who?
fifteenth august | thirteen thirty
King of the Zulus
Someday I'm going to be rich and when that day comes I'm going to hire 12 eyeless robed minions like the Bringers in Buffy except they'll have enormous ears and their brainwave patterns will move in synch with whatever the newest pop/underground/hardcore/etc. sounds are, then they will lay their hands on the glowing orb in the altar of my temple, filling it with magical mp3 dust which upon shaking will allow these sounds to spill into the cavernous echoic spaces and fill me with glee and melancholy.
There's too much; I give up; Slsk is no longer a garden of delights but rather a candyland where the excess of sweetness brings decay rather than pleasure. It's impossible to keep up with this stuff unless you're obsessed, and by "keeping up" I don't mean fancying yourself as being on the cutting edge but simply finding the stuff that's worth listening to. I appreciate the people who are obsessives, but I wish there was a sort of Spin for microhouse, grime, shuffle-tech, whatever, so that the best (or at least the most consensus-laden) stuff could trickle down to those of us who do not wish to spend every waking moment tracking this stuff down (Spin is a terrible example to use but I think you see what I'm getting at). Music is an enthusiasm for me but it's not an obsession; it takes a lot of effort for me to think in musically-inclined terms, whatever comprehension my brain achieves is along the lines of narrative, metaphor, images, etc.: figurative stuff. Music is a vacation from that. From that stuff.
Stuff stuff stuff.
Last night I had crappy takeout Chinese food, and this morning my pee smelled like chow mein. I can't ever remember urine � mine or anyone else's � smelling like the food they ate. Umm, just setting myself up there...
My favorite album of last year (besides the Buffy musical soundtrack), the one I keep coming back to, is Kaito's Special Life.
But all I listen to right now is Louis Armstrong and '50s rock 'n' roll anyway.
Bravo is teasing me, and syphoning off precious hours of my free time, by beginning to show nightly episodes of The West Wing mere weeks before I leave teevee behind. Last night, during a commercial break, a young couple appeared on the screen, the man backgrounded and bored, lying comatose on a couch. The woman perched in front of him addressed the camera: "Sometimes a relationship needs something new." I raised the remote to check the score of the Mariners game. Just as I hit the button, the image under her voice-over cut to a bottle of K-Y Jelly. Now, at our house we have SuperCable, and the little box is so stuffed with channels that it sometimes takes a little longer for them to perk up and respond to the frantic GO BACK GO BACK flailings of the remote. By the time the channels exchanged themselves I only caught the *ahem* tail end of the spot: the now-happy couple beaming, cheek to cheek, while the triumphant bottle of K-Y Jelly pirouetted in the foreground. I... I have nothing else to say about this.
It's Friday afternoon and I'm typing this entry in moments stolen from one of the stupidest projects I've worked on here, retyping the exact same report for the third time because the person who's expecting it didn't state their COCKFARMING NITPICKING formatting preferences to my boss, not just once but twice. I single-handedly made, from scratch, the entire current public awareness campaign materials for our M*r*n* S*rv*c*s and within a day it was already being publicly attributed to someone not even in our section. If I hadn't come into this with the mindset that this job meant nothing, that it was just an opportunity to make and save $$$, I would've been a lot smarter politically and made COCKFARMING NITPICKING sure I received the proper credit for the amount of work I've accomplished. My last day is in exactly two weeks: fuck 'em.