If you don’t know, Danilo Gallinari is from Italy and plays for the Denver Nuggets. As we speak, the ink is drying on the 4-year, $42 million extension he just signed with the team. He’s also on my fantasy basketball team, which appropriately and lamely is named the Galloping Gallinaris (in my defense, it’s only named this because I was totally messing with the guy who kept trying to trade some dude I’ve never heard of, a melted Snickers bar, and a bag of Fritos crumbs for Gallo, but goddamn if I didn’t know better than to take that deal).

Danilo Gallinari also apparently has some killer dance moves, if by “has some killer dance moves” I actually mean something else entirely. I hate when people post videos and tell you to watch them, really, they’re hilarious, but that’s exactly what I’m doing here even though it fills me with the existential angst that results from doing what you hate people doing. I’m not only speechless, I’m also incapable of conducting myself in accordance with the standards to which I hold others. I hope you’ll forgive me, though, because I make the party start.

Much love to @nuggetsnews for bringing this to the world’s attention.

Next time I go to a Nuggets game, I’m going to bust out the Gallinari.

The best musical entertainment my car has to offer is a CD player and a random selection of CDs from many years ago when I still bothered putting anything on CDs, plus one I got from the face-tattooed artist himself outside the liquor store by the Unsafeway  (which, for the record, is no longer unsafe). I’ve discovered that it is in fact possible, after many years, to get tired of Wale remixes, as well as pretty much everything else.

The one CD I haven’t been tired of lately is labeled, in Ben’s handwriting, “TRACY THINKS SHE’S THE SHIT.” If I recall correctly, it features songs I picked out from his music library in the early 2000s. It’s a lot of deep, housey stuff — Mark Grant, Maxwell, Naked Music NYC — I seriously can’t get enough of It’s Love (Joshua’s Mo Luv Vocal).

Because this is what I’ve been digging, this is what I wanted to put on my January 2012 playlist. But I can’t make a whole playlist of old stuff. So I took a little disco and mixed it with some Crisco and brought it back — no wait, that’s not what I did. I took a little early 2000s housey stuff, mixed it with some space disco, and threw in a few new things I just discovered today. Playlists (the exception being very meaningful playlists) are always better when you include new stuff you just found and think will fit but aren’t totally sure. I also advocate including at least one song that really doesn’t belong at all. (I was thinking about this today while pondering the anatomy of a good running playlist, which I’ll share with you as soon as I get it all figured out.)

Sidenote: How do you discover new music these days? My two favorite sources are Ben and Hype Machine. Hype Machine can be a little like looking for the perfect dress in a thrift store full of dubstep, but I always end up finding some good stuff.

Anyway, for a limited time, get the whole thing here. Here’s the tracklist. Enjoy!

Update: I forgot a song! Duh! Here is the updated playlist with the song (Stuck by Peven Everett). The tracklist should be amended to add that song at #25, then change Polish Girl to 26 and Contact High to 27. Sorry about that! Attention to detail = not my strong suit.

I hit up google and found this Smitten Kitchen recipe, which seemed good because she shared my issues with red velvet cake. Then I clicked the “adapted from” link to check out The New York Times red velvet cake recipe, which is exactly the same, word for word. (I noticed the same thing with her pineapple upside-down cake recipe, which, aside from omitting the cardamom, is an exact copy of the Gourmet recipe.) I thought it wasn’t cool to copy a recipe word for word, even if you link the original. What’s up with that?

Anyway, I followed the Times recipe exactly but for switching cake for cupcakes and using cupcake liners instead of butter and made the following high-altitude adjustments: decrease sugar to 1 1/2 cups plus 3 tablespoons and decrease baking soda to 1 1/2 teaspoons. I used this creamy vanilla frosting, which was kind of a lot of work but really good. Don’t cut this recipe in half — it didn’t result in the tragedy some commenters indicated but it wasn’t enough frosting. Also I recommend beating everything for longer than the recipe says — just a minute or two for the butter and butter and sugar and a good 5 minutes more at the end. The sugar granules went away after the 15-minute (exactly!) refrigeration.

So, if you’re in the market for good red velvet cake and coordinating frosting recipes, there you go!

For example, I didn’t need to read any books or have any discussions on any terrible parenting message boards to know that I will never let my kid cry it out, ever, for any reason. I don’t judge those who do, but it just isn’t for me. I won’t put him on a leash in public (I saw one the other day and I admit I see the appeal, but no). I don’t do time-outs. I didn’t force him to undergo any completely unnecessary medical procedures but you’re damn right he’s vaccinated. I don’t understand the point of juice. I figure he’ll potty train (I don’t even know if they still call it that. That’s old school. Tell me they don’t call it potty learning now. Or elimination education.) when he’s ready, someday. He’ll get rid of the pacifier he uses for sleeping tomorrow — er, someday.

(Sidenote: Do you ever wonder about Ben when I go on and on about “I” when I talk about parenting? We pretty much always agree on everything (I know, annoying) but I say “I” here because I’m really writing only about myself and I think it would be presumptuous to lump him in and say “we.”)

Then something like this happens.

We’ll give Soren some markers and a piece of paper and for a while he colors on the paper but then he’s all woohooooo my artistic expression cannot be contained by your silly and arbitrary boundaries, authority figures! I am a young boy who must draw and draw free!

Pop quiz:

What would you do in this situation?

• stop the drawing before it got to this point
• instruct the child on proper drawing procedure and surfaces
• scream and/or drink vodka and then write an ALLCAPS-LADEN BLOG POST ABOUT THE INCIDENT
• make the child clean it up
• spank the child
• express your displeasure verbally and/or through a series of disapproving glances or clucks
• admire the child’s creativity
• clean it up yourself?

Much of parenting is walking a tightrope between raising a sheep-like, rule-following, chickenshit conformist or raising the kind of kid who will grow up to be incapable of gainful employment and relegated to attempting to make a living as a blogger or lifestyle guru or whatever similar shit people will be doing when our kids are adults. Of course, most of us would prefer to avoid both of these tragic outcomes and instead raise kids who grow up to be just as self-actualized, intelligent, and thoughtful as we fancy ourselves. Am I right? We want our kids to grow up to know the rules and follow them when absolutely necessary but also to know when to bend or break the rules, or when to advocate in favor of or fight for new rules altogether.

In the above situation, I tend to admire the child’s creativity and clean it up myself. I know what you’re thinking — I’m well on my way to raising a kid who will grow up to be, what, Honeycrisp Darling, lifestyle guru and peddler of the Radical Self-Love Vibrator, yours for the low cost of $100US.

Here’s the thing, though. I think rules are important and you have to learn to follow them. But sometimes, you’re too young to know what the rules are and it’s going to take a while for you to learn them. Soren doesn’t yet reliably understand that paper is for drawing and the table isn’t. I suppose he could reliably know that if I were interested in micromanaging his marker experience, but what would that look like? Would I have to say “No!” every time his marker touched the table? When it continued to happen, would I have to take the markers away? What would he learn from that? “I shouldn’t draw on the table” or “Mom’s mean and doesn’t let me have any fun” or something else?

I don’t have answers to these questions and to me, the end result of washable marker on a table is harmless enough that I don’t stress about it and might even take a picture. I think it’s possible to not care about drawing on the table now and to have the eventual goal of teaching Soren that as a general rule, we draw on paper and not furniture.

I guess if I had to sum up my philosophy on this sort of thing, it would go something like this: I believe that children are inherently good and should be allowed to explore their worlds freely as much as it is possible and safe to do so.

Back when I was clerking, I applied to the U.S. Department of Justice Honors Program. This is how the DOJ hires people who just graduated from law school or have been clerking. I really wanted to work for the Antitrust Division. (I am a total dork for anything related to antitrust and mergers & acquisitions. Oh man M&A is so sexy I can’t even stand it. I would’ve loved to practice M&A law if it didn’t require long hours at a big firm.)

My understanding is that you have to be pretty awesome to be hired through the program, so I didn’t think anything would ever come of it. I was surprised when the DOJ flew me to DC (I used to be less opposed to flying than I am now) for an interview. I went out there, had what I thought was a good interview with a nice woman, and went home. I didn’t get the job.

Later, I got an interview with the Antitrust Division’s Chicago office. Holy crap! It was the best of all possible worlds — pretty much my dream job in my own city. Woohoo!

Apparently I did okay at that interview, because I was called back for a second interview. Apparently I did okay at that interview, too, because I was called back for a third interview.

The third interview took place in a conference room with approximately 100 people. I exaggerate, but there were enough people to fill up a big table. (Wouldn’t it be great if I blogged back then so I could check my facts? Not really.) It was mostly people I’d already met during my first and second interviews — the big boss and whoever else was interested in potential new hires.

One thing that was drummed into my head repeatedly throughout law school was that, when asked what your biggest weakness is, you’re supposed to respond with something that isn’t really a weakness and then explain how you use this non-weakness weakness to your advantage or have improved yourself as a result of having a non-weakness weakness. This kind of fake bullshit is why I hate interviews. The non-weakness weakness paved the way to today’s non-problem problem (I’m so gorgeous men are afraid to ask me out! I’m so smart people are intimidated by me!), also known as the humblebrag. I hate that shit.

If there was another thing that was drummed into my head repeatedly throughout law school, it was that you’re always supposed to ask questions. Never, ever, ever say “no” when asked whether you have any questions. To be a viable job candidate, you absolutely must have questions. Questions during an interview are the “staying on the rails” of Tootle. Do it no matter what.

When it came to the part of the third interview where I was asked by the big boss whether I had any questions, the truth is I didn’t have any questions. I’d already completed 2 2/3 interviews with these people and all questions had been asked and answered. No questions? You have to have questions! Questions!! So I looked at the big boss of the U.S. Department of Justice Antitrust Division Chicago office and I said, “If you were an animal, what animal would you be?”

I’ll never know if everybody in the room laughed with me or at me (maybe both?). To his credit, the big boss gave a very thoughtful response, something along the lines of he would be a sea turtle — not a little turtle — a big turtle who swims around the ocean.

You know how this story ends. I was one of two finalists and they hired the other one.

In the interest of full disclosure, I should tell you that this wasn’t the first time I asked someone the if-you-were-an-animal-what-animal-would-you-be question. One of my responsibilities as a member of the editorial board of law review was interviewing candidates for next year’s editorial board. The entire editorial board interviewed each candidate, and each editor was responsible for asking one question. My question was, as you might have guessed, “If you were an animal, what animal would you be?”

This indicates two things. First, I’m an asshole. Second, I’m clearly making use of that undergraduate psychology degree. I thought that how a person responded to the question — Does he give a serious answer? Does he give a dumb answer? Does he blow it off as a stupid question, which it totally is, but in so doing indicate that he’s an uptight prick who can’t be even a little creative or flexible under any circumstances (this guy is the bane of law reviews everywhere)? — was more important than what he actually said. The important thing, too, is that I never asked why. If you wanted to share the why, that’s cool, but I’m not going to ask you to because that’s just crazy — or crazier than asking the question in the first place.

By the way, I’d be a giraffe. They might be the hippies of the animal world.

I didn’t set out to get all ranty today, but I love this “12 Blogger Bad Habits” post on Sweet Tater so much and it got me thinking. Number 3 is my favorite, and it’s something that has been bothering me for a long time. It goes like this:

Calling your significant other anything but his/her given name. I’m serious with this. Just stop it.

Look. If you’re so concerned about privacy, why are you even broadcasting shit on the internet? Could you, at the very least, be less annoying than women who refer to their significant others as anything like:

• hubby
• hubs
• hubster
• Husband
• Mr. [insert your internet identity here]
• Daddy [insert your internet identity here]
• lover (gross!)
• boyf (unless you’re a drunk 21-year-old, in which case “boyf” is okay)
• any variation of gentleman (unless you’re at least 90 years old, in which case “gentleman caller” is okay)
• stupid college nicknames based on excess body hair
• any type of monkey-like animal
• DH, unless you’re married to Jim Thome, David Ortiz, or the like
• the [insert occupation here]
• a beverage
• a fake name you clearly publicize as fake (if you didn’t tell us we’d never know and wouldn’t care)??

One blogger I like refers to her husband as LT. This doesn’t bother me. I don’t know if those are really his initials and I don’t care. Initials aren’t annoying. Also, I picture her being married to LaDainian Tomlinson, which really adds a little something to her posts. I can think of a (very!) few well-thought-out nicknames used by people I know who don’t really blog, but that’s about it.

My favorite is when a blogger refers to her husband by some cutesy-annoying nickname on her blog but then @s him on Twitter, where he uses his real, full name. Or he “likes” her blog’s Facebook fan page (Why do these even exist?). You’re not fooling anybody! If people want to find out your husband’s name, they will. The more you make a big deal out of it the more they’ll want to find it. And you know what? Who cares? It’s not like people suddenly gain power as a result of knowing your husband’s name. Or even your child’s name.

Nicknames for kids also bother me. They’re always gross and they don’t even work. There’s always someone somewhere who will tell people your kid is named after a crappy Beatles song. And if you’ve ever referred to your child as DH, DD, or any type of bean anywhere online, the internet should be able to get a restraining order against you.

(And yes, for the record, Ben and I have nicknames for each other. They are terrible and will never be discussed here. They’re embarrassing and you don’t want to hear about that shit, anyway. And I don’t give a shit if the entire internet knows his name is Ben.) (Full disclosure: I briefly referred to Ben and Soren as B and S. But that makes me sound like someone from Gossip Girl, which would greatly improve my station in life but no.)

You know what also annoys me? People who write shit like “I love my husband.” I mean, duh? Does that really need to be said? Every time I want to see it I want to respond, “Oh man, lucky you. I fucking hate my husband!” Aside from the stating-the-obvious factor, nobody cares about the simple fact that you love your husband. If you want to tell us that, at least make it interesting!

Finally, today I realized that John Elway looks like a chess piece. See?

• 8:00 wake up
• 8:05 jump up and down in crib
• 8:06 scream
• 8:10 get out of bed
• 8:15 run around the house
• 8:30 eat waffles (waf waf) and stuff
• 9:00 continue eating (eating must take 30 to 45 minutes)
• 9:15 investigate whether poopies have been made by you or anyone else in the house
• 9:17 accuse the dog of making poopies
• 9:18 discuss poopies
• 9:30 get dressed
• 10:00 leave for stores
• 10:10 arrive at store, consider existential dilemma as reflected in the sense of helplessness experienced when one rides in shopping cart versus the sense of empowerment achievable while self-propelling through store, decide on self-propelling
• 10:15 throw yourself to floor screaming at least once, preferably in cleaning-goods aisle (bonus points for blocking traffic)
• 10:20 get distracted by a new container of Silly Putty
• 10:20:01 establish that you’re not that easily distracted
• 10:30 pick out Valentine’s Day cards for grandparents (note: they have cats on them)
• 10:45 get really mad when mommy won’t give you her wallet while going through check-out, drool on the one coupon your parents manage to use
• 11:00 drink at least one gallon of water while en route to next store
• 11:02 ride in cart; self-propelling is exhausting
• 11:05 eat 57 of the sample clementines in the produce section; get mad when you can’t have more oranges
• 11:06 become filled with rage when you can’t eat all the blackberries
• 11:10 eat a granola bar from mom’s bag
• 11:20 shriek at the nice old guy who talks to you
• 11:30 wait in the car with mommy while daddy goes to the beer store
• 11:40 sleep in the car for exactly 1 minute
• 12:00 arrive home and go down for nap
• 12:05 pretend to sleep
• 12:15 jump up and down in crib
• 12:20 jump up and down in crib and scream
• 12:30 get up and have lunch
• 1:15 run around like a madman
• 1:30 FOR THE LOVE OF GOD, THE BUDDHA, THE UNIVERSE, ANY HIGHER POWER OF YOUR CHOICE OR NO HIGHER POWER WHATSOEVER, THE SOLAR SYSTEM, ZEUS, ROTTWEILERS, JOHN MADDEN, OR ANYONE ELSE IN THE WORLD, DO NOT, UNDER ANY CIRCUMSTANCES, TAKE A NAP EVER
• 1:45 jump up in down in crib and scream
• 1:55 jumping and screaming 1/14/12 never forget there can never be enough
• 2:00 ever to sleep would be admitting weakness
• 2:05 okay fine sleep
• 2:30 have dad suddenly and terribly wake you up because you have somewhere to go
• 2:35 get dressed
• 2:45 unwillingly have a jacket applied to your person
• 2:46 leave the house
• 3:00 PARTY PARTY PARTY PARTY PARTY with other children yay!!!!!!!!!!!!
• 4:15 CAKE CAKE CAKE CAKE
• 4:45 to 8:30 at home, run around like a madman, dump all toys on floor where they must remain no matter what, run around, eat a nibble of something for dinner (optional), cry, scream, run around, get mad, throw toys on floor, experience the singular horror of toothbrushing
• 8:30 enjoy a lovely bed-time story
• 8:40 jump up and down in crib
• 8:45 jump up and down in crib and scream
• 8:46 be silent just to mess with them
• 8:50 jump up and down in crib
• 9:00 continue jumping up and down in crib
• 9:15 etc. etc. etc.
• 9:30 zzzzzzzzzzzzzzz