Your glaze hits the side of my vase
Apr. 13th, 2006
11:50 am - sketch the seventh
No, not the eventual damp article I've been threatening, w/r/t linking and comparing Hip-hop, Plunderphonics, and Musique Concrète, which on the surface looks SO VERY INTERESTING *yawn* but in practice actually is damn fun - no, no, just a simple shout out to "White Lines" for once again standing up to, what, the 267th listen in my lifetime, and totally owning as the greatest dance track ever. Perhaps "Rapture" fits in the Top 10 somewhere (it once was my #1), but I remember stating years ago, probably as far back as middle school, that "White Lines" was the King Hippo, and truth be told at 11:30 AM today it indisputably stepped back onto the dais to claim the scepter, rightfully, FOREVER. Funny, though, is how Flash gets a fucking namecheck in "Rapture" as it is, like Debbie's brainwashed into just accepting it.
Oh! I saw my shadow. Back to lurking for a year.
Mar. 29th, 2005
09:48 am - sketch the sixth
I think it's time to lay off my addiction. Not that it's necessarily deleterious to my health, like a drug monkey, but it's definitely a strain on the billfold, as well as to my bookshelf. Yes, I'm talking about my record buying habit. I can't even pass by a Goodwill without getting all fidgety. I'm starting to bring home records without realizing I already own them. I'm starting to buy records for friends, just to live the nostalgia of having purchased a classic album all over again. I'm starting to notice it takes longer to select a record to hear than it takes to put ten records away. So if you see me heading into Rasputin or Amoeba or Open Mind or Grooves or Aquarius or Record Collector or Rooky's or Groove Merchant or Tweekin or BPM or Virgin or the freekin Goodwill do me a favor and divert my behavior by telling me how luscious the sky looks. Or at least that "Face it, you're not going to find a France Gall ep in there," or "you got one Wolf Eyes, you got em all dude."
Jan. 31st, 2005
02:22 am - sketch the fifth
Honestly, now, there's the lps that matter as much for the content as they do for they overall flow. I've always felt that "one foot in the grave" by Beck was hampered by said flow and not by content; this much is obvious. Ever felt that dire need to skip over, say, 'burnt orange peel' or 'ziplock bag'? Yea, can't blame ya. Made sense tonight, tho. For the first time EVER. Cherchez la femme. The strains of painful confession laid bare, even through reckless spasticism, made clear like it was tattooed on skin freshly lain as birthright. Guy gets fucking lonesome, yes?
Oct. 21st, 2004
02:03 am - sketch the four and a halfth
Hi, I'm Troy McClure. You may remember from such memorable LiveJournal postings like "the one two years ago" and "the one two and a half years ago". But there's some nonsense to vent and thus, without warning, and somewhat drunkenly, comes my comma-laden paean to some overpaid guys I'll never meet somewhere in New England...
These guys were on the mat in the 8th inning in game 4 and they put together THE GREATEST COMEBACK IN BASEBALL HISTORY!!!!!!!!
"There's always next year".... to see what creative way New York comes up with to fail miserably in the post-season :)
You do realise sadly that it's all about the eventual stunning letdown. The less we talk about it, the better. So, who's the Calvin Schiraldi of the team this year? The liability who'll help em take the Cards/Astros to game 7 and then error in the 9th inning. 15,000 suicides across New England.
A curse lifting would mean the imminent arrival of the next apocalypse. I'm not ready to see Bush in office for the next four years (unless I'm watching from Iceland).
Nonetheless. What a hell of an ALCS. I'm not much of a sports fan overall but you know you can always count on me to root tooth and nail for Beantown. My highlights:
* Tonight's Damon Grand Slam massacre- heartstopping
* That unprofessional petulant strawberry shortcake fag A-Rod swatting Arroyo in the arm last night. MLB, not flag football, pussy. Wonder who's committing ritual seppuku in front of Steinbrenner tonight?
* The riot police following up the (replay) justified ump call - shameless
* The NYer who got the ball in the chest HAHA
* Schilling bleeding through his sock - total hard-ass
* The 19-8 drubbing. Come on we needed that shit to build "entropy".
Anyway, the Bambino's rollin over, I can feel it, Lansdowne's feelin it, houston/st louis are feelin it and scared SHITLESS
Mar. 18th, 2003
03:33 pm - sketch the fourth
"In Zen they say: If something is boring after two minutes, try it for four. If still boring, try it for eight, sixteen, thirty-two, and so on. Eventually one discovers that it's not boring at all but very interesting." - John Cage
So begins the renewal of my attempts to amuse on LiveJournal. It's like turning over a car sitting in the driveway for a year (literally, I mean when was my last post?) only it's more cost effective. What's gas go for now in the Southland, $2.20? Anyone notice how The President urged the Iraqi military not to destroy oil wells *before* he urged them not to use weapons of mass destruction?
24 hours to war and I'm wondering if Green Apple will have that Eight Eyed Spy reissue.
Nov. 27th, 2001
If I was an Autobot, I'd be:
Take the Transformers personality test at android5.com!
Nov. 19th, 2001
02:05 pm - sketch the third
Oh man. I've been dizzy for days, and I don't know what's going on. This is the sort of haze only a weekend could provide, and with much determination I honestly tried to stay away from my greatest temptations - namely, girls and booze. (insert SFX: malevolent hell-bent MWAHAHAHA) I believe the term "fat chance, buster" was created for my sorry sake. The pounding began as I discovered I was kind of coming down with something, much to the chagrin of the tap water and echinacea in the apartment, which found themselves being consumed at ridiculous rates. Advil cold and cough remedy is the greatest stuff - produces the sort of hum in the head you'd associate with the sodium crickets hopping madly inside streetlight bulbs of the dry San Fernando Valley. The whole day at work on Saturday was like walking on a tightrope, the battle for balance fought valiantly yet won in the haphazard fashion akin to repairing something successfully only to find you've fucked up something else even worse. "He tightens and loosens a few spare parts / One thing's fixed, another falls apart" - deadkennedys. What's this called? Not quite a pyrrhic victory. Maybe just Murphy's law. Anyway fuck what was I talking about. This is sad, I'm listening to The Fall's live album (er, one of them, Part of America Therein, 1981 - twenty years old!) and realize I'm going to be missing them tonight - how could I miss getting tickets for the fucking FALL?! Then again, Mark E. is pretty damn old, and ravaged, visibly, so I'm just gonna pull the sour grapes attitude. Like they'd play Prole Art Threat anyway. Like they'd play Older Lover. Or Barmy. *sigh* So...
Art gallery reception thing for Brooke and Jillian and a host of others, most represented at Tunnel Top the week before, that was saturday night. Lots of fab snapshots taken, lots of booze consumed. A great time, no doubt, and talent hanging from the walls apparent once again. Hop skippenna jump over to Tango Tango, where world class lesbian karaoke night rocked the scene. Mason, my boss, was there with her girlfriend, and I think her words verbatim upon seeing me, delivered with a discernible surprised smirk, were "what the fuck are you doing here?" I had gotten there kinda late, and thus the friend I was supposed to meet there had already split, so my explanation was taken with a grain of salt - how often does a single boy crash a party of nothing but drunken, mic-rocking girls who like girls? The sympathy was free flowing as she bought me beer after beer. Again, lots of fab snapshots taken, lots of booze consumed. What else to do? My spin on the karaoke machine turned out an absolutely appalling "China Girl", much much much more repellent than the last time I tried tackling that tune. Oh baby just you shut yr mouse. Every time I get ready to do that song, I forget I'm going to be crooning the words "marlon", "brando", and "swastikas", and it always surprises me when they come up on the monitor.
Sunday really kicked my arse, and I think I told everyone that I honestly felt drunk still from the night before - the dizziness was pulling my brain along like an A.D.D. child carting my ass in a rickshaw at Disneyland. And it wasn't like I was waiting for the dizziness to vanish before I could start drinking again, it just occurred coincidentally - as soon as Brooke showed up I forgot all about my condition and we started on yet another trailblazing round of alcohol mayhem. Once again Chris brought his friend Joshua to the Stud (he'd previously accompanied Chris to that Entartete Kunst show that me and China played at) for Death Rock Booty Call, and the usual cast of scenesters made the rounds, like that girl with *that haircut*, you know the one, doctor everything'll be allright, is it a mullet? It's like so unhip it's hip, or something, I can't even describe it, you've just got to see it. I know I'm making it seem important, like snacks or advertising, but really what else is there to talk about. Don't worry, there won't be a test. Four rounds of Jack on the rocks for me and Bacardi and coke for her depleted the funds, but we still had enough quarters for two games of pool, both of which she kicked my sorry ass at, although I did win one by default cos she scratched on an attempt at the 8-Ball. All in all one of the most enjoyable nights in recent memory, even though we didn't dance.
Breakfast monday again at the Golden, which is starting to become a tradition for both me and Jillian, who was there again with the asian boy on break from her 9:00 printing class. Back home, and back to the journal which I believe brings shit up to date. I'm going to put out a concerted effort to score a Fall ticket tonight on the street, for which I'm setting a limit at $25, no more. How could it sell out? China said we're better than Erase Errata, at least live, when she saw em open for Tracy and the Plastics. The record's great, if a little one-dimensional, and I've been looking forward to seeing them play, but now I'm worried. If they suck, and if the Fall suck, and I'm already ambivalent about the Evening, then maybe I should just hold onto that $25. But of course, I'd end up spending it on you know what: girls + booze. I can't believe anyone's still reading this. What more do you want to know. I haven't quit smoking. Think I'm gonna ride to Le Video to see if they have "Careful".
Nov. 14th, 2001
12:08 am - sketch the second
in which our intrepid hero keeps all who care posted on fun shit which went down over the weekend and beyond. obviously the most drunk i've been in the last five days was when the three headed kangmin-micah-anh creature descended upon chalet 746 geary to wreak havoc uopn my sobriety, the cat, and my need to be a complete fuckface while intoxicated. it worked... i e'en cooked pasta for the hungry vicodin downing toxic twins! (t.h.v.d.t.t. = micah and kangmin) after a historic jaunt down memory lane (i.e. montgomery st) on monday afternoon we checked in for tasty burgers at Clown Alley... do i need to remind everyone in sf that clown alley is the absolute freakin bomb when it comes to decent eats in the fries/coke/burger dept? the jukebox leaves a little to be desired but otherwise, where can one go for circus tent themes and a fully decked out condiment bar in the financial district on bank holidays? see you there on the friday after thanksgiving...
anyhow. made a brief yet thoroughly refreshing stop at vesuvio for the traditional round of kerouacs. this was my favorite moment of the weekend, watching the sun set over north beach, the scenic glow of neon bulbs crackling effectively to create noir-film headaches for whatever protagonists have to dwell above roaring twenties and big al's, the world's most garish porno stores (located at the intersection of picturesque broadway and columbus!).
a new piece of vocab: smushy. your smush factor is how dissociated your brain feels from your body/nervous system post bender/binge. for example, at breakfast (golden coffee, leavenworth/sutter) micah expressed on his person, a smush factor of 5. this is a rather subjective observation of course, but 5 is damn high in my book. i happily consented my smush factor to be five as well, though as the day wore on the number fluctuated from near baseline (a solid 1) to astronomical highs i would have to conclude as being near the 7 or 8 region. to take into account also is another addition to the vernacular, which is the "film" factor, or the amount of greasiness your brain perceives to be on your body post binge, directly related to how long it's been since ya showered and how much you drank, added to your raw smush factor. in the mornin (monday) i felt about 3 1/2 on the film factor, which added to my smush resulted in a total of 8 and a half. the obligatory fellini reference was duly noted (get it, film factor?)
have joined sir quach in the effort to rid my body of smoke intake. HA. make that, will join anh just as soon as i stop smoking. really guys, my apologies, i went until 5:45 today before breaking down and wolfing down a parliament. also made the error of going to a bar with norwegian lovely camilla, swedish tia, and chinese jeremy, which didn't help matters much in the ciggie dept. we got trashed, and thus my new regimen has been laughably denigrated and forced to sit at the back of the bus.
Nov. 12th, 2001
10:41 pm - sketch the first
I try to work and I keep thinking of world war three. This officially marks the beginning of a beautiful relationship with my liveJournal, of which I, the undersigned, do hereby promise to keep updated on a semi-regular basis - which, in the terms agreed upon by the undersigned and the general understanding the worldover of what is acceptably regarded as "semi-regular", constitutes something on the order of, like, one entry per week. Maybe. I don't know my future after this weekend (and I don't want to).
So to kick off this flirtation with the eternal entropy of "addictive computer oriented behavior", let's just get one piece of vital info straight - the reason I'm doing this right now instead of, oh, say, watching AbFab at Brooke's house is because, quite simply, the girl flaked. Space shuttle's in my blood, there ain't nothin i can do about it. Love the girl dearly, but have to accept the fact that sometimes the 90/10 % ratio of non-brain usage to brain usage gets on my nerves and there's no use pouting cos things could be worse. I mean, anthrax for chrissake. Small pox. the *N-Sync movie. shown repeatedly, with breaks for stand up comedy by Patrick Dempsey, or maybe the guy who played skippy on family ties. Girls don't suck that bad, i suppose.
Okay I'll write more in a minute - I told her to call me at 11. (insert SFX: whipcrack)