summer officially starts today

Johnny Cash - One (U2 cover)

insomnia still sucks [ass]

smoosh- la pump [video] (yes those are pissed off little indie/suburban cherubs--the drummer is 8 years old--ala claymation that yells "screw you" and punches itself out. what's not to like?)

from "return to sender" playlist:

sera cahoone - couch song
mazarin - another one goes by
hotel lights - let me
damien rice - cannonball
chris mills - you are my favorite song
the boy least likely to - faith (george michael cover)
the futureheads - skip to the end
bishop allen - eve of destruction

it’s hard to walk tall when you’re small

insomnia sucks

10 000 Maniacs - Every Day is Like Sunday

Bono – Hallelujah

Lancaster Orchestra - Please Please Let Me Get What I Want

self help reading + music

from How Proust Can Change Your Life, Alain de Botton:

We might also let ourselves out of the zoo. What is considered normal for a person to feel in any place at any point is liable to be an abbreviated version of what is in fact normal, so that the experience of fictional characters afford us a hugely expanded picture of human behavior, and thereby a confirmation of the essential normality of thoughts or feelings unmentioned in our immediate environment. After we have childishly picked a fight with a lover who had looked distracted throughout dinner, there is a relief in hearing Proust’s narrator admit to us that “as soon as I found Albertine not being nice to me, instead of telling her I was sad, I became nasty,” and revealing that “I never expressed a desire to break up with her except when I was unable to do without her,” after which our own romantic antics might seem less like those of a perverse platypus.

etta james – you can leave your hat on

self help reading + music

Gertrude Stein:

Money is always there but the pockets change; it is not in the same pockets after a change, and that is all there is to say about money.

It takes a lot of time to be a genius, you have to sit around so much doing nothing, really doing nothing.

Everybody knows if you are too careful you are so occupied in being careful that you are sure to stumble over something.

The minute you or anybody else knows what you are you are not it, you are what you or anybody else knows you are and as everything in living is made up of finding out what you are it is extraordinarily difficult really not to know what you are and yet to be that thing.

I like a view but I like to sit with my back turned to it.

A cutlet. A blind agitation is manly and uttermost. [runner up]

A vegetable garden in the beginning looks so promising and then after all little by little it grows nothing but vegetables, nothing, nothing but vegetables. [my fave]


Magnet - Little Miss More or Less

Oookla the Mot - a.m. suicide (there's a little Gary Coleman inside of us allll . . . . )

Who needs radio? I hear ya, about the corporate America sucks thing, but the answer to that question is: a girl whose shorty leaned forward one day and barfed into the CD changer. So, in a Parallel Universe there is a safe place. I never thought I'd start to be a convert to the GIANT BURB, but I gotta admit that Canadians have better schools, the tight ass way they pronounce "progress" is sort of cute, and now this: http://www.chrwradio.com/

hightlights from the Commuting to/from the D. playlist:

Feist- (the best of this mix) Inside and Out [Bee Gees cover]; bonus track Lovertits [Peaches cover]

The Flints – Girl

Raised by Swans-Relentless and Capable of Cruelty
The Jimmy Swift Band – Two Hands on the Wheel
(these the last two aren't totally fabulous, but they are playing Club Vinyl in Guelph next Friday, fyi)

19c. by 8 a.m. and a little kickass nuevo (neuvo?)-motown

Beverly Knight (review)

Come as You Are (mp3) [this ain't no Nirvana cover]

Regina Spektor (website) (review)








Better (mp3) [video]

Scott Andrew Lepera (“delivering scruffy, lo-fi acoustic pop”) (website) (review)

Holding Back (mp3)

home sweet home

weekends away - math and physics club

Back Fat Land

Under the weight of the pug, his snoring taken for possibly mine, I get out of the annual herb sale. Whew. Freed to wander, I go looking for a beverage that doesn't have aspertame (is there such a thing in the midwest, the land of fat girls in tight bras?) and find a secret sanctum of network servers in the basement. O thank you God for my brother-in-law--I love this guy. I think this might be the only place inside 100 miles right now where I could hide with music blogs . . . . leave it to me to find a place to run away to that looks just like home.

The Theater Fire - These Tears Could Rust A Train

The Lucksmiths - There is a Light

will is my friend - devendra

gen x zeitgeist

And I try, sit alone and I cry
Yo I won't tell no lie, not a moment goes by
That I don't pray to the sky, please I'm beggin you God
Please don't let me get pigeon holed in no regular job
Yo I hope you can hear me homey wherever you are

If you've never had some thoughts like these, then I got nothing to say to you. Flat out. I could run to China listening to this: 8 Mile Road

Sometimes
My mouth just overloads the ass that I don't got

my scruffy city

I was just tasting my first Wisers n’ Pepsi when a giant spirit train rumbled through the city. We could hear it echoing through the bar, through the windows from honking horns blazing in every direction, and trembling up under our feet in a ground swell.









The city was projecting.


People who’d just met each other started making elated plans to drive in carloads to New Jersey. A haze of communal bliss better than a city sized wedding. And that Drury guy, he’s kinda hot . . . look at that scruff . . . so the after interviews even, it was alllllllllll gooooooooood.

brighter than sunshine - aqualung

genre: absurdist drama, one act

“Playing Easy to Kill” Five characters: Madame Theory/Zombie-of-Kitten, Robot/Figurative-Cousin, and The Firing Squad. Setting: Empty stage, two chairs.

Madame decides to take Zombie-of-Kitten out for a spin. ZK’s been good, turning baby tears into something decorative, like a Chia Pet on a window sill. Robot’s been measured for a tux recently. Madame decides to go see how that’s coming along . . . . She walks center stage into the half light of dimly seen shapes. A spot light comes down on Robot, who is sitting in his chair. Madame turns to the shapes opposite him, asks, How’s he measuring up? The lights come up, revealing a Firing Squad, two men, one standing one sitting and a series of others coming in and out to bring ammunition. Madame is standing between the Squad and Robot.

What’s your relation to the prisoner?, asks the Squad.
Suddenly, a Zombie of a Chia Pet is pulled out of recesses of Madame Theory’s mind, out her nose, through her sinuses. Ow, she says.
Zombie-of-Kitten, stunned to find herself in the light at Madame’s feet, blinks a few times, looks around, says to Madame: Uh Oh.

Madame looks toward Robot quizzically.
Robot says, I’ve got this under control—I don’t want a cigarette.

Madame turns back to the Firing Squad. What’s he done?, she asks.
He’s toast, the Squad answers. Is he a friend of yours?
Um, yeah, says Madame, like a Cousin, Figuratively-speaking.
Zombie begins to giggle at Madame’s feet. Did you really just say that?, she asks Madame. Madame whips out her gun and shoots from the hip at Zombie, who scuttles out of range.
Ha Ha missed—You better stay on your game there Madame! Your turn to get shot at! And with that, Zombie zips into the wings stage left to cue up a jukebox.
[from stage left: Stuck in the Middle with You]
Very funny, says Madame.

The Firing Squad reads out the charges against Robot. A looooooong time later, Madame, somewhat dazed, asks, Can I have Robot’s cigarette? I need to think a minute.
Sure take your time, says the Squad.

The lights dim. Thought bubbles descend over the heads of Madame and the Squad members:
{I am clueless.}
{Somebody should have killed this guy a long time ago.}
{You stay sitting—Beta becomes you.}

The lights come back up, the thought bubbles ascend, and in the corner can be seen Figurative Cousin spinning a soccer ball on his finger.

Can I have a moment alone with the prisoner(s)?, asks Madame politely, sparks flying out her face.
Are you sure that’s wise?, suggests the Squad, smugly.
Madame stares them down.
Ok Ok, says the Squad—They’re all yours. You’ve got until sundown.
I’ll stay on top of them, she says.
[from stage left: lol]
The lights go down on the Squad. Madame walks over to where Figurative Cousin is lying on the floor, throwing the ball from hand to hand.

Hi, she says.
Ho, he says cheerfully. What’s up?
Madame puts down a pile of books next to him.
Ooo, Stone Soup, I love that one, says Figurative Cousin.
[from stage left: Want to throw a Cosmo Magazine on that pile, cuz what the hell eh? haha So Weird.]
I have a new theory, says Madame.
O yeah?, he smiles at her.
Yeah, baby, I think you might be flat out bonkers, Madame smiles back at him.
That’s impossible, he says, There are no gay or bonkers people in the Greek Community.
Madame Theory reaches out, lays her hand tenderly on the side of his face, then takes him by the shorthairs in a vice grip.
OW, he yipes.
Madame starts dragging him across the stage, him slapping at her grip and she impervious. She pauses for a moment in front of Robot.
I didn’t want to settle for just any execution, says Robot.
Madame cocks her gun and blows him to smitherines against the backdrop.
[from stage left: WOOHOO! There’s an upside to everything!]
Madame continues to drag Figurative Cousin into the wings, stage right.
Waitit’sbackgammonnightwaitIgottacheckthehockeypool—Can we talk about this?, asks Figurative Cousin, trying to pry her fingers up.
NO, says Madame calmly

[from stage left: Good luck Cous! Johnie Be Good.]

genre: absurdist drama, one act.

“Playing Easy to Get”
Four characters: SmittenKitten/Madame Theory, Robot/Mr. Softee. Setting: Café with one table, two chairs.


Mr. Softee shows up with flowers. Then he walks off stage. Then he comes back and speaks in tongues.

Madame Theory gets out her sketchbook, turns on some music, starts drawing.

Mr. Softee strips to boxer shorts. He changes the tune(s).

SmittenKitten descends from the ceiling on a string, lands on Madame Theory’s shoulder, takes out a Cosmo magazine and starts reading from “Glowing Skin at Any Age”. Madame finds this unnerving but is bemused. At first.

Robot enters, pulls a chair into the corner, sits and watches.

Mr. Softee and Smitty sneak off to smooch stage left, while Madame and Robot eye each other with increasing trepidation. Petals begin falling from the sky, like motes at first, then a giant dump of petals comes down all at once. Madame Theory falls on her ass, SmittenKitten digs her claws into Madame’s shoulder trying to gain purchase. Ow, says Madame. Mr. Softee disappears in the melee. Robot emerges and stomps past while everyone else is still spitting petal dregs. He orders coffee.

I’m fine, says Robot emphatically at them all. Get. The Fuck. Away from Me.

Madame Theory is trying to pick petals out of her nooks and crannies, but when SmittenKitten hears Robot’s pronouncement, she climbs on top of Madame’s head, fur standing on end, hissing and digging her claws into Madame’s skull.

Ow Ow Ow, says Madame. Can we talk about this?

SmittenKitten, Mr. Softee (buried in petals still) and Robot all answer in unison: NO.

Listen Sister, says Robot, Take a chill pill.

Sister? (Madame takes out a book about Greek drama.) A tradition of characters giving incest a try and then thinking better of it--This is doable, she says.

SmittenKitten meanwhile launches into a girly rant: “Picky my ass you little bastard I’m gonna scratch your eyes out” etc etc.

Madame Theory gets out a gun.

A thudding sound finally interrupts Kitten’s temper tantrum. What’s that?, she asks Madame Theory.

That would be Robot beating Mr. Softee’s head against the underside of the table, she replies.

Jesus. Guess I’ll stop hissing at him then, says Kitten.

Good start, says Madame.

What do you think we should do?, asks Kitten.

Madame Theory cocks the gun, points at the space above her head, blows SmittenKitten to smitherines against the backdrop. Ah well, says Madame, At least I won’t have to worry about how to apply cheek tint—everything has its upside.

She sits down underneath the table with Mr. Softee.
I’m miserable, says Mr. Softee.
Me too, says Madame Theory.
I’m hungry, he says.
([meow] Madame eyespies Zombie-of-Kitten piecing herself back together in the wings with a little toolbox. Madame starts reloading the gun.)
Want some KFC?, she asks. I like thighs best, how bout you?

self help reading + music

from Naked Lunch, William Burroughs:

Did I ever tell you about the man who taught his asshole to talk? His whole abdomen would move up and down you dig farting out the words. It was unlike anything I ever heard.

This man worked for a carnival you dig, and to start with it was like a novelty ventriliquist act. Real funny, too, at first.

After a while the ass start talking on its own. He would go in without anything prepared and his ass would ad-lib and toss the gags back at him every time.

Then it developed sort of teeth-like little raspy in-curving hooks and started eating. He thought this was cute at first and built an act around it, but the asshole would eat its way through his pants and start talking on the street, shouting out it wanted equal rights. It would get drunk, too, and have crying jags nobody loved it . . . Finally it talked all the time day and night, you could hear him for blocks screaming at it to shut up, but nothing did any good and the asshole said to him: "It's you who will shut up in the end. Not me. Because we dont need you around here any more. I can talk and eat and shit."

After that he began waking up in the morning with a transparent jelly like a tadpole's tail all over his mouth. This jelly was what the scientists call un-D.T., Undifferentiated Tissue, which can grow into any kind of flesh on the human body. He would tear it off his mouth and the pieces would stick to his hands like burning gasoline jelly and grow there, grow anywhere on him a glob of it fell. So finally his mouth sealed over, and the whole head would have amputated spontaneous — except for the eyes you dig. That's one thing the asshole couldn't do was see. It needed the eyes. But nerve connections were blocked and infiltrated and atrophied so the brain couldn't give orders any more. It was trapped in the skull, sealed off. For a while you could see the silent, helpless suffering of the brain behind the eyes, then finally the brain must have died, because the eyes went out, and there was no more feeling in them than a crab's eyes on the end of a stalk.

Gnarls Barkley - Crazy (love this)

"The Judge" 5.2006

Andrew Bird - Measuring Cups

"3 a.m."
5.2006










The Dixie Chicks - Landslide

I go to the gym. I run, and run. Eminem on the cue, ala recent Detroit. After, in the locker room, the kids from the daycare file in for swimming. They have all their clothes bags that go into lockers, onto which they’ve affixed magnets with their names. A little boy named Joe is dressed faster than any of the others get their suits on, and then he takes the magnets down and plays with them. He moves them all onto one locker and makes shapes. His daycare workers notice and they start yelling at him. Not shrieking, but . . .
JOE, what did you DO?
Joe, you need to ASK.
Now we’ll have to open all the lockers.
We don’t know whose clothes are whose. (I notice that Joe’s bag of clothes, still out on the floor, has his name on it . . . )
Joe changed all the magnets, says one to a new worker who has just come in.
JOE, what did you DO?
JOE, that is VERY VERY BAD.
Joe, why did you DO THAT?, another whines.
Do you know what to do now? Which child should get which clothes?, one asks the little boy.
[Joe is about 3 years old. His face is a robot’s. He is not in this room.]
I can’t believe he did that, what a hassle, says one over his head to another.
Joe, nobody asked you to do that did they? DID THEY?
Joe, are you listening? This is a very bad thing. Everyone open the lockers and pick out which back is yours. [They start to do that, one at a time, all the kids scared to be Joe. They all look at him, or down, and back away.]
He needs to THINK before he ACTS, says the other one back to the first one, disgusted.
JOE . . . starts the 3rd worker . . . . another minute of this passes . . . should I intervene?
[A perky mother of a little girls walks in, HI!]
All three of the workers turn to her, yes Isabelle had a great day, everything is great, all tone changes, sunny sunny. Great. She’s not changed yet, We’re running behind, one of them looks scowlingly at Joe, Mommy Dearest not noticing, not her kid. The scowler looks up, notices me, staring at her. Joe is a few feet from me, leaning against the other wall, staring into space. She looks down. She looks back up. I'm wanting her dead. No, really, for real. If I could call down a bullet, I would, and feel just fine about it. She calls out to the kids, Okay, everyone get in line. They do, Joe last.

the limits of love (v.2)

The background: Ears has a crush on his teacher, The Beootyful Miss Molly.
The context: Watching Shrek2.

Do ugly people fall in love?
Yes [where do you think all the little ugly people come from?]. And they're not ugly, they're ogres.
You're in love with Destiny now, says Ears, teasing.
No I am not. And. She's not ugly, she just has brown skin, and she's the smartest girl. People with brown skin aren't ugly are they?
No, definitely not.
At first Bianka was the smartest, but then I found out she couldn't really read. Now Destiny is the smartest, says The Little Judge.
I thought you were the smartest, says Ears, goading.
I am the smartest boy, Destiny is the smartest girl. I'm still better at reading than any girl.
What is Destiny better at?, I ask.
Talking, girls are always talking when they should be doing their work, says The Judge.
Look (at Shrek), they're in love because they fart together in the mud bath, says Ears. (giggle giggle giggle)
Have you smelled Molly's farts?, asks The Judge of his brother, his turn at tease-bat.
I wish. [lol]

Counting Crows (Shrek 2 sountrack) - Accidentally in Love

the limits of love (v.1?)

It is April 25th. It is snowing.





"Bride Beaten on Her Wedding Night" 4.2006










from Chuck Shepherd's "News of the Weird":

A family has been found in Kurdish Turkey whose members walk on all fours, use the palms of their hands for balance, and stand upright only with difficulty, according to researchers who filmed the family for a March British television show.

[At this point reading this, I thought, wow this testifies to the Will to Love. I mean, what are the chances of two people who walk on all fours finding each other in this wide world? And think of the challenges of eye contact, lack thereof in this case, not to mention the inevitable cultural pressures against them . . . Imagine straightfacing the wedding planner! If they could look up, I mean. I'm about to get a warm fuzzy feeling practically just thinking about it . . . but wait . . . ]

According to Professor Nicholas Humphrey of the London School of Economics, scientists' best guess for the family's condition is that their inbreeding caused the reprise of genetic traits long thought to have been evolutionarily passed over.

[shit. He was her little brother. gross. lol.]

Joy to the World (Jeremiah was a Bullfrog) --[my first favorite song of all time, played endlessly on my Fischer Price turntable]

weekend in The D.

before:





















after:



















"Do it myselps" playlist:

josh cole - women and dreams
suburban kids with biblical names - love will
rachael yamagata - the reason why
the kills - I call it art
bright eyes - the first day of my life
lucinda williams - which will (nick drake cover) link removed

beautiful-and-sunny-with-chance-of-showers playlist:

harry nilsson – are you sleeping
the fray – over my head
jimmie dale gilmore – I’ll never get out of this world alive
elliot smith - twilight-(from a basement on a hill)
built to spill - traces
neko case – dreaming man
land of plenty soundtrack – the weight of the world

meat on the brain

Do people ea barwes in mooseconsin?, he asks around a mouthful of ketchuppy hotdog and a lisp.
Was that, Do people eat bears in Wisconsin?
Yeah . . . How do you say it? (he focuses on my mouth)
Wisconsin.
Miss Conssin, he repeats carefully.
Yeah. And yes, people eat bear meat sometimes, but it doesn't taste very good.
You tasted a bear?
Bear meat. Yeah, it's greasy and gray colored.
Who killed it?
A friend of Grandpa's.
Grandpa says anything you kill you have to eat it, and never kill anything you're not going to eat.
Good plan, that about covers it.
What else did you eat?
Squirrel, a lot.
What does that taste like?
O like rubberbands, but better than possom, which tastes a little like cat pee smells.
What's a possom?
A country rat, sorta.
(paused eating, both staring at me, the curled ick faces)
Did my dad eat bear and squirrels there too?
No, he grew up in a condo.
What's a condo?
It's a house that's attached to other houses, so no room for animals running around much.
What do you eat if you grow up in a condo?
Hot dogs.
That must be where we get it from (whew faces).
Must be.

Stick with ice cream? As of today, the truck started bringing it to the curb, where children stand in panic attacks of delight.

Mr. Softee

Nothing like a car accident to put a holiday into another light.

"God damn. We just had a near life experience." Tyler Durden.

------

In its early stages, insomnia is almost an oasis in which those who have to think or suffer darkly take refuge. Sidonie Colette

O sleep, O gentle sleep, nature's soft nurse, how have I frightened thee, that thou no more wilt weigh my eye-lids down and steep my senses in forgetfulness? (Exploding Bill) Shakespeare

The last refuge of the insomniac is a sense of superiority to the sleeping world. Leonard Cohen.

hmm: The last refuge of the ___________ is a sense of superiority to the ___________ world.