Fabulous Felt Red Guitar Barrette
Top: Merona, Target
Dress: Macy's
Shoes: Chinese Laundry, DSW
Bag: Betsey Johnson, Macy's
Belt: Marshalls
Jacket: BCBG, Macy's
Sunglasses: Kohl's
The other day I was unknowingly listening to a lite rock radio station. I say unknowingly because I'd landed on the station at random, sucked in by Fleetwood Mac, Elle King, and Walk the Moon, all artists who I wouldn't expect to be reduced to elevator music cliches in the time it takes to play a jingle. There's something shameful about the very words "lite rock." Like it's imitation, less than, and wimpy, fat free fro yo instead of a chocolate milkshake. I mean, you wouldn't hear Hendrix on a station that sets people up on blind dates or gives away tee shirts. Or Green Day. Or Weezer. Or The Offspring. So that, I guess, is the litmus test for artistic integrity: Hendrix or punks from the 1990s. And also, perhaps, The Killers. On (alternative rock) radio, I recently heard that Brandon and the boys, who hail from Las Vegas, couldn't perform in the casinos when they were underage and getting started, so they played outside in the desert. The DJ was all excited about it, saying, "tell your children and children's children," but I don't have children, so I'm telling you. If bloggers are diarists of cyberspace, then DJs are bloggers of the airwaves, sharing their thoughts and anecdotes and emotions and putting their stamp on all things pop culture for the sake of the weary masses trudging to work.
So, as a shout-out to DJs and rock, lite and hard and every beat in between, I give you this bonus track of a one-hit wonder post rife with guitar riffs. (If you close your eyes, are real quiet, and meditate on the pretty pictures, then I swear you can hear them.) The playlist includes three renditions of the guitar, this perhaps most visually pleasing of musical instruments, the colors converging in perfect harmony upon the canvas of one boldly striped dress.
On that, ahem, note, I've also got a flashback to Tuesday's post -- more Flash Charms, sing-a-long style! Because good things come in flashes: flash sales, flash mobs, flashes of genius, and, if Sheldon Cooper has anything to say about it, The Flash. (Admittedly, some bad things come in flashes, too, such as hot flashes, flash floods, and flashers. But their kind isn't welcome here.) This necklace has got more than a medley of fan favorites, including a record, headphones, a microphone, a record player, a guitar, and even a harmonica. It's a little bit country, a little bit rock and roll -- and a whole lot of loud.
The other day I was unknowingly listening to a lite rock radio station. I say unknowingly because I'd landed on the station at random, sucked in by Fleetwood Mac, Elle King, and Walk the Moon, all artists who I wouldn't expect to be reduced to elevator music cliches in the time it takes to play a jingle. There's something shameful about the very words "lite rock." Like it's imitation, less than, and wimpy, fat free fro yo instead of a chocolate milkshake. I mean, you wouldn't hear Hendrix on a station that sets people up on blind dates or gives away tee shirts. Or Green Day. Or Weezer. Or The Offspring. So that, I guess, is the litmus test for artistic integrity: Hendrix or punks from the 1990s. And also, perhaps, The Killers. On (alternative rock) radio, I recently heard that Brandon and the boys, who hail from Las Vegas, couldn't perform in the casinos when they were underage and getting started, so they played outside in the desert. The DJ was all excited about it, saying, "tell your children and children's children," but I don't have children, so I'm telling you. If bloggers are diarists of cyberspace, then DJs are bloggers of the airwaves, sharing their thoughts and anecdotes and emotions and putting their stamp on all things pop culture for the sake of the weary masses trudging to work.
So, as a shout-out to DJs and rock, lite and hard and every beat in between, I give you this bonus track of a one-hit wonder post rife with guitar riffs. (If you close your eyes, are real quiet, and meditate on the pretty pictures, then I swear you can hear them.) The playlist includes three renditions of the guitar, this perhaps most visually pleasing of musical instruments, the colors converging in perfect harmony upon the canvas of one boldly striped dress.
On that, ahem, note, I've also got a flashback to Tuesday's post -- more Flash Charms, sing-a-long style! Because good things come in flashes: flash sales, flash mobs, flashes of genius, and, if Sheldon Cooper has anything to say about it, The Flash. (Admittedly, some bad things come in flashes, too, such as hot flashes, flash floods, and flashers. But their kind isn't welcome here.) This necklace has got more than a medley of fan favorites, including a record, headphones, a microphone, a record player, a guitar, and even a harmonica. It's a little bit country, a little bit rock and roll -- and a whole lot of loud.
Speaking of which, let's get loud by waxing poetic about the powers of FM (also, of freeway fries) in this not-quite haiku:
Drive-thru dinner, scarf it down.
Blast those jams all over town.
Lip-sync, twitter, warble, strum
Belt out, carol, intone hum.
Uncork spirit, fancy free.
That's what music means to me.
Hmm; with lines like these, it's no wonder that video killed the radio star. So now for some sound bites from others, one sticky, one sweet, neither involving Def Leppard lyrics:
Sticky:
Mindy Kaling: "No ones wants to hear new music, ever." (Snarky but true, as evidenced by my greatest hits collection.)
Sweet:
Sheryl Crow: "It it makes you happy, then it can't be that bad." (As apt a theme song for humankind as any. Feel free to apply it to those fries.)
It's times like this that I wish I had a keytar, Jem and the Holograms style, or at least one of those inflatable guitars you get at the circus. You know, to lend some levity. That, or a live action feed of The Wiggles.
