I'm a lowlife

The quality of this is not awesome, but you get the idea. Reform School Girl by Nick Curran and the Lowlifes.

Ok, so old music Thursday, and pretty much all other blogposts have fallen by the wayside. I'm crazed hormonal incubator on a mission from Venus (or Mars) to sew quilts, stay in bed all day with my kid, and avoid all human contact. And that apparently extends to writing. I have completed so many projects and had so many thing happen in the last few weeks, but the thought of writing them down feels monumentally difficult to begin, and also somewhat pointless. But then I get an email or a text message from another person, saying "what gives?" and I feel guilty. So I eat another scoop of cinnamon ice cream to drown my sorrows and promise to find time the next day.


I've eaten A LOT of cinnamon ice cream in the last few weeks.

Did I ever mention I went to reform school? Not really. It was a boarding school in Maine, but it wasn't exactly Exeter. It was like a progressive liberal reform school for kids who smoked too much pot, and whose parents were hippy yuppies trying to be better parents. Yay me. 

I thought I'd start back easy and tell you guys what I've been listening to lately. Nick Curran and The Lowlifes. So good. Nipper Knapp found this guy on a song of the day thing from some hipster college radio station out of Seattle(?) he listens to online. 


They're kind of like Rockabilly meets The Misfits, Meets Jack White, meets Howlin Wolf, meets The Ramones. The lyrics are pretty grim, and I'm sure my mother would not approve, but I kind of dig pulling out of the Joann Fabrics parking lot in my prius blasting "I'm Gonna Kill My Baby". Puts everything back in it's natural order.


Also they remind me of this band, whose name I can't remember, that played in Ann Arbor when I was about 16. Any of my readers from A2 in that era know who I'm talking about? They were all Rockabilly boys, and I dated one of them, mostly because he had a 1957 Chevy Bel Air, and a 1950s truck, and wore his hair in a super slick pompadour, smoked Lucky's, and his dad was one of those hair dressers who did hair shows, who may or may not have been dead of AIDS. He and other guys in the band were emancipated minors who lived in this crappy house near campus, and they had a paraplegic dog who wore diapers, and had a little trolly back made of skateboard wheels so he could pull himself around the house. All of these things blinded me to the fact that he was a short, ignorant, grifter, who now may or may not be aspiring to be the night desk man at a hooker hotel. The good life. Ah youth, where have you gone?


Ok back to sewing nursery curtains, and cuddling on the couch with my fellas.