I'm parched. I have been otherwise occupied with lesser pursuits and so I have let my usual abundance of new music selections that flow through my sleek Hewlett Packard entertainment edition laptop’s speakers dry up like those creepy anthropomorphized California raisins. I’m desperate, and when I get desperate, I hit up the internet, my sensei, for solutions.

Lesson #1: Don’t open Pandora’s Box

(That’s what he said.)

It's not going to be hard for you to figure out how I feel about Jorge Drexler long before you reach the verdict. If I had to describe him in just one word, I would say "He's the best thing you've ever [expletive] heard [expletive] [expletive] [expletive]." Jorge's and my love affair began when I discovered his 2003 album Eco the summer before last. I was rummaging through the CD shelves at my local public library in California like a badger, looking for something new to feast on. They had this relatively obscure album presumably because Jorge had won an Oscar for best original song ("Al otro lado del rio" from The Motorcycle Diaries, the last song on Eco.)

Whitewhine.com is an amazing site filled with truisms that white people complain about, and things I would imagine that non-white people make fun of white people for complaining about. One of the most relatable posts on White Whine is this one:

Complaint #169

"The weather really needs to warm up, so I can start drinking iced coffee again… comfortably!"

-Whine by Lily Gedney

The writers' strike has been over for enough time that programs are finally coming back. You know what that means? Everyone's favorite pseudo-reality show is returning! What a great, great coincidence that The Hills is picking up this season just as the writers' strike is over. I don't quite know why they think we care if it's real or not -- there was actually a time before reality TV bench-pressed traditional shows. Whether Lauren, Whitney, the Brodster and the (camera) crew are really just going about their lives or whether they're just actors so bad that they are convincingly real as spoiled "SoCal bratz," we will watch anyway. (That's why the terrorists hate us.)

Facebook now has a "people you might know" feature, in which it shows you a selection of pictures and names of people many of your friends are online friends with, but you are not. Clearly Facebook does not take into account that these may be people you intentionally are not friends with on the online. Perhaps one day it will show me someone intriguing from Cornell that my friends are all inexplicably friends with, perfectly suited for my personality quirks and online friendship.

Although my caffeine tolerance is as low as a newborn, I've decided to put my health in jeopardy and tweak out like a meth addict for the sake of cafe-music awareness. So, now that I've gotten my scone on at CTB and decided that I couldn't stand their Disnasty pop hits, I moseyed down the street to the place where the yuppies get their drink on (or so the "protester" with the "go to CTB" sign says). 20 minutes of Starbucks music -- on your mark -- get set -- GO!

It's a Monday afternoon at 1:20 p.m. Do you know where your Clear Channel Top 40 hits are? Uhh, I found out that Collegetown Bagels kidnapped them and is holding Miley Cyrus hostage until you buy a Brooklyn Bagel with cheese. If you were planning on coming to the 415 College Ave. establishment to have some indie tunes on the side of your raspberry scone like I was, more likely you'll get a big helping of Nickleback.