
Despite my best efforts, my daughter can't stop singing "YMCA."
Check below for a whole lot of new songs (new songs from me, not new-new songs as in the the blog race of July 06, oh you know what I'm talking 'bout.)
More tomorrow—

Had a few hiccups last week (summer is here after all) and so I thought I'd make it up to y'all with a big ol' post. I'm checking out the list for Lollapalooza (not that I'm going, while I love the idea of music fests, I rarely like them in actuality) and while there is plenty of kid music offered, even some reasonable kid music, I am more inclined to dig into the "adult" bands and look for tunes the whole clan can enjoy.
Yeah with a Z.
The aformention and promised indie rock. Course, it's not all that indie, and none of it's new, but my promises are always empty.
Many a blogger have been writing about their bargain bin CDs. I picked this one up recently for a couple of bucks and it's fun. Not great. But fun.
I won't say another word about it today.
This is for the husband whom I love very much. He would give most anything to be in Germany right now, watching the first US game, but alas, he can't even go to the bar at nine AM with all his friends because it's Daddy Day at Preschool and they're having a donut tea party right now. What a guy. He didn't even flinch when I said I could maybe get him out of it.
Sure the keys on the right side, like the return and the delete, stick a bit and take an extra beat to pop back into their original place, but hey, I can live with that. That's what my baby looks like, to the right, only mine has an all-over tinge of brown and the faint smell of Columbian coffee fields. Just enough to make me salivate and crave a cup every time I sit down to type.
Dumped an entire cup of coffee on my open laptop today. That's what I get for swinging by Starbucks, someone's trying to teach me a lesson. It appears to be working, at least for now, as I type this. But who knows what the near future holds. I have backed everything up which is why I'm not in a fetal position sobbing violently.
Today's songs have but one thing in common: the band's start with the letter "O." Make that two things: they are also enjoyed by my daughter.
Friday came too soon. Don't get me wrong, I love the weekend, the relaxing two hour breakfasts, the fun little kiddle activities, the endless birthday parties... and this weekend is our neighborhood Chili Cook-Off. Yep, my neighborhood has a neighborhood Chili Cook-Off. And I only live 11 minutes from downtown, or so I keep reminding myself when I feel like I live in the nether reaches of the burbs. Now I haven't eaten meat in the last two months, but there are five pounds of pork butt in my fridge. I'm taking it this year.
Like I said yesterday, I have freelanced for this agency that does a lot of Target stuff. I suppose they could be mad at me for writing about it here, to my oh couple of hundred readers (hee hee) but honestly I don't know if they will ever use me again. Not because I wasn't good. Of course I think I was good. But, well, you know the last time I was there it was for this roundtable of freelancers and in-house folk to brainstorm "big" campaign ideas. Now there was one guy, a freelancer, a copywriter, like me, but he was so the opposite of me. He was all jazz hands. He was fancy NYC retro suit guy. But when you washed the big words and smooth delivery away you were left with a whole lot of nothing. Still, the folks at the agency thought he was a freaking genius. And these are kind, smart people, but boy were they off base about this guy. We went back to the hotel and he proceeded to rip them all a new one about how gullible they were and dumb because he knew he was full o' crap. Me? I mostly kept quiet, took notes and turned them in after the meeting. But you know what? People. Don't. Read. Jazz hands win out every time.