Mmm, Sunday Morning Pop Tarts

Good morning, sunshine! I've been awake since forEVUH because there was a small tv crisis early this morning and my phone rang at an unholy hour. And so, I got out of bed and fed the kitties and starting playing with my 'puter. (That means 'computer,' not 'cooter,' you perv). Thus. I am wide away and bright-eyed and bushy-tailed and happily choreographing performance routines to pop songs.

You should see me do this interpretative chair-dance over-emote thing to "Pieces of Me." It thrills me to the core of my being. Imagine like the chairdance part of Flashdance (when she's getting wet - the Splashdance bit) but more about raw emotion and serious mugging than about a wet tee-shirt. there's a lot of hair tossing and head-rolling involved, though. Oooh. I just had a really great idea for a burlesque routine.

I have a serious soft soft for overly emotive teeny pop songs. For a really long time, I was obsessed with Britney's song "Everytime" -- that's the video where she almost drowns/commits suicide in the bathtub but Dorff saves her -- and I was superfine with that obsession. I got home early from the gym one night and the kids on my street were playing it on a boombox outside my kitchen window, and I was hooked. It's like the 2nd most-played song on this here 'puter (second only to that Rome Wasn't Built in a Day song I posted about a few weeks ago). And I am now mildly ashamed about how much I like that Kelly Clarkson song "Breakaway." The girly side of me just kvells and makes me want to wear a tiara and a tutu. I mean, come on! That song is fucking awesome. "Grew up in a small town ...dreaming of what could be and if I'd be happy..." AWESOME. I know it's horribly trite and it's by an American Idol but it's like the new "Total Eclipse of the Heart" -- let me belt out my girl-power (not the grrrrrl-power, but the tutu-wearing girl power) and hear me mewl.

Mewl.

It's nice to be mewling. Not like the infant mewling and puking in the nurse's arms, but instead the lover, sighing like a furnace, with a woeful ballad.

Chaka kahn! Gratuitous Shakespeare reference!

Anyway. So I've been reveling in awesome songs. For, like, h-o-u-r-s now. And I would like to say I think I've discovered the perfect song, and I would write about this song even if this blog weren't mutually linked by the person who wrote it. It's called "The Only Answer" and you can listen to it on the artist's website by clicking here.

I mean, holy shit. HOLY SHIT. Doesn't that just fill you with the best sensation ever? I mean, like I hear that song and all of a sudden it's warm and sunny and I'm like running up this beautiful hill to look out on a colorful village nestled in the foothills. And then, just as I am twirling around atop this hill, much like that rascally nun, Maria, I stop, with an ache in my heart, thinking of a boy I loved once who's gone. But then I start twirling again -- here's to the future! I have listened to this song 12 times in a row already. And I can't stop. It's the folky guitar combined with organ phenomenon -- I have a major soft spot, it's so soft it's like plasmatic -- for folky guitar + organ.

Anyway. This song kicks serious ass, yo.

And Mike Doughty's new stuff come out December 7th -- a day that will live in a newer kind of infamy. You can order it here (and you ought to do so). For those who may have downloaded his tracks earlier, Mike is offering amnesty via amazon.com. Oooh, towels.