How I stalked a single by Mister Brett Dennen.

I discovered Brett Dennen (...scrap that--I hate when people say 'I discovered.' We didn't discover sh*t. If we discovered sh*t, we'd be in A&R and making money. And we don't work in A&R. And we're certainly not making money. So, to rephrase, I realized my major love for Brett Dennen...) when I heard the same snippet of his song, Blessed, played over and over again via a Hilton Hotel advertisement on Hulu.com a few years back. I realize this is the second blog post in a row where I make mention of my avid TV watching. You can either judge or we can just keep it moving. Keep it moving? Okay, thanks, cause I know you've got an addiction to crime dramas and Bravo reality TV too. So, a few years ago, I have Brett Dennen's song drilled into my head until I absolutely/must/life-or-death-kind-of-thing, download it on iTunes.

Skip to last week. I hear a song on KCRW while driving. And as my Blackberry is dying and I always email myself lyrics of songs I love on the radio (yes. While driving. I email. I knooooow. But we've already agreed to a judgement free zone here. So, moving on...) I dig an envelope out of my bag, unearth a pen from the pit of my car, and jot down a few words here and there. For Googling later. Well, several days and before I've had the chance to remember I even had an envelope with words on it (or a check inside waiting to be deposited) later, I hear the song again. And this time the DJ announces its owner so to speak--a Mister Brett Dennen. Whatdyaknow! I say to myself. And this time I vow to Google. Like immediately. And download (with same immediacy).

Skip again to several days later still (cause 'immediately' holds all sorts of its own meaning in my universe) and I take to searching the iTunes Store for Mister Dennen's latest and greatest song that I must own, like, yesterday. I listen through each and every preview on his new album. And though the new album's fine and all, none of the songs are a match. Sh*t! I say to myself. And I Google some more. Cause there is nothing and no one I cannot Google my way to the bottom of (keep this in mind for later stalking assignments, friends and readers). And I search for 'KCRW Brett Dennen 2011.' And long story really (really freaking) long, I find the track listed on a recent Morning Becomes Eclectic playlist. Sydney, it's called! But it's 'promo only,' it says! Damn, I think.

So, in a last attempt at conquest over this new song I search again. And while the best I could come up with is this promo video of Brett in the studio 'overdubbing tambourine and some cymbal' onto the track which you see above, it is pretty darn sufficient for now. And dare I say, seeing Mr. Dennen in all his magnificent nerdiness--overmatched rainbow ensemble, glasses my grandfather left at Salvation Army 50 years ago and my mother would so desperately want to clean, red mop of hair beneath trucker hat--only adds to my love for this artist that I've stalked once, I've now stalked twice, and, if history shows anything, I'll stalk again.

P.S. The album, Loverboy, that you'll be able to find Sydney on is due out in 2011.

P.P.S. Yes, Brett Dennen's label publicist, I would absolutely love tickets to Mr. Dennen's next LA show in exchange for this glowing and unsolicited ramble. Thanks.

Happy birthday Sesame Street.

It's everyone's favorite children's TV show's anniversary today. Sesame Street celebrates the big 4-0. And it doesn't look a day over 7 if you ask me.

40 years ago, Sesame Street was revolutionary--combining entertaining programming with educational material was radical. Now, there are networks and DVDs and troupes of performers dedicated to this very cause.

But Big Bird and Cookie Monster and gay lovers Bert and Ernie were the first to do it.

And for that, I say [on behalf of my former child self] thank you and Happy Birthday!

(Even Google acknowledged Sesame Street's big day today. And you know you've made it big time when Google redesigns its home page for you.)

My apologies for misleading the searching public.

Tonight I discovered Google's Webmaster Tools. (Now, the fact that I am home on a Saturday night exploring the ins and outs of search engine indexes is not the point here, so stop judging right now.)

I found that this blog has appeared in rather high positions for those searching for the following odd and 'dirty' items on the interweb...

• how to make platform sneakers
• stuffing my face
• wider and thicker (not to be confused with...)
• thicker and wider
• gays cum
• perversion los angeles
  
• playboy c

I don't even recall writing about most of these things, let alone the context in which they were written. But to all those who may have landed here via Google in search of something a little steamier, slightly more pornographic, or containing more practical information about the making of platform kicks...I'm sorry. I hope that what you found here instead held your interest. If not, I suppose I could consider a future in online erotic literature (not unlike the 'fiction' of our more conservative Evangelical friend from South Carolina).

[Image Credit: Peter Driben]

Gmail goes to Autopilot. I get lasier. And apparently stupider.

Logging into Gmail this morning I found a friendly note from the still-Beta email service letting me know that Gmail now provides an 'Autopilot' service. If you can't read the sections I've highlighted above, it states that Gmail Autopilot by CADIE...

• automatically manages [my] inbox better than [I] can, with zero effort from [me]
• automatically send[s] the right reply
• Manage[s] Relationships
• [is] just like [me], but automated

So, in other words, I've now got a machine that can communicate 'just like me' but better. Should I be happy? Terrified? Well, I Google this new product to find out more. And find out that Autopilot is a big, bloody prank for gullible morons like myself.

Happy April Fools Day to you too, ya big sack of techy expletive!

Google game - Rich Things.

Over the last 2 days, I have heard about even more people in my circle of industry friends getting laid off. Yesterday I even walked in on 2 colleagues packing files, removing personal affects off the walls, and being watched by eagle-eyed HR folks who stood in the corner as they stowed their hard work and years of dedication into brown cardboard boxes.

I am sad for my buddies, am shocked that the companies who've let them go don't know their worth, but am even more frightened by an economy so drastically recessed that it's driving businesses to cut out the very assets that make them tick. It must be bad when you cut off your nose to spite your face...or is it the hand that feeds you...you see my point, I'm sure.

So, to cheer myself up, I turned to a little inspiration from Google. I entered rich things into the search bar to see what would pop up in Images--I thought that perhaps I'd find a picture to illustrate the more important 'rich things' in life--perhaps a mother hugging her child? A field of lush growth? You know, the things I can hope to attain if I too lose my job and have only grain rice left to eat.

Instead, amongst images of Hillary Duff in tight jeans and rappers in front of customized SUVs, the only thing to catch my eye was the above grill, bedazzled into the mouth of a male who appears not only to have bad taste but also terribly sparse facial hair.

And this fine specimen to the left. I suppose I can figure out how such a--well, large--item might be considered a 'rich thing.' But I was not nearly curious enough to unearth the picture's context in the article. I'll leave that to you, my reader, to whom I wish the richest things and finest weekends.

xo * Jessie