Have I ever mentioned how awesome Chrissie Hynde is? I learned all about her from Mandy, and really, at the time, Mandy was kind of obsessed. Actually, that's an understatement. She spent a lot of time on the Talk of the Town Pretenders Official Fan Club message board, and met a ton of Pretenders super-fans from all over the country. She scored these crazy awesome 1980s tee shirts and had them altered to fit her teeny teenage body. Even her email password was a Pretenders lyric. In her defense, nothing I was into back then was nearly as cool as Chrissie Hynde, and she started this obsession when she was like, 15. We've been to her hometown, saw the official Pretenders archive, and found places to stay through the Pretenders network on our epic cross country road trip of 2003. We've seen Chrissie together twice, and I'm sure she's got a few more without me and we're actually going to be seeing her perform tonight in Portsmouth. It reminded me of this one time we had a birthday party at Bull Moose for Chrissie.
Every year on September 7th I think to myself, "Why is this an important date?" I'm terrible at remembering birthdays, every year I have to call my mom and ask her to remind me what my father's birthday is, and they've been divorced for ten years. September 7th is Chrissie Hynde's birthday, and one year, possibly 2002, Mandy, Hilla and I were all working, and it was a Sunday. I think on these days we were open from 10-6, so it was eight hours of pure, unadultered Pretenders. She brought in t-shirts for us to wear, made a banner that said Happy Birthday Chrissie! and threw a party for her idol resembling her own birthday parties growing up. She is an only child, afterall.
Hillary and I were pretty good sports about the whole thing. We told anyone who'd listen about the Pretenders, and played the Pretenders discography from beginning to end. It was a long day. The customer base at Bull Moose Lewiston was mostly high school kids in the surrounding area, the occasional Batesy, a lot of numetal dudes, some DJ-types, and the oldie-but-goodie crowd, who were just venturing into the short lived world of compact discs, desperately in need of that Connie Francis album their mom used to play. There weren't a whole lot of people who were into the alternative 80's scene, so our Pretenders preaching was falling on mostly deaf ears, except this one guy, Dave. Dave was probably the only customer who cared about the Pretenders at all, and he'd always say that he saw Chrissie open for the Stones back in the 80s (or whatever, I was a fetus) and that she blew him away. "Not a lot of musicians can hold their own when opening for the Stones. She was hot." He came in frequently, was enthusiastic, and could take a joke. He was kind of a middle aged guy, and I seem to remember him wearing an Grateful Dead tee. I had no idea what he did for work, or much about him, but one of my coworkers once spotted him coming out of the Blue Goose in the middle of the day. The Blue Goose is an infamous dive bar in Lewiston. At the time I had never drank, didn't really understand the reasons a person could be coming out of a bar during the day, so I thought, whoa, what an alcoholic! Now, as a person who's been known to do that very thing, I think, whoa! I wonder how early they open. All day Mandy was looking forward to Dave coming in. She left for fifteen minutes to grab us coffee, and she missed him. He walked in the store, Hilla and I just burst out laughing, knowing full well that Mandy was going to miss him, and she was going to be incredibly irritated and disappointed to not be able to talk to the one person who she thought would truly understand her excitement. Sure enough, she walks in, we tell her she missed and and a string of "What the fucks" come out of her mouth intermittently for the next hour or so.
What happened that day, though, even more than her and I almost fucking dying driving to Connecticut in a Nor'easter, because she spent $80 a piece on this Foxwoods concert, was that her love for Chrissie was seriously tested. I'm a fan, I genuinely like the Pretenders. I'm into the first three albums, Pretenders, Pretenders II and Learning to Crawl. I can listen to these albums from beginning to end, and thoroughly enjoy them. But sometime in the 90s, Chrissie lost some of the zsa-zsa-zu that made her so awesome and her songs so captivating. Since it was the Unofficial Chrissie Hynde Tribute day, and we had to play all of the albums back to back, even the bad ones from the 90s... And Mandy had a meltdown. We were all feeling a little punchy, probably because of the ridiculousness of the situation. We begged her to stop playing this particular album, it was so terrible. On principle, she made us keep in on. But couldn't disagree that it was really bad. I remember her laughing hysterically at herself, rolling around on the floor, surrounded by Chrissie tribute banners, t-shirts, etc, and saying that this album in question wasn't just the worst Pretenders album, it was the worst album she'd ever heard. But she kept it on.
Brass in Pocket, their first single. Well, second after their cover of the Kink's Stop Your Sobbing, isn't a great example of their best stuff, but I sing it at karaoke sometimes. I'm not trying to tell you I think I'm special, I'm trying to channel our love for Chrissie.
September 30, 2010
September 25, 2010
The Worst Date Ever
In response to a recent post about the second to the worst date ever, some of you have inquired about the worst date ever. Here it is:
I was 17. I'd never met or dated anyone I'd just randomly met. In my innocent, virgin, straightedge mind, dates consisted of ice cream sundaes and holding hands in a movie theater. He was handsome, for a dude-bro, and he came by Bull Moose to pick up a Spoon album. I walked him over to the section and said, "Girls Can Tell?" and he responded, while leaning his body towards mine, "I don't know, can they?" I blushed, ran away, and he asked me for my phone number. He worked at the Gap, and his best friend in high school (two years ahead of me, from across the river) was dating the head cheerleader/class vice president from my class. Maybe I thought this was going to be some sort of 'She's All That' kind of nerd makeover story or something.
We agreed to meet at my job at a specified time, since this was almost ten years ago and not everyone had cell phones yet. He was an hour late, and made no apologies, no excuses. I pretended not to notice, since I didn't know what else to do. He used the bathroom at the store, then again two or three times when we went to Friendly's for ice cream and grilled cheese. I think I also saw him pop some pills. He's still cute, but we don't have anything to talk about, and his behavior is not normal.
I suggest we go to the movies. We get there, and we've missed all of the shows by five minutes. Not a problem. Even back then I had my finger on the pulse, so I suggest an indie hip-hop show at Bates. (His interest in Spoon was a fluke. This guy was way more WBLM than WRBC.) We arrive and the show doesn't start for another hour and a half. I'm baffled. He uses the bathroom again, then suggests we just go for a drive, normal small-town teenager passtime stuff. We were in separate cars up until this point, but he volunteers to drive. Why the fuck was he peeing so much?
We're out over by the Lake, and I'm assuming he's just going to take us on a nice drive around the lake, something we do sometimes when we get bored. But then he turns right, down a wooded, unpaved road. There's a road closed sign. I start to panic a little. My mom had no idea where I was, in fact, no one knew where I was or who this guy was. He keeps driving and I'm seeing signs like, "Road Closed in .5 Mile, Turn Back Now!" "Where the Hell do you think you're going? ROAD CLOSED, Dummy!" I started getting really scared.
He parked the car in front of some blockades and leaves the car to pee again. I wonder how lost I'd get in the woods and how far exactly I was from Route 4 if I tried to make a run for it. This wasn't part of the Girl Scout curriculum. The woods were pitch black and if he didn't murder me out there, I figured there was a pretty good chance I'd get eaten by some wild monster/animal (Did I mention I'm scared of the dark, sometimes?) It'd probably take them weeks to find my body. He went in for the kiss. I don't remember specifics, except it was the worst kiss of my life. We made out for a few minutes and I'm seriously regretting putting myself in the situation. He makes a move for my belt buckle, and I push his hand away three times. The fourth time, I stop and tell him flat out, "I'm not going to have sex with you, I'm a virgin." He was really surprised, but got the point, and we headed back in town.
Finally, we arrive at Bates, he pees again and pops another pill, and I'm glad I'm alive and able to focus my attention somewhere other than this creepshow. We stay for about half an hour, I tell him I'm tired and we leave. He kisses me goodbye, tells me he'll call, but he doesn't.
This guy came into the store again once or twice, a year later, and I pretended I didn't know him. There are a few lessons to be learned from this story: tell someone where you're going, meet at a public place, have a cell phone, and remove yourself from a situation as soon as you start feeling uncomfortable. Crazy, huh?
I was 17. I'd never met or dated anyone I'd just randomly met. In my innocent, virgin, straightedge mind, dates consisted of ice cream sundaes and holding hands in a movie theater. He was handsome, for a dude-bro, and he came by Bull Moose to pick up a Spoon album. I walked him over to the section and said, "Girls Can Tell?" and he responded, while leaning his body towards mine, "I don't know, can they?" I blushed, ran away, and he asked me for my phone number. He worked at the Gap, and his best friend in high school (two years ahead of me, from across the river) was dating the head cheerleader/class vice president from my class. Maybe I thought this was going to be some sort of 'She's All That' kind of nerd makeover story or something.
We agreed to meet at my job at a specified time, since this was almost ten years ago and not everyone had cell phones yet. He was an hour late, and made no apologies, no excuses. I pretended not to notice, since I didn't know what else to do. He used the bathroom at the store, then again two or three times when we went to Friendly's for ice cream and grilled cheese. I think I also saw him pop some pills. He's still cute, but we don't have anything to talk about, and his behavior is not normal.
I suggest we go to the movies. We get there, and we've missed all of the shows by five minutes. Not a problem. Even back then I had my finger on the pulse, so I suggest an indie hip-hop show at Bates. (His interest in Spoon was a fluke. This guy was way more WBLM than WRBC.) We arrive and the show doesn't start for another hour and a half. I'm baffled. He uses the bathroom again, then suggests we just go for a drive, normal small-town teenager passtime stuff. We were in separate cars up until this point, but he volunteers to drive. Why the fuck was he peeing so much?
We're out over by the Lake, and I'm assuming he's just going to take us on a nice drive around the lake, something we do sometimes when we get bored. But then he turns right, down a wooded, unpaved road. There's a road closed sign. I start to panic a little. My mom had no idea where I was, in fact, no one knew where I was or who this guy was. He keeps driving and I'm seeing signs like, "Road Closed in .5 Mile, Turn Back Now!" "Where the Hell do you think you're going? ROAD CLOSED, Dummy!" I started getting really scared.
He parked the car in front of some blockades and leaves the car to pee again. I wonder how lost I'd get in the woods and how far exactly I was from Route 4 if I tried to make a run for it. This wasn't part of the Girl Scout curriculum. The woods were pitch black and if he didn't murder me out there, I figured there was a pretty good chance I'd get eaten by some wild monster/animal (Did I mention I'm scared of the dark, sometimes?) It'd probably take them weeks to find my body. He went in for the kiss. I don't remember specifics, except it was the worst kiss of my life. We made out for a few minutes and I'm seriously regretting putting myself in the situation. He makes a move for my belt buckle, and I push his hand away three times. The fourth time, I stop and tell him flat out, "I'm not going to have sex with you, I'm a virgin." He was really surprised, but got the point, and we headed back in town.
Finally, we arrive at Bates, he pees again and pops another pill, and I'm glad I'm alive and able to focus my attention somewhere other than this creepshow. We stay for about half an hour, I tell him I'm tired and we leave. He kisses me goodbye, tells me he'll call, but he doesn't.
This guy came into the store again once or twice, a year later, and I pretended I didn't know him. There are a few lessons to be learned from this story: tell someone where you're going, meet at a public place, have a cell phone, and remove yourself from a situation as soon as you start feeling uncomfortable. Crazy, huh?
September 21, 2010
The Birds
One of my favorite places to study on campus is the reading room on the seventh floor of the library. It's modern, it's sunny, there's recessed lighting and comfortable chairs... and it's completely silent. Occasionally, I'll drop off my books in a corner of the room, grab my wallet and phone, (probably not the best idea, now that I'm remembering my marine biology book was $187,) then walk over to Hannaford for some lunch. There is food available on campus, but Hannaford is no further away and they have fresh produce, sushi... and a hot wing bar.
Today, I was on the phone with Angela Pizzo, balancing the phone between my ear and shoulder, holding my food container in one hand, and eating BBQ chicken bites with the other. I think I talk to Angela three or four times a day, so it's a surprise that we have anything to talk about. She is getting another call, so I hang up, and decide I'll go sit on the Back Bay, finish my lunch, and wait for her to call back. It's a beautiful, sunny day, we're at a mid-tide, so there's plenty of blue water to focus my gaze on.
Crossing that part of Baxter Blvd, where there is no crosswalk, is pretty dangerous. The road is curved, cars tend to drive fast, and I'm fairly certain that I'll die at the hands of a motor vehicle one way or another, so I just dart across the street when I see the chance, open food container in hand (can't live in fear.)
Except, as soon and I crossed onto the lawn, I was immediately swarmed by seagulls. No joke, probably about twenty. When I realized they had realized I had food, I didn't know what was scarier: The thought of getting pooped on, or the thought of them pecking my lunch out of my hands. So I closed the container, and darted back in front of traffic, followed by a dwindling amount of birds. I am so proud of myself for not screaming.
It reminds me of the time I was at Willard Beach and this woman was losing her patience with her three year old son: If you don't put your snack away... the seagulls... they will come... and they will poop on your head!!
Today, I was on the phone with Angela Pizzo, balancing the phone between my ear and shoulder, holding my food container in one hand, and eating BBQ chicken bites with the other. I think I talk to Angela three or four times a day, so it's a surprise that we have anything to talk about. She is getting another call, so I hang up, and decide I'll go sit on the Back Bay, finish my lunch, and wait for her to call back. It's a beautiful, sunny day, we're at a mid-tide, so there's plenty of blue water to focus my gaze on.
Crossing that part of Baxter Blvd, where there is no crosswalk, is pretty dangerous. The road is curved, cars tend to drive fast, and I'm fairly certain that I'll die at the hands of a motor vehicle one way or another, so I just dart across the street when I see the chance, open food container in hand (can't live in fear.)
Except, as soon and I crossed onto the lawn, I was immediately swarmed by seagulls. No joke, probably about twenty. When I realized they had realized I had food, I didn't know what was scarier: The thought of getting pooped on, or the thought of them pecking my lunch out of my hands. So I closed the container, and darted back in front of traffic, followed by a dwindling amount of birds. I am so proud of myself for not screaming.
It reminds me of the time I was at Willard Beach and this woman was losing her patience with her three year old son: If you don't put your snack away... the seagulls... they will come... and they will poop on your head!!
September 19, 2010
Havana Nights
This is from the "live blogging" session I told many of you about, which took place outside of 51 Wharf. Enjoy!
On my way over, I saw a girl in a LBD and five in heels half walking half jogging. She rolled her ankle five times. So I’m here, and I’m already kind of freaking out. I have to be OUTSIDE. Vulnerable to everyone’s.. stares and voices. I have a huge LL Bean Boat and Tote bag. I feel ridiculously out of place.
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11:17 It seems like there is a line, but that some people are in fact VIPs. There’s a dance party errupting in the line. Two old northern Maine couples just walked out. They must’ve been lost. You gotta stand out- gold disco ball minidress dress. Hard to miss. Leave that Little Black Dress on the rack and go bold. $5 vodka red bulls. Mistake.
11:19 SUPER creepy man from the bus, about 45, long black hair, scowl, multiple facial peircings, tons of army surplus gear. He didn’t talk to me. First piggy back of the night. If you can’t walk in your shoes, don’t wear them. People on the phone outside of the club, craning their necks, trying to figure out if their friends are already in, scared to venture in alone.
11:30 More lost old people. Pack of men, seemingly no alpha-male making decisions- they’re looking lost. Camo hoodie guy- probably isn’t getting any tonight. Just saw the back of Kurt Cobain. Take a shower, man. I hear the DJ say something about ladies and shots. Troubling.
11:38 KILT!!!! Some guys is wearing a kilt. Smart girls wear wedges. DJ is playing Rhianna. Maybe sending the wrong message about violence against women. Some dude walks by holding a wine bottle. Inside the club I see a bottle of liquor on fire with a sparkler sticking out, and a cocktail waitress going around with blinking test tube shots. The noise level is rising.
11:44 Bachelorette in pink sparkly western hat almost wanders away from the rest of her party. Narrowly rescued. I accidentally make eye contact with a guy sporting a half sleeve tattoo. Embarrassing. PREGNANT LADY, NOOOOO!!!! Goatees abound. Girls trying to walk on this road is like they’re doing an impression of crabs walking on eggshells, which is directly related to how many cape cods they‘ve had.
11:50 Some girls in minidresses get escorted to the front of the line. I realize that hanging out here you’d never know Maine is one of the least diverse states, so many minorities everywhere. Now the music from Oasis and 51 Wharf are competing on the sidewalk. Who needs eardrums? I HEART BACON T-SHIRT! First barefoot woman. Inside the club, I see a bottle of liquor on fire with a sparkler sticking out, and a cocktail waitress going around with blinking test tube shots. The noise level is rising.
11:51 The line at the Oasis and the line at 51 Wharf have been alternating in length all night. I might be the only person out here wearing glasses. I’ve spotted a NorthFace bubble vest on the same night as short shorts and flip flops. I wonder how long into the season these girls will endure the cold. Someone almost talked to me, close call. You know a girl is drunk when she stumbles on her heels and she’s standing still. Noise Level is definitely rising. More confused New York hipsters, looking lost. Small Indian? man of about 60 in line with son? Old guy and son just switched shirts. Don’t understand. Is there a dress code, where you can’t have cut off sleeves and be old? Old man and son just seemed to have switched ids. Like the door guy won’t remember them from ten minutes ago? Old guy, who was apparently with young guy, got in the club and now young guy is wandering around. Very strange.
11:52 Kilt guy is back. Some hipsters going in, guess they have to dance it out, too. That’s the woman who flashed me her turquoise underwear last week. Over the knee boots chick is turning some serious heads. Don’t understand why she hasn’t just gone in yet. All of a sudden the line is full of really unattractive people.
12:01 Cops are circling, same cops from last week. It’s cooling off, so I go inside. The people at the table next to me are also gawking out the window. Disco ball dress chick is back, also turning heads. People are getting drunker and drunker stumbling out.
12:05: MECA student, spotted!
12:06 MECA student, walking swiftly in opposite direction. Lots of people smoking at this point. Really touchy Jamaican man with waist-length dreads who I waited on once walks by. Doesn’t see me. Cute couple, him with a blazer, her with a white button down, skinny jeans and a hobo bag… I want to tell them to get out of line because bad things will happen in there.
12:17 “I could never imagine wearing that in my entire life” overheard next to me. I decide to take off, even though I know there is serious madness to ensue. But I was tired and could only stay up if I had another beer but did not want another beer. So I went home. Then I missed some drunk dude asking the door guy at Havana Nights asking if Obama was in the building- because the door guy was wearing one of those ear pieces (I assume) the Secret Service wears. THEN some drunk girl gets arrested for punching a police officer in the face, and I missed that too.
Stay tuned for the related column in the Free Press.
On my way over, I saw a girl in a LBD and five in heels half walking half jogging. She rolled her ankle five times. So I’m here, and I’m already kind of freaking out. I have to be OUTSIDE. Vulnerable to everyone’s.. stares and voices. I have a huge LL Bean Boat and Tote bag. I feel ridiculously out of place.
.jpg)
11:17 It seems like there is a line, but that some people are in fact VIPs. There’s a dance party errupting in the line. Two old northern Maine couples just walked out. They must’ve been lost. You gotta stand out- gold disco ball minidress dress. Hard to miss. Leave that Little Black Dress on the rack and go bold. $5 vodka red bulls. Mistake.
11:19 SUPER creepy man from the bus, about 45, long black hair, scowl, multiple facial peircings, tons of army surplus gear. He didn’t talk to me. First piggy back of the night. If you can’t walk in your shoes, don’t wear them. People on the phone outside of the club, craning their necks, trying to figure out if their friends are already in, scared to venture in alone.
11:30 More lost old people. Pack of men, seemingly no alpha-male making decisions- they’re looking lost. Camo hoodie guy- probably isn’t getting any tonight. Just saw the back of Kurt Cobain. Take a shower, man. I hear the DJ say something about ladies and shots. Troubling.
11:38 KILT!!!! Some guys is wearing a kilt. Smart girls wear wedges. DJ is playing Rhianna. Maybe sending the wrong message about violence against women. Some dude walks by holding a wine bottle. Inside the club I see a bottle of liquor on fire with a sparkler sticking out, and a cocktail waitress going around with blinking test tube shots. The noise level is rising.
11:44 Bachelorette in pink sparkly western hat almost wanders away from the rest of her party. Narrowly rescued. I accidentally make eye contact with a guy sporting a half sleeve tattoo. Embarrassing. PREGNANT LADY, NOOOOO!!!! Goatees abound. Girls trying to walk on this road is like they’re doing an impression of crabs walking on eggshells, which is directly related to how many cape cods they‘ve had.
11:50 Some girls in minidresses get escorted to the front of the line. I realize that hanging out here you’d never know Maine is one of the least diverse states, so many minorities everywhere. Now the music from Oasis and 51 Wharf are competing on the sidewalk. Who needs eardrums? I HEART BACON T-SHIRT! First barefoot woman. Inside the club, I see a bottle of liquor on fire with a sparkler sticking out, and a cocktail waitress going around with blinking test tube shots. The noise level is rising.
11:51 The line at the Oasis and the line at 51 Wharf have been alternating in length all night. I might be the only person out here wearing glasses. I’ve spotted a NorthFace bubble vest on the same night as short shorts and flip flops. I wonder how long into the season these girls will endure the cold. Someone almost talked to me, close call. You know a girl is drunk when she stumbles on her heels and she’s standing still. Noise Level is definitely rising. More confused New York hipsters, looking lost. Small Indian? man of about 60 in line with son? Old guy and son just switched shirts. Don’t understand. Is there a dress code, where you can’t have cut off sleeves and be old? Old man and son just seemed to have switched ids. Like the door guy won’t remember them from ten minutes ago? Old guy, who was apparently with young guy, got in the club and now young guy is wandering around. Very strange.
11:52 Kilt guy is back. Some hipsters going in, guess they have to dance it out, too. That’s the woman who flashed me her turquoise underwear last week. Over the knee boots chick is turning some serious heads. Don’t understand why she hasn’t just gone in yet. All of a sudden the line is full of really unattractive people.
12:01 Cops are circling, same cops from last week. It’s cooling off, so I go inside. The people at the table next to me are also gawking out the window. Disco ball dress chick is back, also turning heads. People are getting drunker and drunker stumbling out.
12:05: MECA student, spotted!
12:06 MECA student, walking swiftly in opposite direction. Lots of people smoking at this point. Really touchy Jamaican man with waist-length dreads who I waited on once walks by. Doesn’t see me. Cute couple, him with a blazer, her with a white button down, skinny jeans and a hobo bag… I want to tell them to get out of line because bad things will happen in there.
12:17 “I could never imagine wearing that in my entire life” overheard next to me. I decide to take off, even though I know there is serious madness to ensue. But I was tired and could only stay up if I had another beer but did not want another beer. So I went home. Then I missed some drunk dude asking the door guy at Havana Nights asking if Obama was in the building- because the door guy was wearing one of those ear pieces (I assume) the Secret Service wears. THEN some drunk girl gets arrested for punching a police officer in the face, and I missed that too.
Stay tuned for the related column in the Free Press.
September 6, 2010
September 3, 2010
Disco Ice Cream and Other Dance Parties
An old friend recently gave me a compliment in an email, and it inspired me to post these two videos. She said, "Ever since I met you it seems like you live your life in this amazing, warm-toned world where you're always doing cool things, and meeting interesting people and going on adventures." She's not wrong.
Mandy and I were buying ice cream and one of the lights in the cooler was flickering, like some sort of disco stage. There was only one thing to do.
Later that night, in fact, possibly inspired by the disco ice cream, we went over to Bubba's Sulky Lounge for the first time in months.
Please don't judge me for having dance moves equivalent to Billy Crystal's white man's overbite in When Harry Met Sally.
September 2, 2010
What's Your Favorite Music Genre?
So, on the application for this work study position at the community radio station asks me to list my favorite genre of music, which is like asking me to pick a favorite type of food, or a favorite place to vacation or the five famous people living or dead I'd have dinner with. The possibilities for the answer of their question are so astounding, that I turned to my friends for answers via mass text. My specific distaste for this question has to do with working at three different record stores over the course of six years and KNOWING when someone says they like all music, it means they've really only ever heard what's on the radio. I wanted to tell those people I'd bet them all the money in the drawer that I could find something they didn't like. All of the answers were so awesome.
Q: "I'm applying for a work study job at WMPG. They're asking me to list my favorite genre of music. I've always thought this kind of question was bullshit. What do I do?"
A: "It is bullshit, but it's also just a work study job."
"Say rock and rollllll"
"Say all music except country and rap."
"Whatever you do, don't say anything but rap and country."
"Oh god, I hate that stuff too. Back when I was on the board at the radio station [at Bates] we really didn't read much into it, basically used it as a quick judge, eg, if someone liked adult alternative, we could immediately write them off. The best apps were the ones where people just listed bands they had listened to recently and were into."
"List a bunch of different ones- it'll show you have varied tastes..."
"Yacht Rock."
"Say local."
"Um, say you have broad taste in music and are a supporter of local artists?"
"Yeah, that sucks. Just putting 'indie' seems like a cop-out."
"BS, why? You don't have a favorite, or you don't expose yourself that way, or what? Usually that type of question is just meant to reveal some aspect of your humanity- which they'd probably like to see if you're going to work with them."
"Is this a mass text?" "I don't know, ask your bf."
"Pop." "Or pick something totally obscure, so they think they would be adding someone with a unique perspective...not that they wouldn't if they hired you, but you know."
"Being an asshole has always worked for me, so I would write: "Nothing you have ever heard of, you fucking square."
"Say something like, 'music that makes me think.' This ranges several genres."
"Blues rock." "No? Just a thought."
"Be honest! Add variety. I'm sure they're interested in the local music that you're into."
"Why don't you say, 'it's personal...more info available upon request.'"
"It's a freeform station - so go nuts. Alternatively, you could just write "chickens are people too."
"Eclectic is probably safe."
" I would write that you think this question is bullshit."
"just write "trolololololololololo"."
"Tell them you think it's horseshit, & that you should be paid as well. My favorite is "go fuck yourself" genre."
"How about something like "My first job was at a record store and I stayed there for four years, listening to practically everything. I've also made mixtapes that had successful transitions between Billie Holiday, Weezer, Snoop Dog, and Bruce Springsteen.""
Q: "I'm applying for a work study job at WMPG. They're asking me to list my favorite genre of music. I've always thought this kind of question was bullshit. What do I do?"
A: "It is bullshit, but it's also just a work study job."
"Say rock and rollllll"
"Say all music except country and rap."
"Whatever you do, don't say anything but rap and country."
"Oh god, I hate that stuff too. Back when I was on the board at the radio station [at Bates] we really didn't read much into it, basically used it as a quick judge, eg, if someone liked adult alternative, we could immediately write them off. The best apps were the ones where people just listed bands they had listened to recently and were into."
"List a bunch of different ones- it'll show you have varied tastes..."
"Yacht Rock."
"Say local."
"Um, say you have broad taste in music and are a supporter of local artists?"
"Yeah, that sucks. Just putting 'indie' seems like a cop-out."
"BS, why? You don't have a favorite, or you don't expose yourself that way, or what? Usually that type of question is just meant to reveal some aspect of your humanity- which they'd probably like to see if you're going to work with them."
"Is this a mass text?" "I don't know, ask your bf."
"Pop." "Or pick something totally obscure, so they think they would be adding someone with a unique perspective...not that they wouldn't if they hired you, but you know."
"Being an asshole has always worked for me, so I would write: "Nothing you have ever heard of, you fucking square."
"Say something like, 'music that makes me think.' This ranges several genres."
"Blues rock." "No? Just a thought."
"Be honest! Add variety. I'm sure they're interested in the local music that you're into."
"Why don't you say, 'it's personal...more info available upon request.'"
"It's a freeform station - so go nuts. Alternatively, you could just write "chickens are people too."
"Eclectic is probably safe."
" I would write that you think this question is bullshit."
"just write "trolololololololololo"."
"Tell them you think it's horseshit, & that you should be paid as well. My favorite is "go fuck yourself" genre."
"How about something like "My first job was at a record store and I stayed there for four years, listening to practically everything. I've also made mixtapes that had successful transitions between Billie Holiday, Weezer, Snoop Dog, and Bruce Springsteen.""
September 1, 2010
Summer Lovin' 2010
I just posted some pictures I took throughout summer, from the iPhone to my flickr.
Hope you enjoy!
.jpg) |
| Reggae Sunday at the Porthole. Who'da thought? |
Hope you enjoy!
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