How adorable was Brandon Flowers this week?

I'm glad you asked...

Here he is being adorable on some sort of mass transit.

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This is him being an adorable groupie, talking about the new Morrissey Autobiography given to him by an interviewer (it's currently only available in the UK...come on Penguin!) :

“It's gotta be pretty good, huh?” he says distractedly as he paws through Morrissey's Autobiography. “So it's from his mouth… must have been working on it for a long time… shit,” says the 32-year-old with something like awe. “It's big. Damn. It's cool… Trying to see if there's any pictures I've never seen… His mom was pretty…”

I knew he was a fan, I just didn't know he was such a teenage girl about it.  He talks about Morrissey the way I talk about him. "Trying to see if there's any pictures I've never seen."  I've never felt closer to him.

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Brando. Adorable. At the Maida Vale BBC studios.

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B-Flow being adorable with Ronnie during the Zane Lowe BBC Radio 1 interview:

Ronnie: says something mean to Zane.

Zane: Come on now, there's no need...come on, Beardy.

Brandon: *out-of-control giggling*  BEARDY!  *more giggling*

***

Here he is being adora-...actually, no.  This isn't adorable. This is him being ridiculously, super hot. Like, criminally hot. Someone arrest him. Now.

And while we're at it...here is his ass being super hot.  Can I get an APB on that ass?

***

Ok, let's be serious for a second, while this post, and most everything I say about Brandon Flowers (and The Killers) centers on how adorable/attractive/super hot he is (they are), I would like to clarify that though he is (they are) super hot, it really is about the songs and the music and the band. Honest. Their hotness level is just a seriously, awesome bonus.

As proof, I offer these photos:

I was a fan in the very beginning...when he looked like this. Ugh.

Not a super fan, mind you, just a normal-person fan. I had a copy of Hot Fuss. Actually, it was a burned copy courtesy of my brother. I still have that burned cd....though I did finally buy a legit copy this year. B-Flow's wearing more makeup in that second photo than all the make-up I have ever worn in my entire life. See, it really isn't just about his super-hotness.

***

Ok, last adorable thing, and then I'm done: 

I remember hearing Read My Mind for the first time on the radio in 2007, back in Tucson. It was late on a week night, and my friend and I were driving home from a run around Reid Park. When the song was over, I told her we were stopping at Zia Records (this totally awesome record store that was always open until midnight). I needed that song, and I needed it immediately. It's the song that made them my favorite band. It's still my favorite Killers song, and will probably always be for that reason. Here is what Brandon Flowers said about it this week while reviewing their upcoming best of record:

"I love Read My Mind...When we play it live, you can tell it means a lot to people, and that's definitely one of the songs that attracts people to the band."

It's like he can...read my mind! BAHAHAHAHHAAAAAHA!

Anyway, here's a link to the new acoustic version of Read My Mind.  I don't know how to embed it in the blog, but please, go listen. It's beautiful. On the other hand, if you don't want the Titanic-sized obsession I have, maybe you should avoid it. But, if you have a slightly less addictive personality- it is REALLY nice.

***

OH WAIT! One more thing. Seriously, this is it.
Here he is being adorable and only slightly freaked out by fans asking him for hugs...

I'm really glad I just shook his hand and didn't try to hug him. 

Good decision making on my part. Wise choice. 

Yeah, totally happy I didn't ask for a hug...

NO I'M NOT!!!!!! WHY DIDN'T I ASK FOR A HUG?!? 

He clearly gives them freely!

Biggest mistake of my life.

Alright, new life goal: hug that adorable mother f*cker.

I don't care how much it freaks him out.

I don't.

On favorite Books & FAVORITE Books: A review of The Goldfinch in two parts

Part One

I have favorite books, and then I have FAVORITE books.  A lot of my favorite books represent different genres, and types of books.  Sometimes they're a series, where it's not simply one book, but the entire collection that has made them favorites (Harry Potter, Ramona, The Moomins).  A lot of times my favorite books are favorites because I think they're beautifully written, or unique and interesting, or I just really like them.  Some of my favorite books include Little Women, Tinkers, Jonathan Strange and Mr. Norrell, A Short History of Nearly Everything, Moby Dick, and more recently, Amor and Psycho.  I have a lot of favorite books.

But FAVORITE books...they are a different thing entirely.  These are books that I finish and clutch to my chest, unwilling to let go.  Books that are always well written, but with something more about them that simply stirs me.  Books that I hesitate to recommend to friends because I worry I will think less of those friends should they not feel the same way I do.  These are the books that induce the severest cases of PPD (Post Potter Depression- the feeling one gets after finishing the latest Harry Potter book, knowing that the next Harry Potter book is years away from being released, and realizing that no other book will ever make one happy again).

And these FAVORITES are the books that make me believe, just a little bit, in magic.

FAVORITE books are perfect and painful.  And the list is much shorter, and doesn't seem to fluctuate much.  The Shipping News, The Amazing Adventures of Kavalier and Clay, and Stoner.  Those are my FAVORITES.  Today, I'm adding The Goldfinch by Donna Tartt to the list.

***

Allow me an anecdote to convey the depths of my feelings for this book.

On Monday, heading home from work, I checked Facebook and saw that The Killers had surprise "leaked" their new song.  It's not something I could hear on my phone with any real clarity, so I decided to wait until I was home to listen.  If you are at all unaware of my rather ardent feelings for The Killers, please, just peruse the Killers tag on this blog.  It's a serious, sometimes debilitating obsession.  Actually, maybe don't peruse the Killers tag, it's a bit embarrassing.

But on Monday, heading home from work, I also had just 60 pages left of The Goldfinch (an 800 page book that I tore through in the better part of a week).  Funnily enough, I had started reading it on my recent trip to see The Killers in concert.

SO, when I got home, I curled up in bed and I read.  I finished The Goldfinch.  And I cried.  And then I read the summary and blurbs on the back of the book, and the letter from the editor inside (I was reading an advance copy).  I read the author bio, and the author thanks section.  I went back and read some of my favorite passages and then I read the end again.  And it was 2 hours later until I even remembered there was a new Killers song to listen to.

This book erased The Killers from my mind. This book has powers. This book frightens me.

***

A bit more on the actual book to come.

Post Concert Depression

Everything is the worst. Nothing will ever be awesome again. Not even Halloween, my favorite holiday, can make me feel better. Seattle sucks. I want to be in Las Vegas! I need Las Vegas! I am Las Vegas! Ok...that may be overdoing it a bit. But just a little.

Let me clarify: I want to relive this last weekend forever. Forever.

This is what I want my life to be: constantly listening to awesome bands, and eating awesome food, and hanging out with awesome friends, and soaking up awesome sun underneath awesomely enormous, desert skies. The neon buzz, as background to all of it.

Oh, and I would like to relive meeting Brandon Flowers over and over and over and over and over again.

But I can't.

I'm back home in Seattle.With nothing to look forward to. It's turning to winter and rain and grey. I don't get to listen to live bands everyday. There's not nearly enough neon (that element really is poorly represented in the Emerald City). The Killers are going on hiatus for 3 years. And there is a serious shortage of Brandon Flowers here.

See?!?!!! Everything sucks.

But I console myself with a new found appreciation of Beck, and a rapidly increasing love of Vampire Weekend. These bands! This music! They break my heart and ruin my life. And I keep falling for it.

But what can I do? They make me feel better. But just a little.

Amor and Psycho

Once in awhile you come across an author who shifts your belief about what is possible; about what the written word can do and what a short ten page story can make you feel. Carolyn Cooke is one of those authors. And Amor and Psycho will blow your mind.

It's dark and sexy. A little violent, and surprisingly funny at some of the most inappropriate moments. Like life, I guess.

She isn't timid in her exploration of the shitty things we face everyday. Illness, poverty, misogyny, isolation; it's all in here. But minus the bleakness you would expect. Cooke's genius is her ability to connect you to characters and situations far afield from your own life and infuse your experience with compassion, solidarity, and humor. Add her acrobatic, razor sharp writing and BLAMO! mind blown.

I really, really, really loved this book. Can't wait to get my hands on some more of her awesomeness. And mad thanks to Cheryl for pointing me to this.

I Told You SO!

I'm a little surprised myself at how music focused these posts are becoming...how music focused my life is becoming. Anymore, I come home and the first thing I do is turn on the music. If I'm in the living room, it's the record player or the radio. If I'm in the bedroom or the kitchen, it's the laptop. Most nights, I fall asleep to my mp3 player (yeah I have an mp3 player...not an ipod or other ithing). I'm concerned that my ear phones are becoming permanently embedded in my ears.

The other day, I was walking to the bus stop, rather briskly as I was running late (natch). While walking, I was digging through my bag for my mp3 player, becoming more desperate by the moment because I couldn't find it, and imagining the interminable 30 minute bus ride that would ensue minus tunes. Luckily I had it, because I was ready to turn back, damn the lateness! Today, I was having a shit day at work, and a coworker told me to put The Killers on. I told him I couldn't because my battery was almost dead and I needed it for the trip home. I simply can't stomach the thought of commuting without music.

Library cds...that creeper in the background
is my new George Strait record.

I'm not an aficionado by any means. I know what I like, and what sounds good to my ears. I don't think
about what's "cool" except to be annoyed by the fact that popular can't mean cool. Of course there are limits to that. Sometimes what is "pop"ular (a lot of the shit played on the radio) is really, just awful. Perhaps there needs to be some distinguishing between popular music, and "pop"ular music. Again, not that all pop music is bad. Some of it is damn catchy, and perfect for cleaning the house, or taking a run.

At any rate...I'm not an aficionado. I like what I like. I also feel like I'm doing a major amount of catch up. I've always liked music, but never really branched out as much as I have in the last few months. I'll hear one song by a group I've never heard before, put every single one of their albums on hold at the library, and then spend the next three evenings listening to all of it nonstop. The other day, I went to the library and had 15 cds waiting for me. It's a little embarrassing to walk out of the library with that many cds. I want to shout at everyone that I work at a bookstore and that's why I never check out books.

All of the above was just a precursor to point out to you that I am not the only one in LOVE with the new Arctic Monkeys album, some guy named Mike Williams over at NME agrees with me:

Arctic Monkeys’ fifth record is absolutely and unarguably the most incredible album of their career. It might also be the greatest record of the last decade. It’s not, however, the work of a band operating at their absolute peak – that’s yet to come. It’s the work of a band still growing, still fine-tuning, still learning and still experimenting; a band who will not look back on this record as a career high, but as the moment they stopped being defined by genre and instead became artists. Not a rock band, definitely not an indie band, but artists. Think Bowie, think The Beatles, think Stevie Wonder and think Bob Dylan. From this point on, Arctic Monkeys can do whatever they want, sound however they like, and always be Arctic Monkeys. But that’s all for another day, sometime in their stupidly bright future. For now, we should celebrate this record for what it is – 41 minutes and 57 seconds of near perfection.

Of note in that little blurb is that it's 41 minutes and 57 seconds of near perfection, and that it's only going to get better. Seriously. Go get this record. Now.

Ninjacat

I wonder if Brody thinks he is a ninja considering the number of times he has "escaped death" at the hands of the vacuum cleaner?

New Music Love

Currently addicted to the new Arctic Monkeys album. It's been on constant repeat-- in my earphones, at home, at work-- for the last week. Shhh...don't tell that other band.

Here's the totally awesome, creeptastic, Pink Elephants On Parade-esque video for Do I Wanna Know?



It's fantastic...and not even the best song on the album. Not even the second best song!

The Killers: Update

In order to avoid all the endless Killers posts that seem to be happening, I'm consolidating them into one GIANT post. It's totally convenient because you can easily find all the super important news about the world's greatest band, or you can easily skip the entire post if you are (more than likely) not interested.

***

They released a new song earlier this month. Some of you may have heard me talking about it...endlessly. Or if you're a coworker, you might have heard the song itself. Over the store stereo system. About 67 times.

Here is the beautiful video for it, though only 25% as beautiful as it could have been since there is only one Killer in it. Someday I want to see a Killers video that stars only Dave. 

Of note: all the attractive young people, pretty Vegas lights, and some classic B.Flow moves you should probably check out and maybe learn. Best part of the video, (and song, for that matter) at 3:46.

I made a chart about how I feel about the song...

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I mean, COME ON! How could you leave this beautiful bastard out of the video?!? You're telling me, that's not marketable?

***

Remember when I told you about Ronnie being super awesome? Well, here's Brando also being super awesome. 

***

Last weekend I pretty much lost my will to live when I learned that Mark wasn't with the rest of the band for the Asian leg of their tour...and they had a fill in/understudy/whatever you call the person that isn't Mark (his name is Jake...yeah, I know Fake Mark's name, so what? he tours with them anyway, so it's not really that stalker-y).

Some people said to me, "Well at least he's not your favorite."

Let me be clear, while it's obvious that I may have different kinds of love for the various Killers, I DO love them all. And if one of them leaves, they just won't be The Killers anymore. I mean, where would they be without Mark's sweet, sweet bass lines?! Tell me that!

Anyway, it seems Mark hasn't broken up with them...at least that's what they claim. I just hope he's better by October 27th.

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ONE MONTH 'TIL VEGAS!!!!!

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My new computer background.

I REGRET NOTHING!!!!

On Not Reading

Getting back into the "reading for pleasure" mode has proven more difficult than I would have imagined. For one thing, I'm just so damned tired of reading. I want to be outside, to move, to create. Reading seems so physically stagnating right now. And also, so much of what I've been picking up lately just hasn't done it for me. I've stopped reading so many books in the last few weeks, and that's pretty unusual for me. Do I blame the books, or my above noted lack of interest in sitting still?

Books I've stopped reading lately:

Both Flesh and Not  by David Foster Wallace. The first essay in this collection is unbelievable. It's the title essay, about Roger Federer, and it's beautiful. But that was about the only thing in this book that I found myself remotely interested in. A lot of these essays are very early/young DFW, and he hasn't quite come into the literary champion we all know. Also, as a young man, he was WAY too dismissive of female writers. That's about the simplest thing you have to do to get me to stop reading.

The Last Animal  by Abby Geni. So, this one was an advance that I asked for because the promotional material mentioned a story about an ostrich farm in the Arizona desert.  And I thought, "Hey! I know that ostrich farm!" So I tried it. I read the ostrich story. And then the next story. And gave up on the third (which is incidentally the story that got her published). It's just not good. I feel pretty shitty saying that about something that someone obviously poured their heart into, but I take comfort in the fact that no one will read this.

New York Diaries  edited by Teresa Carpenter. I actually quite like this one. I started it as part of my New York reading experience. It's a lot of fun, but one of those books that's just easy to put down. It consists of diary entries spread across the years of 1609-2009. The entries are arranged in a semi-chronological order, following the days of the year. So for any given day you could have entries from 1845, 1912, and 1976, and then the next day, an entry from 1778 and 1943. The diarists range from the ordinary to the well known, like Teddy Roosevelt and Simone de Beauvoir. And the subject matter is about everything; the city, ordinary life, artistic endeavors. It's pretty great. I will finish this one, but it will be one that I read at an intentionally leisurely pace.

Side note: the stunning and sudden change in the weather has put a decided dampening on my need to be outside, which means I've finished 3 books in the last week. Reviews to follow, I suppose...

Tattoos and Books

Forget a review in the New York Times, apparently the latest in book promotion is the temporary tattoo.

The top one is for The Hobbit, and the bottom for Carl Hiaasen's Bad Monkey. There have been a lot of other temporary tattoos making their way through the bookstore, mostly for young adult stuff, but clearly the trend has encroached into adult books as well.

***

I have to say, a busy day at the bookstore, highlighted by sweltering heat, impromptu construction, lovely customers, and even lovelier coworkers (not to mention the temporary tattoos...I'm not the only one sporting "Bad Monkey" on my arm), has left me a bit melancholy- a tad low. Bar exam results come out soon. And whether I pass this time around, or the next, I am beginning to accept that I won't/can't be a bookseller forever.

I love a lot of things in life. I love my family and friends, Stephen Colbert, hockey, whales; I love the desert, coffee, and old movies; I love cats; I love a certain band; and for a long, long time, I have had a pretty hot and heavy love affair with books.

Of all the above mentioned, and others left out, I would venture to say that my love of books is what defines me most. I read books, I know about books, I surround myself with books. If you're talking about books, and I chance to overhear it, I will unapologetically and aggressively insert myself into your conversation.

Books are a part of me. I'm good at books. I'm good at reading them, good at recommending them, and good at talking about them. I'm good at shelving and alphabetizing them, and good at displaying them in just the right way. And knowing that one day, in the possibly very-near future, I'll have to leave it all behind- makes me so sad. How do I go about this gracefully? Leaving something I love and something I'm good at- something I know- for something I'm not really sure I'm capable of. It feels like I'm abandoning a part of me- a living, breathing, visceral part of me. How do I do that without collapsing into a hysterical mass of tears and paper cuts? (paper cuts because I will be gripping all the books so tightly, not wanting to let go...get it?)