tuesday mish mash

Well, life has gotten a tad busier for me than I’d care to think about. This chokes that part of me that would otherwise sprinkle the world with glamtastic helpings of joy and happiness.

Got some clothing recently, and Mother didn’t like them. So voyla, I decided to bring you all a glimpse into the world of Dev’s Mom’s Fashion Tips:

1. Bought a jacket. Suede-ish. Mom likes it – looks good, son. And then upon closer inspection, calls it commonplace after realizing it’s not real suede. I think that’s her way whittling away at my profound happiness at being financially independent.
2. Got some Gucci glasses – a capricious little expenditure, and heck, even though they don’t really make me look better, they add character, no? Mom takes a look at them, searches for the right phrase, and calls me Drew Carey at a family event.
3. My flirtation with product has always inspired Mom’s ire. What makeup represents for teenage girls and their mothers, hair product is for me and mine. It’s a sign of increasing depravity. To mom, hair was meant to be parted down the left with a little spritzing (of water, mind you) here and there if necessary – that’s just the way God made us.
4. Plain and simple, used clothing is a ticket to aidsville. That goes for used books too.
5. This is for the women, but my Mother has finally softened to the notion of the midriff. We were driving one day, and she noticed a runner with the belly button peeking out, and as the ferris wheel of her thought carnival turned, she came to the conclusion that the midriff is more a symptom of modern femininity than a statement of bold promiscuity. Yay for women everwhere!

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And because I haven’t the time to think of anything daringly original, I bring you a fun ode to my glory from my high school yearbook:

“I guess I was angry before since the time you called me a dilettante about my music. Seeing as how it is important to me, I was hurt. So I got angry. So there you go, that’s why I was mean… But it wasn’t intentional, never in my head did I consciously say, “Damn him, I’ll blow him off one of these days!” … Will we meet again? Will we care? How strange. But I won’t think on’t. Because it’s been like a dream. While it lasts, it’s so real and I have no sense of time. And then I wake up, realizing it’s over. I can’t even remember all of it… Only memories, Dev. Take care of yourself. Good luck. Till we meet again. If not in person, than in our dreams.”

He eventually found Jesus, I’m told. Scary, scary stuff. The entire yearbook is really crazy – people weren’t so fond of me…

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Oooh, go Eliot Spitzer. The closest thing to populism that America has.

Also, you know how Ryan Adams' cover of "Wonderwall" or Johnny Cash's cover of "Closer" brought some much needed dignity to these songs? A sort of validation to a guilty pleasure. Well, to the music industry execs who read this, I need some dignity brought to the following guilty pleasures: "Mama" (Spice Girls), "MmmBop" (no comment), "Part of Your World" (definitely no comment).