Mellow Chaos
Lately, I’ve been more than a little distracted, and not just by all the great things going on with The Neapolitan Sisters. While I’ve worked hard to eliminate a lot of unwelcome and unnecessary stress in my life, it was replaced by stressing out from the lack of, yeah, stress. Besides working out (I’ve also added low key, centering yoga, and a couple of sweat-my-balls-off indoor cycling classes), I’ve been turning to music to not only get my head straight, but also get me out of my head.
My latest 14 song playlist, Podge of Hodge, is 64 minutes of an all over the place, punchy yet tranquil vibe that’s cooler than I’ll ever be:
“Kids,” MGMT
“I Will Poses Your Heart,” Death Cab for Cutie
“Dangerous,” Big Data, Joywave
“Electric Feel,” MGMT
“Your Woman,” White Town
“Pumped Up Kicks,” Foster The People
“Journal of Ardency,” Class Actress
“A Real Hero,” Electric Youth, College
“Time to Pretend,” MGMT
“Praise You,” Fatboy Slim
“Daft Punk Is Playing at My House,” LCD Soundsystem
“Young Folks,” Peter Bjorn and John
“I Turn My Camera On,” Spoon
“Weapon of Choice,” Fatboy Slim
You can listen to Podge of Hodge on Spotify.
Here's a true story I can't help remembering when the sixth song on that playlist comes on, which has nothing to do with the song or the band...
More than a few years ago, I was at a Christmas party and not entirely thrilled to be there. My son, who was about 15 or 16 at the time, felt the same way. As we both enjoy each other’s company, we were within arm’s reach of each other for most of the night. When he stepped away to get something to eat, a random guy approached me. He was wearing a deliberately designed to be ugly Christmas sweater which I instantly realized was not only from Target, but from the Women’s section. He was also more than slightly tipsy and feeling himself enough to try to chat me up.
So, of course, I decided to have some fun at his expense. I started with the sweater and went from there. My son, catching on to what was going on, came to stand by me. I said to the rando guy, “This is my son, Foster.” He said, “You named your son Foster?” and I replied, “Oh, no, what I meant to say is that this is my foster son.”
The very befuddled and slightly horrified look on his face was perfection. My son, who had played an unwitting accomplice in my verbal shenanigans, clapped one hand over his mouth and grabbed my arm with the other. I pretended to see Bitsy arriving (there was no Bitsy, as it wasn’t that kind of party) and excused myself and my son. We found ourselves a relatively private corner to laugh our asses off and that’s where we stayed for the duration of the party.
Want to read more? Subscribe to my newsletter . And if you’ve read The Neapolitan Sisters (or any of my other four novels), please consider leaving a review. Taking the time to write and post a review is a great way to show your support, and help improve the visibility of books you like (and, yes, don’t like). I truly appreciate each and every one.
My latest 14 song playlist, Podge of Hodge, is 64 minutes of an all over the place, punchy yet tranquil vibe that’s cooler than I’ll ever be:
“Kids,” MGMT
“I Will Poses Your Heart,” Death Cab for Cutie
“Dangerous,” Big Data, Joywave
“Electric Feel,” MGMT
“Your Woman,” White Town
“Pumped Up Kicks,” Foster The People
“Journal of Ardency,” Class Actress
“A Real Hero,” Electric Youth, College
“Time to Pretend,” MGMT
“Praise You,” Fatboy Slim
“Daft Punk Is Playing at My House,” LCD Soundsystem
“Young Folks,” Peter Bjorn and John
“I Turn My Camera On,” Spoon
“Weapon of Choice,” Fatboy Slim
You can listen to Podge of Hodge on Spotify.
Here's a true story I can't help remembering when the sixth song on that playlist comes on, which has nothing to do with the song or the band...
More than a few years ago, I was at a Christmas party and not entirely thrilled to be there. My son, who was about 15 or 16 at the time, felt the same way. As we both enjoy each other’s company, we were within arm’s reach of each other for most of the night. When he stepped away to get something to eat, a random guy approached me. He was wearing a deliberately designed to be ugly Christmas sweater which I instantly realized was not only from Target, but from the Women’s section. He was also more than slightly tipsy and feeling himself enough to try to chat me up.
So, of course, I decided to have some fun at his expense. I started with the sweater and went from there. My son, catching on to what was going on, came to stand by me. I said to the rando guy, “This is my son, Foster.” He said, “You named your son Foster?” and I replied, “Oh, no, what I meant to say is that this is my foster son.”
The very befuddled and slightly horrified look on his face was perfection. My son, who had played an unwitting accomplice in my verbal shenanigans, clapped one hand over his mouth and grabbed my arm with the other. I pretended to see Bitsy arriving (there was no Bitsy, as it wasn’t that kind of party) and excused myself and my son. We found ourselves a relatively private corner to laugh our asses off and that’s where we stayed for the duration of the party.
Want to read more? Subscribe to my newsletter . And if you’ve read The Neapolitan Sisters (or any of my other four novels), please consider leaving a review. Taking the time to write and post a review is a great way to show your support, and help improve the visibility of books you like (and, yes, don’t like). I truly appreciate each and every one.
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