amadou + mariam = #VALUE!

the following video is comprised entirely of benches, chairs and couches.  that’s all.  and i don’t know if it’s an official video or a furniture commercial or an unfinished (and abnormally long) corona advert but it is very much enjoyable and makes me want to not stand.  go figure.  really though, it’s a way for me to showcase amadou & mariam’s “sabali” from their album “welcome to mali” which basically does nothing short of begging the question: how effing good is this song?

remember that time you listened to that damon albarn-produced song by that blind couple from mali that blew your mind despite singing in a language you’re entirely unfamiliar with?  yes, that time is a little more than three-minutes from now and you are welcome.

thanks to emil for tipping me off to the duo a few months back.  apparently “sabali” means “sweetness” and, well, exactly.

$kala: the movement

remember that time your favorite raptor had his birthday party in the middle of hollywood and showed up forty-five minutes late and you had to wait outside because you answered “um…yes?” to the question “are you here for the baron davis party?”  that time for me was about a week ago and by the time $kala and guests made it to the club/lounge/terrordome, i’d already become bored of playing sudoku on my blackberry and was getting pretty exhausted, as it takes some serious energies to manage my yet-to-be-convincing “no i was not stood up; i’m just really early” face.

eventually $kala did show up, dressed like andy cap en route to his nylon magazine cover shoot and, well, it’s hard to stay mad at $kala.  especially not on his birthday.  plus, look at this punim.  who’s going to be mad at this:

in addition to birthday parties and funnypage-chic fashion statements, $kala also continues to spit hot fire like a medieval rap dragon.  like the time i dreamt elisha cuthbert was spooning me china paradise won-ton soup, this impossible delight came to me in the middle of the night:

sometimes the best part of waking up is $kala in your inbox.  seriously.  it’s a ridiculous concept and it’ll seem even more ridiculous when you sing it with the folgers jingle melody – seriously, try it – but it just happens to be true.

***

a quick aside as it relates to the venue of said party:  for starters, it’s called “my house” which i’m assuming is because they want people to say “i’m going to my house” and have someone else ask “your house?” while the “my house” owners smile creepily as the douchiest abbot and costello skit in history rumbles forward with the momentum of a thousand muscle-y a-holes trying to make their way to the christian audigier sample sale before the xxl oversized tigerhead stretch tees are all gone.  also, when i finally got into “my house” which, to no one’s surprise, looks nothing like my (or anyone else’s) house, they wouldn’t let me leave.  this is fact.  i tried to walk out.  the doorman said “entrance only” and pointed me toward another door, where another doorman said “service entrance only” and pointed me back to the front door.  it look ten minutes of human ping pong for me to push my way through a side door, eliciting a “really? you’re leaving?” from the fifteenth doorman i’d seen that night.

pee ess: the place was close to empty.

pee ess: i didn’t see baron davis anywhere.

listen closely: at the gym

if you’re like me and infrequently exercise at a gym like or exactly golds gym in venice, let me help you further the journey by recommending the following listening before, during and after your awkward, unfulfilling and relatively comatose workout…

the warmup: atmosphere / god loves ugly

why: because i didn’t and should have.  i listened to atmosphere’s “when life gives you lemons…” instead and it wasn’t the atmosphere i wanted to listen to.  i’ve tried to listen to it a bunch, but it’s never been the atmosphere i wanted to listen to.  this is the one.  if you live in my apartment, walk at my pace, go to my gym and awkwardly fist-pound the monster/trainer who once gave you his business card at california chicken cafe and told you he could train you for a measly ninety-dollars an hour, you should pop in “god loves ugly” – easily one of the greatest album titles ever (album titles, kina!) – and listen to give me, modern man’s hustle and shrapnel.  and breathe while you stretch.

the cardio: girl talk / feed the animals

why: because it’s the perfect running music.  it’s every song you love in small doses and hate in their entirety brought to you only in small doses and never in their entirety.  it’s eight seconds of lil wayne and the best moments of blackstreet and it’s yael naim with eminem and jay z with radiohead and it’s fast and there’s a lot going on and if you don’t mind running next to a giant croatian woman so rich with muscle fiber you could drop a marble on her shoulder and play labyrinth down her arm, then girl talk is for you.  it is sure to keep your attention off the fact that you are the smallest human in the building (except for (most of) the mexican custodial staff) and that although you’ve run a staggering eight minutes, your legs feel about as stiff and useless as the bay cities french bread that’s been sitting on your counter for well over a week.

the weight training: m83 / saturdays = youth

why: because i love this album.  it has nothing to do with working out, it’s just a great album.  if you’re in the shape i’m in and have just gotten off the treadmill, girl talk has made you want to listen to, well, not girl talk and exercising has made you want to lift, well, nothing.  slow it down with m83.  sure, it’s not conducive to weight training, but while i call this weight training, it’s really just doing a few curls while you stop sweating enough to comfortably put your jacket back on and walk home.  this is also a great time to send a few texts, twitter/tweet, answer emails and decide what’s for dinner (tonight was a california chicken salad from the chicken cafe, hold the peppers and hold the carrots).

happy exercising!