I wanted to get the semi-xBF the new AC/DC album for Christmas, "Black Ice." He's an AC/DC kind of guy. I knew I could probably download it, but I wanted to really go all out and purchase the actual CD so he could have the cover art and everything. I shopped around looking for it, but no dice. So I decided to just bite the bullet and download it from the comfort of my comfy computer chair (and maybe make some creative artwork of my own).
What did I find when I searched ITunes and Amazon? AC/DC tribute bands. No "Black Ice" to be found. That's when I did a little googling and found an article that told me AC/DC is so old and ornery, so against digital downloads of music, that the only way you can get their album is to go to a Wal-Mart or order one through their website.
Seriously? You won't let me PAY FOR IT and download it digitally, but you want me go to a WAL MART? How does this make any sense? I don't shop at Wal-Mart, so therefore I will probably not be getting this for my beloved. Hope he likes socks!
Sunday, December 21, 2008
Saturday, December 6, 2008
Local Honey
So I took the JFP's challenge to spend at least $100 this Christmas shopping season. That very shirt up there you can get from my good buddy Darren Schwindamann at this site. There are so many cool gifts just waiting to be snatched up around this city, you really don't have to go to the mall! The people are so much more willing to help you and glad to see you in the locally owned shops.
I went over the $100 limit I am sure, and here are some of the great things I came away with:
I got this book for my niece, she can learn her colors from Van Gogh and Matisse!
Some Audubon notecards for xBF's mom, she owns several Audubon prints and is a big fan.
I had to get this magnet for myself. It's from William Dunlap's exhibit about what dogs dream, and that dog reminds me of Sally for some reason.
I got all of the above (plus a couple of things I can't show right now in case the recipients see this!) at the Mississippi Museum of Art gift shop. It's my new favorite store in town.
From there, I wandered over to Rainbow Co-op, where I grabbed some Vegan-ase to use in the crab dip I'm making for a party tomorrow where a friend of mine is allergic to eggs. Then I went over to Brent's drug store, where I found a lot of really cute Christmas decorations, but I don't even have room for a tree this year and I am picky about getting ornaments for other people, so I just window-shopped there.
I had to have lunch, so I got a chicken salad sandwich at Broad Street, and while I was in Banner Hall I went upstairs to Lemuria Books. I love love love Lemuria, but it is a bit overwhelming when you walk in because it is SO full of books. Thankfully the staff are so very friendly and helpful. I found these two books for my mom and dad:
The one on the left is for my dad, because he has gotten into gardening and being "green." The one on the right is for my mom who loves to read. It's a collection of stories about growing up here and is illustrated by Wyatt Waters (and this copy is signed by him too!)
Overall I spent about $150 today. But I'd say about 90% of my Christmas shopping is done! And I feel really good about what I found and the fact that my money went right back into the local economy. I am going to try really hard to buy the rest of my gifts locally as well. I challenge y'all to do the same, even if you don't live here, buy local wherever you are!
Wednesday, November 26, 2008
Commercialized
Three commercials that bug the snot out of me:
1.
This one is not a bad commercial, but I swear to Jebus that is Kermit the Frog talking about cheese.
2. I can't find the commercial online, but those stupid Disaronno ads where the bartender is telling you how to make Disaronno and Milk (Wugh!), or Disaronno and Lemon. Really? We need expert advice on how to make a cocktail that only has two ingredients? Pour overpriced Amaretto in a glass. Squeeze a lemon. Drink and repeat. What's next, "How to make Wild Turkey neat?" "Enjoying your Coors Light, the easy way. Step 1, take beer out of fridge. Step 2, pop the cap. Step 3, ENJOY!"
3. That commercial with the text-messaging thumbs that are supposed to be saying funny things instead of just saying "LOL". The problem is, nothing they say is funny. OMGWTFROFLMAO!
That's all you get for now, but seeing as the holiday season is upon us, I am sure there will be more to come!
1.
This one is not a bad commercial, but I swear to Jebus that is Kermit the Frog talking about cheese.
2. I can't find the commercial online, but those stupid Disaronno ads where the bartender is telling you how to make Disaronno and Milk (Wugh!), or Disaronno and Lemon. Really? We need expert advice on how to make a cocktail that only has two ingredients? Pour overpriced Amaretto in a glass. Squeeze a lemon. Drink and repeat. What's next, "How to make Wild Turkey neat?" "Enjoying your Coors Light, the easy way. Step 1, take beer out of fridge. Step 2, pop the cap. Step 3, ENJOY!"
3. That commercial with the text-messaging thumbs that are supposed to be saying funny things instead of just saying "LOL". The problem is, nothing they say is funny. OMGWTFROFLMAO!
That's all you get for now, but seeing as the holiday season is upon us, I am sure there will be more to come!
Saturday, November 22, 2008
Old Guys and First Loves
New Kids on The Block is making a comeback, whether you like it or not.
by Andi Agnew
October 29, 2008
“Just thought I’d call and see if you wanted to get tickets to see your favorite band; they’re playing in New Orleans in October!” My best friend told me recently. She is overly enthusiastic, and I knew that she was also joking.
Had she called me 19 years ago with the same bit of news, she would have been right on. New Kids on the Block were most definitely my favorite band in 1989, when they were hot on the scene and I was 12 years old. Then again, there was no way in h-e-double-hockey-sticks that my parents would have let me go to New Orleans for a concert.
Next to Milli Vanilli and future drunken American Idol judge Paula Abdul—which really should tell you a lot about the music scene in the late 1980s—NKOTB was it. There wasn’t a seventh-grade girl alive who did not have her favorite New Kid picked out, and she sported his picture on a gigantic button to show her undying devotion.
My favorite Kid was Jordan Knight, with his puppy-dog brown eyes and inexplicable rat-tail braid. I scoured the pages of Tiger Beat, Teen Beat and Bop to find posters of Jordan and the other guys to put on my bedroom walls. He was 17, and I was 12, but I just knew that if we were ever to meet, it would be love at first sight. In some ways I think my New Kid worship was just practice for how I would handle dating real boys later on.
Believe it or not, Jackson was no more a music mecca in 1989 than it is today. For our beloved boy band to even bother to find Jackson on a map, thousands of teenage girls flocked to the mall to sign a petition to bring NKOTB to Jackson. My parents hauled my sister and me to add our signatures, and soon the announcement was made that the New Kids would be coming to Jackson.
My parents bought five or six tickets to the show (enough for them to accompany my sister, me and a couple of our friends) and we waited. And waited. NKOTB were not coming for another eight months.
When you are 12, eight months is a lifetime. Not only is it a lifetime to wait, it is also enough time to change your mind about hairstyles, crushes and even music. By the time August finally arrived and the show was upon us, I had begun eighth grade, was way too mature for NKOTB, and told my parents I really didn’t want to go to the show after all.
“You’re going, and you’ll like it,” my dad told me.
So we went, and we really did like it. My friends and I were jumping up and down, squealing with joy as we squinted to see the tiny specks that were our seventh-grade crushes. The flames were rekindled; we all got T-shirts and wore them to school the next week. Then, a week or so later, it was on to Boyz II Men, that “other” Wahlberg boy and real live boys at school.
The teenage girl is a fickle soul.
Because my personal experience as a fan of the New Kids was so short-lived, it is a bit hard to fathom that a reunion of the group would be very successful. But with a quick visit to the blog on the group’s Web site, nkotb.com/blog, I found that there are some die-hard fans out there. Many tout the fact that NKOTB was their first concert, and some lament the fact that it wasn’t their first concert. Well, the concert experience I described above was my first, but I admit I wish it had been someone else—U2, REM and Madonna were all touring back then, too.
I’m not sure how relevant NKOTB’s music is 19 years later. I don’t think the bubblegum pop of the late ’80s can stand up to the bubblegum pop of today. And the NKOTB’s new songs are, frankly, a bit creepy. Hearing nearly 40-year old men singing, “I’ll be your boyfriend” just seems a bit silly. We wanted them to be our boyfriends when we were 12. Now some of us are looking for second husbands.
The boy band was really nothing new even when NKOTB was truly “new” and made up of “kids.” Before them were The Monkees, and before The Monkees were The Beatles and The Beach Boys. Boy bands are a rite of passage for young girls, and for the most part, the music should stay in the hallowed halls of teendom.
by Andi Agnew
October 29, 2008
“Just thought I’d call and see if you wanted to get tickets to see your favorite band; they’re playing in New Orleans in October!” My best friend told me recently. She is overly enthusiastic, and I knew that she was also joking.
Had she called me 19 years ago with the same bit of news, she would have been right on. New Kids on the Block were most definitely my favorite band in 1989, when they were hot on the scene and I was 12 years old. Then again, there was no way in h-e-double-hockey-sticks that my parents would have let me go to New Orleans for a concert.
Next to Milli Vanilli and future drunken American Idol judge Paula Abdul—which really should tell you a lot about the music scene in the late 1980s—NKOTB was it. There wasn’t a seventh-grade girl alive who did not have her favorite New Kid picked out, and she sported his picture on a gigantic button to show her undying devotion.
My favorite Kid was Jordan Knight, with his puppy-dog brown eyes and inexplicable rat-tail braid. I scoured the pages of Tiger Beat, Teen Beat and Bop to find posters of Jordan and the other guys to put on my bedroom walls. He was 17, and I was 12, but I just knew that if we were ever to meet, it would be love at first sight. In some ways I think my New Kid worship was just practice for how I would handle dating real boys later on.
Believe it or not, Jackson was no more a music mecca in 1989 than it is today. For our beloved boy band to even bother to find Jackson on a map, thousands of teenage girls flocked to the mall to sign a petition to bring NKOTB to Jackson. My parents hauled my sister and me to add our signatures, and soon the announcement was made that the New Kids would be coming to Jackson.
My parents bought five or six tickets to the show (enough for them to accompany my sister, me and a couple of our friends) and we waited. And waited. NKOTB were not coming for another eight months.
When you are 12, eight months is a lifetime. Not only is it a lifetime to wait, it is also enough time to change your mind about hairstyles, crushes and even music. By the time August finally arrived and the show was upon us, I had begun eighth grade, was way too mature for NKOTB, and told my parents I really didn’t want to go to the show after all.
“You’re going, and you’ll like it,” my dad told me.
So we went, and we really did like it. My friends and I were jumping up and down, squealing with joy as we squinted to see the tiny specks that were our seventh-grade crushes. The flames were rekindled; we all got T-shirts and wore them to school the next week. Then, a week or so later, it was on to Boyz II Men, that “other” Wahlberg boy and real live boys at school.
The teenage girl is a fickle soul.
Because my personal experience as a fan of the New Kids was so short-lived, it is a bit hard to fathom that a reunion of the group would be very successful. But with a quick visit to the blog on the group’s Web site, nkotb.com/blog, I found that there are some die-hard fans out there. Many tout the fact that NKOTB was their first concert, and some lament the fact that it wasn’t their first concert. Well, the concert experience I described above was my first, but I admit I wish it had been someone else—U2, REM and Madonna were all touring back then, too.
I’m not sure how relevant NKOTB’s music is 19 years later. I don’t think the bubblegum pop of the late ’80s can stand up to the bubblegum pop of today. And the NKOTB’s new songs are, frankly, a bit creepy. Hearing nearly 40-year old men singing, “I’ll be your boyfriend” just seems a bit silly. We wanted them to be our boyfriends when we were 12. Now some of us are looking for second husbands.
The boy band was really nothing new even when NKOTB was truly “new” and made up of “kids.” Before them were The Monkees, and before The Monkees were The Beatles and The Beach Boys. Boy bands are a rite of passage for young girls, and for the most part, the music should stay in the hallowed halls of teendom.
Cheating a bit
You can say I'm phoning it in this week, but I really have been wanting to put my columns here for posterity. If you haven't seen (or don't have access to) the JFP in the last few months, I have a monthly column that I'm pretty proud of. It's been a lot of fun, yet a little unnerving at the same time, what with putting some embarrassing admissions out there for the world to see.
Here goes:
I Made You a Tape
by Andi Agnew
August 27, 2008
Rob Gordon, the quintessential über music snob in Nick Hornby’s “High Fidelity,” sums it up best: “You gotta kick off with a killer, to grab attention. Then you got to take it up a notch, but you don’t wanna blow your wad, so then you got to cool it off a notch. There are a lot of rules.” Gordon is talking about making a good mixtape.
The art of the mixtape is something innate to music lovers whose formative years fall between about 1975 and 2000. Beyond 2000, most mixes were being burned to CD, and now the “mixtape” as we know it may be gone for good.
My first mixtapes were nothing more than sad little recordings of various top-40 songs on the radio. My first “jam box” had only one cassette player/recorder, so I would put my clock radio as close to the microphone as I could and press the record button as soon as Lisa Lisa and the Cult Jam came on.
Then, whoops! Not an Eric Clapton fan at the time, I would click off the recorder to avoid having “Pretending” messing with my ’80s dance hits. (My taste in music was questionable back in the day, but what do you expect from a 10-year-old?)
Then one Christmas, Santa brought me a dual deck tape recorder, and I thought I’d died and gone to heaven. My mixtape career really took off at this point. Instead of just putting random songs from the radio on a tape—equivalent to putting the iPod on shuffle these days—I could really say something with music. I carefully chose songs that conveyed how I felt when my eighth grade crush broke my heart. I made tapes for my friends with all of our favorite “riding around town” music. Then we would ride around town listening to our creations. I still have some of those tapes.
In my college years, mixtapes were a measuring stick for how much I liked a guy. If I found myself thinking or daresay uttering the words, “I’ll make you a tape,” I knew I was a goner. I was the queen of unrequited love in college, and I used mixtapes as a “sly” way of letting the guy know how I felt. Because nearly all the guys I have ever dated or wanted to date have been music lovers, I somehow thought that each one would really “get” what I was trying to say, be moved by the music, and sweep me off my feet accordingly. I even went so far as to write out the lyrics to the Barenaked Ladies’ “One Week” for one particular fellow. Gag.
That’s the thing about a mixtape that makes it an art form: Not only are you painting a picture with songs, but you can get creative with the liner notes and packaging. I used to paint tapes with nail polish and glitter, make up funny names for each side, decorate the cover with markers—making each parcel unique.
I should probably be embarrassed to admit these details, but I’m not, because thanks to Cassette From My Ex, I now know I am not alone. This Web site allows users to eavesdrop on other people’s mixtapes. Each tape has a back-story written from the perspective of the tape’s recipient and an image of the tape or cover art. You can also listen to the tracks on both sides of the tape while you read.
The stories behind these tapes are well-written, entertaining essays. Many of the tape-owners are writers, editors or other creatives. Some lament their poor taste at the time the tape was created. Melissa Walker’s “Crazy 8s” is the product of both sides of the relationship:“I realize now when I look back on these songs that every single good tune on there was his pick. The lame ones (Ice Cream, two Wallflowers songs? Hootie for God’s sake?): All me.”
I don’t know what will become of the mixtape now that even CDs are becoming passé. I can’t get used to saying, “Here, I made you a playlist.” Maybe cassettes will make a retro comeback like vinyl—only time will tell. One thing is for certain: Music lovers’ relationships may never be the same.
--------------
I think I will break these up for easier reading...
Here goes:
I Made You a Tape
by Andi Agnew
August 27, 2008
Rob Gordon, the quintessential über music snob in Nick Hornby’s “High Fidelity,” sums it up best: “You gotta kick off with a killer, to grab attention. Then you got to take it up a notch, but you don’t wanna blow your wad, so then you got to cool it off a notch. There are a lot of rules.” Gordon is talking about making a good mixtape.
The art of the mixtape is something innate to music lovers whose formative years fall between about 1975 and 2000. Beyond 2000, most mixes were being burned to CD, and now the “mixtape” as we know it may be gone for good.
My first mixtapes were nothing more than sad little recordings of various top-40 songs on the radio. My first “jam box” had only one cassette player/recorder, so I would put my clock radio as close to the microphone as I could and press the record button as soon as Lisa Lisa and the Cult Jam came on.
Then, whoops! Not an Eric Clapton fan at the time, I would click off the recorder to avoid having “Pretending” messing with my ’80s dance hits. (My taste in music was questionable back in the day, but what do you expect from a 10-year-old?)
Then one Christmas, Santa brought me a dual deck tape recorder, and I thought I’d died and gone to heaven. My mixtape career really took off at this point. Instead of just putting random songs from the radio on a tape—equivalent to putting the iPod on shuffle these days—I could really say something with music. I carefully chose songs that conveyed how I felt when my eighth grade crush broke my heart. I made tapes for my friends with all of our favorite “riding around town” music. Then we would ride around town listening to our creations. I still have some of those tapes.
In my college years, mixtapes were a measuring stick for how much I liked a guy. If I found myself thinking or daresay uttering the words, “I’ll make you a tape,” I knew I was a goner. I was the queen of unrequited love in college, and I used mixtapes as a “sly” way of letting the guy know how I felt. Because nearly all the guys I have ever dated or wanted to date have been music lovers, I somehow thought that each one would really “get” what I was trying to say, be moved by the music, and sweep me off my feet accordingly. I even went so far as to write out the lyrics to the Barenaked Ladies’ “One Week” for one particular fellow. Gag.
That’s the thing about a mixtape that makes it an art form: Not only are you painting a picture with songs, but you can get creative with the liner notes and packaging. I used to paint tapes with nail polish and glitter, make up funny names for each side, decorate the cover with markers—making each parcel unique.
I should probably be embarrassed to admit these details, but I’m not, because thanks to Cassette From My Ex, I now know I am not alone. This Web site allows users to eavesdrop on other people’s mixtapes. Each tape has a back-story written from the perspective of the tape’s recipient and an image of the tape or cover art. You can also listen to the tracks on both sides of the tape while you read.
The stories behind these tapes are well-written, entertaining essays. Many of the tape-owners are writers, editors or other creatives. Some lament their poor taste at the time the tape was created. Melissa Walker’s “Crazy 8s” is the product of both sides of the relationship:“I realize now when I look back on these songs that every single good tune on there was his pick. The lame ones (Ice Cream, two Wallflowers songs? Hootie for God’s sake?): All me.”
I don’t know what will become of the mixtape now that even CDs are becoming passé. I can’t get used to saying, “Here, I made you a playlist.” Maybe cassettes will make a retro comeback like vinyl—only time will tell. One thing is for certain: Music lovers’ relationships may never be the same.
--------------
I think I will break these up for easier reading...
Thursday, November 6, 2008
Quick thought
The Republicans lost the election and gas prices are now below $2/gallon in a lot of places here. Coincidence? Am I a conspiracy theorist at heart? Who knows...
Wednesday, October 29, 2008
My favorite things
1. My new favorite blog: Margaret and Helen Helen speaks the truth, better even than my own grandmother, but my Maw Maw doesn't know how to use a computer.
2.
My favorite sign at the fair -- I meant to post it earlier. How ridiculously obese are we in this country that we now need signs to warn us that we might get stuck on the Tilt-a-Whirl INDEFINITELY?
3. Getting together with old friends. I got to see some very good friends this past weekend, many of which used to live here but have gone far, far away. It was really really great to catch up, and it felt almost like we were never apart. AWWW!
4.
This little lady. She is getting closer to being 2, and it amazes me how much of a blabbermouth she has become in the last few months! She knows my name and talks my head off every time I see her! We are best buddies. And I get to see her on Halloween for what is becoming our annual tradition of drinking beer (me and her mama, the baby's got a few years to go yet!) and handing out candy to the neighborhood kids. I don't have a costume, but I'm thinking of just cutting many holes in a sheet like Charlie Brown. 
5. Election Day. It's not always my favorite day of the year, but this year I'm excited about it and ready for it to be over all at the same time. Then maybe do you think we can put all the nonsense behind us and act like civilized Americans again?
2.
My favorite sign at the fair -- I meant to post it earlier. How ridiculously obese are we in this country that we now need signs to warn us that we might get stuck on the Tilt-a-Whirl INDEFINITELY?3. Getting together with old friends. I got to see some very good friends this past weekend, many of which used to live here but have gone far, far away. It was really really great to catch up, and it felt almost like we were never apart. AWWW!
4.
This little lady. She is getting closer to being 2, and it amazes me how much of a blabbermouth she has become in the last few months! She knows my name and talks my head off every time I see her! We are best buddies. And I get to see her on Halloween for what is becoming our annual tradition of drinking beer (me and her mama, the baby's got a few years to go yet!) and handing out candy to the neighborhood kids. I don't have a costume, but I'm thinking of just cutting many holes in a sheet like Charlie Brown. 
5. Election Day. It's not always my favorite day of the year, but this year I'm excited about it and ready for it to be over all at the same time. Then maybe do you think we can put all the nonsense behind us and act like civilized Americans again?
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