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You know, of all the holidays I don’t celebrate, I think I actually like Valentine’s Day the best. There’s no other holiday I feel, as a chronically single person, less pressure to go through the motions over. The expectation is to quite simply lay low and let the lovers open their wallets. Mission accomplished in abundance. That said, I’m not the only one who says one thing and wishes another. I’d be pretty happy to have someone to buy a $12 teddy bear for, someone who would appreciate me placing a note within its paw reading, “I want you inside me” or “Will you be my fart pillow?” I’m 30 now and realize I shouldn’t limit my options to those who read Baudelaire in bed but still await my dutch oven surprise. Especially on Saturdays like today, in which I made maintained absolutely no human contact whatsoever. Much as it pains me to say it, perhaps I shouldn’t be holding out hope I will one day meet that elusive, sexy, smart, cheeky, rock-climbing deaf man.

Or maybe I could stand to wait. Jody Watley was a robust 41 years old when she collaborated with Masters at Work on “I Love to Love,” a deep house number that falls pretty solidly within MAW’s A/C-tinged, clean-beat grown folks era. But that’s kinda the point. If the beats lack those rough “Blood Vibes” edges, it’s because they are meant to exude total contentment. Jody’s singing here about the sweetest capitulation, and Kenny Dope and Louie Vega’s soft-inside percussion folds nicely within voluptuous, bass-heavy chords. Each instrument seems to be murmuring a post-coital “Mmmmm.” Mellow and comfy is the flavor, but the lyrics don’t deny the arduous journey Jody (and likely you) have to undertake to get there. “I’ve learned you’ve really gotta love yourself, before you can give it to someone else. You’ve got to know it’s real.” See, Jody’s all about the giving. You give first to yourself, then you can give to others. Look, I know I’m not programmed to think like this, and sometimes it takes a nice bit of synthesizer programming to get me to feel warmth like this. “It feels so good to finally have happiness.” I love.

Speaking of love, and as a side note, I went back and updated my favorite movies lists with about a year’s worth of new favorites, as I was not in the habit of updating the template while deciding whether or not to pull the plug. Since I haven’t and won’t be shutting up this shop anytime soon, I’ve added about 30 new and old movies I caught last year that I found worth including in my rainbow rundown. Not bad, considering I probably saw only about 100 movies total last year. What can I say? I love to love.

Actually, a pretty stunning building.

Aw yeah.

Fifteen-second exposure on a baby firework.

Purple and gold color scheme signifies nothing, so far as I’m concerned.

Love using the RAW format, even if it allows me to blow out the colors and contrast to the point of garishness (as is the case here). Lighting conditions inside this gymnasium/auditorium were wan at best.

That said, this PBS clip (which is almost as “too good to be true” as the clip of Shakopee’s own Gayle Quinnell excitedly and publicly dropping the bombshell of Obama’s true racial … and, I guess, moral qualifications with the declarative “he’s an Arab”) has captured my fancy with its public television-hewn mercilessness in the guise of intellectual generosity. If nothing else, Tracy Kerlee (pronounced “curly,” in case you wanted to know) provides the wrathful Christian soldiers with the official inflection for “President Obama.” Tucking lips into chubby maw while rolling eyes back into your secret third eye mandatory.

Underrated moment: The fact that the YouTube author chose to let Tracy’s husband have one telling sentence before she ambles onto the setup, and it’s that his only solid economic wish is that his business lasts long enough to allow him to retire. Screw those who aren’t ready for retirement when it goes under.

So, how was your week last week?

I was recruited to take a few back-up senior portraits of my cousin Jazz at the lake a few weeks back, and this was (paging Tyra) his best shot.

Download audio file (099.Mp3)

Hamilton Bo-Han-Non’s most cited song is undoubtedly “Let’s Start the Dance,” a synth-heavy concoction that sounds like a golden retriever shaking off after diving into a pool of glitter. It’s great, but if there was one constant in my voting patterns for Slant’s old and triflin’ dance list, it was that I was the one constantly advocating for unapologetically testosterone-fueled funk-dance tracks. More on that later, no doubt, but for now try and unpack this mostly inscrutable YouTube video for an earlier, equally-chuggable Bohannon rhythm exercise.

My hunch is, if visible, those cards would read something like:

IMG_0589.JPG, originally uploaded by Eric Henderson.

I grabbed nearly 600 photos last week while on vacation. Don’t be surprised if this turns into a photo blog. Well, you can be surprised to the extent that it turns into a blog at all, I suppose.