AfricanKelli

I’m doing something very uncharacteristic: I’m reading more than one book. I started, “Michaelangelo and the Pope’s Ceiling” last month and am enjoying it. But it is detailed. And archaic. And nonfiction. And dry. Rather than give up, I just put it down for a bit and started reading, “Million Little Pieces.” With all the hype and controversy, it is still a good read. It angers me that I became attached to portions of the book that are bit fat lies, but if you consider it fiction from the start, it is an interesting read. James Frey’s lack of punctuation and random capitalization of words, on the other hand, is enough to make me go batty. I am sure that another of my new favorite authors, Lynne Truss of “Eats, Shoots and Leaves” fame, would just hurl it across the room.

I wouldn’t purchase Frey’s book on prinicple. But I did enjoy it. So, how’s that for contradiction?

I’m now reading, “Tipping Point,” and finding it fascinating. I’m trying to read more nonfiction, and have read countless reviews about the practical applicability of this book. Plus, Finny read and loved it, so there’s that too. She heard the author, Malcolm Gladwell, speak recently and says he is witty and weird. I’m only a few pages in, but so far, so good. It is about how social movements — whether they be based in fashion, economics, disease, etc… — gain momentum. I’m currently reading about the epidemic curve of disease, something I’m all too familiar with working in public health.

I also purchased, “Night,” — the latest Oprah Book. As much as I try to swear off these books, I just can’t do it. I like that they come with conversation. You read them, tons of other people are reading them, and there is always someone to discuss the story with. There are ladies at my gym reading “Night,” and I know that if nothing else, I can go on the Oprah website and read viewer’s comments about the book. I enjoy discussing a book nearly as much as I do reading it.

Also on my nightstand at the moment are the March issue of Martha. The garden issue is not so great for a girl living in the land of drought. I’ve got the March issues of Shape, Prevention and the newest Coach catalog too. If lovely new purses with embroidered flowers don’t say, “sweet dreams,” I’m not sure what will.

~K

I grew up in a home that always, and I mean always, had music playing. My mother was well known among my childhood friends for two things: one was her love of sewing, long since documented here. The other was her love of the freakishly small musical genius known as Prince. Or formerly known and once again now known as Prince. My very conservative Christian mother didn’t bat an eye at singing “Sexy Mother Fucker!” at the top of her lungs while preparing a nutritious, well planned dinner.

Yes, it was a crazy house.

But it was fun. And noisy. And artistic.

It still is.

I’ve attended countless music concerts and have always been one to turn on the radio before the TV, but the concerts I’ve loved the most were those three purple infused mad, mad, mad Prince concerts I took my mom to. As much as I tried fighting off the shaking of my hips and dreaded singing along, I couldn’t fight the force of the Little Red Corvette. Let it be known, I too like the Prince. It is a sickness and I’ve accepted it.

By my love of indie music, off the beaten path music, music you don’t find on Saturday mornings via Casey Kasem, comes directly from my friend Mike.

No his wardrobe doesn’t usually speak, but this sums him up well. We met as junior high students attending church camp and didn’t pay a lick of attention to each other until we reconnected as adults. (Even if someone I know briefly dated him. How’s that for a stumble down memory lane!) He dated a former roommate of mine and we went on many a double date. It is funny looking back on it now because neither of us speaks to our former loves, but we have found a fantastic friendship within each other. He started sending me CDs from bands I’d never heard of like “Dashboard Confessional” and the “Get up Kids.” We attended several concerts where we were two of only a dozen in the “over 21″ section, right up against the stage singing along. Bouncing. Screaming angry lyrics back at the young man on the stage crying away. Laughing at the 18 year olds behind us swimming in a sea of adolescence and angst. Because you know. We were so cool.

I saw Mike last week for the first time in several years. He is now a big computer dude on the East Coast living in a big house with a sweet wife and wicked commute. He of course showed up at my door with more new music from a band I cannot remember. They were good, as usual. I’d bet I’ll have one of their CDs in my mailbox soon.

In the meantime, I’ve found two of my own musical treasures in the last week.

KT Tunsdall rocks. She is Scottish, hot, and ohsotalented. The woman plays all her own instruments and loops them back. (Ala Prince. See, it’s full circle. Hang in with me.) It is incredible to listen to her go. Listen to “Black Horse and the Cherry Tree” and see what I’m talking about. WOW.

And the Gabe Dixon Band. You may have heard them on the previews for that new NBC show “Conviction.” Love that song. So much that I now own a handful of their songs via itunes. (Who knew a computer program could cause financial instability?)

She wore a raspberry beret,

~K