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My fourth blog. Amazing yet disconcerting. Don't worry; this'll go away in a year or so. |
First there was "I'm Studying You" ![]() ![]() ![]() Until now. Welcome to the Buffalo in your soul... ![]() ![]() ![]() ![]() ![]() ![]() ![]() |
![]() 'Sup y'all? Some good prompts today, so I'm gonna get right into them while I'm still feeling like it. Besides, I've got stuff to do later on and I can't be spendin' all night on this. ![]() Good christ. Before I get into my spiel, at least this prompt came with a background novella link: Halloween- Harmless Or Harmful Fun? ![]() ![]() That's not to say I read the whole article...because I didn't. Did you see how long it was?? ![]() ![]() ![]() ![]() Instead of relying on an informed opinion, I'm just gonna hop in my shopping cart and ride this one down to the bottom of the hill with no brakes. Christian churches whipping their dicks out on matters like this, claiming it's a higher authority, are ruining all religions for everybody. They are why no one can have nice things. They are why parish populations are on the decline, and they're why notoriously Catholic cities like Buffalo and Boston have a closed church on every other block. Wars all throughout humanity have been created, in part, because Christianity isn't happy with itself until it has killed and devoured your non-Jesus-flavored soul. It focuses on all the can'ts and don'ts, instead of the dos and thys. So the good, honorable Reverend Joe Jimbob Twobyfour says you should give his church more money to build bigger pews, or God's gonna cancel Halloween...better yet, save Him the trouble and show Him how committed you are, and cancel it yourselves (but don't forget to write me that check ![]() Why do churches always need to lash out and protest and decry stuff? Where's the love and acceptance for all of humanity? Where's the fucking compassion?! Like, every other week some holy group is boycottin' somethin' or another. Does it show up on the flyers the ushers hand out after each mass? "Peace be with you, and here's your schedule for this week's upcoming outward displays of how much we hate everything not contained in our blessed four walls under the steeple. Praise Jebus!" It's...annoying. No, it's not even annoying anymore, because it's so much more seemingly commonplace now with the internet and all. It's tiresome. We get it. Your light is the one true light and way. And so is his. And hers. And that guy over there's. And that state's board of education, and your doctor's, and so on and so on. And if you deviate from their mission, you're the evil one. Not the slovenly biker guy with the beer belly and the "God H8s Fags" sign, or the priest molesting altar boys in the church basement, or the televangelist busted with hookers 'n blow while his wife's cashin' your tithe checks in for her third new nose this decade. Eat meat on a Friday and surely Satan himself will take you to Hell...but pay no attention to the man you confess your sins to ![]() No. Halloween is not pure evil. Pure evil is what you get when you ask someone to define why exactly something so seemingly innocent shouldn't be considered as such, and getting a run-of-the-mill bible verse spat back at you ad nauseam because that's the way it's always been ya filthy sinner. Asking a simple question and feeling like you need a shower of vicar's sweat to cleanse your moral code for even thinking differently, or receiving an answer that's so winded and based in historical rhetoric from a time when...well, you get the point. It's not evil. Let your kids do it. It's normal now. There's nothing wrong with it. Kids are pretending to be their favorite cartoons and movie stars and shit...you're gonna get in an uproar about that, but not at politicians pretending to be civic leaders or bankers pretending to be God with our retirement funds or, gasp holy peoples pretending to be men/women of the word but hating on everyone who isn't just like them? Please. Get a grip. Get your priorities right. There are bigger things to worry about than the hows and whys of each specific religion's "most important day of the year" (and I'm sure if you Googled hard enough, you could come up with a Top Ten list of reasons why each one is sinful and rotten and rooted in the dark underworld hundreds of centuries ago). [Afterword: I once owned one of these Winston matchbooks ![]() ![]() Ya know, this thought only hits me whenever I decide to revisit past works. Like when I start anthologizing whole collections (which reminds me...I need to get back into that and at least finish up "Ribmeat Of The Family Tree" ![]() If there's ever been a recurring theme of any kind in my poetry, for the most part it's been coincidental. It's not like I've woken up every morning and decided that I'm gonna enter "Give It 100!" ![]() But me, personally? Whether I've succeeded in this or not, one thing I've always, always strove hard for is not repeating myself. In poetry, or in blog entries. If I like a certain band, but all their albums pretty much sound the same, as a listener I'll get bored quickly no matter how unique or easily identifiable (think Rage Against The Machine) it is. It seems impossible that this happens often in literature, being that there's all sortsa words and combinations of them possible, as opposed to what a guitar/bass/drum combo can create, but I'm sure it happens often enough even though I'm dry right now on specific examples. Look at it this way: would Shakespeare be Shakespeare if all he did was rewrite the same sonnets over and over, just swapping out words for their synonyms, or lines with whole antonyms in their places? No...he'd just be some dude who did some really creative, out-there shit at first, and when he ran out of styles to give birth to or words to make up, he'd just dip into his back catalog and bite his own rhymes. And when his fans caught on, he'd flame out and be flippin' burgers at the McDonald's on the Avon. That's how I see it. I don't wanna be "Remember Shakespeare?"...I wanna be seen as "Yo, can you believe what Shakespeare did next?". [Afterword: Yes, I'm well aware how ridiculous that last sentence sounds, in the time/space continuum of tenses. And in no way am I trying to confuse myself with or insinuate that I am or ever could be compared to William Shakespeare, the band Shakespeare's Sister ![]() ![]() ![]() Here's where I admit one of two things: I'm either pretty senseless and don't get that I'm supposed to be scared, or I really am some kind of heartless, emotionless savant whose sensitivity meter is broken beyond repair (I'm putting all my chips on the second choice, for what it's worth). Like, ok...a few weeks ago I read my first Stephen King novel, Joyland ![]() But back to the prompt itself...no, I don't find being scared by a book or a film enjoyable, because I don't really see the "scary" point of the plot. Like, I really don't wanna come off sounding like some hard-ass tough guy because I'm not, but nothing along those lines scares me. I can't get around the fact that it's a story, or a movie. I know that it's not actually happening. I know I can stop whatever's coming along next by closing the book or pausing or stopping the film. Even biographies or "based on a true story" features...it's either in the past, or it's being reenacted. There's a separation. I'm not watching an actual murder, or reading about something bent on destruction as it's creeping up behind me while I'm sitting in bed holding a book. I'm not wired to respond that way, I guess. And that's not to say I lack imagination...oh, I've got imagination for days, y'all. Gotta trust me on that. I just don't know how else to explain it, nor do I feel it's something I really need to explain...it's how I am, I guess. Sure, snap a twig 30 yards behind me and I might jump, but I'm not fearin' for my life or anything, so why should someone else's description of it on a page or on the screen instill that true fear in me? It's not there. Maybe I was born without that capacity, or somethin'. [Afterword: I guess I should stop throwin' around phrases like "all the feels", because clearly I'm lacking possession of a couple. Damn.] ** Image ID #2010042 Unavailable ** Cripes. Part of the reason I didn't start this entry earlier today is that I don't really have anymore songs on my proverbial list of tunes suitable for somethin' like "Resurrection Jukebox" ![]() ![]() Anyway, enough stallin'. May as well just go with somethin' sorta easy, like The Beatles. Two dead guys there to choose from (John Lennon and George Harrison). I'll go with George here because I've probably linked more Lennon songs in this spot before, and the tie-ins today are so much better. Billy Preston was an occasional collaborator with The Beatles (he played a fierce organ on perhaps my favorite Beatles tune, "Don't Let Me Down"...and boo on YouTube for only having crappy ghetto ass bootleg versions available for it right now...fix your copyrighted shit, YouTube ![]() ![]() [Afterword: Liking this song doesn't make me a hypocrite, does it? Even after my little episode in the first segment of this entry? ![]() ![]() ![]() ![]() ![]() ![]() ![]() ![]() ![]() ![]() ![]() ![]() ![]() ![]() ![]() ![]() Ok...that's all I have for today. Thanks for droppin' by; we'll be passin' around a hat down in the comments section because it's always better to give than to receive, and Jebus doesn't like greedy kids. Peace, Hare Krishna, and GOODNIGHT NOW!! |
![]() What's up everyone? Figured I'd stop by and say hi and see how the "30-Day Blogging Challenge ON HIATUS" ![]() ![]() ![]() ![]() ![]() Anyway, I don't get too crazy about Halloween. It's just not a big deal to me (I can already feel that feeling like I've said this a lot recently, and I think I've written like six blog entries in the last two months). I believe this'll be my third Halloween living in Cortland, and I have no idea what they "look like". The building I live in doesn't get Trick-Or-Treaters, no one really decorates (I live in the "downtown" section, which is mostly storefronts and student housing), and I hardly ever leave the house after dark because I like to do all my errands and shit earlier in the day when I still have energy and ambition...if I have to share and navigate the sidewalks here with anyone else besides some of the lumpy, spastic non-children people who live here, I can only imagine what that's like on October 31st when it's also somewhat populated with demonic kids parading around half sugared up and totally drunk on the knowledge that they'll soon have more candy than they've ever seen in their lives. And even when I didn't live here, back in Buffalo I really didn't want to make a big deal outta it. If I knew I'd be home, I'd buy a bag of candy and leave my outside light on in case anyone came. And I know it sounds so cliche, but I could do that and maybe get one or two kids at the most...but on the years I'd opt out of supporting pre-diabetic brats completely, the whole damn neighborhood would show up looking for a handout. And it ain't like I lived right on the curb; naw man, the entrance to my apartment at 542 was all the way up the driveway, in the back of the house, and my front windows were the bedrooms, which were dark. Like, what were these kids smellin' that made them think I had the goods that year? The only seasonal crap hangin' on my windows was the plastic wrap we'd put up to keep the cold air from seepin' through the cracks in the older houses' frames so the heating bills would be lower. No pumpkins, no decorations, nothin'. I couldn't be bothered, especially if it was just for my benefit. Besides, most years I was too busy working anyway, and something like four or five outta every seven Halloweens fall on a day not conducive to throwing a good party (and by "good party" what I'm really saying is that I'm an often irresponsible adult when it comes to parties of all kinds). When you work in a retail establishment that sells seasonal shit like decorations and candy, the actual days these products are meant for can get busy...last-minute shoppers willing to settle on maybe getting their house toiled papered because they waited and ended up with the shitty candy no one else wants to give out, or the single mom that went tanning too many times and forgot about her kid's costume and he/she needs to be Spongebob/Elsa/whatever-else-every-kid-is-being, or the crotchety old lady who can't wait for all the holiday everythings to get marked down to 25% off tomorrow and insists on the lame table centerpiece being discounted 90% because "the holiday's over with anyway and what're you gonna do with it?". God I fucking hate retail and the people it attracts. So nope, I don't have a good idea of what the night looks like, other than it's pretty much like every other night for me. And I'm not even sad about it. I look at it as less work and less cleanup than what everyone else is doing, and that's less hassle and more chillin'. As long as you're not actually killing anyone and calling it a decoration ![]() ![]() ![]() Nope. None of 'em. No thank you. I thought about skipping this prompt entirely, because of my preferences and the fact that the entry I'd envisioned this becoming would be long enough as it is, but I just can't seem to let it go and now I'm gonna spew all sortsa misguided rambling that I have no good intention of doing anything useful with. And please, no one get all science-y and practical on me, like "Insects are important to the ecosphere of the world's food chain systemization of the universe" or some other feel-good, smart sounding, lower-your-glasses-at-me bullshit. I don't have time for you know-it-alls to be right; I have an entry to finish at some point this month. I hate bugs. All of 'em. Go through any kind of infestation, and you'll know what I'm sayin'. Realizing these little damn near microscopic beings are all up in your bizness and something needs to be done swiftly and dramatically is very similar to the five stages of grief (denial, anger, bargaining, depression and acceptance). First you're like "no, that's not a pile of ants walking off with the contents of my canned goods cabinet". Then you're pissed because "those fuckers really are walking off with my canned goods cabinet!" Then you're all like "well, as long as they stay outta my bed and my Triscuits, and they stay in that one spot by the lollipop stick stuck to the back of the garbage can, it's cool"...until you go to brush your teeth after a long, hard day and collapse into a complete crying jag because there's a whole extended family of them marching two by two, hurrah, from your medicine cabinet to your closet all the way on the other side of the house. But then you realize in that closet is the vacuum cleaner, and at least you can put one of those funky attachments that no one knows what they're used for on the end of the hose so you can suck up as many of those bastards as you can before the hardware store opens and you can buy those ant colony trap things. And it's cheaper to just burn down the vacuum cleaner and buy a new one when all is said and done than it is burning down an entire house. The only thing I find to be nearly as pestering as an infestation are people who actually fear insects. Like, the people who make a god damn big deal about spiders and shit. And you know at least five people who are all in some sorta weird club together where they sit in a circle, rocking back and forth, explaining in sentence fragments how the spiders are trying to kill them. I'm not talkin' about everyone who turns into Bruce Lee when they're walking through a forest and suddenly thinks they've stepped through a cobweb that might've touched their face...I mean full-blown adults who can't fucking function for a full hour once they think they've seen anything with three or more legs that is at least one-one millionth of their own mass. Really?? "Ohhhhh, but they have eight legs!", like they're suddenly afraid they're gonna lose some kind of important gold medal race to an arachnid. If you people wanna bitch and complain about how entitled people are and how kids these days just can't cope with being told no or whatever, I guess you better start lookin' at all the role models around them who lose their minds when they see a spider and resort to being terrified and crippled by it over acting sensibly. Makes me wanna roll up a newspaper and smack them first, before trying to kill any kind of bug. But infestations man...they're the worst. You can have an exterminator come in and spray every crack and crevasse in your place twice a week for three years, and still six months later anytime you see something you think movin' outta the corner of your eye, you're ready to don a gas mask and double-fist cans of Raid like you're some kinda ant ninja terrorist vigilante. It's like having flashbacks or somethin'...it just stays with you, man. They may be outta your life, but they've moved into your soul. And no one deserves to live life like that. ![]() So, without looking this up or anything, you mean like negligence? Ok, now I have to look that up, because I've said it over in my head so many times now that I'm second-guessing its meaning. Google tells me that it means "failure to use reasonable care, resulting in damage or injury to another". Urban Dictionary doesn't have a definition for "negligence", but it has one for "négligent", which is impractical here for our purposes. So negligence, based on my loose interpretation of things, is the end result of willful blindness? Or is it the other way around? I think I've thought about this too much now at this point, because while it seems like one leads to the other, I can't quite put them in order now. Must be getting close to my bedtime ![]() ![]() ![]() Law's a funny thing, because, for example, you can be given a speeding ticket if you're not speeding but you're close to speeding and the weather's shitty. Like, getting clocked by radar doing 27 MPH in a 30 zone will get you charged with a little something the cops like to call "Negligent Driving" (which is different than driving in sexy underwear). I got me one of them tickets once, but I was doing 37 in a 35 during a heavy snowfall. And I knew I was doing 37, because I looked down at the speedometer as soon as I saw the cherries behind me, and it was solid between the "35" and "40", and the cop even said he got me at 37. Whatever, no big deal, I'll sit through traffic court, pay the fine, it's all good. Until I got home and actually read the ticket...sumbitch typed up "47" instead of "37", and lemme tell ya, 47 MPH on balding tires is not easy to accomplish, especially during a snowstorm. And I'm not stupid enough to call the police department just to be like "Hi, I got pulled over today, but I think your guy made a mistake...". ![]() No, I did the American thing...I forgot all about it. After court they give you a few weeks to pay the fine...a set amount, I guess to discourage arguing nuances like speed and weather. And, well, my money was better utilized in other manners. So the deadline came and went and nothing happened, until the next time I got pulled over (ironically, again, for driving 37 MPH somewhere I shouldn't have been)...because this time, there was no "Here's your ticket, now have a nice day sir". I was arrested on the spot for driving without a license. The car was searched and impounded, I was ticketed for everything they could legally get away with, and I got a ride to the police station with my hands cuffed behind my back (which is one of the most uncomfortable positions in the world). And bosses aren't too pleased when you call them to say you can't come in to work because you're in jail. There's so many more angles to this story that I'm leaving out, mainly because I've told it a couple times before, but the point is this: my own willful blindness had some consequences, and one of them just happened to be me sitting home and having a few beers at 6:30pm-ish rather than the 10:30pm it would've been had I actually made it to work proper. Also, all charges were dismissed upon payment of the original fine, so yeah, that'll learn me, Depew Police Department. ![]() ** Image ID #2010042 Unavailable ** Day # I am so far behind in the "Resurrection Jukebox" ![]() Anyway, I'm going with this cover of Blondie's "Heart Of Glass" by The Toadies (you remember them...they had that song about vampires in the nineties, "Possum Kingdom" ![]() ![]() ![]() Oh yeah, and the dead people...both bands have gone through a bunch of lineup changes and stops/restarts, but technically only the original drummer for Blondie (Billy O'Connor, stroke complications in 2015) has passed away. However, legendary singer/songwriter Elliott Smith did play piano on the title track of a later Toadies album, and he died in 2003 from a questionable stabbing. One thing that is certain though...Charlie and I both agreed that The Toadies took a very sexy song did their own different thing to it in their style, and it's still crazy sexy. I probably hear this in my head now 2-3 times a week, and it's often the best time of my week (but I live a sad and sometimes lonely life). ![]() ![]() ![]() ![]() Like, I kinda get it, because I'm a fan and I get excited on gameday just as much as the next person. I'm on Twitter all game long, making dumb ass jokes and complaining and mocking the other team, but I'm not dropping the N-word, or threatening to destroy someone's house or anything like that. There's a line, and this is the one instance where I'm pretty good about not crossing it. ![]() ![]() See? The only person I'm really picking on is me. I still remember the Atari football game. It was terrible...it was like 3-on-3, and you could only pass, and sometimes a fourth guy just appeared outta nowhere for your team. I'm also kinda old, and the Madden franchise by EA Sports (the gold standard for all football video games) is far too complex for my liking. ![]() ![]() ![]() ![]() ![]() ![]() ![]() ![]() ![]() ![]() ![]() ![]() ![]() Alright you guys, I think I've just about had it with you, this, and today. I'm gonna post this in the necessary places, maybe watch the rest of Monday Night Football, wonder why no one has commented on it before I've gone to bed (duh, it's 3.24 miles long), actually go to bed, and then see that I've gotten a comment but will be sedated just enough to not be able to respond to it, and I'll have probably forgotten about it until tomorrow afternoon. That's what typically happens when I wait all day to start writing an entry, in case you were wondering (and don't be shy, it's ok if you were). Better enjoy this now, because who knows when my next entry will appear (start a pool if you have to, but I'm not betting on me). Peace, seemed like the real thing, and GOODNIGHT NOW!! |
![]() ![]() What's up, friends? This week in the "30-Day Blogging Challenge ON HIATUS" ![]() ![]() ![]() Anyway, now for the real reason you're here. I suppose I better get a move on because I can almost feel quite a ramble comin' on, and it's already later in the evening than I care for it to be when I start doing this kinda stuff. I'm gonna start by attacking this prompt at the basic level (something we were sorta advised against shortly after it was sent out, as per "Helpful Explanation for Escaping this Week" ![]() ![]() And by now most of you have probably figured out that that last paragraph has almost no relevance to the actual prompt, and is pretty much a 180-degree turn from it. The rest of you are subliminally distracted by boobs, because I'm in possession of a teenage brain in an old man's body. And if I were to complete the chicanery here, I'd sneak out the back door into the next prompt without so much as a kiss goodnight...but I won't be that guy. Not tonight, at least. ![]() The truth is, I'm a combination of "gets distracted easily" and "lacks proper motivation". Sometimes, I have a hard time concentrating on what's in front of me...because I don't always just see what's in front of me. There's always other things that seem to think they want to be thought at the same time, which means nothing really ever gets my full attention. And when that's combined with putting everything off until the last possible minute, well then, that's just askin' for a righteous clusterfuck more times than not. That's why my blog entries are a mile and a half longer (the approximate length of a CVS receipt), take me forever to write, and also why I make notes about them before and during their creation. By the time I have an idea of what I'm comfortable saying and have the will to commit to typing it out, I've thought of at least six different things and turns of phrases and in which order they should go, and then I wind up starting off with shit like "I suppose I better get a move on because I can almost feel quite a ramble comin' on, and it's already later in the evening than I care for it to be when I start doing this kinda stuff.", so I just turn the spigot on and try not to stop too much along the way. It's probably the worst way to go about this whole exercise of blogging, but it works for me (and by "work" I mean if I didn't do it that way, I'd answer each fucking prompt with one concise sentence just to get them over with...and if you know me you know that I can't do that and I hate when other people do that). So the biggest problem in the whole process is myself, and the fact that I even make it a process. I find that badgering and shaming myself into writing is sometimes beneficial as well, because I'm a nice guy and I'm good at making myself feel guilty. "You say you love writing and you support blogging, but you never do it! What's your problem, man?" I swear, I'm only an asshole to myself, but I'm not that bad of one. I'm a minor one. Ah, crap, ok, I'm an asshole to people who irritate me and come off as being stupid, but deep down who isn't, and yes I tell myself that to make myself feel better when I catch myself acting that way (and it's within twenty seconds to thirty minutes after I've opened and shut my mouth that I realize it). ![]() ![]() I wish I had a better answer for the rest of the prompt, other than shrugging and bein' all like "I dunno...I just do it." Because that's how it goes, I swear. Like a parent who doesn't really have a choice in some situations other than parenting, if your kid's sick or doing whatever kids do that need parental guidance. Escape comes from being proactive in avoiding distractions. Knowing when to stop scrolling and close Facebook. Recognizing that the day that turned into night isn't gonna last forever, and deadlines come up faster as the hours fall off the clock, or get added on, or whatever they do...as you can see, I also haven't learned time management yet either. And avoiding interruptions. I think my ex secretly hated my blogging more than any woman I dated hated all of my previous girlfriends combined, because once I get going I don't like to stop or even be spoken to. She could sit in a room full of silence with me for six hours, and five minutes into writing an entry all of the sudden she'd turn into a god damn game show host with the questions and the facts and shit. And because I can't think and answer her and type at the same time, I'd just look up at her with an unintentional death stare and complete disregard to what keys my fingers hit as long as they sent off the message that hey, I'm freakin' busy now, and she'd just be all passive-aggressively cool with that...but when I wasn't around you know she was threatening it like my blog was gonna try to take me to the prom out from under her or some shit, all jealous and whatnot. "Stay away from my man, you...you're...so stupid I secretly find you funny, gahhh, and I hate your friends and your gramma's a whore." I don't doubt it. She was very encouraging to my face though, which felt nice. And just like that, I've gone absolutely off-track for like the third time tonight. I guess sometimes ya just gotta write your way outta the situations you write yourself into, even if it's just to see where it takes you. If you're anything like me, you don't care where you end up, but you're not like me because all your entries are shorter and prettier and more sensible. But mine are dangerous and look particularly saucy with a popped collar and a leather jacket, so at least I've got that goin' for me. It may not be boobs, but it's still fun to look at once in awhile. ![]() I'll tell you what it doesn't do...it doesn't serve me dinner, or rub my tired bones and muscles after a long day, or boobs, or take notes on every possible thing I wish I could remember to include once I've sat down for another attempt at writing, that's for damn sure. I feel like I was born without a gene or three, the ones the rest of you writer people seem to have that makes your efforts seem, well, uhhh, for lack of a better word, effortless. Y'all write three solid paragraphs about the same things I use 2,500 words for. It makes my lack of motivation seem like a fluke, or a farce...it's legit, I swear! I just...carry on. I don't have that editing/restructuring/word economy thing. The off button gets jammed, and sometimes thoughts get lost in translation from the brain to the fingertips. I'm the reverse of a dollar store Barbie doll knock-off...you click on this link and you wind up with triple the pointlessness, like thoughts of thinking about thinking of thoughts, or something. Seriously. Be glad I don't remember half the shit I see or think about when the time comes for me to make words out of the images in my head. You think this is too long now as it is? It'd easily be three or four times longer, depending on what I've actually done or how far into society I decided to venture on whatever day. Everything's in play as soon as I leave the house...if I can see it, experience it, or it gets in my way, it's fodder. Until I forget it, or it gets replaced by some other act of beauty or lunacy or whatever. And that's what we should all strive to do, I think...be aware of your surroundings in a way that it informs your writing. Not that I write anything else typically but from personal experience, but if you're into things with characters like stories, take note of inanimate objects and use their qualities to develop them into personalities. Like a tree in the wind, or a rusty mailbox, or a flickering light. Not everyone has to be based on another person...just look beyond what you can see with your eyes, and note the human qualities. Sometimes I like to fantasize about what life would be like if I channeled my energy into being a serious writer. Like, actually writing drafts of everything and polishing copies and editing more than just scribbling out words and lines and drawing the occasional arrow or caret. Fawning over my precious combinations of letters and punctuations pretentiously. Actually caring about etymology instead of making up words when the spell-checker thinks it's smarter than what I'm trying to get across. Not being lazy. The old saying, for bands and musicians, often goes "You have your whole life to write your first album, and 18 months to write your follow-up" or something like that, and it probably holds for more successful authors too. They might spend all their free time pouring over their first book, that manuscript, whatever, in between their day job and family and obligations; if they're lucky and they get it right the first time, then they're expected to produce another one, although now maybe they don't have as much to worry about besides writing it (even though they may not have the same leeway as far as life experiences offer as well). How would I work, if that's how I allowed myself to be? Would it make a difference in the finished product? I dunno. I don't write the kind of things that need more than the moment's inspiration. Once I get this entry edited and posted, I may possibly never look at it again. That's how I operate. And what's weirder is...that's what I paid to do here. I'm obviously not making money off this, so it doesn't much matter more than a day or two after it's left my system. I have more than a basic WDC membership so I can not care, which is the opposite of pretty much every published author alive who has also made money from his or her book(s). They write and edit and revise and write more and proofread and all that noise, and they get paid for it. I'm lucky if I'll remember what this entry is about come next Sunday, when someone else might read it for the first time because it's up for the "Blogging Circle of Friends " ![]() Anyway, that's just part of what I at least remembered I thought about on most days, while you're too busy being you and doing more important things. ![]() ** Image ID #2009874 Unavailable ** Day Three of the awesome and mighty "Resurrection Jukebox" ![]() It's very likely that I may have used the Weezer/Deftones connection in last year's Rez Juke. I'm almost sure of it just because I had to Wiki the dead bassist from Weezer, and again I had the wrong guy's name (it was Mikey Welsh, and he was in the band after Weezer's second album and for part of their third). And I used to have some Deftones bootlegs where they covered early Weezer songs, like a slower, sexy take on "Say It Ain't So" ![]() ![]() Anyway, some years later in 2008 the Deftones would lose their own bassist, Chi Cheng, who was hurt in a car crash and slipped into a coma. He eventually passed away in 2013. And that's where I was cool with this entry leaving off...band with a dead guy covered by another band with a dead guy. But here's the spot things then get weird, because I found one last bootleg of the Deftones covering Weezer after I'd seen "El Scorcho". I can tell you that I remember having a version of "Tired Of Sex", but what YouTube taught me this afternoon was that not only is there another, other version besides what I owned, but that I was also not prepared for what I was about to see. Because it's the Deftones, playing "Tired Of Sex", and then they segue right into "Keep On Loving You". Yes, that "Keep On Loving You". By REO Speedwagon. Amazeballs. So I figured what the hell, why not look at their Wiki page ![]() ![]() "I'm spread so thin I don't know who I am." "Tired Of Sex" lyrics. ![]() "You played dead, but you never bled." "Keep On Loving You" lyrics. ![]() And I guess that's where I'm gonna end this entry tonight, folks. I had rants lined up on a couple other topics, but if I get started on them I might not finish this entry at all tonight and it's already starting to creep up near my bedtime. Like, I know I've got shit to do tomorrow and I can't sleep in or anything, and I was up kinda ridiculously early by my standards today and all, but when did I get so old that I have to consistently be in bed before 11pm? What's wrong with me? I have so many websites stored in my Pocket app now that I have no idea when they got in there or why...some are at least six months old. But this entry's long enough as it is, and I'm sorry for having put you through all that. I'm like the GMO blogger; I should come with a label that warns you of all the non-nutritious crap I'm gonna fill you up with, yet for some reason you come back for second and third and 158th helpings. So, ummm, thanks for that ![]() Scandalous. That hair, I mean. |
![]() What's up you guys? It's Sunday, which means I should be watching football and not paying too much attention to anything else, and that's how I spent the early part of my afternoon...until halftime of the Bills game, when my body decided a nap was more important. I dozed off knowing the Bills were in a tight game against the Bengals, and when I woke up they were being curb-stomped (more on that later). Now I'm in a bit of a bitter mood, having pissed away a good another Sunday, and on top of it I don't really feel like writing this entry anymore. But here I am anyway, because I signed up for some stuff and I should contribute, and I hate starting things and not finishing them (like, say, multi-part blog entries of the serial variety). Plus, I made the effort to read all of yesterday's "30-Day Blogging Challenge ON HIATUS" ![]() So, I mean, I guess you could go into the 30DBC forum and read all the 10/17 posts and then read my responses. But your weekend is dwindling away and you probably don't have time for that and frankly, I don't blame you. Instead, allow me to use my amazing powers of recall to share with you a couple things that have stayed in my memory since this morning (which is no small feat in itself, ya know ![]() ![]() ![]() ![]() ![]() ![]() ![]() ![]() ![]() ![]() ![]() So there's my take on your takes for The Sunday Saturday/Sunday News. In short, everything's broken, no one knows how to fix it so that everyone's happy, and (in case you forgot) the New York Mets are still good this year. ** Image ID #2009874 Unavailable ** Day Two of the "Resurrection Jukebox" ![]() And that's why I guess this song is fitting. The original version of "My Best Friend's Girl" is by The Cars, who broke up in the late 80's and reformed briefly in 2010 minus bassist Benjamin Orr (who passed away from cancer in 2000)...and the cover is from Nirvana, a little trio from Seattle that was fronted by some guy named Kurt Cobain (who is also dead, either from a suicide or a psycho wife, depending on who you believe). ![]() ![]() Not Kurt Cobain. I don't know if this counts because technically Nirvana never released this song officially. Bootlegs exist all over the place of them playing it live though, and most versions I've seen on YouTube are crappy at best, but who knew anyone would be interested in video for blogging purposes back in 1992? If you say you were, please stop because no one believes you. ![]() "Oh, when you bite your lip it's some reaction to love. (Here she comes again) When she's dancing 'neath the starry sky, yeah... she's my best friend's girl, and she used to be mine" Lyrics. ![]() ![]() ![]() ![]() ![]() ![]() ![]() Fuck this. I haven't prepared for hibernation yet, That's the view from my second-story window around 11am-ish. The lovely clock tower, the Cortland Diner, and snow. If you live in an area that doesn't receive snow very often and would like to trade places with me, I can definitely hook you up. I don't know how much longer I can stand it here in these conditions...no joke. The first really cold day we had last week, my body felt like it was rebelling internally. My joints were refusing to cooperate smoothly, like they've actually started rejecting anything less than 45 degrees. The old joke used to be "If I have to wear pants, it's too cold!" Now it's a rule. It's not even November yet and I'm sick of it already. ![]() ![]() ![]() ![]() ![]() ![]() Ok, well, put it in the books. We're done here. Time to tie up a couple of loose ends around here before the first pitch...and hopefully my weekend will end on a more positive note. It feels like it's too early in the season for me to become a bitter old man just yet...luckily the snow hasn't started sticking yet, so the ice hasn't begun to form in my veins. Peace, he doesn't know the real surprise, and GOODNIGHT NOW!! |
![]() What's up y'all? I love it when I can write an entry for the "30-Day Blogging Challenge ON HIATUS" ![]() ![]() ![]() ![]() ![]() I read a lot of blog entries, being that I'm the Official Official 30DBC Host and all. So I have a pretty fair idea of what works each month and what doesn't. One category that gets a lot of flak each month seems to be my personal favorite, The Sunday News. So how many of you taking part in this month's mini-challenges were kinda pissed when you saw that this prompt was not only a "current events" prompt, but it also stretches out for two days?? I love it! ![]() It seems so easy...grab a headline from your favorite news source and say a few things about it. I don't get what's so difficult, or why people have a hard time with it. If you're taking part in blogging, you already have the computer and the internet. Go to Yahoo or MSN or Facebook or your email or whatever site and boom! News. And don't tell me you don't have an opinion on anything. Just...forget this. Close down your laptop and go be one with nature or something, because you clearly don't need to be blogging if you don't give a shit about anything. I legit clinically don't give a shit about so many things, and yet I still have opinions and can remain somewhat informed about what's going on in the world around me, so if I can do it, so can y'all. Nut up and own your little smack of internet think-piecing. I'd like to dedicate this portion of my entry today to my friend ♥Hooves♥ ![]() For the unaware, the Mets are good now ![]() Everyone who talks about baseball loves the Yankees, and no one cares about the Mets. It's news when the Yankees win, because they're supposed to, and it's news when they don't win, because they're supposed to always win. But it's pretty hard to win when you're sitting on the couch, watching the other NY team. In October. You have no idea how much it pleases me that I've typed the words "baseball", "Mets", and "October" in the same entry. ![]() ![]() I will use this gif every chance I get. I don't get to experience this joy often, so you damn well better believe I'm gonna ride it as far as it'll go. I don't care if I grew up in Buffalo, which is not the city people think of when you tell them you're from New York and is, in fact, on the exact opposite end of the state. I don't care that I live now about three hours away from Citi Field, where tonight's Game 1 of the National League Championship Series is being played. I don't even care that the last time I looked out my window, I saw the very first brittle attempts at snow falling from the sky...and I fucking hate snow with a tremendous, burning passion. It's October, and finally I can watch meaningful baseball with a direct rooting interest. I will hopefully stave off my impending seasonally-afflicted depression long enough to enjoy this for everything that it is. I've earned it. I became a Mets fan in the summer of '85, and the next year they won the World Series. Since then, it's been mostly rough admitting my fandom. I got older, life got in the way, and let's face it...baseball is the least exciting sport to watch even under the best circumstances. But I'm back. I'm riveted. I'm ready. Let's go Mets. #LGM ![]() ![]() ![]() I want to...I really do. I mean, on the surface, it is. But I'm one of the worst when it comes to implementing that sort of strategy into my everyday life. We have all these resources at our fingertips devised to help us plan ahead and prepare for every outcome, that it seems almost dangerous to let life just happen. We've become control freaks without even knowing it. At times it seems like America's biggest spectator sport is watching what happens to someone who fails to understand what's expected of him or her, despite all warnings...the biggest failure, however, is not realizing that we don't know all the reasons behind the choices people make in spite of information. It's very view and react, with a side of hot taek...and then details trickle out and make you look stupid for not seeing the forest for the trees, or whatever that phrase means. All I know is it's a common reaction amongst all the hot taek-ers out there. But back to my second sentence in this portion, and how it relates to me. I'm a thinker, an over-thinker, an analyzer, and a detriment to myself. I want to one day at a time things so bad, so much, but at what cost? What will I miss out on? What will I forget? How unprepared for catastrophe will I be? Why wasn't I ready for what will inevitably go wrong, because I should've known that something will go wrong because that's what almost always happens? And then I have to explain myself when the rubber hits the road, and that's a situation I've proven I'm not good at either. Things go bad, and people get out of it or get through it. But I'm not a bullshitter [Side note: I love that my spell-checker doesn't flag "bullshitter"...what a double-plus like on my side, huh?]. I can't hold lies very well. I can't fool myself, or others. The moral don't fuck this one up or over is strong over here these days; stronger than ever maybe, but maybe that's because I'm pretty much only dealing with me now and while it maybe used to be ok to leverage myself against myself, I just don't have the will or patience for that anymore. Call it maturity, I guess. I'm 40...that maturity bitch better start kickin' in soon, right? ![]() One day at a time...maybe it works for people in AA or on old-ass cheesy tv shows ![]() ![]() Sorry if that bums you out or makes you sad. One day at a time though, and you'll be over it! ![]() ** Image ID #2010042 Unavailable ** OMG...the day I've been waiting for, and yet I'm still woefully unprepared for it despite my best intentions and the fact that I've read the rules and stipulations a few times and still feel kinda cloudy about them. Covers? ![]() ![]() ![]() I feel like I'm starting strong here, but also emptying my chamber at the same time (and it's a nice reminder that at some point I should finish up my stories for "Musicology Anthology" ![]() ![]() But anyway, this is my blog and this is what I'm cosigning. I don't know how many people realize that Run DMC ![]() ![]() And now I feel like I need to watch Krush Groove ![]() ![]() "I do not sing but I make a def song. You could live your whole life, and I hope you live long." Lyrics. ![]() Well, that appears to be all I have for this evening. So much for getting this outta the way early...I don't know what time I actually started writing this entry, but I decided eating and napping were more important than finishing it at one point, and now I've only got a few minutes to proof it and post it before the first pitch. I'll take that though over not being in the playoffs for another year. Peace, you'll be rewarded, and GOODNIGHT NOW!! |
![]() 'Sup y'all? This is not gonna be a great entry. Every other prompt for "Invalid Item" ![]() I think the biggest reason for this is that I'm terrible at goodbyes. I'm very uncomfortable about them and I have no idea why. I don't think, to my recollection at least, I was scarred by any one in particular. I'm just not cool with change I guess. I don't like it when some things end. And this turned out to be a really fun activity (not that I doubted it'd be), so I'm a tiny bit sad to see it go away. I wonder what The StoryMaster is gonna do once all the "Invalid Item" ![]() ![]() ![]() ![]() And before you guys accuse me of getting all sappy and sentimental, it's not like I'm goin' away or anything. No one's running off to college or going to jail (I hope). We're not some mega huge graduating class wishing each other a fond "stay in touch" while secretly hoping/knowing we'll never see each other again...in fact, most of you are already signed up for the "Resurrection Jukebox" ![]() ![]() ![]() But I just have to get this last playlist outta the way first. Like I said in "Re: Day 7" ![]() 1) "I Will See You In Far-Off Places" by Morrissey ![]() 2) "Stay Young" by Oasis ![]() ![]() ![]() 3) "Don't You (Forget About Me)" by Simple Minds ![]() 4) "Snowbirds And Townies" by Further Seems Forever ![]() 5) "Never Let Me Down Again" by Depeche Mode ![]() 6) "Stay Gold, Ponyboy" by The Get Up Kids ![]() 7) "Pictures Of You" by The Cure ![]() 8) "I've Got Friends" by Manchester Orchestra ![]() 9) "Wave Goodbye" by Chris Cornell ![]() 10) "Death Is Not The End" by Nick Cave & The Bad Seeds (with Kylie Minogue, Shane MacGowan, Blixa Bargeld, and Mick Harvey) ![]() ![]() Again, this isn't a perfect list. I'm sure if I were to think about this some other time, maybe it'd be easier or I'd have more fitting songs. Hopefully this particular tracklisting isn't too much of a downer. I know the etymology behind a word like farewell is meant to imply a more positive spin on the act of people parting ways, but it seldom feels like any reason is truly a good reason, even if the intentions are 100% inline and legit. Sometimes, certain people aren't meant to be apart, but that's just another hard lesson we all have to learn about life. ![]() ![]() I really enjoyed this past week and this activity. I'm glad Charlie ~ ![]() ![]() ![]() ![]() ![]() ![]() |
![]() Good evening friends...I have a confession to make that will surprise none of you who have been reading for any length of time anything I've typed up for the internet. When I saw this prompt, it brought me instant and immense joy (for you see, sometimes I am very easily pleased and amused). ![]() ![]() I have quite an extensive history with karaoke. But that's not to say I can actually sing. No bullshit; I can't. I'm terrible. For someone with esteem issues in abundance and a profound level of humility that often stunts my willingness to toot my own horn over pretty much everything, I can probably name at least 1,656 things I'm better at than using my voice in any combination of melody, tone, vibration, harmony, and rhythm. Seriously. But for some reason, unlike everything else I'm really bad at, that doesn't seem to stop me. If I should find myself in a bar with open, live mics, you can bet your last dollar I'll breeze my way up in front of them. And I always swear I won't make an ass outta myself, but if you had a second last dollar you could bet that too. It started a long, long time ago. I used to live within walking distance of a place called Razzberries (this was back when it was "cool" to swap the letter S for Z, or drop the E from "extreme" to prove how X-treme you were). We found out that they had karaoke on Monday nights, so we went to check it out to see what it was like (and we needed an excuse to get hammered on a Monday night). The place had a really nice set-up for a bar that sounded like it was named for a strip club or after a stripper. You walked in and the bar was on the right, on the left was an outdoor patio, and just past that there were stairs that led to a downstairs seating area...and halfway between floors was a large landing that was sorta, I guess, barely big enough to be a stage. Many a Monday night was spent right there on that spot, shredding vocal cords and making Tuesday mornings nearly impossible to tolerate at work. From there, once the Razz was shut down or almost burned down or however these things go down in the bar world, we moved over to the Garden Park Cafe (GPC for short). The only draw to that place, as far as I know now for at least the last 10 years and probably a lot longer), is that they have karaoke seven nights a week. They, like, advertise that shit. And before you even ask "Who sings karaoke on a Tuesday night??", I will ask you to please consider that you're reading my blog, and I've made questionable life choices at times. I was hangin' out with a bunch of guys known as the J-Bag$, and I won't claim to know the full origins of the moniker nor will I admit to being anything but an honorary J-Bag, because that was my understanding. And they knew people who knew people, and that's where we ended up on many occasions. Very often. You could walk in to GPC on any night of the week and find at least a couple of us there. It got to the point that...you know those dry erase boards that the drink specials in bars or restaurants are written on with neon pens and blacklit? GPC's board no longer read anything but J-Bag$, and whatever consecutive numbered day we were on that our presence was known...sorta like how your job might have a poster that says "No workplace accidents in (x) days." It became a challenge...a week turned into a month, a month turned into 50 days, 50 turned into a hundred, etc. I don't know when the streak stopped, to tell you the truth...I stopped going for a variety of reasons, but I've ducked in there once or twice in the last couple of years, and outside of maybe a bartender or two, I haven't recognized anyone. But how ridiculous is that? Somehow, some combination of a bunch of the same people went to the same place every freakin' day, drank beers, played darts, and sang karaoke. Granted, there might be nights where only one or two of us showed up long enough for a beer, a song, and to change the number on the board, but there were far more nights we'd keep the place open until 2 or 3 am. Outstanding, I know. Some people in their 20's and 30's settle down, buy houses, have kids...some of us did not. Some people spend money collecting stuff to put on shelves just to gather dust, or do elaborate things to cars, or go on weekend trips and vacations often. We...mostly did not. We...partied. Pretty much daily. Singing karaoke. We knew everyone...bouncers, bartenders, barbacks, DJ's, other regular customers. We were like rock stars of this kinda shitty little place. I stopped at a gas station one night for a pack of smokes and the guy behind the counter was like "I know you...<thinks for a minute> J-Bag$!! Are you going to Garden Park tonight?" and I just kinda smiled uncomfortably, but in my head I was like "Wow...this shit's outta hand." So yeah...I spent too much of my late 20's and early 30's singing terribly into a microphone in front of friends and strangers. I'm almost ashamed to admit that I have a wide repertoire of songs in my karaoke arsenal, should I ever feel compelled to knock the dust off my pipes and feel the rush once more. What I lack in talent and shame I can make up for in drunken stupidity and raw energy, which I somehow proved on my 40th birthday a few months ago (see "This one's about Perseid, the future, and fortune telling." ![]() ![]() ![]() 1) "You've Got To Hide Your Love Away" by The Beatles ![]() 2) "Plush" by Stone Temple Pilots ![]() ![]() 3) "Float On" by Modest Mouse ![]() ![]() 4) "Clint Eastwood" by Gorillaz ![]() 5) "I Try" by Macy Gray ![]() 6) "So What'cha Want" by the Beastie Boys ![]() 7) "Pour Some Sugar On Me" by Def Leppard ![]() 8) "Faith" by Limp Bizkit ![]() ![]() 9) "Sweet Caroline" by Neil Diamond ![]() 10) "Don't Look Back In Anger" by Oasis ![]() I'm so glad I could talk about this...it feels good to just get it all out there in the open. No surprises. If you ever catch me singing to my reflection in the mirror, I promise it isn't because I want to leave you for a younger version of me. It's just another last trip down memory lane for this ol' washed up lounge act. Thank you...you folks have been a great audience! My name is Norb, and I'm available for weddings, bar mitzvahs, and threesomes. Peace, I guess it would be nice, and GOODNIGHT NOW!! |
![]() Hi guys...I'm back for a second round today; I can't remember the last time I came up with two entries in one day. At least they're shorter than normal, right? So...weddings. I feel like I've been to a lot of them. Not so many that I'm some kind of expert on them; christ, could you imagine if the only requirement for being a good husband was having attended x-amount of weddings? I wouldn't be on the Mount Rushmore of husbandry or anything nationally, but maybe in my neighborhood at least. But damn...all weddings are pretty much the same (sorry everyone who's been a bride, but your wedding wasn't any special-er than anyone else's). Swap out some faces and backgrounds, and 95% of them are alike. Which is to say...if you're paying someone to plan this stuff for you, ![]() The worst part of these parties (yep, glorified parties...I went there) is definitely the music. Ten percent of the music played at every wedding are songs that I guess you could consider "love songs", in every measurable category. The other ninety percent? Shitty dance-rock from the 70's and 80's, the occasional 90's prom song, "The Macarena", "The Chicken Dance", and that one slow song by the country singer dude whose every other song is basically a metaphor for gettin' chicks drunk and bangin' 'em either in a barn or a backseat, or the backseat of a car parked in a barn. It's amazing that people still pay other people to play non-live music at these gatherings, given all the amazing technology we have at out disposal. Hasn't anyone figured out how much music can fit on an iPod so that it can play for a few hours while some six-year-old whose parents couldn't find a babysitter hits the pause button every couple songs so the old folks don't feel like they're being ignored? ![]() ![]() He'll DJ your wedding for half the price of his competitors! Also, wedding receptions are way too fucking long. Why do they have to be so long? No one enjoys them that much...especially the bride and groom (or bride and bride or groom and groom). And as guests, we spend more time waiting in line at the open bar than we actually spend with the quote-unquote happy couple (who, it should be noted again for clarity, aren't all that happy after spending months and years designing every last detail all for it to be over with in a flash and are wondering mid-way through dinner what they could possibly have forgotten to pack for the honeymoon). We're celebrating being able to carry seven gin and tonics back to the table in one trip before the bar closes for dinner rather than celebrating the love two people share for each other. Many women have dreamed about their wedding day since they were littler women. Little women, because girls play with dolls and have tea parties and get their pigtails pulled by boys...but bring up the idea of marriage to a girl in kindergarten and all the sudden she's a god damn grown-up Disney princess with a 3-ring binder full of articulate wedding plans with seating charts, menus, building codes for every fire hall in a 300-mile radius, diagrams, schematics, that mysterious Wu-Tang album that they only pressed one copy of, the original Mona Lisa, and a pre-nup. Dudes just show up and hope they remember which three letters are in "I do" after spending all morning drinkin' with their buddies...bonus points if they're clean-shaven and their shirt is buttoned correctly. This is the most important day of a bride's life. Don't let her fool you by saying some shit like "the day I graduated from college" or "the birth of my kid(s)" or "that night I broke outta prison". This is what they've lived their whole lives for, and they're not gonna let you ruin one god-forsaken second of it. Oh, they might throw you a bone and let you narrow down the dinner options from 12 choices to 5, or "put you in charge of the music" ( ![]() ![]() ![]() ![]() ![]() So here's the playlist I'm submitting. None of the same crap you can hear at every other wedding. Seriously, if you need to dance to "It's Raining Men", go to someone else's wedding, or homecoming, or a gay bar. Ugh...why are most of the songs played at weddings so decidedly unromantic? There is not, never was, and never will be, anything cute or sexy or lovey-dovey about line dancing...all the "Cha Cha Slide" proves is that you can follow directions, like an adult "Hokey Pokey" fueled by wine. Fuck that. Don't like it? Hey, just be glad the wifey and I didn't make you pay for your own plate at the all-you-can-eat Chinese Buffet (and they count the silverware there, so don't think you can shove some in your pockets in lieu of "favors"). 1) "From Out Of Nowhere" by Faith No More ![]() 2) "Love Buzz" by Nirvana ![]() 3) "All I Need" by Method Man (featuring Mary J. Blige) ![]() 4) "Getting By With It" by Reggie And The Full Effect ![]() 5) "Happymess" by Atmosphere ![]() 6) "Still Remains" by Stone Temple Pilots ![]() 7) "You're My Heart" by LL Cool J ![]() ![]() 8) "Wishlist" by Pearl Jam ![]() 9) "Grow Old With You" by Adam Sandler ![]() 10) "Kiss Me, I'm Shitfaced" by Dropkick Murphys ![]() ![]() Like I said, I've been to more than a couple of these things in my day. I've seen some stuff. I guarantee you, this wouldn't even be close to the worst wedding in history...but then again, I'm pretty sure nothing will ever top (or bottom...your call) this amazing Pennsylvanian wedding reception ![]() ![]() ![]() |
![]() ![]() ![]() What's up y'all? I realize this post is late, but you'll have that...I was all set yesterday, with my playlist all ready to go earlier than normal, because I wanted to catch "Invalid Item" ![]() ![]() ![]() I'm not much for Halloween parties. I've only dressed up a few times in my adult life. I'm a firm believer in the "all or nothing", go-big-or-go-home style of doing things, and that doesn't mesh well with most of the rest of my lazy, don't-give-a-shit attitude. Staying home and drinking beer > going out and drinking beer...cheaper, less potential for idiot contact, and way less work (unless you count putting any type of clothing on as work). ![]() ![]() Kurt Cobain in his Leonard Cohen afterworld... and yes, that was 100% my real hair. But just because I'm not into the adult version of Mr. Dressup ![]() ![]() ![]() ![]() 1) "Hexagram" by Deftones ![]() 2) "I'm A Monster" by Ours ![]() 3) "Psychotic Girl" by The Black Keys ![]() 4) "Stagger Lee" by Nick Cave & The Bad Seeds ![]() ![]() 5) "Tarantulove" by Hawksley Workman ![]() 6) "Bone House" by The Dead Weather ![]() 7) "Ghost Dance Deluxe" by Felt ![]() ![]() 8) "Freddie's Dead" by Curtis Mayfield ![]() 9) "I'm Afraid Of Americans" by David Bowie (with Trent Reznor)" ![]() ![]() 10) "Bloody Murderer" by Cursive ![]() 11) "Catacombs" by At The Drive In ![]() ![]() 12) "Alone Down There" by Modest Mouse ![]() 13) "Climbing Up The Walls" by Radiohead ![]() Ok...I get it, that this may not be the end-all, be-all, scariest, creepiest run of Halloween party tuneage. Maybe if I were putting together the soundtrack of a kinda lame slasher flick though...maybe then this list might work. Ahhh, well, it's enjoyable for my tastes at least. That said, I'm gonna edit and post this, check out today's prompt, and then duck outta here for a little bit to watch some football. Hopefully I'll be able to get a list down while that's happening, and I'll have the ambition to write another entry later on so I can at least say I'm caught up on one project ![]() |
![]() ![]() Hey everyone...all I can say is wow. Where did Charlie ~ ![]() But this one? I'm scratching my head. Before we continue here, will someone please give the ol' lady a poke and make sure she's still alive even? It must be murder on your joints when you've been The Queen of someplace since 1659. My friends, I'm a person who writes a few sporadically funny blog entries each month, and most of them have nothing to do with politics. I don't know how monarchies work, or what the function of a Royal is over a Prime Minister or a President or a Dictator or the chick at the Dunkin' Donuts drive-thru. I don't really even want to know (no offense to my friends across the Atlantic who might be interested in wanting me to know). I can barely understand sometimes how the government in my own country operates...I can't even begin to fathom the incredible levels of dysfunction that would overtake our already-flawed system if we had to elect a president and respect a kingdom on the same grounds. I know they're different and all, but I'm 40 and I don't get it. It'd be like trying to explain to me what a fight between the two highest-value Pokemon cards would be like: I don't care and it has nothing to do with me and if it ever begins to look like it might, someone needs to intervene, and quickly. As of 2014 the United States population is at roughly 320 million....like, five times as many people as the United Kingdom has. That means- between those two areas alone, and not including Asia, Africa, Australia, Canada, South America, or anywhere else- that there are at least 384,786,724 people that are more qualified and more deserving than yours truly to have a nice little sit-down with the Queen Mother herself. I don't even know if I know her name...it's Elizabeth, right? Haven't they all been Elizabeths, once the country ran out of Henrys? Those last two sentences should tell you all you need to know as to why I'm unfit for such a meeting (just in case you might've, ya know, been on the fence about it before, or something). Maybe I should take back what I said about me needing an intervention if me and Europe is ever a thing...better get the ol' broad checked out from top to tail. Anyway, I should probably get on with my playlist, before the CIA and Scotland Yard decide they want to take a look at my Google search history before and during the composing of this entry. Red flags are probably going up all over the place; some with stars and stripes, and some with Union Jacks. If you don't hear from me after awhile, assume I choked on a crumpet...whatever that is. Maybe I'll catch a case of the crumpets, or get run over by one, or attacked and imprisoned by one. When it comes to England, I'm afraid I'm dumber than a Spice Girl. Cue the "Countdown To Armageddon" ![]() 1) "Don't Make Me A Target" by Spoon ![]() ![]() ![]() 2) "Save Me" by The Tea Party ![]() 3) "Working Class Hero" by John Lennon ![]() 4) "My Name Is" by Eminem ![]() 5) "Margaret On The Guillotine" by Morrissey ![]() ![]() 6) "Kingdom Of Doom" by The Good, The Bad, And The Queen ![]() 7) "Girl, You'll Be A Woman Soon" by Urge Overkill ![]() 8) "Paper Planes" by Street Sweeper Social Club ![]() 9) "This Is England" by The Clash ![]() 10) "Follow Me Around" by Radiohead ![]() Ok, add another ten songs to the master playlist of drivin' down the wrong side of the road, sippin' on tea with the Queen, laid back, with my mind on my pound sterling and my pound sterling on my mind. If you can still read this entry come Monday morning on the east coast of the US, then I haven't been declared some kind of rogue agent out to disrupt the sanctity of the European Union...but Lizzy, if you're ever lonely, don't hesitate to hit me up boo. Maybe after some tea we can grab a drink down at "Invalid Item" ![]() ![]() ![]() ![]() |