It's Friday, I'm in Love!

Took me all day and night to come up with a lyric title.  Guess away!


Oh it's that wonderful time of year, when those genius people at PEOPLE mag roll out their Sexiest Man Alive issue.  And this year, they really got it right:

Really all I can say is, "DUH."  The choice, as far as I'm concerned, is a total no brainer!

Unfortunately, I had to break it to Jethro that once again they forgot to include him.  I mean, like I said they got the cover boy right this year, but they I sometimes seriously wonder what the heck they're thinking.  For example.  The first time Johnny got this title, the cover looked like this:

Honestly, PEOPLE?  Really?  It took until 2003 which is either unexplainable or baffling, and then, then, they gave 1/3 of the cover to Bachelor Boob.  Tell me, where is he now?  No don't tell me.  Have any other Sexy Men had to share a cover????

And then they go and leave out the Sexiest Recording Engineer out of it too.

But it's okay.  They've honoured Johnny again and he's now in the Two Time club with George and Brad.  Can you see them having a club meeting?  George would have to be all slicked up with his Dapper Dan Hair Pomade...

Brad would be kinda sleepy lookin' what with all a them younguns runnin' around on his place...

and Johnny would be... well, he'd be his usual perfect combination of scruffy and elegant...

Hugh Jackman apparently quipped recently that he's happy to pass along the title since he's looking forward to slacking off in the appearance maintenance.  I'm confident Johnny won't have any issues with that.  Mostly because he seems pretty happy keeping on with whatever he's been doing.

I have to include a few other faces from the mag's website feature.

Gotta love happy, healthy looking RDJ with his big brown eyes and silver whiskers.

And hey, Rpattz looks clean!  He's a strange boy.  He's absolutely lovely with those cat eyes and nice lips and handsome jaw, but he often photographs like he's just crawled hungover out of a ditch.

Mind you I can handle a pretty heavy amount of scruff and grime.  That's what soap was invented for.

I can get past it.  (Also that's a darn pretty National he's holding.)

But his fingernails are all long and nasty in that movie but I can still get past it.  Nothing a nail clipper can't fix.  Doesn't change anything. I still dig him.

I just love this guy's style.  He makes his own decisions, lives by his own standards, and manages to be a success on his own terms.  If that means accepting an award wearing a suit jacket with his plaid shirt tied around his waist, I'm cool with it.

You never know when you're going to need an extra plaid shirt.  So few people in the world realize that.


So, what makes a man sexy?

Honesty?

Humour?

Confidence?

All that and more?  Something indefinable?   What do you dudes think makes you awesome?

Heck with my commentary.  Have some pictures.  We all know why you're here today.

He's got walrus gumboots!

So tomorrow I'm throwing a little Sexiest Man Alive party.  I'll be expected all my male readers to show up and be appreciated for the wonders you are.  Aw c'mon don't be shy, you know you're wonderful.
Warning: you will likely be infected by the Johnnydeppitis tomorrow.  It's powerful.  Makes the Hini look like a gentle sneeze, but it's so much more enjoyable.  Trust me.


Wanna know how lucky I am?

Other than the lifelong debt, which I don't love, our recording studio gives us regular bursts of pure joy.

Today I'm hanging in the control room, waiting for the laundry machines upstairs to finish what the ones at home can't do.  If I had to hang at the studio and do laundry on any day ever, this is the day.  Three awesome guys are on the floor and in the iso booths, recording something... something... indescribable and cool.  Sadly, the world in general hasn't heard of these guys.  Other musicians know them.  They are heroes in this tiny little music community.  They have devoted fans and they make a living at this; they're pretty happy.  And they are three of the nicest, most artistic, amazing people I've met.  They are not a bunch of greasy teenager pop star pin ups.  They're so real.

Kevin has this awesome old dobro from the 30s. He's also pulling out a mandola and a mandocello. Gary has a giant kick drum and a loonie taped to the sole of his shoe, which makes a nice tap on the sheet of plywood on the floor.  Russell was playing a big gorgeous upright bass.  Before they started to record, they listened to a mind blowing Youtube video where two men with British accents discuss the studio eight tracks of "Come Together" and solo the tracks.  Imagine hearing each track alone.  I am so lucky.

I don't know what to call this song.  Jazz-country-bluegrass-creepfunk?

I'm just sitting here on the big couch at the back of the room, cross legged, Macbook balanced between my knees, one foot tapping, head bobbing, goosebumps rising and falling, hair on the back of my neck quite actively moving.  I love it.  Some days of studio hang are tedious.  Just dead boring.  There's Jethro at the console, hitting playback and tweaking one note over and over before moving on to the next.  Two words at a time on the vocal, sometimes two syllables at a time.  Plus the building's in a nasty ugly industrial area and you know me, I crave scenery.  There ain't scenery here unless you consider wrecked cars and transmission shops and "relaxation spas" to be picturesque.  I do not.

Today we've got musicians who know what the heck they want and how to do it.  These guys are so good even their mistakes sound awesome.

All I have to do is tiptoe up the steps and check my laundry.

The guys were in the control room here listening to a pass and each of them swayed to the music.  They were singing and humming harmonies, working out the vocal as they listened.  I'm in heaven here.  Surreal lyrics in the chorus and all these freaky harmonies and chords changing from minor to major and people, I don't even know much about music.  I'm not a musician.  I can't read notes and my naturally freakily talented daughter keeps begging me not to sing.  But I know I dig this.

Bubba's laughing at me cuz I'm so excited to be here today.

Just so lucky.

I was really irritated at the washing machine for conking out now, when we're trying to get this house all fixed up and clean and I'm not even there all the time.  Maybe my timing's not so bad after all.

Sometimes I'm just so lucky.


It's been a tough year folks, and I've been so tempted so often to beg Jethro to quit this unforgiving business, just screw the awards and walk away from the money sucking studio, just cut the losses and walk away.  Leave it before it ruins his body and turns him into a set of ears and buggy eyes with ProTools maps burned onto the surface, a big right thumb from clicking the mouse of errant notes, a weight problem from years of bad eating and a rolling chair shaped butt.  Twenty years of not enough sleep and too many hours in a room with no windows.  Too many hours and never, never enough pay to get anywhere but spinning the wheels.  Just get the hell out.

This, people, THIS is why I can't do that.

Because sometimes we're so darn lucky.

This indecision's bugging me.

Alright, which one of you knows what song this title's from?  I'm wondering if Mr F Dinners knows... Not that it matters because he's already a winner, far as I'm concerned!


Some of you might be aware of the weirdness that is my life these days.  I'm in my own house today, but it looks less like my house every time I'm here, as it empties of the objects that make it home.  Meanwhile my parental homestead gets to be more like home, as the kids and I settle into it.  My husband is sort of living a whole other life while we are out in the country.  This is all part of a very strange transitional time in our lives.  There are so many positive reasons for this move, no matter how much it often hurts to do it.

The impact of the transition is really hitting me.

I am ready willing and able to teach riding lessons, but apparently, people aren't looking out the windows at naked trees and morning frost and thinking, "Hey, I wanna learn to ride a horse!"  They're thinking, "Hey, I should see if that snowblower still runs."  I think this is a perfect time of year to ride. It's not freezing, and there are no bugs.  I think most people though, associate riding lessons with summer.  So even though I put up flyers with the phone number, I got no calls, I got no students.

Maybe it's better that way... I really want to get a truckload of sand into the corral first to improve the footing, but can't afford it yet.

However.

It doesn't cost me anything to write.

And I have been writing.

Slowly.  It's very disjointed and choppy but that's okay.

The book I wrote years ago and have been improving ever since is still on my mind.

I think I know what to do with it.  I have narrowed down the next place to send it.  I want to give it one more intense read, just to catch any lingering mistakes, and then I will be ready again.

Hold my breath, close my eyes and give it a shove.

Or not.

Yes, I will.

Or maybe I'll keep working on the new project and send it around to agents.

NO, no I'll send my previous book.

Yeah that's what I'll do.

Unless I get distracted by something shiny first.

Blame it on my roots. I showed up in boots.

alright, which one of you knows what song this one is???


Ah boots.  My life would be totally different and quite difficult without boots.

Talk amongst yourselves now!

In some respects, I suspect you've got a respectable side.

Yep, it's still guess the lyric.  Now let's talk...

Who do you respect, and what does it take to earn your respect?

Me, I respect people who say what they mean.  I don't like hearing words come out that don't match the body language.  That stuff weirds me out.  I confuse easily.

I respect people who know what the hell they're talking about.

I respect people who walk the walk.

I respect people who are artists, of any kind.  Writers, poets, painters, actors, musicians.  Craftsmen.  Photographers.  Bakers.  Dancers.  Auto body technicians.  Farmers.  Songwriters.

Some on that list don't get respect.  I think that's a darn shame.

Yo tellin me things but I gotta make clear - can't say, baby, where I'll be in a year!

Most likely not stage diving, although you never know...

It's a little unnerving, this temporary living arrangement.  However, I'm getting spoiled rotten.  My mom's a good cook.  And it's nice having fields to look at, and dirt lanes for the boy to practice driving skills (I hear chicks really dig that stuff) and it's nice having two handsome barn cats for Lucy to pretend to hate.  It's awesome having more grandparent time for my kids.  It's perfect, having my horses right outside the door. 

Not so perfect having the husband's career an hour down the highway. 

So we drive down the road pointing at farms with For Sale signs that we darn well know we can't afford right now, and Tribble and I plan the flower gardens of the future.  

What was I talking about again?

Oh yeah.  Stand in the corner justa shakin yo azz...

How can I explain? You would not understand. This is not how I am.

Just to make it more difficult (because I think this one's too easy) I want the band, song title, AND name of the album.

(I shouldn't do this... hint: think of a significant event in Europe twenty years ago.)