I love Thursdays. I bet I've mentioned it before because it is true. Usually, cool things happen on Thursdays. Or, nothing happens on Thursdays and it's a relaxing day and that's great too. It's just a nice day.
It's my favorite TV night, and it has been as long as I can remember. I used to watch Cheers and The Cosby Show on Thursday nights when I was a kid. And then Seinfeld, and then Friends and Will&Grace and ER. And now it's home to 30 Rock, Parks&Rec,and Up All Night. And Community again, starting next week. Thursdays are great for staying in!
They're also good for going out. It's the eve to the weekend, so like Christmas eve, you take the time to reflect on the day that is before you and get completely plastered. It's also a fun day for special events because a large percentage of the population will say "it's a Thursday? I'm staying in," like I usually do.
Also, here's a fun way to remember Thursday, from a Thursday classic:
Showing posts with label Friends. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Friends. Show all posts
Thursday, March 8, 2012
Thursday, December 8, 2011
The Cloisters.
I didn't know what The Cloisters was when I agreed to go. My friend Emily was visiting and said "I want to see The Cloisters. Want to come?" Of course! Sounds great! Turns out, The Cloisters is a pretty amazing museum that's about as far north in Manhattan as you can go and still be in Manhattan. It takes a little while to get there--the A train, while express, still has to follow the law of physics! But it feels like you're in the middle of the woods, even though you're still in the city.
The Cloisters is a museum of Medieval Art. This also means that a whole bunch of it is religious art--a lot of Pietas and virgins and immaculate conceptions and other pieces of medieval devotions. It's amazing how well preserved the art stayed after all these years. I would assume in 500 years, my dogs playing poker print will not be as well preserved. Even without the religious devotion behind it, it's quite interesting to see the art and to imagine how the knights and medievaliets lived and loved and arted.
The most fascinating part of it for me was how the Cloisters building itself was part of the museum. Doorways from castles and important medieval structures were in the museum as actual doorways. The rooms of the museum were reconstructed in the various medieval time they were meant to represent. It was like visiting a whole bunch of castles at once, but with heat!
There were a few school group tours there during our visit, and I hate to say they dampened the experience, but they did a bit. Kids and medieval art? Come on! Also, I don't know a lot about curriculum, but I'm guessing it was a private catholic school, or someone's gonna get fired. Or the descriptions of the art were very vague: "This is of a lady named Mary, and some people who knew her. Notice the lines. Next!"
The Cloisters were a good time. If you do plan to make the trek, make sure you have a serious few hours carved out of your schedule, mainly for transport. The walk through the garden leading up to it is also lovely, even if it's raining. Also, I like saying the word cloister.
The Cloisters is a museum of Medieval Art. This also means that a whole bunch of it is religious art--a lot of Pietas and virgins and immaculate conceptions and other pieces of medieval devotions. It's amazing how well preserved the art stayed after all these years. I would assume in 500 years, my dogs playing poker print will not be as well preserved. Even without the religious devotion behind it, it's quite interesting to see the art and to imagine how the knights and medievaliets lived and loved and arted.
The most fascinating part of it for me was how the Cloisters building itself was part of the museum. Doorways from castles and important medieval structures were in the museum as actual doorways. The rooms of the museum were reconstructed in the various medieval time they were meant to represent. It was like visiting a whole bunch of castles at once, but with heat!
There were a few school group tours there during our visit, and I hate to say they dampened the experience, but they did a bit. Kids and medieval art? Come on! Also, I don't know a lot about curriculum, but I'm guessing it was a private catholic school, or someone's gonna get fired. Or the descriptions of the art were very vague: "This is of a lady named Mary, and some people who knew her. Notice the lines. Next!"
The Cloisters were a good time. If you do plan to make the trek, make sure you have a serious few hours carved out of your schedule, mainly for transport. The walk through the garden leading up to it is also lovely, even if it's raining. Also, I like saying the word cloister.
Monday, November 21, 2011
Weird Dreams
I don't like to talk about dreams too much. I understand they're just mixed up pieces of subconscious. They may or may not have meaning; I haven't made a firm decision on that. I remember a discussion I had with a film school professor--I used to just call her "my C-Word Adviser"--about how dreams didn't mean anything. She had a high horse about how annoying it is when friends talk about dreams. I understand being annoyed at dreams when they appear in movies and TV shows as a device intended to deceive, but when your friends are telling you about them, have a heart. She probably didn't have any friends. I'm probably not the only one who called her C-word. (I imagine her other nicknames were "my c-word friend," "my c-word neighbor," "my c-word mother," and "my c-word bitch of an ex-wife.")
I woke up this morning very disturbed by the dream I woke up from. And I had actually woken up from the dream--I could feel it fading away because of noises in the apartment pulling me out of this weird deep sleep I had fallen into. The dream was vivid and specific and real. By real, I mean I recognized my dream self doing things I do in real life. Late in the dream my sister was singing along with a song that was being played at the concert we were at. I turned to her and asked "who sings this song.?" This is a classic Nancy move that I picked up from our father, and dream-sister knew it. He used to do this all the time to get us to stop singing along. It's Melchert family rhetoric that we're all familiar with.
When I finally did get up, I couldn't stop singing that song. And the really crazy part about that--it's not a real song. It was a song that my subconscious apparently made up. Also, it was not a good song; it was very uninspiring and full of synthesizers.
I was shaken for the first hour after getting out of bed. I made coffee and and the images of babies, blood, county concerts, sailors, and drunk driving kept going around my head.
Earlier, I had a dream about working in oil fields, or something. I knew where that came from--NPR was on the radio. I manifested what they were saying; their words mixed in with the images of my subconscious. The images were just as real, vivid, and specific, but they didn't bother me nearly as much as the weird graphic concert I was attending with my mother and my sister. And I guess it's because I was more bothered by the fact that the drunk-driving babies and blood buckets are somewhere in my subconscious.
Drunk-driving babies and blood buckets being trapped in your subconscious are things that are good to talk with friends about. That's why friends talk to you about dreams. At the same time, I know there are some people who talk about their dreams too much. I try really really hard not to do that. I'm just saying that sometimes, when a friend says "I had a dream with you in it," or "I had a dream where I married a squirrel and then our squirrel children ate my face," don't be a c-word about it. Just listen, nod, and say "interesting. I'm sure it doesn't mean you're weird."
I woke up this morning very disturbed by the dream I woke up from. And I had actually woken up from the dream--I could feel it fading away because of noises in the apartment pulling me out of this weird deep sleep I had fallen into. The dream was vivid and specific and real. By real, I mean I recognized my dream self doing things I do in real life. Late in the dream my sister was singing along with a song that was being played at the concert we were at. I turned to her and asked "who sings this song.?" This is a classic Nancy move that I picked up from our father, and dream-sister knew it. He used to do this all the time to get us to stop singing along. It's Melchert family rhetoric that we're all familiar with.
When I finally did get up, I couldn't stop singing that song. And the really crazy part about that--it's not a real song. It was a song that my subconscious apparently made up. Also, it was not a good song; it was very uninspiring and full of synthesizers.
I was shaken for the first hour after getting out of bed. I made coffee and and the images of babies, blood, county concerts, sailors, and drunk driving kept going around my head.
Earlier, I had a dream about working in oil fields, or something. I knew where that came from--NPR was on the radio. I manifested what they were saying; their words mixed in with the images of my subconscious. The images were just as real, vivid, and specific, but they didn't bother me nearly as much as the weird graphic concert I was attending with my mother and my sister. And I guess it's because I was more bothered by the fact that the drunk-driving babies and blood buckets are somewhere in my subconscious.
Drunk-driving babies and blood buckets being trapped in your subconscious are things that are good to talk with friends about. That's why friends talk to you about dreams. At the same time, I know there are some people who talk about their dreams too much. I try really really hard not to do that. I'm just saying that sometimes, when a friend says "I had a dream with you in it," or "I had a dream where I married a squirrel and then our squirrel children ate my face," don't be a c-word about it. Just listen, nod, and say "interesting. I'm sure it doesn't mean you're weird."
Monday, October 31, 2011
The Playlist: A Love Letter
Leaving is always bittersweet, and this time was no different. The last few posts of last week were shorter, even though I had grand ideas for them. Eventually, they became a tad gut wrenching, so I had to stop. It turns out there were some pretty great people in DC, and the more I thought about them, the harder it got to say god-bye. I spent the train ride thinking about it, and I became a cliche--the girl crying on the train, staring out the window, watching the world go by.
I listened to this song many times:
It felt like the first day of my life. But also, and I realize this isn't what the song meant, I was holding onto hope that if I realized one day I wanted to go home, they would take me back.
And now it really does feel like the first day of my life.
I wrote this love letter to my friends. It's a modern day love letter, so it's not a love letter at all, it's a playlist. If you're interested, the song list is here.
I think this Avett Brothers song best sums up the playlist's thesis:
I think I've said it before, but it bears repeating: Thank you Friends. I love you all.
I listened to this song many times:
It felt like the first day of my life. But also, and I realize this isn't what the song meant, I was holding onto hope that if I realized one day I wanted to go home, they would take me back.
And now it really does feel like the first day of my life.
I wrote this love letter to my friends. It's a modern day love letter, so it's not a love letter at all, it's a playlist. If you're interested, the song list is here.
I think this Avett Brothers song best sums up the playlist's thesis:
I think I've said it before, but it bears repeating: Thank you Friends. I love you all.
Wednesday, October 26, 2011
Buying Scotch
This is my last week in DC and it is an odd one. The packing is all done; the move has actually already happened. I'm still in DC for appearances at this point. A few great friends have been attempting to squeeze in as much time with me as possible. I greatly appreciate this gesture, however, the same thing keeps coming up and I don't have an answer--what will you miss most about DC?
The real answer is that I'll miss the people who are asking that question. Of course, that's not what they're talking about. Where should we go? What's my favorite happy hour location? What's my favorite pizza place? I usually just shrug. I don't have a favorite place here. That may in fact have been part of the problem.
I've been to the Bier Barron twice in the last week--two more times than I've been there in the last year. But I know it exists so when asked where we should go, it's the first thought I have. It's a bar that serves a wide selection of beer, so it's good enough for me. My friends now think it's my favorite place.
There are a whole slew of things I have not done in DC though. Someone suggested doing a greatest hits of DC before I go--visit all the monuments and museums one last time. This would also mean I'd visit them for the first time before I go. I never bothered going because I figured they'd always be there. And I think they will be, and if I really get an itch to look at a monument or a museum I could come back, or use the internet to search it. I'm sorry to say that all of the things DC has to offer just don't interest me.
While considering all of these wonderful things that wonderful friends wanted to do, I felt compelled to reciprocate in some manner. A gift of some kind seemed appropriate, to say thanks for being my friend and for putting together this lovely going away party. You're nice. I appreciate you. But what? Liquor? Yes, that's always a good idea.
I wandered into a liquor store near my place. I enjoy Scotch, therefore I believe everyone should enjoy it. At the same time, it's a gift, so I'm not going to throw a $15 pint of Johnnie Red at my friend. It should be something nice, something a little bit special in a pretty bottle. I had a bottle at home that would be perfect, except I wasn't willing to give that one up--it's for a special occasion to be figured out later. But it was the right size and the right type to give as a gift. I found the same brand at the store, but it was the large bottle, and came in at just under $150. Well my, that is a lovely gift. I tried to describe what I was looking for to the store attendant, but I came off sounding like a dolt looking for Scotch based on the packaging. I tried to explain that I knew it came from the Isle of Islay, and it was petey, and that's what I wanted, I just wanted less of it, but it was no use. I was the girl looking for Scotch based on a pretty bottle, and was too cheap to spring for the good stuff.
I left the liquor store defeated. I'm sure my friend will also enjoy a tall bold coffee. Thanks, friend. I appreciate you. Don't burn your tongue.
The real answer is that I'll miss the people who are asking that question. Of course, that's not what they're talking about. Where should we go? What's my favorite happy hour location? What's my favorite pizza place? I usually just shrug. I don't have a favorite place here. That may in fact have been part of the problem.
I've been to the Bier Barron twice in the last week--two more times than I've been there in the last year. But I know it exists so when asked where we should go, it's the first thought I have. It's a bar that serves a wide selection of beer, so it's good enough for me. My friends now think it's my favorite place.
There are a whole slew of things I have not done in DC though. Someone suggested doing a greatest hits of DC before I go--visit all the monuments and museums one last time. This would also mean I'd visit them for the first time before I go. I never bothered going because I figured they'd always be there. And I think they will be, and if I really get an itch to look at a monument or a museum I could come back, or use the internet to search it. I'm sorry to say that all of the things DC has to offer just don't interest me.
While considering all of these wonderful things that wonderful friends wanted to do, I felt compelled to reciprocate in some manner. A gift of some kind seemed appropriate, to say thanks for being my friend and for putting together this lovely going away party. You're nice. I appreciate you. But what? Liquor? Yes, that's always a good idea.
I wandered into a liquor store near my place. I enjoy Scotch, therefore I believe everyone should enjoy it. At the same time, it's a gift, so I'm not going to throw a $15 pint of Johnnie Red at my friend. It should be something nice, something a little bit special in a pretty bottle. I had a bottle at home that would be perfect, except I wasn't willing to give that one up--it's for a special occasion to be figured out later. But it was the right size and the right type to give as a gift. I found the same brand at the store, but it was the large bottle, and came in at just under $150. Well my, that is a lovely gift. I tried to describe what I was looking for to the store attendant, but I came off sounding like a dolt looking for Scotch based on the packaging. I tried to explain that I knew it came from the Isle of Islay, and it was petey, and that's what I wanted, I just wanted less of it, but it was no use. I was the girl looking for Scotch based on a pretty bottle, and was too cheap to spring for the good stuff.
I left the liquor store defeated. I'm sure my friend will also enjoy a tall bold coffee. Thanks, friend. I appreciate you. Don't burn your tongue.
Thursday, September 29, 2011
Rides to the Airport
One of the things I do as a friend is give rides to airports. That has become more difficult since selling my car last year. I often offer to ride the Metro with friends on their way to the airport, but they think it's weird and unnecessary. When someone is coming in to visit, I do meet them at the airport and then Metro to our destination together. But that's just good manners. It's not as logistically odd.
Today, however, I get to fulfill my friendship role. A friend of mine needs a ride to the airport. She owns a car, and doesn't want to leave it there. Huzzah! I shall drive her car to the airport, drop her off, and then put her car safely in a parking place until her return. Upon her return, I shall retrieve her car and pick her up from the airport. Friendship exchange complete!
It feels good to be a friend.
Today, however, I get to fulfill my friendship role. A friend of mine needs a ride to the airport. She owns a car, and doesn't want to leave it there. Huzzah! I shall drive her car to the airport, drop her off, and then put her car safely in a parking place until her return. Upon her return, I shall retrieve her car and pick her up from the airport. Friendship exchange complete!
It feels good to be a friend.
Tuesday, September 6, 2011
Catharsis
Labor Day is a great time for a catharsis. It's also a great time to get pants-shitting drunk. Getting pants-shitting drunk leads to a catharsis. This may or may not be based on a real experience.
I had attempted a physical purge this weekend, and it didn't go great. It's nearly impossible to just throw things away nowadays. This has been an ongoing process, starting back in June: Easier Said Than Done. I've reached the phase of separating things where I think "I'm not using this now, but I will need it later, and it's dumb to replace it just because it takes up space." Things like fans, heaters, blankets, and blenders. So these things stay in my storage unit.
Then comes the really hard part- actually throwing things away. It's not legal. The storage unit doesn't have dumpsters. At first this seems odd, but I've dealt with many storage units before, and it's a thing with them. People take advantage and dump really large things in the dumpsters and it becomes a huge mess. So storage unit facilities just stopped having dumpsters.
You know what the chances are that you'll caught trying to throw away your entire childhood into a stranger's dumpster? One-hundred percent. As incognito as you think you're being, someone is always watching their dumpster and they will make you take your trash out after they watch you dump it in. Especially if you've dumped boxes in, because the boxes are technically recyclable. Digging things out of a dumpster is the opposite of purging.
Covered in garbage and frustration, I made it back to my apartment and took a non-well-deserved nap. The process is clearly getting to me, because I dreamt about the storage unit. In the dream, the storage unit had flooded and someone had gone in to try to save my things. Their process of doing this was to take everything out of the boxes and set it up in a make-shift living room. The storage unit in my dream had more things in it than I have in my real one. Things that I've gotten rid of years ago appeared in this dream storage unit, with no end in sight. I'm now worried that when I go back , things that were thrown away will rematerialize.
I put a pin in the physical purging for the rest of the weekend, and moved on to the emotional purging. That wasn't really my intent, but red wine and birthday cake have magical powers. I catharsised all over my (belated) birthday feast. I got to give a few speeches and quote Hope Floats, though I was told later it was actually from the Bible. Peshaw. Hope Floats is a better reference. "My cup runneth over." I have wonderful friends and family and I don't have any reason to be bitter anymore. Ah, catharsis.
The post-catharsis headache was something else entirely. Luckily I had left over birthday cake to get me through it. Also, in case you're concerned, pants-shitting drunk is just an expression. This time.
I had attempted a physical purge this weekend, and it didn't go great. It's nearly impossible to just throw things away nowadays. This has been an ongoing process, starting back in June: Easier Said Than Done. I've reached the phase of separating things where I think "I'm not using this now, but I will need it later, and it's dumb to replace it just because it takes up space." Things like fans, heaters, blankets, and blenders. So these things stay in my storage unit.
Then comes the really hard part- actually throwing things away. It's not legal. The storage unit doesn't have dumpsters. At first this seems odd, but I've dealt with many storage units before, and it's a thing with them. People take advantage and dump really large things in the dumpsters and it becomes a huge mess. So storage unit facilities just stopped having dumpsters.
You know what the chances are that you'll caught trying to throw away your entire childhood into a stranger's dumpster? One-hundred percent. As incognito as you think you're being, someone is always watching their dumpster and they will make you take your trash out after they watch you dump it in. Especially if you've dumped boxes in, because the boxes are technically recyclable. Digging things out of a dumpster is the opposite of purging.
Covered in garbage and frustration, I made it back to my apartment and took a non-well-deserved nap. The process is clearly getting to me, because I dreamt about the storage unit. In the dream, the storage unit had flooded and someone had gone in to try to save my things. Their process of doing this was to take everything out of the boxes and set it up in a make-shift living room. The storage unit in my dream had more things in it than I have in my real one. Things that I've gotten rid of years ago appeared in this dream storage unit, with no end in sight. I'm now worried that when I go back , things that were thrown away will rematerialize.
I put a pin in the physical purging for the rest of the weekend, and moved on to the emotional purging. That wasn't really my intent, but red wine and birthday cake have magical powers. I catharsised all over my (belated) birthday feast. I got to give a few speeches and quote Hope Floats, though I was told later it was actually from the Bible. Peshaw. Hope Floats is a better reference. "My cup runneth over." I have wonderful friends and family and I don't have any reason to be bitter anymore. Ah, catharsis.
The post-catharsis headache was something else entirely. Luckily I had left over birthday cake to get me through it. Also, in case you're concerned, pants-shitting drunk is just an expression. This time.
Wednesday, August 24, 2011
I'm Rich with Friends
Thanks, Friends! And Friends, the popular sitcom that ran from 1994 to 2004. You are all wonderful. I have really awesome friends, and they ensured I have the best birthday an aging woman can have.
Mary took advantage of the time difference so I was able to awake to several wonderful birthday surprises. A three month premium subscription to Spotify, which is my new boyfriend. Also, an iTunes gift and a hilarious e-card. Megan sent me a text at 6:30 in the morning. I was in a battle with the snooze button at the time, so it didn't really startle me. Also, I was sort of hoping work was calling to tell me not to come in. Either because the building indeed collapsed after the earthquake, or just because they knew it was birthday too and I deserved a day to myself. A text from Megan was just as good.
My mother called at 7. Of course she did- why wouldn't my mother call me at 7 in the morning? It's amusing, actually. I've accused her of forgetting my birthday in the past, so to prove she knew when it was and that nobody had to remind her, she wanted to call first thing in the morning.
My sister sent me a box full of socks. And I really needed socks, so this was a perfect gift. There were several different styles, all of which I like, and of multiple colors. And then for fun, a few AngryBirds socks. I can now throw away all my other socks. Every once in a while I have to just start over with socks, and she knew it was about time.
Lauri sent me an early morning text as well, and it made me smile all the way to work. My sister also text, to add to the sock extravaganza, as did Jayne. There were a few Facebook messages too, from Kelly, Ingrid, Mary, and Kathy, all before 8. The Facebook messages, texts, and cards continued to pour in throughout the day. They were all very nice. I attempted to reply to each one, creating a fun little game for myself.
Every year on my birthday, at some point I 1) tell the story about when I was too young to read and opened every card saying "Happy Birthday Nancy!" with as much fervor as I could muster, and 2) declare this is going to be my year. Sitting at lunch with Lauri I told her I was going to give the bartender my phone number because "32 is going to be my year!" A little while later a gentleman joined us and worked his way into our conversation. He guessed I was turning 24. I said he was kind.
As I was settling in for the evening, I popped in a Friends DVD- The One Where They All Turn Thirty. I try really hard to not dwell on how well they were doing when they were thirty. Also, I'm always reminded of a time when Mary and I were watching a rerun of Friends and I made the statement that I didn't think I looked older than they do. "Really?!" she said incredulously. And then the longest, most awkward silence ever. We're still friends though. It's ok.
I think 32 will be a good year for me. When I was a teenager, and even in my twenties, I figured 32 was the age I would be best at. Something about it just suits me.
Mary took advantage of the time difference so I was able to awake to several wonderful birthday surprises. A three month premium subscription to Spotify, which is my new boyfriend. Also, an iTunes gift and a hilarious e-card. Megan sent me a text at 6:30 in the morning. I was in a battle with the snooze button at the time, so it didn't really startle me. Also, I was sort of hoping work was calling to tell me not to come in. Either because the building indeed collapsed after the earthquake, or just because they knew it was birthday too and I deserved a day to myself. A text from Megan was just as good.
My mother called at 7. Of course she did- why wouldn't my mother call me at 7 in the morning? It's amusing, actually. I've accused her of forgetting my birthday in the past, so to prove she knew when it was and that nobody had to remind her, she wanted to call first thing in the morning.
My sister sent me a box full of socks. And I really needed socks, so this was a perfect gift. There were several different styles, all of which I like, and of multiple colors. And then for fun, a few AngryBirds socks. I can now throw away all my other socks. Every once in a while I have to just start over with socks, and she knew it was about time.
Lauri sent me an early morning text as well, and it made me smile all the way to work. My sister also text, to add to the sock extravaganza, as did Jayne. There were a few Facebook messages too, from Kelly, Ingrid, Mary, and Kathy, all before 8. The Facebook messages, texts, and cards continued to pour in throughout the day. They were all very nice. I attempted to reply to each one, creating a fun little game for myself.
Every year on my birthday, at some point I 1) tell the story about when I was too young to read and opened every card saying "Happy Birthday Nancy!" with as much fervor as I could muster, and 2) declare this is going to be my year. Sitting at lunch with Lauri I told her I was going to give the bartender my phone number because "32 is going to be my year!" A little while later a gentleman joined us and worked his way into our conversation. He guessed I was turning 24. I said he was kind.
As I was settling in for the evening, I popped in a Friends DVD- The One Where They All Turn Thirty. I try really hard to not dwell on how well they were doing when they were thirty. Also, I'm always reminded of a time when Mary and I were watching a rerun of Friends and I made the statement that I didn't think I looked older than they do. "Really?!" she said incredulously. And then the longest, most awkward silence ever. We're still friends though. It's ok.
I think 32 will be a good year for me. When I was a teenager, and even in my twenties, I figured 32 was the age I would be best at. Something about it just suits me.
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5 Years Time – Noah And The Whale
This Too Shall Pass – OK Go
Please, Please, Please, Let Me Get What I Want – The Smiths
First Day Of My Life – Bright Eyes
No Children – The Mountain Goats
She’s Got You High – Mumm-ra
Swim Until You Can’t See Land – Frightened Rabbit
If I Had A Boat – Lyle Lovett
Hurry Up Let’s Go – Shout Out Louds
Kids – MGMT
Daylight – Matt & Kim
Monday Morning – Death Cab for Cutie
My Beloved Monster – Eels
This Year – The Mountain Goats
Portland, Oregon – Loretta Lynn, Jack White
Joy – Lucinda Williams
Song for Myla Goldberg – The Decemberists
Furr – Blitzen Trapper
Goodbye (This Is Not Goodbye) – Over the Rhine
Two Weeks – Grizzly Bear
You Got Growing Up To Do – Joshua Radin feat. Patty Griffin
Things – Frightened Rabbit
The Cave – Vitamin String Quartet
Moves – The New Pornographers
Coffee And Cigarettes – Jimmy Eat World
Girl in the War – Josh Ritter
Elderly Woman Behind The Counter in a Small Town – Pearl Jam
A Real Hero – College, Electric Youth
Always Love – Nada Surf
Dog Days Are Over – Florence + The Machine
Nothing Matters When We’re Dancing – The Magnetic Fields
King of Carot Flowers, Pt. 1 – Neutral Milk Hotel
Fake Empire – The National
Section 9(Light&Day / Reach For The Sun) – The Polyphonic Spree
I Died So I Could Haunt You – Stars
Mutiny, I Promise You – The New Pornographers
Underwater – Clap Your Hands Say Yeah
Six O’clock News – Kathleen Edwards
Why Do You Let Me Stay Here? – She & Him
Lakes of Pontchartrain – The Be Good Tanyas
Head Full Of Doubt/Road Full Of Promise – The Avett Brothers
Leave Your Boyfriends Behind – Leona Naess
Float On – Modest Mouse
New York, I Love You But You’re Bringing Me Down – LCD Soundsystem
Oxford Comma – Vampire Weekend
Take Me Out – Franz Ferdinand
Honey, We Can’t Afford To Look This Cheap – The White Stripes
You Only Live Once – The Strokes
Nobody Move, Nobody Gets Hurt – We Are Scientists
Junk Of The Heart (Happy) – The Kooks
Pyro – Kings of Leon
Say It Ain’t So – Weezer
Drugs Or Me – Jimmy Eat World
Here Comes Your Man – Pixies
All Kinds Of Time – Fountains of Wayne