The hearing-loss blues

I don't know exactly how I converted to the blues. My favorite song when I was 6 was "Bad to the Bone" by George Thorogood. I'm fascinated by the idea that a musical style can embody an emotion, but I'm not usually a fan of subtlety. Here's a list of blues songs so loud you don't have to guess at what the singer is feeling.

Rockin' Daddy by Howlin' Wolf

I started listening to Howlin' Wolf my junior or senior year of high school. I first heard of him on the "Screamin' and Hollerin'" station (now defunct) on accuradio.com. I couldn't believe there was an artist who called himself "Howlin' Wolf" and I'd never heard of him. What's more, the name fit the singer perfectly. He sounded like some big cartoon wolf, growling his lyrics and even howling on choruses.

For a few months, I thought I was the only person on the planet who had heard of him. (That's changed now. A couple of weeks ago, I was listening to "Smokestack Lightning" in the office and a co-worker identified it as "the song from the Viagra commercial.") Fortunately, I wasn't the only person who heard of Howlin' Wolf. He influenced blues-rock giants like Cream and the Rolling Stones. This track, done for the Howlin' Wolf London Sessions, was recorded with Eric Clapton on lead guitar, Hubert Sumlin (one of Howlin' Wolf's guitarists) on rhythm guitar, Ian Stewart and Charlie Watts of the Rolling Stones on piano and drums, respectively, and Phil Upchurch on bass. Howlin' Wolf shows a lot of fight for a man in his 60s, and the bass and piano really carry the track.

Act Nice and Gentle by the Black Keys

Shortly after I discovered Howlin' Wolf on Accuradio, a friend told me about Pandora. I tested it out, and it was either on "Howlin' Wolf Radio" or "Ball and Biscuit Radio" that I heard the Black Keys. The music's texture hooked right into my guts. The lonesome slide guitar wailing in the background, the raw, growling guitar and Dan Auerbach's weary but soulful voice again made me wonder why the band wasn't in the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame. I listened to track previews of Rubber Factory every time I went to Borders, worried that some secret task force of Black musicians would swoop in, snatch the CD from my hands and punish me for appropriating their music. A little while later, I learned with a shock that Rubber Factory had been released the previous year, and the Black Keys were a couple of geeky white guys from Ohio. I still sometimes wonder if Auerbach got vocal chords transplanted from a 50-year-old organ donor.

Hello Operator by the White Stripes

I never thought Jack White was black for a second. That didn't stop me from appreciating his approach to the blues, though. One great thing about the White Stripes is you seldom have to analyze their music -- what you hear is what you get.

The Gospel According to John by the Soledad Brothers

Oddly enough, I eventually stopped worrying about the Black Key's theft of African American music because the Soledad Brothers were much worse. One of their albums has the Black Panthers logo on it. If anyone is trying harder to be black than Eminem, it's the Soledad Brothers.

The vocals on this track (and pretty much on every track by the Soledad Brothers) suck. Someone here is confusing soul with fake southern accents. Thankfully, the guitars are loud enough to drown them out. The Interstate-inspired guitar is as loud as the White Stripes, but less vicious.

Ventilator Blues by the Rolling Stones

If anyone can find another song with double-tracked vocals and slide guitar, please let me know. When I head this song, I thought some indie band like the Shins or Pinback invented double-tracking, but I'm glad I was wrong.

Vampires and Failures by Grandpaboy

Who is Grandpaboy when he's at home, you might ask. It's Paul Westerberg, former punk rocker. In 2002, Westerberg released Stereo under his own name and Mono under the pseudonym Grandpaboy. Ironically, the tracks on Mono are much richer musically. Westerberg doesn't always counterbalance his vocals, and most of the time comes off as the anemic ghost of Tom Petty, but the ground-shaking bass in this track counteract him perfectly. Westerberg opens up the soundscape with echoes and backup vocals. During the last chorus, it sounds like he's cutting someone's hair with electric clippers.

Turkey and the Rabbit by T-Model Ford

Once, as a misssionary in Ishigaki, I knocked on the door of an old woman. We started talking to her about the meaning of life. She didn't seem to understand our broken Japanese, but seemed happy to talk to us. "Hey now," she said, "I'm, you know, I'm--" She paused, and I was sure she was going to say she was an ancestor worshiper and not interested in Christianity. "I'm 105 years old."

T-Model Ford is somewhere between 88 and 92 years old and can't remember his own birthdate. Every once in a while, you meet someone so old you can't understand a thing they say -- but you can't stop listening, either, as if they're chanting some spell to keep you entranced. I'd love to see someone try to tell him to turn his music down.

Pride and Joy by Stevie Ray Vaughan with Albert King

I really can't tell what's different about this version of Pride and Joy, other than the bass is cranked way up. It makes me feel like I'm jumproping with moonboots on. There might be another guitar part, some piano in there, but I can't really hear it. Vaughan exhibits here one of the only things white bluesmen ever invented -- he sings the song exactly the same as he always does.

Catfish Blues by Jimi Hendrix

I never considered the advantages of being a catfish until I head this Muddy Waters cover. While I'm not sure of the logic involved, I've since said I wished I was a catfish many times. Sometimes several times a day (ask Sarah).

Living pregnant: One day at a time.

This is one of the only topics I have to discuss right now, mostly because it completely overshadows and consumes anything else I may relate to you. It's a big deal bringing life into the world. It takes a lot of work on everybody's part, emphasis on the bodies part. Steve has to contend with a hormonal rollercoaster for a wife, I slowly watch my body morph and cry about cooking food and Charlotte has to grow inside me. Here is a snippet of a typical pregnant day.

10:00-11:00 am
Wake up at the crack of dawn for a PL (pregnant lady). Hobble to the bathroom, just like the 19 times throughout the night, as my sweet baby angel kicks my bladder for fun. Cheerios are my breakfast food of choice, they are tasty and easy to get together. The last thing on my to-do list at this early hour would be attempting to care about making something stupid like pancakes or scrambled eggs. Eat the nutritious cereal in bed and the most important TV shows for the next one-to-two hours. This is a routine more or less guaranteed to prevent harm from befalling other people who I may see if I had to leave my house earlier than two pm.

Between 1:30 and 4:00 pm
Time to work it out! Monday, Wednesday and Friday mean a slow waddle up to the gym at USU. I'm secretly hoping that others immediately notice I'm pregnant, thus explaining the crazy huffing and puffing I make travelling up the 90 degree slope of a walkway. I have definitely contemplated saying "Don't worry, it's because I'm expecting a bowling ball" every few seconds to myself on this trek.
Can't run anymore, for my lower back screams with every step. I had to make the switch to the elliptical machines, something I would have scoffed at before pregnancy. But they are starting to kick my butt hard core. Mostly I just think the same thing over and over to make it through "You can do it baby Charlotte. Good job. We aren't going to die today!"

around 3 or 4 pm till... whenever
Chores. I may or may not get to those. Cooking. That is a definite possibility, but I'm comfortable eating peanut butter, Nutella and honey on bread for tonight. About once a week I'm pretty motivated to make something so delicious that Steve jumps up exclaiming excellence in cooking. That, uh, hasn't happened yet because I'm no Paula Dean, but then he probably wouldn't have married me if I was a 60-something southern woman. I'll try pretty hard to make a scrumptious whatever, and I may or may not break down halfway through for any number of reasons. I'm tired or I break something or it isn't turning out or I hate cooking and we'll be eating applesauce till we die.

After dinner till my body falls unconsious
I may crochet something awesome -- excellent work! We might watch a movie together in which I secretly cry because sad music is playing. I will certainly talk to Steve about my day, either really cheerfully or with snot running down my face. Fall asleep after drinking gallons of water to quench the never-ending thirst, searing my back with rice bags to dull the sciatica and tossing for a good 30 - 40 minutes. But my sweetheart always says he loves me at some point, that I'm beautiful and how proud he is of what I'm doing for our family.

I give the hottest smoochies

UPDATE: One night at the Good Time Yum-Yum Stand Up Show at Logan Out Loud, I found out Kendall Pack was Stu's anonymous critic.

I found the following flier on a bulletin board in the Family Life building on campus at Utah State (click for full size):

I blacked out Stu's number before posting, but it looked like a legitimate 801 number. I thought about calling him to see if the flier was sincere or a prank from his buddies, but I never did. Right next to Stu's brave foray into bulletin-board dating, someone posted a response:

I felt a little bad for Stu, but holy moly, what a critique! This kind of interaction fascinates me. I'll bet Mark Zuckerberg saw something like this and said, "Hey, this should be a website," and invented Facebook.

Free Book Review: ‘Penrod' by Booth Tarkington

Penrod tests home-made Smallpox medicine on a rival.

Free Book Review highlights public domain books you'd actually pay for if you had to.

Penrod, published in 1914, initiates readers in the secrets of the worst boy in town. (Population: 135,000.) The 11-year-old hero is more than a caricature ala Dennis the Menace, though. He's a compressed storm of human emotions — pride, jealousy, love and humiliation — familiar to adults but fresh to children. Never has an author written about young boys with greater insight and empathy.

Before putting this book on your kids' holiday reading list, however, read it yourself. Much has changed over the past century, and here's an abridged list of sit-down discussion topics Penrod might prompt:

—Racism
—Cruelty to animals
—Prescription drug abuse
—Slander
—Alcoholism
—Bullying

To his credit, Tarkington stands firmly in Penrod's corner throughout his misadventures and reveals his motives. Set in a time when corporal punishment governed American children, few of Penrod's adventures end without a lashing, but Tarkington questions the justice and efficacy of the rod.

This is a boy's lot: anything he does, anything whatever, may afterward turn out to have been a crime — he never knows.

Penrod's dense prose proves a minimalist style isn't always better. Tarkington builds the book with scholarly phrases and euphemisms, telling each story the way Penrod could if he had the words. Absurd situations like a tar-fight in the street are conveyed with straight-faced gravity, reminding the reader the power of emotions as felt by an 11-year-old boy.

The brevity of each story offsets the sophisticated style, though, and I had no trouble finishing the book. Rather than bend Penrod's tale to an adult's attention span, Tarkington instead stitched together a series of semi-related short stories to form a pleasing whole. The format suits the main character, whose life itself is a string of fits and phases. Penrod bounces back from the consequences of his exploits, no matter how spirit shattering or publicly humiliating. The author explains this remarkable resilience:

With a boy, trouble must be of Homeric dimensions to last overnight. To him, every next day is really a new day.

Though there's no overarching plot, the somewhat sudden ending is powerful enough to satisfy the reader.

Penrod reminds us that emotion is universal, love can be new and the best stories come from a bold life. Though nearly a century has passed since Penrod's glorious 12th birthday, there are still some lessons you can only learn from the worst boy in town.

Penrod is freely available for download in multiple formats from Manybooks.net and Gutenberg.org. An audiobook of questionable quality is available from Librivox.org.

Songs for moms

Disclaimer: This playlist features (predominantly features, even) bands and music I don't normally like. I just love the mothers in my life so much that I don't care.

Thank You Mom by Good Charlotte

This is a nice song -- smooth acoustic guitars and edgy vocals ala '90s frat-rock (though the song is more recent). I think the song should have extra meaning to Sarah, now. Just try not to think of the "always and forever" song from Napoleon Dynamite.

My Mother Was a Lady by Johnny Cash

A narrative explaining why harassment isn't entertainment.

The Best Day by Taylor Swift

Please refer to the disclaimer at the beginning of the article.

One Woman Army by Kate Earl

I got this track for free on Google Play.While washing dishes, I was about to skip it for a less country-western song, then I realized it was about mothers. Five minutes later, when I stopped crying, I listened to it again. Several times. Kate Earl's vocals are a hodgepodge of different styles. On the choruses, you'd swear she's a straight-up country singer. On the verses, her vowels are extra-round, like Regina Spektor's.

Superwoman by Alicia Keys

This song is like a female-specific "Eye of the Tiger." It's super-inspirational and super-motivational. The world needs more songs like this. On another note, Sarah didn't like Alicia Keys much until she saw her sing the theme from "Gummy Bears" on a late-night show.

The Son Never Shines on Closed Doors by Flogging Molly

Irish punk singers can be surprisingly sentimental, and none more so than Dave King. At every concert I've been to, he dedicates a song to Johnny Cash and a song to one or both of his parents. Listening to this song is like wrapping yourself up in a big fluffy comforter and watching rain fall on the window.

Honorable mentions: The Mother and Child Reunion by Paul Simon

I did a bit of internet research to double-check the song's meaning. It's a crazy story. Well, it's kind of a crazy song. This was a hard playlist to put in order, and this song didn't really fit in anywhere.

Simple Man by Lynyrd Skynyrd

Great song, too long.

Pregnancy 2012: A Woman's Dilemma

Have you ever been pregnant? Perhaps not. Certain obstacles may be blocking your way, like being a man. There's nothing I can do to help you in that case. However, if you are in fact female and may be pregnant sometime in life (first time or again) I believe this may interest you slightly. 

In the five months I have been pregnant, I have gathered interesting facts about pregnancy that no one ever informed anybody else about. I suppose it's kind of like making out or 'knowing' someone for the first time. There are just things you learn on the job, as it were, that you don't know or hear about otherwise. Doubly true for pregnancy

Sarah Pregnancy Fact #1 Having PMS for nine months.
  I was excited as a teen by the idea of pregnancy for two main reasons: having a sweet, cuddly baby and not having a period for nine or so months. I have so far had one of those hopes dashed. I feel like I'm on my period most everyday. Bloating, irritabillity, upset stomach, light cramps, headaches, muscle soreness, cravings, tiredness.. if I'm not mistaken, I have been under a serious false assumption most of my teens and early twenties. It's just lower level PMS for nine months everyone, remember this.

SPF #2 Body changes are just as hard as when you aren't preggo.
  I'm very body conscious. I like to feel good (what I eat and how I exercise) and that makes me like my body and how I look. Again, for some unknown reason, I thought that when I was pregnant it would suddenly be awesome to gain weight. No reason to fret Sarah, you're pregnant! Wrong and wrong. I've had some crazy body image struggles through this time. Steve helps a lot with this, reminding me of things that are real and true, not just what I percieve them to be while upset and sobbing. My friends, it's hard when you're body changes at any time. It's a lesson I have to learn over and over; nothing stays the same forever, including and especially your body.

SPF #3 Every pregnancy is different.
  I don't think this is news to anyone. You hear this quite a bit. However, unless you understand how very different it can be for you, your mother, your sisters or your best friend, you'll find yourself comparing numbers and experience until you think you're an alien giving birth to a hippo. YOU are different than any other women, you need to know that. You have had many years to come to terms with who you are, how you like things to be, how your body acts and reacts and what makes you happy and comfortable. Listen to your body and what you feel/think is right. There are lots of rules and tips for having a healthy pregnancy, awesome and excellent, BUT you know yourself best. If you know how to keep yourself healthy and happy, do that. Exercise how you know works for you. Eat the way you know makes you feel full and healthy. Gain the weight your body gains and don't go crazy on the numbers. Healthy is good but I understand my body better than any doctor or woman with awesome advice. Listen, gather information and facts and decide what you want to do based on your body, mind and life. It's your pregnancy, not anybody elses.

SPF#4 Love being pregnant.
 It's tough stuff. It hurts, your always uncomfortable, you feel large and out of control sometimes. When I look back on this time of my life, however, I want to think of the crazy wonderful miracle pregnancy and birth are. It's special and such a blessing to be able to bring a little baby into your life. You wouldn't be here if a wonderful woman hadn't been pregnant. My little brother Michel had some sage advice to give "I don't know why people think so much about what they weigh of wear. I mean, in a hundred years, who's going to care??" 
 That's how I want to remember this time. It's hard stuff being pregnant, but it's pretty amazing. I'm going to care about my children, the good work I've done and all I've come through and learned. So bring on the pregnancy, let's do this thing!
   

Please make a job, you can use Google Translate

I was checking out my buddy Tavin's summer blog to get ideas for this one. On the side rail, he's got a useful widget:

I thought about adding this feature to our blog (even though we have fewer Russian fans), but I wanted to test Google Translate's effectiveness first. So I copied one of Tavin's posts, ran it through good ole GooTrans to Japanese, then back to English. Here's what I got:

August 12, 2012 (Sunday)

: The last single ward

I was trying to (and plan on doing so for some time) I was in my last post about the madness called the ward singles, talk bad about ward singles OL YSA, I ("YSA Ward single" Hey. refer to the article below) I think that I've done enough. There are great people some very. Of being a douchebag to drive off in the high single-finger salute in the air through the window of the driver's side instead, I'll give you a little shout out so thanks. Hopefully, this does not sound too many sound like a high school yearbook signings or testament.

As weird because he frequently, nasty man has a good heart. He is a loyal friend. Every time we go to hang out, have forgotten his wallet, you know all the girls, we (Heather noticed just how cool he is probably) he introduces me. Become a friend of the poor, such as trade and it was difficult to stop.

Baseball guy, he is only in the church today told me that I did not want to go back to Logan. It is really nice to know that I did actually make a couple new friends, the best part is, he had meant it. Sorry mate, unless you have been provided and my dream job Salt Lake Tribune, and I, there is no way you are transferring from where to stay to grow wormwood veil.

Although this list is in no particular order, if it was very, girl climbing near the top of the guy I would like to miss. Even though you did not miss the opportunity at an early stage in order to expose me like a fool, she and I, we had become good friends with each other and entourage. Of course, when climbing to Logan and people who are not her, it will be a different experience and.

Climbing the guy I was offered both on and off the rock wall, a lot of good times. He was the only worthy to talk Midvale fellow quite true. Orchid drink will not be the same in Logan unfiltered without your thoughts about women and guns. Your man, I'll miss a homo.

Ginger, I was one of the first friends that were in Midvale. After I got here, even if you are drifting away About a month a little, she is the first month, we girls of fun make-up would have been sucked into without playing "- raise - Sunday School and ginger friend playing her cool basketball All-in-time-in-the hands of her. "

It although I seem to like almost as if it's a shame that I did not hang out with BYU Idaho girl, when the girl he is what I come back on a regular basis, I still lake I am one cool and assured the people of Salt to call.

Biggutoka is a whim, I was a blast to climb with her. 2-1 definitely (compliment, I assure you) 2 on a scale of women, and the cold overall.

To the great people of apology, I know you have offended even know amazing how much I, and there are others who are left off this list reason or another dumb one definitely there Please do not.

17:47 by Tavin that it has not been posted by

I looks like GooTrans has a hard time switching the sentence structure from English (subject-verb-object) to Japanese (subject-object-verb) and back, so a lot of these sentences are backward but pretty close. Other sentences are nonsense. A few take on new meaning. Here are my favorites:

"Nasty man has a good heart."
"Your man, I'll miss a homo."
"Of being a douchebag to drive off in the high single-finger salute in the air through the window of the driver's side instead, I'll give you a little shout out so thanks."
"Climbing the guy I was offered both on and off the rock wall, a lot of good times."

Manecdotes

The majestic snowcat

"I wish we had that one thing that sits in front of the mall," Sarah said as we pulled into our parking lot after a shopping trip.

"A snowcat," I said. "In the boy scouts, we took a tour of the Search and Rescue hangar at the airport. They had a big blue diesel snowcat that had 4-inch cleats on the treads. The guy said it could climb up anything that wouldn't tip it over backward."

"That's cool," she said. I don't know whether she was interested or not. I didn't really care — the compulsion to recite knowledge of machines and adventure opened a primal faucet in my soul. The snow cat story poured from my mouth as if it might bring home the brontosaurus bacon, impress my mate or cement my status within the tribe.

In some higher level of my brain, the odometer rolled over. I must have told that story an even thousand times. In celebration of the milestone, I gave the story a name: It was a manecdote.

man·ec·dote
noun, plural man·ec·dotes

1. A short account of a particular indecent told to impress listeners with the speaker's manliness 

I believe every man has a dozen of these tidbits filed away in his brain, ready to vindicate his masculinity.

Here are a few more of mine:

I was riding my fixed-gear bicycle on campus when a longboarder ran into my rear wheel. Since I was braking — and since backward pressure on the pedals transmits directly to the wheel on a fixed-gear bike — my wheel spun backward and sucked the longboard right out from under its rider. To our credit, neither of us fell over.

My old backcountry skis didn't have brakes on the binding. If your ski popped off, it would slide right to the bottom of the hill. I had tethers, to tie my skis to my ankles — but man they were a pain —so I rarely used them. Once, I hit a crusty patch around the top of a clear-cut slope. I went down, and my ski popped off. It darted toward the bottom of the hill — but an invisible bump popped it into the air. When it landed, the tip dug into the snow and the ski stuck, pointing straight at the sky not 15 feet from where I was untangling myself.

Speed trailers — those solar-powered, digital signs that tell you how fast you're going — are my favorite. When I lived in Smithfield, sometimes the cops leave them at the bottom of 300 South. I'd call my longboarding buddies and we'd go bomb past it. I think my record on that hill is 32 miles per hour.

GROUP ACTIVITY: Add your own manecdotes (or ones you've heard) in the comments below.

Best Bob Dylan covers

When I was a kid, I walked downstairs one night to find half my family gathered around my dad, playing "I Shall Be Free" on the phonograph. It was the funniest song I'd ever heard. Over the following years, I pawed through my dad's records, looking for the funny Bob Dylan songs. It seemed I had to listen to 10 songs I didn't like to find one that I did, but I found the funny ones. I also found his sad songs, his deep songs and songs that didn't make any sense. I found songs that were all those things at once.

The same goes for Dylan covers — most don't seem very special, but if you listen to 10, one might change your life.

Hard Rain by Leon Russel

I heard this cover for the first time in my dad's record collection, then freaked out when I heard it on "Remember the Titans." Remember? It's the part where they're running through the woods of Gettysburg. You don't remember? Well, you've done it now. You've gone and forgotten the Titans.

If You Gotta Go, Go Now by Cowboy Junkies

Dylan was a great songwriter, no question. So great, in fact, that he didn't need to be an even half-decent vocalist. Some of the best Dylan covers just put a smoother voice in front of the mic.

Buckets of Rain by Fistful of Mercy

Without the growling guitars, this cover would be too sweet. A few guitars like these would go a long way in the Byrds' Dylan covers. If someone mixes them in, I'll add a Byrds track to the list.

I'll Be Your Baby Tonight by Norah Jones

See the notes for "If You Gotta Go, Go Now"

Oh, Sister by Andrew Bird

This song has a wacky intro. The first time I really listened to it, I accidentally left a recording of a crowded room playing on my computer. I think it made the track better. As it stands now, it's a great track. Bird brings his trademark string sections and ghost whistling but doesn't chuck a jazzy freak-out into the middle of the song. If I couldn't hear him breathing or double-check on Wikipedia, I'd swear he's playing a saw instead of whistling.

Goin to Acapulco by Jim James and Calexico

Just before the listless guitars and deep-throat-high-vibrato vocals* let you slide into boredom, who comes to the rescue? Trumpets! Martial drumrolls! A glockenspeil? Ah, whatever. Go and have some fun, Calexico.

With God on Our Side by K'naan

Out of all the songs attempting to update or remix Dylan's work, this is the most successful I've heard. The synthetic beats and the words are new, but the song stays true to Dylan's message. The piano echoing through the background and the swelling strings lift the track to a light, airy mood. Dylan's song looked backward — this one feels like it's looking forward.

All Along the Watchtower Like a Rolling Stone by Jimi Hendrix

Yes, "All Along the Watchtower" is probably the greatest Dylan cover of all time, but how many times have you heard it? This live cover is more fresh, more raw (Jimi says, "Yes, I know I missed a verse, don't worry,"at about 5:13).

Outlaw Blues by Queens of the Stone Age

What could possibly improve on Dylan's original, stomping electric-guitar rhythm? More guitars, maybe. Josh Homme is even a little easier to understand than Dylan on this one.

Desolation Row by My Chemical Romance

With this song, the playlist gets a little more weird. My Chemical Romance took an eight-minute dirge, added a couple of guitar solos and finished it in three minutes. No complaints here.

Leopard-Skin-Pillbox Hat by Beck

This cover ditches the swagger of the original but adds a guitar vamped up to monstrous proportions. It keeps the messy, irreverent blues feel, though.

Not Dark Yet by Silversun Pickups

If I ever go on a spacewalk, my suit's music player will have this song. It creates such a huge, lonely soundscape that I zone out when it's playing. The Silversun Pickups have a vocal style you almost can't help but hate on first listen. It sinks in after a couple of verses, though.

The Lonesome Death of Hattie Carrol by Cage the Elephant

If I ever go to space, I'm leaving this song at home because it would scare the bejeebies out of me. Cage the Elephant instills a kind of shuddering energy to their songs, like the glow you feel once you're done crying. They're definitely one of the strangest and most wonderful bands to hit mainstream success. It's fascinating to hear them perform lyrics much deeper than their usual stuff — and their  unique style lends a spooky, Tim Buton-esque atmosphere to Dylan's tragic tale of a servant's murder at the hands of a plantation owner.

I Shall Be Released by Jack Johnson

Yes, it sounds like pretty much every other song Jack Johnson ever sang. It puts the playlist down on a nice note, though.

*I like My Morning Jacket, but I think it should be named My Christmas Sweater because Jim James has a thick, warm, thoroughly uncool voice.

Social Dismorphia

I have a theory, and it's distressing. I believe that the industries of fashion, beauty and care products may be run by robots. And by robots I mean money-mongering souls who either don't realize what they are doing or, more likely in my mind, don't care. These robots are programmed to destroy women, and thus society. I firmly believe that a family is the most important unit of society, and good things come from strong homes. Destroy the master of services and all good things (as I call homemakers) by chipping away at her self-worth slowly over her lifetime of media exposure. It's a brilliant plan, and I think it's working.

Looking good is awesome. Being confident feels great and makes you happy. However, letting evil robots set the criteria for these good things is not good. I'm constantly battling myself over how I look because of what I see and think looks good, determining my self worth by what I look like rather than what I can do. It's wrong, seriously wrong, and on the days I am self-aware enough to see that, I feel completely free and happy, no matter what I look like that day.

You know when I feel best? When I feel healthy, when I am with those I love and when I do good things for myself and others that day. Looking smokin' hot is good too, sometimes, but it's when I determine I look good (also when Steve lets me know). I've discovered over the years that I honestly feel the most beautiful when I love myself for what I do, when I work hard and try my best in any arena. For a big example in my life: exercise.

I could write a book on what I think about the many faces of exercise. "The Good, Bad and Sweaty," I would call it. One things I'm very passionate about is listening to your body, and in terms of exercise, I think it is the key to whatever success you're striving for. I started working out seriously at 14 or 15 because I was overweight and unhappy. It was a good thing, but I went about it in the wrong way. I was exercising just to be skinny, eating only when famished and then feeling guilty about eating. I ended up losing fat and looking good, but in my mind it was never enough, food was never a good thing and my ideal weight was just less than what I weighed, always less.

Like I said, I really could write a book on this, but what I want to say is that I went about this awesome and healthy aspect of life in an extremely unhealthy way. Why? The robots. I wanted to be skinny because that's beautiful. I wanted to look like the happy girls I saw at school who were thin and awesome. This idea scares me more and more for my sons and daughters (I'm going to have the first in the series by March/April of next year) because I want them to value themselves on what they do, not what they look like.

The thing about robots is, they aren't real. They're created by humans to do and say what we tell them to. This is an evil positive feedback loop, my friends. They sell us these thoughts, we buy into them and they sell us more. I don't want to buy any more robot garbage. I want to feel good about myself no matter what a scale says, no matter how others appear or what they say. I want to disillusion myself and others. It's one of the most important things in my mind because women, families and homes are fundamentally important in our life. We would all, in fact, not be here without women. Down with robots and yes to reality. I'll take a cake-baking, hard-working mother of 17 who has a full time job and remembers your birthday over garbage spewed from the mouths of money-licking robots any day.