Wherefore Art Thou Do-Si-Dos?

O Do-Si-Dos, Do-Si-Dos! Wherefore art thou Do-Si-Dos? Girl Scout cookie season is upon us, yet I seem to be cookieless. This is an utter hell for a self-declared Cookie Monster such as myself. I placed my order many weeks ago with a mystery man known only as "mookie." He was throwing himself down at the feet of his former colleagues, begging that we buy cookies from his daughter via a mass e-mail to my department. Because I'm fairly new at my job, I do not know this mookie person. But I do know that I am a Do-Si-Do fiend. I sent the mook-ster an e-mail in which I requested $14 dollars-worth of Do-Si-Dos, Thin Mints, and Samoas. He was supposedly collecting money when the cookies come in--"usually mid-February" he said in the mass e-mail.

But alas, March is about to come in like a lion and I have not a cookie to my name. If there are any entrepreneurial Girl Scouts reading this, your services are in need. For the love of all things holy, bestow your glorious peanut butter sandwich cookies upon me!

Got Goo?

We all have our guilty pleasures. I’m not afraid to admit that I own some albums that blew the minds of friends who consider me someone with respectable taste in music. Sure, I can understand people who turn their noses up at *Nsync. But I lived my “coming of age” during the late 90s—so it is only expected that I own a scary number of boy band albums and matching ticket stubs to boot. Anyhow, we all have some musical love-affairs that we prefer to keep on the QT. However, I am a strong believer that the Goo Goo Dolls should not be one of them. A friend of mine, who shall remain nameless, has a high regard for my musical standards. I’ve even turned him on to some inspiring artists such as Josh Ritter and Regina Spektor. But I want to know why it is so hard for him to believe that I truly think Dizzy Up the Girl is an important album? Maybe “important” is too strong of a word. But nevertheless, this album is damn good in my opinion. It’s one of the classics that I can play regardless of any particular mood. Who doesn’t (perhaps secretly) adore “Iris” and “Slide”? This album is chock-full o’ hits. “Baby’s Black Balloon.” Hello?

Since about my freshman year in college I’ve been pop culturally-inept. (Oh, the year of my reality-TV overload--brought on by my smut-addict of a roommate. “Bachelorette.” “Joe Millionaire.” “Real World.” Need I say more?) It didn’t take long for me to detest all things “popular.” (This includes most sorority girls. Sorry.) So it shouldn’t come as a surprise that I didn’t follow the Goo Goo Dolls’ somewhat recent comeback attempt. I did notice their cover of “Give a Little Bit” taking the pop culturally-savvy group by storm. This was enough to keep my Goo collection limited to recordings that predate my aversion to pop culture.

So the cat is out of the bag. I think everyone’s music collection should be a little Gooey. In fact, “gooey” should be a term to stand for music that has substance and relevance but is under-appreciated by the music snobs of this world.

Dancing with the Devil

I recently discovered the writing of Andy Whitman (fellow Ohio University alum) in Paste, where he most recently found himself relating to Bob Dylan's "melodic middle-finger salute." Whitman admires Dylan's "When the Ship Comes In" from The Times They Are A-Changin', and believes it to be the "greatest apocalyptic revenge song ever written." "Why settle for a mere insult when you can summon wholesale destruction on an epic, biblical scale?" Whitman asks.

Whitman says, deep in his heart he wants to smile on his brother--but it's so hard to hold on to that sentiment as you are being cut off on the freeway, or when a "brazen telemarketer" interrupts your dinner.

Though I'm sure I've probably read his stuff in past issues of Paste, this particular piece in the Scrapbook really sang to me. After learning he is from Westerville, Ohio--a place where I've had the pleasure of munching on freshly baked doughnuts in a quaint bakery at 2 a.m. on a balmy winter night--I wanted to know more about him. I googled him and found his blog, Razing the Bar. A particularly old post about his beef with American Idol hit a nerve with me. I felt strongly compelled to leave a comment along with the 57 other people. I signed up with blogspot, and acquired this very blog that you are reading now--just so I could tell Andy the story below. Unfortunately, his blog only allows comments from "team members." I'm still new to this blog thing, but I think that means, "You weren't invited to this party. Loser-face."

I don't want this venting to go to waste. So enjoy:

Andy,

I've only recently discovered your writing, but consider me your newest fan. Though I'm rather late to the table on this post, I'd like to contribute to the discussion. This reminds me of an equally soul-sucking show that is brainwashing our country. Dancing with the Stars. Maybe you've heard of it. I've never sat through an episode, but it is something my mom has been known to watch... and therefore I am fully aware of the spectacle. I have to say I'm with you on the possessing a true desire to love mankind... but this show is only one of the many reasons why that is a most challenging goal.

Let me cut to the chase and share with you a conversation that I overhead in an elevator about a month ago. Two women, one in her early 30s and the other approaching 40, were discussing what a blessing Dancing with the Stars is for the citizens of this great nation. They continued to praise the show saying it is exactly what people need--it is bringing culture to our dumbed-down society. I bit my tongue. Held my breath. Tightened nearly every muscle in my body. Waited till I reached my floor, and exited the elevator. Suddenly, I could breathe again. Forgive them, for they know not what they do.