Loving Cinema Lovers

Early Visual Media
"[A]n online Media_Museum explaining intriguing and mostly forgotten Early Vintage Visual Media and their history. The aim is not to bring a complete overview of the history of Visual Media but rather a personal selection."


The History of the Discovery of Cinema

This chronology is presented in fifteen chapters, and represents an exhaustive and historical overview on the subject of cinematography. It encompasses among others, the works of Layard, Sophocles, Herodotus, Empodocles, Mo Ti, Plato, Aristotle, Democritus, Euclid, Archimedes, Shao Ong, Vitruvius, Lucretius, Pablius Statius, Pliny, Seneca, Heron, Ptolemy, Ting Huan, Galen, Boethius, Geber, Chao-Lung, Kuang-Hsien, Alhazen, Avicena, Shen Kua, Averroes, Grosseteste, Bacon, Magnus, Witelo, Peckham, Saint-Cloud, Villeneuve, Gershon, Fontana, Alberti, Gainsborough, Vinci, Maurolycus, Caesariano, Durer, Reinhold, Gemma-Frisius, Cardano, Porta, Barbaro, Fabricius, Diggs, Risner, Danti, Benedetti, Casciorolo, Kepler, Scheiner, Sala, Snell, D'Aguilon, Drebbel, Gassendro, Schwenter, Leurechon, Bate, Kircher, Descartes, Horrocks, Herigone, Martini, De Chales, Zahn, Niceron, Huygens, Schott, Walgensten, Vermeer, Reeves, Hooke, Boyle, D'Orleans, Balduin, Kohlans, Cellio, Homberg, Molyneux, Sturm, John Harris, Van Gravensande, Van Musschenbroek, Schulze, Bion, Cheselden, Guyot, Smith, Cuff, Caneletto, Costa, Nollet, Parrat, Dollond, De la Roche , Ledermuller, Martin, Van Loo , Brander, Sheraton, Schropfer, Priestley, Seraphin, Lambert, Boulton, Scheele, Joseph Harris, Storer, Charles, Wedgewood, Balsamo, Chretien, Guinard, Harrup, Robertson, Hare, Davy, Philipsthal, Wollaston, Niepce, Brewster, Chevalier, Talbot, Herschel, Dageurre, Gurney, Birckbeck, Roget, Ritchie, Fitton, Paris, Drummond, Barker, Farraday, Wheatstone, Plateau, Stampfer, Marey, Janssen, Anschutz, Muybridge, Horner, Donisthorpe, Lumiere's, Goodwin, Eastman, Dickson, Casler, Friese-Greene, Carbutt, LePrince, Edison and others.

Why do we spend so many precious hours of our lives watching films? What is it about cinema that it should occupy a place of such prominence in our lives? And why do we even need movies? It is as though we are trying to fill a gap in our lives - a void, an emptiness within ourselves. So to even begin on the path of our Truth Quest, we have to see the broader picture of how film correlates to life, and life to film. To find this higher perspective, it is helpful to look towards the other arts, as well as philosophy.

Cinema Seekers: Searching for truth in cinema and in life.

"Crazy Song"

via blort

Marilyn Monroe Screen Test For Something's Gotta Give

On repeat.

An Open Letter to Pitchfork from the Airborne Toxic Event (Literary Music #2?)

Over the past few years a number of my co-alumni Dorados have distinguished themselves on the national level. Certain sporting types I'll avoid mentioning because deep, irrational resentment is so easy to cull from those four long years. However, plenty others have hit it big on the musical stage. I was a total fanboy for my friend Jeremy's band, The Actual (sadly, 2001-2007) and now I've transferred that blind love to another bass player friend's band, The Airborne Toxic Event (myspace). (Should this be another Literary Music post? That's a Delillo reference, if I'm not mistaken.)

Anyway, their new album just came out (buy it!) and received quite a burn review from all-holy Pitchfork. 1.6, ouch. The band has issued an open letter to the review's author in response:

Dear Ian,

Thanks for your review of our record. It's clear that you are a good writer and it's clear that you took a lot of time giving us a thorough slagging on the site. We are fans of Pitchfork. And it's fun to slag off bands. It's like a sport -- kind of part of the deal when you decide to be in a rock band. (That review of Jet where the monkey pees in his own mouth was about the funniest piece of band-slagging we've ever seen.)

We decided a long time ago not to take reviews too seriously. For one, they tend to involve a whole lot of projection, generally saying more about the writer than the band. Sort of a musical Rorschach test. And for another, reading them makes you too damned self-conscious, like the world is looking over your shoulder when the truth is you're not a genius or a moron. You're just a person in a band.

Plus, the variation of opinions on our record has bordered on absurd. 80 percent of what's been said has been positive, a few reviews have remained on the fence and a few (such as yours) have been aggressively harsh. We tend not to put a lot of stock in this stuff, but the sheer disagreement of opinion makes for fascinating (if not a bit narcissistic) reading.

And anyway we have to admit that we found ourselves oddly flattered by your review. I mean, 1.6? That is not faint praise. That is not a humdrum slagging. That is serious fist-pounding, shoe-stomping anger. Many publications said this was among the best records of the year. You seem to think it's among the worst. That is so much better than faint praise.

You compare us to a lot of really great bands (Arcade Fire, the National, Bright Eyes, Bruce Springsteen) and even if your intention was to cut us down, you end up describing us as: "lyrically moody, musically sumptuous and dramatic." One is left only to conclude that you must think those things are bad.

We love indie rock and we know full well that Pitchfork doesn't so much critique bands as critique a band's ability to match a certain indie rock aesthetic. We don't match it. It's true that the events described in these songs really happened. It's true we wrote about them in ways that make us look bad. (Sometimes in life you are the hero, and sometimes, you are the limp-dicked cuckold. Sometimes you're screaming about your worst fears, your most vicious jealousies and failures. Such is life.) It's also true that the record isn't ironic or quirky or fey or disinterested or buried beneath mountains of guitar noodling.

As writers, we admire your tenacity and commitment to your tone (even though you do go too far with your assumptions about us). You're wrong about our intentions, you're wrong about how this band came together, you don't seem to get the storytelling or the catharsis or the humor in the songs, and you clearly have some misconceptions about who we are as a band and who we are as people.

But it also seems to have very little to do with us. Much of your piece reads less like a record review and more like a diatribe against a set of ill-considered and borderline offensive preconceptions about Los Angeles. Los Angeles has an extremely vibrant blogging community, Silver Lake is a very close-knit rock scene. We are just one band among many. (And by the way, L.A. does have a flagship indie rock band: they're called Silversun Pickups). We cut our teeth at Spaceland and the Echo and have nothing to do with whatever wayward ideas you have about the Sunset Strip. That's just bad journalism.

But that is the nature of this sort of thing. It's always based on incomplete information. Pitchfork has slagged many, many bands we admire (Dr. Dog, the Flaming Lips, Silversun Pickups, Cold War Kids, Black Kids, Bright Eyes [ironic, no?] just to name a few), so now we're among them. Great.

This band was borne of some very very dark days and the truth is that there is something exciting about just being part of this kind of thing. There's this long history of dialogue between bands and writers so it's a bit of a thrill that you have such a strong opinion about us.

We hear you live in Los Angeles. We'd love for you to come to a show sometime and see what we're doing with these lyrically moody and dramatic songs. You seem like a true believer when it comes to music and writing so we honestly think we can't be too far apart. In any case, it would make for a good story.

all our best--

Mikel, Steven, Anna, Daren, Noah
the Airborne Toxic Event

I think it's a pretty good response, measured and honest. TATE is keeping things interesting for me in other ways, too. In the month or so before their album release they uploaded live acoustic versions of each of the album tracks filmed in unexpected places. The musical renditions are awesome—I almost favor them over the album versions—and the videos themselves are charming. Here they are in the order they were released:

Wishing Well


Papillon


Gasoline


Happiness Is Overrated


Does This Mean You're Moving On? [My favorite!]


This Is Nowhere


Sometime Around Midnight


Something New


Missy


Innocence


Yep, they're good! I saw them perform on the set of the Carson Daly show, which was surreal to say the least. They were also on Conan recently, and tore it up. Here's hoping a Pitchfork pan won't hold this band back. Enjoy!

Open Up Your Heart and Let The Patrick Swayze Blog Post In

Best wishes for a full recovery and courage to a good man and a great actor, Standing Up 2 Cancer.

Personality Comics Presents...
PATRICK SWAYZE




























LLPS!

"I think it's kinda hot to be wearing these scarves in here."
via

Literary Music #1 - Gitanjali/Get The Fuck On Jolly

Let's see. I'm having trouble starting on this whole writing stuff out and stringing ideas together concept. Didn't do it so well in college, and I haven't gotten any better since. So bear with me, please.

The temptation to attempt some arch, deep, formal writing about this is strong. I feel like because it's literature and poetry and interpretive musical performance there's a standard of tone and form that I must abide by. It's those perceived constraints that keep me from even beginning. So here it is, here I am, using too much first-person singular and going way too many words before even getting to the subject.

Aha!

Get The Fuck On Jolly then serves triple purpose: A vicious cheer from you, the audience; a nonsensical homophone for a great work of literature; and the profane title to this album I offer you. I am fucking on it.

So first, the literature. Gitanjali is a beautiful collection of poetry, translated by the author into English at the behest of one W.B. Yeats. The song-poems of Rabindranath Tagore are well known and loved throughout India, and his translations garnered a Nobel Prize for literature in 1913.

My song has put off her adornments. She has no pride of dress and decoration. Ornaments would mar our union; they would come between thee and me; their jingling would drown thy whispers.

My poet's vanity dies in shame before thy sight. O master poet, I have sat down at thy feet. Only let me make my life simple and straight, like a flute of reed for thee to fill with music.

VII Nice, eh? Sexy too, yeah!

This stuff, being all poetic and literary and beautiful and shit, prompted Bonnie 'Prince' Billy—a heady fellow— & The Marquis de Tren (commonly known as Mick Turner, guitarist for the Dirty Three, artist, and no lightweight himself) to pick out a bunch of these poems and set them to music. The studio EP Get On Jolly homophonized 'Gitanjali' and came out sounding alright, a little dry. However! However, the duo also recorded a live set of the same songs, changing the song titles from Arabic numbers to Roman numerals and adding a brutal 'The Fuck' to the title. If you're not familiar with Will Oldham's voice, it's not for everyone. But this performance is fiery and emotive, soaked in all the spittle and sweat missing from the studio set, and he just wails the emotion of Tagore's words.


Bonnie 'Prince' Billy & The Marquis de Tren - Get The Fuck On Jolly

Update: I just wanted to make sure and point out this totally awesome Will Oldham fan site. It's got lyrics, tabs, and—thank god—mp3s. It's linked above, 'cause that's where I nabbed the cover art for GTFOJ, but not as explicitly as the site deserves. Oh yeah, nearly forgot, Mick Turner (with Jim White as Tren Brothers) has some cool music/painting videos on YouTube:

Tren Brothers - Crow


Tren Brothers - Swim

Flash Games & YouTube

Two flash games:
Rotation Riddle

Align the red dots so they match the pattern shown before each level. Fairly easy through the first few levels. The keyboard controls are a little wonky.

light-Bot

"Artificial Intelligence is hard to program. Not every bot ever created can maneuver and function on its own. Rather, some bots run along a path that the programmer presets for them for various situations. Your job is to light up all the blue tiles in the factory by the commands you issue to the light-Bot. Good luck."
Fun little diversion. The challenge lies in completing each level with the fewest commands possible. Otherwise fairly straightforward. My low score is 174.
Update: I understand level 10 is giving people fits. Here's my solution.
Update 2: lupus_yonderboy posted his solution over at MeFi. It'll get you the lower score with 6 empty boxes (opposed to my 1 empty box), but the little robot looks like a Roomba^TM. The game makes it clear that efficiency is desirable over appearance by the score, but I'm not convinced.

Two music/video channels that classy people listen to/watch:

Trumpet Kings
and the corresponding YouTube channel present a blow-out of hot jazz trumpeters. Makes my cheeks tingle!


Dizzie Gillespie - Trumpet Battle 1958

HERstory (nevermind the silly trope) details the history of women in Rock and Soul music over the course of 50 songs from 1958 to 1981. I'm enjoying the essays that accompany each video.

Lorrie & Larry Collins - Mercy

Rockabilly scorcher!

The Collins Kids were the actual thing. While the new music called Rock'n'Roll was mostly sung by adults for young people, these teens walked the talk. Their big break was as regulars on the TV show "Town Hall Party" starting in 1954. Lorrie was 12 and Larry, 10! This Country showcase put them beside June Carter, Tex Ritter, and Larry's guitar mentor, the astounding Joe Maphis. The highlight was watching the elder dueling with his whirling dervish sidekick on double Mosrite guitars.

When Rock hit in '55, the kids were right on it. They pumped out many great singles into the early 60's. This blazing little number runs a two minute mile. Lorrie puts so much gusto into her performance it's startling to realize she's not even 16 yet. But that was the heart of it; the Collins' were the new Rock'n'Roll youth incarnate, on fire and rarin' to go. It's all punk music, and this is where it starts.

Good stuff.

Dictionaries!

In no particular order:

1736 Canting Dictionary
A Collection of the Canting Words and Terms, both ancient and modern, used by Beggars, Gypsies, Cheats, House-Breakers, Shop-Lifters, Foot-Pads, Highway-Men, &c. Taken from The Universal Etymological English Dictionary, by N. Bailey, London, 1737, Vol. II, and transcrib'd into XML Most Diligently by Liam Quin.

The ABCs of Diplomacy (PDF!)
Compiled by The Swiss Federal Department of Foreign Affairs (DFA)

ASCII Art Dictionary

Ballet Dictionary
Dover Publications has graciously allowed the use of 170 terms from the Technical Manual and Dictionary of Classical Ballet, which are then demonstrated by ABT Company dancers.

The Devil's Dictionary by Ambrose Bierce
DICTIONARY, n. A malevolent literary device for cramping the growth of a language and making it hard and inelastic. This dictionary, however, is a most useful work.

Dictionary of All-Consonant Words
Dictionary of All-Vowel Words

Dictionary of Difficult Words
Do you aim to become a member of the literati, or do you wish to be a savant? Do you want to avoid being verbigerative and be succinct instead?

Samuel Johnson's Dictionary of the English Language (Google Book!)
I knew that the work in which I engaged is generally considered as drudgery for the blind, as the proper toil of artless industry; a task that requires neither the light of learning, nor the activity of genius, but may be successfully performed without any higher quality than that of bearing burdens with dull patience, and beating the track of the alphabet with sluggish resolution. From The Plan of an English Dictionary

Bartleby's Dictionary of Phrase & Fable
...over 18,000 entries that reveal the etymologies, trace the origins and otherwise catalog "words with a tale to tell."

Flaubert's Dictionary of Received Ideas
DICTIONARY Say of it: 'It's only for ignoramuses!' A rhyming dictionary?-- 'I'd rather die than use one!'

The Difference Dictionary
Dr. Gunn's Organic History Supplement for The Difference Engine, a novel by William Gibson and Bruce Sterling.

DoD Dictionary of Military Terms
PEACEMAKING (DOD) The process of diplomacy, mediation, negotiation, or other forms of peaceful settlements that arranges an end to a dispute and resolves issues that led to it.

The Double-Tongued Dictionary
A lexicon of fringe English, focusing on slang, jargon, and new words.

Field Guide to Identifying Unicorns by Sound
Not exactly a dictionary, but definitely a good reference to keep handy.

The Foolish Dictionary
An exhausting work of reference to un-certain English words, their origin, meaning, legitimate and illegitimate use, confused by A FEW PICTURES

The Grandiloquent Dictionary
This is the result of an ongoing project to collect and distribute the most obscure and rare words in the English language. It also contains a few words which do not have equivalent words in English.

Cab Calloway's Hepster's Dictionary
Some six years ago I compiled the first glossary of words, expressions, and the general patois employed by musicians and entertainers in New York’s teeming Harlem. That the general public agreed with me is amply evidenced by the fact that the present issue is the sixth edition since 1938 and is the official jive language reference book of the New York Public Library.

The Nonverbal Dictionary of Gestures, Signs, & Body Language Cues
From Adam's-Apple-Jump to Zygomatic Smile

The Not-So-Correct Dictionary

OEDILF - The Omnificent English Dictionary In Limerick Form

The Online Etymology Dictionary
...a map of the wheel-ruts of modern English.

Online Dictionary of Symbolism
This symbolism dictionary endeavors to provide some possible cultural significances of various symbols, and suggest ways in which those symbols may have been used in context.

Kate Monk's Onomastikon
(Dictionary of Names)

Rededication

My bookmarks are filling up.

One time I accidentally left my navbar in a screencap I posted to MetaFilter. Folks were curious what I kept in my "Cool Shit" folder.

And so.

Plus, if this gets going with the linking and such, I suppose the writing can't be far behind. Wish me luck. And perseverance. And freedom from despair.

London Transport Museum's Online Poster Collection

I went to post this to MetaFilter today only to find I'd been beaten...by 9 months. Damn!

PLEASE PASS RIGHT DOWN THE CAR
The London Transport Museum's online poster colletion spans 100 years of art, entertainment, information, and admonishment, from Frank Pick's initial grasp of the power of graphic design to Paul Catherall's latest linotype. Browse by date, artist, or theme, and make sure to read up on the twined histories of posters and public transportation in London.

Had to put it somewhere. Maybe I'll cross-post with MySpace. Ugh.

Golden Bond

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.

Who's Whom?

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

Ted's real name is Ignatius P. Allegiance. No wonder he goes by Ted. He gave me a copy of his bio from the Rudyard's 2007 edition (he says there's no big changes; he hasn't asked her out yet, but hopes to by Christmas):

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.

Bird Brain

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.

This Ted, he vibrates?

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?

Communication

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.

Damn You, Stephen Thomas Erlewine!

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.

Currently Listening:
Paris
By Paris Hilton
that's hot!

In Which Our Hero... [mix ten]

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!

---

In Which Our Hero...

1. Has A Nightmare.


2. Wakes, & Remembers the Night Before, Why She Left.


3. Regrets Asking Her To Leave


4. Mutters A Sad "Fuck It" To Himself & Vows To Move On


5. Tries To Move On. Tries & Tries & Tries & Tries.


6. Is Blue, & Unwell.


7. Considers A Change, Considers A Monastery.


8. Gets Himself Together, Man, & Rededicates His Love of Women.


9. Meets The Girl of His Dreams, Unexpectedly.


10. Has A Grand Old Time


11. Starts The Process All Over Again

---

God, it's sooo sad! It's utterly ridiculous, on its face, it stinks like 6pm armpits, and it has no heart. Were this mix human, it would be 17 years old & emo. It's funny, really. But listen to it. It moved me on a Mexican rooftop in the middle of the night. I was lucky I didn't fall off and, like, die.

This is so embarassing. Ok, here's the tracklist, all ninja I CHANGED MY TEMPLATE AND AM A LAZY MAN:

01. How Do I Know - Akron/Family
02. Weather Systems - Andrew Bird
03. Make It Hot - Mirah
04. Girl In The War - Josh Ritter
05. Metarie - Brendan Benson
06. Peach, Plum, Pear - Joanna Newsom
07. My Sister Said - Angels of Light
08. Promise - Black Rebel Motorcycle Club
09. Hello Sunshine - Super Furry Animals
10. Just Like Betty Page - The Jazz Butcher
11. For Me - Mara Carlyle

You coulda just read your browser bar mousing over the links listed above, but no, I just had to make sure there was some wacky gadget going on the whole time. Motherfucking wicked.

Also, just to be totally transparent, I'm claiming that this mix, its format, and its theme are in no way related to any recent romantic turmoil I may or may not have experienced, and suspecting the opposite. And there's a really obvious weather sub-theme or whatever. Whatever.

two for d. [mix eight & mix nine]

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.

how to get a girl to come over on Valentine's Day

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.

Currently Listening:
Your Blues
By Destroyer

a day for all night long

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.

Currently Listening:
Veneer
By Jose Gonzalez