- See more at: http://blogtimenow.com/blogging/automatically-redirect-blogger-blog-another-blog-website/#sthash.ZOSg03mN.dpuf Katie Nugent Photography: 2009


the day went downhill

When we left off, I had revealed our harrowing journey from La Paz to Copacabana. At the time, the Momma bear was feeling a little "off" and yet she soldiered on, displaying a brave face, even though it looked green. When we arrived at our hostel in Puno, Peru (yes we had to cross the border once again!) we put her straight to bed, hoping a good night's sleep would erase whatever was causing her ashen appearance.

Unfortunately plans rarely go the way we organize them. In fact during the middle of the night I awoke to find my body performing the jitterbug, my teeth chattering to set the tempo. I piled on every article of clothing I had and when the not-so-good vibrations refused to stop, I woke my bedroom buddy, Mags, our newly minted nurse in the family, and begged for help. She opened her bag of pharmaceuticals (it's a wonder she never got searched during all those border crossings), concocted a nice little potion and put me back to bed. In my drugged up stupor the last thing I remember was her saying her belly wasn't feeling great. And then came the welcomed coma I sank into for the remainder of the night.

The morning found Momma bear, head first in the toilet, a sure sign the good night's sleep prescription had failed. When she vacated her post, our little nursing darling, ran in to take up her position. Somewhere in the night her belly had contorted to bring out, ummm, everything.

Molly and I, being historically squeamish, left the bombing beauties to their commode lovin' and raced to the soundproof breakfast area. There we spoke of lovely things and ignored the predicament at hand completely. The predicament being how to get two spewing, backfiring bellas onto the bus without causing calamity. We also ignored the fact that neither of us was feeling good, instead using the tried and true technique of -- fake it 'til you make it. Which meant using only positive and affirming statements like "I feel amazing!"

Molly pretending everything & everyone was "amazing"

Luckily we only had one near disaster right before loading the bus, when Maggie stopped mid step and hunched over the gutter, bringing her face right close to a forgotten doggie dodo, bringing on even more gagging. I yelled at her to find a washroom immediately as I refused to be part of the canadian unloading her guts into the gutter along with the dog shit pile, a tact that scared her or inspired her to find a more private venue.

this might have been the only time Maggie left her bus cocoon.
However once we loaded the bus we all felt safe and secure in our little bus womb, with it's plush, wide seats and onboard facilities. If anyone disbelieved that heaven exists they need to get their bums on that bus. And we were not the worst of the bunch. No there was an older man attached to an air mask who looked far more ashen than the four of us combined.

she wasn't even wearing lipstick... a bad sign indeed.
Over the course of the day we stopped at "must-see" spots, including a little incan house with pet llamas, alpaca and guinea pig. Although I don't actually believe they were pets but merely edible animals, still it was nice to pet them. At the last stop outside of Cusco we entered an old church undergoing extensive repairs. Half the church had been renovated while the other half awaited it's makeover, an interesting paradox to see. Poor momma bear who is usually so filled with inquiry went to ask our guide about something but once she realized the amount of effort it would take to grab his attention and figure out the proper spanish wording, she shut her mouth and plopped down on the bench. "I don't even care," she said. Which made both Molly and I stare mouth agape, taking stock of this once in a lifetime moment. Our mother, keeping quiet and no burning questions of minute detail to ask... maybe this travel sickness wasn't so bad after all.
yes this is me singing to an Alpaca, it was part of my "positive" affirmations

PS have you seen waitress? I loved it so very much it's on my top ten.


travel days can be crappy...

Travel days have a tendency to be annoying. Especially when there is distance to cover and borders to cross. Numerous times. Why, you ask, did we need to cross the Bolivian/Peruvian borders a number of times? Well my friends let me tell you the tale...

We awoke fresh as can be in La Paz, ready to see the highest lake in the world: Lake Titicaca. Oh we had plans, yes we did. We would arrive at the lake by noon and enjoy a lavish buffet of fine bolivian delicacies, and then we'd board a catamaran to take us to Isle Del Sol, the very birth place of the Incan Empire. Excited we were, oh yes indeed.

So onto the bus we boarded. Cuddled two by two into our pleasantly uncomfortable seats. Not a problem, oh no. We are travelers here to rough it. Moments later we arrived outside a Hostel International hostel. Shortly after a number of grimy brits, all stinking of stale booze with an equally sour look on each of their faces, infested our bus. (note to self: I do not miss that aspect of backpacking. Thank the lord I have become sophisticated) (readers note: some of my best friends are brits so I'm allowed to hate on some travelers. In fact we met a couple of people from BC who were so awful I considered telling people we were american, but that's another story)

Anyways, onwards we drove, out of the city and out into the countryside. But wait. Aren't we suppose to be surrounded by lovely bolivian scenery passing by? The scenery looked awfully brown. Not lovely at all. In fact it looked suspiciously like the scenery described in our travel guide under the heading: THE ROUTE NOT TO TAKE TO LAKE TITCACA. Hmmmmm....

And then it came... the brief notice that the other (read: more scenic and quicker) road to Lake Titicaca had been washed out in a flash flood and we would be taking the long way around. Not a problem, we can go with the flow.

And as we were going with the flow our own bladders begin to overflow. Molly and I began to bounce uncomfortably in our seats as we realized we had overlooked the fact that there was no washroom on board. So Molly, being the take action kind of girl she is, asked the driver to pull over. Anywhere. Pronto. Ten minutes they said. But in Bolivia ten minutes is not the same as in Canada. Nope. For each canadian minute you can add an additional 5 bolivian minutes. As I watched my sister bite her nails down to nubbins and point out every passing pee-able spot, I began to wonder if we shouldn't have bought a P-mate; the tool that allows women to pee standing up. Just as I was considering how to MacGyver our own P-mate the bus pulled over and we rushed to the ladies. Only to find it locked. There in the middle of nowhere we found ourselves a toilet behind locked doors, which would not or could not be unlocked. Deep breath. We'll squat. Yep. Squat we did right next to the horrified brit boys who were relieving themselves behind a wall. Sorry emergency.

Three hours later, we found ourselves at the border crossing. Which was funny because we weren't actually suppose to be going across the border. We were suppose to be going to Copacabana, Bolivia. Not crossing to Peru until later. Hmmmm...

But we were good little tourists and lined up to have our passports stamped. Time ticked and we waited. The brit kids bitched, we waited. Our catamaran departure time passed, we waited. Mom got a little heat strokish, we waited. Finally, an hour and a half later, our passports were stamped and we boarded the bus. So no bolivian delicacies buffet, no Isle Del Sol, no nothing but a stamp in our passport and one nauseated mom.

I could go on. I could tell you about the confusion of everyone being told they had to pay their fare a second time because their tickets had mysteriously disappeared. I could tell you about the brits who screamed and stamped their feet forcing the bus to pull over when they refused to pay. I could tell you about the second time we crossed the border a mere 35 miles from the other border and then crossed back to Bolivia by foot because the bus couldn't cross the border. But it wouldn't matter. Because in the end our little tour guide who's name escapes me, came through and delivered a very sweet alternative which had us out on a private boat cruising around Lake Titicaca and checking out the floating islands created entirely of reeds. So the crap travel day turned out to be not so bad because he made an effort and we decided to go along with it. After all it's what you have to do when you're on the road. Just go with the flow... as long as there's a toilet near by.


Oh boy.

Did three weeks really just go by? I'm feeling slightly sheepish at my muteness, but alas dear readers I was caught up in pretending to be a gypsy for those three weeks. My little heart couldn't have loved every moment anymore than it did. You see, secretly I've always thought of myself as a wandering soul. I can't get enough of other people and other cultures and other lands. Like a kid meandering along the beach, collecting rocks and seashells and feathers, I'd like to take a big scoop and fill my pockets up with everything I see and do and hear and think whilst travelling. Then I'd bring everything home, line it up on my countertop and examine it closely from every angle. Since that's not really possible I just had to be present in those passing moments, so I'm sorry if I got caught up and stayed away from this little haven of mine.

I hope you will forgive me and enjoy my snippets of images and stories from Bolivia, Peru and Argentina. TO savour the trip a little bit longer, I thought I would break it up into segments that way you have more tales to read and images to digest.

Let's begin with La Paz, Bolivia...

I had never really thought about Bolivia. It wasn't one of those places that beckoned me. We really only decided to fly through La Paz to help us acclimatize to the altitude. BUT I loved it. I don't know why. We slept the entire first day; the altitude made a flight of 20 stairs feel like what I would think an IronMan triathlon might feel like; our hands and feet were constantly tingling from the altitude pills we were taking; I didn't speak the language, or at least not cohesively; but I fell in love. There was just something that makes me want to go back and explore. Like a really great movie preview that leaves you desperate to find the film. Here's a few shots I took, some from the hip, some with a little more care.

Street Shots:

Side Streets La Paz, Bolivia

Building, La Paz Bolivia

Candy Shop, La Paz Bolivia

Evening Market, La Paz Bolivia

Street Vendors, La Paz Bolivia

San Francisco Cathedral, La Paz Bolivia


Proust Questionnaire

The back page of each Vanity Fair issue is dedicated to the Proust Questionnaire, which has been answered by some rather interesting subjects... or as they say in Vanity Fair "Noteworthy". Well I believe I am a noteworthy person and therefore I am revealing to you my innermost workings through my thought-provoking answers. Marcel Proust, who was a french essayist and novelist- quel souprise!- believed answers to the following questions reveal the true nature of the subject. So if Proust was all in then so am I... prepare to meet the real me.

1. What is your idea of perfect happiness? satisfaction and contentment regardless of life's situation
2. What is your greatest fear? Screwing it all up in the blink of an eye
3. What is the trait you most deplore in yourself? Feeling guilty about things I have no control over, like the fact that I can go into the grocery store and buy food off the shelves. At times I get so worked up I just leave. Seriously.
4. What is the trait you most deplore in others? A lack of empathy
5. Which living person do you most admire? my family, my teachers, my friends
6. What is your greatest extravagance? Drinking coffee in bed during the day
7. What is your current state of mind? In flux
8. What do you consider the most overrated virtue? Abstinence
9. On what occasion do you lie? When the bigger Truth isn't being served
10. What do you most dislike about your appearance? my bum, or rather the spot where the hamstring inserts into the gluteus maximus.
11. Which living person do you most despise? I haven't met that person yet.
12. What is the quality you most like in a man? generosity in matters of the heart & humour
13. What is the quality you most like in a woman? openness, humour,
14. Which words or phrases do you most overuse? Soooooo. & shit

15. What or who is the greatest love of your life? Who- Hubby, What- Yoga

16. When and where were you happiest? San Sebastien, a little hole in the wall cafe on a hill, a bottle of wine, olives and hubby-to-be.
17. Which talent would you most like to have? the ability to ease people's consciences
18. If you could change one thing about yourself, what would it be? having more patience
19. What do you consider your greatest achievement? I don't think I've gotten there yet
20. If you were to die and come back as a person or a thing, what would it be? A yogi/Ninja
21. Where would you most like to live? the world
22. What is your most treasured possession? my grandpa's family ring and the book "the Prophet" from my mom
23. What do you regard as the lowest depth of misery? losing total faith in oneself
24. What is your favorite occupation? professional cuddler
25. What is your most marked characteristic? I'm still figuring that one out.
26. What do you most value in your friends? laughter, honesty, sincerity
27. Who are your favorite writers? Ahhhhhhhhhhhh... I can't choose
28. Who is your hero of fiction? All the characters of "Love Actually'
29. Which historical figure do you most identify with? Sri. K Pattabhi Jois, Gandhi
30. Who are your heroes in real life? My family, my teachers, my friends
31. What are your favorite names? Isla, Elle, Jacob, Rex,
32. What is it that you most dislike? ignorance, poverty, mean-spirited remarks, injustice
33. What is your greatest regret? dishonouring a friendship
34. How would you like to die? like the crazy yogis who just decide it's time and poof they're gone
35. What is your motto? effort and faith. Pattabhi Jois says yoga is 99% practice and 1% theory, but I like to apply that to life.


back to basics

Everyone is so wistful when Summer ends, and Autumn rolls around. However I'm not one of those people. I love Autumn. I don't like the name Fall. No. Fall reminds me of broken bones and embarrassing slips, of people staring and stifling laughter. It's a little too harsh for such a lovely season.

Autumn is more romantic. It's the name that says "come out and play. The tourists are gone. The air is fresher, the days quieter, the nights longer." It's like when you finally let go of the breath you've been holding, when you put up your feet at the end of a long day. It's getting up late on the weekends & wearing sweaters in the morning while drinking coffee on the deck. It's quilts on the bed and soup on the stove. It's mountains and trees. It's getting back to basics.

Summer is steamy and busy. Like an intense love affair that makes you dizzy but is over in an instant. I was never good at flings. I got too attached, hence why my intense love affair turned into marriage. Thank god my man loves Autumn as much as me.

Enjoy Autumn. And these first photos with my Diana taken when I visited hubby out in the woods. Canoeing, hiking, hotsprings, crisp mornings, hot coffee, laughing, quiet, mountains. DREAMY. Did I mention I love Autumn?


Alone with a pot, a stove & a spoon

My older sister gave me my first cooking lesson. She showed me how to push a chair up to the cupboard so I could reach the peanut butter. She showed me how to unwrap and re-wrap the bread bag so the bread wouldn't dry out. She taught me to stand on my chair at the counter top with all my ingredients and cooking utensils, and prepare my very own breakfast. It was very liberating at three years old to be self-sufficient in the kitchen.

Now twenty-three years later, it's a bit more daunting to be in the kitchen alone. Peanut butter and bread just don't cut it, mostly because I don't really eat either of them, at least not as stock items ingested throughout the day. Now that hubby's out in the bush, working and fishing and getting back to his manliness, I find myself wandering though the kitchen, dinner time fast approaching, poking through cupboards searching for the adult equivalent to PB and bread. Usually I settle on fruit, eaten standing at the sink, juices dripping down my arms and splurting everywhere. Or nuts. Or if I'm willing to wait a pot of rice, beans and veggies is like a 5 course meal in this single/married girl's life. I've tried to mix it up, but when it comes down to it, I usually want my staples. I want what's easy, what I know and what I don't have to think about.

It isn't that I don't like cooking. I love cooking. But cooking for one isn't as satisfying. Sure if the meal's a flop there's only one victim but if the meal's a success there's only one winner, and everyone knows winning is way more fun when other people witness it. Real cooking is far more than boiling, dicing and stirring. It's about the company.

Some of our best dates have been spending the day cruising around the markets, picking out ingredients, watching the meal take shape based on what's ripe and fresh and looking tasty. Throw in a good bottle of wine, silly conversation, solid tunes, and now we're talking. I'll take that over a fancy meal in a restaurant any day.

Still, alone in the kitchen I feel a bit mischievous eating at the kitchen sink, or straight out of the pot. It's like standing on that chair, three years- old, mistress of the kitchen with my very own spread of peanut butter and bread.It's a different kind of cooking. It isn't fancy or decadent in the ordinary way. To an outsider it looks simple and bland, but to me it's a little piece of self-sufficiency I've grown to appreciate.


Love & such craziness

Have you seen this website? Cardboardlove.com is for those who love Love, who live and breathe Love, who devour the cuteness of Love in one big juicy mouthful and swallow it whole.

Sometimes this website gives me a stomach ache if I take too big of a bite. Especially since my man is away. Away and focused and busy doing things that need to be done, for him and for me.

My man who stole my heart a long time ago in a park on the beach. Only three days after he trailed me to a gig where he didn't fit in, he stole my heart with one soft look... hooked for life.

He is not one to splash his love on the web for all to see, not one to make big attention grabbing declarations of love.

But when it comes down to it, when I am feeling shaky and unclear, stamping my feet and blathering incoherent nonsense, he knows what to say, or do or not do to make it better. When we're apart and the coffee's not as good, the sleep not as steady, and I start to forget what it's all about, he reminds me.

Which is why I let him have my heart in the first place.



If I could I would...

There's three forest fires raging all around the west side of town. It's smoky and sad and there's a feeling of frenzy ripping through the city, making it seem impossible to go on with life as though nothing were happening.

And yet, people are still carrying on. Getting their groceries, playing at the beach, life just keeps going while 10,000 people are on evacuation notice. It seems a little weird. A little detached. Like those commercials about global warming, where the family is out camping while a forest fire rages around them. But in times of crisis I guess we hold onto what we know and the beach, the groceries, the driving, the chatting, it's what we know. 

But in times like these I like to think about all the things I still want to do, see and try. Rather than get caught up in the hamster wheel, I like to try to bust free with thoughts of what else? 

So here's my list of things to do, see, try:

Visit here before my heart bursts from longing:

Get back to this since I quit after I sprained my ankle 7 years ago:

Buy one of these and go anywhere it takes me:

Fill more of these, since I seem to forget how to write: 


Full moon craziness

If you're wondering why you're feeling all crazy inside... it's because of the full moon, which is also being eclipsed this evening. I don't mean to sound like some crazed hippie preaching about the ways of the land, but I just thought I'd put it out there in case you're wondering why you feel all shook up inside.

Perhaps you are one of the lucky people not really affected by the lunar pattern and to you I raise my middle finger in silent jealousy.

I am not one of those people. No. I am the type that wind up sputtering and foaming at the mouth at 2 am in some packed ER, wondering what the hell got me here in the first place. Ok that's a little dramatic but I most certainly am not the girl-next-door on full moons.

In case you think I'm talking mumbo jumbo, we must look at the way Le Lune affects the earth's rotation, affected by the ocean's wave pattern, an ocean made of water, water that makes up around 65% of our total body... and you question why it would affect us little peeps? People get real here, this isn't hairy-fairy hippy stuff, it's science. Perhaps unproven but ask any doctor or nurse in the ER on a full Moon night and they will tell you the crazies come out when the moon is shining.

So my point is this... if you are feeling a little off, maybe a little crabby or tired, or wanting to rip someone's throat out, don't worry it's only the Moon... you're just fine.

If you start to turn into a wolf-like creature around midnight that might be an issue to take to your local doctor. But don't go to ER that's where the crazies will be.

My photo- my eye
Happy full moon eclipse day.


Dear God...

In case your day isn't a happy one, I thought these might pick you up. It's nice to know that even when talking to God, kids will say it like it is. 

more here


Tick, Tick...

I can't put my finger on it but I am fairly certain time is speeding up when I'm not looking. I wake up at sunrise and go to bed after dark and still there is not enough time to get it all done. And what is it all? I have no bloody idea.

Well, actually I do have an idea. It's all the items waiting to be ticked off my list. Yes. The List. The god forsaken scrap of paper that keeps getting longer even when chores/odd jobs/never-going-to-happen-but-would-like-to-think-they-will type things get scratched off The List. I scratch an item off and add two more chores in it's place. It looms from my desk, peering over my shoulder when I am taking a breather, enjoying a cup of tea, or reading a trashy, non-thought provoking book, just because I want to. That damn list taps its toes impatiently as if to say "you got things to do girl, what's all this non-productivity about?"

When I was a teenager/young adult still living at home, my mom used to leave the ubiquitous list on the kitchen table, ready for me to pounce on first thing in the morning. I hated the list. I used to huff and grumble about having to clean whatever corner of the house she insisted needed attention that very day, rather than let me sit on my tush and nurse my hangover du jour. The list often brought about a heated debate in our household. An aggravated, hungover adult/child versus a hard-working, annoyed by hungover adult/child, and somewhat perfectionist mother. I didn't often win, until the day I officially flew the coop permanently.

Yep, I was free from the List for one glorious year, until I found myself creating little reminders on scraps of paper. Not only for myself, but also for hubby. Then it spun out of control. I started colour coding the damn thing, trying to make it look pretty so I could post it to my fridge and convince myself it was an artistic expression with daily pointers. Sorry honey, you're not fooling anyone. I had turned into my mother... god help us.

So my friends I've decided to give the finger to the list and create a much lovelier, dreamier, tantalizing list, to piss the task master list right off. The new and improved list looks something like this:

Go here

Do more of this


and this

and a little of this

enjoy this film again

start each day with this

wear this often

So much to do, so little time to do it.


Coffee Dates...

I have been having a terrible battle with myself over my one perceived habit I simply can't kick: Coffee, the other black gold. I like a strong dark roast, freshly ground, steaming hot, a no frills cup of black deliciousness served in a pretty mug. Ohhhhh baby, a little piece of bliss in the morning. Sometimes at night I get a little twinge of excitement about the goodness that awaits to be prepared in the crisp morning hours. It's nerdy, but so true.


And yet I'm not sure this love of coffee is always loved by my body. Somedays I find my heart racing, or I get the shakes in an early morning yoga class. I have tried to give it up, lasting weeks on end, but the whirrr of the grinder and the aroma of the beans always draws me back.

Some of my favourite moments have been linked to the bevvie. In fact, during the first year of our marriage, I moved away from my man to go to school while he hung back to work. Every morning at the same time we would have a long-distance coffee date, whispering about our days, our hearts, our dreams. It was our own little way of waking up with each other, creating a sense of togetherness when we were miles apart.


So the question remains: if you get tremendous joy out of a habit, is it maybe not so bad? Is it possible that these mini moments of bliss are just that and shouldn't be messed with, or is it simply a desire/attachment I need to move beyond?
OK we're not solving the world's problems here but it's something to ponder.



There is a man who lives a few doors down from us. Every day I drive down our alleyway, coming and going and buzzing around, and there is the little man sitting on his back porch drinking beer from sun-up to sun down. He has the saddest eyes I've ever seen. I always wave or shout hello in that blink of an eye when I cruise by and he tips his can toward me in salute. I don't know why I never stop or take him a little treat, because I can't help feel sad for my little friend, sitting out there drinking his moments away. I can't help wonder what got him to that place, with those sad eyes and a suitcase of beer to help him get through it.

It makes me think about all the moments in my life when big choices I made, impacted this very moment I live. When I chose to stay instead of go. To turn left, not right. To speak and in hopes of being understood, or stayed quiet to make it all blow over. Our paths dip and dive, criss-cross with others and swerve away, run parallel for awhile or forever and for whatever reason I've ended up here with the people in my life, with the passions and wants and needs and frustrations and loves and hates I have, wondering if I'm where I should be or, if left was suppose to be right.

I think about all this as I drive down our dirty alleyway, past the house with dandelions and junk for a backyard, past the kids on bikes with nothing better to do than spin around the neighbourhood, past the cat hunting, to the sweet green house at the end of the alleyway where our dog comes running for pets and kisses, a hubby leans against the back door waiting to unload the groceries, and I know I'm where I should be.


mixed tapes

Have you seen "The Wackness"? It's a movie set in the summer of '94 about a stoner/pot dealer kid from Brooklyn who just graduates from high school. I loved the story line and this cute little confused pot head boy who struggles with all the things a 17-year old struggles with, but what I really liked about it was how he made mixed-tapes for all the people he cared about and it brought me back to the days of creating the perfect mixed-tape.

Forgive me if I am not speaking your language, but one can only ever know the true art of mixing a tape if they have logged the tortured hours of deciding, rejecting, creating and finally recording every single song in perfect playing order, dedicated to the ultimate listening pleasure of the lucky recipient. Everyone who has ever created a mixed-tape for their biggest crush knows,behind every song recorded there is a deeper subliminal message. Therefore the recorded songs must speak for the mix-maker, whispering the secrets of her tortured heart in hopes of quietly revealing the truth to the mix-receiver.

Please don't confuse the making of a mix with the making of a CD or playlist, as these are not comparable at all. To start with, a tape-maker must first decide and hunt down each individual song from various sources in order to begin recording. Once at the recording stage, each song must be individually recorded onto the tape, listening to each and every song all the way through in order to pause the recording at the PRECISE end of the song, to avoid any clumsy sound blips between songs. When making a CD/playlist the maker need only drag and click the songs, press a button and burn. They can download as many songs as is needed to have a plethora to choose from. There is no craft, no passion, no thought. No, the art of the mixed-tape has long been forgotten so I felt it necessary to remind you of all the hours you may have spent recording for friends and crushes.

I even know the final recipient of a KT mixed-tape. He was an english boy I desperately loved. The tape was a birthday gift I spent hours recording and editing, creating a list of songs I hoped spelled out exactly how I felt. I have long forgotten what was on that tape, except for one song I hear occasionally by one of his then-favourite bands. When I hear it I can't help laugh at how quickly my mind goes back to the making of the tape I was certain would seal our fate. A fate which was intervened by another boy I met a few months later who eventually placed a ring on my finger, and never needed a mixed-tape to decipher the love buzzing around my heart. If I were to make Hubby a mixed tape here's the top 10 songs I would choose:
Wild Horses-- Rolling Stones, I'm a sucker for this one
Juicy-- Notorious BIG, he's a sucker for this one
Golddigger-- Kanye West, this song played everywhere we went in California on our honeymoon
I hope-- Dixie Chicks, I play this song when I need a pick-me-up & it makes him laugh
Bobcaygeon-- Tragically Hip, we saw them live last summer
Can I kick it?-- Tribe called Quest, classic mixed-tape song
Welcome Home-- Metallica, because he likes metal
Ruby Soho-- Rancid, another classic
My doorbell-- White Stripes, I don't know why
Quality Control-- Jurassic Five, come on what's a mixed-tape without this one!

What's on your tape?

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