Safe Driving

Starting Monday, the Safety Officer at my work asked me to post daily tips for safe driving via email for the whole department during the month of August. We're observing Safe Driving month.

To do my part to be a more courteous driver, I decided to stay out of the left-most lane and use it for it's intended purpose: for passing only.

Yesterday I tried it, and you know what? The losers in the next-to-left-most lane drive way too slow.

Yellow Face

The last couple of weeks, when I leave for work at the ungodly hour of 6:15 a.m., it's been gray and overcast and occasionally even drizzly (I'm not complaining. I love this cool July weather we're having).

This morning was another story.

As I headed (east?) on Carson Street past the horribly designed Long Beach Town Center, I kept checking the car's clock, which, at that time, read 6:21 (yes, it takes me six minutes to get from my house to the LB Town Center. Shut up, there's a long light at Woodruff). It was so... bright! I was confused. Was I late? What time was it? (It doesn't help that last night I had a dream* that involved being in a house where all the clocks were set to the wrong time and I knew I needed to be somewhere at 2 p.m. and but I had no idea what time it was at that exact moment.) I was very confused.

What is this... light up in the sky? And the sky - blue? What the hell? 6:21 a.m. and I had sunglasses on and the visors down. Once I was on the freeway, I even had the little extender things on the visors out (blocking my rearview mirror a little, but the LIGHT!). I felt like Gollum, catching a sight of the sun for the first time in forever, frightened by it. Oh Yellow Face, go away and leaves us alone!

*The earlier portion of my dream: I was at a dinner party with a friend's mom and a bunch of other people I didn't know. Coincidentally, two of the other guests were flutists. One whipped out a toy flute, or maybe it was a penny whistle, and started playing a little funny melody in a military style. It's possible she was illustrating something she'd been discussing with one of the other guests I didn't know. We ate dinner, and then after dinner, another guest began playing that same melody (which I can't exactly get a handle on this morning), but this time in a slow, mysterious way. It sounded beautiful. In the dream I had goosebumps. It was kind of like "Arab Dance" from the Nutcracker - I wish I could remember that melody. I don't often dream about music I've never heard before.

The NY Times reports that President Obama will be on The View

Mr. Obama’s chat with the unpredictable co-hosts, including the staunch liberal Joy Behar and the equally staunch conservative Elisabeth Hasselbeck, is emblematic of his administration’s outreach to unconventional media outlets.

If Joy Behar and Elisabeth Hasselbeck are representing the two sides of this story, God help us. Both of them struggle.

I keep hoping this turns out to be a hoax. Ha ha, very funny, NY Times!

Sit down, shut up

Just about covers how I'm feeling about work right now.

On the other hand, rocking out to this song (thank you, Radiohead!! I know I got the title wrong in the title of this post!) while trying to avoid all the slamming doors, personal telephone conversations and outright lamer-ness going on around me seems like an excellent idea. (Insert funky laser beam sound effects here!)

Today's superduper playlist:

1. Kiss and Tell, by Bryan Ferry
2. Sit Down, Stand Up, by Radiohead
3. Eddie's Gun, by the Kooks
4. Where the Wild Roses Grow, by Nick Cave & the Bad Seeds (creepy song)
5. Golden Birdies, by Captain Beefheart (Those little golden birdies! Look at them!)
6. Guy Danse, from Suite Africaine (this was pre-show music for a City Garage show, and I fell in love with this CD)
7. Isn't It a Pity, by George Harrison (performed by Billy Preston and Eric Clapton)
8. Terror Couple Kill Colonel, by Bauhaus
9. Mr. Moustache, by Nirvana (is that "poo as hard as a rock"!?)
10. Not Great Men, by Gang of Four
11. Excursions, by A Tribe Called Quest (gotta be a winner all the time!)
12. Salute Your Solution, by the Raconteurs (sometimes I love Jack White, and sometimes I don't. This is from a pretty good album, though!)
13. I'm Waiting for the Man, by the Velvet Underground
14. My Heart Would Know, by Hank Williams (I downloaded this for my mom, but I like it, sorta)
15. How Deep It Goes, by Heart (100% cheese... but pretty)
16. I Hope You're Happy Now, by Elvis Costello & the Attractions
17. Still Can't, by the Cranberries (the Cranberries always make me feel 19 again, and not necessarily in a good way)
18. (I Can't Get No) Satisfaction, by Devo (I can't get me no!)
19. Sex and Dying in High Society, by X
20. Send His Love to Me, by PJ Harvey (PJ gets me every time with the 6/8 time signature)

Bonus: Across the Universe, by David Bowie. The way he sings "nothing's gonna change my world," makes me think the unspoken words should, "unless it's a really cool pair of shiny platform boots."

OK, it's time to get back to work.

In the throes of some sort of feverish dream, my brain goes... Bilbo, and Journey

Over the weekend, I had the Worst Allergy Attack of All Time. I was miserable.

On Saturday, while I was lying facedown on the couch, sweating not only because it was 90 degrees outside but also because I actually had a fever, I had this super idea for a blog post.

It went something like this.

"Bilbo Baggins' Non-Poetical Assessment of My Home"

No round windows and doors. Home is not built under a tree, or into the side of a hill. No fireplace, only a mean little grate in the floor of the "living room." No bricks to make home snug. Kitchen appears to be rarely used; obviously they don't make time for elevenses, let alone second breakfast. The so-called garden consists of a closely cropped lawn of slightly brown grass, and a couple of anemic bushes. One bush does have a bird's nest, so points for that. On a daily basis, inhabitants rush out of the house at a ridiculously early hour, making a ruckus that can be heard for miles, only to sit on cement roads in their "vehicles" with other people in "vehicles," cursing each other for being in the way. This activity is repeated in the early evening - the prettiest time of day. Inhabitants spend a lot of time staring into the face of a shiny mirror-like device which speaks to them. Easy prey for the Dark Lord. These people are clearly minions of the East.

At the time it felt funny and genius-like. Obviously it isn't, though I'm sure I've left something out. The funny and genius bits, clearly.

The other thing I was curiously pre-occupied with while dizzy/feverish was the song "Faithfully," by Journey. I'm on a bit of an anti-Glee campaign right now so I'm talking about the real Journey song, performed by Steve Perry. I'm sorry Lea Michelle, but that dude could sing his ass off. I had the song going round and round in my head on an endless loop, and then I started trying to figure out who I danced with at Leadership Camp to it. I have a very solid memory of this song, and of me dancing to it with some slightly older person. It took me all night to come up with the answer: it must have been James Park, our former marching band drum major. It was the year we got snowed in; I think that was when I was in the 8th grade and he was a senior. In my memory he was wearing his red hooded sweatshirt because that's the only thing I remember him ever wearing (well. Levis and a t-shirt, I'm sure). I had no idea why he wanted to dance with me but it's possible because as a 15 year old, I was still shorter than he was. Or maybe because I was standing there like an idiot, partnerless. He was a cool guy, very funny, easy to talk to. I wonder what happened to him? I'm picturing him as a tour guide, leading folks on fun kayaking trips or something.

Now I'm at work, with my stuffed up head, slightly dizzy, a little hungry, glad the weather is cooler, and seriously contemplating lunch. I'll leave the writing for later, as this entry is a big fat mess.

Yesterday

We've been having a bit of a heat wave in Southern California the last couple of days. I think it's strange that the first day of the heat wave was also the day my sinuses decided to start acting up again.

I've been a little lackadaisical about taking my allergy medicine, even though my doctor said it was okay. "Oh, but my allergies have been great! I don't need to take it!" Duh.

Anyway, Thursday night it started: totally stuffed up head, sneezing, nose blowing, headache, but I had things to do so I did them. I stayed home Friday except for once venturing out for some delicious Thai food for lunch (Panvimarn! I love you!), and even though I had the air conditioner on full blast in the living room, I couldn't get comfortable. I was just so hot and headachey.

When Patrick got home I mentioned that awhile back he'd suggested getting us an air conditioner for the bedroom. At the time I'd said we didn't really need it... but a girl can change her mind, right? So he went out and bought us one, installed it, and I went to bed. An hour later he came into the bedroom, which was apparently as cold as a room can get, and I was a big ball of sweaty sheets. He felt my forehead, and realized that I had a fever.

He went out to get me some acetaminophen (interesting that Tylenol is in the midst of a giant recall right when that's the one thing I really need! Lots of coincidences in this post!), and I took it... and soon felt good enough to fall asleep, because hey, that's what I did.

Anyway, I totally felt like crap, sounded like crap, and haven't been sick like that in ages. It wasn't fun, and the nose blowing and coughing continues today. But I have a nice cool room to relax in now! Thanks, Patrick!

I think this is what's called "having an adventure." - Updated

Due to plumbing circumstances beyond our control, Patrick and I ended up staying in a hotel last night. Well, I use the word "hotel" loosely - it was a Quality Inn. Surprisingly cleaner than I expected, with a very comfortable bed, for $60 it wasn't a bad deal. And very close to the freeway - convenient for work.

We had to abandon ship at home because of no shower, toilet, or functioning water at all (oh, it functions - but use the kitchen sink and the bathtub fills up!). I had a flute rehearsal last night until 10 o'clock, so Patrick checked us in and then we headed over around 10:30 p.m.

I missed my cats. I slept poorly. I woke up with that Phil Collins/Philip Bailey song from the 80s, "Easy Lover" in my head - not a bad tune (I loved the video when I was 13) but on an endless loop it's not so fun. I guess it could've been worse: it could've been "Land of Confusion."

On the plus side: Patrick gets a free breakfast (they don't start serving until 6:30, and that's when I had to leave for work), and I was on time to work.

Hopefully the plumbing problem won't be too messy or expensive. Hopefully it's solved by the time I get home. Keep your fingers crossed.

...

Update: 3:03 p.m.

Patrick found a plumber in LB last night and scheduled them to come this morning. He sent me a text a while ago that there were apparently roots in the sewer line. They did something and cleared it. It only cost $90. Showers tonight for everybody! Yay!

I just got off the phone with my dad, and he said sometimes that happens and they just "rooter" it out. I think I'm starting to understand what "Roto-Rooter" means now. Duh. Duh. Duh. I have a surprisingly clear head sometimes for mechanical things but plumbing seems like a totally different language. Oh, well. So long as it works: I have laundry to do tonight!

Lately I've been having some crazy, extremely detailed dreams.

I know I said I wouldn't tell you every time I had a weird dream, but this one was particularly... weird.

Last night, I dreamed that I had chosen to rent a room from my friend Shira's parents.

I've known Shira since the sixth grade, and in real life, her folks live not too far from my own parents. In the dream, their home was just a block or two from the ocean, with a semi-private access lane. Those words, "semi-private access lane" were, for some reason, important to the description of this dream. I woke up thinking about them. The dream started with me walking down this access lane from the house to the beach at night. Several black cars passed me, and one of them was a hearse.

I stopped in my tracks and took a closer look at these cars. Inside them all, they had what appeared to be a horse. I was freaked out by now, and so I turned around and headed back to Shira's parents' house.

When I got there, there was a large crowd of people in the front of the house, all peaceful, all acting like it was okay for them to be there. Out of the crowd came Shira and another person, who turned out to be a woman I know from City Garage, Sharon. I don't know they know each other, but in the dream they did. The three of us stood on the front porch of the house (the front porch was gorgeous - all glass and sparkling lights and wood) and I told them what I had seen. They explained to me that the people with the "horses" were protesting... something too complicated for me to remember now, and that they were leaving the "horses" in a pile at the beach. Later there would be a bonfire. They weren't real horses. The three of us went into the house, where it looked like Shira's parents were having a normal night. I'm not even sure they were aware of the crowd in front of their house.

I went upstairs with Shira and Sharon, and showed them my room. Sharon left us to use the bathroom. Shira was surprised at the room I had chosen, which was not her own old room. I'd picked a smaller room, but one that had a separate "sitting room" that separated it from the hallway. I told her that it was more convenient because it was closer to the bathroom. That seems smart: I've been going to the bathroom about 12 times every night lately. It was a long, narrow room, and some of the previous inhabitant's (her brother's?) furniture was still in there. I had barely unpacked. For some reason I had a huge wall-full of CD's - more CD's than I own in real life. We do, actually, have a pretty large collection of CD's, but I never listen to them anymore: I have everything on my computer, and on my iPod, but in the dream, I had this whole wall that looked like it belonged in a radio station.

After Shira and I had looked around for awhile, her dad came upstairs to speak to me. He wanted to borrow a CD.

Now, I haven't seen Shira's dad in person in a really long time, but I can say with absolute positivity that in real life her dad looks nothing like Matt Lauer. However, in the dream? He was Matt Lauer.

Anyway, it's pretty funny, because my collection of music (in the dream) contained all this crazy stuff as well as a very large portion of rock and pop, and of course it was all arranged alphabetical by artist. I actually rather wish I had all this music: it was pretty cool. The CD her dad asked to borrow was by U2. I'm pretty sure that between Shira and her brother, the two of them have much more interesting musical choices but there it is. The CD I ended up loaning him was "Zooropa," which I don't even own and am pretty sure I've never even heard.

After that, we left my room and were walking through a little living room area, where there was a TV and a couch (separate from my private "sitting room," which at this point, was empty). I'd better point out that I spent a lot of time with Shira in middle school, and I never remember watching TV. I'm not even sure if they had one in those days. But in my dream, they did, and it was on. The show playing looked like an old sit-com from the early 80s. We stood around to watch the credits, which were animated, and very much dominated by the color yellow. As each actor was introduced, an animated picture of them and their name appeared on the screen. The first person? Kirk Cameron. The second person? Betty White. The third person? Sharon, who was standing right next to us. In real life, Sharon's an actress (she was in "Quartet" by Heiner Muller at City Garage, one of the first shows I did the lights for. That show was amazing, and high in my list of favorites. She was also in, at City Garage, "The Battle: ABC," and she's been in some movies and I know has done other theater work. I don't think she's ever been in a TV show with Kirk Cameron and Betty White, though! No idea why my brain created this little fiction, or any of this, actually.

After that, I'm not sure what happened. I must've gotten up to use the bathroom again, and when I went back to sleep, I lost the train of this dream. Later I dreamed that I was at a skating rink, putting on skates, when a young, tough, Hispanic woman approached me and said I needed to get my skates "sharpened" and that if I were taking lessons, I would know this. I told her I didn't have a teacher, and asked if she knew anybody. She hesitated, then suggested herself. Next thing I knew I was ice skating with this woman, who was dressed like Jennifer Warren as the skating coach in "Ice Castles" (long brown fur coat), and yelling at me to keep my head up.

It was a very strange night of dreams, but nothing really unpleasant. I liked every second of it, to be honest, and was sorry to wake up.

I'm the Bean, and you're not

When I last worked in retail, my co-worker and I developed a nice personal relationship. We were "friends." We're still friends, actually, but this was all so long ago that it feels like another lifetime ago. Anyway, he specialized in crafting new names for me, all based on that old standby, "Irene the Bean." I became Beans, Beansie, Beanser, "Irene the Bean - She is Patrick's Queen," and other silly names. (He had nicknames for other people in the store. All of them were silly, as nicknames should be.)

(My nicknames for him: "Old Man," "Grampa," and "Dumbass." Needless to say, more than one person wrongly assumed we were either a) married or b) having an affair.)

One day we were in the back room, with a bunch of other co-workers, shooting the shit, and he was teasing me about something, and then he called me "Beaner."

Here's how I replied,

"Hey, I know you don't mean anything racially insulting by that one, Whitey, but you might want to think twice before calling a Mexican 'Beaner.'" 

I love making a roomful of people laugh, especially when it's at someone else's expense.

Neutrogena: Skin ID

A while back, I saw a commercial for Neutrogena's product line called "Skin ID." I had been using a variety of expensive spa brand facial products, and I've had good luck with Neutrogena in the past, so I thought this was a great way to try a new "personalized" product.

I signed up, got my free sample, and started my "membership." This means that they send me refills of the products at the end of a time period I specify (for me, 75 days seemed like a good amount of time). I liked that, actually. Online, as long as you don't have any questions, this product line seemed like a good thing.

Well, turns out that this product isn't for me - I tried it for awhile, but found it to be too harsh and drying. Right now I'm looking for something more "natural," and also, cheaper (because if I could just buy whatever I wanted, price be damned, I'd be loading up on Repachage or Bioelements, but since that stuff is super expensive, I'm using "Yes To Cucumbers," which was recommended by a friend. It's fine; I'm not overly excited, but it seems to be working out).

Anyway, early last week I emailed the Neutrogena Skin ID people a question. I needed the answer to this question before I could decide whether or not to cancel my membership. Days passed, and all I received was an auto response:

Thank you for contacting Neutrogena skinID(r). We are experiencing higher than normal email volume at this time, therefore will make a best effort to respond to this request as soon as possible.

Honest... but not very helpful. Eventually I went elsewhere for my answer, and I decided that it's no longer appropriate for me to use their product, so I tried calling them to find out how to cancel. I was on hold for awhile, and I received the same message ("We are currently experiencing high call volume..."). So I gave up. There's no way that I can see to cancel my membership on the website, nor are there instructions for returning products (I received my second shipment last Wednesday). I had a little time this morning, so I decided to try again, and so now I'm on hold, attempting to speak to a live person. It's been about 20 minutes. My shoulder is starting to hurt. They claim that they'll be with me as soon as possible, but I'm starting to think that's just a line.

Right now their customer service isn't making me a fan. It might change how I feel about all their products, and it might make me a little vocal about my displeasure. Hey, don't mess with me, Neutrogena: I have readers*.

(30 minutes on hold:) Oh! Someone finally came on the line. I told her what I want to do, and now she's "working on getting my account open." It took her about 3 minutes. That seems like a long time. Now I've told her what I want, and she's reviewing my order history... I've explained my deal to her, and she's canceling my account... and I'm on hold. At least it's different music than the first time around, and minus the testimonials (some guy telling me how smooth his skin is, is kind of a turn off). Eventually she came back, though, and we finished up. 30 minutes on hold, and about 10 minutes of speaking to someone (including the second hold).

Okay, well, that was a longer than necessary wait time (seriously, how busy can they be?) but in the end, I got what I wanted, the woman I spoke to was polite (though, I think she might've been discreetly belching throughout the whole call? I wasn't sure. Maybe she had the hiccups) and did what I asked without begging me to stay (I hate it when they do that). As long as you don't need instant answers or even to ask a question, and you want a stronger facial product (more along the lines of Proactive than anything you might buy in the store), I guess Neutrogena Skin ID is for you. I think it's a little misleading of them to call it a "personalized" skin care line - I did all the work, and my interaction with them was plenty strained, but in the end I got what I wanted. It probably won't make them happy that what I wanted was to leave their club, but oh, well. 

*Apparently, nine of them. Though the totals on Google Analytics suggest that there are many more of you. Hello, readers! Thanks for stopping by!

I wonder what it is about the words "sorry not to bug" that drive me so crazy I start to itch?

One of my co-workers has what I consider to be bad habits. One is approaching me when I'm in my cubicle (where, admittedly, she had nothing to do with the poor layout; it's not her fault my back is to the doorway) and then coming up so close to my chair that if I turn my head too much... well, let's just say it's very uncomfortable positioning for one of us (me). Personal space is an unknown concept to her. Another is talking to herself when signing out on the whiteboard (conveniently located behind me). She says her own name, then she goes, "Out... to... back... there..." Seriously. Close your mouth, please. Oh, and she also likes to put her things down on my desk while checking out on the board. Come on, that's just rude. But the worst is, whenever she needs to speak with any of us in the office, she prefaces each encounter with "Knock, knock! Sorry to bug!" Sometimes she says "Sorry to bug you" but more often than not, she leaves it off.

She has maybe three or four encounters on a daily basis with our co-workers and she starts almost all of them with those words. "Knock, knock! Sorry to bug!"

When I first got this job, I thought she was sweet, smart, and interesting. Now I know better.

(I had to go back and check to be sure, but awhile back, maybe even last year around the beginning of the year, I had gone on a walk with this woman and a couple of other people. She stumbled in the parking lot, and in the process of not falling on her face, happened to reach out and grab... my left breast. To steady herself? The other two on the walk didn't even notice but believe me, I did. Anyway, neither one of us mentioned it, I was all shell-shocked, but silently, and ever since then, have tried to keep my distance from this woman. The other things she does that bug have been building up since then. It's possible it was an accident, but no. I'm pretty sure it wasn't. The grab was much too deliberate and perfectly executed.)

Anyway, seriously, I'm sneezing a lot today anyway, but just a few moments ago she had a "knock, knock" moment with someone else in the office... and I think I now have a rash. Thanks a lot.

Do you know your enemy?

I think it's maybe one benefit to my perverse nature that when other people are being rude and impatient, I suddenly turn into the most conscientious person on the planet. I mean, look, I'm not always a princess in public; I have my grouchy days too when everyone's in my way and it seems like people are purposely moving slower than they need to just to mess with me. But face to face with someone acting like a douche for no apparent reason, I tend to just melt into the opposite behavior. I don't know what that says about me, but I suspect the salespeople who have to deal with us like it.

I was in Target today when I ran into this woman who was (almost) amusing in her non-stop bitchfest. She was harassing the kid in the electronics section when I saw her for the first time. She was pissed because they didn't have in stock the right case for her last year's model Blackberry, and she couldn't seem to understand that aside from driving to the iLuv (that's the brand case Target carries for the Blackberry; it's a terrible brand name, don't you think?) warehouse and personally picking up the right one for her, there was pretty much nothing the kid could do. He suggested she try Target online, where they have a bigger selection, but she was having none of it. I overheard all this because I was waiting to ask him a question myself (our old Sony CD player that lives in our shower broke recently, and I wanted to see if there was a new version). He saw me standing there waiting, but I smiled at him and just waited until he finished with her. I was looking at the iPhone cases (lots of selection there, lady!) while I waited. When he was done, I think he was relieved to turn to me. He was super helpful, and got on the walkie-talkie to call his colleague... somewhere, to ask if he'd heard of such a thing. I guess Target no longer carries that old Sony Liv line, and they didn't have anything in the store that was similar. I thanked him for his time, walked away, and did the rest of my shopping.

Later, I was in line when that woman turned up again. The line was pretty short - there were only two people in front of me when I joined the line. I don't like to crowd people, and the woman in front of me was using up the whole counter space, so I just stood there and waited. I put down a divider for when I could load my stuff, and as space became available, loaded my stuff. That's how you do it, right? I mean, I really wasn't in a hurry. Granted, the older man checking us out was a tad bit slow, but he combined it with the most courteous Southern gentleman attitude that I really didn't care. And gosh, I'll admit it: I'm a little bit in dreamland today. It's just one of those lazy days. The woman behind me, on the other hand, was sighing a lot and muttering "Come on, come on" under her breath. I think she expected me to move up when the woman in front of me was paying, but the way I see it, that space between where you stand to pay and the top of the little conveyor belt thing is personal space. And - she still didn't have any room to put her stuff because my stuff was still sitting there, so all my moving up would do is give her an opportunity to get closer to me. Was that what she was after? If so, well, sorry, but no thanks.

So. All her hemming and hawing got her was me being super nice back to the sweet gray haired man ringing me up. We were both so gracious it was like a thank you festival, and it's possible that my transaction took a slight amount of time longer than is truly necessary. As I stood at the register waiting to pay, I turned my head back to her and smiled. She only moved her cart closer into "my" space and ignored me. Whatever.

Have a nice day, grumpy.

P.S. Target no longer has the same Sony CD player we have, but they do have this one, online. It's kind of nice, and would satisfy our need to listen to NPR in the shower every morning, but no more CD's. I'm pretty sure we could live with that. Here's the one we already have (except ours is green).

My iPod loves me again - and it all started with "A Forest"

I haven't really been listening to music on my commute lately. Instead I've been listening to podcasts, or NPR, or traffic on KNX 1070 (in between the millions of commercials and ten second stories that pass for "news" on that station). Last night I had to stop at the Kaiser pharmacy to pick up a prescription on my way home, there was a ton of traffic, the sky was blue, and I felt like music, so I fired up my iPod.

I lucked out.

It all started with the Toadies' version of "A Forest" by the Cure. That's an excellent song (I love the original, but the cover, which retains the repetition and creepilicious vibe, has a bit of a harder edge and a slight push that I love so much), and after listening to it (several times; traffic on the 5 was slow), I finally cued up the original, which I remember listening to while lying on the floor in Missy's room way back in the 80s while looking at her NaNa catalog and talking about boys. I'm pretty sure she had that funny shag carpet (was it lime green?); she probably had pink or purple hair. I was my usual dorky self.

And then my iPod played the rest of these amazing songs.

1. 25th Floor, by Patti Smith
2. One Life's Enough, by the Who
3. Sonny's Burning, by the Birthday Party
4. Love You To, by the Beatles
5. I Wanna Be a Bear, by Descendents
6. Crosseyed and Painless, by Talking Heads
7. The Telephone is Empty, by Love & Rockets
8. Radio, Radio, by Elvis Costello
9. Stare Too Long, by Corrosion of Conformity 
10. Yer Blues, by the Beatles

I pulled up to the house howling "Yer Blues" along with John Lennon, and I felt so good about it. Nice! Thanks, iPod! Good work!