Natalie Dee of the Week

Listen to This, Volume 23: Owl City

(Yes, yes, I know. I’m sure I’m taking a page right out of Stuff White People Like by recommending Owl City. Next week: peacoats and kickball!)

For a brief time last month, Federal-Agency-That-Shall-Not-Be-Named unblocked streaming media. For a good week and a half, I was able to Pandora my heart out. (Well, until I hit the 40 hour monthly limit. Um, note to Pandora: wtf?) As it had in the past, Pandora played a mix of my old favorites, new things I absolutely hated, and new things that intrigued me.

Owl City fell into that last category. Now, please, let me know if I’m just now jumping on an old bandwagon. “But Heather, an Owl City song was played on Grey’s last year.” “But Heather, Owl City is sponsored by the X Games.” “But Heather, Owl City played an Obama inauguration party.” Guess what? I don’t watch ABC dramas, can’t skateboard, and voted for the other guy. As far as I know, Owl City was muddling in obscurity until Pandora plopped it in my lap.

But if we want to talk about ways in which I am disconnected from Things That Are Cool, we’ll be here all day. So let’s talk about why you need to add songs like “Hello Seattle” to your playlist.

Owl City was started by one man. From Minnesota. Who recorded an album IN HIS PARENTS’ BASEMENT. And cites Imogen Heap as a musical influence. As critics compare him to Ben Gibbard.

Do I even need to keep going? I didn’t think so.

For good measure, keep in mind that it sounds like this:



Download now, thank me later.

To Gossip Girl

Dear Gossip Girl,

Allow me to congratulate you on being the titular character of a popular CW drama. While it’s perhaps not quite as prestigious as being the titular character of a popular NBC comedy, I think we can both agree it trumps being the titular character of a TLC reality show or any sort of book. Also, as a fan of said CW drama, I can attest that this season’s hijinks are no less salacious than those of past years. Fans of the show, many of whom are even younger than I am, continue to see such haute concepts as high fashion, political intrigue, and the ménage a trois.

In fact, this season’s characters and events have been so diverting that we audience members have hardly noticed a simple fact: you, Gossip Girl, are no longer among them. Unlike as in years of old, many an episode goes by with little more from you than brief narration. This, Gossip Girl, is not to your credit.

I realize that Gossip Girl the program is in transition. With many of its characters off at (conveniently) the same college, your high school territory is no longer the show’s main setting. Those who remain at Constance Billiard are but unworthy echoes of their bitchy forebears.

However, as you may have noticed, the college that Blair, Serena, Dan, et al. are attending is (conveniently) in the same city as Constance Billiard. Gossip Girl, I do not know who you are. But I assume you are located somewhat near New York City. It would seem that nothing is preventing you from dropping in occasionally on the characters who have gone on to college (or, in the case of Chuck Bass, speculative real estate ventures). I suggest picking up your mobile device and a couple of subway tokens and heading downtown.

It’s the least you can do, really, since they named the freaking show after you and all.

Cheers,
Heather

Ready, Set, Count

Folks, it’s that time of decade again. Census time. Well, technically, the forms get mailed out in March...but as someone who savored the decannual* ritual of completing a census form, I say it’s never too early to get excited about a li’l bit of bureaucracy.

As the anal-retentive only child that I’ve always been, I got tasked with a lot of clerical tasks growing up. Checking the mail. Completing surveys. Answering the phone. Putting up Christmas decorations. I was a latter-day Joan Holloway, really. And I loved it without even realizing it was preparation for my several-year stint in office administration. I was just that sort of kid.

No surprise, then, that when the census form came in 2000, my sixteen-year-old self was all over it.** I hoped and prayed that we would get the long form. The 72-page behemoth that would require at least two pencils and the patience of Job.

AND WE GOT IT.

(I may have been the only person in America to open the envelope from Census Bureau and exclaim, “Yes! We got the long form!” I was certainly the only one to do so with a fist pump. I mean, c’mon. I may be oblivious to many things, but I’ve always been acutely aware of my weirdness, thanks.)

The only downside: my competence and relatively small family made completing the form quick and easy. Even the complication of an Asian mother took up just marginal extra time. Still, while it lasted, putting one letter or number per space, checking the appropriate space for each applicable answer, and double-checking my completed form was pretty freaking amazing.

I have no idea whether I’ll get to complete a census form in 2010. I have no contacts at Census Bureau (cross it off the list of candidates for Federal-Agency-That-Shall-Not-Be-Named), so I can’t work a deal. How in the world am I going to satisfy my desire to complete a government form, mail it in, and hope it’s successfully delivered?

Guess I’ll have to wait until April 15.

* Word? Not a word?
** I’m sure my six-year-old self would have been all over the 1990 census form, too, but she was more concerned with color-coding the crayons in her Crayola box. It happens.

To the Army Man Who Chatted Me Up at the Dentist

Dear Army Man Who Chatted Me Up at the Dentist,

I hope I didn’t come off as rude when we met in Dr. Silverman’s waiting room last week. I hope I came off as disinterested, aloof, and perhaps a bit annoyed.

You see, Army Man Who Chatted Me Up at the Dentist, you should know that I was Dr. Silverman’s first appointment of the day. As you’re aware, we met around 8:30 a.m., which is during peak “Heather isn’t communicative” hours (any time before 10 a.m., anytime after 11 p.m., all day on Mondays). From your discussion with the receptionist, I gathered that you had loosened a recently-installed cap while eating a steak over the weekend. From later Googling, I gathered that you are a Sergeant First Class. From observations of the size of the waiting room and your general demeanor, I gathered that we were going to get to know each other quite well.

Boy, was I right.

During that 5-minute conversation, I learned the following about you:
- You’re 2 months from retirement.
- It was a really good steak.
- You don’t like going in to work but your wife makes you.
- No seriously, it was a GOOD steak.

During that 5-minute conversation, you asked the following of me:
- How are you?
- Are you doing okay?
- So how are you?

During that 5-minute conversation, you learned the following about me:
- Fine, thanks.

Right around, 37 seconds into our conversation, I rued my decision not to bring a book. “What could happen in the 5 minutes I’ll have to wait for the dentist?” I asked myself.

Now I know.

Cheers,
Heather

Natalie Dee of the Week

If it's Friday, it must be time for some Natalie Dee.

Life is Normal Today

You’re not special.

It’s okay. I’m not special, either. No one is. At least, not all of the time. Excepting an Election Night here or a World Series there, the vast majority of us live lives of quiet monotony. Not that regularity is a bad thing; I think Jamie Lee Curtis has a whole ad campaign about it involving yogurt. Sometimes keeping your head down is the best strategy—ask anyone from Communist Russia, Tudor England, or AIG.

Allow me, then, to present My Life is Average, a website I recently discovered wherein people submit ways in which their life is, well, average. Sample gems:

Today, I was talking to my boyfriend online trying to figure out what to do the next time we see each other. His response? Wear red shirts to target and pretend to work there, but act like lousy employees. His rational? They couldn't fire us because we dont work there. He's a keeper.

Today in church the pastor asked the congregation what "amen" means. After a few moments of silence he proceeded to tell us that it translates into "true dat." I love church.

Today I realized that indigo isn't part of the rainbow, Pluto isn't a planet, Dora the explorer is now a teen, and the cookie monster likes veggies. How much more can they ruin childhood?

There are the sort of observations we all have, with the occasional devious scheme or wtf coincidence thrown in for good measure. Reading through the archives, I even saw a proposal and acceptance. (Not as good as the guy who proposed via Bakerella, but still.)

You can vote on whether a story is good (“Average”) or not (“Meh”). You can also submit your own. I certainly have. Because while life certainly rocks on occasion (and there’s a blog for that, too), the vast majority of it doesn’t rock. It just IS. Nothing wrong with that.