Meme-tastic

Having been tagged by the incomparable Juice (And if you haven't already read his blog, you should. I like to think that he's single-handedly responsible for Prof. Franklin's belief that I think Property Law is reeeally amusing and also for my subsequent less-than-stellar grade in Property Law.), I am now about to bare my musical soul for all the internet to see.


Total Size of Music Files on My Computer: ummm... hem hem. 2.59 GB. All of it from my own personal CD collection, which I then used to record throw away discs to take on my Tour of Scandinavia last summer. Now I use them to record mix CDs for background music for the various social events we've hosted at my place or at Finbar's. I have no idea how to, you know, use an MP3 player. Cut me a break people, I don't even own a DVD player yet.


The Last CD I Bought Was: I think it was Björk Selmasongs, which I greedily snatched up from the clearance bin at Half Price Books. Clearly, someone on their staff is a moron.

Song Playing Right Now on my iFruit: I'm at least as lame as Juice. I don't know what it is and don't own one, anyway. The song playing right now on the CD player in my car is "Rowing Song" by Patty Griffin. I've been listening to her album, Impossible Dream CD on high rotation lately. I bought it back when it very first came out, but it took me a long time to warm up to it. Now, I'm totally in love with it. I think it's my favorite of her albums.

Top five albums?
Impossible Dream, by Patty Griffin

That was the easy one. HOW CAN I LIMIT IT TO FIVE??? OK, hang on, let me think about this.

Embraceable You, by Chet Baker
Travelling Without Moving, by Jamiroquai
Document, by R.E.M.
Debut, by Björk


Five Songs That Mean a Lot to Me (1 per artist):

1) Into the Mystic, by Van Morrison. It's longing and satisfaction, warm water lapping at the sides of a creaky old rowboat drifting across the lake in the late slanting light of a sultry August evening. It's walking through Mt. Adams on a cold night, on our way to Cafe Vienna, both of us remembering that first walk up the steep hill, that heartstopping moment under the stars.

2) You're My Home by Billy Joel. Since the day I left for my exchange year in Germany when I was 16 years old, I have never lived in the same place for longer than two years at a stretch. It's an odd paradox: I love the adventure of new places, new favorite restaurants to be discovered, new secret pockets of hidden beauty to blunder into, new roads that might lead to the place where I'm supposed to be. And at the same time, I hate the feeling of rootlessness. I want to feel like I can invest my time, my heart, myself into the place where I live without the constant shadow of moving on soon hanging over me. But in some powerful way, I have roots in Finbar. It doesn't matter much to me whether we're together in one place or in another, I just want to be together. Ewww, two mushy songs in a row.

3) Here's Where the Story Ends by the Sundays. This was the year I turned 18. Perfectly captured and sweetly sung.

4) A Sort of Homecoming, by U2. Standing on the aisle of a rickety old East German train on my way to Berlin, sun streaming in, and all I could think of was home, but I knew, even then, that I would never fit in there again. The train seemed to sway in time with this song.

5) She Went to Germany, by the Violent Femmes. Included on a mix tape made for me by my high school boyfriend, this was my gateway drug into the Dead Milkmen, the Dead Kennedys, They Might Be Giants, and my very brief flirtation with Black Flag. If only he'd known how prophetic that song would turn out to be-- change my hair? Why, yes, I think I'll cut three feet of it off. And spike the inch that's left. And maybe I'll dye it "East German Red", too.

Recent discoveries? To be honest, I just don't have the time for exploration that I used to have. The most recent addition to my list of people whose CDs I wish I could find at Half Price Books is The Mosquitos. It's like Summer In A Box!

Who's next?

I wish War had a blog, because I'd really like to pass it to her. Stupid War!

So, instead, let's make it:

Jill
Katia
Luneray

aaaaand, mostly for the other Horsewomen, Finbar. I've seen his CD collection, ladies. It's scary. I'm not sure if that's in a good way or not.