Talk of the town
In case you're dying to know what everyone's talking about in this here Valley of the Sun, let me give you a quick rundown:

- The weather. When are we not talking about the heat?

- The serial killers. Don't worry friends, last time I checked I was still alive.

- And of course, the matter of most vital import: Steve Nash's shorn locks. (Please don't let it be a Samson and Delilah-type story. Please!)



They know me. They really know me.
iDiscovered the new iTunes "Just For You" Beta program today. It takes stock of any songs I have purchased from the iTunes store and then recommends songs or albums based on my history, the same way Amazon tracks what you buy and makes suggestions based on your past purchases. It's fantastic; it's going to help me determine which albums I need to buy next from Zia Records (they're cheaper, they're local, and I get the album art then). This is going to save me hours of indecisively holding up two albums and trying to figure out which one I need more urgently. Here's what Just For You has told me today:

- You own Yanke Hotel Foxtrot. We recommend Illinoise by Sufjan Stevens and Our Endless Numbered Days by Iron and Wine

- You own Transatlanticism. We recommend Silent Alarm by Bloc Party.

- You own Songs for Silverman. We recommend Ganging Up on the Sun by Guster.

- You own Dear Catastrophe Waitress. We recommend XO by Elliott Smith.

- You own The Photo Album. We recommend More Adventurous by Rilo Kiley.

All of these are albums that I've had the suspicion that I need to own. iTunes has somehow gotten inside my brain and has filtered out the wheat from my proverbial chaff.

Heaps 'o Fun
Last Thursday Betsy and I went to see Imogen Heap in concert. She was A-MAZING. Imogen, that is. Although, Betsy's amazing, too. She just doesn't have a freaking awesome six-year-old-rolling-in-the-grass-coming-up-with-butterflies-and-twigs hairdo or a freaking awesome voice. I can totally see why Megan wants to name all her babies Imogen now. There was this guy standing in front of us at the concert, we'll call him Bruce, because he looked like my uncle Bruce. Bruce wasn't so much "standing" as he was dancing, and he wasn't so much "dancing" as he was twitching. Taken out of context, I might have thought Bruce was having a seizure while standing up; I would have been pretty impressed, considering he would have been seizing to the beat of "Headlock." It seemed somewhat appropriate, though, considering Imogen's spritely, child-like stage presence; she releases that, dance-like-you're-crazy energy.

Sun'spolsion!
We scored tickets (in the rafters) for tonight's playoffs game, Suns v. Clippers. I've mentioned before my newfound love for the Suns before, but just in case you were wondering why I love them, let me enumerate the reasons:
1. The way Steve Nash shoots like he's tripping over a rope strung across the court at his ankles, and how he passes without a second glance to teammates behind him. Dude has eyes all over the place. Not to mention the fact that he's NBA MVP for the second year in a row, baby!
2. Raja (Rings My) Bell. Did you see the way he threw Kobe down in a headlock in game five of the series with the Lakers? I think he was a wrestler in a previous life. You take that big sniveling baby down, Raja!
3. Boris Diaw: what a strange amalgamation of cultures: a Black Frenchman with a Russian name. Oh, and don't forget that he's the NBA's most improved player this year.
4. The way when Eddie House enters the game he drowns threes like it's his job. Well...it is, I guess, but he's damn good at it.
5. Leandro Barbosa's humility. Assistant Coach Dan D'Antoni actually has to feed his ego during practice because the guy's got self esteem issues apparently. Now there's something refreshing in the NBA.
6. Amare Stoudemeire's fashion sense. I love seeing the odd shirt-and-tie pairings he puts together for his injured courtside appearances.
7. They just play like a team, like they actually like to play, and like they actually like to play with each other. Imagine that.

:(
The Suns are out of the tournament.
I'm home sick.

the day steve nash came to my work
Or, things that make Erica freak out unnecessarily, part one.

There I was, chatting away with a coworker, when a slice of the Western Conference Finals walked right past her window. Mr. greesey-haired NBA MVP himself, just five feet and a pane of glass away from me. And boy am I glad that one-way, (relatively) sound-proof pane of glass was there. Otherwise I could have really embarassed myself with my octave-above-speaking-level screeches of, "Hey! That's Steve Nash! Steve Nash is walking by our window!" as I pressed my face up against the glass to try to get a better view. Our attempt (disguised as a bathroom run) to intercept him in the corridor was necessary, but alas, we missed him. Sigh. I recently moved my computer across the room so I could have a window seat and a view of the mountains, and now I wonder how many times I missed the visit of Phoenix's favorite Canadian. My eyes will be glued to that window from now on. Well...maybe not tomorrow, as the Suns will be in San Antonio, hopefully pulling out a win on the road.

things that make erica freak out unnecessarily, part two
The highlight of last night's screening of The Longest Yard came when Adam Sandler and Chris Rock were holding tryouts for the prison football team.
SANDLER: Has anyone here ever played football?
MAN W/ GINORMOUS BELLY: I have.
SANDLER: Where did you play?
MAN W/ GINORMOUS BELLY: Kansas State. [See Erica look wildly from side to side to see if anyone else noticed the reference to her original home team.]
SANDLER: Really? With Coach Snyder? [See Erica nearly jump out of her chair and cover her mouth with her hands to keep from exclaiming, "I know Bill Snyder! He used to sit across the aisle from me in church!"]
MAN W/ GINORMOUS BELLY: No. Kansas State Prison. [See Erica think of funny comeback: "There's no such thing as the Kansas State Prison! Just kU."]

more granola, please!
Tomorrow we're off to the Grand Canyon. I'm totally psyched for some hiking of the Big Ditch.