sassy

Modernism Monday: “Money Made,” AC/DC

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This is your intrepid Yankette, coming to you from lovely Los Angeles.  I managed to get a wicked cold in Hawaii so I’m more or less running on fumes, caffeine, and Tylenol this week.  But with the help of my buddies AC/DC, I’ll get it done.

Funk Friday: “If You Don’t Get It The First Time,” The JB’s and Fred Wesley

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This morning, I was so spacey that I stepped off the wrong train (the yellow) to wait for the right train (…the yellow) because I thought I was on the wrong train (the green) and as such I’d need to change at Mt. Vernon Square for the right train (the yellow).  And then the yellow came, again, but I couldn’t get on because only the front half of the train doors opened, and I was at the back half, so the train just…left.

Then I finally, miraculously, got to work, and was in line to purchase my bagel and cream cheese, and the guy in front of me had just gotten his change, when another employee said “I can take you over here,” and “over here” was in the absolute back of the store.  Ohhhhkay.

Yesterday I absolutely killed it in a presentation to one of my directors and got a bushel of kudos, after a few weeks of crazy stressing that I was going to bite it, and months of anxiety before that thinking I wasn’t making any progress.  But I was.  …Huh.

My point?  Nothing is static.  Everything changes.  Just keep breathing.  And maybe get a trombone.  That seems to help, too.

Termagant Tuesday: “Rockhouse,” Ray Charles

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Making it happen.  That’s what we do here at the Tune-Up.  We make things happen.  We also use our powers of analysis, persuasion, and charm to convince others that no only do we know what’s up, but that others should follow our lead.  And, we drink cocktails on city rooftops.  Thought leaders, thing-happen-makers, cocktail-drinkers.  How very soignée.

WALK-UP WEEK! Termagant Tuesday: “Blues Walk,” Lou Donaldson

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https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=tNR7822K_40

 

There are a lot of different kinds of ballplayers.  There are the players who are just so amazed to be getting paid to follow their passion that they come across as happy all the time.  Then there are the ones who come across as spoiled little brats, who are more concerned with preserving their badass self-image than they are creating such an image through making consistent contact with the ball.  Bryce Harper, outfielder for the Washington Nationals, is such a player. Harper is good, don’t get me wrong.  But the man can throw a tantrum better than a four-year-old.  If he strikes out, he’s been known to throw his helmet on the ground and jump up and down.  Bless his little $900,000-a-year cotton socks.  “Blues Walk” is a raised-chin, eyes-narrowed, stare-you-down, “see if I care because I’m just that good” kind of a jazz song.  You do you, Harper.

WALK-UP WEEK! Modernism Monday: “Seventeen Years,” Ratatat

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Baseball is my favorite professional sport.  “Why,” I hear you reluctantly mutter?  Because it’s easy to understand and doesn’t have the homicidal undertones that football and hockey have.  I’m also the most familiar with it, having played Little League and collected baseball cards as a kid.

The other major reason I love baseball is the awesome modern addition of the walk-up song – aka, the song that plays when a batter steps up to the plate.  I’ve had the same conversation for years with friends and family about what the perfect walk-up song would be, but I hate having to pick one.

WAIT OMG I HAVE A BLOG NOW.  HAH.  Welcome to Walk-Up Week, Part 1: The Non-Ironic Version.  (Part 2 will take place in a few months after my Minnesota Twins have once again blown their chances at the Series, probably after losing, again, to the Tigers or the White Sox, and I think baseball is a hateful and idiotic sport with which I wish to have no association.)  We begin the week with “Seventeen Years,” by Ratatat.  This is a song for that batter with a consistent record of pasting the ball high over the left field wall, but, being a little older than most, is only brought out when his* skills are absolutely imperative.

*His.  It’s always his.  Oh well.

Termagant Tuesday: “Sing, Sing, Sing (With a Swing),” Benny Goodman

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https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=fhyhP_5VfKM

Oh it is so on right now.  Your plucky heroine is in full battle rattle* today (St. John’s knit sheath, 4″ snakeskin stilettos, graduated pearl necklace, eat it*).  I have a long-overdue throw-down with a local self-styled tough** and I’ve been waiting a mighty long time.  Yankette Smash!

*Yes, I know that’s a dated and lame phrase.

**Hey, Glass House, don’t you judge how I pump myself up.  At least it’s not Cheetos and Tang.

***I am fully aware this is one of those moments that Me In Twenty Years will look back on, and with a knowing chuckle, mutter, “God, I was so dramatic when I was a kid.”  Shut up, MITY.  No one cares.

Funk Friday: “Left Hand Free,” alt-J

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This is the second single off of alt-J’s forthcoming album, being released next month.  According to the band, this is the least alt-J-y song ever.  (For a point of comparison, search for alt-J in the search bar on the left hand side of your screen and play “Taro,” the song I posted a few months ago.  Different, right?)  According to me, it’s absolutely, completely, foot-stomingly awesome.  The tone of the song is a mild break from the classic funk music I tend to play on Fridays, but the sassiness of the guitar lick tipped the scales in its favor.  It just slays me.  This will probably be my remainder-of-summer 2014 song.  Happy Friday, Tune Sharks.

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Hey shady baby I’m hot
Like the prodigal son
Pick a battle eenie meenie miney moe
Hey flower you’re the chosen one

Well your left hand’s free
And your right’s in a grip
With another left hand
Watch his right hand slip
Towards his gun, oh no

I tackle weeds just so the moon buggers nibble
A right hand grip on his Colt single-action army

Well your left hand’s free
And your right’s in a grip
With another left hand
Watch his right hand slip
Towards his gun, oh no

N-E-O, O-M-G, gee whiz
Girl you’re the one for me
Though your man’s bigger than I am
All my days he disagrees, oh no

Well my left hand’s free
Well my left hand’s free

Hey shady baby I’m hot
Like the prodigal son
Pick a battle eenie meenie miney moe
Hey flower you’re the chosen one

Well your left hand’s free
Well my left hand’s free [x4]
Oh no

Funk Friday: “Get Up Offa That Thing,” James Brown

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I’m not entirely unconvinced that I haven’t spent this week in some sort of strange sonic pressure cooker.  Actually, I’m not entirely unconvinced that all of us poor humans haven’t spent the week in a strange sonic pressure cooker.  It certainly feels like it.

SO.

Do you know what we do when things get hard?  Like really, really, in-your-bones, buy-a-plane-ticket-to-anywhere, screw-this-and-all-y’all hard?

You know what we do.

We DANCE.

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One other thing: THIS IS MY 200TH BLOG POST!  Cue balloon-drop!  Thank you to everyone around the world for making this blog so successful and so much fun to write.  It’s hard to write a post every single day but it’s such a blast to see new pings from all kinds of countries.  I am going to try and create a comment box to make this more interactive but for now – thank you, one and all.

 

Termagant Tuesday: “The Ritz Roll and Rock,” Fred Astaire

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These days it’s just about all I can do to keep pace.  Everything is moving just a little bit too fast.  But I’m still tap-dancing as best as I know how.  No one else mastered the art of this better than Fred Astaire.