Lightning Crashes

Lightning Crashes

Fun fact: The song Lightning Crashes by the band Live is my least favourite song of all time. And by that I mean I f*cking LOATHE it.  No song should ever, EVER, contain the word “placenta,” especially if that word is sung all lustily by a slithery, rat-tailed proto-bro.  Not that I have any particular feelings on the matter!  Although my husband likes to tease me about my Lightning Crashes reaction time when we’re listening to music in the car – unlike the song, it does NOT suck, and it takes me maybe 1/100th of a second to shriek and snap off the radio in disgust.

I’m not disgusted by these nails, though, because they turned out really well!  I particularly like the sponged-on, ozoney bits. 🙂


November Rain


Oh my gosh, best music video EV-AH!  It’s so ridiculously excessive (though still not as overblown as Estranged, another Guns N’ Roses video, that one nearly exclusively featuring shots of Axl Rose to the rest of the band at about a 20:1 ratio.  He also jumps off an aircraft carrier and swims with dolphins, and the entire thing ends with him smiling smugly and palling around with an animatronic dolphin backstage, wut-wut! The rest of the band is occasionally there.  Shame, Slash’s leather pant game was/is tight, in oh so many ways.)

Also, this is some quality nail art punnage right here.  Come on, it made you smile, you can admit it. Sometimes lame is (very) funny. 😉

Groove is in the Heart (31DC2016)


Yeah, I’d best be getting my groove on seeing as I’m now three days behind on the 31 Day Nail Art Challenge, owing to what should have been some totally foreseeable technical difficulties (the installation of higher speed Internet to my apartment, and when does that ever go smoothly?  Never, which is why I was without a connection for a day and a half, which in Internet time is equivalent to 73 very long years.)

All blogging dramatics aside, these nails are my entry towards day 22’s theme of a song in the 31 Day Nail Art Challenge.  Groove is in the Heart, by early ’90s club band Deee-Lite, is one of those musical ear worms you either love or hate.  I fall into the latter category; it’s fun, but so gimmicky, and despite my husband’s protestations – he LOVES them like he loves the B-52s, another band with a similar retro vibe – it’s the very essence of a one hit wonder, and all those slide whistles start making me feel super twitchy after a bit.  But it has inspired some pretty cool nail art, so we shall call this one a win. 🙂

Day for (Desert) Night (Sky)

Desert Night Sky Bottle 1

The name of this pretty Enchanted polish is Desert Night Sky, but I’m Canadian, which means that starting this past Saturday with the nation-wide broadcast of beloved band The Tragically Hip’s final live performance, they are literally all I can think about, talk about, listen to.  So in my Hip-addled brain, it becomes Day for Desert Night Sky, a play on the title of their 1994 album Day for Night.

Lead singer Gord Downie, a man many view as Canada’s unofficial wandering troubadour, is dying. Glioblastoma, or in simpler terms, a fucking brain tumour.  In the wake of his diagnosis, the band, childhood friends who grew up in the same hometown as my husband, decided to head out on one last coast-to-coast tour, to say goodbye to the country that has supported it – fiercely, some may say greedily – for the last 33 years.

Our national broadcaster, the CBC, aired The Hip’s final show in Kingston, Ontario this past Saturday, and if it seemed to you, wherever you are in the world, that there was a sense of time standing still emanating from the Great White North, you’d be correct.  Die hard fan, unrepentant hater, casual listener, we all watched together as the band said its goodbyes to us, and we to it.  I watched all three hours of that incredible concert – crying through Fiddler’s Green, running out of the room during a particularly rough Bobcaygeon, trying to will Gord, through the impotent power of my thoughts alone, to finish Grace, Too amidst his anguished tears – and I wouldn’t even call myself a fan.  It was the very essence of Canadiana, a pure moment of undisputed national pride, the likes of which I don’t think we’ll ever see again.  The CBC estimates that over 11 and a half million people watched the un-edited, un-censored, advertisement-free show on Saturday night, or roughly one-third of the country.

So this polish has become Day for Desert Night Sky, the artwork of which is framed in the exact same dusky navy blue as this polish.  It’s also the same deep, denim blue of the Canadian tuxedo (jeans-on-jeans) worn by our prime minister, Justin Trudeau, when he attended the show on Saturday night. Coincidence?  Perhaps.  I suppose I’d be more likely to find Hip memories crawling out of all the dusty recesses of my mind this weekend than any other (like the time a horny young man in a bar hauled me out onto the dance floor to dry hump my leg to twangy historical number Nautical Disaster.  I tried to politely disengage, but he was as persistent as a schnauzer who’s scarfed down a pack of boner pills.  So I “pepper sprayed” him in the face with my knowledge of Downie’s esoteric lyrics, screaming “DID YOU KNOW THIS SONG IS ABOUT THE SINKING OF A GERMAN BATTLESHIP IN THE 1940s?!?  OVER 2,000 MEN DIED!!!” directly into his ear.  Guess who backed off in a hurry?  In addressing the rapturous audience one final time last Saturday, Gord Downie said, “Thank you. Thank you for that.”  Well, thank you, Gord, for that.)

Desert Night Sky Bottle 2


twenty one pilots hand

When it comes to my taste in music (“My taste in music is your face”?), I always defer to the wise words of Natasha Lyonne’s character, Christine, in one of my favourite movies, Detroit Rock City: “Good tunes is good tunes, be it disco or rock or polka or whatever have you, regardless of the category.”  That she’s blazed to the eyeballs when she unloads that bit of wisdom doesn’t diminish the sentiment – labels in music are bullshit. Who freaking cares so long as it moves you?

I wasn’t always so zen about the musical lines that divide.  In fact, after having spent a large portion of my teenage years jammed inside a sweaty little brick-walled concert hall with 500 of my now-closest friends, blowing out both my eardrums and my brain cells on barely listenable punk-ish rock (Fugazi, I’m looking at you), I became THAT PERSON.  You know that person – that completely annoying music snob who looks down her nose at everything that’s not within her pretty limited musical wheelhouse (alt rock, and the less mainstream, the better.)  Ugh, that girl was such a tool.

These days, I take a much more relaxed approach to the music that moves me.  When I’m in the car at least, I ride Sirius HARD, which is how I somewhat recently discovered twenty one pilots, the band that inspired these nails.  Sure, it all started with that Stressed Out song (their most popular, another little tidbit of non-hardcoreness that would have majorly irked me back in the day) but pretty soon I was checking out their videos on YouTube (in the video for House of Gold, they’re floating, ukulele-playing torsos!) and then quite obsessively checking out their videos on YouTube (pretty sure at this point I should just rename it PilotTube) and then buying all of their albums in both digital and physical formats so I’m never, ever without their weirdo, two-person alt rock clanging around inside my head, which is how I managed to memorize all of the songs off their last two albums – including the most recent, Blurryface – in the span of about a week and a half.

Yeah, I’ve got it bad.  So, so bad.  I love everything about them, and unabashedly so – the skeleton hoodies, the bike messenger pants, the ukulele, the accordion, the KEYTAR, the cute-as-hell boymance between the only two guys in the band, their whole small-town-kids-barely-grown-up-DIYness…I’ve gone full-on fangirl here, as I may have mentioned when I did these Suicide Squad nails last week.  And what do I do when I’m fangirling hard for something?  I put it on my nails, of course.  For this manicure, I attempted the band’s logo, as well as a few geographic designs inspired by Blurryface’s black, red and white album artwork.

twenty one pilots fingers

All My Friends Are Heathens

Suicide Squad 1 Hand

Know who was already ridiculously excited to see the Suicide Squad movie even before they released the soundtrack and she discovered twenty one pilots recorded the first single?  This person.  SO EXCITED!  The second trailer set to Bohemian Rhapsody?  A work of friggin’ beauty (also the thing that has me a touch worried; Black Dynamite, a 2009 spoof of the Blaxploitation movies of the 1970s, had an absolutely brilliant trailer that disappointingly failed to materialize into even five minutes of watchable film.)  Nothing but love, too, for the Heathens of twenty one pilots – if Josh and Tyler want to spend their off hours playing and pacing the dark, damp-soaked halls of Belle Reve prison for the comically insane, I’ll be right there alongside them.

I have so many thoughts on the subject of Suicide Squad and twenty one pilots, they’ll have to wait for another day, but I’ll say this right now: Before this flick comes out in two months’ time, someone needs to figure out how to harness the power of teenage boners as an energy source, because Margot Robbie’s cute, scampy, batshit bonkers Harley Quinn (painted here on my middle finger, alongside Jai Courtney’s Captain Boomerang) could power the entire eastern seaboard until Christmas.  Also, we are going to be AWASH in Harleys this coming Halloween, trust.

Suicide Squad 1 Fingers

Say My Name Three Times

Say My Name

Or “Say my name, say my name (say my name)” in the musical parlance of Destiny’s Child.  Because you just know they’re playing a horrible Muzak version of a Beyonce song in the Waiting Room of the Dead.  On repeat.  It’s actually just a playlist of one.

In case none of that made sense, here is a Beetlejuice-inspired manicure.  He wears a lot of black and white stripes and has green hair.  Anything that’s not striped is purple. And in order to get him to appear (and disappear) you have to say his name three times.  Why? Not a clue.  But I went with the lame Beyonce joke, because how could I not?