So, I'm moving.

I'm moving here! Update your links!

Radio Gaga

TANYA! It was amazing! This morning on CBC radio, my secret lover (Sean Cullen) was interviewing your secret lover (Matthias Kom)! I even called you to tell you about it, but you were probably sensibly sleeping. I almost drove off the road, because I am not good at cars and phones at the same time. Reckless driving: DON'T DO IT, KIDS. But anyhow, it was really magical. Did you know that Matthias has written a musical of Macbeth, and is currently working on one based on The Winter's Tale? Sean suggested he should also do a musical of Titus Andronicus, and improvised a line from what will surely be Titus: The Musical's hit song "They cut off my hands! But I've got some branches!" And then Sean made Matthias participate in a radio play that Sean had written that morning and that Matthias hadn't seen the script for yet, and Matthias got to play a man with an instrument that looked like a cross between trumpet and a corkscrew that would suck out the souls of radio interviewers. And then Sean asked Matthias to massage him with some pudding and then played a White Stripes song.

I am also now really depressed, because your secret lover is playing in Toronto on the 25th, and my secret lover is playing in Toronto (at the Drake, how hip) on the 26th, and I will be in Port Elgin on both nights, playing sad ukulele songs, all alone.

Why didn't anyone get me a giant flying dirigible for Christmas? Then all of my problems would be solved.

Why? Why is there a giant rash covering most of my body? Why?

I have this horrible feeling that the answer might be: Alexandra is allergic to tequila.

Je voudrais un croissant

1. Sometimes I forget things. Like, sometimes I forget about this song, and how it is amazing, and how clearly the Arrogant Worms are early adopters because they were singing dumb songs about pirates before pirates were hip. We were listening to Semi-Conducted on the way home from the folk festival, and decided that, while Canada cannot really be said to have a national musical style, verily, this song is a Canadian classic, representative of the best This Nation has to offer.

2. So, Vanity Fair has declared Carla Bruni to be the new Jackie O., and, along a similar line, I would like to brazenly make the statement that, should he win the election, Obama will be the new Pierre Trudeau, a reference that none of my American friends will get.

3. I've realized that my writing process seems to involve a lot of pacing about.

4. I love the coffee shop in Port Elgin. I love it because my often-elusive London Fog is actually a menu item. I love it because the coffee is great. I love it because it is easily holding it's own against the mediocre, corporate-owned, Starbucks-wannabe franchise coffee shop across the street from it, which, in turn, renews my faith in the citizens of Port Elgin. And also yesterday when I went a nice man paid for my coffee for no reason other than I AM SO CHARMING, YES FRIENDS, IT IS TRUE.

5. It seems that all of my former co-workers who were horrible and mean to me during my brief stint slinging shitty coffee at Tim Horton's a few years back are now employed at the new Shopper's Drug Mart and are, yes, still stuck in Port Elgin, which, let's face, it, is kind of a shitty place, good coffeeshops notwithstanding. This renews my faith in karma.

6. Dear LA County Sheriff's Office and/or LAPD and/or Batman (but mostly Batman): Please fix the minor crimewave that appears to be occurring near my neighbourhood before I get back next weekend. Thanks.

7. I am working on a super-duper blog makeover! And it is going terribly, probably because I always get ideas like "it's time to completely redesign my blog!" while I am drinking homemade margaritas. Yay! Yay for terrible! Yay for tequila!

8. Bless me, father, for I have sinned: I really liked Mamma Mia.

9. I think I might have a tapeworm.

Why I love my Spinster Sisters:

Who else will accidentally drink an entire 1.5 litre bottle of wine with you? Who else will do this with you at the beach? Who else will then join you in the water for an aquatic Abba's Greatest Hits/Fraulein Maria/Good King Wensceslas singalong?

I look forward, with bated breath, to Spinster Retreat 2010: NYC, which will probably involve such activities as "Spinsters drunk at the Met," "Spinsters drunk in Saks 5th Avenue," and "Spinsters drunk at MOCA." And probably also "Spinsters drunk and lost, way to go, team."

In the meantime, tomorrow I am off with my boxwine (Official Beverage of Camping at Music Festivals with Hippies) to yet another hippie music festival where I will be camping, and probably complaining a lot, but still having a pretty great time. Last year's theme at Summerfolk was "Alexandra gets hit on, creepily, by food vendors." I am hoping this year to upgrade to "Alexandra gets hit on, charmingly, by performers." Please tune in next week for a full report.

Oh, Lily Bart!

I am re-reading The House of Mirth, which is probably a bad idea, because reading this book fills me with angst and turmoil because I know how it ends and I know that it does not end well, and no matter how much I wish it, I know the ending won't change, and it is just such a frustrating book, because, of course Lily has to marry someone even though clearly she doesn't actually want to marry anyone except for maybe Lawrence Selden, but I personally believe she doesn't actually want to marry him anyhow, and just wants to be a fashionable, single, Lady-About-Town forever which is plainly impossible in turn of the century high society, but at the very least makes me grateful that I can remain a fashionable, single, Lady-About-Town forever, thank god. And I just want to punch Selden in the face because I feel like maybe he is a prototypical Chuck Klosterman*, only slightly more refined.

Also, there is a big move afoot regarding this blog. And a new Professional Alexandra blog is forthcoming. I have decided to get serious about blogging. Well, not that serious, really. Just fancier, and with a domain name. And designs for internet-wide domination. Stay tuned, kids.

*Defined as being that guy who you're friends with who makes out with you a bunch of times but doesn't actually want to pursue anything more serious because he actually just dates vapid blondes.

Baby, baby, please believe me

I like driving alone in the car on highways in rural Ontario. I like it even more when the soundtrack is the Shangri-Las, and it is playing very loud.

I bought that zebra-print, denim miniskirt intending for this to be SUPER PUNK ROCK SUMMER 2K8!!!!!! but instead all I want to do is listen to the Shangri-Las. Especially the songs where girl meets boy and then somebody dies, featuring sound effects (ie: birds, motorcycles, waves crashing on the ocean, Beethoven's Moonlight Sonata*), and melodramatic, portentous voiceover. Didn't Phil Spector** say something once about how his girl group songs were like little Wagnerian operas for the kids? I don't think the Shangri-Las were ever a Spector group, but, seriously, these songs are BETTER than Wagnerian operas because a) they are listenable and b) they generally clock in at around three minutes, as opposed to three hours. Oh, and also they are seriously awesome, and contain lyrics like these, which are seriously hilarious, and are delivered very, very, well, seriously

Listen. Does this sound familiar? You wake up every morning, go to school every day, spend your nights on the corner just passing the time away. Your life is so lonely like a child without a toy. Then a miracle - a boy.

Is it schadenfreude? Is it the fact that I am a dried-up old spinster? Is it my very bitter sense of irony? Is my strange admiration for teenage girl culture? Yes, it is all of these things. It is all of these things that make me think that those lines are the most hilarious lyrics ever penned. Ever.




*So ubiquitous it is pretty much a sound effect.

**I don't know what to do with Phil Spector! One one hand: what a horrible, despicable human being, whom I hate with every fibre of my being and whom I wish we could just stop talking about! On the other hand: Wall of Sound! Oh, the cognitive dissonance!