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Tuesday, July 23, 2002

I'm not back already. I really want to be blogging -- I still enjoy it, and I've still got a lot to say -- but I need to deny myself some things for a while. In any event, I only fired up Blogger to let you know that Dick Armey has put the big fat kibosh on Operation TIPS from the Citizen Corps initiative, and I want to kiss him. Thanks to Michele.

I suspect I'm going to take a week-long hiatus from use of the computer. It might start tomorrow. This is going to be a fascinating psychological experiment, and I think I'll need to buy a lot of books to get through it. In any event, if you wanted to write me, do it soon 'cuz I'm gonna stop checking my mail. Some people have been having trouble with the DYFL address, so use logovisual@hotmail.com.

And if you want another barometer of my mental state: The two songs I'm listening to most, with frequent repetition, are "I Want To Vanish" and Prince's "My Name Is Prince." They're thematically linked, I swear.

Out again. For a while this time.


8:58 AM | e-mail |


Sunday, July 21, 2002

If you should stumble upon my last remark
I'm crying in the wilderness
I'm trying my best to make it dark
How can I tell you I'm rarer than most?
I'm certain as a lost dog
Pondering a sign post

I want to vanish
This is my last request
I've given you the awful truth
Now give me my rest


Elvis Costello - "I Want To Vanish"

Things aren't going so well.

And I want to leave it at that but I can't; words have failed me repeatedly in recent weeks but I can't let go of them entirely. I haven't written a damn thing this entire summer that hasn't shown up on this weblog. I've complained before about my stultifying lack of forward motion but nothing's changed since then; I'm still crashing in the same car.

All I do is go to work, listen to music, and sleep. Occasionally I'll go out with my friends and do something pleasant but that's more and more occasional and less and less pleasant as I convince myself of my current status' overwhelming uselessness. I can't even say what I feel anymore without relying on song titles; I'm pedantically, obsessively doting on my music collection when I should be punching myself in the face. Displacement at its finest.

I really do want to vanish, and this is the first time I've ever felt this way. I want this weblog to go away. I want my job to go away, I want my credit-card bill to go away, I want all my anxieties about a relationship that just isn't happening to go away. I want my records to go away, I want my books and comics to go away, I want my hair and clothes and in some ways even my friends and family gone for a while: I want to be left with nothing and forced to build something. I'd also like to dispense with all of this melodrama but again: that's one more thing that just isn't happening.

Others have it rougher than me and I know it. I know it far, far too well. It just makes me even more depressed about the state I've put myself in.

This is a trick I've pulled before, but y'know what? I'm gonna try it again. This weblog's going to go away for a while, and I don't know for how long. We were in the lead-up to a relaunch in any event, so why not take some time and do it right if it's gonna get done? My readership was tanking anyway. Some things need to be burned down occasionally.

I'm speaking with so much conviction about what I want to change, but don't let me fool you. As certain as a lost dog.

Don't worry about me in any kind of legitimate way. I may be unhappy but I'm not unbalanced. I'm just trying to see what I've got going for me, and I won't know until I'm without certain things for a while... I'll most likely keep up with e-mail as well but who knows, maybe it's time for that computer sabbatical I've been promising myself for so long. I can make no promises.

See you later, OK? Go read the blogs I have linked; they're doing it much better than I was anyhow.


11:17 PM | e-mail |



Holy shit, Pearls That Are His Eyes is back. Score. Missed you...

10:26 PM | e-mail |



Easily one of the most interesting things I've read on the Internet in months: True Porn Clerk Stories. READ. I might even donate a couple of bucks to the server fund, it's that good...
Several of our straight porn boxes have a cheerful little blue circle on the front. It's designed to look like a sticker and it says "Gaping Asshole Inside!" in the same sort of cheerful font one might use for "Now with more fiber!" or "New fresh scent!"

It is clearly meant to be a feature, a sort of guarantee of quality: whatever else may or may not happen in this film, you are guaranteed at least one gaping asshole. Frequently there is also a gaping asshole holding the box, but that issue is not addressed.
(via Cheesedip)


7:05 PM | e-mail |



I'm working until close four nights out of five this week. I already feel like I've been pistolwhipped. Don't expect much out of me for a while, though God knows there's plenty to say... this is not the best time I've ever had.

9:57 AM | e-mail |


Saturday, July 20, 2002

R.I.P., Alan Lomax, easily one of the most important people in the history of music.
"We now have cultural machines so powerful that one singer can reach everybody in the world, and make all the other singers feel inferior because they're not like him," Mr. Lomax once reflected. "Once that gets started, he gets backed by so much cash and so much power that he becomes a monstrous invader from outer space, crushing the life out of all the other human possibilities. My life has been devoted to opposing that tendency."
(NYTimes link, requires free registration. It's worth it.)

He died in a nursing home right here in my home town. I had no idea he even lived here. I learned about this over my cereal in our print newspaper this morning; their article had fascinating quotes from Steve Albini and Martin Scorcese too. Trying to dig those up to link to 'em, or I'll just transcribe them here...


10:56 AM | e-mail |


Friday, July 19, 2002

An absolutely fascinating article on artificial blood substitutes, from Wired:
The future doesn't appear on earth all at once the way a stock offering might, or even roll around with the rising sun. Instead, it blossoms in discrete locations, spreads in ponderous waves, and fills the wind with sporelike memes than can settle and bloom without warning. These outbreaks are hardly random - Tokyo and Silicon Valley and lower Manhattan are more prone to them than places like Des Moines - but when it comes to the transfusion of blood, the future has skittered down to the unlikely South African province of Gauteng, a hilly, semiarid region 1,500 miles south of Olduvai Gorge.
I've learned many new things, including these factoids on the economy of blood transfusion:
Blood shortages also threaten the stability of a multi-gigabuck industry. Today, patients are rarely infused with a donor's raw substance, unless they choose to freeze and store their own for medical or other reasons (think Olympics). Instead, donated blood is filtered and centrifuged into a variety of specialized products, including plasma ($195 per unit), clotting factors ($175 per unit), red blood cells ($225 per unit), and assorted proteins and immune factors, which wholesale for hundreds or thousands of dollars per milligram. That means every unit you donate can be repackaged to fetch $1,000. If you're prohibited from donating - as are Britons, South Africans, gay men, and other demographic groups - that's a blow to the system. A lifetime ban of a donor willing to give four times a year for 15 years amounts to 60 grand.
(via LinkMachineGo)


5:10 PM | e-mail |


Thursday, July 18, 2002

I love thunderstorms at sunset. All the light in the west is diffusing out into a gorgeous copper-orange wash... I'd take a picture but I'm sure it wouldn't come out.

I blog about the weather way too much. Nick Cave kept a diary of the weather in London for an entire year, because he knew how much it influenced his moods and songwriting... how 'bout it, eh? Who wants to read The Rainblog? It'll be fun, I promise...!


7:22 PM | e-mail |



And like clockwork, Doteasy have sent me the pre-notification that I'm projected to exceed my bandwidth. Woo! The hosting switch might be tight, but it might just be timed perfectly...

7:05 PM | e-mail |



My permalinks. Are still. Fucked up. And set behind. One hour. Asscrap.

We've had good times, Blogger, but there comes a moment in every relationship...

Man oh man, am I drooling at all the things I'll be able to do with Movable Type. Assuming I don't break the site horribly when I try to set it up. Hmmm. Asscrap again.


2:19 PM | e-mail |



Well, the bullet is bitten: I've signed up with Dreamhost for one year of hosting. More as I get it. And yes, I'll warn you when the site's gonna vanish for a while during the switchover... definitely won't be for a couple of days yet, methinks.

2:12 PM | e-mail |



Yesterday I tried to write a massive political rant about this Citizen Corps nonsense. The previous night I had dreamed that the world's governments were colluding to end society and that the military was invading everyone's neighborhood. (There may've been a tidal wave somewhere in there too, but hey, this was a dream).

When I actually sat down to start writing all that came out were the scribblings of an infuriated five-year-old. I am quite simply too pissed to think rationally about the whole affair and to get my points across in a clear, effective manner. Of course I shouldn't even have to get my points across. This should've sounded like an awful idea to anyone it was related to, much less our fucking President. But you know, there you go. Our country is run by men who actively hate and have contempt for us. Keen.

I just want to be a superficial bastard on this weblog, you know? I want to talk about all the CDs I got the other day, and how my obsession with Robbie Williams is growing ever greater, and about how much I miss my boyfriend. Meanwhile, the world is getting ready to kill itself.

I really thought my generation wasn't going to have to live with this kind of bullshit. I really thought we were gonna be OK.


10:42 AM | e-mail |


Wednesday, July 17, 2002

It's over. My iPod is officially a dinosaur. The 20GB model has been unleashed and it could actually hold my entire burgeoning CD collection. They do 'em for Windows now too, ladies and gentlemen... Where can I find a briefcase with $500 lying around, please?

10:59 AM | e-mail |


Tuesday, July 16, 2002

Today, I sat and peacefully munched a McDonald's burger at the corner of Commercial Court and Executive Drive.

Sometimes I am utterly convinced that I live in a bad postmodern novel.


4:13 PM | e-mail |


Monday, July 15, 2002

There's no such thing as a good web host, is there?

I was pretty much sure I was gonna set DYFL up with 34sp.com, the hosts of the excellent Minor 9th. Simon assured me that they were pretty good. Then a week later they lost his entire Movable Type installation, which, of course, is the system I was thinking about setting up with them. Err, oops.

So then I switched my anticipated gears to Dreamhost, who cover Prol's fantastic U2log and prolific.org. And today they've both vanished with some kind of "http_d" error. Ass. (However, Michele's with them and her site's still up... what do I make of this?)


12:06 PM | e-mail |



EXCLAMATION POINT! Apparently the new Abercrombie & Fitch Catalog will contain articles on Kylie Minogue and Grant Morrison! Shirtless jocks, Kylie, and the greatest writer on the planet: Could this thing be any more of my personal wet dream?

(Thank you, thank you, Lia -- and welcome back!)

Amber, you lucky dog. And sorry I just stole your ! trademark. ;-D


10:51 AM | e-mail |


Sunday, July 14, 2002

Found while browsing depechemode.com's comprehensive lyrics section: The lyrics to rare remix "Are People People." FUCK YOU, BOB DYLAN! FUCK YOU, T.S. ELIOT! THIS IS POETRY!

8:10 PM | e-mail |



That shot of Matthew McConaughey with the tank barrel sticking out between his legs like a giant death-cock was priceless, though.

7:37 PM | e-mail |



Full of food and exhausted again. Saw Reign Of Fire last night and it was really quite terrible, but fun in a not-so-fun way. The way I put it as I left the theatre: "My only regret about having seen that is that now we can't rent it later." The experience was somewhat dampened by Shane's God-awful mood (blah blah I hate society, blah blah everyone needs to die, although he's kind of right), but was also sort of enhanced by it too... God, I'm in a wishy-washy mood tonight, aren't I.

In other news: look closer.


7:33 PM | e-mail |


Saturday, July 13, 2002

New blog to love: FluxBlog. Via N.Y.L.P.M.

1:37 PM | e-mail |



Y'know, I knew it was gonna happen... but shit, shit, shit, shit, shit.

11:25 AM | e-mail |



Woo-hoo! Unexpected day off! It promises to contain dragons, too, so. (Last night was intended to contain dragons, actually, but wound up containing Irish hitmen, which worked out OK.)

9:48 AM | e-mail |


Thursday, July 11, 2002

I feel that I need a new haircut, and a tagline for this blog. Suggestions for both in the comments, please.

3:41 PM | e-mail |


Wednesday, July 10, 2002

This message is only here to say that I doubt I'm gonna blog anything else today, since I'm working from 2PM-10PM and if I'm smart I'll stay off the computer afterwards. Ta.

11:19 AM | e-mail |


Tuesday, July 09, 2002

Remember how when Bjork announced a Greatest Hits album, she said the tracklist would be chosen by fans on her website? Well, it was, and they've left off her Greatest Hit, "It's Oh So Quiet."

You know, I was quite sure that I had a lot to say here about the institution of Greatest Hits albums, fan participation in the building of an artist's image, etc. etc. Then I realized that I was just cranky because I go through phases with my affection for Bjork. Right now the very sight of her kind of sends me into a froth at the mouth with irritation. Something about her bugs the shit out of me right now. I felt this way before I first fell in love with her music, so I imagine it's not permament, but I dunno... I guess I'm not really in the mood for oblique music right now. Which is why Prince singing "Do Me, Baby" holds so much appeal, I suppose.

Anyway, I thought that was an interesting bit of music news I could share. The tracklist is otherwise fairly strong; and I might buy it when it's released just for "Play Dead" and "It's In Our Hands." I'm tired of dealing with crappy MP3s of those...


11:28 AM | e-mail |


Monday, July 08, 2002

Tom blogs about rock-paper-scissors. Which reminds me of a little something I learned from Shane the other night... it's called Cowboy, Bear, Ninja.

It works on the same essential principle as rock-paper-scissors, but requires a lot more full-body action. Basically, the two contestants stand back to back, and on the count of 3, they leap and spin towards each other striking one of the following three poses:




Cowboy beats bear, obviously, since he's got six-guns and has to rassle with bears all the time anyway. Bear eats ninja, which seemed a little strange to me -- could anything stop the ninja, really? -- but Paul explained that ninjas often win by outsmarting their foes, and bears are nothing but animal passion that it's impossible to reason with. And ninja beats cowboy because they're obviously so much cooler.

I don't think I'll ever play rock-paper-scissors again with this alternative available to me. Yourself?


10:51 AM | e-mail |


Sunday, July 07, 2002

New toy! Scroll down to The End on the sidebar and click the poorly-drawn headphones to display my Blogamp results any time you've got a hankerin'. Can I get a huzzah?

Just this single minor accomplishment has improved my mood immensely... I think it must be typing the exclamation point that did it.


10:12 PM | e-mail |



One notable thing did happen today. I'm out at work.

I never did make a point of being out at my job, since I was reasonably sure it wouldn't have any real impact on what people thought about me. Gayer folks than I have worked for Gap Inc., ladies and gentlemen. I'd toyed with the idea of just tossing it out there on a couple of occasions, but never really did. Today I was asked point-blank by Randy, a rather nice girl who'd been flirting with me rather heavily for quite some time. I didn't hesitate to tell her. I'm reasonably sure she probably told everybody else in the store as soon as I walked out tonight at six o'clock. I don't have a problem with this, really, but I am curious to see if anything's different tomorrow... I suspect not.

Now I have to call the insurance company and report my car accident. What a shitty, shitty night.


8:11 PM | e-mail |



I am not accomplishing anything.

All the money I'm earning in my job is servicing debt. My job is keeping me to an erratic schedule that only leaves time for a furtive, unrewarding social life. That "social life" absorbs all of the time that I would otherwise spend on my own, relaxing or doing the things I value as achievements -- working on the website, writing, planning for the future. This site's hits are on a downward slide because I haven't been able to (a.) keep it interesting or (b.) keep it up and running for more than three quarters of the month. My romantic relationship is in a profoundly frustrating holding pattern. I haven't kept to an exercise schedule because my job leaves me physically exhausted at the end of every day without any actual workout to show for it; as a result, I'm dissatisfied with my appearance. My hair is too long for comfort and too short to be cut in any satisfying way. My living space is disorganized and I don't have the time to change it.

Nothing is working for me right now and I'm really fucking tired of it.


7:54 PM | e-mail |



Because I just can't get it out of my head:

I guess I should’ve known by the way U parked your car sideways
That it wouldn't last
See, U're the kinda person that believes in makin' out once
Love 'em and leave 'em fast
I guess I must be dumb cuz U had a pocket full of horses
Trojan and some of them used
But it was Saturday night, I guess that makes it all right
And U say - "What have I got 2 lose?"

And honey, I say Little Red Corvette
Baby, U're much 2 fast (Oh)
Little Red Corvette
U need a love that's gonna last

I guess I should've closed my eyes when U drove me 2 the place
Where your horses run free
Cuz I felt a little ill when I saw all the pictures
Of the jockeys that were there before me
Believe it or not, I started 2 worry
I wondered if I had enough class
But it was Saturday night, I guess that makes it all right
And U say - "Baby, have U got enough gas?"
Oh yeah!

Little Red Corvette
Baby, U're much 2 fast (Yes U are)
Little Red Corvette
U need 2 find a love that's gonna last (Oh, oh)

A body like yours oughta be in jail
Cuz it's on the verge of bein' obscene
Move over, baby, gimme the keys
I'm gonna try 2 tame your little red love machine

Little Red Corvette
Baby, U're much 2 fast
Little Red Corvette
Need 2 find a love that's gonna last, hey hey

Little Red Corvette
Honey, U got 2 slow down (Got 2 slow down)
Little Red Corvette
Cuz if U don't, U’re gonna run your little red corvette right in the ground
(Little Red Corvette)
Right down 2 the ground (Honey, U got 2 slow down)
U, U, U got 2 slow down
(Little Red Corvette)
U're movin' much 2 fast, 2 fast
Need 2 find a love that's gonna last!

Girl, U got an ass like I never seen, ow!
And the ride...
I say the ride is so smooth, U must be a limousine

Ow!
Baby, U're much 2 fast
Little Red Corvette
U need a love, U need a love that's, uh, that's gonna last
(Little Red Corvette)
Babe, U got 2 slow down (U got 2 slow down)
Little Red Corvette
Cuz if U don't, cuz if U don't
U’re gonna run your body right into the ground (Right into the ground)
Right into the ground (Right into the ground)
Right into the ground (Right into the ground)

Little Red Corvette, oh


5:53 PM | e-mail |


Saturday, July 06, 2002

Don't you love how I always say I'm not going to blog anything, then I blog something? Anyway, it's worth breaking any kind of vow to share The Editing Room's abridged script for Spider-Man.
Suddenly, he is pelted by fruit! The New Yorkers on the bridge are attacking him!

CGI WILLEM DAFOE
What, seriously? This is just mindlessly pandering to our unusually strong sense of national unity.

CGI TOBEY MAGUIRE
Ha ha! That's right, New York! When you let six-foot action figures kill costumed superheroes, then the terrorists have already won!
God bless. There's even more and better inside...


6:43 PM | e-mail |



You know, all of the curious things that have been happening to me in the last week -- parties, socializing, car accidents, 30 hours of hard retail labor -- have been happening on about four and a half hours of sleep a night, every night. So I'm waaaay too exhausted to do any proper writing here, and I'm very sorry. As usual, I'm gonna resort to music to make up for my personal deficiencies -- have an MP3! Enjoy The Afghan Whigs' cover of The Clash's "Lost In The Supermarket" because it's possibly the best cover song I've ever heard, ranging freely through the Clash's musical catalogue and beyond. And it stays perfectly whip-smart coherent and absolutely beautiful. I'm reasonably certain that it's better than the original...

It doesn't really have any contextual bearing on my life right now, just so you know. I've been listening to it a lot after rediscovering it -- I first downloaded it about a year and a half ago -- but that's all.

Now God help me, I think I'm gonna go out again. I can sleep until 11 AM tomorrow before work at noon...


6:23 PM | e-mail |


Friday, July 05, 2002

Two notable things have happened in my life recently.

First off was the party last night. It was in almost no way a drunken debauch; like all gatherings of my tribe, it consisted mainly of playing stupid games under the pretense of irony and sitting around talking shit. The only thing that set it apart was the arrival, around 11 PM, of a fair quantity of fruity nasty fucking Godawful booze, i.e. Smirnoff Ice and Skyy Blue.

I tried both. They tasted like rampant, tropical ass. I doubt I had the total of one drink before giving up in disgust, and therefore was not even remotely drunk for the rest of the night. Nor was anyone else, really, except G.

G. is a kid I see a decent amount of occasionally at gatherings like these; a friend-of-a-friend guy. He kind of irritates me, but not so much that I'd avoid a social situation that he was a part of. He's relatively easy to get along with. But G. was a real class act at the party last night. He decided he'd match my friend Ashley's booze intake. Ashley was the only one doing anything remotely resembling hardcore drinking, and she holds her liquor insanely well. G. had also, like the super-genius he is, opted to smoke two joints before matching Ashley. He then proceeded to drink twelve Smirnoff Ices and very nearly died in Ashley's bathroom.

For a while there, around 3 AM, everyone was pretty sure that they were going to have to take him to the hospital. This was, coincidentally, right about the time that I left the party. I say "coincidentally" because I really was planning to leave just before I heard that G. was in a bad way. Of course, as soon as I learned of this, guilt, shame, and fear began to overtake me; all of which were stupid emotions to have. I didn't want to be the pussy who was leaving the party at the onset of trouble; but of course, I did want exactly that, because hell, I had nothing to do with this kid getting wasted and I didn't want trouble as a result. I am a complete and utter sissy, it's true, especially around alcohol which I have so little experience with.

I hate the position drinking puts me in. I really don't like being the annoying straightedge kid who sits in the corner of the party talking about albums with anyone coherent enough to listen and/or respond, who sneers disapprovingly at others' drunkenness and who's a complete spoilsport when anyone's drinking socially. I don't want that. But I just cannot understand the appeal of drinking; I just can't. Is it so fun that it's worth fucking puking and passing out and ripping chunks out of your liver and bringing on Alzheimer's six months earlier every time you party? Is it so fun that it's worth potentially forcing people you love to drive you to the hospital and accept the consequences for something you did to yourself?

I know full well that drinking does not equate with being completely smashed sick. I'm not a judgemental idiot, I swear I'm not. But hell, I don't even like the social institution of drinking. It's just one big cock-swinging contest, in so many large and small ways. There's the obvious and too-easy example of G.'s attempt at "victory," but there's also the subtle things too. Another of my friends last night was annoying the shit out of me by randomly spouting seemingly hard-won booze knowledge at quasi-appropriate intervals. None of it was even remotely necessary. This is usually a completely excellent person and someone I value very highly, but drinking made them irritatingly grandiose about such things.

I know I'm the minority opinion on this, and I know how unbelievably presumptuous and priggish this must sound to anyone who's ever taken a drink, so I apologize. I really do want to understand, y'know? I'm tired of seeing things this way, but there's just no way I can logically think otherwise. I'm sure G.'s gonna go out and drink again for no good god-damn reason, and I'm sure everyone else is just gonna quietly ignore the fact that things like last night happen. That was the scene that haunted me the most: the people that weren't in the bathroom sitting out on the couch (myself included), trying desperately not to discuss the sick man in the next room, or trying to rationalize and make his state OK through the sharing of arcane drinking lore. Nobody wanted to acknowledge that the gravity of his presence outweighed whatever flimsy reasons we had to be drinking.

All right, I am definitely gonna shut up about that now. The other notable thing that happened: I was in a car accident. Wheeee.

In the parking lot of Carrabba's tonight, I hit a guy in an Oldsmobile while coming around a corner. Neither of us was hurt at all; both our front ends were decently smashed but our cars still work fine; he was quite nice about the situation; insurance will cover it, because the deputy came quickly and filed an accident report painlessly and didn't cite either of us since there were no traffic signals in the lot to obey and Florida is a no-fault state. Which is good, because honestly, I'd be willing to take the blame on this one. We were both coming around the corner too fast, I think, but I was a little too far over in the lane trying to avoid a car parked in an extremely inopportune spot, and I probably didn't have the right vantage point to see him coming. His car also blended flawlessly into the background, which was a little curious. Anyway.

It was pretty much a non-event. There are lots of other funny little details I could share, but I'm too tired and too dissatisfied with the above rant to keep writing. Plus, my thumbs hurt. So anyway, if you see me complaining about getting my car fixed in the next couple weeks, now you know why.

I need to go to bed.


10:22 PM | e-mail |



You know, I think I'd like to hear the new Idlewild album. Here's the NME review, which has my eyebrows perked.

4:56 PM | e-mail |


Thursday, July 04, 2002

Okie-dokie. I'm off to a friend's 4th of July party, where I intend to *gasp* drink alcohol. For the first time in a looooong time. We'll see how that turns out, now won't we? In any event, no more blogging until tomorrow night after work. Sowwy. Now go celebrate America, the planet's most fucked-up country... OR WE'LL BOMB YOU!!!

3:39 PM | e-mail |



Ren And Stimpy to return on TNN -- possibly under the control of Kricfalusi again. Oh boy oh boy oh boy... this should be worth it, if only for the restored dirty bits and the airing of "Man's Best Friend."

(via I Love Everything)


2:30 PM | e-mail |


Wednesday, July 03, 2002

Matt Groening will curate the next American All Tomorrow's Parties festival. What a sweet gig that would be.

4:05 PM | e-mail |



Theory: The use of cowbell in any and all pop songs since the year 2000 (for example, Pink's "Get The Party Started") has been rendered ironic by that one Saturday Night Live sketch. Thoughts?

12:43 PM | e-mail |


Tuesday, July 02, 2002

Hrmp. What to say? Too tired for anything of real substance...

I got my first annual review tonight at Old Navy -- yes, that's right, it's been almost a year since I started working there. Yow. In any event, I got a tiny raise and had nice things said about me, so honestly, I'm kind of happy. As far as dead-end jobs go, I'm far happier there than I would be in a lot of other places. I am having a pretty decent time, and I guess it's time I surrendered to that fact...

Still, as a job it's got its drawbacks; namely, the way in which it causes me to lose faith in humanity nightly. I mean COME ON, PEOPLE. CLEAN UP AFTER YOURSELVES. IT'S COMMON COURTESY.

But that is a rant for another time.

In other news, I'm completely and shamefully obsessed with Blogamp. I don't know why. Just looking at the list it generates makes me happy. I added it to the placeholder page in the Music section... and yes, I swear I'll build that soon. I need to wait for the overhaul I'm planning for sometime in the next couple of weeks... mwah ha. That's my supervillain laugh.


10:47 PM | e-mail |



I just got bombarded with something like half a dozen ads for a pop-up-killer app. In pop-up windows.

Irony is dead.


12:21 PM | e-mail |


Monday, July 01, 2002

It took a little while, but I finally got BlogAmp to work. The last five songs I listened to in Winamp are:


Please keep in mind that my brother and sister-in-law came to visit this weekend and downloaded some truly dire stuff, and my Winamp is almost always set on shuffle mode. So some of the cheesy 80s madness is theirs, and some is mine... my advice is, if you find the song totally God-awful and would rather not have your opinion of me lowered, assume it was theirs. Sound good?

(via Linkmachinego)


1:05 PM | e-mail |


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