‘Sup?

My name is Liz. I need direction. I overuse commas. My house is a mess, my hair needs a trim and I have no marketable skills: It’s fun here, you’ll see!

Got a question, comment, proposal of marriage? Great! Email me at liz@theproductivecough.com

Contact Me, Folks!

Got a question, comment, proposal of marriage? Great! Email me at liz@theproductivecough.com

Show Your Love

September 9th, 2008

Dude- I sing in Portuguese now

So, this weekend, I totally sang in Portuguese. My dad played piano, my brother played drums (and recorded) and our friend Hans played bass. The song is called “É Com Esse Que Eu Vou” by Pedro Caetano, and it’s probably my favorite song.

I hope you like it!

February 22nd, 2007

Check This Sh*t Out!

Hey! Lookit. Larry n’ I made this:

It helps if you like Thelonius Monk.

Feel free to comment, and rate!

November 12th, 2006

And we all know how much I love hot cats

Recently, my friend Devin and I went to a jazz club (which will remain nameless) where we saw a certain host/singer (who will also remain nameless). This fellow is the kind of guy who would sing to his bride at their wedding. Before the food is served to guests. And it wouldn’t be one song. It would be ten.

This particular act is a Tuesday night fixture at this establishment. How this man is the permanent host is beyond me. The only thing I could figure was that at some drunken point, a friend told him he sounded like Tony Bennett, which sparked his need to become a jazz singer. I hope whoever told him that realized that he’s ruined Tuesdays for everyone.

And his intonation wasn’t the only trouble. It was the way he was imitating every lounge singer he’d ever seen. In fact, he seemed to be imitating parodies of lounge singers. Large sweeping hand motions, one leg bouncing, body tilted back a little. The seediness was nearly overpowering. At one point, I asked Devin if he thought, given the way this fellow was behaving, that the audience could file a class action suit against him for sexual harassment. He said yes.

Singers like this aren’t the only type of male that make me uncomfortable. Radio DJs who talk in that übersuave manner, too. You know what I mean: Their voices are low, their vowels are extended to comical lengths (“Smoooooooooth jaaaaaazz” or “Heeeeeeeeeey ladies.”) and their preferred subject matter is, well, yucky. For example, I had my car radio automatically scanning through channels in a desperate attempt to find something, anything to listen to. The radio landed on 92.3 (“hot 92 jamz”) only to hear the DJ saying, “And ladies, if you’re sexy enough, you can park wherever you want to.”

Eew. What does that mean, even? Before I had time to truly grasp what this fellow meant, my car radio had scanned away from the station. When I returned to the station moments later, he was saying, “36-24-36? More like 36-24-40! Ladies, bring those sexy hips on down and I’ll–” I turned the radio off.

Who are these people? Who do they think their target audience is? It certainly isn’t “the ladies” because I don’t think I know a single woman who would respond positively to this kind of smarminess. The jazz singer, at one point, motioned to the band behind him and said, “You gotta love my tasty band, because, these cats are hot!” And then he chuckled to himself.

Yuck.