er............singer/songwriter?

I think I figured it out. But first, let me say that I'll admit it. I like some pop music. I listen to radio music and I even like some of it. Probably more than I might desire to admit it. For example, I'm an admirer of Kelly Clarkson. I think she's got some incredible pipes, and I think it's awesome that she survived the cookie cutter American Idol™ contract that she won and has since gone on to develop her own (I use the term "own" loosely) little pop identity that makes road trips to Austin quite entertaining... every 13 songs or so.

I am actually in the middle of a road trip to Austin for one of my best peeps, J-Will's bachelorette party. We made an abundance of mix cds for the trips down and back, and we came upon a K.C. song and it got me thinking. This girl's got an awesome voice, and she's had sooo many hits on el radio......but her songs don't stir me emotionally. Like...even the sad ones.

I have countless cds that I can pop in my cd player and almost immediately I'm back in high school or I'm on our road trip to Austin in 2002, or...you get the idea. And I'm sure Kelly Clarkson might one day remind me of the early Otts, but there's no real emotional association.

Tonight, driving in the car on the way back to the hotel after some toobing and some deliciously unhealthy food, amid the strains of K.C.'s soaring vocals and surrounded by my wonderful friends, I think I finally figured it out.

SHE DOESN'T WRITE HER OWN SONGS.

Writing credits, perhaps, but I think we all know what that means. Her songs are written as love songs, not as a product of being in love.

Now, do I know beyond the proverbial "shadow of a doubt" (like the doubt in the proverb!) that all the songs that I think are written out of true life experience are actually true? No.*

BUT AT LEAST THE ARTIST IS WRITING THEM!!







*Let it be known that I don't judge people who are used as a vessel for another person's talents. Love you.

TractorBeam Team....

This what happens when things get stressful at work....

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There is a recession in age and maturity and we roll one another's desks with toilet paper. Four rolls to be exact. Woop Woop!

stuff on my cat

I don't mean to be deceiving, but I don't actually have a cat. The closest I have ever come was Willie, a neighborhood cat we adopted while I was in high school. I had always dreamed of having an animal sleep with me at night that would curl up next to me and keep my right calf warm at night. I tried letting Willie sleep with me, but every time I was about to slip off into dreamland, I would shift my feet ever so slightly, and BAM! Willie's un-declawed paws would be penetrating my sheets and de"feet"ing my feet. So out of my room he would go. Willie was an outdoor cat (as was proven by the neighborhood mockingbirds' unfounded loathing towards him and their subsequent dive bombing attempts at his rear end. You'd think he'd tried to harm one of their beloved family members..........), so he was comfortable in the outdoors.

I remember when I was a freshman in college, and we were getting ready to move out of our house, Dad and I were concerned about what was going to happen to Willie. As I mentioned before, Willie wasn't an indoor cat, and our neighborhood was his home, so moving him may not have been the best idea. Well, on one particular visit home from college for the weekend...or maybe it was a school break, I don't know, I remember Willie sitting at the front door in the middle of the night, his gaze going back and forth from me to the door, me back to the door. "Let me out, Becki. Please? I don't ask much." He never did that. He always stayed inside for the night with us, so I recall thinking that it was odd, but it was late and I wanted to go to bed, so I didn't dwell on it, and I let him out.

That was the last time I ever saw Willie. Dad and I both drove around the neighborhood looking for him, because he was always around somewhere. I remember a particularly rough night when I got really sad because my life was in a great period of change and I just wanted to hug my cat. I went driving around the neighboorhood looking everywhere I could think of looking for him. I never found him, and I think that maybe it was God's way of sparing us having to say goodbye. That might sound silly, but the way things happened was much easier than if we'd had to just leave him behind.

I loved Willie, even though he scratched me sometimes.

Anyway, all that to say, I found this website from my friend Sara's blog. It's funny.

the way you say the things you say...

My dear friend Liz and I were chatting via IM this morning, as we usually do when work isn't devouring us alive, and this morning's topic of conversation led from teeth grinding to talking about whether or not we were light or heavy sleepers. I was relaying that my beloved roommates, Candiss and Levi, are both quite heavy sleepers. We have a giant movie projector screen in our living room, and sometimes Levi will watch movies pretty loud in there and Candiss is able to just sleep right through it.

Now I'm not an extremely light sleeper, but I've never been one who can fall asleep watching tv or listening to the radio. So sometimes, I have to put a little pillow over my head when there's a loud movie playing, but it's never been to the point where I can't fall asleep at all.

Liz responded by saying the following, and I quote:

"Yeah, I know...Zach (her husband) plays playstation late into the night and I have to put earplugs in. Not that he even has it loud, but it's just one thin little wall between me and the nation of Chinese rebels."

Oh, Liz. You slay me.

Liz & Zach:

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More to come later. What what.