Ever wondered what would happen to a sensitive, caring, sparkly, somewhat stalkery vampire like Edward Cullen if he ever came face to face with The Chosen One? Behold!

I mean, it’s like he thinks they’re some kind of talking buddies or something!

I’ve been running and otherwise working out at the gym a ton lately, and for me they key to success is super-motivating music. You know, the kind of songs that get you to kick it up not just one notch but maybe two whole notches just so you can get your booty shakin’ even more.

I have a tendency to enjoy semi-bad top-forty hip hop in these situations, but I’m also into anything with a strong driving beat – bonus points if it has uncomplicated lyrics that have anything to do with racing, running, dancing, walking 500 miles and then 500 more, shaking it, moving, or getting up offa that thing. I am nothing if not literal in my running music needs – no artistic metaphors for me; nothing that provokes too much thought! I like for my mind to wander around on its own, only dropping in by the music when I need to be told to be the one who’d walk a thousand miles to fall down next to this treadmill.

My running playlist has about 100 songs on it which I rotate around every now and then, but here are my current favorites (note: some are better for walking/warming up pace, some are better for a lighter run, some are better for ripping shit up – you get the picture):

1. Paper Planes – M.I.A.
2. Get up offa That Thing – James Brown
3. Poker Face – Lady Gaga
4. Heartless – Kanye West
5. Live Your Life – T.I. (featuring Rihanna)
6. I’m Gonna Be (500 Miles) – The Proclaimers
7. Sports & Wine – Ben Folds
8. Stronger – Kanye West
9. Don’t Stop the Music – Rihanna [This one is KILLER - Ed.]
10. Way I Are – Timbaland (featuring Keri Hilson & D.O.E.)
11. Let it Rock – Kevin Rudolph and Lil Wayne
12. Disturbia – Rihanna
13. Just Dance – Lady Gaga
14. The Distance – Cake
15. Today is the Day – Apollo Sunshine [If you've never heard this one go here - it's perfect for running! - Ed.]
16. Hey Mama – Black Eyed Peas
17. Gold for Bread – Blitzen Trapper
18. No Sleep Tonight – The Faders
19. Survivor – Destiny’s Child [Good for when you feel like you're going to die. - Ed.]
20. Iko Iko – The Dixie Cups
21. Bad Things – Jace Everett
22. I Want You Back – The Jackson 5
23. Still Dre – Dr. Dre
24. L’Ami Cahouette – Serge Gainsbourg
25. She Bangs the Drums – The Stone Roses

So, do you have any suggestions for what I should add to my playlist?

I recently went to see The Decemberists, one of my very favorite bands, at Atlanta’s Tabernacle Theater.  This was the first time I had seen them play live, and the concert most definitely delivered.

I have been in love with the new album, The Hazards of Love, since my first listen through it, and I was glad to know I’d be able to hear them play it straight through during their first set.  Although the room was hot enough to have us all sweating like we were in a Bikram yoga class, none of us cared.  The band’s performance was spot on and the bar was only an arm’s reach away.

The Decemberists at The Tabernacle, Becky Stark at the Mic

As I rocked out and swilled some over-priced Jim Beam, I managed to snap a few photos and even tried to record a few snippets of music on my iPhone.  Our place in the crowd was convenient for finding each other and being comfortable, but it wasn’t the best for photography, so you’ll have to pardon the crap quality there.

They played the hell out of Hazards, with only one tiny exception: the creepy chorus of dead children in “The Hazards of Love 3 (Revenge!)” was piped in.  We supposed it would be impractical to tour with a creepy chorus of dead children (I mean what do you feed them? And are the dead subject to child labor laws?), but we’d thought there could have been some kind of creative workaround for this.  Other than that, the performance of Hazards went of stupendously, and my girlfriends Shara Worden and Becky Stark were incredible – as expected.  (Although it must surely have been awkward for them to be performing on stage with my boyfriend, Colin Meloy.  I hope there wasn’t too much tension on my account, you know?)

The second set was made up of a bunch of old favorites, including (if I can now recall correctly), “July, July,” “The Engine Driver,” and “O! Valencia,” among others.  I particularly enjoyed hearing them play “The Raincoat Song,” as it is, to me, the perfect songly incarnation of the Pacific Northwest, water wicking up your pant legs and all.  It fills me with the happy sort of longing, where I am longing for something I don’t have and don’t really want all that much (wet pant legs are my sworn enemy, but I do miss their familiarity to a degree). Well, that made no sense. IRREGARDLESS, as my students would say, I enjoyed it very much.

The highlight of the second set, however, was the return to the stage of Shara Worden and Becky Stark, who absolutely fucking blew me away with their rockin’ rendition of “Crazy on You.”  The original Heart version is of course a classic, but this was approximately eighty hojillion times more badassed.

Embarrassingly, I tried to record a little of it with my iPhone, thinking that I could edit the sound later with one of the many sound editing programs I seem, inexplicably, to have. I couldn’t really figure out how to do that, though, as the software kept expecting me to know things about Mhz and other letters. So anyhow, I have this EXTREMELY CRAPPY sound file that I am going to insist on posting here just BECAUSE.  I suggest you not bother listening to it. It’s honestly a waste of time and it will just make you sad that you can’t listen to the real performance. If, however, you defy my warning and listen anyway, you’re going to want the volume at a low level.

On the other hand, the real performance was honestly so awesomely mind-blowing that maybe it’s best, for your SAFETY, that you are unable to appreciate it in its full glory.

The time has come for me to confess all the terrible television I have been watching lately. With the return of cable to my life, this was bound to happen. Are you watching any of these shows, too? Will you commiserate?

At least two of these people are not smug a-holes -- an unprecedented ratio on reality TV.

Taking the Stage

I have a great excuse for watching this MTV reality show about kids in a performing-arts high school – a truly great excuse, just wait for it. I, you see, am a patron of the arts. Just try to impugn me for that, bitches!

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SOMEONE in this picture should have taken a job in Paris is all I am saying.

The Hills & The City

I have been meaning to write a “Guilty Pleasure Confessions” post about The Hills for so long. I have such a post saved in my drafts, in fact, and it has been there for, like, three seasons. I watched Laguna Beach back in the day, I’ve been watching The Hills since Season 1 (How could L.C. not take the job in Paris, HOW I ASK YOU), and now I am even watching The City. Yes, I am the specific kind of jackass who watches all of these shows.

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"Twelve beatiful girls stand before me, but I only have eleven pictures in my hands."

America’s Next Top Model

I have one thing to say about this show: TYRA.

Wait, let me add another thing: NIGEL.

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Every single person depicted here: utterly useless.

Make Me a Supermodel

This is absolutely the poor man’s ANTM – it’s a little glossier and a little more inscrutable, but the awesomeness of Tyra, Nigel, and Miss J is only sadly mimicked by the less-than-awesomeness of Tyson (boring), Nicole (totally luuded out), and the posse of ridiculous judges. The only one I don’t want to kill is Catherine Malandrino, who is wonderful in all respects. As for the models? I don’t even remember who any of them are from one week to the next. Why am I watching this again? Oh right. I will watch basically any of these Bravo reality shows. I am the one person in America who watched Top Design.

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"Not at the Cancer Society!"

The Real Housewives of New York City

Oh my dog, you guys, this show is great! I didn’t catch on to the Housewives phenomenon in time to board the train to the O.C.; the Atlanta show aired while I was without cable; but the N.Y.C. show, in all its awesomeness, makes up for all that I’ve missed in the other franchises. Jill Zarin is probably my favorite, but Bethenny and the Countess LuAnn DeLesseps come in a close second/third. Oh, and if you are watching this, could you please just back me up on one thing: Kelly Bensimon. Is she evil incarnate, or what? A CASH BAR at her own party! THE HELL.

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I don't know. I'm sorry. There is just no excuse for this. They don't even have a decent promotional picture.

Harper’s Island

Exhibit A toward proving that I will watch absolutely any mystery or detective show no matter how bad it is. This is a truly terrible show: gruesome and violent and illogical in its storytelling, peopled with ridiculously inconsistent characters played by mostly terrible actors. This show has exactly two redeeming factors: Christopher Gorham and scenery of the Pacific Northwest.

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"The hammer is my penis."

Castle

Exhibit B toward proving my love for and determination in watching all manner of terrible detective shows. This particular gem is based on a ridiculous premise (no police department would ever allow a crime novelist with no police training to basically be partners with a homicide detective; I’M SORRY). Like Harper’s Island, the storytelling is embarrassingly bad: don’t even bother trying to follow the thread of an episode’s plot or of the murder investigation itself. No such thread will ever be found. Each episode is like a collage of ostensibly related scenes that basically either do nothing to move the plot forward or do too much too fast. The one beautifully consistent unifying factor? Nathan Fillion is in every scene. And there you go.

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Your turn. Confess! I know you’re watching some terrible TV out there, people. Help me feel less alone.

Year of the Dog arrived in my mailbox after languishing ignored on my Netflix queue for several months and then somehow quietly making it to the top when I forgot to add the Northern Exposure Season 2 DVDs I really wanted.  Let’s just say I wasn’t thrilled to find myself with what seemed to be a dubious romantic comedy starring Molly Shannon when I was expecting to spend the weekend with a delightful depiction of the glorious 1990s in quirky small-town Alaska.

The movie turned out to be quite unexpectedly good, however.  I will be spoiling nothing when I tell you the one-line description of the film provided by IMDb.com: “A secretary’s life changes in unexpected ways after her dog dies.”  There you have it; this lady’s dog is going to die.  That is the entire premise of the movie and it happens within the first fifteen minutes.  Really, I swear I am not spoiling anything.

Peggy and Pencil

Even though I knew what was going to happen myself, watching that event play out and seeing Peggy’s grief afterward was almost impossible to watch.  It was so unbearably sad that I thought I was going to have to turn the movie off right then and there, only fifteen minutes in.  I will confess not only to sobbing messily but also to taking off my glasses, burying my head under a blanket, and following along with the movie only by listening until the next stage of the plot began.  I even started crying AGAIN when I was watching the making-of-the-film special feature.  REALLY.

It was worth sticking with it though, as Mike White is pretty genius at the dark comedy, and I do indeed love me some of that.  Molly Shannon plays the dramatic scenes unexpectedly well — if she weren’t able to do that the entire movie would fall apart — but even the textbook comedy scenes, like the dozens of dogs riding in a tiny car seen below, have an edge of pain and longing to them.  Peter Sarsgaard, who plays Newt, is also darkly hilarious, especially in one scene where he recounts to Peggy a particular dream he had.  I shall tell you no more than that.

That lady has some dogs in that car.

I definitely recommend this film, but if you have even the smallest soft spot in your heart for dogs, have plenty of tissues at the ready.

P.S. The shaggy dog leaning out the passenger window is the canine Doppelgänger of my family’s late and much beloved Stanley.  Sniff.