myself, still expecting her to show up once she got rid of them. (She never did.) I walked in the door a little before 8, and when the hostess asked me if I wanted to sit at the bar, I said (a little excitedly), “I’m here for the band. And the food.” She laughed a little (at me, I’m sure), and gave me a table for two right at the edge of the stage.
That's my table. And my second hurricane.
The band came on, Shannon popped over to say hi, and they were great. At the first break, I stopped the bass player (Richard Molton) to tell him how much I enjoyed his playing (he was really good). He said he hadn’t been playing this kind of music lately (since Katrina), and he felt out of his element. I told him it didn’t show. He asked me if I was local. I said no, and he said he thought I knew Shannon. (!) I explained. Nice guy. Then I left him alone to take his break. Shannon came by to say hi again, sat down at my table. (Wait – it gets better.) He said, “Your favorite trombone player is here.” “No…” He nodded. “Introduce me?” He did. We walked over to a table near the back of the restaurant, and I met Lucien Barbarin, hilarious and fantastic trombone player for Harry Connick, Jr. SO cool. I went back to my table and texted Corey, “I just met Lucien.” His response: “This is epic. Get pictures!” Pictures! Of course! I went back to Lucien’s table and said something like (I’d had two hurricanes, so I’m not sure exactly what I said), “Excuse me. I’m sorry to interrupt you again, and I know this is a bit fangirl-ish, but could I get a picture of the two of us?” He’s a gentleman and all-around nice guy, so of course he said that would be fine. I handed my phone off to I don’t know who (maybe Richard?), and got my picture of me and Lucien.
My dark and blurry picture of me and Lucien
And then I got a picture of me and Shannon.
Great hat
I have a picture of me and Richard, too, but it’s way worse than those two. We’re backlit and you can barely make out our fuzzy faces.
The band went back on for their second set, but this time, they had a few people sit in. Wendell Brunious on trumpet, Jerry Weldon on tenor saxophone, and some guy whose name I didn’t catch on guitar joined in. It’s amazing to me that these guys can sit in with a band used to playing together and pick up on all the arrangements. Or, if they don’t, everyone can handle it. They’ll all figure it out, play well together, handle any hiccups, and the audience will never know. Professionals. So cool.
Did I mention the singer? Topsy Chapman, who was fantastic, did “At Last” and I nearly cried.
After the second set ended, I told the trombone player how much I enjoyed his playing (that might have happened after the first set – he looked like he was having SUCH a good time), I talked to Richard the bass player again (found out he’s been playing his second best bass since Katrina because his first one was destroyed after sitting in something like nine feet of water), said goodbye to Lucien and Jerry (Lucien hugged me!), talked briefly with the younger guys who were with Lucien (both playing in Harry’s orchestra – one subbing for a couple of weeks, one who’s been with him for ten years – oh my god!), and then Shannon offered me a ride to my hotel. We were walking out with him and his trumpet player (not Wendell). I told him that wasn’t necessary, he didn’t need to drive me home. He asked me if I’d rather walk. ‘Not really.” (It was late and it would have taken me at least half an hour.) So he dropped me off at my hotel. I have the date and time of his next gig (tomorrow night), and I will be there.
I was there, it was awesome, and I will tell you about it very soon. But first, a couple more pictures from that night.
That's Jerry Weldon (you know, the guy with the saxophone). Lars Edegran is in the back on piano (he was at Preservation Hall the night before). I never caught the names of the other two guys.
The whole band, with my empty table (and third hurricane) up front.
That's a classic Jerry Weldon move.
John told me a number of times that I should go to Preservation Hall, so Tuesday morning I looked up the website. I recognized the name of the guy playing that night (because I’m a big Harry Connick, Jr fan and a bit of an obsessive nerd, I happened to know off the top of my head that Shannon Powell was the drummer for his big band in the early nineties (We Are In Love is possibly my favorite album)), so I planned to go after work. First set started at 8pm. Unfortunately, I had to get through the whole day first. I invited my coworker, who I’ll call Crazy (the only other person on this trip who actually works for my company – everyone else we worked with that week works for our client agency), and we got invited to dinner with one of the clients. I didn’t particularly want to hang out with anyone from the agency after working hours (I was hoping to relax. I didn’t want to be on anymore.), but I didn’t have a not-rude way out just then. Anyway, she wasn’t interested in going to Preservation Hall. I could handle dinner.
Dinner was uneventful, even boring, especially because Crazy bailed on me. It started pouring down rain (like flooding rain – we could have swum down Canal Street), and she called to tell me she was staying in. I had an teeny umbrella that barely kept my head dry, but nothing was keeping me from Preservation Hall that night, so I met my client coworker outside her hotel, and we ran through the rain to the Palace Cafe. Got drenched from about mid-thigh down. The food was good (I had andouille crusted fish – spicy and delicious), the conversation was boring, and as soon as I dropped client coworker back at her hotel, I headed out.
If you’ve never been, Preservation Hall (at least where the band plays) is this tiny little room with dirty wood plank flooring, a few wooden benches in the middle of the room (maybe four) and along the walls, a row of cushions up front, and some standing room in the back. The entrances to the room are on the left side if you’re facing the street (and the band). There are two doorways on that side, one near the front of the room and one near the back. You go in through the back and leave out the front, and the doorway near the front is right by the band. When I came in ($12 cover, and $2 for traditional requests, $5 for other requests, $10 for “When the Saints Go Marching In”, noted on a little sign on the wall behind the band), the band was playing, and as I passed the front doorway, I looked in, saw Shannon Powell (Shannon Powell!), and he waved at me and gave an enthusiastic “Hey!” That was awesome. I gathered he really liked to see people come in to hear him play. There were a ton of people there already, so I joined the crowd in the back and found a spot where I could see. Sort of. If I stayed on my toes and looked over a guy’s shoulder. Still, the music was awesome, and we all had a good time. The set ended about nine, maybe a little before, and I stuck around for the next set. I watched the people leaving talk to members of the band (Shannon Powell on drums, Lars Edegran on piano, Clive somebody on trumpet, somebody else on bass, and Scott somebody on trombone) as they filed past them on their way out that front doorway, and I decided I’d talk to Shannon and gush a little on my way out after the next set. I found a better spot along the right-hand wall for the second set. The crowd this time around wasn’t as lively. I was the most enthusiastic person there, clapping to the beat, having a wonderful time. Totally fun, and I decided to stay for the third set. How often will I get to see this? I’ll manage staying out late on a work night. My enthusiasm didn’t go unnoticed. After the second set ended, Mr. Powell came over to meet me. Wanted to know who his fan was, I think. It turns out he said hi to me when I came in because I look like someone he used to work with who left town a while back. He thought she may have been back for a visit. Yeah, that’s not me. But still, I’m an enthusiastic fan. He asked me what I was drinking (I didn’t have a drink), and I said nothing right now. He beckoned me along after him. We went across the street and stepped into a bar. (Johnny White’s.) I was feverishly trying to think of what to order that wouldn’t be either gross (to me) or totally lame (to him). He asked, I said rum and coke, he said he’s drinking rum, too (rum and orange juice, I think), I said that sounds good, and he ordered me one. And waved me away when I reached for my wallet. He bought me a drink. ! We chatted a little (where am I from, where are you touring next, etc), and he asked me if I wanted to hang out with the band later. I panicked a little, said I couldn’t, I’m here for work, and I have a presentation in the morning. Lies! My presentation was the day after, in the afternoon. He said something about getting my number so we can stay in touch and catch up when he comes to DC. (I was thinking to myself that I was not that captivating during that conversation. Still, he’s didn’t come across as sleazy. Just friendly.) Anyway, I regretted the presentation lie and decided I’d tell him I mixed up the days if he asked again. (He didn’t.) He said he’s playing at the Palm Court the next night (Wednesday). I asked about it, and he said they have great food, great music. I said I’ll be there. We went back to the hall for his third set, and I took my spot back on the wall. Good third set (the crowd was better than for the second set). We all danced at the end. The guy hugging the wall behind me thanked me on behalf of the band for being able to clap on the right beat (2 and 4 as opposed to 1 and 3 like a few idiots in the audience). I tipped the band (as you do), and Shannon said “Palm Court tomorrow?” “I’ll be there at 8.” I headed out and walked back to my hotel, grinning like an idiot at everyone I passed (it was a little before midnight), and called Mindy to rave about my evening. What did she want to know? “What are you going to wear tomorrow?” We have priorities. It was SO. MUCH. FUN.
I’m back home, where spring has sprung, but it’s not warm enough for me. Not after a week of mid-70s in New Orleans. Not after only needing a jacket late at night on my way home a jazz club. And speaking of weather and jazz and awesomeness, if I hadn’t made notes during the week, I wouldn’t know where to begin. Since I did, I’ll begin at the beginning.
I got to New Orleans Saturday afternoon and made it to my hotel. Pretty straightforward. Finding my room after that was not so simple. I was in Building 2 (or was it Building B?), which is up an escalator, up another escalator, across the breezeway, forward and then around to the left, past the gift shop that wasn’t open even ONCE the whole week, up an elevator, down a hall, and around another corner. The gym (which I faithfully visited every morning except for the third, fourth, fifth, and sixth days), was back the way I’d come in and then another half-mile in the opposite direction from the front desk and up four floors. It was a workout just to get there.
Everyone else (Mom, Dad, Mindy, Corey, Candy, and Gaby – we were only missing John and Mark) got there a few hours later, and after dinner, Mindy, Corey, Candy, and I headed to Bourbon Street. That was…something. I may not have been in the right mood. Crowded, loud, dirty. We wound our way through throngs of girls in short prom dresses, frat boys, and vomit. We did find a Dixieland band playing in a bar, though (Fritzel’s European Jazz Pub – beware the link if your speakers are on: music starts playing as soon as you land on the page). That was cool. Something I learned (although not that night): many musicians would rather you didn’t call it Dixieland. Traditional New Orleans Jazz is the preferred term.
The next morning (Sunday – it was a beautiful morning), we had brunch at Brennan’s. I could do that every week. You’d have to roll me home every week, but WOW. Loved the place, loved the strawberries and cream, LOVED the bananas foster and crepes fitzgerald. My entree was meh, but everyone else’s was reallyreally good, and I tried them all. From there, we hopped the streetcar to the Garden District (after changing into our UK gear – Go CATS!). Those houses are amazing.
Detour to talk about the weather. It was so warm. SO warm. And breezy, and wonderful, and WARM. All the windows (big windows) on the streetcar were open and it felt so nice. /detour
A little after 4pm (game time!), we hopped off the streetcar and Corey and Candy asked a nice stranger where we might be able to find a sports bar. You can’t run around during March Madness with your UK gear on and NOT watch the game. He sent us to one a couple of blocks away, practically empty, except for three people together at the bar and maybe another guy. Just after halftime, one of the three at the bar walked by our table on her way back to her seat. She was wearing a UK shirt, too, and Corey high-fived her. Mindy and I looked at each other. She looked really familiar to both of us, but it’s a little ridiculous of us to assume we know everyone in the world wearing a UK shirt, right? Well, right, except not in this case. I went over to ask her. “Are you from [town redacted]?” “Yes.” “Did you go to [high school redacted]?” “Zannah?” So, yeah, we went to high school together, had friends in common (loyal commenter IBCRandy, among others), remembered each other vaguely, but enough. Totally weird. She lives in the neighborhood we were in. What are the odds? The stars aligned for me this whole trip, but more on that in another post (or three). So that was cool. And UK won, which was also cool. Too bad they couldn’t keep that up.
Dad, Corey, Candy, and Gaby all left on Monday (after breakfast at the Cafe du Monde, where we watched Gaby wallow in powdered sugar), and I went to work for a few hours. I came back to find Mom and Mindy waiting in my room (it was kind of sad to come back after work the next day and have no one to meet me). Mindy made an inspired dinner decision (I think it was her choice), and we went to the Grapevine Wine Bar. No live music, but the wine made up for that. We killed three bottles and ate appetizers (scallops, beef medallions, cheese and crackers, baked brie, and something else…mussels!) and skipped dessert. Partly because who needs dessert after three bottles of wine, and partly because fudge cheese didn’t sound particularly appetizing. I’m not making that up.
On our tipsy way back to the hotel after dinner, we met a three-man a capella group on the corner somewhere along Decatur and sang with them. Met some people on the way back home (all new friends), and then Mom and Mindy left the next morning (Tuesday). Tuesday night is when my solo adventures started, and I’ll get into them tomorrow. I’m typed out.
Seriously. There’s so much. I have two amazing nights to tell you about. I’ve written notes, and I’ll post soon, but it’s late and I have to work tomorrow, so the full posts will have to wait. I’ve had three hurricanes and a lot of water, and I can barely finish a sentence without running to the bathroom. (Hurricanes are good.) Let’s just say that I am one degree (or is it two? I haven’t figured that out) from Harry Connick, Jr, via three or four people now, not just one. I’ll figure out a way to turn this into an introduction somehow or another. I love music. I love musicians. I love jazz. I love music, and I love Harry Connick, Jr. 🙂
There’s a train going by my hotel. Loud. Provides character.
I’m both ready to come home and ready to stay for a month. More music please! I keep finding out that all these musicians I would LOVE to see are regulars at this club or that bar or that restaurant over there, but only on nights I’ve already missed or nights after I leave this week. I need more time to see them all, but I really want to come home. I really want to be on vacation, really. Having to work is really cramping my style. 🙂
Dance party at my house! I’m all by myself, dancing like a crazy an eccentric person to an odd but fun mix of the Beatles, the Cars, Dean Martin, selections from the soundtrack to A Mighty Wind, selections from the soundtrack to Sleepless in Seattle, the Living Sisters, some Three Dog Night, and a couple of other things. Not dance music, you say? I’m not much of a dancer, I’d say. My neighbors would probably agree.
So let’s change the subject. We have a winner! Yesterday, I asked you fine people to guess to what tune I set the clever and insightful lyrics to “Chilly Toes”. Three people guessed, one person won. Before I make the announcement, here’s my rendition.
[mp3player width=200 height=25 config=fmp_jw_widget_config.xml file=http://www.inanechatter.net/wp-content/uploads/2011/01/ChillyToes.mp3]
Jess, come on down! You’ve won the book of my choice! That’s right, I stole that melody from “Particle Man” by They Might Be Giants. I’d never heard of either the song or the band until Tiny Toon Adventures did an episode of music videos. They started with “Istanbul, Not Constantinople” and went straight into “Particle Man”. Totally weird, but totally great.
We heard this song a couple of times on the radio while we were away. Love it. Makes me dance.
I kept forgetting how close together everything is in the UK. I’d look for a town on a map, estimate how long it might take us to get there, and then be completely surprised when it took half that long. That couldn’t have been illustrated for me any better than on the traffic report we heard on the BBC on our way back to London. This under-five-minute report covered traffic issues from northern Scotland all the way to southern England. The ENTIRE COUNTRY was included in one traffic report. Crazy.
Happy 10th Anniversary to us! John woke me up with one of my favorite cheerful wake-up songs (“Carolina in the Morning”, Dean Martin) because he’s wonderful, and I started my day deliriously happy.
Then I went to work.
Work today wasn’t really any different than it is any other day, except that I’m trying to get everything I’ve been working on in order so I can leave it all in somebody else’s hands for a week and a half. I’m way more distracted then usual because I JUST WANT TO GO ALREADY, so even though I’ve made a bunch of lists to make sure I don’t forget anything, I’m having a hard time keeping track of all the lists. I got a little stressed out.
But then I got home and started doing stuff I want to do (like pack and check off the fun lists), and I feel much better. We’ll just celebrate our anniversary when we get there, which is kinda the whole point of the trip.
Anyway, happy anniversary to us. Enjoy one of my favorite songs.
After hearing their version of “Let It Snow” on Pandora the other day (last weekend, maybe?), I bought The Four Freshmen album, “Snowfall”. It’s my new favorite Christmas album. I’m listening to it now, relaxing a little before bed. We had a very busy, productive day, starting with a long-overdue visit with Erik and Margaret. We met for lunch and moved on to Barnes and Noble, chatting about their wedding plans, puppies, travel, wedding music, wedding dresses, and Calvin and Hobbes, among other things. John and I bought road maps and travel guides for our trip, and then we went shopping for new weather-proof winter coats. We both ended up with coats with zip-out fleece liners (’cause it just makes more sense), but I fell in love with the new Columbia Kaleidaslope jacket.
Trust me, it’s way more flattering on than in the picture. I tried on the large, and it was perfect. And SO warm. I’m very happy with the coat I got, but can’t I have both? I need this one, too, right? Or, you know, not. I’ll live. The point of today’s shopping, though, was to get us that much closer to ready for our trip. Which we’re very very very excited about.
We got home much later than originally planned and settled in for dinner and our annual viewing of Love Actually. Which got interrupted (but in a good way) when Corey called. We’d been trying to connect all day, so I put the movie on hold (to be continued tomorrow) to talk to Brother of Mine. Also long overdue.
Speaking of Christmas, and thanks to nn.c, here’s a link to a bunch of Christmas-themed photos from around the world. My favorites are the skiing Santas and both of the ones of Santa runners.
Because the video is really funny (and the song is good, too).
Tonight was the first time I’d ever heard of The Sing-Off. I still don’t know much about it, but it seems to be a talent show for a capella groups. Good ones. Little Sister Melvin (henceforth to be known as LSM (or Sparky) (I googled LSM to find out what it could stand for, and by far, my favorite is Lesbian Sex Mafia) has been watching it, so here, for your viewing pleasure (after you finish reading one of the most convoluted sentences in this entire blog), are my favorites of the videos she had me look up.
The lead singer in this first video is the guy from The Persuasions. I really like his voice.
This one will not be John’s favorite video, but Mom will like it.
He might like this one, though. It’s one of his favorite songs, but doing his favorite songs a capella has always been hit or miss.
This is the first one I’ve seen where they look like they’re having a good time.
Okay, I promise to stop now. There’s a lot of good stuff out there, and it all makes me want to sing again. It also reminds me that I should be reading Adam’s blog (among many many others). So off I go.