I've decided that my new hotel alias is "Reebee Garofalo."
Is it just me, or does that bear look...happier?
I saw this episode of
where she told the owner of a despondent llama that said llama thought of itself as a "star," and would thus be in better spirits if it was given a fancy scarf to wear. I'm getting a similar vibe here.I'm also feeling the drooping, Nan Goldin quality of some of the candles. It lends the whole thing a certain saudade
, especially when coupled with the optimism of the "Happy Birthday" message. It's been a long time since an avatar made me weep openly. Four stars. I do, however, think that
I would use that for my avatar, but I think compressing it into a square would distort it too much.
is the new
No, I like it--I'm just afraid that wearing it would mess it up.
But irregardless: Jolly Bornday.
You moved to LA, and you turned into a damn hippie.There is nothing wrong with hate.
I am saying. It's like homegirl Mary said about leaving New York before you get too hard and leaving California before you get too soft. Dudes need to hit the Midwest, get on some Grow and level the fuck up.
Love don't live here anymore. Step in the name of hate.
Many years ago I saw some cartoony poster at a Shoney's, advertising their all-you-can-eat shrimp plate. The ill-conceived and inexplicable dixieland motif they had chosen combined with their artist's poor rendering skills and overeagerness to anthropomorphize his or her subject and resulted in what looked like an illustration of a jazz band composed of smiling, slightly curved phalluses. Like, "Why is there a happy little penis stabbing itself in the face with a black golf tee? Oh, that's supposed to be a shrimp
? Playing a clarinet
? Oh, okay." Trust me when I say that shit was far from appetizing.
"Are you a pimp?""Yes, I'm a pimp."
I find this thread somewhat wine-in-a-box.
I agree with Jonny???s assessment that this kind of log-rolling shit is part of the reason why checking into soulstrut has lately felt like sipping off of a sick girl???s drink, so I???ll keep it brief: Dude has remained a strong voice even after rolling the odometers on half a dozen aliases, his contribution to the architecture around here has been???what???s the word I???m looking for?--gargantuan
, and like the old saying about influence being measured by what has to go around it, considering the preponderance of dudes on here whose only distinguishing characteristic is their overly shrill distaste for All Things Paycheck, anyone that can???t recognize what he brings to the table is probably the kind of simple motherfucker who still thinks it was the stork.Complex
. My man. Wait--what am I saying?! Getting back on-message: Fuck Jonny Spraycheese, fuck that Soiled Porpoise shit, fuck all his hip-hop jibber-jabber, fuck his good job, fuck his ???making moves,??? fuck that recurring picture of him all
Saturdayed-up where it looks like he???s been pithed by the overhead fixture, fuck billable studio time, fuck a chinstrap, and fuck New York.2005: Step In The Name Of Hate.
"Yo, cop that!"
BITD I thought I was gonna pull all the honies at the dance with this shit!
BITD, I thought I was gonna do the same with some poached Geoffery Beene and a blazer with the fly three-quarter sleeves. And yes, those
were Bugle Boys that I was wearing...tucked behind the protruding tongues of my puffy sneakers. Knit tie? Maybe that, son. Hey, it was the style of the time. I did okay (hi, Joanna), but my man Clark (hi, Jon) struck out. C'est la vie (hi, Robbie). BTW, all of the criticism in this thread seems to amount to not much more than an elaboration of "Man, I fuckin' hate this commercial!"BFD.
my brothers record store
Speaking of which: I was outside HPR the day after Pulaski Day, on the sidewalk (on
public property, mind you--the people's sidewalk) trying to unobtrusively move some Joe Jackson doubles and some slightly dented cans of Bustelo--to feed my family--when your boy comes out and bounces me, on some Arthur Alexander "You Better Move On" type bullshit, and then gestured at me real aggressively with his pushbroom, like I was dirt or suh-in...like I was dirt, meaty! I had to run next door and drown my sorrows in a Frontier Shrimp Roundup platter. And some Slice. And maybe some of those orange circus peanuts. Whatever the case, I felt mad emasculated. Tell your man to get off the bullshit or he can kiss my quarter-bin-Blow-Monkeys business good-bye.
Strictly Lew Wassermans. The Rodenstock jernts. Or the mirrored Eat 'Em And Smile shits with the pleather bellows on the sides.I rock 'em with wrinkled shirts (no iron).
Top:Sir Stanley - ???I Believe???[/b]You need this in your life. And I don???t mean that on some ???You heard that new grey-market shit from MC Won???t Be Around Next Year? Yo, you need that in your life??? shit. I mean that if you consider your life to be a life at all, you need to occasionally be confronted with records like this and see where you???re at. Life is full of subtlety and complexity and fragility and infinite shades of grey, but it???s also full of lines that you either cross or you don???t, doors that close with you on either one side or the other, and departing planes that you???re either on or you???re not. Songs that chart the terrain on either side of that kind of divide are legion, but songs that chart the divide itself are rarer than they should be. You can tell a lot about yourself by how near or far you are to bottom-dollar blast-furnace expressions of a sentiment as elemental and irreducible as ???I believe today / what I didn???t believe yesterday.??? You don???t have to like it, but without at least hearing shit like this every now and again, you won???t be hearing everything. *Note 1: This record is no fun to physically listen to. It???s harsh as hell, has not much bottom-end, and sounds like it was recorded inside your left ear. It???s an in-the-red pavement-chewer from beginning to end. Whether or not that dissuades you will also tell you a lot about yourself.**Note 2: Message to all the ???Fuck a funk 45!??? dudes: Please miss me with that horseshit. At its best, that argument sounds like the province of those who have confused an artform with its enthusiasts, and at its worst, it sounds like the same willful ignorance that oozes out of self-satisfied fuckers who brag about never watching television. Either way, you end up looking like Burt Reynolds. So cool it.
br />Billy Easton - ???I Was A Fool???[/b]Mello???s coconut slab[/b]It???s this multi-color strip of extruded, coconut-like polymer that tastes a little like a Presto log marinated in Hawaiian Tropic. They sell ???em at the train station. So wrong???but so right? I can???t call it.The instrumental for MOP???s ???Put It In The Air??? played at 45[/b]The older and slower I get, the more I seem to pitch up my records. Even so, this one had me finna punch my breakfast.Steve Kuhn ??? ???The Meaning Of Love???[/b]The Cyrkle[/b]Bottom:I was watching this fly Israeli movie on JBN, and it got cut off to make room for an hour-long infomercial for some bullshit support garment[/b]It was some black-and-white, subtitled, mod-ish 60s caper flick with a couple dudes posing as filmmakers so that they might rob the National Lottery. Had cute female cops on Vespas and the whole nine. Anybody that might be able to tell me the name of this movie, holler. One of my grandmothers looks like Roy Orbison, and one looks like Johnny Cash[/b]I love them dearly, just saying.My LCD Soundsystem twelve-inch is mad skippy.[/b] With every hop of the needle, I can hear Bob Bannister cackling out the sunroof of his company-supplied grey-and-orange Prius (with the ???H8R??? vanity plates) while peeling out in a flurry of limited-edition stickers. Man, fuck that dude! Based on sheer wrath of the math, I???d say the ups have it. But that???s not the way it feels, word to Jim Croce.
More to come, but this is tiring work.