Sunday, March 31, 2002
School trains kids to be rock stars.
4:21 PM | e-mail |
Rock School aims to give kids the basics -- scales, chords, rhythm and breathing exercises -- but the real focus is on performing. Every three or four months they put on shows.It's hard to even start to describe how excellent that sounds to me right now, as I sit in my college dorm room learning the words to Pulp's "Common People" and wishing I was somewhere else. To be precise, I'm wishing I was on a stage somewhere. I think I'm developing a complex.
Performances are usually at Indre Studios in South Philadelphia, a cavernous space with rough walls, strings of holiday lights and old couches in the corners.
"The show is it. It's the night you go up on stage and you're the person everybody's looking at. You're a rock star," says Shannon Lochner, 15. "And at the end Paul says, 'You did a good job,' and you go, 'Wow.'"
4:21 PM | e-mail |
Peep Surgery. Well, there's my Easter made. A surgeon attempts to seperate conjoined Marshmallow Peep quintuplets... modern medicine amazes me.
2:29 PM | e-mail |
One of the great mysteries of the Peep species is that these creatures are always born as conjoined quintuplets. Some scientists have theorized that this arrangement, much like pack behavior in other species, serves as a natural protection against predators. As evidence, note that Peeps are most often consumed by predators only after they have been separated from their siblings. Conversely, Peeps which remain attached to their siblings are rarely preyed upon.(via Boing Boing)
2:29 PM | e-mail |
Happy Easter, if you care. I do. About chocolate, that is.
I'm sorry I've been away from the computer unannounced -- yesterday I spent pretty much the entire day outside since it was THE SINGLE MOST GORGEOUS DAY IN THE RECORDED HISTORY OF TIME. I bought two pairs of p-fat sunglasses from the street vendors on University Place; I'm alternately Matrix- and Popmart-tastic. Just trust me. Erin and a couple of her friends and I basically wandered all over the East Village and Lower East Side on a mad quest for Beulah & Clinic tickets (for the aforementioned girls -- I don't really care about either band and besides, I'm broke), and once they were acquired, I had to shuffle up to the Upper West Side and dogsit for my sister again. She drafted me in at the last minute Friday night. So I'm doing that again tonight and tomorrow night. I should be able to blog from there, but I'm becoming convinced that my sister maliciously cripples her computer every time she knows I'm coming -- this time the cable modem seems to have forgotten that it works, even though all the indicator lights are green and everything's hooked up properly. It makes me very cross indeed.
Soooo, even though I've been bringing my laptop up with me I can't connect it to the Interwebnet and blog. You may have to settle for greatly reduced posting frequencies in the next few days. (Although come on, it's not like the last week's been a fertile period -- giant octopuses? What the hell is that crap? ;-D)
2:12 PM | e-mail |
I'm sorry I've been away from the computer unannounced -- yesterday I spent pretty much the entire day outside since it was THE SINGLE MOST GORGEOUS DAY IN THE RECORDED HISTORY OF TIME. I bought two pairs of p-fat sunglasses from the street vendors on University Place; I'm alternately Matrix- and Popmart-tastic. Just trust me. Erin and a couple of her friends and I basically wandered all over the East Village and Lower East Side on a mad quest for Beulah & Clinic tickets (for the aforementioned girls -- I don't really care about either band and besides, I'm broke), and once they were acquired, I had to shuffle up to the Upper West Side and dogsit for my sister again. She drafted me in at the last minute Friday night. So I'm doing that again tonight and tomorrow night. I should be able to blog from there, but I'm becoming convinced that my sister maliciously cripples her computer every time she knows I'm coming -- this time the cable modem seems to have forgotten that it works, even though all the indicator lights are green and everything's hooked up properly. It makes me very cross indeed.
Soooo, even though I've been bringing my laptop up with me I can't connect it to the Interwebnet and blog. You may have to settle for greatly reduced posting frequencies in the next few days. (Although come on, it's not like the last week's been a fertile period -- giant octopuses? What the hell is that crap? ;-D)
2:12 PM | e-mail |
Friday, March 29, 2002
Tonight: saw the director's cut of Amadeus here at NYU and watched Milos Forman take questions afterwards. I'm ashamed to say I'd never seen the entire film before. It's fucking great. And that is all there is to say, really; Forman was smart and interesting but there really wasn't that much time for the Q&A and the questions, while largely good, were mainly filmmaker-centric (go figure). So, just believe me when I tell you it was quite neat and that you really ought to search out the director's cut of the film -- when Forman outlined which scenes were new, I couldn't believe it, they seemed so much a part of the fabric of the film. I can't imagine what it was like without them.
By the way -- whatever happened to Tom Hulce? How do you give a performance like that and not become huge?
10:18 PM | e-mail |
By the way -- whatever happened to Tom Hulce? How do you give a performance like that and not become huge?
10:18 PM | e-mail |
David Egan is an Australian artist who paints U2 songs. Somebody, somewhere wants to buy me this one, I know it. It's probably only a couple grand... I also like "Wild Honey."
5:13 PM | e-mail |
5:13 PM | e-mail |
Thursday, March 28, 2002
Giant octopus caught off New Zealand:
8:22 PM | e-mail |
"But down here in New Zealand, this is an area which is so poorly explored that its not surprising that we're getting all these weird and wonderful animals.Y'know, I'd almost have been tempted to be an oceanographer or marine biologist if there wasn't so much damn science involved.
"The frightening thing is that we are getting an animal like this newly reported in New Zealand waters today ... so new and large, you've got to sit down and ask yourself 'What is it we know about the deep sea environment?'," O'Shea said.
8:22 PM | e-mail |
Wednesday, March 27, 2002
Sorry I was so dormant today; I spent all of my computerized time working on -- gasp! -- a new design. I know everyone's quite fond of this one, because I am too. But it's a little bit dark and imposing, and come on, folks, it's springtime. I need to lighten up a bit. (Unfortunately I can't seem to shake my fetish for grey, but there is SOME color in this new design. And a lot more open space.) So I hope you've enjoyed DYFLv8.0, because 9.0's a-comin' on April 1st, the site's first anniversary (the URL's anniversary, anyway. The weblog, you'll recall, is older than that).
We-e-e-ll... v9.0 is coming for the weblog page in any event. The rest of the site might be a bit slow to catch up, since I have no imaging software on the Powerbook and have to do everything on the Gateway laptop and then put it onto a disk and then have one of my friends IM it to me from their computer because the Powerbook has no floppy drive (phew, take a breath). I feel like I'm counting on an abacus or something. But hopefully it'll aaaalll be worthwhile.
11:27 PM | e-mail |
We-e-e-ll... v9.0 is coming for the weblog page in any event. The rest of the site might be a bit slow to catch up, since I have no imaging software on the Powerbook and have to do everything on the Gateway laptop and then put it onto a disk and then have one of my friends IM it to me from their computer because the Powerbook has no floppy drive (phew, take a breath). I feel like I'm counting on an abacus or something. But hopefully it'll aaaalll be worthwhile.
11:27 PM | e-mail |
Oh dear God. So not only are New Order gearing up to release "World In Motion 2002" (a re-version of their earlier "classic" World Cup theme which is in fact the cheesiest, gayest piece of music I've ever encountered), but they want David Beckham to rap on it. I may weep. No, scratch that, I am weeping.
In unrelated news, my iTunes' Random Play feature is utterly obsessed with Talking Heads' "Burning Down The House" in live format. Curious. I, on the other hand, remain utterly obsessed with Andrew W.K.'s "Party Hard." We do what we like and we like what we do.
12:42 PM | e-mail |
In unrelated news, my iTunes' Random Play feature is utterly obsessed with Talking Heads' "Burning Down The House" in live format. Curious. I, on the other hand, remain utterly obsessed with Andrew W.K.'s "Party Hard." We do what we like and we like what we do.
12:42 PM | e-mail |
Tuesday, March 26, 2002
Tonight, I saw Andrew W.K. at the Bowery Ballroom. Erin works for his manager, so we went on the guest list. The show was zany and ridiculous and really quite great, actually. His band is huge and hilariously wonderful (the bassist in particular rocked my world -- spectacular sideburns and some fantastic pelvis action) and they rocked like a motherfucker -- tight and efficient and oh so shameless. And there were keyboards. KEYBOARDS! (Played by someone with a striking resemblance to Peter Buck).
Metafilter discussed Andrew W.K. today, and in typical MeFi style, most responders were unable to yank their heads out of their asses and appreciate that sometimes, music is just dumb fun. It's cool if you don't want to participate, but don't knock the ones giving you the chance.
So, now I'm gonna listen to "Party Hard" on repeat for a while (which, I might add, was incandescent genius at the show -- they dropped balloons from the ceiling. Balloons. At a metal show). LET'S GET A PARTY GOING!
11:54 PM | e-mail |
Metafilter discussed Andrew W.K. today, and in typical MeFi style, most responders were unable to yank their heads out of their asses and appreciate that sometimes, music is just dumb fun. It's cool if you don't want to participate, but don't knock the ones giving you the chance.
So, now I'm gonna listen to "Party Hard" on repeat for a while (which, I might add, was incandescent genius at the show -- they dropped balloons from the ceiling. Balloons. At a metal show). LET'S GET A PARTY GOING!
11:54 PM | e-mail |
Are You A Hit-Obsessed Weblogger? I'd've thought I was, but I'm better than most, apparently.
By the way: what do we think of the new quoting style? It's more attractive and easier to read than italics, methinks. It's shamelessly co-opted from Cheesedip. If you find it insufferable, then do please tell me...
7:26 PM | e-mail |
25 points is in the 20 through 39 percent TYPE C (HIT-CURIOUS). You do the weblog thing for yourself instead of for an audience, but you are aware that you do have an audience, small as it might be. You are often curious as to what other people find so interesting about your weblog. You check your weblog referrers every now and then just to satisfy your curiosity.(via LinkMachineGo)
By the way: what do we think of the new quoting style? It's more attractive and easier to read than italics, methinks. It's shamelessly co-opted from Cheesedip. If you find it insufferable, then do please tell me...
7:26 PM | e-mail |
A thousand thank-yous to Jerwin Maximo, nicest man on the planet, for his gift of Proust. You're too good to me, baby. ;-D
6:35 PM | e-mail |
6:35 PM | e-mail |
All right, I'll probably be away from the computer for most of the rest of the afternoon, so there'll be no more blogging for a while. Tide yourself over with a little something I wasted yesterday afternoon working on -- The Punk Band Name Database. I think the best one I came up with was "The Sloppy Kants," but you might think otherwise.
1:05 PM | e-mail |
1:05 PM | e-mail |
The fire alarm went off in the Main building at school today during my Critical Theory class. The professor was smart enough to turn us loose instead of trying to keep everyone together and make them come back if/when it's over. So I got a free twenty minutes of freedom this afternoon. It's the little things.
12:21 PM | e-mail |
12:21 PM | e-mail |
Monday, March 25, 2002
So Moby's been babbling in certain interviews about how his new album, 18, is inspired by the music he listened to when he was 18 years old -- soul and punk and all sorts of things, but mainly, 80s synth-pop. His new single "We Are All Made Of Stars" starts hitting radio in the next week, and I just listened to it here. It sounds like the one thing I did not expect new Moby music to sound like: something he hasn't done before. And that has me heartened that 18 might just actually be a really good album. (Keep in mind that I'm an old-school Moby fan. I bought Play on the day that it was released in 1999, suckaz.) Give it a listen; It's a very silly enjoyable song, and I'm pretty convinced that it will either be a huge hit or will crash and burn and take Moby's career with it. Either way, I'll be amused.
12:44 PM | e-mail |
12:44 PM | e-mail |
Sunday, March 24, 2002
Hey hey -- Elvis Costello has a new album coming out on April 23rd, entitled When We Were Cruel. And apparently he might play some concerts, too... (In fact, he is playing some concerts, but so far only promotional not-for-the-public shows are scheduled here in NYC. So they say.) The first single, "Tear Off Your Own Head (It's A Doll Revolution)" is pleasant enough in a standard rock way (you can listen to the whole thing if you click the first link); we'll see if the rest of the album is peppered with his usual genius.
3:12 PM | e-mail |
3:12 PM | e-mail |
Today is the first anniversary of the happiest day of my life. It looked like these, felt like this, and sounded like this.
There's so much more I could write about it, but I'm afraid that like every other noteworthy thing to happen in my life recently, the story will fall victim to my crushing lack of time. I've got a lot of studying to do today if I intend to not utterly fail my Brit Lit class...
12:39 PM | e-mail |
There's so much more I could write about it, but I'm afraid that like every other noteworthy thing to happen in my life recently, the story will fall victim to my crushing lack of time. I've got a lot of studying to do today if I intend to not utterly fail my Brit Lit class...
12:39 PM | e-mail |
Saturday, March 23, 2002
Oh my God. Ladies and gentlemen, I am blogging this from my brand-spanking new Powerbook G4. Happy birthday to me.
I have decided that this computer is the sexiest thing since naked people. And much like naked people, I have absolutely no idea how to make anything on it work, but I am pressing lots of buttons and being greeted with satisfying noises, so I expect I'll get the hang of it eventually...
And yes: my iPod will arrive sometime in the next two weeks. The NYU Computer Store is having a spring special where if you buy a Mac computer and an iPod at the same time, they mark the cost of the computer down about $365. The iPod costs $370. So, you get a $5 iPod. They (unsurprisingly) didn't have any in stock this afternoon, but I am assured that they have been ordered... now excuse me while I make orgasmic gurgling noises and transfer the contents of my entire music collection onto this thing's absurdly massive hard drive.
4:36 PM | e-mail |
I have decided that this computer is the sexiest thing since naked people. And much like naked people, I have absolutely no idea how to make anything on it work, but I am pressing lots of buttons and being greeted with satisfying noises, so I expect I'll get the hang of it eventually...
And yes: my iPod will arrive sometime in the next two weeks. The NYU Computer Store is having a spring special where if you buy a Mac computer and an iPod at the same time, they mark the cost of the computer down about $365. The iPod costs $370. So, you get a $5 iPod. They (unsurprisingly) didn't have any in stock this afternoon, but I am assured that they have been ordered... now excuse me while I make orgasmic gurgling noises and transfer the contents of my entire music collection onto this thing's absurdly massive hard drive.
4:36 PM | e-mail |
FUCKING SLASH KICK GUNS HEADS BLOWN OFF GODDAMN MOTORCYCLE FIGHT SCENES PUNCHING EYEBALLS OUT FLYING GUTS THROUGH THE AIR AND ALSO THIS ONE TOTALLY HOT CHICK SPURT CRUSH SNAP BONES EXPLOSIONS FIRE MELT-Y EXPLOSIONS SLAUGHTER MASSACRE RUN JUMP FLIP OVER HAMMER MACHINE GUN THROWING KNIFE-Y THING DEAD.
So when someone tells you this movie doesn't totally kick ass it's legal for you to break a bottle over their head and kick them in the groin and you can also fight the cops who show up to take you away - the movie is that bad-ass. See it before everyone thinks you're gay.
-Neill Cumpston
MORIARTY: Oddly enough, I think that's word-for-word what Pauline Kael would have said about it, god rest her soul.
The film-crit genius re: Blade 2 just keeps on coming. (P.S. -- If you want "real" critics' views on the film, I recommend the reviews by Elvis Mitchell and Roger Ebert, who both actually pretty much hit the nail on the head, methinks. And perhaps this should've been a Mediablog post, but it was just too good to hide over there.)
12:13 PM | e-mail |
So when someone tells you this movie doesn't totally kick ass it's legal for you to break a bottle over their head and kick them in the groin and you can also fight the cops who show up to take you away - the movie is that bad-ass. See it before everyone thinks you're gay.
-Neill Cumpston
MORIARTY: Oddly enough, I think that's word-for-word what Pauline Kael would have said about it, god rest her soul.
The film-crit genius re: Blade 2 just keeps on coming. (P.S. -- If you want "real" critics' views on the film, I recommend the reviews by Elvis Mitchell and Roger Ebert, who both actually pretty much hit the nail on the head, methinks. And perhaps this should've been a Mediablog post, but it was just too good to hide over there.)
12:13 PM | e-mail |
This rules my world.
(Found, indirectly, via Cheesedip -- I went to explore the site after seeing that Lia had it linked as "Zora Neale Hurston," which quite simply could not possibly be right)
1:39 AM | e-mail |
(Found, indirectly, via Cheesedip -- I went to explore the site after seeing that Lia had it linked as "Zora Neale Hurston," which quite simply could not possibly be right)
1:39 AM | e-mail |
Happy birthday to me. 20 years old.
Saw Blade 2 tonight with Jeremy. (You were expecting some kind of introspective post, weren't you? HA!) It was oddly far greater than it had any right to be. Of course it was cheesy and absurd, but in an appealing way. Really. Sadly lacking in the genius catch-phraseism of the first ("Some motherfuckers always tryin' to ice skate uphill") but was superior to that piece of crap in pretty much every other way. Thumbs up, say I. Let's hope it beats out the exploitative, digitally "refurbished" piece of crap that is the bowdlerized E.T. re-release.
But still, don't believe him.
1:23 AM | e-mail |
Saw Blade 2 tonight with Jeremy. (You were expecting some kind of introspective post, weren't you? HA!) It was oddly far greater than it had any right to be. Of course it was cheesy and absurd, but in an appealing way. Really. Sadly lacking in the genius catch-phraseism of the first ("Some motherfuckers always tryin' to ice skate uphill") but was superior to that piece of crap in pretty much every other way. Thumbs up, say I. Let's hope it beats out the exploitative, digitally "refurbished" piece of crap that is the bowdlerized E.T. re-release.
But still, don't believe him.
1:23 AM | e-mail |
Friday, March 22, 2002
Thursday, March 21, 2002
Well, good to hear that the Spider-Man soundtrack will suck. Sum-41, Alien Ant Farm, and... Aerosmith. My my. Couldn't they just fill the disc with like thirty copies of The Ramones doing the TV show theme?
2:24 PM | e-mail |
2:24 PM | e-mail |
You know, to top off all of the other ridiculous stresses of the past week, I've had The Cold That Will Not Die since Sunday morning. And it's steadily been getting worse. Last night, our absurd broken heater (which cannot be turned down; it's on full-blast at all times) and my own escalating fever combined to give me hellish dreams about hearse trains and the railway; I was only out for seven hours and I woke up at least four times. And now I'm sweating like a pig, even though I've got the windows wide open and the fan blasting and no shirt on. This is the worst I've been sick in years.
10:32 AM | e-mail |
10:32 AM | e-mail |
Wednesday, March 20, 2002
I went to my grandmother's wake today. Hence the non-posting. There's so much to say about it, but I'm so completely drained that I'm entirely incapable. So hopefully I'll come home from class tomorrow and be able to write intelligently and coherently.
But for now: Key deer are ickle.
10:54 PM | e-mail |
But for now: Key deer are ickle.
10:54 PM | e-mail |
Tuesday, March 19, 2002
Y'know, one of my friends (you know who you are) actually uses the word "ninja" as a term of approval, like "cool" -- i.e. "That is so ninja." Well let me tell you now -- this is so ninja.
(via Bloody Student)
1:12 PM | e-mail |
(via Bloody Student)
1:12 PM | e-mail |
So remember this take-home midterm for Major Texts In Critical Theory? The one I spent less than two hours on? The one I paused in the middle of to blog about Saturday Night Live? Well, I got an A on it. I fucking rock.
1:03 PM | e-mail |
1:03 PM | e-mail |
I just bought one of the last copies of Caroline's book on Gavin Friday, The Light And The Dark. I really couldn't afford to do it, but god damn it, it's my birthday, so I did. And I can't believe I hadn't bought one yet, anyway.
9:47 AM | e-mail |
9:47 AM | e-mail |
Monday, March 18, 2002
I share new MP3s with you. (To the right there, in the sidebar. No, your other right.) Love them. And feel free to read or ignore my commentary on them in The Mediablog.
9:24 PM | e-mail |
9:24 PM | e-mail |
Gabba Gabba Hate: More on the Rock 'n' Roll Hall Of Fame inductions; this time, it's the Village Voice on the Ramones, the Talking Heads, and their various squabbles, with themselves and each other.
My first impression of the Ramones," says Byrne, "and the impression probably never changed, was that this was real art rock. The concept was so strong and so focused that it became invisible. People almost didn't notice that it was tongue in cheek." Loser kids who'd barely made it through high school in the early '70s really weren't walking around with leather jackets and extended bowl cuts. That was an "iconography" the Ramones gave the world.
8:34 PM | e-mail |
My first impression of the Ramones," says Byrne, "and the impression probably never changed, was that this was real art rock. The concept was so strong and so focused that it became invisible. People almost didn't notice that it was tongue in cheek." Loser kids who'd barely made it through high school in the early '70s really weren't walking around with leather jackets and extended bowl cuts. That was an "iconography" the Ramones gave the world.
8:34 PM | e-mail |
Ah, music. Blessed trivial escape. Underworld have finished a new album without Darren Emerson; lord knows what it'll sound like. And here's Kurt Loder bitching about the Rock & Roll Hall Of Fame:
This, as it happens, raises a key issue: What exactly is rock and roll? Having spent many years as a member of the Hall of Fame nominating committee (a position I no longer hold), I can tell you that endless hours have been devoted to this question, and it has never been definitively answered. Some critics — most notably the English writer Charlie Gillett, in his groundbreaking 1970 book, "The Sound of the City" — have argued that rock and roll is, if not "dead," at least historically complete, and now a part of the past. (Gillett traced the original wave of rock and roll from its roots in black rhythm & blues in the late 1940s up to the worldwide breakthrough of the Beatles in 1964; after that, he argued, the music developed self-consciousness, an awareness of its own traditions — it became, in short, "rock.")
Just for the record, haven't Black Sabbath repeatedly said they don't want to be inducted?
4:02 PM | e-mail |
This, as it happens, raises a key issue: What exactly is rock and roll? Having spent many years as a member of the Hall of Fame nominating committee (a position I no longer hold), I can tell you that endless hours have been devoted to this question, and it has never been definitively answered. Some critics — most notably the English writer Charlie Gillett, in his groundbreaking 1970 book, "The Sound of the City" — have argued that rock and roll is, if not "dead," at least historically complete, and now a part of the past. (Gillett traced the original wave of rock and roll from its roots in black rhythm & blues in the late 1940s up to the worldwide breakthrough of the Beatles in 1964; after that, he argued, the music developed self-consciousness, an awareness of its own traditions — it became, in short, "rock.")
Just for the record, haven't Black Sabbath repeatedly said they don't want to be inducted?
4:02 PM | e-mail |
My grandmother died in her sleep this morning, on my father's birthday. It's a relief, I guess. She was just too weak to live comfortably anymore...
The funeral and wake will be on Wednesday and Thursday in Connecticut. I don't know if I'll be able to make them; I don't think I can afford to miss any class. And I'm not sure how I feel about that.
The strangest thing is, there's no grief yet. I wonder if there will be.
1:04 PM | e-mail |
The funeral and wake will be on Wednesday and Thursday in Connecticut. I don't know if I'll be able to make them; I don't think I can afford to miss any class. And I'm not sure how I feel about that.
The strangest thing is, there's no grief yet. I wonder if there will be.
1:04 PM | e-mail |
Sunday, March 17, 2002
It's St. Patrick's Day, and they didn't light the Empire State Building up green. It's the same jingoistic red-white-and-blue it's been since you-know-when. As an Irish-American, I take personal affront. The blood of my people built that damn thing, I say; show some respect.
OK, so I'm full of shit. I was wearing a Union Jack t-shirt today, for God's sake. Clearly my heart does not lie with Erin, even if I do like U2 and Brendan Behan. As I said to my friends tonight as we left the Mexican place (oddly, the most Patrick's-friendly establishment I've seen around tonight, festooned as it was with green balloons) when I first noticed that I was wearing my Brit shirt, I feel as though I might as well have written FUCK THE IRA on my chest in the congealed blood of patriots.
And besides, I'm only 3/4 Irish. The rest is German. Not that there's really a national holiday I should celebrate for that...
8:19 PM | e-mail |
OK, so I'm full of shit. I was wearing a Union Jack t-shirt today, for God's sake. Clearly my heart does not lie with Erin, even if I do like U2 and Brendan Behan. As I said to my friends tonight as we left the Mexican place (oddly, the most Patrick's-friendly establishment I've seen around tonight, festooned as it was with green balloons) when I first noticed that I was wearing my Brit shirt, I feel as though I might as well have written FUCK THE IRA on my chest in the congealed blood of patriots.
And besides, I'm only 3/4 Irish. The rest is German. Not that there's really a national holiday I should celebrate for that...
8:19 PM | e-mail |
Oh, I'm so confused.
My birthday is coming up on the 23rd (could that link lead anywhere except my wishlist?), so due to some early birthday cards I have a wee bit of money. Unfortunately, it's all in cash, and since my bank exists only in theory and I do everything by mail deposit, I have no way of getting that money into my checking account, where I need it to be to do some violence to my frankly-horrifying credit card bill (My trust in my audience is astounding. "Hey, everybody, I'm a weak little white boy -- here are some pictures so you know exactly what I look like -- roaming the streets of Manhattan with a large sum of cash! Come, mug me!") (Although for the record, you're out of luck. I don't carry it around). So I'm considering all kinds of options for getting said money into said account and paying said bill. But of course the siren-song of the retail utopias is drawing me like an Escher. Argh.
I'm also thinking about redesigning, but I'm not sure if I want to. But then again, I appear to be getting a new computer for my birthday (Dare I dream...?), so I could wait for that, but then again again I'm not sure I'm getting it before the end of school. And if I am getting a new computer, then I have a dangerously strong compulsion to say "fuck my credit card" and save my money towards the purchase of an iPod. Which is actually fiscally impossible but it's a charming idea nonetheless.
Also, right this moment I'm extremely tired and don't even want to think about the start of school tomorrow. Blurgle umpf urg and other assorted sounds of displeasure.
So that's where I'm at, discounting the usual issues of sexual frustration, constant desire for things beyond my worldly station (actually, that's pretty much all this post is about), dissatisfaction with my hair, psychosomatic responses to the weather, hatred for all things, et cetera. You can help me clear up at least one of these issues by speaking out on the subject of a redesign: would you oppose it? Do you support it? I'm actually quite proud of this one (as are, apparently, the people who keep stealing it -- if I do redesign, I should offer this as a Blogger template) but it's pretty dreary to be facing spring clad entirely in greyscale. The new design, which I've done some sketches for, would undoubtedly involve color again. And if I was to do it, I'd like to do it soon -- April 1st is the first anniversary of DOYOUFEELLOVED.com (so close to my birthday, I'd forgotten) and I feel some kind of celebration is in order. So. Would you hate to see this design go? Or would you like a little something new? I am at your mercy.
Optional bonus-credit question: If I go out to a club on Friday night (probably the same one as last Friday), should I wear a t-shirt that says IT'S MY 20TH BIRTHDAY - PLEASE ROB ME OF MY VIRTUE on it? Am I just asking for trouble?
(I am only half kidding.)
5:35 PM | e-mail |
My birthday is coming up on the 23rd (could that link lead anywhere except my wishlist?), so due to some early birthday cards I have a wee bit of money. Unfortunately, it's all in cash, and since my bank exists only in theory and I do everything by mail deposit, I have no way of getting that money into my checking account, where I need it to be to do some violence to my frankly-horrifying credit card bill (My trust in my audience is astounding. "Hey, everybody, I'm a weak little white boy -- here are some pictures so you know exactly what I look like -- roaming the streets of Manhattan with a large sum of cash! Come, mug me!") (Although for the record, you're out of luck. I don't carry it around). So I'm considering all kinds of options for getting said money into said account and paying said bill. But of course the siren-song of the retail utopias is drawing me like an Escher. Argh.
I'm also thinking about redesigning, but I'm not sure if I want to. But then again, I appear to be getting a new computer for my birthday (Dare I dream...?), so I could wait for that, but then again again I'm not sure I'm getting it before the end of school. And if I am getting a new computer, then I have a dangerously strong compulsion to say "fuck my credit card" and save my money towards the purchase of an iPod. Which is actually fiscally impossible but it's a charming idea nonetheless.
Also, right this moment I'm extremely tired and don't even want to think about the start of school tomorrow. Blurgle umpf urg and other assorted sounds of displeasure.
So that's where I'm at, discounting the usual issues of sexual frustration, constant desire for things beyond my worldly station (actually, that's pretty much all this post is about), dissatisfaction with my hair, psychosomatic responses to the weather, hatred for all things, et cetera. You can help me clear up at least one of these issues by speaking out on the subject of a redesign: would you oppose it? Do you support it? I'm actually quite proud of this one (as are, apparently, the people who keep stealing it -- if I do redesign, I should offer this as a Blogger template) but it's pretty dreary to be facing spring clad entirely in greyscale. The new design, which I've done some sketches for, would undoubtedly involve color again. And if I was to do it, I'd like to do it soon -- April 1st is the first anniversary of DOYOUFEELLOVED.com (so close to my birthday, I'd forgotten) and I feel some kind of celebration is in order. So. Would you hate to see this design go? Or would you like a little something new? I am at your mercy.
Optional bonus-credit question: If I go out to a club on Friday night (probably the same one as last Friday), should I wear a t-shirt that says IT'S MY 20TH BIRTHDAY - PLEASE ROB ME OF MY VIRTUE on it? Am I just asking for trouble?
(I am only half kidding.)
5:35 PM | e-mail |
I'm back in New York, and I'm kind of rested, running on six hours of sleep that was spread out over two states, two beds, and seven hours of wakefulness. Instead of a lengthy, rambling, full-on blog entry which will contain lots of unnecessary bullshit and maybe only a few nuggets of entertainment, I'm simply going to compile an Is It Hot Or Not? list of events and objects encountered over the course of spring break, running from 1 (very hot) to 10 (truly not hot and in fact quite terrible in all senses of the word). So, without further ado:
(1) Mooch is a dolphin who lives by one of the bridges out to the barrier island in my hometown. He's been completely ruined by human contact and feeding, which I think we can agree is fairly terrible (And of course, there's a frigging huge sign right there on the bridge that reads to the effect of DON'T FEED THE DOLPHINS OR WE WILL SHOOT YOU AND GIVE YOU A VIKING FUNERAL ON THE GULF OF MEXICO. People, they ain't no good). However, he makes for a spectacular thing to show the out-of-towners, because he habitually swims right up to your boat and drifts alongside you, staring up at you with his big black eyes while begging for food. Once he figures out that you're not going to give him anything, he drops you like Justin will (has?) Britney, but your guests have gotten some spectacular photos and think that you are some kind of sacred Dolphin God.
(2) My brain still hurts.
(3) So we drove around in a convertible for five hours, and that rocked my arms and face out pretty hard. Then we went kayaking, and that rocked out the inside of my legs -- and only the inside, mind you, and only to about four inches above the knee where my bathing suit was -- equally hard. Under regular circumstances, I can cavort and frolic in the sun for as long as I damn well please and won't burn; I'm generally tan enough to be seasoned properly. But since I've been living in The Sunless Lands for so long, my skin's lost its tone entirely. God help me, I have become Irish after all. (And hey, happy St. Patrick's Day.)
(4) We were having such a beautiful, low-key spring break in my west-coast artsy-fartsy retirement town. And then we decided to drive across the state and visit our friend Maria for a couple of hours. Biiiiiiiig mistake. Every single car was banging out a hip-hop bassline (Do we not have laws about playing "Back That Ass Up"? That song's older than some members of my family!). Every single guy had a video camera and was praying to find himself a GIRLS GONE WILD moment. And the beach sucked. The sand on the upper part of the beach is soft and dry, and that's where a lot of people set themselves up. But then, there's the traffic lane. They actually have you drive on the beach at Daytona, and park there too (You park, of course, on the aforementioned soft sand, which is an utter waste of valuable space). Then the rest of the beach is tidal, meaning the sand is hard-packed and soaking wet. Plus, the sun's at your back if you want to look at the ocean. Foulness. And I don't care if it was populated by relentlessly hot shirtless guys; they're the kind of (straight) guys who sculpt tits in the sand and have a Hooter-Meter for the purpose of measuring girls' breasts (I shit you not, we saw both of those things). Daytona Beach is hell.
That about does it for spring break. Despite the best advances of the lower half of the list, we had a fabulous time. If you feel it necessary that I elaborate on any non-footnoted portions of the list, write me on your own damn time -- I've got a 100K posting limit to think about. ;-D
And by the way: my memories of Gavin Friday's cover of T-Rex's "The Slider" are now being Crooned.
2:35 PM | e-mail |
- Cookie cakes.
- Manatees.
- Mooch the Dolphin. (1)
- Universal Islands Of Adventure.
- Miniature golf.
- Watching all three Jurassic Park movies back to back. (2)
- Sunscreen.
- Not wearing sunscreen. (3)
- Taking four hours to drive to Daytona Beach.
- Daytona Beach. (4)
(1) Mooch is a dolphin who lives by one of the bridges out to the barrier island in my hometown. He's been completely ruined by human contact and feeding, which I think we can agree is fairly terrible (And of course, there's a frigging huge sign right there on the bridge that reads to the effect of DON'T FEED THE DOLPHINS OR WE WILL SHOOT YOU AND GIVE YOU A VIKING FUNERAL ON THE GULF OF MEXICO. People, they ain't no good). However, he makes for a spectacular thing to show the out-of-towners, because he habitually swims right up to your boat and drifts alongside you, staring up at you with his big black eyes while begging for food. Once he figures out that you're not going to give him anything, he drops you like Justin will (has?) Britney, but your guests have gotten some spectacular photos and think that you are some kind of sacred Dolphin God.
(2) My brain still hurts.
(3) So we drove around in a convertible for five hours, and that rocked my arms and face out pretty hard. Then we went kayaking, and that rocked out the inside of my legs -- and only the inside, mind you, and only to about four inches above the knee where my bathing suit was -- equally hard. Under regular circumstances, I can cavort and frolic in the sun for as long as I damn well please and won't burn; I'm generally tan enough to be seasoned properly. But since I've been living in The Sunless Lands for so long, my skin's lost its tone entirely. God help me, I have become Irish after all. (And hey, happy St. Patrick's Day.)
(4) We were having such a beautiful, low-key spring break in my west-coast artsy-fartsy retirement town. And then we decided to drive across the state and visit our friend Maria for a couple of hours. Biiiiiiiig mistake. Every single car was banging out a hip-hop bassline (Do we not have laws about playing "Back That Ass Up"? That song's older than some members of my family!). Every single guy had a video camera and was praying to find himself a GIRLS GONE WILD moment. And the beach sucked. The sand on the upper part of the beach is soft and dry, and that's where a lot of people set themselves up. But then, there's the traffic lane. They actually have you drive on the beach at Daytona, and park there too (You park, of course, on the aforementioned soft sand, which is an utter waste of valuable space). Then the rest of the beach is tidal, meaning the sand is hard-packed and soaking wet. Plus, the sun's at your back if you want to look at the ocean. Foulness. And I don't care if it was populated by relentlessly hot shirtless guys; they're the kind of (straight) guys who sculpt tits in the sand and have a Hooter-Meter for the purpose of measuring girls' breasts (I shit you not, we saw both of those things). Daytona Beach is hell.
That about does it for spring break. Despite the best advances of the lower half of the list, we had a fabulous time. If you feel it necessary that I elaborate on any non-footnoted portions of the list, write me on your own damn time -- I've got a 100K posting limit to think about. ;-D
And by the way: my memories of Gavin Friday's cover of T-Rex's "The Slider" are now being Crooned.
2:35 PM | e-mail |
Monday, March 11, 2002
I'm still sunburned. And tomorrow, I'm going here. Again.
This spring break rules.
And speaking of ruling... it's. so. pretty.
7:55 PM | e-mail |
This spring break rules.
And speaking of ruling... it's. so. pretty.
7:55 PM | e-mail |
Sunday, March 10, 2002
I'm in Florida, I'm already sunburned, and I'm having a great time.
Updates will be infrequent, because when it's this nice outside, then frankly, I don't care about you folk.
6:14 PM | e-mail |
Updates will be infrequent, because when it's this nice outside, then frankly, I don't care about you folk.
6:14 PM | e-mail |
Saturday, March 09, 2002
Huzzah! I'm seeing Garbage at Roseland Ballroom on Wednesday, April 24th. (Seeing Garbage appears to be a weblogger meme). I only bought one ticket, because I'm poor, so apparently I'm going alone. :-( But hey, if you wanna come, just buy your ticket now (I don't think it's gonna sell out TOO fast) and let me know, and we shall par-tay together...
12:18 PM | e-mail |
12:18 PM | e-mail |
One gay post deserves another. Thank you a million times, Lia, for this -- four pages in Salon on Kylie. I am full of glee.
3:55 AM | e-mail |
3:55 AM | e-mail |
I went to a gay club tonight. There were a lot of absurdly hot boys, and a lot of absolutely ridiculous fags.
I'm pretty damn tired so I'm not going to be able to summon up any really lucid notes on the experience, although God knows it's worth discussing. It is, after all, the first time I've done such a thing. All I'll say is that I would go back, and in fact probably will when I can go with someone I feel comfortable embarassing myself in front of, because wow, I'm not such a great dancer. Well, it's not so much a quality thing as a commitment thing -- I can't commit to the idea of letting it all "hang out" as it were (God, what an awful phrase), so I shuffle awkwardly instead. Blargh. Anyway, campness will follow. Right now, it's sleepy-time; tomorrow, I must pack and accomplish various shit before leavin' on a jet plane for sunny F-L at 6:30. Hells yeah, baby! Let me hear you say Spring! Break!
...I must ask that you kill me dead.
3:28 AM | e-mail |
I'm pretty damn tired so I'm not going to be able to summon up any really lucid notes on the experience, although God knows it's worth discussing. It is, after all, the first time I've done such a thing. All I'll say is that I would go back, and in fact probably will when I can go with someone I feel comfortable embarassing myself in front of, because wow, I'm not such a great dancer. Well, it's not so much a quality thing as a commitment thing -- I can't commit to the idea of letting it all "hang out" as it were (God, what an awful phrase), so I shuffle awkwardly instead. Blargh. Anyway, campness will follow. Right now, it's sleepy-time; tomorrow, I must pack and accomplish various shit before leavin' on a jet plane for sunny F-L at 6:30. Hells yeah, baby! Let me hear you say Spring! Break!
...I must ask that you kill me dead.
3:28 AM | e-mail |
Thursday, March 07, 2002
I spent money today like you wouldn't believe. Apparently it was just that kind of day. In any event, Tower Records is now far richer in dollahs, but I am richer in music. The Beastie Boys' Licensed To Ill, Elvis Costello's This Year's Model (which I'm listening to now, and it's FUCKING AMAZING. These Rhino double-disc reissues are fantastic; the sound's terrific and the bonus material's always impressive), Jane's Addiction's Ritual De Lo Habitual, Simon & Garfunkel's Bridge Over Troubled Water, and The White Stripes' White Blood Cells. Everything except Elvis was $8.99. Consider me truly rocked; I'm on cloud nine here... it's amazing how nothing else on Earth cheers me up like buying CDs.
And yes, I'd like to get to know you better, too.
10:10 PM | e-mail |
And yes, I'd like to get to know you better, too.
10:10 PM | e-mail |
So it's interesting that the FriendTest thing is turning into something of a meme, as a couple weeks ago, it was a meme in my real life. My friends up here in NY all suddenly fell in love with the concept, and everyone made a test and put it up online. I wrote mine out by hand, but Prol's test (which I did horribly on) has inspired me to share it with all of you. So. How well do you know me?
12:49 PM | e-mail |
12:49 PM | e-mail |
I've only been working for an hour, and I've got two-thirds of this thing done. Am I just too good? Or too bad?
9:10 AM | e-mail |
9:10 AM | e-mail |
I've got three 600 word mini-essays on literary critical theory to write before 11:00 today. So why am I taking the time to tell you about it?
8:03 AM | e-mail |
8:03 AM | e-mail |
Wednesday, March 06, 2002
Easily the most distressing thing I've seen in ages. Did a plane really hit The Pentagon? If this photo evidence is to be believed, the answer is very clearly "no." So what happened to the other missing plane?
(via Boing Boing)
4:33 PM | e-mail |
(via Boing Boing)
4:33 PM | e-mail |
Now, I love the Bahamas. But don't you think pop stars might want to avoid them for a little while?
4:14 PM | e-mail |
Michele tells an amazing story about -- and yes, I'm going to take a beating on Google for this one -- Anna Nicole-Smith. And death. Read it.
4:06 PM | e-mail |
4:06 PM | e-mail |
UN women's issues organization gets domain name jacked by porn company. There are some days when the irony is just too heavy.
Unfortunately, going to the site now gets you nowhere. (Of course I tried, fool.) (Thanks to Jack)
3:59 PM | e-mail |
Unfortunately, going to the site now gets you nowhere. (Of course I tried, fool.) (Thanks to Jack)
3:59 PM | e-mail |
Actually, that went OK. I sort of knew it would, but hey. It's more fun to worry. I only left one four-point question essentially blank, and I think I handled myself competently on everything else. Of course, now I have to read and comment on something like a dozen short stories by my classmates in Creative Writing. Before 2:00. Yoop.
A tangent: Would it kill the Burger King in the dining hall to salt the goddamn fries every so often?
(Waaah, the convenient food that my parents pay for and I get for free isn't good enough! Waaah!)
12:17 PM | e-mail |
A tangent: Would it kill the Burger King in the dining hall to salt the goddamn fries every so often?
(Waaah, the convenient food that my parents pay for and I get for free isn't good enough! Waaah!)
12:17 PM | e-mail |
Tuesday, March 05, 2002
I really should be studying for my midterm tomorrow in Crisis Of The Modern City. I have a study guide to work from and everything. But The Osbournes is on at 10:30 and there's no way I can study before that. So instead, I've been posting to The Mediablog.
By the way, I'm thinking about making the NIN "Discotheque" on the U2 tribute be Nine Inch Nails with Kylie Minogue. Double-track her vocals with Trent's. It'd be genius. Thoughts?
And speaking of tribute albums, there is in fact one worthwhile one that I know of. And that would be For The Masses, the Depeche Mode tribute. I'm surprised I forgot it earlier.
8:20 PM | e-mail |
By the way, I'm thinking about making the NIN "Discotheque" on the U2 tribute be Nine Inch Nails with Kylie Minogue. Double-track her vocals with Trent's. It'd be genius. Thoughts?
And speaking of tribute albums, there is in fact one worthwhile one that I know of. And that would be For The Masses, the Depeche Mode tribute. I'm surprised I forgot it earlier.
8:20 PM | e-mail |
Apparently, sometime over the Christmas vacation, I made mention of Kylie Minogue to my sister-in-law. I may've used the words "pop genius." I can't quite recall. This recommendation seems to have stuck with her, because last week she bought Fever; and now, my two-year-old niece is completely, utterly, and hopelessly obsessed with Kylie. I am told that she dances all over the place whenever the album goes on, and that if they're in the car and my brother or sister go to put on a CD that's not Kylie, she screams "NO! NOT THAT ONE! KY-LIIIEEE!!!"
I am beaming with uncleish pride. (Shut up, it's a word.)
Of course, this means my brother and sister-in-law have actually heard the album. Meaning I'm probably out in their minds. Oh well. ;-D
4:55 PM | e-mail |
I am beaming with uncleish pride. (Shut up, it's a word.)
Of course, this means my brother and sister-in-law have actually heard the album. Meaning I'm probably out in their minds. Oh well. ;-D
4:55 PM | e-mail |
Happy first birthday to ickle.org!
If you're interested, you'll find links to my three ickle pieces in the Portfolio > Various section. However, everyone else's are better than mine anyway, so you should probably just go to the site itself.
Here are three bits of ickleness close to DYFL.com's heart: Kylie Minogue, PJ Harvey, and haiku.
Don't you want to submit a piece now?
1:30 PM | e-mail |
If you're interested, you'll find links to my three ickle pieces in the Portfolio > Various section. However, everyone else's are better than mine anyway, so you should probably just go to the site itself.
Here are three bits of ickleness close to DYFL.com's heart: Kylie Minogue, PJ Harvey, and haiku.
Don't you want to submit a piece now?
1:30 PM | e-mail |
So I followed a link from YouTwo.net and discovered that there's yet another U2 tribute album, and that it came out today. I've been listening to the sound samples; it definitely seems far more tolerable than the truly abyssmal We Will Follow (die, Cleopatra Records, die), but it's still no great shakes. From what I've heard, there's an... intriguing... version of "Discotheque," a promising version of "Love Is Blindness" (sounds faithful to the original arrangement, and it's hard to dick that up), the curious (but strangely appealling) inclusion of "The Ocean," a decent "An Cat Dubh" (which is apparently blended with "Running To Stand Still," though that wasn't in the sound clip), and -- I can't believe I'm saying this -- the best punk cover of "With Or Without You" I've heard yet. It just sort of seems to work.
But why oh why are there no great tribute albums? Why don't huge bands ever get together and do a really great tribute album to a really great artist? The closest we've gotten in a long time is the godawful I Am Sam soundtrack. Rob Zombie's Ramones tribute sounds like it might be promising (I'm a little miffed that U2'll probably be left off for hipness reasons), but on the whole we've got nothing.
So, in a perfect world: Who'd be on the tribute album for your favorite artist? My rules are, you can only use living artists/bands in their current line-up (though if you want to have guest appearances / team-ups, that's fine). They have to be a band or artist with respect for the artist being paid tribute to; so if you know one artist hates another, you can't have them cover their song.
Here's my U2 tribute, in no real order:
Anyone else? Come on, you know it's fun.
1:01 PM | e-mail |
But why oh why are there no great tribute albums? Why don't huge bands ever get together and do a really great tribute album to a really great artist? The closest we've gotten in a long time is the godawful I Am Sam soundtrack. Rob Zombie's Ramones tribute sounds like it might be promising (I'm a little miffed that U2'll probably be left off for hipness reasons), but on the whole we've got nothing.
So, in a perfect world: Who'd be on the tribute album for your favorite artist? My rules are, you can only use living artists/bands in their current line-up (though if you want to have guest appearances / team-ups, that's fine). They have to be a band or artist with respect for the artist being paid tribute to; so if you know one artist hates another, you can't have them cover their song.
Here's my U2 tribute, in no real order:
- Garbage - "Even Better Than The Real Thing"
- Jane's Addiction - "Mysterious Ways"
- Gavin Friday - "If You Wear That Velvet Dress"
- R.E.M. - "One"
- Radiohead - "Hold Me, Thrill Me, Kiss Me, Kill Me"
- Prince - "Lemon"
- No Doubt - "Sweetest Thing"
- Bob Dylan - "I Still Haven't Found What I'm Looking For"
- B.B. King - "Desire"
- Nine Inch Nails - "Discotheque"
- Oasis - "Gone"
- Outkast* - "Bullet The Blue Sky"
- Elvis Costello - "Please"
- PJ Harvey - "I Will Follow"
- Depeche Mode - "With Or Without You"
Anyone else? Come on, you know it's fun.
1:01 PM | e-mail |
Monday, March 04, 2002
Big, big thanks to Chip, who provided me with an elegant coding suggestion that reduces the size of the background image (faster loading!) and makes the site purtier in higher browser resolutions.
My readers are the bestest.
10:55 PM | e-mail |
My readers are the bestest.
10:55 PM | e-mail |
It's the article everyone has to blog -- Looking Grim At The Grammys, a Newsweek article about the possible death of the music industry. Comes with the shocking statistic that more blank CDs were sold last year than actual CDs.
I've been thinking a lot about this lately. I blame about 75% of the music industry's decline on nobody but themselves. They heavily market bad artists, ignore vital ones, create outrageous expenses, and always go for the big seller. In the process they've created a miserably bland musical climate. Commercial radio is a fucking joke, and it's because of ClearChannel and the other industry giants. I'm seriously considering saving some money and buying an XM receiver and subscription -- I'm anxious to give support to any remotely viable alternative that's challenging the status quo.
But then, the other 25% of the blame lies with us. It's Moby's often-quoted "Pearl Jam phenomenon" -- the record companies don't market interesting music because we don't buy it -- we burn it. Shit, I admit it, even if I do believe firmly in artists' rights, and in the illegality of copying entire albums, I've got a stack of CD-R music a mile high. It's just too easy, and it's just too expensive to buy a goddamn CD. Think about it. The average list price of a new CD is now one dollar short of twenty dollars. That's RIDICULOUS. That's OBSCENE. I've spent the last week drooling over, and stocking up on, $8.99 catalogue albums at Tower. Shouldn't that tell them something? I WILL BUY YOUR MUSIC IF YOU DO NOT TRY TO GOUGE ME FOR IT.
Try not spending over a million dollars on a music video. Try spending your money on an artist's tour, and not on their wardrobe for a round of interviews at MTV. Try supporting a promising band for longer than one or two albums.
Obvious rant concluded. It just gets me so angry that these people -- record execs -- could get so rich, detect a hiccup in their flow of blood money, and start blaming it on us.
5:23 PM | e-mail |
I've been thinking a lot about this lately. I blame about 75% of the music industry's decline on nobody but themselves. They heavily market bad artists, ignore vital ones, create outrageous expenses, and always go for the big seller. In the process they've created a miserably bland musical climate. Commercial radio is a fucking joke, and it's because of ClearChannel and the other industry giants. I'm seriously considering saving some money and buying an XM receiver and subscription -- I'm anxious to give support to any remotely viable alternative that's challenging the status quo.
But then, the other 25% of the blame lies with us. It's Moby's often-quoted "Pearl Jam phenomenon" -- the record companies don't market interesting music because we don't buy it -- we burn it. Shit, I admit it, even if I do believe firmly in artists' rights, and in the illegality of copying entire albums, I've got a stack of CD-R music a mile high. It's just too easy, and it's just too expensive to buy a goddamn CD. Think about it. The average list price of a new CD is now one dollar short of twenty dollars. That's RIDICULOUS. That's OBSCENE. I've spent the last week drooling over, and stocking up on, $8.99 catalogue albums at Tower. Shouldn't that tell them something? I WILL BUY YOUR MUSIC IF YOU DO NOT TRY TO GOUGE ME FOR IT.
Try not spending over a million dollars on a music video. Try spending your money on an artist's tour, and not on their wardrobe for a round of interviews at MTV. Try supporting a promising band for longer than one or two albums.
Obvious rant concluded. It just gets me so angry that these people -- record execs -- could get so rich, detect a hiccup in their flow of blood money, and start blaming it on us.
5:23 PM | e-mail |
Spoilers for STAR TREK X. This sounds like a massively unentertaining film, and I am not at all looking forward to it. Indeed, I may not even see it.
(via Metafilter)
3:28 PM | e-mail |
(via Metafilter)
3:28 PM | e-mail |
Sometimes, I can't believe I live in America. The FBI now has the right to demand the records of what books you've been reading from libraries and bookstores -- and the kicker is, the library or bookstore can never tell you, or anyone else, that it happened.
I hate everything about our government right now.
(via Ghost In The Machine)
1:41 PM | e-mail |
I hate everything about our government right now.
(via Ghost In The Machine)
1:41 PM | e-mail |
Did Christopher Marlowe write Shakespeare's plays? It's an old and often ridiculous argument, but this is the single most convincing summation I've seen. Honestly? I think I almost believe it now. And I really, really want to see this movie.
(via cheesedip, which is just packed with cool links right now)
1:30 PM | e-mail |
(via cheesedip, which is just packed with cool links right now)
1:30 PM | e-mail |
Wa-HEY! Happy blogday to Linkmachinego, one of my all-time favorite weblogs. And may I just say that the boys and I are humbled to represent August 2001.
1:11 PM | e-mail |
1:11 PM | e-mail |
Sony may get control of The Beatles' back catalogue, since Michael Jackson may have to default on a loan given to him by Sony in which the catalogue was used as collateral. I knew this would happen, I knew it I knew it I knew it. I just can't believe MJ didn't know it. *sigh* Unfortunately, if you want to put a stop to this, it means you have to run right out and buy dozens of copies of Invincible so that MJ can pay off the loan. And let's be frank, that's probably a worse fate than hearing "Imagine" used to hock frozen dinners for the next twenty years. So either way, it sucks.
1:08 PM | e-mail |
1:08 PM | e-mail |
I took a trip through Jerwin's archives today, because I didn't want to do homework. They definitely merit repeat viewings. For one thing, I had no idea that the "Add A Caption" game had winners; and as it turns out, I've won four times (here, here, here, and here). Wowza. Of course, none of mine can even begin to compare to the glory of this, but hey. Plus, Jerwin's a funny fucking bastard, and his posts are always quite entertaining, so it's fun to revisit the greatest hits.
And hey, free porn.
12:55 PM | e-mail |
And hey, free porn.
12:55 PM | e-mail |
Sunday, March 03, 2002
I finally went back to the gym today. I've been off the wagon for quite some time, but I went and I worked out. And now my muscles don't work anymore, which is sad because it was actually a fairly pussy work-out -- just fifteen minutes on a bike, twenty push-ups, seventy-five sit-ups, and five weight-assisted pull-ups, chin-ups, and dips (70lb. assist, five of each). Oh, and two sets of eight on some kind of chest-press situation that just looked appealing. But at least I did something, damn it.
It really is having an effect. I'm not exactly cut and toned, but my arms are getting a little bit thicker and stronger, and you can actually sort of tell that there's motion under my skin when I flex my arm. So we're getting somewhere. But my dream of looking like an underwear model in time for spring break (next week) is definitely shot straight to hell. ;-)
Maria and I went to Tower after the gym, and I was so good; I didn't buy a thing. Be proud. I was strong.
10:05 PM | e-mail |
It really is having an effect. I'm not exactly cut and toned, but my arms are getting a little bit thicker and stronger, and you can actually sort of tell that there's motion under my skin when I flex my arm. So we're getting somewhere. But my dream of looking like an underwear model in time for spring break (next week) is definitely shot straight to hell. ;-)
Maria and I went to Tower after the gym, and I was so good; I didn't buy a thing. Be proud. I was strong.
10:05 PM | e-mail |
I have to stop doing this to myself. Almost every day I spend far too much time flipping through the Mac website ogling all the Gorgeous Things I Must Have. iPod. iBook. Dare I dream it...? Powerbook. I really, really want to ditch Windows. Though I'll admit I am apprehensive about it simply in terms of being able to do the things I need to do without having to buy a thousand new programs. But boy, XP sucks. I shall have to have a long and heart-felt chat with one of the people at Digital Society someday soon.
Ooooooh, digital cameras to look at... and I could save $100, too... :::masturbates capitalistically:::
12:43 PM | e-mail |
Ooooooh, digital cameras to look at... and I could save $100, too... :::masturbates capitalistically:::
12:43 PM | e-mail |
Don't worry about me, ladies and gentlemen. I'm self-medicating in my usual style: retail therapy.
God bless Tower's $8.99 sale. Tonight I picked up Blondie's The Best Of Blondie, Talking Heads' Remain In Light, and T. Rex's Electric Warrior. Tomorrow, if I'm foolish enough, I may go back for Jane's Addiction's Ritual De Lo Habitual and The Beastie Boys' Licensed To Ill. I just might.
1:06 AM | e-mail |
God bless Tower's $8.99 sale. Tonight I picked up Blondie's The Best Of Blondie, Talking Heads' Remain In Light, and T. Rex's Electric Warrior. Tomorrow, if I'm foolish enough, I may go back for Jane's Addiction's Ritual De Lo Habitual and The Beastie Boys' Licensed To Ill. I just might.
1:06 AM | e-mail |
Saturday, March 02, 2002
I'm blogging from an internet terminal here at the hospital in Derby, CT. This place is astoundingly nice. I'm in a huge common room with floor-to-ceiling glass windows, a massive skylight, tremendous spiral staircase, books on health care... the whole place is very clean and inviting and not at all hospital-esque.
I'm immensely glad my grandmother is here; because honestly, I feel like I couldn't stand the sight of her anywhere else. She looks awful. Everyone seems to say that she's going to be all right (though earlier in the week, they were not at all optimistic. I can't believe it's possible, but apparently she looked a thousand times worse just days ago), but -- and it feels self-defeating to say it, but it's true -- she looks like she's dead already. I've never seen her so weak, so frail. It looks like her body is collapsing into the hospital bed. She can't possibly weigh more than seventy-five pounds.
She was never a strong woman in the physical sense. As long as I can remember her, she walked with what my uncle calls "the geisha shuffle," and she's always stooped over. But even as her body failed, she remained a powerful mind in so many ways -- she's completely Alzheimer's-free, and she's always been able to engage you in conversation, and was even a pretty sharp, sardonic wit, in her own way.
But it's hard to say she was an independent mind. She's an old woman -- in her mid-80s now -- and it's always been one of the great tragedies of my life that she was so acquiescent to my grandfather. She seems to have adhered to those old-time ideals of a woman's worth or purpose or place. She lets him do everything for her, and his judgement is not always the best. It would take me years to explain their complicated relationship and the ways it's played itself out in our family. And my grandfather is a good, good man. But there are times when I find myself hating him. It's too awful to say it aloud, but it's true. In so many ways he's ruined her; he's sapped her of the independent spirit she so clearly would've had. She used to paint, and she was fantastic. She inspired my interest in art. You wouldn't know it from my online self -- I began to abandon this dream a few years ago, as my passion for words developed and my technical artistic skills showed no signs of burgeoning -- but for years, I was quite sure that I would be an artist in my adult life, and she encouraged me. My fondest memories of staying at their house are of using her easel and art supplies. I'd draw ridiculous superheroes and improbable monsters. She still has a picture of Spider-Man I drew when I was ten or eleven, framed on the wall of their back hallway. I saw it today as we stood in their empty house.
Yesterday when we arrived at the hospital, she was sitting up in a chair next to the bed, hunched over and supporting her arms (which are laced with IVs like a fishnet; she's lost her swallowing reflex and is trying to regain it to eliminate the need for a feeding tube to be installed Monday). After a few minutes, she looked ready to pass out; she was clearly exhausted and needed to have a nurse come help her back into bed. But even then, she asked, in a voice thick with gravel and phlegm, a vocie that broke my heart when I remembered her meek whisper -- "Do I want to get back into bed, Poppy?"
She's utterly dependent on him, and he's too terrified to act -- he doesn't want the feeding tube, even though she'sbeen malnourished for years and years now. They both are. But he's petrified of modern medicine, and he's withdrawn from the world. He's useless to her and she's everything to him. And it seems like there's no way to break the cycle.
If she lives through this, they have to go to assisted living. They have to. The whole reason they're in this mess is because she fell at home and he was unable to help her. But he simply won't do it. Even as I type this, my father -- who is a doctor, and practically the only medical voice my grandfather will pay any heed to -- is wearing him down, trying to make him understand the seriousness of their situation. Because if they go back to that old house, alone, they'll both be dead within a year. We've been saying it for as long as I've been alive, and he's never listened. Please, God, let the words get through this time.
1:04 PM | e-mail |
I'm immensely glad my grandmother is here; because honestly, I feel like I couldn't stand the sight of her anywhere else. She looks awful. Everyone seems to say that she's going to be all right (though earlier in the week, they were not at all optimistic. I can't believe it's possible, but apparently she looked a thousand times worse just days ago), but -- and it feels self-defeating to say it, but it's true -- she looks like she's dead already. I've never seen her so weak, so frail. It looks like her body is collapsing into the hospital bed. She can't possibly weigh more than seventy-five pounds.
She was never a strong woman in the physical sense. As long as I can remember her, she walked with what my uncle calls "the geisha shuffle," and she's always stooped over. But even as her body failed, she remained a powerful mind in so many ways -- she's completely Alzheimer's-free, and she's always been able to engage you in conversation, and was even a pretty sharp, sardonic wit, in her own way.
But it's hard to say she was an independent mind. She's an old woman -- in her mid-80s now -- and it's always been one of the great tragedies of my life that she was so acquiescent to my grandfather. She seems to have adhered to those old-time ideals of a woman's worth or purpose or place. She lets him do everything for her, and his judgement is not always the best. It would take me years to explain their complicated relationship and the ways it's played itself out in our family. And my grandfather is a good, good man. But there are times when I find myself hating him. It's too awful to say it aloud, but it's true. In so many ways he's ruined her; he's sapped her of the independent spirit she so clearly would've had. She used to paint, and she was fantastic. She inspired my interest in art. You wouldn't know it from my online self -- I began to abandon this dream a few years ago, as my passion for words developed and my technical artistic skills showed no signs of burgeoning -- but for years, I was quite sure that I would be an artist in my adult life, and she encouraged me. My fondest memories of staying at their house are of using her easel and art supplies. I'd draw ridiculous superheroes and improbable monsters. She still has a picture of Spider-Man I drew when I was ten or eleven, framed on the wall of their back hallway. I saw it today as we stood in their empty house.
Yesterday when we arrived at the hospital, she was sitting up in a chair next to the bed, hunched over and supporting her arms (which are laced with IVs like a fishnet; she's lost her swallowing reflex and is trying to regain it to eliminate the need for a feeding tube to be installed Monday). After a few minutes, she looked ready to pass out; she was clearly exhausted and needed to have a nurse come help her back into bed. But even then, she asked, in a voice thick with gravel and phlegm, a vocie that broke my heart when I remembered her meek whisper -- "Do I want to get back into bed, Poppy?"
She's utterly dependent on him, and he's too terrified to act -- he doesn't want the feeding tube, even though she'sbeen malnourished for years and years now. They both are. But he's petrified of modern medicine, and he's withdrawn from the world. He's useless to her and she's everything to him. And it seems like there's no way to break the cycle.
If she lives through this, they have to go to assisted living. They have to. The whole reason they're in this mess is because she fell at home and he was unable to help her. But he simply won't do it. Even as I type this, my father -- who is a doctor, and practically the only medical voice my grandfather will pay any heed to -- is wearing him down, trying to make him understand the seriousness of their situation. Because if they go back to that old house, alone, they'll both be dead within a year. We've been saying it for as long as I've been alive, and he's never listened. Please, God, let the words get through this time.
1:04 PM | e-mail |