If, like me, you’re a little slow to pick up on new music because you’re too busy listening to your other music, well, let me be the one to introduce Fleet Foxes to you, because they’re amazing. I’ve been hearing about them for a while now, but I hadn’t actually LISTENED to them until yesterday.

They make beautiful music that’s all at once spiritual, folksy, poppy, and beachy, with such sweet vocal harmonizing that I’m reminded of listening to Crosby, Stills, Nash & Young at the beach during high school summer vacation and feeling so grown up. Listening to Fleet Foxes makes me want to wear a crown of flowers in my hair and start a career in weaving natural fibers. If you like ’60s & ’70s folk and the more mellow side of indie rock, you will most definitely love these guys, too.

Download “White Winter Hymnal” by Fleet Foxes from Sub Pop Records.

Album art from Amazon.com.

I got my car back yesterday, but then our internet connection stopped working. I actually fixed it by resetting the router with an unwound paperclip, but since I had to hold the little button down for 20 seconds I just went ahead and charged myself $200 for the labor.

I drive a 1988 BMW 528e, just like the one in this photo except for a sunroof, less clear coat protector, and more dents (from other drivers, naturally). It’s a car for old men, I know, but I don’t care. Whenever I happen to drive by another BMW like mine, the driver is usually an older guy—who usually waves at me. Because we’re cool.

My car has had some problems, though, during our six or so years together. First, there were smaller issues, like headlights that needed adjusting. “Okay,” I said, “we’ll just perk ‘em back up.” Then, I had a little oil leak. “Neat, now I don’t have to worry about an oil change, haw haw.” After that, I discovered another oil leak, one that turned MAJOR (”Change the oil? Where did it even go?”), and now, the clutch is messed up. This morning when I went to put my foot down on it, all I felt was air. Somehow, the pedal had lost all tension and gotten itself snugged up flat against the floor. The brake pedal is fine, and the car starts up fine when it’s out of gear. But you can’t drive like that.

So I borrowed my boyfriend’s car, a Pontiac something-something. It’s o-kay. It’s an automatic, which should mean it’s easier to drive, but you know how habits are. Every time I slow down to turn, my left foot goes over to the side to push down the clutch. But it’s not there in an automatic. My right hand moves off of the steering wheel and over to the middle console to shift down. But the gearshift is not there. Driving an automatic, which does what it needs to, on its own, is HARD. I was so tense the entire time I was driving Chris’s car because I felt like I needed to be doing more during the process. My car doesn’t even have drink holders, it’s THAT serious about getting driving done.

Anyway, I got a tow earlier to the auto shop, where the nice mechanic up the steep gravel road (yeah—I live in the mountains) will take a look and tell me what’s wrong. I know my car is not new, and that it’s going to have more problems I won’t want to pay for. I don’t even know how many miles the thing’s been driven, because the odometer’s broken. There must be about 200,000 by now, but I can’t give up on my old man Bimmer beacon just yet.

(If you care: Beemer is supposed to be the nickname for the motorcycles only, while Bimmer is the nickname for the cars. Get smart!)

My next inspection is coming up in August. I hope we pass!

“Enough” is a little too vague a word for me to use as inspiration right now, so I’m using something I drew a few weeks ago to get me through Friday’s topic. This little polar bear is melting into a puddle of oil, referencing the drilling bids in Alaska as well as global warming in general.

I was going through my browser bookmarks earlier when I rediscovered this awesome Medieval Bestiary website. On the site are actual drawings and descriptions of plants, animals, minerals, and some human hybrids from the Middle Ages, before the characteristics of these kingdoms became common knowledge. Click on “Beasts” to see the list, and click “Gallery” on each individual page to see more drawings. One of my favorites is this 15th century whale below that sailors have mistaken for an island. Everybody looks quite agitated:

Image from The Bestiary of Anne Walsh, courtesy of The Medieval Bestiary whale gallery.

I was in the sort of mood yesterday where everything I did recalled a memory from my childhood. During a particularly boring moment of adult responsibility, I was adding up bill payments on a calculator when I had a flashback of myself in junior high math class. In this class, I had been seated at a table with two of the most popular girls from the next grade, as well as a guy from my grade who was super cute and lived in a swanky house. I’d always been good at math, but this was such a high concentration of cool that I didn’t know if I could carry on. To fit in, I knew I had to play up something about myself I was proud of, a thing like my remarkable talent for bubble letters.*

I started writing everything on my math homework in bubble letters, except for the actual problems whose answers I made sure were neatly enclosed in smart rectangles. One day before class I was executing the hardest of the letters, the killer combination of M and S from the word “problems,” when Popular Girl #1 took notice. “Wow,” she said. I relaxed the grip I had on my pencil, hoping she’d ask me to write her name. “Hey,” she continued, “your thumbs are really long.” She turned to Popular Girl #2. “Aren’t her thumbs long?” By then I had put my pencil down, and was awkwardly holding out my hands. “All of her fingers are way long,” said Popular Girl #2, holding out her own thumbs. Because they were who they were, their observations made me both embarrassed and absurdly proud. “I play the violin,” I said, “and the piano, too.” As I wracked my brain for something more fascinating to say, my crush, having since tuned into the conversation, offered up the idea that I could probably play the guitar. I stuttered that yeah, maybe I could, and then it was time for class to start. All through the hour I imagined myself entering high school knowing how to play guitar and playing the songs at parties that everybody liked, but when it was time to leave after our quiz, I looked up to say goodbye to an empty table. Nobody asked me to write their name or to try on their mood rings, and eventually our class split up into new table groups. I ended up sitting next to a girl I’d known since kindergarten, who, while a bigmouth, could write her name in bubble cursive.

Remembering this so suddenly yesterday made me remember other instances with tender embarrassment, like how during that same year, I would wear my Battle of the Books t-shirt even on days we didn’t have competitions. It was entirely too big, and bland white with navy blue lettering, but I loved that shirt because I loved to read. Even if I couldn’t be popular or play cool musical instruments, I was never embarrassed by my books. Plus, my long fingers always made it easy to hold even the bigger hardbacks open with one hand, while I ate snacks with the other.

* I love that a how-to page for bubble letters exists on the internet. Also, one of the “tips” there is that “a smaller bubble letter sign could be just the thing your math notes need,” so apparently I was right on the money after all.

The fog comes
on little cat feet.
It sits looking
over harbor and city
on silent haunches
and then moves on.

“Fog” by Carl Sandburg

It’s been a long time since I participated in Illustration Friday, but it’s so fun that I’m starting again. Every Friday a new word is posted for anyone to interpret, so if you like to draw, even if only to doodle a little, you should join in!

Chris is on the phone with his grandmother, and here is what I just heard from him:

“Oh, did you get your new hearing aids yet?”

Pause.

“Did you get your new hearing aids?”

Pause…

“Did, you get. Your new. HEARING. AIDS?”

I looked over and his face was red from the laughter he was trying to suppress. I shook my head to signify that no, she must not have gotten them yet, but then a snort escaped my boyfriend’s nose as he responded:

“You did get them? Oh…”

There aren’t many skincare products I will buy more than once (the cabinet under my sink is a graveyard for moisturizers), but today I bought my third bottle of this toner from Neutrogena.

I have what appears to be incredibly overactive skin, so I like to exfoliate at least every other day. If I don’t scrub with something abrasive (I’ve used straight brown sugar before, which I would totally recommend), I use this toner after I wash my face. I don’t use it every day because of all the acids, but I really like it. After I use it, my face doesn’t feel tight and dry, but rather really moist and comfortable. This toner reduces redness and also seems to minimize what’s going on in the pores on my nose. I don’t believe anything will actually make pores smaller, but they can at least be clean for a little while, you know?

A problem I do have with this toner, though, is that it smells really strongly like alcohol. If you’ve been sick with a hangover, I suggest you don’t use this until you feel better. Trust me.

I’ve loved her Flickr stream for a while now, so imagine my delight over this charming shout-out I received from Mia at Exquisite Function! I am amazed that the internet has kept me connected to people for nearly ten years.

See more of my Flickr favorites here.