My Music as of Late.

I've been on a kooky female anti-folk kick for the past week or so. Well, it sort of evolved from anti-folk to encompass a bit more pop (with indie sensibilities, of course) and the kind of experimental edge that always garners my attention.

It seemed rude to hog all the good music to myself, so I put together this funky little link with the best of the best from my anti-folk evolution.

Go get some good music, and then pass it on.

Presents From Maine!

Are these boxes from Maine stinkin' cute, or what? 

I wonder what's inside...

Baby Heil.

I've been meaning to post this for a while - my baby Heil microphone. I have no idea what I'll ever do with this thing, but she sure is cute:

Liz Granite + Heil Microphones = True Love

Riverside.

This place is a death trap.

I went to a party in Riverside Saturday night. I should have known better than to think it would be "safe". You see, I dated a dude from Riverside. He was shipped off to military-land over three years ago, and hasn't been back since, so I didn't expect to see him at this innocent little Christmas gathering.  

So much for that.

Shocking as it was at first, we got to talking, and singing, and laughing, and the whole while I wasn't raging shit-faced drunk. That was a big accomplishment for me! Talking and singing and laughing led me to thinking, and reflecting, and remembering and that's where the real trouble lies...

And the book says, "We may be through with the past, but the past ain't through with us".

Just Another Friday Night

For the sake of my sanity, I'll keep it short and sweet. 

I go to see Lukas Rossi at The Mint with Will and D-Cell. Lukas gives an incredible acoustic performance and afterwards invites us to The Abbey. Hilarity ensues...

Rock n' roll never looked so gay, and D-Cell never looked so uncomfortable. 

Good times!

The $384 Lesson

Yesterday I ventured into strange territory: the other side of the hill. I had an appointment with a client in Santa Monica before I was scheduled to meet Mystic Diva at LACMA for an afternoon of cultural delight, followed by dinner at Campanile for a little grilled cheese delight. Getting there from Santa Monica turned out to take longer than I had anticipated; I don't know if it was holiday traffic or if everybody just decided simultaneously to drive really, really slow, but it took so long to maneuver through the throngs of snail-paced cars that I inevitably arrived late.

In a mad rush to find my friend who had been waiting nearly an hour for me, I grabbed a spot on Wilshire, loaded up the meter, and ran towards the museum. Mystic told me I could park in the lot for $7, but I thought "screw that, I got a spot for $2". She was calm as ever, not the least bit perturbed (as I imagine I would be), and we went on our merry way.

The museum was not my favorite. It felt stiff, rigid, and contrived. I much prefer The Getty or The Met. After almost two hours of Indonesian tapestries, Fabiola, and Masculinity & Sport, we'd had enough. We had an hour to spare before our dinner reservations and decided Starbucks was a good place to spend it. I volunteered to drive.

Only when we went to get my car, it was gone. It was the last in a long block of cars that were all gone too. Mystic kept asking, "Are you sure you parked on Wilshire?" I was sure. I stopped to read the sign that stated "Anti-Gridlock Zone: No Stopping After 4 pm". Ooops.

A few phone calls later, we found that my car was miles across town, would cost $239 to get out, and that we had to get it before dinner, otherwise it would have to wait until the morning and cost an additional $39. With 45 minutes until our dinner reservation, Mystic and I jumped in her Honda and tore ass across LA. 

It was a quick and easy process of getting my car back - I.D., Gold Card, and a couple signatures. Much to my surprise though, the fun didn't end there - there was a parking ticket for $145 stuck under my windshield wiper! My trip to that stinkin' museum had cost me $384 - and to think, I could have paid $7 and called it a day.

While happily munching on my grilled cheese at Campanile, I vowed to myself to pay for parking from now on. Thank you, City of Los Angeles. Consider this a lesson learned.

Let's Go Rangers!

A couple weeks ago, I asked Gadget to see if he could get us tickets to the Kings vs. Rangers game. It had been an absurdly long time since I'd seen my boys play and I didn't want to miss the chance to catch them in LA. Plus, I wanted Mystic Diva to experience the glory of big sweaty men on ice skates. Sure enough, my man scored 4 tickets through "The Gadget Hookup", but since we had to pick 'em up at the box office, we had no idea where we'd be sitting. 

Chimpo joined Mystic, Gadget, and I at the Staples Center. We picked up our tickets to find out that we were sitting in row 17, right around center ice - SWEET! Plus, we had passes to the Wachovia Chairman's Room. 

The game was just as I expected it to be - a high-energy entertainment-fest! After two periods, loads of nachos, and a few pints of beer, Mystic suggested we check out the Chairman's Room. Actually, she attempted to tell me that Rob Zombie would be there. When she starts talking crazy like that, I usually just give in to her requests. So off we went, leaving the boys behind.

Nobody could give us detailed directions of how to get there, so we found ourselves in the first row with four empty seats calling our names. "This must be it!" we guessed delightedly. After grabbing two seats, calling the guys down to join us, and kicking out the yam bag who jacked one of the seats, we realized it wasn't quite a room, and there was nothing "chairmanly" about it. Undaunted, we continued to watch the rest of the game from the front row. I could actually feel the frigid air blowing off the ice, and there's something really exhilarating about seeing a 200-pound man body-check another guy only inches away from your face with nothing but a quarter inch piece of plexiglas to protect you.

The game went into overtime and ended with the Rangers scoring the winning goal. Shortly after the arena emptied out, we made our way out of our beloved front-row seats and back to reality. We walked out the nearest exit only to discover that the Chairman's Room was right there! And it was just a swanky, stuffy bar. Not nearly as cool as front-row seats, bitches. 

Mystic and I giggled, amused with our shenanigans. "I need to add 'front-row hockey tickets' to the list of things I want in my life", she told me.

Yeah, me too.

Building a Better Breaker.

Well, I must have done something right because auditions went much smoother this time around. Behold, the power of clear intention! So clear in fact that I created three band members. Last night we had 2 guitarists and 1 bassist audition. They all brought the ROCK!

Jamming the Breaker songs live felt so good. I was getting lost in the music, jumping around & singing, thinking, "Man, this is some kick-ass rock n' roll. These songs are freakin' gooood!" And when it all came to a halt, I realized, "shit! I wrote that goodness." 

Off to a solid start. Drummer auditions are Saturday and I'm eager to see what unfolds. I am clear that Breaker will have a drummer by 12 noon on Saturday.

In the name of the iguana.

Fa-la-la-la-la blah blah blah!

The internet isn't working in our 'hood today and I have some time-sensitive emails to respond to, so I thought getting my shiz handled while enjoying a Cranberry Bliss Bar at Starbucks would be a good idea. And it has been, for the most part. 

"The most part" excludes the onslaught of bad holiday music that I have to withstand just to be here. This is what excessive holiday cheer does to my face:

It squeezes my brain until there's so much pressure built up in my noggin that my eyeballs nearly pop out. Kinda' gross, I know. 

Onto bigger and better things: BREAKER auditions are in less than two hours! I hope these guys read my rant about properly auditioning for a band.  They're all cool dudes; I have faith that tonight will be just perfect...and extremely rockin'!

#1 on My Christmas List:

JK Rowling's new book, The Tales of Beedle the Bard. 

From Amazon.com: In December 2007, J.K. Rowling unveiled The Tales of Beedle the Bard, a very special book of five fairy tales illustrated by the bard herself, embellished with silver ornaments and mounted moonstones. Amazon was fortunate to come into possession of one of the original copies, and it was our privilege to share images and reviews of this incredible artifact. Now J.K. Rowling is giving millions ofHarry Potter fans worldwide cause for celebration with a new edition of The Tales of Beedle the Bard, available December 4, 2008.

Offering the trademark wit and imagination familiar to Rowling's legions of readers--as well as Aesop's wisdom and the occasional darkness of the Brothers Grimm--each of these five tales reveals a lesson befitting children and parents alike: the strength gained with a trusted friendship, the redemptive power of love, and the true magic that exists in the hearts of all of us. Rowling's new introduction also comments on the personal lessons she has taken from the Tales, noting that the characters in Beedle's collection "take their fates into their own hands, rather than taking a prolonged nap or waiting for someone to return a lost shoe," and "that magic causes as much trouble as it cures."

But the true jewel of this new edition is the enlightening and comprehensive commentary (including extensive footnotes!) by Professor Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore, who brings his unique wizard's-eye perspective to the collection. Discovered "among the many papers which Dumbledore left in his will to the Hogwarts Archives," the venerable wizard's ruminations on the Tales allow today's readers to place them in the context of 16th century Muggle society, even allowing that "Beedle was somewhat out of step with his times in preaching a message of brotherly love for Muggles" during the era of witch hunts that would eventually drive the wizarding community into self-imposed exile. In fact, versions of the same stories told in wizarding households would shock many for their uncharitable treatment of their Muggle characters.

Professor Dumbledore also includes fascinating historical backstory, including tidbits such as the history and pursuit of magic wands, a brief comment on the Dark Arts and its practitioners, and the struggles with censorship that eventually led "a certain Beatrix Bloxam" to cleanse the Tales of "much of the darker themes that she found distasteful," forever altering the meaning of the stories for their Muggle audience. Dumbledore also allows us a glimpse of his personal relationship to the Tales, remarking that it was through "Babbity Rabbity and Her Cackling Stump" that "many of us [wizards] first discovered that magic could not bring back the dead."

Both a wise and delightful addition to the Harry Potter canon, this new translation of The Tales of Beedle the Bard is all that fans could hope for and more--and an essential volume for the libraries of Muggles, wizards, and witches, both young and old.

Powerpus: Liz's Octopus Ring of Doom

In my never-ending quest for cool octopus stuff, I stumbled upon a beautiful, handmade sterling silver octopus ring with ruby eyes. I found it on Ebay from a husband and wife team of sellers: he designs and creates the pieces and she sells them. I attempted to put the purchase off to a later date, but alas, my efforts were in vain. I couldn't stop thinking about having this giant silver octopus perched upon my finger! I bought it 2 weeks ago, but since each ring is cast to size and made to order, it took a while to arrive. Now that my octopus is here, I don't think she'll ever leave my side. Behold, Powerpus:

Because I Can.

I have been laughing ever since my brother enlightened me to the existence of this photo. I felt the need to humiliate my father even further by posting it on my blog. This is a picture of my parents dressed up for Halloween:

You see, it's not just the "are we really doing this dumb shit?" look on my Dad's face that amuses me. It's the fact that I make that same "are we really doing this dumb shit?" face. Damn, it's weird how much I look like that guy. Anyway, I'm proud of these two - they're hot! And I'm too jaked on Franziskaner to censor myself. 

Cheers to the iguana!