BaRou is the New Bklyn

Friday: OMG LOST Finale! (No spoilers)

Just have to say: OMG LOST. Please don't put any spoilers in the comments, my lovely commenters. I just had to vent some of the pent-up suspense and anxiety and emotions from the finale. OK, done.

I've been working overtime this week so when I go away I won't feel guilty (ha ha ha, as if) or at least not have to stop at Internet cafes to work. My faithful companion Coopy's been working hard, too, as you can see here. I hope he enjoyed that Playgirl he's resting on.



(I pledge that when I'm off on adventures there will be less pictures of pets and creatures that have invaded the house, as has been the theme of late. )

The BaRou Experiment

Morning all--Typepad is starting a new interface with a percentage of their users and seems to have lost the intro front-page parts of my past few posts since the new interface began. Guess what, Typepad, PROBLEM.
Lemme try to reconstruct that intro quickly. Grumble.

This first week of relative isolation has been another busy one full of lessons, challenges, and surprises.

For one, I wandered into the living room the other night and rested my chin on the sill of a high open window. That cat has an odd gait, I thought. It was a raccoon. Oh, the suburbanity! I haven't seen one of those since Jersey. I watched him make his silent rounds from yard to yard.

I  was not expecting nature to be so in my face (and in my house) when I moved down here. So far Little Pink has been the unwitting host to a lizard, colossal flying cockroaches, dragonflies, fleas, spiders, uh...various colors and textures of mold I've never seen before. I wouldn't be surprised to find an alligator squatting in the tub one day. Maybe that's what was pounding on my door the other night.

Anyway here's the latest indoor visitor.

Three less eggs to fry

I probably shouldn't post this for the preverts of the world to read, but the f recently departed for Europe for an unspecified amount of time. So far since he's been gone, I'ts been a pretty action-packed couple of days. I've been hit on by a stranger, cowered in fear at a potential home invasion, gone on an unintentional shopping spree, and gotten almost no writing done. Sorry, feminism, sometimes I can be such an unproductive girly girl.

Friday zone, early Thursday edition

Hey all, sad times over here. Since I have my Friday post mostly ready to go, I'm posting it now. I'm going to have some CoKane time, then I'll post about today later.

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I feel better this week. Im busy, I have lots of ideas that I'm acting on, and getting results. And great things are in the future, like travel abroad! I actually feel grateful that I can work from home watching and listening to the outdoor animal clownshow all day. (According to our bird feeder which looks like an attack scene from The Birds, we throw the best bird party in town.) The tree in the view from here seems fuller than I've ever seen it and it's a pretty time of year.

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The independently-owned record store, like the independently-owned everything else, is under siege in this time of big-box stores and ever-consolidating retail chains. But it's especially an issue for the category of music sales, what with all the new ways to get music that cut out the bricks-and-mortar middleman. And here's a story about how the last record store in Chapel Hill--CHAPEL HILL, you guys--closed. Schoolkids Records, RIP.

So, in celebration of the good old record store, Saturday is Record Store Day. I thought I'd open up the comments to the theme of record store memories: do you have a favorite? Did you work at one? Stalk a cute guy at one? (Not me! Never!) Baton Rouge has a shop called the Compact Disc Store that I've only been to once or twice but which has a comforting authentic record store vibe to it. i.e., a bunch of dudes standing around talking about music. Is anybody reading from there?

I worked for the bad guy, a chain called Sam Goody in the Livingston Mall, at the beginning of college. (Goody got it!) Yes, Goody had it, if by it, you meant Ace of Base. They did a land-office business in bad music. Literally every customer for about 6 months purchased The Bodyguard Soundtrack. This was also in the time of longboxes. For you younguns, when shops transitioned from vinyl to CD they found themselves with bins that were too deep for CDs, so in an extremely wasteful move by the music industry, CDs grew boxes that were three times their height. Those were replaced by the also-wasteful plastic adapters, and then the shops eventually updated to display cases that were made for CDs. Actually I should leave this up to former Goody coworker Therese, she remembers the era much better than I do. (She's on vacay so it'll be awhile.)

Your mom goes to spring break

And then, I went to Miami.

Road to nowhere

As mentioned on the last post, I'm a-traveling to the east again. The first day(s) of travel, Friday, went so badly as to be comical. I was a magnet drawing bad luck to myself. After the jump, a summary of the past few days that somehow ties in zombies, Cher, the Misfits, Frank Sinatra, and disembodied robot voices.  Which, if you talk to me, and conversation is flowing well enough, could probably be any story.

Friday Roundup, Clam Chowdaaaa Edition

First I have to explain today's title. When TV's Rob Morrow of Northern Exposure hosted SNL years ago, he was in this sketch where he kept having the right thing to say, but he'd be a minute behind the conversation. So his friends would talk about, say, clam chowder, then they'd move onto another topic, then Rob Morrow would go, "'Clam chowdaaaa,' that's how they are in New England with the 'clam chowdaaa'..." and his friends would be like, "Huh? What are you talking about?"

You know, like you guys reading this right now. Anyway here's some stuff that's not right on time, but hopefully isn't too far off.