For Your Brown-Eye Only
Goldsphincter
Diarrhea Another Day
From Russia With Lube
Pooraker
In Her Majesty's Secret Orifice
Thunderbowl
The Can With the Golden Dung
Dr. No. 2
Diamonds Arse Forever
Squirt And Let Dry
Proctopussy
You Only Wipe Once
The Bowl Is Not Enough
Never Play Nether Again
Stolen directly and with no compunction from the geniuses in this shitstorm honeypot.
Dear Mr. Allegiance,
We are pleased to inform you that your appearance in Rudyard's Who's Who in Leading Business Professionals is currently pending.
The upcoming 2008 edition of the registry will include biographies of some of our country's most accomplished people. Rudyard's Who's Who is a professional biographical publication which recognizes people for their individual achievements. The complimentary hardcover publication is distributed to newly accepted members and is also displayed in the Library of Congress in Washington, D.C. Please do not confuse Rudyard's Who's Who with other vanity publications that charge a fee for their directories.
For accuracy and publication deadlines please complete the enclosed biographical data form promptly. Although brief, it is vital to return this form to proceed to the next step and send you more information on your appearance. You may also complete your form online at www.rudyardswhoswho.com. Be sure to include your personal identification number. You have our thanks.
We wish you continued success and the best of luck personally and professionally.
Sincerely,
Kimberly H. B'Znyss
Ignatius P. Allegiance
Lifestyle Enhancement & Retail Sales
Born in 1981 to poor immigrant mallwalkers, Ignatius P. Allegiance spent his youth learning the value of large, indoor, air-conditioned retail environments. Washing dishes for the food court stir-fry was his first foray into the wonderful world of Lifestyle Enhancement. The knowledge that the plates he cleaned helped serve the food that fueled the fires of wanton capitalism warmed Ignatius' heart and inspired his desire to learn everything there ever was to know about draining wallets and filling closets.
Ignatius quickly rose through the ranks of Mall Sales, rising over the years to shift lead at Hot Sweatshop and eventually Manager at the Days Are Numbered Calendar Kiosk. Last year Ignatius surpassed his DANCK sales plan by 20%, earning accolades and a $20 Mall Gift Card.
Manager Allegiance now says his early life goals have been met, and the view from the top is good. This next year he hopes to again surpass his sales plan at the calendar kiosk and maybe take the Foot Socker morning shift girl out for lunch some time. He knows a good stir-fry place.Happy Memorial Day.
That's right—that's no exclamation, simply a declaration long delayed by bad traffic and droves of mallshoppers. I'm lucky 'happy' is even in my vocabulary this time of night on a day like today.
As bad as work can be, it's always brightened by Ted. Our exchange today was brief but beautiful as he stopped by during our busiest moments. All I had time for was a quick hi-five and hurried plans to meet for a drink after my shift. It gave me something to look forward to, though I'm not sure if that's a good which or a bad witch. Which it is depends on whether you think Zeno's gettin' where he's goin' or not, I guess.
Later on, after work, I got there eventually. Ted and I met at the taco stand and got in line. He was all up in arms about his new apartment, wouldn't shut up bitching long enough for me to get an horchata in straw-wise. I asked him to calm down and handed him his milky drink. I asked him to explain things to me slowly. He says,
I was taking a shit and got shat upon.
I took a moment to process this delightful thought (I was not momat upon, thank God!) and then verified that Ted did in fact live on the top floor of his complex. So who shat upon ye if ye be livin on th'top floor? I asked in my worst brogue.
It wasn't a who, he says, It was an it!
What it? Then I lost my train of thought, 'which it?'
And then over meaty, crisp tacos Ted laid it all out for me: Birds were the it. Ted, like most everyone living among civilized, indoor-plumbed societies, had an open-air vent leading from his bathroom ceiling directly to the roof. This opening was cowled to prevent rainy precipitation from entering the commode, though it seems the cowl left enough room for fowl precipitation. Foul precipitation. Looking for some private shade, pigeons were using Ted's bathroom's vent/cowl arrangement as their own little single-occupant outhouse.
Folklorically birds have deadly aim with their waste, so it occurred to Ted that he could just leave the seat up and hope for the best. Turds out the line of sight was just off though, and the <allit meme="Sylvester J. Pussycat, Sr." rating="PG-13">shitter's shitter was splendidly shat upon.</allit> Beside that, curious cats (he has 3 right now) don't need any extra invitation to close inspection of bathroom porcelain. The situation was bad enough without having to wash a toilet-drenched bird-shat-upon cat. Ted just put down a towel and called his landlord.
Meantime, shits had to be shat. The repair was going to take a few days, so Ted tried to work around the target area. Creative stances and perilous positions were attempted when making a deposit. These almost never worked. After a couple uncomfortable, spattered dumps Ted recalled that he was smarter than a pigeon, bigger than a pigeon, and could pretty much boss those little fuckers around. From then on the hard part for Ted was explaining to his neighbors all the hooting and applause whenever he used the bathroom.
I told Ted through a mouthful of taco that he should probably get a cover for his truck.
Boy, work was a long day today. I can never get to sleep properly on Monday nights, and I have to be in early early Tuesday mornings. I was late today, which always puts me in a mood, and it just so happens there was a metric buttload of new releases to shelve and sticker and so forth.
Luckily, Ted showed up to entertain me around mid-morning, about ready to explode with excitement. He's been keeping track on the calendar for the release of Airwolf season 3, and blew right by my What's up, yo? to find it. Six toppled tweens and one disturbed elderly mall-walker later he had it in his hand, visibly thrumming with excitement.
He asked me if I knew why he was so excited, and I speculated that it was because he could go home now and watch more Airwolf. I was only partially right. Shifting from foot to foot like he had to take a leak, Ted informed me that originally for season 3 the writers of Airwolf penned dialog for the helicopter. As Ted took a moment to catch his breath, I ventured that it must be very much like Kitt (of Knight Rider fame, of course), and asked if the helicopter had a name or a scanning blue light or some such. The withering look Ted gave me was enough to tell me I was dead wrong. Don't be silly, he went on, helicopters can't talk. Cars can't either, for that matter. Knight Rider is dumb, he opined.
No, Ted informed me that the dialog was written but never spoken, never even broadcast to the show's original TV audience. Further demonstrating the greatness of television on DVD, this new release is the only way one can access Airwolf helicopter dialog, as a subtitle track. Ted was all worked up, bouncing and stuttering through the checkout and out the door. As he left I told him he might as well watch a foreign movie, and could I maybe borrow that sometime?
Today Ted got an email from his sister. It was nice to hear from her, he says. She told him about how she'd moved out of their mother's house recently and pitched up for a place of her own. Well, the first part of that is true, I know, but the second half is pure speculation. She could be living anywhere now. Ted wouldn't be the wiser.
Anyhow, Ted's sister is pissed that Ted hasn't called her in months. It's funny that he's afraid to call her when she's so angry. He says it's no fun talking to someone on a lambasting trip, even over the phone. I told him if he didn't call her then I would, and ask her out on a date. I'm into lambasting.
Ted grumbled something that sounded like ...both ways and got out his phone.
PS -> I bought this account for like 10 bucks last month. Is that even legal in Australia? Point being, I couldn't bring myself to just lop off the, uh, creative output of its previous owner, so that follows. It's in my name, but I didn't write it. No offense if you don't care to read it all. I understand.
Now I have to listen to it.
update: I just put 5 stars next to Paris Hilton's cover of "Do You Think I'm Sexy" --- now I'm going outside to smoke tobacco and consider suicide.
Paris
By Paris Hilton
that's hot!
The good news is, I liked this mix so much that I'm actually gonna try not to half-ass this post. That doesn't mean it won't be half-assed. The mp3s will be available whichever way is simplest, easiest, and of the least amount taxing to my brain. (Probably links to some free online crapdump.) The mp3s will be available. For fucking once, right right.
Moving along, the "structural concept" of this mix is based on a Matmos album, I think. To accomodate this structure I have not been including the artists or song titles with distributed physical copies of this mix. However the files at the end of the links own their proper names and the """real tracklist""" is listed here at the bottom of this entry, hidden in this same ridiculous primitive style. I've taken the liberty of further insulting the conceit by modifying it in a particularly tasteless and brute fashion, as you'll see.
"In Which Our Hero..." also has a plot. I've tried basic, easy plots in the past, shit like "party night, start to finish!!!" and "birthday party!" and "dance mix #462" you know, crap. Woo! Wooooo! No no no, I've moved on to something a bit deeper, something you shouldn't put on before you go out. This is something you put on when you know you're not going out for the next few nights, like for the next few months.
I give you a "breakup mix" just for the hell of it. Enjoy!
This is so embarassing. Ok, here's the tracklist,all ninjaI CHANGED MY TEMPLATE AND AM A LAZY MAN:
Disc One
I spent weeks gathering songs, ordering them, rejecting them and replacing them, re-ordering them, and basically jiggering with this collection until I was happy with it. It's not perfect, but there's a lot of subtlety in the thematics and the flow.
01. 4 - Alarm Will Sound
02. Be Gentle With Me - The Boy Least Likely To
03. Cravo E Canela - Tortoise & Bonnie 'Prince' Billy
04. Faster Gun - The Wrens
05. Elegant Transaction - Loose Fur
06. Jackie O. & Farrah F. (short vers.) - Steve Martin
07. Everybody Seems To Think (You've Got Some Kind of Hold On Me) - The Deadly Snakes
08. Funny Little Frog - Belle & Sebastian
09. Everyday Feels Like Sunday - Of Montreal
10. 3000 Flowers - Destroyer
11. Islands - Cat Power
12. Raised Eyebrows - The Feelies
13. Quand Le Son Devient Aigu, Jeter La Girafe A La Mer - A Hawk & A Hacksaw
14. Convenient Parking - Sun Kil Moon
15. Hatchet - Retribution Gospel Choir
16. Bean Vine Blues #2 - M. Ward
17. After It All - Cat Power
18. Smile - Kevin Blechdom
Disc 2
Now, it took me so long to put together the previous mix that d. had already sent hers and I'd had it for quite some time. I felt bad for being tardy in putting mine in the mail, so I slapped together another little disc of tunes, divided into two 'sides'. Side A, save track 1, is a shredding build-up of fun, throbbing, crazy music. Side 2 keeps the crazy but sheds the shredding in favor of more ear-friendly, gentler songs. I broke lots of my 'rules' for mix CDs putting this tiny thing together, but I think it works really well all the same.
Side A
01. Son of the Earth - Destroyer
02. Apostolic - Loose Fur
03. Without MSG I Am Nothing - Mclusky
04. The Rat - The Walkmen
05. Dragonattack - Donna Summer
Side 2
06. Egaberte - The Books
07. II/XV - Bonnie 'Prince' Billy & The Marquis de Tren
08. Short-Wave-Hum (Stutter) - Holopaw
09. Killer Cars (live) - Radiohead
10. Say Goodnight - Neutral Milk Hotel-ish
I hand-made sleeves for both of the mixes. I wish I'd've scanned them or something, because they were pretty neat. You'll have to track d. down to see 'em, I guess.
I accosted Jerry as he walked through the mall on his break. He was on his way to get coffee, and walking fast. I had to raise my voice a bit and put a little hustle on to catch up to his attention.
"I was wondering if I could get a case for my cheap-ass shades? Can you do that?"
"Yeah, sure. When are you off?"
"Three."
"Alright, just come over after you're done and we'll take a look at you."
I'd helped Jerry track down music he liked, and I'd been lucky playing the suggestion game for him. He liked my taste, and I appreciated his. Since meeting a few years ago we'd only meet when he was out getting coffee. I had 20/20 so there was never a need to track him down for any reason, but he sought me out on the music front. And he would tell me about his courtship, subsequent marraige, and eventual divorce. He was unlucky on that front, and mostly I nodded along in silent sympathy.
I waltzed in to Jerry's store after clocking out, shiny new (shitty cheap) aviators tucked neatly atop my head, and saw he had a customer. Time nicked new lenses as I busied myself asking some of the wandering clerks and technicians why everyone in the store wore corrective lenses, and whether I could hope for a job there someday if I never needed to wear glasses. Did 20/20 employees wear fake lenses? Did they mind selling ugly frames to blind people? What's the next big innovation in eyewear after Oakley's awesome goggles/mp3 player setup? Can you get that in tortoise shell?
Jerry made himself available eventually, and I sat down at a back counter.
"Let's see 'em."
"Yeah, basically they're the crap you get at the kiosk by the food court. I just want something to keep them from getting scratched."
"Not so bad. Spring-loaded ear pieces. These nose rests are lame, though. I'll be right back, put some nice ones on there."
Now, when Jerry went back into the lab, I could see him chest-up through a plate glass window. He turned to face me and set to work on something I couldn't see. He focused on the task at hand. Few minutes later he looked up, smiled, and came back to the counter. My glasses looked the same when he handed them back to me; nose pieces still clear just like they were before. For all I know he was filing his nails back there, but sure they fit much nicer now.
"They should bounce a little on your nose, without sliding down." He deomonstrated the action while my specs were in place, I didn't flinch. "These are a bit long, here," and nabbed the glasses off my face. I didn't flinch.
He heated the frames and twisted them around. He cleaned the lenses with a spritz. The shades fit now, snug and shiny. Finally, now, the case.
"Black or blue?"
"Black, thanks for all this, Jerry."
"Come back any time." He shook my hand, and I took the case and walked out of the store.
On the bus ride home, I felt safe behind my tight mirrors. I did one of the crossword puzzles in the paper and promptly fell asleep with my knees tucked up against the seat ahead. I woke up to a hundred school kids yelling and swinging trumpets and violas at my head.
I noticed it as soon as I walked into my dark apartment. She'd left her black scarf on my bedside table. I put it on and waited.
Your Blues
By Destroyer
during the night before last (Monday night, I guess), I didn't sleep. all day Monday, I didn't sleep. Tuesday afternoon I slept on into the evening, about 3 hours.
Home from work Monday afternoon, I shared some music. Co-worker and pianist Wendy came over to steal all of it. I'd be angry, but I invited her to do it. She took one look at the cabinet in the bathroom and the disarray in the kitchen and the sloughing bookshelves here in this room and went straight for the computer. We plugged in and she was off.
"Take it all."
"I'm taking everything I don't already have."
"That makes sense. Maybe you should take some stuff you already have, too."
"But I have it already."
(Dubiously)
"Can you be absolutely sure about that?"
"Look, buddy, if I have it already then I already have it. See?"
"Do you want me to unplug this thing right now? I could turn this all around in a second, and then where would you be?"
"I'd be in your position..?"
(Exasperation)
"Right, and who wants that? I don't want to turn that around for you, and I certainly don't want that for me. What if it didn't work out? I only have so much personal space, and if people are switching things around into it without taking the common courtesy of removing me first or I forget to take me out when switching things around, it can get crowded."
"I'm taking all your music now, shut up."
"It's all good. Take it all."
(Lips Pursed, Ignoring, Furiously Mousing Around)
By the time Wendy left someone else--let's call 'em Marge--Marge had helped herself over my fine threshold and into my heart. She kept me awake and honest throughout the night. She smelled like human when we were close.
When she made her leave at some completely inappropriate hour I helped myself to a bit o' the internet and settled in for a long two more hours before I had to catch the bus to work. Joe Camel rang the time out occasionally (monotonous, but time flies when you're having fun) and I kept close tabs on everything he had to say.
I went to work looking like I got laid. How do I know this, chap like me? The boxcutters asked me if I was feeling lucky when I got in. I said pretty lucky, but no, not getting any luckier than usual. Then I had to give real reasons for the anglofro. Which was good fun, and dishonest.
I slept through my bus stop on the way home, and had to ride a ways before I was able to settle into bed, snuggle up with heavy lids, and proceed to NOT SLEEP A WINK FOR TOO FUCKING LONG.
then, as I pondered creative ways to die, I lost my train of thought and fell asleep.
Monday, I guess you could say--and I guess is all else I'm gonna say on it--was a day for all night long.
Veneer
By Jose Gonzalez
Kimmy saw Chelsea on the Moon.
Jim saw a girl who reminded him of Regan at school.
Victoria saw nobody, and still baked some cookies.
Carson saw Brooke's mom at work.
Dana saw Tommy at the Buffet.
Jessica saw Lizzy and Hayden and their 4 year old at Target.
Jen saw John and Carson at the mall.
O! Merry holidays,
Where we meet the bane of years
In our own old homes.
High school lunch room dropouts
Shop with eyes to the floor.
Career wielding exes.
Stragglers retreat under a banner
Of leavings soon
To their cozy go nowhere.
Palm Sunday December,
Glorious reappearing,
Merry awkward well-met.
The Greatest
By Cat Power
01. Birthday - The Beatles
02. Getting Plenty - The Stone Roses
03. Blibberin' Blabbin' Blues - Gino Parks
04. Rock Lobster - The B-52s
05. This Town Ain't Big Enough For The Both Of Us - Sparks
06. Fa Ce La (fucked vers.) - The Feelies
07. Shake Your Rump - Beastie Boys
08. Authentic Hip Hop - Kali Wild
09. The Way We Get By - Spoon
10. Lola - The Raincoats
11. The Night We Called It A Day - Celso Fonseca
______________________
Track by track
Birthday by The Beatles
from "The Beatles (White Album)"
Well of course. I mean, duh. It's his birthday. HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO YA! My mom had this track played on the local hits station the morning of my 13th birthday. It was rad.
Getting Plenty by The Stone Roses
from "Garage Flower"
Joel introduced me to the Stone Roses. I don't think he's heard this track before.
Blibberin' Blabbin' Blues by Gino Parks
from "The Complete Motown Singles Vol. 1"
I should have married Jimmy Joe. He owns a barbershop next door. The frank confessions in this jumpy, raggy blues freak-out make me smile. (Gino Parks is male.)
Rock Lobster by The B-52s
from Christine
She sent it to me via AIM. Apparently she's done the same thing with about 3000 other people in this town over the last couple of days because I keep hearing it. I wouldn't put it past her. I don't mind though. This song rules. LET'S ROCK!!!
This Town Ain't Big Enough For The Both Of Us by Sparks
from "Kimono My House"
Wacky. Like Joel-wacky. I like Joel-wacky. Yeah, Joel, you're wacky. I like it. (I link because who knew these guys were still around? If they can keep going this long how come we can't have more Weird Al Yankovic?)
Fa Ce La (fucked vers.) by The Feelies
from "Crazy Rhythms"
One Tuesday earlier this year, Joel and I rushed up to each other and said real quick all at the same time "OhmygodhaveyouheardthisbandTheFeelies??????" We'd both read the feature on AMG that morning, and were excited. Understandably so. This version is cut off funny, which is a total fuck-up on my part, but it's still damn good.
Shake Your Rump by The Beastie Boys
from "Paul's Boutique"
Who cares why? Dance, fucker! It's your birthday!
Authentic Hip Hop by Kali Wild
from Oh No's "The Disrupt Chronicles Vol. 2"
It's a pretty good track, a little choppy because it's hacked out of a smashed up mixtape by Oh No and I'm a lazy sonofabitch. I can't ruin a track this good in any case, so whatever. "Fuckin' up your brains with words."
The Way We Get By by Spoon
from "The Way We Get By EP"
"We go out in stormy weather. We rarely practice discern." & "...an' that's the way to my heart, the way to my heart."
Lola by The Raincoats
from "The Raincoats"
This is perhaps the song that is the most fun to sing along with of all time. Also, Jello J loves the women (and the women love the Jello) so it tickles my funnybone that it's a girl singing this track. Also also, more gender confusion = more better.
The Night We Called It A Day by Celso Fonseca
from "Natural"
Mood music, your after party, and a beach all in one song. Sets the stage for disc 2 (which you online folks will NEVER SEE).
Today I didn't do my laundry.
I packed the duffel bag I usually take to Wildcat Wash Well, scooped out four loads' worth of laundry detergent, and made sure to pack a crossword puzzle and some dryer sheets. The huge bag will sit directly in front of the door to my hovel all day because I won't even go outside today. I will wear dirty clothes tomorrow.
Today I didn't do my dishes.
This is a continuation of sorts, seeing as I haven't done all of my dishes (the sink hasn't been clean) in over two months. Oh, they rotate in and out of the stainless steel antfarm sunk into my kitchen counter, but never all at once. But usually I'm able to avoid the flatware alltogether and just order pizza. I got calzones from Magpie's last night. Unless something went horribly wrong last night that I'm not yet aware of, there's still half a 7 cheese calzone and some breadsticks I can eat right out of the box later on.
Today I didn't pay my student loan bill.
For a while I thought I was deferred until the middle of next year. For a while I thought I only owed so much. Then, like only a true moron can, I opened the Sallie Mae envelope I found on my stoop last night and found out I owe hundreds of dollars by the end of next week and a good 20% more altogether than I previously thought.
Today I fell asleep six times.
I'm not talking about nodding off on the bus or cat-napping at work or something. Today I crawled into my bed six times and fell into a hard sleep. It's hard to fail like that six times in one day.
Today I didn't apologize to Linda.
The monor who dropped off my calzones last night--despite repeated verbal warnings and precise instructions--knocked on Linda's door out front at 10pm instead of coming around back like she was supposed to.
Today I didn't talk to my grandfather.
He'll be gone soon, and my father is pressuring me to make like he's the most incredible person on the face of the earth just because he hooked me up with some hard cash when I graduated from high school. He's crochety, and always has been as far as I can remember, even when he wasn't sick. And he hates my mother, which shows whenever he talks to me.
Today I kicked over my space heater.
I woke up this morning to a campy, comfortable smouldering smell coming from the foot of my bed. Almost burning your house down but not is a pretty big failure in my book.
Today I didn't follow up on dubya's raincheck.
She was feeling sick the other night, so we postponed. But I've been moping all day and my tummy's been upset, so when she called I ignored it and didn't call her back.
Today I blurted out a big secret.
Boy, and right in front of the person I wasn't supposed to tell. There's no taking that shit back, short of reaching into the person's skull to lobotomy. Maybe I can forget it myself if...
Today I shoved the first three fingers of my right hand into my skull through my eyeball.
Now everything's really fucked up.
Chopin's Etudes Op. 10 & 25
By Maurizio Pollini
REALLY LOUD
by Lars Bonerack
Well,
It seems to me
Miss Tiffany
That Carson is soon to be
What you so long to see:
There's certainly more of him around.
See?
Mind his face
And biking pace.
Outlined and traced
He's taking up more space:
There's certainly more of him around.
To him
Nothings better
Than raw batter
Dishes all a clatter
For MORE OF THAT RAW BATTER!
Can't you see? Carson's getting fatter.
There's certainly more of him around.
______________________
context: Tiffany wanted to see more of me around & Lars was feeling like an asshole.
...Arrive Having Eaten
By Pinback
So I finally had the Cap'n'Crunch at Grill tonight. I'd heard about this phenom before: It's supposedly the biggest bowl of Cap'n'Crunch imaginable. If you haven't had it, go ahead and imagine the biggest bowl of Cap'n'Crunch you can. It was almost that big.
I was served a pasta bowl (you know, the kind that has the broad brim and the wide, wide bowl) piled high with crunchy golden nuggets and a tall glass of milk. It looked like they'd poured out an entire box of Cap'n'Crunch onto my plate. I opted to only pour a bit of the milk in at first, and dug down deep to get the drenched quickly mushy bits below. After ferreting out most of these, I added a bit more milk and proceeded in a similar fashion through most of the rest of the bowl.
However, as I neared the end I lost my concentration (hard not to, reading lines with such a talented and beautiful actress right across from me) and dumped the rest of the milk in with the rest of the cereal. Shortly thereafter I realized I was way past full and needed to quit spooning delicious mouthfuls of crispy golden treasure into my slavering maw. You'll please appreciate the courage needed to do this. To leave any Cap'n'Crunch in the cereal bowl and declare oneself finished is a hard-fought and ignobly won battle in a man's life. However I did stop shoveling, and at that point I was left with a small mound of near-chemically pure sugar quickly dissolving into a grainy mush six shades of yellow off white.
This concoction had all of the makings of a superb sculpting material, but it ran a bit thin. The realization dawned on me as I palsied through another five pages of sex montage that I shouldn't have used all of the milk made available to me. In an attempt to shore up my potential material I mashed up any remaining crunchiness with my spoon. I had hope that once the undissolved bits dissolved I'd have a better medium to work with. Though soon enough, as we tore through the last few pages of the surreal script, I was forced to accept that I would not be able to reduce my paste to the desired viscosity before we must up and leave.
Woe! On my night, the one where I asked her and she said yes and then she asked me and I of course said yes, where we got to walk and talk and eat and talk and drive and sing and read and act, I couldn't finish the Cap'n'Crunch. I left a big tip, a full ashtray, and what could have been the greatest ever work of Cap'n'Crunch art (in so many different ways) uncompleted on that damned table, and then I made her take me home.
Greasy Heart
By The Thin Man
DECEMBER 3, 2005
01. ?
02. ??
03. ???
04. ????
05. ?????
06. ??????
07. ???????
08. ????????
09. ?????????
10. ??????????
11. ???????????
_________________________
Ok, first of all, before we really get into the tracklist here we must consider the fact that the only physical copy of this mix is in the posession of my Human Resources Manager at work. I accidently gave it to him when he bummed me a smoke too early in the morning.
The copy he got was on a blank CD-R. Wait, that doesn't quite work; I hadn't written anything on the CD-R. Damn, that doesn't work either. Let's try this: I had not marked on the top of the CD-R with any sort of permanent marker, pen, or other handwriting tool, nor had I printed any labels to sticker on top of the CD-R. There. So he didn't know any of the track names, and he might have only recognized a couple of the bands by their sound.
That's the feeling I want before we talk about the mood and sequencing and all that. Got it?
I'm not really gonna say anything else about what's on this mix. The mood and sequencing don't matter because nobody knows what's going on here, not even me. Just listen.
PS -> if you really want to know, then find out.
I find you attractive.
Now, that's a relatively vague statement about my (granted my humanity) obviously complex emotional state. Allow me to elaborate.
I enjoy spending time with you. The thoughts that I have when I'm around you are pleasant thoughts. They're often funny thoughts, and I find myself laughing out loud when I'm around you. You're wit is terribly attractive, and is indicative of your considerable intelligence.
Many times, however, the thoughts I have about you are lustful. You arouse a physical attraction in me that burns with ardent passion. Your form is graceful and beauty is defined by the look of your eye.
Perhaps similar emotions are aroused within yourself when you are around me, and perhaps similar thoughts are on your mind. If this is the truth, you should stop reading this right now and come over. We can then reconcile our shared metaphysics with our physical bodies.
Perhaps, however, you think about shoes when I'm around. I wear yellow ones, and they catch your eye and before you know it your mind has wandered about exotic high-heel knee-high red-soled boots or delicate calf sandals or even just a nice, comfy pair of Reefs. Perhaps you don't think similar thoughts to mine when we share company.
If this is the case, do not despair our relationship. This confession to you is temporal in nature, frozen throughout time from now until forever but representative of me only at one time--right now. My thoughts, they change. I grow, I develop, I am not the I of yesterday.
I resemble he (slightly stubblier, alas) in looks and good intentions alone. My thoughts are independent of his, and my feelings tortured one moment and serene the next.
I know your good nature is constant. If you despise this slip of mine desire please let me know, but do not make me go. Keep me on in good faith, and I will be goodly faithful to you. I respect you, and desire your company in any context.
You should read my weblog--I say this all much better there.
Truly,
Carson
ep_1
By Gescom
01. The Sea & Cake - Lamont's Lament
02. Kaada - Burden
03. The Talk - Worst Chest Pains
04. Call Florence Pow - 3 & 4 Part Tones
05. Built To Spill - Car
06. Camera Obscura - Eighties Fan
07. Vicious Vicious - Oh, I Would Do Anything For My Girl
08. Tangiers - I Don't Love You
09. Loose Fur - Elegant Transaction
10. Brian Straw & The 6/7 - Now Like Photographs
11. Destroyer - The Music Lovers
___________________________
My time hosting a radio show or two at KAMP was frequently spent browsing the stacks and reading dusty reviews of obscure college radio music when I wasn't in charge of the decks or abusing a microphone.
Usually, by the end of a browsing session I'd have a stack of "I want this NOW!" albums that I'd then get about halfway through burning before falling asleep or passing out or forgetting about them.
I'd take the copies home, and listen to them once through before stashing them carefully in one of a few large black CD binders. Except for the occasional alphabetical stretch, these binders are organized in no particular order.
Other times, when I wanted something cool to air for the show and I'd run out of my own stuff to play (hard to imagine, I know) or wasn't happy with the top 10 new albums, I'd browse the other new stuff. Not surprisingly, most of it was crap. On the rarest of occasions, I'd come across a gem of an album. Slightly more frequently, an album would have one track that was designated as must play.
Possibly my smartest idea in college was to collect these tracks onto burned discs that I labelled with dates and peppered throughout the binders.
My last source for this mix are the albums I wrote reviews for during this same period. Most of the time, I got the stuff that came highly recommended but nobody ever heard of before. Much of it was hype, but the occasional track was fun; those I pushed hard while touting the entire album as genius so other DJs would play my reviews.
Anyway, tonight I went through those binders and picked out the memories. This mix is the result, and I have no idea what to think about it. These tracks don't go together at all, and sequencing them was a real bitch. But they're all still intimately connected in my mind, sorta like how Rob reorganizes his albums biographically.
These songs are, perhaps, the quintessence of my taste in music. They're all just super-catchy pop songs, in and of themselves. Outside of that context they don't relate, they don't sound good, and they mean almost nothing. It irks me that there's no rap and no country and not really any electronica or any kind of variety between them, really.
There's no accounting for taste, I guess.
Dad called tonight, to tell me that Gramps is through the procedure.
"They put two stents in through his leg and his groin. Can you believe they thread tiny pieces of metal through your grandfather's beat-up arteries, all the way from his ankle to his heart?"
"I read an article about stents today. Bypass specialists everywhere are worried about the technology. It's supposed to be a billion-dollar market in 5 years."
"Your grandfather is okay; he's still in the hospital, but they moved him out of the ICU."
"Yes, I'm glad to hear that. Thank you for calling me and telling me that."
"You should call him."
"Ok, I'll do that soon. Let me know when he's home and I'll call him."
"Well, son, how's your bike?"
"It's pretty good! The seat gel has dried up a bit, so it's like sitting on a rock and pedaling. I'll probably get a new saddle before long, but right now my main concern is replacing the handlebar stem. The one that's on there is too long, and doesn't rise at all. With such a long crossbar I can't reach the handlebars comfortably, and the seat's not as high up as I'd like. The drivetrain and shifters are top-notch, though, and the thing pedals like a dream. The chain's a bit rusty, so I'll probably have that replaced when I get around to having it tuned."
"I just paid two hundred dollars to have it tuned."
"Two hundred bucks??? Well, they didn't replace the chain, the grips they installed are crap, and the front rim needs to be trued. The brakes are terrible, but they'll serve for a while. And about half the hosing needs to be replaced."
"That's an eight hundred dollar bike, you know. Worth every penny when I bought it."
"You got it from Costco, dad. And you never rode it. And you wouldn't let me ride it."
"They have top of the line bikes there. And you're riding it now, aren't you?"
"Costco sells bulk, dad. My Giant was a nicer bike and cheaper, too."
"I knew a guy who built his own bikes. In fact, he did pretty well building bikes, if I recall. I think he turned it into a nice little business."
"Right on. I wish I could do that."
"Yeah, his name's Doc. He decided he wanted to be a woman shortly after I met him."
"Oh?"
"Went through the hormone treatment, surgeries, everything. He used to be this male Adonis, blonde hair, blue eyes, 6-6, everything. A guy. Now he's, well, gorgeous."
"Shouldn't you refer to Doc as 'she'? You know, now that she's had all that done to her, gone through it all and everything?"
"Well, I knew him initially as a 'he' and it's hard for me to just switch over."
"Isn't it a matter of respect? Like, this person needed to change their life in a drastic and difficult way to be happy, so shouldn't you respect their happiness at least and refer to them the way they want to be referred?"
"Oh, I can't respect him. He left a wife and two kids to do this. Just left 'em like that. I can't respect anyone who does that to their family. Anyway, I've had personal experiences with transvestites, so this isn't some preconditioned response."
"But still--"
"Look, I went out with a guy--this transvestite--and I didn't know she was a he until we were into some heavy petting. I freaked out. You don't do that to someone, fool them like that. So I don't like homosexuals and I don't like transvestites and if I don't want to deal with them then I'm not gonna do it. They can go live and I'm not saying anything bad, but I've had my bad experiences and I don't have to respect Doc's decision."
Sweat trails a thin line of irony from my ear to the end of my chin, and drips off onto the floor. I don't say anything.
"Anyway, he used to make bikes, but he apparently decided to go full-bore with this whole life change thing and he quit the bike business. But he got pretty wealthy building them while he was doing that."
I still don't know what to say.
"So you're gonna call grandpa soon, right? And wouldya do me a favor and call your two sisters to tell them the news. I have your number memorized, son, but theirs I don't know, and I'm driving so I can't get my book out."
"Yeah, dad, I'll call 'em."
"I still don't know what's wrong with the plasma, did you mess it up more when you were looking at it on Thanksgiving?"
"No, dad."
"The good news is I might make it through this winter. I just paid three thousand bucks to the credit cards, personal cards, and this child support thing is almost off my shoulders. Things are going to be tight this Christmas; good thing I've got you taken care of with the bike and your sister with her engine. It's just your other sister I'm worried about. Do you know what she wants?"
No mention of the woman's kitchen, and no bother mentioning the fact that he'll probably buy himself a new television before January.
"No, dad. I can't afford to participate in Christmas this year, so I haven't asked anyone what they want."
Pointed silence while I don't ask my father what he wants for Christmas.
"All right, son. Well enjoy that bike. Call your sisters."
"Let me know when grandpa gets out of the hospital."
"I will, son. You should call your grandparents."
"Ok, dad. I have to go finish my dishes--this is the first time I've done them in six weeks."
"How long?!"
"Thanks for letting me know about grandpa. Love you, dad."
"All right. Love you too, son."
Thickfreakness
By The Black Keys
What does it mean when whiskey tastes like the holidays?
Folk Songs for Trains, Trees and Honey
By Savath & Savalas
