Pan Bopz

Werk

I think I speak for everyone when I say the panpipe is an instrument of grace and beauty. Everytime I walk through the Atlantic Avenue train station and here that small Peruvian man playing that song (I always think is some Vampire Weekend song, until he hits that one note), I get chills. And don’t even get me started on the fellows who play “My Heart Will Go On” in the Union Square station. Does love have a sound?

Since we are all in agreement that the panpipe (specifically the Andean Siku) is the dopest form of musical expression of all time, I think you’ll be with me on my next big idea: Pan Bopz. It’s like Kid Bopz (the adorable CD compilations of children singing pop songs such as “My Humps” and “Love in this Club”) only instead of stage children singing oddly censored versions of all the songs, everything will be panpipe remixed.

Here are some songs I might suggest for the first volume of Pan Bopz:

1. “We Are Who We Are” -Ke$ha

2. “The Seed (2.0)” -The Roots

3. “Never Say Never” -Justin Bieber

4. “Buy You a Drank” -T. Pain (yes, the panpipe will be autotuned)

5. “No Hands” -Wacka Flacka

6. “Cosmic Love” -Florence + the Machine

7. “Pon de Floor” -Major Lazer (you’re gonna think it’s “Girls” by Beyonce, but it’s not…it came first)

8. “What What” -Samwell (if you don’t know…)

9. “Pretty Wings” -Maxwell

10. “Tigthen Up” -The Black Keys

11. “No More” -3LW

12. “Maps” -Yeah Yeah Yeahs

13. “Ice Box” -Omarion

14. “Whip My Hair (Back and Forth)” -Willow Smith

Hidden Track: “Buy You a Drank” -T-Pain (acoustic version)

Once people see the range of the Siku (how it can go from T-Pain to Florence + the Machine, then back to T-Pain), everyone will want to use it in their music. Seal will feature it exclusively in his next album. Taylor Swift will sing alongside a beautiful sikuist clad in fringe at the Kid’s Choice awards. And Beyonce and Jay-Z will have their un-conceived child trained in Peruvian siku, and she (Jayzonce) will be the most famoust panpipe player in all the universe (next to Damian Draghici of Romania, of course).

So look out for Pan Bopz at your local FYE (there’s one at the mall). It’s going to be huge, and you want to get on this train while there’s still room.

Hand-y Work

Years of dancing have made me a bit self-conscious about my feet. They’re hooves. If you saw only my feet and were asked to guess my name, you might go with Seabiscuit. But little did I know how atrocious my hands were until last week.

While chilling in Heather’s apartment, two of my male friends (who shall remain nameless…) noticed my unsightly paws. I think the initial reaction by the pair was something like “God Almighty,” or simply “Huge!” These were the peculiarities they noticed:

1. Really long thumb. Hitchhiking shouldn’t be a problem for me. Ever.

2. Bowlegged pointer. My pointer (or as I call it in my mind ‘main finger’) has an inward curve. We’re not going to call it a bowfinger. We’re going to call it a bowlegged finger.

3. Wide-set pinky. My pinky finger is about three miles away from the rest of my fingers. It was not invited to the party.

4. Big. Just, like, really enormous man hands. I did not believe this until they both held their hands up to mine. They are both taller than me, one of them by a few inches at least. And both of their hands were the same size as mine. And they are dudes. I would, however, like to point out that the taller fellow whose hands are the same size as mine has feet the size of a 14 year pageant girl. He is quite dainty.

I didn’t believe all of these things until we were all out again for happy hour this weekend. They called over one of their other male friends (who, I might add, is shorter than me but has bigger hands, meaning he is a normal man, not like those other jerks whom I assume are reading this right now). But his reaction was still something along the lines of “Holy hell,” or “Call the doctor!” He was most confused by the wide-set pinky.

“I bet you can palm a basketball,” he said. It felt kind of like a question, but it wasn’t, so I just stared at him, devoid of emotion, because I had nothing left inside of me at that point.

I am coming to terms with my beastly hands. I paint my nails to femme ’em up a bit. I hold flowers and glasses of champagne. Ladyish things like that. But at this point, I don’t think there is any turning back. I mean I could get a hand-plasty, fix those babies up a little. Maybe correct that pointer curve, get a thumb reduction, pull the pinky in, a general hand tuck. But that costs money that I don’t have and that I would rather spend on delicious sandwiches anyway. I’m fine with my hands as they are. My mother says they are lovely, and that is all that matters.*

*My mother’s hands are larger than mine. Whoa!

Run It, Run It

I hear ya, Peter.

I used to think that running was only appropriate when one was late for something or being chased. But since graduating, I’ve learned the value of running as exercise. It is a strange concept, I know. I have been running about 3.5 miles a few days a week for the past 2 years. The benefits include learning new rap songs via my iPhone Pandora app and readying myself for a chase.

Last weekend, I was feeling strong and ambitious, so I thought I’d double my run. I ran up the pier for just over 30 minutes before turning around to come back. I logged about 7 miles. Oddly, it felt pretty good, and I only almost vommited once, so I decided to do it again the next day. 7 more miles. Things were going well, but around mile 5 my knee started to hurt. I thought to myself, Be a man! And I did. I powered through like a big, butch man. When I got home I did some stretching, and this was when I noticed that I pulled my calf.

“Charlie horse!” I shouted. “Charlie horse!” I don’t even think it was a Charlie horse, but it just felt right.

I was so distracted by my “Charlie horse” that I didn’t notice my knee until I began walking in Soho later that afternoon. It hurt worse than it had ever hurt before.

“Aich! Eeech!” I said as I limped through the streets, because “ouch” is so cliche.

I had to go to the bathroom, so I went to Bloomingdale’s (this is the only time I ever go to Bloomingdale’s). But as I scaled the steps, the pain in my knee worsened. It was almost unbearable. I thought of asking them if they had a wheelchair I could borrow, just for the day, but I thought that might be a bit dramatic.

I told my friend Emily, a world-class marathon runner, what I had done. She quickly reprimanded me. Turns out, when you’re training, you should only increase your distance by about 10-15% at a time. Apparently increasing by 100% is not a great idea.  It’s like babies who can read as soon as they learn to talk. I hate those babies.

So, I have refrained from running, but I endured the knee pain for an entire week. That’s right. 7 days of “aich” “eeech.” But yesterday I bumped my good knee on the coffee table and took part in a 2 minute “Family Guy” style knee grabbing “sssssss.” At this point, I think the wheelchair is my only option, and I’m going to give Hoveround a call this afternoon to see if they have any sort of payment plan. And I will reserve running for chases in the near future.