xina’s Neighborhood

Pants Yell! - Cold Hands Pants Yell! Tour Dates 11/16/09 ZuZu Cambridge, MA 11/20/09 Space Gallery Portland, ME 12/05/09 Bruar Falls Brooklyn, NY

Every couple of months I go through what my friends lovingly call a “twee midlife crisis.” I listen to one too many Tullycraft songs or suddenly find the dulcet tones of the glockenspiel unbearable. During these spells, the only cure is a few hours of Joy Division and some pronounced sulking. And yet, the irresistible jangle always lures me back. In the immortal words of R. Kelly: “My mind’s telling me no, but my body’s telling me yes.” That’s twee for me.

Pants Yell’s newest (and final) album, Received Pronunciation, encapsulates the siren-like influence that indie pop has over me. The vibrant guitars, the charming lyrics, the sugary sweet pessimism: it’s all there. Pants Yell has always been the more understated, precise bands of the pop scene, and they’ve made a name for themselves by crafting intricate, witty pop gems that feel like eloquent inside jokes. From the tentative opening notes of “Frank and Sandy” to the upbeat apology of “To Take,” lead singer and guitarist, Andrew Churchman, proves that the band is able to expand their sound while maintaining the modest sensibilities that have
made them mixtape staples.

First single, “Cold Hands,” displays slightly crunchier guitars than expected and lyrics dripping with wisdom that only hindsight can provide. “I was young, I was selfish, I was in love, but now I’m over it,” Churchman sings with cheerful spite. On their first album, Songs for Sibling, the band embraced the roles of lovable losers, but Received Pronunciation shows them at a new advantage, where they’ve grown up but still have the childish vindictiveness that adults always fall back on. On the hostile-yet-sunny track, “Got to Stop,” Churchman calls out a guy for being an “asshole,” and in the twee world, that’s as close as you’re ever going to get to a Maury-like smackdown.

Although the claws do come out on this album, they are still Pants Yell, after all. Amidst the slew of passive aggressive quips and snide comments, there remains upbeat melodies and hyper-articulate hooks. It’s everything a pop album should be, but with just the right amount of snark to keep it from OD-ing on its own cuteness. So when the time comes for my regularly scheduled twee meltdown, I know I can count on Pants Yell to get me through my inevitable withdrawals.

 11/16/2009 03:54:06 ♥ kateg () ♥ myspace.com/pantsyellmusic ♥ slumberlandrecords.com

I'd been wondering why they were only vaccinating girls, when boys are a transmission vector.
And if you were trying to wipe out a virus, wouldn't you want to eliminate the source and all.

Logically, if you want to protect your girls, you need to vaccinate the boys too, no?
Is not a single-gender virus.

I just came across this:

"HPV vaccine will eventually be available for boys and men ages 9 to 26 because the Food and Drug Administration approved it for prevention of genital warts in October."

Well, that's nice.
Wouldn't want them getting warts on their little heehaws in the course of transmitting potentially lethel germies....

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At the start of the day I thought I knew what today's "Note From The Universe" meant and I laughed out loud at its perfect timing and choice of words.

However, at the end of this day, I am less certain what it means than when the day started.

But it is Friday the 13th and perhaps it's time to think some entirely new thoughts.

The Universe is looking out for me. I just need to keep listening. 

Went to New York to see Teh Kid.

Pre-booked, pre-paid,  shuttle.

Arriving at dawn, I grabbed a latte, and got onto the shuttle at 7:30 am at JFK.
Should have known it was a bad idea when we sat for twenty minutes and my fellow sufferers started counting the air fresheners.
Like the young forest of them (15!!) on the rear view mirror.
And a couple hanging on every seatbelt holder.
And another forest in the back with the luggage.
And little clusters under the seats.
We had plenty of time, and kept finding them.

I had the only passenger seat with a window that would open, which may explain why the ensuing migraine was not fatal.

The driver then proceeded to circle airport to try to fill his van, returning to Terminal 5 THREE times.
Because when you are in a stuffy, chemical-filled, crowded van driving fast in circles improves everything.
He then left the airport, running two stop signs and one red light before I stopped keeping track.
He managed to drop off two different sets of people more than a block from their addresses ("Because the street is one-way.")

I got to my hotel at 10:30.
That's three hours later.
The hotel (HOTEL AZURE, folks), bless them, put me in a room right away.
Probably they were afraid I'd pass out or puke in the lobby, both possibilities.

But that is only the trip in.

Coming home, to get on my 9am flight they gave me a 5:45am pick-up.
Kay.
So I got up at 5am, in the dark, had coffee, hugged kid who also got up and came down in the elevator with me.
So I was standing on sidewalk outside of dorm at 5:40.
You know, early, in the dark.
Because I am just that anal about being on time.

I got to watch the men's shelter up the block open its doors.
And see the bagels arrive for the shop next door.
And watch the film crews fiddle with their trailers ("Another Guy" with Mia Farrow, according to my new BEST FRIEND, the security desk guy.)
No shuttle.

So at 6am, I call them.
It's a mile away, they tell me.
Kay.
The sun is coming up, that's nice.
The security guy checks that I am okay for the second time.
This is nice, since this is daughter's dorm.
He has a cigarette outside and we bond.

At 6:20 I call again.
The van is four miles away, I am told.
Then I am put on hold.
They play juggle the call for a while, and I get another guy.
And again am put on hold.
He then tells me THE VAN IS ON ITS WAY TO THE AIRPORT.
They have no other van.
Sucks to be me. 

Shuttle person on phone claims they came by and I wasn't there.
Security guy, my new best chum, points out that when that really happens, the van drivers come and talk to him.
Shuttle guy also says van driver called me repeatedly.
Well, the cell number they have is Teh Kid's number and is up in her room with her.
Well, she was just awake, and it is a small room.
We both woke up when Tom called.
I can haz skeptical about call, considering the previous Driver Fib concerning my absence.
Hmmmm.

Shuttle guy has nothing to suggest.
I do not write down call information number he offers, since I have a phone in one hand, no pen out, and am digging for my card to get cab fare from the lobby ATM.
He says I will get an email in a couple of days.
I have emailed them
I have heard nothing.
It has been a couple of days.
Hmmmmmm

Am now trying to figure out how to pry my pre-payment out of them.
I am suspecting Firengi First Law of Acquisition applies here.
 
I did get a swell New York taxi driver, and made my flight, though not by a whole lot.
The taxi ride involved no suspense, no waiting around on the curb, and no scenic tour of city.
Just zip off to the airport.
I could have slept another hour and caught a cab.
I know what I am doing next time.

By teh forces of EBIL!!

Seriously.
Is MacBook Pro, and it has gone nutso.
Suddenly it is randomly transposing letters as I type, or moving up and down lines, or just eating typing.

And it is being weird about clicking.
As in not letting me.
And then being okay.
And then not.

I haven't done anything!!!

Am frustrated.

Have shut down and restarted.
Actually a couple of times, since when it completely refuses to click on anything, there doesn't seem to be any other option.

All software is updated.

Touchpad is clean.
Ummm....

It doesn't seem to like it if I rest wrists on laptop, though not entirely okay when I don't?
Sometimes clicks fine, sometimes won't click no matter what.

Is it fixing to die?
Is it going to cost a bazzillion bucks to repair?

Is there a way to sprinkle it with holy water that won't screw up the electronic innards?

HELPS??

At St. James's Gate, originally uploaded by Carl Belles.

This is the closest I've gotten to the place Guinness is born.