The Jigtastic Journal of J. Na Na

I continue to be increasingly unimpressed by the new releases being smacked out of the dance music genre lately.  The new trend seems to be taking a lyrical sample from some ’80s/’90s pop song, repeating it ad nauseum, and forming an entire song around it.  So we get:

"Baby, make your move
step across the line
Touch me one more time
come one, dare me"
(repeat x 28)

…from "Make Your Move" by the Pointer Sisters

Also:
"There’ll be some soul shakin’
love makin’, heart breakin’ ohhwuuohhwuu"
(repeat x 35)

…from "Love (Don’t Let Go)" by En Vogue

And the disturbingly paranoia-inducing:
"I always feel like
somebody’s watchin’ me
and I got no privacy"
(repeat x 45 and run)

…from Rockwell’s "Somebody’s Watching Me"

Surely we can do better than this kind of base sampling and cheap technique, folks.  Please rememdy posthaste.

The only record in recent memory that executed this effect with considerable success was a deep house track with a crescendoing sparkly melody that sampled:

"I feel good
I feel nice
I’ve never felt so
Satisfied
I’m in love
I’m alive
Intoxicated
Flying high"

…from Mariah Carey’s "Emotions".  Played at 4:00, 5:00 am in the club, and perfectly describing the state of mind the clientele is in, that’s the kind of genius simplicity that makes you remember a song, even if you never hear it again.

"Go, Will! Go, Will! It’s ya birfday!" –Will Smith, "Fresh Prince of Bel Air" Quigga Lean (me) was OTI (on toppa it), and bought a fly pot of little yellow flowers for the kitchen, some new toiletries for the bathroom, and literally got on my hands and knees cleaning the apartment Saturday morning before my potential roommates were to arrive. It was, if not immaculate, an acceptable veneer of cleanliness. Even I was impressed. So I treated myself to a vodka and tonic or two before the guests were to arrive. Drink #1: Sally, a vocal arts student who was the most socially adept of the bunch and perhaps the safest choice. Drink #2: Katie, an Academy of Performing Arts nerd who sounded cool on email, but in person, didn’t seem like someone as party-minded as myself. And last but not least, Drink #2 1/2 (I was well nigh tuckered out at this point so couldn’t go for the full number 3): Nia, an Asiatic lipstick lesbian from the south (drawl excluded) with a little kitty named Chloe. Cute as a button. And before long, we were discussing our favorite DJs and she was showing me pics of Ruby Skye she’d taken with her cell and so yes, she was the winner. I’m overjoyed to have found such a killer kid to share the crib with, the kitty being the bonus plus, and hope for good things ahead. Oddly enough, while showing people the room that day, I noticed Ming Na was watching footbal. I guess he was straight after all. Anyways, I dig Red Vines. And Rite Aid trump Walgreens everytime, baby.

Whenever it’s peculiar in an endearing sort of way, it’s an Asian thing.

Why do straight guys take off their shirts right before they fight. Are they hopin’ for some humpin’ afterwards?

Once during a visit to my grandparents’ in Solvang (just north of Santa Barbara) when I was little, we were having a barbecue one night and my seven year old self had reached my boredom ceiling. So I turned up to my mom and whined, "Mom, when are we going back to the United States?" When indeed.

I was once over with a friend at her grandparents’ house, and we were playing around on the piano while the adults conversed. We were both flutists in the community band, but had a little piano experience, and were practicing some of the sheet music, trying to find the keys and slowly playing the melody of the song. The drawn out beauty of the chords as we made our way through the song was so touching that tears just suddenly sprung to my eyes.

I forgave myself for downing an entire bottle of Chardonnay by lugging three full bags of groceries–including one jumbo bottle of bleach and a sizable chalet of raspberry vodka (hey, a girl’s gotta refuel)–all the way from the posh Safeway on the Embarcadero up to my cozy crib on Nob Hill.  This was before I’d done my regular five reps of push ups (pre-wine) and after the guilt gleaned from the new episode of "Work Out" (post wine).  That show does rather inspire a nigga.

So far in looking for a roommate, I seem to have erroneously drawn the attention of youth (defined here as 19-22 year olds) which, while it might seem cool, also bodes the possibility of irresponsibility.  I have also realized that I really would rather not live with a straight guy.  I can’t pinpoint exactly why.  I’d just rather not.  So it may be that I pick a girl.  They’re the only ones with the most interesting and detailed responses to the ad. 

I’m showing the place this weekend which means I have to clean and be relatively sober.  Not fun, you guys.