Scoutmob; PMA; Grooveshark

Things that impress and inspire, excite a desire.

Website Edition.  

1. Scoutmob:

Here's the deal. I'm super into mailing lists. Coupons. What to do this weekend. Events, shows, concerts, restaurants, festivals - I want to know about it all.

Scoutmob takes these quintessential roundup-type e-mails a step further by offering daily deals. Fo' FREE. And I'm not talking, 'get a free soda when you buy an entree' type deals. I'm talking, 'let's practically give this shit away to get these people in here' kind of deals.

I'm not talking, 'let's only offer this badass deal for one hour during the most inconvenient time of the day.' I'm talking, 'let's offer this bad ass deal for THREE MONTHS so that subscribers can actually use it.' 

 

Today's daily deal? 50% off Hill Country BBQ. Hell yes, y'all. Sign. Me. Up. Ribs, brisket, beer can chicken, chili-mac, Kreuz sausage, corn pudding, bourbon sweet potato mash, shoestring green bean casserole. OK, I digress. And am now drooling.

Not only is the food detrimentally delicious for waistlines everywhere, this place also happens to be a little slice of Texas heaven smack-dab in the middle of the Flatiron district.

Come football season, you can find me here every Saturday with my fellow Texas transplants swilling Lonestar beer, dressed in burnt orange from head-to-toe, cheering for the Longhorns, screaming "give 'em hell, make'em eat shit, "OU sucks," and a number of other chants that make no sense to you unless you went to the greatest University in the world. (Yeah, we're pretty obnoxious. Kind of like Yankee fans or Red Sox fans. But better. And more awesome.)  

Back to Scoutmob, not only is it amazing for subscribers, local businesses are totally getting down with this shit. It provides a way for businesses to track response rates, reach customers on the go through a mobile iPhone app, and taps into social media networks by prompting users to share deals with friends via Twitter and Facebook. Hello free word of mouth and new customer base.

Way to go Scoutmob creators/marketing strategists. You win. I wish I was as smart as you, and I salute you.

2. Pretty Much Amazing (PMA):

Speaking of amazing and my affinity for sites that point me in the direction of anything new or up-and-coming; let's talk about PMA.

Brought to us by a group of self-proclaimed "music geeks," PMA breaks down the latest and greatest in alternative and independent music (oft described as an indie-electro guide to the current music scene).

Another interesting tidbit - all of the clips, links and soundbites posted are legal and free; something to admire in an age of piracy and legal battles over rights and distribution policies. 

The PMA-gurus recently posted a list of the best songs of 2010, which is updated quarterly. I highly suggest you peruse. Snagging the number one spot is LCD Soundsystem with "All I Want" and "I Can Change," both off of their newest album, "This is Happening."

While I can get down with both selections, there are other songs on the album that steal my vote for best song ("Drunk Girls" and "One Touch" to name two ♥).

Other songs on the list worth mention in my book include:

• 
  
  48: “Who Makes Your Money” - Spoon (An Austin band, so not surprising I'm sure, but also just an interesting sound)
• 
  
  42: “Factory” - Band of Horses (Beautifully lazy)
• 
  
  35: “Opposite of Adults” - Chiddy Bang (A cooler/realer version of current faves like Asher Roth, IMO)
• 
  
  27: “Bang Pop” - Free Energy (Old school rock'n roll; lava lamps, bell bottoms and joints)
• 
  
  24: “Lifted” - Lemonade (Like Chester French meats badass electro beats)
• 
  
  21: “Little Lion Man” - Mumford & Sons (Love the gravelly sound that penetrates to the core, begetting emotion)
• 
  
  13: “Superfast Jellyfish” Gorillaz (Whimsical, catchy, seemingly nonsensical but delve deeper for meaning)

3. Grooveshark:

By now you know I'm all about free. And music. It keeps me company all day in the fluorescent hell that is an office with no windows. Sure, I like Pandora and Slacker. But I pay for neither so must endure annoyingly grating commercials.

I had a brief love affair with Imeem, but then they sold out and joined forces with MySpace, which happens to be the only website we can't access at my office. I'm pretty sure you could stream porn here without anyone noticing. But MySpace? Banned.

Enter Grooveshark - a site that houses approx 7-million songs, accessible fo'free for as many plays as your little heart desires. I thought this was something that everyone knew about, but have mentioned it to several friends lately (who are generally up on their shit) that were surprised to hear about it. So, if you fall into this category, you're welcome.

Now go listen to PMA's top 50 songs of the quarter and search for your faves on Grooveshark.

Remember the Alamo.

(New York, meet the Alamo)

F.M. (Professional) L. I have been so stressed out these past few weeks. Besides living in my cubicle, I've done little other than obsess over the progress I'm making (or not making) as I attempt to climb the corporate ladder.

I’ve always been, for lack of a better term, an overachiever. Well, the laziest version of an overachiever that could feasibly exist.

And I suppose you could even argue that I only think I’m lazy because I’m rarely satisfied with my best efforts. (Although my friend Sunday begs to differ, since it knows what percentage of the day I sometimes spend in bed …)

I think I described my younger self pretty succinctly over at IITGI - one of those obnoxious, goody-goody AP kids that never drank or went to parties, who hung out at Barnes & Noble after school and drove to the coffee shop on Saturday nights instead of to the kegger.

Rewind even further to the dreaded middle-school years and I was one of those kinda-shy, kinda-quiet, nerdy Pre-AP kids that hung out at the mall after their parents dropped them and their friends off at the movies for the night.

I was like, one step away from being the female version of Kevin’s dorky friend Paul in The Wonder Years. Well, minus the Jew part I guess. And the glasses.

I never enjoyed attention much at school and was content to sit quietly at the back of the class, diligently completing assignments as long as I was left well enough alone.

I remember once – this must have been maybe 7th grade or so (who am I kidding, I remember exactly – it was 7th grade …) – in Texas History our teacher asked us to write a song about the Alamo and then stand up in front of the class the next day and sing it aloud.

I would have done just about anything – short of being pantsed in the middle of the quad – to avoid standing in front of my classmates, singing some stupid song about the Alamo to the tune of Gilligan’s Island (because somehow it was decided that singing about the Alamo to the tune of old TV sitcom songs was the coolest route to take with this heinous assignment).

I would have taken toilet paper stuck on my shoe or tucked into my underwear, trailing out from under my skirt; tripping in the middle of the cafeteria while carrying a tray full of food; a huge, oily zit in the middle of my forehead.

In retrospect, the end result was probably worse than if I had just gotten the fuck up out of my seat and sang the stupid song. The teacher – wise to the sensitivities of being an awkward 7th grader – thought he would be clever and threaten anyone who didn’t want to sing in front of the class with an F on the assignment.

As far as I was concerned, this was the best news I’d ever heard. I told him I’d take the F. He refused, insisted I was being silly and told me to just sing the song already.

He pushed me so hard to stand up in front of my peers and sing that I actually started crying in the middle of the classroom.

Epic.

He eventually let me off the hook, but I’m sure the image of a 13-year-old girl crying in the middle of Texas History probably held more staying power in the minds of the class than a 13 year-old girl with a crappy singing voice.

Point being – I am terrified that I’ll always be that scared-shitless 13-year-old girl crying in front of everyone.

I’ve learned to get the eff over myself and deal with my anxiety over the years, but I still get extremely nervous in high-stress situations.

For instance, today, I found myself sitting in a client meeting as the most junior person in the room, surrounded by three CEOs of hugely successful companies (one of them mine); my boss and two other co-workers; a famously-connected, old school New York City socialite; and five or six other consultants from various industries in attendance to “provide counsel.”

No, I didn’t cry – and if you even entertained the idea, then you’re on my shit list.

But, as I sat there introducing myself to this table full of wildly influential people, I could barely keep my hands from shaking as I clenched my notebook and pen for dear life.

I’m working on it, OK?

Someday, I'll nail it. I’ll be the girl that everyone goes to for advice, for big-picture strategic ideas, for guidance and feedback and input and wisdom.

Until then, I’m caught somewhere between the wide-eyed middle-schooler bawling her eyes out in Texas History, and the wide-eyed junior staffer trying not to lose her shit at the important meeting.

Lucky for you, someday when I'm an influential-power-bitch (once I figure out what the hell I'm doing, what great things I'm supposed to accomplish and how the hell I'm supposed to accomplish them) you’ll be able to say you knew me way back when.

But if you EVER tell anyone that I cried in the middle of Texas History because I didn’t want to sing about the Alamo, you’ll be dead to me.

(Kidding!)

(Kind of …)

Spring in Texas - Misery in NYC

You know it's springtime in Texas when people start parking their cars precariously on the side of the highway to take pictures in the bluebonnets. (Insert "you might be a redneck" joke here).

This was something Momma J subjected Lil'Bro and I to every year on the way to Grandmother's house for Easter.

Now that we've flown the coop, the annual-bluebonnet-photo-shoot has turned into a BDW solo session. Looks like he's finally learned to stop eating the flowers and just laze in them instead.

I have sunshine-envy. Let's compare the picturesque scenes above with the following, shall we?

WTF Mother Nature? I'm over 50 and raining. At least you plan to get your shit together this weekend.

Every rose has its thorn.

No, I’m not fixing to write about a stripper that wronged me … (random aside, New Yorkers love it when I say “fixing to” …) So maybe not the most fitting title I guess, but I do have a point.

And I do oddly love Brett Michaels. I actually watched an episode of the new Celebrity Apprentice just because he’s on it this season. I mean, I would prefer another season of Rock of Love, but I guess that shit’s old after three go-rounds.

Anyway, back to the point – bear with me here. Remember the naughty Valentine escapades? Well, I actually ended up giving a couple away, and one of the guys asked for my number.

I’m attempting to enter this whole “let’s be open-minded” phase of life, so when he actually called me – CALLED ME, not texted me at 2AM on a Saturday night with, “Yo wassup” – and asked me out on a dinner date, I forced myself to say yes. I mean at the very least, it would be good practice for future first dates, right?

And let me back track and say that there’s nothing particularly wrong with him. As a matter of fact, he’s been nothing but extremely nice throughout the course of our … whatever this is we’re doing. He’s just not really my ideal type. For instance, Evie calls him the Mayor of Queens since he’s from there, and has an accent to rival any one of the characters on Jersey Shore.

To give you a brief synopsis, evidenced by the fact that he invited me to go to an awesome concert with him the weekend after (and despite the fact that he fed me sake bombs all night) the first date went well. I was probably not as together as I should have been, but I guess he didn’t mind (sorry, Momma J … I broke the obligatory ‘never drink too much on a first date’ rule).

So we went to Muse at Madison Square Garden, and it was fun, too. But I guess it’s hard to have a bad time at a concert … It’s not like you actually have to talk to each other, you just sit there and enjoy the music.

Muse at MSG

For our next dating adventure, he took me to 230 Fifth – yes please. Roof decks are an aphrodisiac for New York women – it doesn’t matter who you’re with as long as it’s nice out and you can stare at the skyline and enjoy a comfortable breeze while he buys you drinks. He’s already started with positive points for the evening, so it’s hard to crash and burn from there.

I guess the Mayor wasn't aware that he had already racked up so many points, as he informed me (while I was staring at the Empire State building) that he had bought me a yellow rose (because of the song Yellow Rose of Texas) but that he hadn’t given it to me when he picked me up because he didn’t want me to think he was too corny.

[Side Note: There is a chain of strip clubs in Austin called The Yellow Rose. I had to try really really hard not to divulge this little tidbit of Austin information. Cause you might have to be from there to think it’s funny … ]

So, things were going swimmingly … until the Mayor of Queens invited me and my girlfriends to the Cluuuurrb last Friday night. I tried, but I am just not really an ‘up-in-da-club’ kinda gal. It was awkward. And I generally find awkward funny (making people feel awkward may or may not be listed as a hobby on my Facebook page).

And now I’m kind of over it. Which is generally how these things go for me. I meet someone, get super excited about it, and then it just …. fizzles out.

I enjoy the rose until I look closely and find the thorns (especially when it's a yellow one). Oh Brett Michaels, you’re so wise.

I still have my Yellow Rose of Texas, but the Mayor and I haven’t talked since the weekend. I don’t know – maybe he’s waiting for me to text him? But honestly, I could go either way with it.

What do you think? Should I just let it go, or should I initiate another meeting with the Mayor?

I’ve yet to decide …

Big Yellow Taxi

I remember the first time I hailed a cab in New York City. I felt extremely self-conscious – was I doing it right? Was I supposed to hold my arm up high, or out and down? Could everyone streaming past me on the sidewalk tell that I had no clue what I was doing?

I realize now how silly that was – short of throwing yourself in front of a cab to stop it, no one cares how you do it. Just stick your arm out and pray that your driver is semi-normal, because – lemme tell ya – I’ve been stuck with my fair share of the crazy ones.

Once, while heading downtown with Skeazy E and K-Mother-Effin-S after work, a cab of the crazy persuasion found us. The driver careened recklessly through intersections and turns, paying no heed to our not-so-subtle back seat hollers and commentary.

I remember looking over at K, proclaiming that we’d stumbled upon a death cab. Which prompted Skeazy E to remark, “That must make us cuties, then.” Always word-smithing and punning, that one…

I’ve found since then that most cabs fit into one of two extremes: warp speed or agonizingly slow.

Some zip and zigzag through traffic dangerously like angry yellow jackets, while others amble along like affable bumble bees, drunk on pollen.

Most, however, seem to magically avoid accidents. I’ve decided there’s a higher probability for accidents on the highways of Texas than anywhere in Manhattan. Maybe because there’s less space here. Maybe because we’re able to drive at faster speeds there. Probably because one of them has scores of teenage drivers and the other doesn’t.

But, the other day, I witnessed my first full-fledged, taxi-related accident – and it wasn’t even the taxi’s fault.

I was standing on the corner, across the street from the office, waiting for the traffic light to change. Impatiently of course. It was snowing and I was cold.

Something made me pause for a beat after the white hand illuminated the cross walk. Or maybe I always do this but am now hyper-aware of it.

That’s when a huge white construction van barreled into the back of the innocent little cab stopped at the light in front of him.

I’m pretty sure I – and several other people – screamed. I definitely remember that my heart was racing. One onlooker ran over to the cab and opened the door. The driver spilled out onto the icy asphalt, writhing in pain, clutching his head. There were no passengers in the back.

The driver seemed pretty out of it, I’m sure shifting to park was the farthest thought from his mind. Which would explain the renewed screaming as the cab – left to its own devices – started slowly rolling towards a stationary bus full of people, stranded mid-intersection. Several men – transformed from ordinary suits to heroic bystanders – ran to either side of the moving car, restraining it by its side view mirrors.

At this point, a large crowd had gathered. An ambulance had been called. I felt compelled to stay and run at the same time.

In the end, I shuffled slowly into our office building, jaw still dropped. And it hit me, that no one I know ever wears a seatbelt while riding in the back of a cab.

Time to start.

Trip in Pix: ATX

Happiness is...

Beer and Cupcakes.

Texans Know Best:

Around town: Capitol + 360 Bridge

Around town: Lake Austin and Mozart's

A few of my favorite things: Xmas trees on the side of the Hwy

Best dog in the world turns 3:

From total domination to loss: Why I never play board games with Lil'Bro

Over the river and through the woods: Real tree at Gmother's

Hope your holiday was as great as mine!

Eggnog-ural Snow of the Season

It "snowed" last week in Austin - people bought provisions, just in case. School closed at 2PM, just in case. The snowflakes fell for about 20 minutes, and stuck to nothing. Not exactly a winter wonderland... and definitely typical of Texas.

We used to wake up before the sun every Christmas morning, hoping for snow so we could make angels and build Frosties. Nature delivered once or twice, but we could never get enough of the snow.

To this day, snow makes me giddy. So imagine my excitement when I saw the first flakes of the season last night in NYC:

Even though you can barely tell, I promise it's snow. And snow means Eggnog, mistletoe, peppermint schnaps with your coacoa. Grandma Got Run Over By a Reindeer and Santa Baby. Gingerbread and candy canes. Papa Noel, pine needles, poinsettas, holly wreathes. Snowball fights in Central park, ice skating in Bryant Park and the tree at 30 Rock.

Get excited. Angels and Frosty here I come.

"I'm actually in to capes and lasers"

-Rach

Even though I live in the City, part of me will always be a hippy. When things get super stressful, I dream of mountains and Colorado and I turn on Rift or Lawn Boy.

When Phish announced tour dates last Summer, several Lil' Bro phone conversations were dedicated to our obsession with obtaining tickets.

He was going to fly to New York (well, actually, he originally planned to Road Trip - if you know my brother, you are laughing right now) so we could go see Phish at Jones Beach.

Until we saw the prices - $1,000 a piece for seats in the last row in the upper right hand corner of the amphitheatre? Right.

Which brought us to plan b: Me + Bro + Canoe = . . .

["If you could only see what I see when I walk on the stage. I see the faces, I see joy, and if that's escapism for 3 hours, then fine. There are enough bad messages in our culture that people are being bombarded with, constantly. You're not good enough, you don't look right, you don't have enough money.' And to be able to look at a large group of people looking back at you, who don't look like they have a care in the world for 15 seconds, and not only that but joy, actual joy etched onto their faces for that bit of time....its such an honor."]

-Trey

I mean, it could work, right??

In the end, I went with the more practical (yet boring) plan c. When Rachey told me one of her friends had an extra ticket to a show at MSG last week, I totally stalked him until he sold it to me. I met up with him, another friend, and ... HIS DAD who had bought the tickets, sat with us, and jammed out through the entire concert. Amazing. Did I mention these were seats on the floor? For $50.00?

Obviously, I called Lil' Bro during intermission, just to rub it in. We love each other like that.

I also called Momma J, who couldn't believe a sane adult was willingly in attendance. She's of the opinion that every song sounds the same, and can't stand the "jam." "So how many songs did they play? One?"

Snark.

She talked to Lil' Bro the next day and mentioned that friends and I were also going to see Ghostland Observatory, thinking he would be impressed with my week in concerts.

His reply: "That's like having a really shitty dessert following the most amazing meal of your life."

Hater.

Ghostland was a-m-a-z-i-n-g per usual. How can you not love Aaron Behrens? And lasers?? I know I do.

I've said it before, I'll say it again.

Everything's bigger in Texas and Thanksgiving is no exception. Although one of these years I'd like to stay in NYC and actually go to the parade instead of watching it from the couch in Texas.

Lil' Bro was in charge of several Thanksgiving dishes this year - he's quite the cook. I would say his future wife is a lucky lady, but I'm not sure his culinary skills will make up for all of the other crap she'll inevitably have to put up with.

Cooking with him is always fun - last time I was home he made watermelon-injected pork tenderloin with jalapeno watermelon salsa one night and New York strip steak with cilantro butter and buttermilk cheddar biscuits the next.

We come from a long line of cooks, and holidays are spent predominantly in the kitchen, picking at things as we make them, marathon eating our way through breakfast, lunch and leftovers for dinner.

And Grandmother has a special thing she makes for each of us. I am buttermilk pie, my mom is hanky pankies for breakfast (sausage and cheese baked onto cocktail ryes) and my uncle is cheesecake.

The year that my uncle and his family stayed in Arizona for Thanksgiving, Grandmother attempted to FedEx a cheesecake to his house. He said it took a minute to figure out what the football-shaped lump inside the package on his doorstep was supposed to have been. God love her for trying...

This year's Thanksgiving was no different. The gang was all there, hanky pankies and all. Momma J, Lil' Bro and I made the majority of the gorge-fest. Here's what we had:

Oven-roasted turkey

Smoked turkey

Herbed oyster stuffing

Sausage terrine stuffing

Brown gravy from homemade turkey stock

Whipped yukon potatoes with scallion

Great-grandmother's butter rolls

Steamed asparagus and green beans

Maple sweet potato mash

Gruyere mac 'n cheese

And my favorite thing of the entire dinner - prime rib with horseradish sauce

What about dessert you ask? We had some helpers in this category, but here's the laundry list:

Coconut cake

Buttermilk pie

Chess pie

Chocolate chip cookies

Homemade pumpkin ice cream

Clearly we should be professional eaters. And drinkers. That handle of bourbon we cracked open on Wednesday night barely lived to see another.

I think I'll fast 'til Christmas - don't think we won't be doing it all over again. Just substitute ham for turkey...

IMO*: Unacceptable

(*in my opinion)

I've recently seen people sporting these around the city. WHO ARE YOU AND WHAT ARE YOU DOING? Is the concrete-terrain too rugged for you? Planning to take a dip in the East River or the Hudson and need some water proof shoes?

Speaking of rivers, I would be just as distressed if I saw these while tubing in San Marcos - at least in that case there would be a logical reason for these monstrosities.

No ... Just no.