Genetics. Ain't they interesting? Three moments that unfolded this weekend, thanks to Gertrude, that only serve to prove that the proverbial apple doesn't fall too far from the tree. For a three-year-old she's pretty far along the road to geekdom.
Gertrude on "Pooh's Heffalump Movie", asked to mom:
"Who wrote this movie?"
Gertrude, upon listening to "Where You Lead" from Carole King's Tapestry (also the theme from Gilmore Girls).
"I like this song. Who wrote it?"
At Aunt Eileen's house, after Aunt Eileen told her she'd make her a copy of a Gilmore Girls CD (yes, she's a music mooch):
"Hey, where's my Gilmore CD?"
Finally, last night while trying to fall asleep. She always listens to a CD I made her.
"Hey dad? Is this Jeff Tweedy singing?"
That last one is kind of odd. I know I've mentioned Wilco around her. She always tells me that Wilco is my favorite. But I'm not sure I've ever actually mentioned who the brains behind Wilco is.
I swear I don't coach her. Genetics just dealt her a geeky hand.
Tuesday, May 31, 2005
Thursday, May 26, 2005
Just Like Jon Bon Jovi Did
Yeah, sorry this blog has sucked so much lately. I can’t seem to string together a coherent thought these days. I’m so distracted that I can’t complete a single purple shoes are never a good idea because they’ll clash with your pants.
On Monday Matilda had her very first-ever, one-of-a-kind, limited-engagement, once-in-a-lifetime vocal recital for your Youth Vocals class. Being as her arts school is a very, very, very Christian school (no I don’t burst into flames when I walk through the doors, thank you very much. They’ve forgotten all about the line of Jesus action figures I proposed . . . though I still contend the stigmata that appear with warm water was a brilliant idea . . .) all of the songs were about Jesus. And one song, which Matilda has been singing for months on end, is insanely bloody. I mean, literally, if Tarintino directed Jesus’ death on Calvary, this would be the perfect theme song.
That being said . . . Matilda did a fantastic job. She was poised, confident and . . . good. After a few months of training, she’s learned such control of her instrument. I’m very proud of her.
The best moment, however, was when they were signing the bloody God song (can’t remember the title), each of the girls took a section of a verse and sang solo. As fate would have it, Matilda’s was in Spanish.
When I noticed them working their way down to her I began to get nervous. I couldn’t help it. I could tell she wasn’t nervous, but every terrible thought from my childhood came flooding back.
What if her voice gives out? What if she sucks? What if everyone laughs? What if she falls down? What if she starts singing the wrong song? What if everyone knows that I’m not a fundamentalist Christian? I had a fever, I couldn’t possibly hold my own in a discussion with 50 fundies as to why I’m not one of them.
But when her time came, this clear, sweet voice rang out and sang beautiful Spanish about the blood running down the street from Calvary.
I couldn’t help it, but I had a huge grin on my face. I was so immensely proud of everything that she had accomplished this year that I couldn’t contain it. Lucky for those other kids, I didn’t stand up and start cheering at that exact moment.
But I didn’t need to. Because as soon as she finished her part, Matilda looked at me smiling at her and she too broke out into the widest smile I’ve ever seen her give.
And that made it all worth it. Even the blood and the funny looks I get from the fundie parents when my only response to “What’s you’re favorite verse in the Bible” is, “John 3:16, of course.”
But that may be my rainbow wig . . .
On Monday Matilda had her very first-ever, one-of-a-kind, limited-engagement, once-in-a-lifetime vocal recital for your Youth Vocals class. Being as her arts school is a very, very, very Christian school (no I don’t burst into flames when I walk through the doors, thank you very much. They’ve forgotten all about the line of Jesus action figures I proposed . . . though I still contend the stigmata that appear with warm water was a brilliant idea . . .) all of the songs were about Jesus. And one song, which Matilda has been singing for months on end, is insanely bloody. I mean, literally, if Tarintino directed Jesus’ death on Calvary, this would be the perfect theme song.
That being said . . . Matilda did a fantastic job. She was poised, confident and . . . good. After a few months of training, she’s learned such control of her instrument. I’m very proud of her.
The best moment, however, was when they were signing the bloody God song (can’t remember the title), each of the girls took a section of a verse and sang solo. As fate would have it, Matilda’s was in Spanish.
When I noticed them working their way down to her I began to get nervous. I couldn’t help it. I could tell she wasn’t nervous, but every terrible thought from my childhood came flooding back.
What if her voice gives out? What if she sucks? What if everyone laughs? What if she falls down? What if she starts singing the wrong song? What if everyone knows that I’m not a fundamentalist Christian? I had a fever, I couldn’t possibly hold my own in a discussion with 50 fundies as to why I’m not one of them.
But when her time came, this clear, sweet voice rang out and sang beautiful Spanish about the blood running down the street from Calvary.
I couldn’t help it, but I had a huge grin on my face. I was so immensely proud of everything that she had accomplished this year that I couldn’t contain it. Lucky for those other kids, I didn’t stand up and start cheering at that exact moment.
But I didn’t need to. Because as soon as she finished her part, Matilda looked at me smiling at her and she too broke out into the widest smile I’ve ever seen her give.
And that made it all worth it. Even the blood and the funny looks I get from the fundie parents when my only response to “What’s you’re favorite verse in the Bible” is, “John 3:16, of course.”
But that may be my rainbow wig . . .
Wednesday, May 25, 2005
Drag Me Over the Rainbow
I'm going out on a limb here and I'm going to say that Neil Young's Everybody Knows This is Nowhere
is his best album.
I'll wait a minute for all of you Harvest nuts to calm down.
Okay, it boils down to these main points:
1. Danny Whitten - He was still alive, provided a grit to Crazyhorse that Pedro doesn't. He was loose, sloppy and dangerous.
2. It was the best Neil Young sound ever. Straddling his own personal style with what he picked up in Buffalo Springfield and the vibe that led to CSNY. His music has sounded good since, but I don't think it's ever topped this sound. It is the Sixties, and yet so much beyond it. It's dirty, angry, beautiful and haunting all at once.
3. As cliche as it has become, "Cinnamon Girl" has a killer riff.
4. "Down by the River" - Nothing more needs to be said. Nine minutes and sixteen seconds of pure grit. The plucky lead guitar, the rough crunch of the rhythm driven by Ralph Molina's gentle crash. It's longing, reaching for something right until the point where the narrator kills his baby. Between the verses it devolves into a barely structured cacophony of rock and roll guitar excess. Even at nearly ten minutes, it doesn't seem like it's enough. The song is rock's musical version of Ethan Edwards in The Searchers. Vengeful, angry, looking for something redeeming but always delving further into darkness.
Did I mention the guitar?
Point being, you need this album. It should grace your shelves right along side any of the other classics you have. It deserves a spot next to London Calling, Abbey Road, and Pet Sounds.
Oh yes. I do. Are you going to argue with a man who is sitting here gleefully singing, "Down by the river, I shot my baby"? I'll send Phil Spector after you and he'll go Wall of Sound on your ass.
I promise to tell you a funny story tomorrow. Seriously.
is his best album.I'll wait a minute for all of you Harvest
nuts to calm down.Okay, it boils down to these main points:
1. Danny Whitten - He was still alive, provided a grit to Crazyhorse that Pedro doesn't. He was loose, sloppy and dangerous.
2. It was the best Neil Young sound ever. Straddling his own personal style with what he picked up in Buffalo Springfield and the vibe that led to CSNY. His music has sounded good since, but I don't think it's ever topped this sound. It is the Sixties, and yet so much beyond it. It's dirty, angry, beautiful and haunting all at once.
3. As cliche as it has become, "Cinnamon Girl" has a killer riff.
4. "Down by the River" - Nothing more needs to be said. Nine minutes and sixteen seconds of pure grit. The plucky lead guitar, the rough crunch of the rhythm driven by Ralph Molina's gentle crash. It's longing, reaching for something right until the point where the narrator kills his baby. Between the verses it devolves into a barely structured cacophony of rock and roll guitar excess. Even at nearly ten minutes, it doesn't seem like it's enough. The song is rock's musical version of Ethan Edwards in The Searchers. Vengeful, angry, looking for something redeeming but always delving further into darkness.
Did I mention the guitar?
Point being, you need this album. It should grace your shelves right along side any of the other classics you have. It deserves a spot next to London Calling
, Abbey Road, and Pet Sounds.Oh yes. I do. Are you going to argue with a man who is sitting here gleefully singing, "Down by the river, I shot my baby"? I'll send Phil Spector after you and he'll go Wall of Sound on your ass.
I promise to tell you a funny story tomorrow. Seriously.
New Radio Playlist
I thought I was going to have enough free time today to tell a funny story. But I don't. I'm tired of not having half an hour to write a damn story.
Anyway, new radio playlist. Link's over on the left. Enjoy. Or not. There are banjos.
Anyway, new radio playlist. Link's over on the left. Enjoy. Or not. There are banjos.
Tuesday, May 24, 2005
Wall of Hair
Well, it looks like being accused of murder is finally making Phil Spector calm down and evaluate his mental status. Don't believe me? Check it out:
He looks like the cover girl for Grandmas Gone Wild.
I knew he was always messed up, but seriously. He looked in the mirror and said to himself, "Damn, I look good enough to go to a murder trial. What jury would convict me? I'm the All-American-Fuzz-Ball. I'd do me."
Seriously, though, this guy scared the shit out of the Ramones. The Ramones. I'm not saying that he's capable of murder but . . . He scared the fucking Ramones.
I'm just sayin'. Still, the Wall of Sound kicked ass between 1963 and 1967ish. After that . . . well, listen to Springsteen instead.
He looks like the cover girl for Grandmas Gone Wild.
I knew he was always messed up, but seriously. He looked in the mirror and said to himself, "Damn, I look good enough to go to a murder trial. What jury would convict me? I'm the All-American-Fuzz-Ball. I'd do me."
Seriously, though, this guy scared the shit out of the Ramones. The Ramones. I'm not saying that he's capable of murder but . . . He scared the fucking Ramones.
I'm just sayin'. Still, the Wall of Sound kicked ass between 1963 and 1967ish. After that . . . well, listen to Springsteen instead.
Does Anyone Else . . .
Think that the fake reality show from the Geico commercial, "Too Small House" would make a brilliant show. You know, I mean for real. In reality. So to speak. It would be awesome.
No?
Okay. It's just me then.
No?
Okay. It's just me then.
Why Is Caillou Bald?
Is it because he's searching for V'ger? Is it because he's not what you think he is? Is he the King of Siam? Or is it, like I suspect, a dermatological condition?
Well, according to Chouette Publishing (Birthplace of Caillou!) it's because he's every kid.
My kid loves this show. I've watched it frequently. Caillou is not every kid. In fact, he's unlike any kid I've ever seen. He seems emotionally damaged, unable to handle most simple situations and his interchangeable 70s-style parents (they look seconds away from heading off to a key party) have never once told him the truth about his lineage. (Come on, Rosie looks like the parents. Caillou looks like the bastard son of Jean-Luc Picard and Sinead O'Connor).
But, deep down, Caillou knows. That is why in every frame of his world, the edges are disintegrating, fading into white. Because Caillou knows his life is a lie, that his parents aren't being honest. So he just allows the world to slowly melt away, until he's left inside his own mind to deal with his own personal demons.
That's my theory at least. Don't tell Gert I was making fun of Caillou. She'd go ninja on my ass.
Well, according to Chouette Publishing (Birthplace of Caillou!) it's because he's every kid.
My kid loves this show. I've watched it frequently. Caillou is not every kid. In fact, he's unlike any kid I've ever seen. He seems emotionally damaged, unable to handle most simple situations and his interchangeable 70s-style parents (they look seconds away from heading off to a key party) have never once told him the truth about his lineage. (Come on, Rosie looks like the parents. Caillou looks like the bastard son of Jean-Luc Picard and Sinead O'Connor).
But, deep down, Caillou knows. That is why in every frame of his world, the edges are disintegrating, fading into white. Because Caillou knows his life is a lie, that his parents aren't being honest. So he just allows the world to slowly melt away, until he's left inside his own mind to deal with his own personal demons.
That's my theory at least. Don't tell Gert I was making fun of Caillou. She'd go ninja on my ass.
Friday, May 20, 2005
Oooh
New Pas/Cal. For free. Seven days only. Right here.
Second dual release they've done recently. I'm thinking, hey, how bout a series of songs put into a sequence and released as one single piece? I think it's called an album or something.
Just a crazy idea.
A new song makes me want more.
Second dual release they've done recently. I'm thinking, hey, how bout a series of songs put into a sequence and released as one single piece? I think it's called an album or something.
Just a crazy idea.
A new song makes me want more.
Welcome to Bombay
Outsourcing tech jobs to India has been hashed, rehashed, reheated and what not until it's now a tepid left-over subject. However, I just got off the phone with an Online Music Service Who Shall Remain Nameless trying to resolve an issue.
I had a free trial to the service so I tried it out. Bought a few tunes, but overall, didn't feel it was worth the money. So, I called to cancel.
I was connected to "Laura" who was clearly sitting in an office building half a world away. English was not her first language. I'm not hear to discuss the politics of the situation. I am here to discuss the fact that if you are trying to resolve issues with customers, is it not a good idea to have them speak the same language?
Laura was a nice girl and she was a hard worker and, without a doubt, a good customer service rep. She took care of me, tried to make sure I was happy, etc. But she only had one, awkward response to what I said.
"I would be happy to give you one free month of the service, and you could cancel at any time."
"No thanks, it's not worth the money."
"Sure, sure. I am understanding. You are telling me that you do not feel the product is a value. Can you explain why."
"Well, I think given the per-track cost, it just doesn't make sense. I'd rather just buy a CD."
"Sure, sure. I am understanding. You are telling me that you would rather buy CDs. But with CDs you cannot make your own choices and you have to buy the full CD and not simple tracks."
"Or I could just use iTunes, which is cheaper."
"Sure, sure. I am understanding. You are telling me that iTunes is a better value. But you would still rather buy a CD when you can preview all of the tracks here?"
"Well, if I buy a CD I can have a physical object on my shelf."
"Sure, Sure, I am understanding. You prefer buy CDs over the purchasing of online music."
Like I said, "Laura" was very nice. But it seems to me that this exchange could have taken up much less of my day had I either been fluent in Urdu or "Laura" had been fluent in English.
Look, I'm in the business of doing things quicker, faster and better than you can do them in house, so I'm not going to complain. But this company was lucky because I was cheery and happy. Had I been irate and not in the mood to strain to understand the customer service rep, I probably would have set off some filters with my choice of words. When it comes to customer service, especially one of a technical nature, I think it is supremely important that there be no language barrier, that the reps speak clearly and fluently. Because, often, the customers can't. Someone must be able to.
Oh well. This was a pointless thing. Go back to dancing or something. I'll crank the Beatles. She's a Daytripper you know. One of the best guitar riffs of all time.
I had a free trial to the service so I tried it out. Bought a few tunes, but overall, didn't feel it was worth the money. So, I called to cancel.
I was connected to "Laura" who was clearly sitting in an office building half a world away. English was not her first language. I'm not hear to discuss the politics of the situation. I am here to discuss the fact that if you are trying to resolve issues with customers, is it not a good idea to have them speak the same language?
Laura was a nice girl and she was a hard worker and, without a doubt, a good customer service rep. She took care of me, tried to make sure I was happy, etc. But she only had one, awkward response to what I said.
"I would be happy to give you one free month of the service, and you could cancel at any time."
"No thanks, it's not worth the money."
"Sure, sure. I am understanding. You are telling me that you do not feel the product is a value. Can you explain why."
"Well, I think given the per-track cost, it just doesn't make sense. I'd rather just buy a CD."
"Sure, sure. I am understanding. You are telling me that you would rather buy CDs. But with CDs you cannot make your own choices and you have to buy the full CD and not simple tracks."
"Or I could just use iTunes, which is cheaper."
"Sure, sure. I am understanding. You are telling me that iTunes is a better value. But you would still rather buy a CD when you can preview all of the tracks here?"
"Well, if I buy a CD I can have a physical object on my shelf."
"Sure, Sure, I am understanding. You prefer buy CDs over the purchasing of online music."
Like I said, "Laura" was very nice. But it seems to me that this exchange could have taken up much less of my day had I either been fluent in Urdu or "Laura" had been fluent in English.
Look, I'm in the business of doing things quicker, faster and better than you can do them in house, so I'm not going to complain. But this company was lucky because I was cheery and happy. Had I been irate and not in the mood to strain to understand the customer service rep, I probably would have set off some filters with my choice of words. When it comes to customer service, especially one of a technical nature, I think it is supremely important that there be no language barrier, that the reps speak clearly and fluently. Because, often, the customers can't. Someone must be able to.
Oh well. This was a pointless thing. Go back to dancing or something. I'll crank the Beatles. She's a Daytripper you know. One of the best guitar riffs of all time.
Wednesday, May 18, 2005
You Can Help Sam Too
First of all, I'd like to thank Kelly and Mike for all the help they've given me in my quest to put something together for Sam's benefit. They've set me down the right path and have allowed me to do something I wouldn't have been able to do on my own. I'd also like to thank Claudia (and Mike again), who may very well be one of the kindest people on the planet. Not only did she jump up and offer something for the benefit, she also added something personal to the package just for Sam's mom, to lift her spirits.
That being said, Sam still needs a transplant and a he and his mom have to get a new home in Baltimore closer to the hospital for his recovery and figure out how to pay for all of this while mom has only been able to work sporadically because she is caring for Sam. The benefit will help, but Sam has a lot of healing to do.
INTERCOT, which is a significant part of my secret life and is where I got to know Sam and his mom, has stepped up to the plate and is trying to help fill in some of those gaps by starting "Pixie Dust for Sam". We're giving gold bracelets (the official color of childhood cancer awareness) for a $5 donation. Or, if you don't need a bracelet, you can just give a flat donation.
Within 8 hours of putting this page up yesterday, INTERCOT's users had donated nearly $2000, and the number is growing. And we'd like to keep it growing.
Five bucks. Skip your Capa-frapa-mocha-Al-Pacino today and help give a kid a chance at life without hospitals, IVs and let a mom get a night's sleep without worry.
That being said, Sam still needs a transplant and a he and his mom have to get a new home in Baltimore closer to the hospital for his recovery and figure out how to pay for all of this while mom has only been able to work sporadically because she is caring for Sam. The benefit will help, but Sam has a lot of healing to do.
INTERCOT, which is a significant part of my secret life and is where I got to know Sam and his mom, has stepped up to the plate and is trying to help fill in some of those gaps by starting "Pixie Dust for Sam". We're giving gold bracelets (the official color of childhood cancer awareness) for a $5 donation. Or, if you don't need a bracelet, you can just give a flat donation.
Within 8 hours of putting this page up yesterday, INTERCOT's users had donated nearly $2000, and the number is growing. And we'd like to keep it growing.
Five bucks. Skip your Capa-frapa-mocha-Al-Pacino today and help give a kid a chance at life without hospitals, IVs and let a mom get a night's sleep without worry.
Tuesday, May 17, 2005
Thursday, May 12, 2005
I Am a Child, I’ll Last a While
We were laying in bed last night, when my wife said some of the most horrible things in the world to me. So horrible that I considered making her leave and sleep in the garage. I considered that she might have to live in a tree for a month, maybe longer, to think about what she had said. In fact, what she said was so terrible that I considered, albeit briefly, sending her to work on an alpaca ranch.
What did she say? You don’t want to know. But here’s how it went.
“Matilda asked me when she’ll get her period.”
I didn’t hear much after that because I had the pillow wrapped around my head while I was looking for duct tape to affix it permanently, lest my head actually explode.
You’d think that was enough. You’d think she would just stop there and enjoy what she had done to me. But, no, there was more.
“When I take her to get her khaki pants for her performance on Saturday I’m going to get her a training bra because she’s starting to feel uncomfortable in t-shirts.”
Convulsions. I think they were convulsions. All I know is that I was on floor. Everything was turning black. Things were swirling and, for the first time in my life, I was actually considering buying firearms and a lock for the outside of Matilda’s bedroom. I mean, I do her laundry! What happened to Disney Princess undies? A bra? Lord Jeebus help me.
Surely, this is enough. She waited until I had recovered enough to ask a question. ”Isn’t this a bit early to discuss this? Don’t we have three more years?”
Then she really dropped the bomb. (Name retracted out of respect for her father who probably can't stop throwing up), a classmate of Matilda’s, got her period over the weekend. And all the girls in the whole grade are buzzing over it.
Not too far from the house is a Red Roof Inn. They have high-speed internet and reasonable rates. Sure, it’s a bit of a rat’s ass crack there, but it will suffice. The way I figure it, if I move in now and stay until Gertrude is out of college, I’ll be safe.
Avoidance? You bet your sweet ass Doc Robbin. It’s not your daughter who wants a bra.
Now if you’ll excuse me, I have to go shove ice picks in my ears.
Although, the fact that I’m committing this to my website may be a perfect tool when dating starts. She wouldn’t want this shared with the future carny she’s sure to bring home for homecoming will she? There may be a silver lining after all.
What did she say? You don’t want to know. But here’s how it went.
“Matilda asked me when she’ll get her period.”
I didn’t hear much after that because I had the pillow wrapped around my head while I was looking for duct tape to affix it permanently, lest my head actually explode.
You’d think that was enough. You’d think she would just stop there and enjoy what she had done to me. But, no, there was more.
“When I take her to get her khaki pants for her performance on Saturday I’m going to get her a training bra because she’s starting to feel uncomfortable in t-shirts.”
Convulsions. I think they were convulsions. All I know is that I was on floor. Everything was turning black. Things were swirling and, for the first time in my life, I was actually considering buying firearms and a lock for the outside of Matilda’s bedroom. I mean, I do her laundry! What happened to Disney Princess undies? A bra? Lord Jeebus help me.
Surely, this is enough. She waited until I had recovered enough to ask a question. ”Isn’t this a bit early to discuss this? Don’t we have three more years?”
Then she really dropped the bomb. (Name retracted out of respect for her father who probably can't stop throwing up), a classmate of Matilda’s, got her period over the weekend. And all the girls in the whole grade are buzzing over it.
Not too far from the house is a Red Roof Inn. They have high-speed internet and reasonable rates. Sure, it’s a bit of a rat’s ass crack there, but it will suffice. The way I figure it, if I move in now and stay until Gertrude is out of college, I’ll be safe.
Avoidance? You bet your sweet ass Doc Robbin. It’s not your daughter who wants a bra.
Now if you’ll excuse me, I have to go shove ice picks in my ears.
Although, the fact that I’m committing this to my website may be a perfect tool when dating starts. She wouldn’t want this shared with the future carny she’s sure to bring home for homecoming will she? There may be a silver lining after all.
Wednesday, May 11, 2005
I Got Nothing
Again, stories to tell, things to bitch about, people to exact revenge upon, but I lack both the energy and creative energy to do any of it.
Luckily The Owls lacked none of those when recording Air. It's funny, because I'm not listening to particularly poppy music lately. It's not like the MP3 player is only cycling music that Brian Wilson would be proud of or that Phil Spector could shit out in a drug-induced paranoia. My personal mood is moving more toward harder music lately. Something with crunching guitars and a bad attitude. If that isn't available, I move back to psych rock of the late sixties.
And yet, songs like this suddenly pop into my attention span and I can't get them out. And why should I? Dig that bass line. The hipper-than-thou snits at Pitchfork actually gave them a 7.7. And there's not even a member of Pavement in this band. That's impressive.
Plus, I like their bio:
"Who are The Owls? 'Two librarian chicks, the sexiest bass player you've ever seen, and a drummer who's the spitting image of Gary Oldman.'"
Luckily The Owls lacked none of those when recording Air. It's funny, because I'm not listening to particularly poppy music lately. It's not like the MP3 player is only cycling music that Brian Wilson would be proud of or that Phil Spector could shit out in a drug-induced paranoia. My personal mood is moving more toward harder music lately. Something with crunching guitars and a bad attitude. If that isn't available, I move back to psych rock of the late sixties.
And yet, songs like this suddenly pop into my attention span and I can't get them out. And why should I? Dig that bass line. The hipper-than-thou snits at Pitchfork actually gave them a 7.7. And there's not even a member of Pavement in this band. That's impressive.
Plus, I like their bio:
"Who are The Owls? 'Two librarian chicks, the sexiest bass player you've ever seen, and a drummer who's the spitting image of Gary Oldman.'"
Tuesday, May 10, 2005
Burning Up the Credit Card
Merge Records is now on eMusic. Looks like I'll need some booster packs. Sigh. In a good way sigh.
People used to mock me for subscribing to eMusic because they only had tiny, small bands. Which was sort of true. But I discovered a ton of great music there. Now, with Merge, they have the Magnetic Fields, Spoon, Dinosaur Jr., M Ward, etc. No one should complain now, dammit. This is good stuff. Right now my "Save for Later" list includes:
Neutral Milk Hotel
American Music Club
Bloc Party
The Heavy Blinkers
The Owls
Of Montreal
Audible
The Autumn Defense
Decibully
Mirah
Solex
Neko Case
I Am the World Trade Center
The Black Swans
Ivy
TMBG
+/-
Ida
Irving
The Future Bible Heroes
That's a pretty good list. And, 40 tracks for $10 a month ain't bad. Plus, when I need more, I can get an additional 50 for $14.99. Damn good. Lord knows I wouldn't have been able to afford all of this music otherwise. Sure, I miss out on the shelf-factor. But I can deal with it.
People used to mock me for subscribing to eMusic because they only had tiny, small bands. Which was sort of true. But I discovered a ton of great music there. Now, with Merge, they have the Magnetic Fields, Spoon, Dinosaur Jr., M Ward, etc. No one should complain now, dammit. This is good stuff. Right now my "Save for Later" list includes:
Neutral Milk Hotel
American Music Club
Bloc Party
The Heavy Blinkers
The Owls
Of Montreal
Audible
The Autumn Defense
Decibully
Mirah
Solex
Neko Case
I Am the World Trade Center
The Black Swans
Ivy
TMBG
+/-
Ida
Irving
The Future Bible Heroes
That's a pretty good list. And, 40 tracks for $10 a month ain't bad. Plus, when I need more, I can get an additional 50 for $14.99. Damn good. Lord knows I wouldn't have been able to afford all of this music otherwise. Sure, I miss out on the shelf-factor. But I can deal with it.
Friday, May 06, 2005
Happy Mother's Day and Stuff
This one goes out to all the moms. Be caller number thirteen and get a Ghostbusters picture pack!
And for those who aren't into celebrating mother's day (commie, pinko, rat bastards), here's Diego Maradona.
What does one have to do with the other? Nothing. Absolutely nothing.
It's funny because it doesn't make sense.
And for those who aren't into celebrating mother's day (commie, pinko, rat bastards), here's Diego Maradona.
What does one have to do with the other? Nothing. Absolutely nothing.
It's funny because it doesn't make sense.
Wednesday, May 04, 2005
Updating
Will commence shortly. Been busy. Very busy. Might clear up next week. Or something.
It's a shame, too, because I have great updates. Like how Gertrude LOVED the Buddhist ceremony we attended on Sunday. Though, admittedly, she did keep calling the monks "Buddha Monkeys". So, you know. Or how last night she thought she was lost at the library and caused me to take her to a store and get treats out of guilt.
In the mean time listen to some Pas/Cal here. If that doesn't make you happy then listen to one of the prettiest, hummiest pieces of poppy goodness of the last decade. It's criminal that no one hears it outside of a Saturn commercial.
What are you doing? Go buy their CDs!
It's a shame, too, because I have great updates. Like how Gertrude LOVED the Buddhist ceremony we attended on Sunday. Though, admittedly, she did keep calling the monks "Buddha Monkeys". So, you know. Or how last night she thought she was lost at the library and caused me to take her to a store and get treats out of guilt.
In the mean time listen to some Pas/Cal here. If that doesn't make you happy then listen to one of the prettiest, hummiest pieces of poppy goodness of the last decade. It's criminal that no one hears it outside of a Saturn commercial.
What are you doing? Go buy their CDs!
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