I don't know what I'm talking about half the time

You know, in my "I hate country music, but not all of it" post, I neglected to mention that Brandi Carlile is pretty effin' country. I meant to, while I was writing it, but then I didn't. But she is, and it's okay, because she does the good stuff about country. Like the songs on the Brokeback Mountain soundtrack.

I think the thing about country music is that it is full of novelty songs, and those I just can't stand (um, except for "Save a Horse, Ride a Cowboy" for some reason). But the country-ishness of the music itself, I don't hate that. Sometimes I love it. Witness one of my very favorite Brandi Carlile songs "Closer to You": it's pretty country, and it's got the highest playcount on iTunes right now.

And Brandi herself, though she's from Washington state, sounds more to me like she's from Tennessee or Georgia. Although I know no one from the Northwest, so maybe they all have what I think are Southern accents. Or maybe it's just this, like, generic hick accent that people who live in rural areas have. Um, maybe I should shut up before my snobbery grows even further. No, but really! The Indigo Girls are from Georgia, and Brandi talks just like them. Ish. No, she doesn't, but there are times when she sounds bona fide Southern and times when she just talks like a regular person. Uh-oh, yes, I am a regional snob, okay? Everyone not from New England is a loser!

Please. Kelly Clarkson is from Texas, and I still love her.

In listening to Rilo Kiley's new album, I have come to decide that I will listen to Jenny Lewis no matter what she's singing. And I didn't even know I liked her that much. But her voice is pretty amazing, and even though I don't think I'm too wild about most of the songs on Under the Blacklight, I still won't skip past them when iTunes shuffles to them. Except "Silver Lining"--that song is awesome, and I can't stop listening to it. But Jenny Lewis. Awesome no matter what.

So Charles Wallace now has free access to the basement, which means that he won't stop bugging me when I'm trying to sleep. He squeaks and squeaks, and best of all, he attacks my limbs. Yesterday, he launched himself straight at my left eye. That was fun. Fortunately, he's just playing, so his claws are rarely entirely extended, and I only have one tiny mark on my hand from our tussling. But the thing about this kitten is that he will sleep for two hours or so, and then he will wake me up, wanting attention. So last night we slept from midnight to two, then from two-thirty to five, and then from six to seven-fifty-five. I need to put a door on one of these rooms right quick. I even tried to put up the door to Jeff's room, but I could not, for the life of me, separate the hinges. Plus, the hinge holes are in the wrong spot on the doorframe, and I'm not sure I'm dykey enough to be able to fix it--especially if I'm not even dykey enough to separate some door hinges. That was really disappointing. But I need Charles Wallace to be not in my face at night, because I need sleeeeeeeeeep.

In happier news, Mike and I are hanging out tonight! Finally.

OH! And Ryan Adams, whom I totally adore, is country too. Alt country or whatever. Wilco, too, falls into that category! Crap. I totally love country music. Don't tell anyone.