Tag Archives: my apartment is heaven

Life, Love and Faith. And Cocoa.

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No color-saturation trickery or anything, guys – look how pretty this came out! I fiiiiinally got Toussaint’s Life, Love and Faith, which made me think about other epic/stark/lovely black or white or black & white album covers, which sucked me down a rabbit hole all Sunday afternoon, which come to think of it is always where you can catch me on Sunday afternoon, every Sunday afternoon, with sporadic breaks only to stretch and refuel and check Deadspin. (Special appearances by my favorite red dress, my mug of hot chocolate, & because I’m fucking sick to DEATH of the Cowboys, Days of Our Harbaugh, and As the Manziel Turns, the Aldridge-less Blazers being unkind to the Knicks on my TV.)

 

 

Go home, kook

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O Perfect Saturday, how I adored thee: the weather cooled down, I got a haircut so I finally look presentable when I meet with Goodell to discuss my concerns*, had a milkshake, found out that Muhammad Ali’s grandson plays on that Bishop Gorman team with Cordell Broadus(!), watched USC win, and I got all these pretty pretty records including, yes, fuckin Foghat, deal with it.

I’m pretty Locals Only when it comes to my favorite record shops because I’m a jerk and I only want the good things in life to happen to me and nobody else but me. So even though this looks like a pretty rad haul from Record Jungle, owned by the wonderful Andy who prices everything way lower than he could (because he is wonderful), it’s really not up your alley. I mean, ew, they let fake record nerd girls shop there, so you’re better off just staying away.

 

* of which I have MANY

 

Following the Joy of Witnessing USC Snatch Stanford’s Soul Out its Chest on a Forced Fumble, Los Angeles Woman Attempts to Organize Konfusion, Contemplates Suicide

IMG_5760HAVING A GREAT TIME, GUYS.

Funkadelic, Let’s Take It to the Stage (Westbound, 1975).

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“WHY IN THE FUCK would I listen to Physical Graffiti when this new Funkadelic record just came out? USE YOUR HEAD.” – me, being all indignant during the spring of 1975, if I had been around back then. (Incidentally, “Use your head” is also my go-to strategy for getting a backstage pass. George Clinton was so taken with the idea he wrote a song about it.)

Later on in ’75, I would fall in deep deep throbbing love with records by the Meters, the Isleys, the Players of Ohio, Rufus, Burning Spear, Tom Waits, Heart (YEAH I SAID IT), and Curtis. But that spring was pretty epic – Chocolate City came out in March and Let’s Take It to the Stage came out a month later because George Clinton is the god damned devil.
(Special thank you to Natalie for handling black Sharpie duties)

The Brides of Funkenstein, Never Buy Texas From a Cowboy. Atlantic, 1979.

 

I believe the expression is “The bigger the headache, the bigger the pill.” Less popular but no less true is the expression “The bigger my love for Dr. Funkenstein, licensed administer of ear-canal narcotics including but not limited to rubbery bassline antidepressants, the greater the likelihood that I’m willing to forego monogamy and share my groom with my other sister-wives so we can blow the cobwebs out your mind.”

I wish George would give women a little wiggle room when it comes to roles – we are backup singers and side-project wives, and that’s it – but if I complain I’ll get kicked out of the family and he’ll easily find another fake wife to hit in the protons and make sure her hips keep moving. Having to share Dr. Funkenstein with some other ladies is better than no Funkenstein at all.

 

 

Ahmad Jamal, Heat Wave. Cadet, 1966.

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Let the music breathe, says Ahmad Jamal. The same applies to your legs, which need not be encumbered by the rigid fabric of pants. Let the legs breathe. (I know all about Winter in America thanks to my man Gil, but I’m also an expert on Winter in Los Angeles, where a lady has to improvise when the temperature dips down to sweater weather.)

[After you get Freeflight because you’re a jazz snob, go get Portfolio (Argo, 1959) & listen to “Autumn Leaves” and go back to being a kid every time you hear it like I do because my dad played it on Sunday mornings. Go play in the backyard. It’s a beautiful day. Mom will call you when dinner’s ready,]

E-40, The Element of Surprise. Jive, 1998 (JDAB-41645-1).

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No disrespect, Ramsey, but in my house, “Sun Goddess” is referred to as the “The ‘Hope I Don’t Go Back’ Beat.” ALAS, FINALLY, YOU GUYS, a tribute to my English & Economics professor, the mighty 40 Water! Sorry it took me so long.

(Special appearance by Xavier, Nick, & Shawne behind me, relaxing on the the bench after ballin outta control, oh wait no being mediocre as fuck.)

Donald Fagen, The Nightfly. Warners Bros., 1982.

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Here’s to being pretentious, annoying, Yeats-reading jazz snob high school kids and then realizing what a pain in the ass we are and finally deciding to lighten up, Donald Fagen! You and I are cut from the same cloth, baby.