#50

So Today,

Got robbed. Suxked.

Can't complain though, i've met some nice people and this cute girl.

Dog & Pear

I'd say I've been busy, but then I'd be lying. I've more so been working myself in such a way that I never have a decent amount of time to convince myself I can crawl out of my cave and socialize with others. Instead, I gorge myself on back histories of made for T.V. movies and put together semi-adorable pop songs. This one's part of the latter.

I present to you my new musical project, an underfed overloved little something.

Dog & Pear

It's called that due to the two little passions Nick and I have. I've got a ever blooming affection towards pups, Nick loves pears. Haven't seen his musical genius juice up, but I'm expecting it soon.

Southern Axe Scent

It's like biting your lip in a movie, it's like hugging your dad with your fly down, it's like pulling a cork apart.

It's feeling warm because it's cold.

Platonic

I need my camera, I'm fighting these urges.

It's raining it's morning and they're burning a forest outside my house.

フランスの家

Haven't posted in a good while, but there's an inverse relationship between the amount I post and the amount of social interaction I have with the outside world. In essence, I've been having a really heavy loaded week, a very good week. First up, big fucking news is there's a new Bangalter track circling the net like a baguette-eating vulture eyeying the thoroughly fucked carcass of a bedazzler. It's simply titled "Love" and has all that creamy filter house goodness.
Download Here
Many an interview has been had with DJ Falcon, a damn mysterious man, but nowhere near as Howard Hughesean as Bangalter, and Falcon has said that Roulé will in fact be coming back in 2008. Seems the whole crunchy French electro the Banger crew has been making has piched interest in a new house renaissance of sorts.

Alright, happy reading all of that? Well here's the thing. That Love track was dug into, and the true source was uprooted. Seems it's some up and coming, though super unknown Brit by the name of Louis La Roche, and he's getting all the flak for having his song distributed under the Bangalter pretense. I say that regardless of its origins, if there's new disco house being produced, it's awesome no matter its creator. So what if you've got to get it out by tacking on a big name to get some airplay.

Ixnay

Attention, please no more indie pianoy/acousticy artists with the forename Ben.

Please.

The Sad Existence Of Joseph Toomey, III

If you listen to James Murphy & Pat Mahoney's Fabriclive 36, which you do, you'll notice a wonderfully antiquated but amazing song, "I Love Music." This song, was written by an artist named JT. His full name, is Joseph Toomey, III. He's never written another song. The irony of poor Joseph, is that in his great and only song "I Love Music" he discusses in his lyrics that when his mother asked what he'd do when he grew up, he responded that couldn't she see, he "loved music." The assumed logic here is that young aspiring Toomey went out and started a fruitful and bright music career. He didn't. He released one song. His entire life... is 6:36 long. He probably works as an accountant or a barber somewhere. Sorry JT.

Zipperhead

How do you cope with a reputation that's unbashedly untrue and at the same time so awfully weird it's too funny not to play up?

This is what happens when you fall out of the loop for too long.

I think I'm also addicted to the free listings on craigslist. A broken car jack? A twelve pack of pepsi? Don't mind if I do.

Radio Mix 1 - or- Audible Caramel

First radio show mix is finally up! Expect much better, brighter, butter-drenched things from Nick & I in upcoming shows, as Nick wasn't such the optimist and didn't put together anything for our show yesterday. Due to Nick's incompetence, this is a less mind-blowing single hour of music.

Starting now, every 3 to 5 P.M. on Wednesday, check out Cofc Radio and listen to a live stream of our two hour set. Will you like it? To that I say, "If you like beer." (Out of context, as it is seen by most everyone save for five other people, that comment seems fucking stupid.)

A better assessment of how much you will like it? It's better than crawling.

If you have something better to do during that time, which most likely you do, you can come here and I'll post an mp3 of the set whenever I get around to it, with badass artwork included.



Click the image for a nice marine-mammal sized version.

Download Here!

Tracklist:

01. Cut Copy - Bright Neon Payphone
02. SebastiAn - Walkman
03. Roger Troutman - So Ruff, So Tuff
04. Justice - Never Be Alone (DJ Hell's Bavarian Remix)
05. Lipps Inc. - All Night Dancing
06. Toronto - Electric Toothbrush
07. Twenny Nine With Lenny White - Citi Dancin'
08. Matthew Dear - Dog Days
09. Capsule - Feeling You
10. Casco - Cybernetic Love
11. Nicolas Vallée - New New York
12. Metro Area - Read My Mind
13. Victor - Go On Do It
14. DJ Pui Pui - Simple Life
15. The Immortals - The Ultimate Warlord
16. Château Flight - Baltringue
17. Dynasty - Strokin'
18. Data - 7 Months To Forget

Oriental Magpie Robin

I need to stop falling for the same girl.



But she's everywhere.

Irritant

In the usual fashion of public bathing, this morning's bathroom rituals blew ass. Of all the things I truly hate in this world, and the list is damn small, I just can't handle Dial soap. It's the fucking devil incarnate, and I'd rather bathe with rancid lobster bisque caked with mummified dog semen than touch that malicious yellow bar against my skin. But that's all I could find and I hadn't the patience to pull my pants back on and go buy a bar of something decent.

Window Shopper

This is in no way a cry for help.

Ever feel as if one day you'll come back to your hometown and you'll be forgotten? A moment in the past of other's that is all too corroded, the green penny inside the air vent you can't reach. That's what the last two days have felt like. I've run into several people I used to know (and technically, y'know, still know) but no one seems to acknowledge each other's presence. In my account it was more of me giving a brief glance, or a smile, but they're never returned, always stuck in the peripheral vision.

Maybe it's the loss of a distinguishing facial feature, or maybe I'm no good with acquaintances.

More On That

On January 24, 2008, Stortz was found shaved in his third-floor room on St. Phillips St. in the less church-surrounded area of Charleston. According to his roommate Nick, Stortz appeared fully bearded as he arrived home at approximately 4:30 p.m. EST with plans of mindlessly surfing the internet, entered the bathroom at about 4:45 p.m. to piss, and as he returned, found Stortz still severely fur-faced, with a puma track jacket, and grey beanie. Beard Trimmer "Conair" arrived at approximately 6:30 p.m. to give Stortz a cleaner look, and when he did not emerge by 6:40 p.m., negotiated sensible shaving ideas with no answer. Conair entered the bathroom, began to shave some thicker patches, and tried to style Stortz's face. Conair called actress Mary-Kate Olsen, whose number was very much not programmed in Stortz's cell phone. She replied she would have no part in talking to an inanimate object. After again attempting to just barely shorten Stortz's beard, Conair called Olsen again, and at 6:48 p.m. realized he had cut far too close, and had rather fucked up his beard in a severe way. Medical workers moved Stortz to the floor, used a pair of scissors and razor, and pronounced Stortz clean-shaven and baby-faced at 6:52 p.m.

Lab partners said they found the new look to be sad and worrisome, and that there were "no obvious signs" of losing a bet. An initial beardtopsy later that night proved inconclusive at determining Stortz's cause of clean shavedness. The medical examiner's office stated it will take about 10 days to have a decent stubble.

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I can too easily see the phone conversation.

"Hello?"
"Hi... who's this?"
"Oh, er... well it's Heath's masseuse..."
"Why have you got his phone?"
"Hahah oh! Um... well he's sleeping and won't wake up, you do anything to him?"
"No, haven't seen him in ages, is he alright?"
"Yeah! Well I guess, perhaps I should try and wake him up again... Nope, still nothing"
"Have you tried, oh I don't know, calling an emergency medical unit instead of calling a twenty one year old blonde chimp-faced trash bag with legs?"
"Er, well...no. Totally fun talking to you though!"

The masseuse definitely called Mary-Kate out of pure star-strucked-ness, why the fuck wouldn't you call 911 first.

You Kissed Shannyn Sossamon, You've Had Your Run

Death Toll / Family Outting / Brownout

How well does the imitation or view of historical events stand next to fact? I was reading a lot about how film makers are the most influential visual historians of our time, and how their decisions on what we're shown have a searing impact on how we identify with moments of time. Take for example, Oliver Stone's JFK. I remember renting that movie for research when I did a biography on Kennedy for 4th grade. Still remember my mother cringing as the word 'fuck' was used in rapid semi automatic succession during a scene with a wigged man.

Anyway, that movie totally blew the Kennedy conspiracy up in the air for an entire generation, after it had taken forever to settle all of those decades. The fucker Stone makes out Jim Garrison as some hero trying to claw his way into the impenetrable facade of corrupt American government. In actuality, Garrison was a fucking kook who tried his damnedest to argue his point with the thinnest of connections. But that movie made me such a believer! Sure I was only ten or so, but fuck did I get that fear that something was wrong with our politics, and turned into a little pseudo liberal yoo-hoo loving dinosaur collector.

All of the hysteria and conspiratorial hissy fitting after JFK's assassination on Soviet involvement and other more outlandish bullshit just makes me think of how godawful the media was post-September 11th, everyone sniffing out as many loose ends as possible and filling in the cracks with their own concoctions of what went down.

Flemish Humor

Went to put on a clean plaid shirt I had in my closet today, but before leaving for class, noticed a decent sized tear under the left arm pit. Was thoroughly pissed, but thought it could be easily mended. Turns out it's more of a tennis ball-sized hole, left there after my damn mutt of a dog ate through it during a nervous breakdown when I left her alone at home for the day a few days before leaving for downtown.

I can't tell if it's her semi-subtle way of getting back at me for leaving her, 'cause she chews on my clothing in areas where my scent would be strongest, like my boxers and the under arms of shirts. Maybe I taste good, but vanity most likely isn't the answer here.

Notice how once in the plaid mood, I had to find and wear the now-crippled shirts twin.

Also notice how my left eye is a festering cess pool of gooky pink-eye-dom. Somehow contracted viral conjunctivitis, very unhappy. Constantly go cross-eyed and can't for the life of me focus on anything even slightly bright. Went to the school's health department with little solution. Fuck.

MAY0208CMB3

Can we end the teaching of how to make things bold and size 40 to teenage girls?

Skinny Girls

There are too many girls I want to paint, but I always end up painting dogs or swiss cheese meets semi-automatic mountainscapes.

Daughters

Once you pass the age of 18, do you feel weirded out about 18 only porn sites?