Hello my lovely friends. I know it’s been a ridiculously long while since I’ve spent any quality time with you, here at the Emporium. Life is good at Casa Peeler, if a bit sweaty. The apartment may be lovely, but it’s sans air con and there’s been a heat wave in Pennsylvania, so I’ve been panting and heaving like the star of a Tijuana donkey show up here. Which star, you ask? Either! I do kinda have big ears…
On the work note, it’s going well, I think. I really adore my colleagues and am really enjoying my students. The first year at a new school is always a bitch, but I keep telling myself at least it’s not my first year teaching, ever. THAT was hell. This is merely the stuff you have to endure to get to your second year, which is ridiculously easier.
But this isn’t about my life . . . it’s about my tastes. And sharing with you some Things I Like. First of all, I’ve got some things for your ears that I think you might enjoy. It’s two bands that I absolutely adore and have become my recent running staples (besides, of course, the Dropkick Murphys). I think I’ve talked about them, before, somewhere, but I want to revisit them. Because I heart them hard.
The first band is a group of lads from West London, who absolutely leaven my bread. I think they’re all ridiculously adorable, in that befuddled, be-vested way that only an Englishman can rock and not look like a twat. I also love their music: I love the instruments, love the vocals, but I also really, really like the lyrics. Listen closely to this one, it’s one of my favorites:
And then there’s this loveliness, which makes me dance around like a pagan (at least in my mind) every time I hear it:
My next choice for your ears, is a band called Airborne Toxic Event. They’re super cerebral, in some ways, as their name implies (it’s the title of a section of DeLillo’s novel White Noise). They also have a lot of stringed instruments (I’m a sucker for a cello), and some serious dork chic aesthetics. Finally, they share a rawness and honesty of experience with Mumford and Sons that I adore. Everyone’s lived through a version of this song, at some point in their life:
And then there’s this lil beauty. So sweet, and so sexy . . .
Let’s burn ourselves up till we scream, indeed. 
Besides treats for your ears, I promised you a treat for the eyes. Now, for a lot of you, you’ve probably already seen it. But some of you may have been like me and totally missed out on this show. It’s Veronica Mars. It’s on Netflix. And I’m OBSESSED:
It has a lot of rough moments, and a lot of “OMG GO TELL YOUR FATHER” moments. But for the most part, it’s charming and smart and fun. It’s also the most realistic portrayal of high school I’ve ever seen. Granted, that means it’s mostly too-clean and too-pretty, but it’s way closer. There’s real sex, and real drugs, and real drinking, and some of the seediness and delight that was high school. Obviously not for me, I was busy helping old ladies across the street and volunteering at the soup kitchen, but I heard that’s what some kids got up to, and stuff.
Finally, I have something for your tatas, ladies. I’ve been telling people about this store so much they need to make me part of their marketing department. It’s just that I’ve got big boobs. They’re not huge, but big enough that it’s a pain in the butt to buy bras. Mostly because the pretty ones never make it above a C cup. So I go to a store, and walk around saying, “Ooo, pretty . . . not in my size. Oooo, nice . . . not in my size.” And then my friend Mary Lois took me to the Intimacy in Houston. Intimacy isn’t cheap, people. The bras are pricy, some very much so, depending on the kind. But it’s the service you pay for.
At Intimacy, they whisk you off into a room where a kind, very professional lady surveys your hooters. Then she leaves you, only to return with piles of bras. All of which . . . ARE IN YOUR SIZE. So you don’t wander the store, feeling like a boob-freak. You try on bra after bra, all of which fit! it’s like magic! It’s like what women with B-cups feel like! My experience was heaven, and although I spent a lot of money on “just bras,” my back, my boobs, and my silhouette have thanked me.
Meanwhile, it’s not just for the mammary-blessed. Intimacy also has a huge selection of all sizes of bra, although they do pride themselves on specializing on hard-to-fit sizes, like the super-small, the super-large, or the super-large combined with the super-small (so big cup size on small frame, or vice versa).
Now if only they had this puppy in my size:
Danger Boobs! Danger Boobs!
All right, folks. I have a ton of work to do and the night is getting on. But I wanted y’all to know I was thinking of you, your ears, your eyes, and your tatas. Because I’m caring like that!
Any recent finds that you’d like to share of spectacular music, especially (I’m getting bored with my running mix), or anything else?
Furthermore, as a woman and as a practitioner of the dreaded Gender Studies–and one who focused on MasculinityStudies, at that–I adore Moore’s depiction of men. Men in UF tend to be either Villains or Heroes. To whom the latter seem to have genuine “issues” added simply to make them extra-needy of their heroines. In other words, the men are either perfectly evil, or perfectly imperfect in a “fix-him up” sort of way.
