I'm too scattered at the mo for a solid-topic post. For one thing, the election is near and for another, I'm being asked to 'do things' during my afternoon serenity time, aka my reception job. So that sucks. How's a girl to plog?
Even with Obama ahead, I'm plagued by fears. But my fears about the election are trite. Let me share with you another fear: that "Love Lockdown" will worm its way into my heart. When Mr. West rolled it out last month, "Love Lockdown" was generally agreed to be a debacle. Kanye's singing was ear-splitting, the beat was a woeful rough draft--even Auto-Tune threw up its hands in despair. After humiliating himself at the VMAs, Yeezy was supposedly 'working on it,' but the radio release was no better. We all laughed schaudenfreudistically. The mighty shall fall. But I fear that Kanye, in his beat-making all-knowingness, has put one over on us. That weeks from now we'll all have to admit that it's good after all. That fear is nourished by the fact that "Love Lockdown" is in my head right now.
Paulie James Walnuts III had his final vet follow-up (following up on his recent brush with death) this morning and he's in excellent form. But we knew he was better when he resumed being a total dick and paragon of self-involvement. The other day, I got him purring just by taking a long series of photographs while he moved from one sultry pose to the next. And that's not personification; it really happened. Results of the photoshoot to come. I'll promise you some pix of the chickens and harvest pr0n while I'm at it.
I'm in a weird frozen state vis-a-vis the election. Maybe I hope that if I just freeze and don't think about anything too much, the rest of the world will also freeze and we'll defrost on November 5th in a deep blue map ocean.
Also, Lupe Fiasco has finally decided to get over himself and spare a verse for an Obama-ey song.
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