of the Day

Office Mundanity (it's a word now) of the Day: Trying to figure out how many buttons I need to press on my phone to answer a call with my headset. "Hello? Hello? Hello? Hello?" was overheard around my cubicle.

Dangerous Adventure of the Day: JPM carpool van trip to South Boston sans seat belt. Both ways!

Ballsy Wardrobe Choice of the Day: Red and black flannel lumberjack shirt. The fact that Amanda Bynes designed it and I purchased it for $6 at Building 19 1/3 helps.

Happy Surprise of the Day: Finding leftover Indian food is just as good the next day.

Music of the Day: Barenaked Ladies and one Lady Gaga song ("Honest Eyes")

Somewhat Embarrassing Moment of the Day: Being called out for picking a wedgie at work.

Captain Zoom should totally sue for copyright infringement

The second half of Saturday I spent at The Big Day Out in Whittington Park in Islington, some sort of fair for families. I thought it was going to be way more exciting than it was, but this picture of Mr. Boom, One Man Band From The Moon was about as exciting as it got.

I don't know if I sent an image of this one already, but I finally managed to take a picture of Banksy's latest work off Oxford Street. The greatest thing about this one is that there's a huge CCTV camera immediately to the right of where he painted.

The Freddie Mercury statue at the Dominion Theatre where We Will Rock You has been playing for something like 7 years. I have to say that the Freddie Mercury statue I saw in Montreaux Switzerland was way cooler. And not just because it wasn't surrounded by hordes of high school kids on a field day.

On Sunday morning I went to the Good Food Festival also taking place in Islington. This too was rather disappointing. The only good thing about it was a huge herb stand that would have been a jackpot if I cooked at all. What do you think this tastes like though? Tender Vittles with a hint of toothpaste?

Ah, the Nice Green Van of organic and fairtrade ice cream. The choices are...limited.

A cross-dressing nun called Transister

Kanye West, here’s an update for you. The word ‘invisible’ does not rhyme with the word ‘invincible.’ (Another update? You are neither.)

I love to see a grown man walking down Oxford Street eating a Belgian waffle with a scoop of vanilla ice cream. I love even more to see that same grown man’s chin, nose, and cheeks covered in ice cream as if he were a 3-year-old with no inhibitions about shovelling dessert into his face. Wear that ice cream proud, sir.

Walking down the busiest street in the world filled with flocks of tourists is usually a painful experience for me. But studying (i.e. laughing at) human beings’ behavior in their natural habitat (i.e. within proximity to schlock-y stores and Chinese takeaway stands) more than makes up for it. Like when that one girl bumped shoulders with that other woman and she kept walking but quite obviously mumbled ‘bitch’ under her breath.

Lisa to Apple employee Pearce: “Is there any way to add songs to a current playlist on an iPod?”
Pearce: “Can you move to the iPod station over here? I’m not allowed to move from this spot.”
Lisa: “Okaaaaaay.” (Moves 1 foot to the right)
Pearce: “So, what can I do for you?”
Lisa: “I want to know if it’s possible to add an artist to a current playlist on an iPod.”
Pearce: “If you click the center button, it will play the selected artist.”
Lisa: (Realizing I need to put this in his terms so that maybe he’ll start answering the questions I’m asking) “Okay, say I’m listening to COLDPLAY but I want to also listen to THE BEATLES. How would I do that?”
Pearce: “Ah, okay. Well, say you’re listening to X&Y…that’s an album by Coldplay…if you click Play, it will play all the songs from that album. If you click on The Beatles, it will play Beatles songs.”
Lisa: (Thinking “Oh my God, my mother knows more about iPods than this man”) “Is there any way to create a playlist that crosses artists though?”
Pearce: “Sure, on iTunes you can create playlists. If you want to create a playlist for a party, you can choose the songs you want to hear and set them as your ‘Party Playlist’.”
Lisa: (About to shove the iPod up his British nose) “Right. I know about creating playlists on iTunes. But can I do that on an actual iPod?”
Pearce: “Oh on an iPod? No. You can’t do that.”

This weekend was the Glastonbury music festival. It’s about as big here as Woodstock was in America, except it happens every year. I suppose you could compare it to Bonnaroo these days, but with more people, normally more rain and mud, and more skinny jeans. Saturday afternoon I caught Amy Winehouse’s performance on BBC2. Okay. Here’s the thing. I used to feel sorry for this chick. She has genuine talent and put out a couple good albums, but the media won’t let up on her for a second just because of a few mere things like crack pipes, anorexia, domestic violence, and an incarcerated husband. But I really thought she was undeservedly being crapped on. Until I watched this show. Holy moly that girl has issues! I’m sure you heard about the highlight of her performance when she repeatedly punched a fan (in her defense, they are claiming he grabbed one of her knockers). But what you may not have heard about is Amy:
- Calling Kanye West a cunt
- Fiddling non-stop (and non-soberly) with the hem of her dress
- Shoving her boobs back into her strapless dress after each song
- Asking the audience to let her know if one of her “tits pops out”
- Holding up her beehive hairdo so that it wouldn’t fall over
- Running at pretty high speeds across the stage in heels that were not made for a 95-pound drunk girl
- Flubbing her entrance on “Rehab,” stopping the band, and starting over again
- Confessing that Blake used to beat her with a cricket bat

All in all, it was a pretty decent set.

Becca says, “Oh and apparently I witnessed the world’s biggest hora”

I’m on a train from Edinburgh (that’s Edin-burrah for all you non-Brits) to London and should be telling you all about my weekend in Scotland, including the bits about the horrid ghost tour woman, sheep hearts, and pizza-flavored scotch, but that will just have to wait. Because I’ve more pressing matters to talk about. Namely, Paul McCartney.

Last night I watched his concert telecast live from Liverpool. I’ve always been a fan of The Beatles. It started when I was only allowed to listen to Oldies 103 in the car with my mom (I’m proud to say I knew many more Beatles songs than New Kids on the Block songs in the 80’s) and only continued to grow as I surrounded myself in high school with friends whose lives revolved around classic rock. But it’s always a different experience watching a musician or band in concert. I know it’s from Wayne’s World and I know they were talking about a television sound stage, but a concert is “where the magic happens.” To watch one of The Beatles perform their songs written when the world was so drastically different than it is today (even if it was on a 13” Panasonic) was an amazing experience. To watch him give peace signs to the audience between songs, strum out the chords to Something on a ukele given to him by George, and, like 60-something year old men tend to do, forget a line to A Day in the Life, it was no surprise that I secretly cried thinking about the profound effect this man and his three friends had on millions of people across the world.

(At one point, my friend Alex walked in the room and said “To think, Michael Jackson is making money right now.” I was also informed that ever since Ringo Starr claimed that there was nothing good about the city of Liverpool, people keep chopping the head off his topiary in town. I think maybe they were just upset he quit Shining Time Station.)

Could we ever have a band like The Beatles again? Could there ever be another group of four musicians known in every country around the world as the four men who just wanted to give peace a chance? The world today seems so negative and cynical that I would think we would pooh-pooh a band who sings about love, peace, and walruses before they even take the stage. Paul represents a group of people (i.e. hippies) from a time past. A time when people were hopeful about the future. Hopeful that peace wasn’t a futile idea. And I guess that’s why I cried (other than the fact that I’m an emotional person); it was inspiring to see a stadium packed full of people who were/are a part of that and still believe in peace. And tie-dye.

Indy Jones and the Temple of Suck

I love new music. I love London. I love free things. Therefore, when I won tickets to go see the Indy Music Awards last Friday in Camden, I was beyond psyched. Because wahey! Fun, British independent music! And awards! And live performances! And maybe this time, unlike the NME Music Awards show, they would actually give out music awards instead of just having one stadium-sized mosh pit! All I had to do was show up at 6:30, tell them I’m on the media guest list, and enjoy the show at 7:00. Simple, right? Exciting, right? A night to remember just waiting to happen, right? If you guessed No to all of those questions, you would be right.

I am anal-retentive. I have to be on time to everything, if not 15 minutes early. My apartment must be cleaned every Saturday morning (it’s allowed to get messy during the week due to a condition called Lisa Is Lazy). Pens must be lined up parallel to my Post-It notes on my desk. The outline of my head’s shadow must not have stray hairs sticking out at odd angles. (These are all things that will make my life quite lonely in the long run…I am completely aware of this fact.) And so, because my strange little mind works this way, any time things are not organized well, a part of me shrivels and dies inside. Normally I can tolerate small instances of disorganization; someone is late because their bus wasn’t on time, that report they just printed is out of sequence, Jamiroquai is spelled wrong on a playlist, there is toothpaste on the corner of your mouth, etc. But what I realized Friday night around 9:30 is that I have a breaking point. My mind can only deal with so much Fucking Disorganization before it says, “Lisa, you don’t have to put up with this. It is driving you crazy, you are not enjoying yourself, and these people should be beaten with whips made of cacti.”

Allow me to explain.

There were about 7 entrance doors to the Forum, the Indy Music Awards venue. One had a sign that said VIP, one said Media, and one said Guest VIP; the other 4 were apparently just there for decoration. As people started arriving, there was no direction as to where to line up. Yes there were metal gates, but they weren’t arranged in an obvious way implying, “Hey you in the skinny jeans. Line up over here.” 6:45 rolls around and the only reason a line forms is because each individual person has gone up to the 8 Large Security Men (I’m pretty sure that’s the name of their company) and asked where they’re supposed to go. I don’t line up because I (wrongly) assume that the large line over there is for the masses and, because I’m on the all-too-important media guest list, I will skip the queue and waltz right in through that magical door on the left. I try to play it cool and walk past the gate in hopes of overhearing what other VIP-looking people are asking the security men. I find out that even though VIP allegedly stands for Very Important Person, I still have to line up over there behind those 300 people. (Keep in mind that because I arrived at 6:15, I could have been 2nd in line had there only been signs telling me this is where I needed to go in the goddamn first place.) I’m in line. It’s 7:00. The show is supposed to be starting right now but they haven’t even started letting people in to the building. The guy behind me asks me where I’m coming from and I say, “Well, I just came from work downtown at Blackfriars but I live in Notting Hill.” When I ask him where he came from and he says Bath, I realize my answer should have been London. Turns out he’s in one of the bands up for an award; their name is CuteLooney. I tell him it’s a great band name (actually, it’s only about a 4 out of 10), ask him how he came up with it, and then I meet his parents who abruptly cut join us in line. As we’re standing there wondering why the hell we’re still outside at this point and not inside clapping for Promoter of the Year, it becomes apparent that the VIP line (the one we’re patiently standing in) is about 50 people longer than the general audience line. I don’t know if they sold any non-VIP tickets to this shindig. But fine. I can deal with this crap.

I make my way inside. It’s 7:30. I find a seat (obviously there were no assigned seats with organization skills such as these). I wait. I read the program. I make comments to myself about all the “fashion statements” being made. I gather up my legs every 13 seconds for people to walk in and out of my row. It’s 8:00. I have read the program 3 times. It’s 8:15. Some BBC personality guy I don’t recognize comes on stage and introduces some whiny dude with a guitar who sings 4 songs. 4 songs!! Each of which makes me want to rip my ears off my head with a plastic beach shovel. But fine. I am suffering because there is still the hope that tonight I will hear some good music and be introduced to some great new bands. After this guy stops singing the lyrics, “You look like my father and my father’s an alcoholic.”

Okay great. 8:45 and the show is finally starting. The first winner is announced and we wait 5 minutes while everyone looks around the auditorium wondering where Winner Dawn is and why hasn’t she come down to the stage yet to claim her hideous glass award? Then the announcer has the brilliant idea of getting everyone to chant her name to make her appear. Dawn! Dawn! Dawn! Un-fucking-believable. She comes out from behind the stage curtain with a face that seems to say, “Oh hello. Were you calling my name? I didn’t hear you. What’s this, an award? Where am I? Why am I wearing this hideous, sparkly dress?” She accepts her trophy by mumbling into the microphone which muddles her words even more and the people around me continue to chug their beers. 5 more awards are given, each acceptance speech as painful to listen to as the last (one was merely a loud, prolonged “whoo”). Dawn plays 2 songs which match her outfit in beauty. It is 9:30. The announcer comes back to the stage, says they’re taking a 10 minute break and the show will continue with more awards and performances later. And THAT, my friends, is my breaking point.

I stand up, feel a twinge of regret that I won’t be around to find out if CuteLooney wins Best Folk/Blues group, and walk out of the place. On the subway ride home I realize I am okay with what I’ve done. But only because I’m not okay with what the organizers of that event have done. I am a responsible adult. (Stop laughing.) I take certain things seriously. (I mean it, quit giggling.) And in return I expect others to be professional, especially when it comes to THEIR JOBS. Even if that night had been filled with A-list celebrities instead of 200 bands I had never heard of, I still would have been disgusted by the way things were handled.

And so, to wrap up, this is a very long-winded way of telling you that I will no longer tolerate unprofessional people. I am better than that and shouldn’t have to deal with the stress and frustration it causes me. (Tim Curry, if you are reading this, I DO NOT mean you. You could keep me waiting for days and I will still worship the ground you walk on. Call me!)

*music - Rally round tha family, with pockets full of shells Bulls on parade

Honky Tonk Badonkadonk

It’s an actual country song. Trace Adkins. The man is pure genius.

Here’s a sure-fire way of freaking me out:
Step 1 – Go into the stall all the way at the end of the bathroom.
Step 2 – Be very quiet so as to make me think there’s no one else in the bathroom.
Step 3 – Wait until I’ve gone into a stall and locked the door, wait 10 more seconds, and then start speaking Russian to someone on a cell phone? Yourself? No one? in a very loud voice.

The London papers were keen on reporting about a 101-year-old man, Buster Martin, who was planning on running the marathon yesterday, breaking the world record for oldest person to successfully run the 26.2 mile race (he was hoping to do it in under 14 hours but actually completed it in a little over 10). But oh what a scandal! This morning the papers followed up with breaking news that Buster was a fraud and he’s really only 94 years old. That fucking a-hole! No one cares about a mere 94-year-old man running a marathon! What do you take us for, sir, fools? We won’t stand for it! Talk to us when you’re 101 and MAYBE we’ll be impressed. MAYBE.

Words of wisdom from Sylvia Mon:
"Never go on the London Eye when it's hot out and especially when filled with children. They don't have any air circulation and even though it moves very VERY slowly, the children will still vomit."

I am materialistic. I would hope if you’re reading this, you know this by now. Last week I bought a Freitag bag. Yeah, I hadn’t heard of them either. But I was shown the light way back in 2004 in my Intro to Design class at Northwestern. Someone brought one into class as their example of an item that was designed well. They are designer, Swiss bags made from bicycle tires, car seat belts, and semi truck tarps. Depending on what design you get, the tarp might look dirty from all the acid rain and dirt whatnot, but I think it’s all part of what makes them so cool. It took me about 5 man hours to pick out what style and color design I wanted, and in the end I chose the Knightrider. It doubles as a ‘fanny’ pack so I will further be made fun of I’m sure, but at least now I’ll have a little more style when it happens. Check their stuff out at www.freitag.ch. Here’s a picture of my new baby:

*music – And ooo-wee, shut my mouth, slap your grandma There outta be a law, get the sheriff on the phone Lord have mercy, how she even get them britches on
(Yes, that’s Trace talking about said badonkadonk)

Nobody appreciates Meatloaf anymore (the singer, not the food)

Finally(!) a quality joke of the day again:
What did the man say when the doctor told him he had hypochondria?
“Not that as well!”

What’s the deal with Mariah Carey? Didn’t her career die like, 13 years ago? She’s in London right now promoting her oh-so-cleverly titled new album E=MC2. The flabbergasting thing, other than her sex appeal, is that this city is going bonkers over her. They swarm her wherever she goes and she’s getting special treatment at clubs and restaurants. Call me jealous of the celebrity lifestyle, but that is just ridiculous. I haven’t even heard her new single…is it good? Is it worthy of all this praise and attention? Or is it just more high-pitched squealing that sounds more like a dog whistle than music? (Apparently I’m moody these days and feel the need to take it out on the nearest catastrophe, in this case Mariah.)

Let’s play a game, shall we? Perhaps a game that will alienate me from my family members who read this, but a game nonetheless. Let’s play Do, Dump, or Marry - Barack Obama, Hillary Clinton, and John McCain. For those of you not familiar with this game, the rules are simple. You choose which person you would do (i.e. have sex with), marry (i.e. live your life with), and dump (i.e. dump). Before I give you my final answer, I’ll weigh out the pros and cons for each “candidate” (ha!).

Do
Hillary Pros: She is energetic beyond belief; Bill has probably taught her some great tricks; her pants suits would make for a good strip tease
Hillary Cons: The bulging eyes; menopause; STD’s
Obama Pros: Good ears to hold on to; …I’d never go back
Obama Cons: Weird, thin lips; tendency to spontaneously shout “Yes we can!”
McCain Pros: Viagra
McCain Cons: Chance of death; what is that, a goiter?

Marry
Hillary Pros: Friends with celebrities; I would never have to worry about being in charge of things because SHE WOULD ALWAYS TAKE CONTROL; I could cheat and still not be slapped with divorce papers
Hillary Cons: Ohmygod that voice; all disposable income would be spent on hairspray
Obama Pros: Friends with even cooler celebrities; he’d probably write great love letters if they’re anywhere near as good as his speeches
Obama Cons: Our families wouldn’t get along (you know how blacks and Jews are); he would make me look even shorter; Lisa Obama doesn’t really roll off the tongue
McCain Pros:
McCain Cons: What is that, a goiter?

In conclusion…
Do – John McCain
Marry – Barack Obama
Dump – Hillary Clinton

*music – hey remember that month when I only ate boxes of tangerines, so cheap and JUIcy

Sweating in my underpants

I sure do love the opportunity to say 'I told you so.' Not that I have this chance right now, but I could have had I told you that Leona Lewis' 'Bleeding Love' song was good when I first heard it, not after Oprah got to her and tooted her horn like no horn has been tooted before. And thus, to eliminate future cases of "Lisa could have told you that they were good," I shall enlighten you to two future Ryan Seacrest hits. (If they aren't hits already…I don't know because I'M IN LONDON.)
Artist: Duffy Song: Mercy Why it'll be a hit: She's got that sultry voice that everyone loves; kinda like Amy Winehouse only a little more Aretha and a little less cocaine.
Artist: Adele Song: Chasing Pavements Why it'll be a hit: She genuinely has a good voice as opposed to other successful female singers (think Christina versus Britney) and she's only 19.

I forgot to mention that my dad wanted me to post this picture on YouTube. I gave him 20 bonus points for simply knowing of YouTube, but had to deduct 15 for his recommendation to post a photo onto it (and no, he didn't mean a photo montage with like, Green Day's 'Good Riddance' in the background).

And speaking of that photo, here are the runners up for best caption:
- This Just In: Former Nudist Colony Leader Tries to Tip Over College Sorority House
- Bearded 'Danger' Powers
- They thought that disguising the mosque as a brightly painted eyesore would fool the masses, but they forgot about Heeb-cules! Heeb-cules! Heeb-cules! Heeb-cules!
- I schooled David Blaine
- (postcard) Dear Lisa, So sorry about the mix-up in London. To make up for it, we've bought you this lovely nunnery. Love, Dad
- Rejected by Harvard? Turned down by Brown? Wait-listed at Yale? Try the NEW University of Otis!! All the charm of a legendary Ivy League institution at half the cost! Enroll today! Classes start September, 2009
- Dad: "Northwestern?! But that's so far away! Can't you go to a local school? Like…here?" Mom: "Honey, that's a nursing home."

And the winner, submitted by a wizard-like man himself Chris Wyman, is:
- Yea, verily, as Gandalf the Grey and Radaghast the Brown set out to rid the world of evil, Peter the Black remained in the Shire to bring the gift of secondary education to the wee folk.

The trees and flowers are blossoming here and this past weekend we changed the clocks (we're apparently too cool to do it at the same time as America); spring is almost here!!! What does this mean for me? It means that I will feel even more guilty for coming home and watching a movie instead of walking around outside. It also means that it's time to switch to short sleeved running shirts.

Just to clear up any confusion…horse shit? Yeah, it doesn't smell like hay. It smells like shit.

*music – I don't care for walking downtown, crazy autocar gonna mow me down Look at all the people like cows in a herd, well I like birds

Winky Face ;)

This weekend I was told I remind people of Sarah Silverman, Ellen Degeneres, and a penguin (not in the same sentence). I don’t mind the first two (although I’m not fucking Matt Damon), but a penguin?! Ted has been telling me that I look like a penguin since the 7th grade. Have I really not changed so much that after 24 years I still resemble the same arctic creature? And why, for the love of God, do people say penguin? Is it the combination of white/gray and black hair? The small stature? The propensity to waddle instead of walk? Or perhaps it’s my habit of laying eggs and then finding men to sit on them? Well in any case, I suppose it’s better than when my “friends” told me I looked like Filbert, the turtle from Rocko’s Modern Life.

Jews are not people to pass up a sale. This includes my mother who will call London from the Houston airport to ask me, nay TELL me, that I need a Swatch watch because they are 40% off.

I went to a barbecue/barbie/braai on Sunday (you know, to celebrate Jesus H.) and HOLY FUCK was it cold. This weekend was crazy for London weather – I saw lightning/thunderstorms, snow, hail, and sunshine all in the same day. But Sunday was mainly just cold. So I chose to warm up by standing near the grill. The only problem with this strategy (other than when some goofs drunkenly threw a phonebook on the coals) is that my peacoat now smells like burnt sausages. I forgot to wash it last night and so today I’m sure my co-workers and the people on the Tube are wondering what that disgusting, yet savory, smell is.

(Speaking of co-workers, G loved his hug this morning. He lingered a bit too long, but he’s helping me run reports today so I let him.)

After the craziness of the barbecue had died down, about 5 of us were left sitting on beanbags watching awesome YouTube music videos like Travis’ cover of Britney’s “…Baby One More Time,” Tegan and Sara’s “Umbrella” rendition, and Damien Rice doing his version of Radiohead’s “Creep.” But, and here is where you need to get ready to run to your computer, I was introduced to two videos that give “Oh My God Shoes” and “What What in the Butt” a run for their money. The first (search for ‘woman punch’) is a 9 second clip of a woman getting sucker-punched right in the face (oh MAN is it hilarious), and the second is a series of this crazy cartoon called Happy Tree Friends. A word of warning about these so-called Happy Tree Friends…even though it’s a cartoon, it was disturbing enough that I almost ralphed. I still recommend you check them out for yourself, though. Just maybe refrain from showing your children. (And yes, I’m going to hell.)

Sidenote – has anyone ever watched, I mean REALLY watched, old Betty Boop cartoons? I’m pretty confident in saying that the people who made those cartoons were on some serious drugs.

Snippet of a conversation between my mom and dad at dinner last night:
Mom: You know that woman in our condo building who loves you?
Dad: Which one?

P.S. JK about G.
P.P.S. It’s funny to type JK and mock the rest of the world. LOL.

Probably Never Definitely

Friday’s joke: What happens when frogs park illegally?
They get toad.

I’m going to be brutally honest here. Since, you know, I’m miles away from seeing the judgmental looks you’re going to give me and will therefore just imagine that they don’t exist…I kinda have this habit of not finding it extremely necessary to wash my hands after I go to the bathroom. (Before I continue, let me remind you of the following joke: A Northwestern grad and a Northeastern grad are in a bathroom and the NE man sees that the NW man hasn’t washed his hands. So he says, “At Northeastern they teach us to wash our hands after we piss.” The NW man replies, “Oh yeah? At Northwestern they teach us to not piss on our hands.”) But back to MY story. Despite not washing my hands in the comfort of my own home, I at least know that this is considered gross and unhygienic by the general population and so, if I’m out in public or at work where there are other people there to witness my so-called disgusting behavior, I will give in to the masses and wash my hands. The point of this rambling story is to tell you that on Friday afternoon, I was in the bathroom at work and this girl came out of a stall and immediately left without so much as a glance at the sinks. I was torn in my feelings towards her; on the one hand I wanted to congratulate her on saying ‘fuck you’ to the system and having no qualms about touching that door handle with perhaps the slightest trace of urine on her hands. On the other, I wanted to say, “Hey you. I understand that you probably didn’t pee on your hands. I get it. But don’t you see me standing her? Don’t you want to at least pretend like you don’t want me to judge you and give those pudgy little hands a rinse?” I guess I’m starting to realize why one of my friends, who shall remain unnamed to protect her freakish identity, doesn’t let any part of her body touch anything in a public bathroom (this includes her clothes). Of course, I’m still not going to wash my hands at home…that’s just ridiculous.

So that NME Rock Music Awards Show on Thursday night? Yeah, it wasn’t so much an awards show as it was just a huge rock concert with a bunch of different bands. I guess the awards were given out earlier in the day and the venue I won tickets to was just all the live performances they were going to sprinkle throughout the telecast. The bands I saw were The Klaxons, Bloc Party, The Kaiser Chiefs, and Manic Street Preachers. Here are things I learned about rock concert protocol in a Madison Square Garden-sized arena:
- If you decide to crowd surf, you probably won’t see your group of friends again until the next morning, as there is no way in hell you’re making it back to where you started from.
- The most logical thing to do with your plastic cup of beer when there’s only a sip left is to throw it into the crowd.
- When you are caught in a mosh pit, punch as many people in the face as you can.
- Dance wildly.
- You shouldn’t be alarmed by the pyrotechnics on stage and immediately think of the Great White nightclub fire; it’s going to be okay.
- Make friends with the tight pants-donning, eyeliner-wearing skinny boys. They know everything about the bands.
- Most importantly, be preoccupied at all times by recording everything on your cell phone or camera. After all, isn’t it better to watch a crappy version of the concert later than to actually enjoy it in person?

Theresa, my insane friend and co-worker from Boston, is arriving in London tonight! We have a million things planned for this week, including a trip to Paris for a couple days. As soon as we get back from Paris, Theresa leaves and Susan, my mortal enemy and former roommate from Northwestern, is coming and we’re traveling to Ireland. The point of this is to both a) brag about the awesome things I’ll be doing and b) warn you that there will be some days in the next two weeks where you will be without my inane verbal diarrhea. I know this will be a sad time for you, but I urge you to simply look at my picture whenever you feel like you can’t go on; this will get you through tough times, just ask my Mom who had to deal with a severe case of depression when I went away to college. Sure, she gained 500 pounds and killed a man. But she got through it, didn’t she? (Love you, Mom!)

Another thing about Gary Busey other than his teeth that creeps me out

Well it’s official – my world has come crashing down. I can no longer access Perez Hilton on my work computer. How will I survive you ask? I don’t know. I just. Don’t. Know.

So this guy at work, I don’t know his name so let’s call him Red, finds this gift bag under his desk this morning. He reaches into it, pulls out a pair of pink, fuzzy handcuffs and asks the office if they belong to anyone. He’s holding them with his pinky finger as if they are just covered in gonorrhea and syphilis (which, who are we kidding, it’s a corporate London office so they probably are) and is giggling like a little girl. I’m not really sure what to do or say at this point because I’ve never even thought about being in this situation before, let alone actually experience it. In hindsight, I should have said something clever like “Actually, the janitor mentioned to me yesterday that her pair went missing” or “Those are mine! I like to be naughty while I create my pivot tables” or “Well, they’re certainly not Graham’s…his pair has a ketchup stain on it.” Instead I just sat there and giggled too, probably just as appropriate a reaction.

I was talking to this British lady on the phone today and she said “You’re a star” and “You’re an angel” all within a span of 15 seconds. You have no idea how special I felt when I hung up. I am invincible!!! (Or people are just really polite here.)

Okay, so maybe you know that I have an uncanny ability to win things. Some people think I’m just lucky. But really, I think it just boils down to the fact that I enter EVERY CONTEST KNOWN TO MAN. So why should it be any different just because I’m a million miles from home? (I like to say a million miles because I don’t actually know how many miles it is.) Today I won a pair of tickets to go to the NME Music Awards and Afterparty on Thursday night. Granted I’ve never even heard of this award show, but I have heard of some of the bands performing – The Kaiser Chiefs, My Chemical Romance, and Arctic Monkeys to name a few. Plus, they could have offered me tickets to the Whale Awards and I would have jumped out of my pants with excitement. Needless to say, I’m pumped for it! This will be my first awards show so I’m trying to plan my outfit accordingly. I think I’ll fit in pretty well if I wear a dress suit with pantyhose; it’ll be perfect if I get caught up in a mosh pit.

Like a nun in a cucumber patch

I couldn’t help but notice that the supermarket sells delicious looking cookies that are called ‘digestives.’ I had resisted the urge to buy them because I was afraid they were packed full of fiber or laxatives and I’d be in the bathroom for most of the day. But after asking a couple people what the deal is, I was informed that they’re just regular cookies with a misleading name. I blame England for losing one month where I could have been eating this tasty treat.

The violin concert on Friday night was incredible. Okay, so maybe I fell asleep for a good portion of it, but you can’t blame me because the music was soothing and I was exhausted. Anyway, in the first half a viola player and a cellist joined the violinist on stage and they played a piece that sounded exactly like a soundtrack to an Alfred Hitchcock movie would sound…It was pretty intense. I was acting out the “film” in my head as well and had to cover my eyes when the lead actress was murdered by a flock of birds while taking a shower in a motel.

I think I had my first celebrity sighting Saturday night, but I could be mistaken. I was at dinner with Eric, Larry, and Jacqueline in a Polish restaurant in Kensington called Wodka. We were at vodka shot #4 when I looked out the window and thought I recognized Mika walking by with two friends. I didn’t know if it was him or not, so I made sure to keep an eye on the window to see if he eventually walked back the other way. Sure enough, after about an hour the three of them passed by again, but he hadn’t put on a shirt saying “Lisa, you thought right. I am Mika.” And so that’s why this is Possible Celebrity Sighting #1.

Paintball was awesome! Truth be told, I was pretty nervous about the whole thing; the only gun I’d ever fired was a water gun, and I’m not much for crawling around on the ground army style. I was lucky in that neither were 99% of the girls I was with. I think I was only shot about 4 times – in the chest, on my arm, on my thigh, and in the stomach. My favorite part was when I shot a girl right in the eye (obviously we were all wearing masks) and then stupidly stood up from behind my hiding spot and yelled “Woo hoo! I got her right in the eye! Yeah!” I was hit soon after that…

Anyway, here is a story that you will be sure to get a kick out of. The paintball manager dude was giving a prep-talk to everyone explaining the rules and what to expect. He told us that if your gun is hit with a paintball or a paintball hits you but doesn’t explode, it doesn’t count and you’re still “alive.” However if you are hit in the back with a paintball, you have probably just been shot by someone on your own team, most likely an American. Everyone had a good chuckle at this since most of them were British and South African, and Cass even pointed at me and gave an all-too-hearty laugh. I in turn responded with a fake hardy-har-har. Skip ahead to game #3 and my team is destroying the enemy. I notice a girl hiding behind a bushel of sticks and I know she doesn’t see me. So I aim and shoot at her. She then curses me and holds up her arm indicating her red armband yelling, “I’m on your team, you idiot!!!” We eventually win that round but I definitely lost because I had officially earned the nickname Friendly Fire. Way to perpetuate the American stereotype, Lisa…

Maybe it’s because I live in Boston where it would be considered blasphemous, but how in the world can someone not know the lyrics to Sweet Caroline??? Sunday night I went to the taping of Don’t Forget The Lyrics, a glorified karaoke gameshow where a contestant is prompted to complete a line of lyrics; But there’s a money ladder like Millionaire so there’s more than one round. The contestant last night, Nolan, made it through about three rounds (he ended up only winning 5000 GBP), when he gets to the Neil Diamond classic and he’s faced with ‘So now we look at the night And it don’t seem so __ __ __ __ __ __ __ __.’ He was pretty confident when he sang ‘lonely We build it up with only two.’ But since I’m the smartest person in the world, I was sitting there cringing thinking about what an idiot he was; I mean come on, that doesn’t even make sense. He uses a lifeline and brings his best friend on stage with him who also thinks it’s the right lyrics (this guy was even thicker than Nolan and insisted on doing his Elvis imitation no less than 6 times). Needless to say, Nolan lost (he said ‘build’ instead of ‘fill’). But here’s what’s funny about going to see a sub par gameshow: 1) The host is always some D list celebrity who maybe 5% of the population knows - in Britain’s case it was Shane Richie, apparently some soap star-turned-singer who had a #2 hit with ‘I’m Your Man,’ a song I didn’t recognize but wasn’t sad not to since it was terrible) and 2) Tou know that pause where they ask the judges/producers if the answer is right and there’s the tense moment of is it or isn’t it? Well in the taping, that moment is literally 20 seconds long. The first time we had to wait for the screen to turn green signifying a correct answer, the audience actually started laughing at loud at the absurdity of the pause.

So check your local listing for the last episode of the DFTL season. I’ll be the one in the third row with the green and blue striped shirt dancing terribly next to a dapper, yet tired looking, bald black man (K).

Grammys smell like moth balls and Fixodent

Despite someone finding the head of a decapitated corpse and a double-decker bus driving into a bridge causing a man serious head injuries, it’s been a slow news day here in London. Although I would like to clarify that no, I didn’t start the Camden Market fire nor did I steal the artwork from Zurich. I’m good, but I’m not that good.

Since the Grammy’s were last night, I figure now is as good a time as any to talk about music. I didn’t watch the award show last night because a) I was too busy watching the BAFTA’s (Britain’s version of the Oscars which, by the way, had the phoniest laugh track I’ve EVER heard) b) it wasn’t being televised and c) it was on in the middle of the night. However, I am ecstatic that Herbie Hancock won Album of the Year; it’s a nice change from one very mainstream act sweeping the whole show (although I guess you could say Amy Winehouse did all but that). In any case, one of the best things about traveling to Sydney and London is being introduced to new music that isn’t played on Kiss108. So here is a list of awesome music that might not necessarily be new but is new to me…if you are looking for something to download, try these out:

Glen Hansard – This is the guy who starred in the somewhat-autobiographic movie ‘Once.’ He is an Irish singer-songwriter whose voice will grab you from the first note.
Song of note: Falling Slowly
Lyric of note: *And games that never amount To more than they’re meant Will play themselves out*

Scouting For Girls – A ‘Britpop’ band who just released their eponymous album. I decided to give them a try simply after hearing their band name. I am in love with every one of their songs. Probably the most-played band on my mp3 player this week.
Song of note: The Mountains of Navaho
Lyric of note: *You took my car but you left your cat Who I never really liked and I’ve since sent back to your mother*

The Cat Empire – An Australian ska/rock band. Don’t be fooled by the ‘ska’ part; their songs are guaranteed to make you tap your toe and smile (yes, at the same time). But be warned that you have to be down with Aussie lingo to understand their lyrics as they like to throw words around like ‘capsicum.’
Song of note: Protons, Neutrons, Electrons
Lyric of note: *We’re just flesh with socks and locks and frocks*

Vampire Weekend – I think these guys might be from New York, but you shouldn’t hold that against them. Another band who I decided to listen to based on name alone. These guys are your typical indie band, I guess. But to me, that’s a good thing.
Song of note: Oxford Comma
Lyric of note: *First the window then it’s to the wall Lil’ Jon he always tells the truth*

Spoon – Their album Ga Ga Ga Ga Ga, other than being tedious to type, was on numerous Best Albums of 2007 lists. More indie…
Song of note: Black Like Me
Lyric of note: *Street tar in summer Will play a trick on your soul*

The Darkness – Okay, so I’m a little late on this band, but better late than never thanks to Chris Wyman. And don’t think that their hit ‘I Believe In A Thing Called Love’ is their best song; practically every other song on both their albums is just as awesome. Plus, who doesn’t like a lead singer in spandex unitards?
Song of note: Love On The Rocks With No Ice
Lyric of note: *You can’t abide my showing fatigue When you come home just to relay All the events that made your heart bleed And the ones that ruined your day*

Operator Please – These guys won their high school Battle of the Bands contest in Melbourne (or at least I THINK it was Melbourne) and went on to make a record after they were so well received. The only song I know, and their biggest hit to date, is ‘Just A Song About Ping Pong.’ I will fully admit that the lyrics are ridiculous (they talk about beef jerky having an aftertaste), but it’s totally catchy and addicting.

Kisschasy – Another Aussie band. A little bit mainstream, but their song ‘Spray On Pants’ rocks. It’s a great image, isn’t it?
Song of note: Spray on Pants (der)
Lyric of note: *He is learning the tambourine He tells his band that’s what they’re missing*

Sarah Bareilles – Okay, truth be told, I first saw her on VH1’s You Oughtta Know artist list. But she’s worthy of a listen as is Yael Naim (the voice on the new iMac commercials), New Buffalo, and Ingrid Michaelson.

So that’s my list. But in the immortal words of Levar Burton…you don’t have to take my word for it. (Cut to random, multi-cultural children concurring.)