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Google Music Trends Rocks, World Musical Taste Sucks.

I thought that google music trends page, a page showing a weekly top listing of songs being listened to by gtalk users the world round, was one of the coolest apps in the world until i looked at it. After looking at the quite naturaly bland offerings on the "all genres, all countries" page I decided to head over to something really more up my alley, say, the all country listing for electronica. here's what i saw:

Rank	Title	Artist	Change
1	Maneater	Nelly Furtado	--
2	Always Something Better (Trentemøller Remix) [B... - Web Search	Trentemøller	+1
3	Harder, Better, Faster, Stronger	Daft Punk	-1
4	Natural Blues	Moby	+3
5	Porcelain	Moby	+1
6	One More Time	Daft Punk	-2
7	Galvanize	The Chemical Brothers	+3
8	Aerodynamic	Daft Punk	-3
9	Hide and Seek	Imogen Heap	-1
10	Digital Love	Daft Punk	-1
11	Extreme Ways	Moby	+5
12	The Rockafeller Skank	Fatboy Slim	--
13	Lift Me Up	Moby	New!
14	Strict Machine	Goldfrapp	New!
15	Around the World	Daft Punk	-1
16	Ooh La La	Goldfrapp	New!
17	Venus	Air	New!
18	Honey	Moby	New!
19	Short Circuit	Daft Punk	-1
20	Cherry Blossom Girl	Air	New!

Can I reprint that? guess I can since it was so very easy to do. copyright infringement shouldn't be that kind ov easy. I apologise for any disorientation, confusion, retching or nausea induced by reading the list above. I promise that i had nothing to do with this list being the way it is, but I'll get to that later first, I have to say this:


Nelly Fucking Furtado? MOBY? Daft Punk? TEN MOTHERFUCKING YEAR OLD FATBOY MOTHERFUCKING SLIM? MUSIC LOVERS OF THE WORLD, WHAT THE FUCK IS YOUR PROBLEM?

I'm sorry about that little outburst it's just that when I look and see that the most marginal artist ever to grace my ears are at the top ov the electronica list It Just Makes Me Go Kinda Stupid In The HeaD, AnD - sorry.

But it's not like I'm blameless. When I got over my initial bafflement and sickened yet impotent rage I looked around for how they got these statistics that created so much wonder within me. It's all from people who:

a) use gtalk.
b) have their message to the world set to 'show current music track'
c) have 'share music listening history with Google Music Trends' selected in the Audio section of their settings.


well, one outta three ain't bad. I loves me some gtalk. Love love loves it, but I'm so very used to displaying little things I think of that are clever in my Lil' message window that I almost never want people to know what I'm listening to instead. I figure they don't really care anyway. but now I DOcare, oh yes indeedy, I care a great deal for what will seem like a very long while in this tangent-prone brain ov mine. I've gone into my gtalk and made the proper arrangements for me to share my musical tastes with the world in the hopes that just one song out of twenty on their list of the most popular will not suck.


And I Urge all of you to do the same. Ladies and Gentlemen, Friends of the Internet and all it Surveys, Lovers of Fine Electronic Music in its Myriad ov Forms, I Implore You! Go to Your Windows Machines (gtalk doesn't work on macs AFIK) throw open your Settings, and Strike a Blow for Taste! Share your Knowledge with the benighted and let them see the Light!

Overall, I blame the French for this list. I haven't actually done any research into the French portion of the electronica listing, but here's how I figure it: while most French techno is only marginally prefferable to suicide, Daft Punk has the ability to slap together a good beat or two once in a while. To the French this makes them musical gods akin to Beethoven for the Germans or Anne Murray for the Canadians. And let's face it, if you think Daft Punk is good then you've just to love premodern-trendsetter Moby and his dated antics.



The rain should stop in a few days, and then I can go outside.

Found My Backup Dream Job.

As those of you who have hotly followed my meandering career path know, I am currently involved at making my dream job, cooking and catering for myself, paying me the huge gobs of cash I know it will. But alas, my friends, I tell you this today; for every dream job you have there are unforseen dream circumstances that may take that job away from you. To this end I have searched high and low to find my very own Backup Dream Job.


The list of potential backup dream jobs was long: bacon taster(still willing to do this part time, btw), paid participant in a twenty year long medical study of the effects of nymphomaniacs on chronic pot smokers, test vacationer for the worlds five-star hotels, comic book critic, and professional bra to name just a few ov the highlights. But leave it to the Inscrutable Asian to create my true Backup Dream Job for me before I even thought ov it: Fake Wedding Priest.


As those of you who have followed my mandering chains of logic over the years know, I dearly love irritating christians. I'm gaga over it and I will never get enough if I live eight lifetimes. When chrisitianity fades away into distant obscurity many thousands of years from now I have orders in my will to have me unfrozen or robotic-cloned or whatever the reanimation fashion is at the time in order to revive christianity across the globe just so i may poke fun at its new adherents. You see, dear reader, I used to want to be a priest but with christianity being pretty much the only thing I was exposed to in the backwards state of Oklahoma I quickly became so baffled with the so called "Truths" about the ineffable purported by this ever-growing cult that I put that notion in the circular file. But it haunted me. It was everywhere I was growing up. the common feeling among Oklahomans is, or at least was, If you weren't a christian and didn't want to be there was something wrong with you; not like in a 'you're sick and must be healed' sort of way, but like in a 'you are the instrument of Lucifer and must be cast out' sort of way. Quite frankly over time I got to enjoy the latter a thousand times times a thousand times more than the former. I dare you to say the last sentence five times fast and then still be able to walk a straight line. And I liked the ritual, the censers, alot of the clothes, the buildings, the dedication that people showed to it, all that kind of stuff. Really and for true I did. Do. It's just that the message of christianity, the ultimate message about how to live in your time before your death and movement on to the next phase of whatever you want to call what we're all experiencing here, the mindset with which to approach living in the world with other cultures and thinkers and belivers and neighbors and the like is very very shortsighted and overconfrontational, with a penchant for the type of deductive reasoning that would embarass even the most junior detective by its possesion. That pithy insight of mine does not even take into account the way that the message of christianity is reinterpreted by many of its supporters, which more often that not descend into pure spiritual lunacy within a few sentences. Let's face it, if you're into spirituality or religion of any type other than christianity, you gotta admit that that if nothing else it's worth a few laughs, wars and genocides aside.


The Japanese have an incredibly low percentage of christians in their country and yet they have this high demand for fake priests because they like the clothes and pretty ritual. I myself have the same interest in reverse when it comes to my own wedding; a Japanese influence across most of the clothing and site and such but no real interest in whatever religion it is that most Japanese profess. So this whole 'fake priest' job is perfect for me. I'd get to fufill my dream of being a preist, my dream of pissing off catholics, and my dream of getting paid to do what i love.

And I wouldn't stop there, nosiree bob! I love the Japanese for their addiction to pop culture and am sure that I could pervert the profession of fake catholic priest into one that both I and the Japanese would love. Think catholic priest with a Sailor Moon outfit on. Think Hello catholic. Dance Dance Weddalution. The possibilities, they just go on and on.


So, If ever I can't go on chefing or catering, if ever I disappear for the Mysterious Orient, just know that somewhere in Japan, at the same time you are thinking of me, I am officiating a fake catholic wedding while wearing a schoolgirl outfit. Viva el Weddalution!

the problems ov nationalism.

i don't like posting about politics too much, i prefer to make my dissatisfaction with the current system known in more clandestine incindiary ways. the other reason i don't post too much about politics is that it's hard for me to not make revealing statements like the one i just made. but i'm posting this for a friend with whom i had this discussion because, as he put it, there are just too many 'ov's in this thread to share with just one man. this whole train of thought was spurred by this article, so perhaps you would like to read its excellently written arguement, which has very little to do with my post, before reading my mostly formed ramblings on the subject matter below.


for me the main failing ov the current administration became easier to sum up for me after reading that. if i were to present an arguement to a conservative that i would think was convincing, it would be this: bush didn't really care about 9/11. i explain:

it's like bush got everyone all riled up, put on his hunting gear, went up to the podium, loaded and cocked his shotgun, looked out at the audience and said "i'm gonna go and find the bastards who did this and make them pay. i will bring you back their severed heads in a duffel bag, and toss them to your children so that they may kick them down the street chortling gleefully and praising our godfearing way of life. wait here, it won't take long." then the bastard went out duck hunting with american lives as bullets and came back with a bunchh of ducks. ducks he didn't even share with the kids. he ate the duck with his buddies. so where is all this revenge shit he was speaking before? why do people think that he still cares about them after such a huge impersonal national slap to the face? when's he gonna bring the heads back in a bag?

ain't gonna happen. we all know that. but the suck thing is, that other 'conservatives', the other people who were all fired up about the atttack, they don't care about the world trade center either. and i can prove it to you.

when i found out abouut the world trade center attack, i did not care about the lives that were lost. i was reprimanded at work and almost fired because i jumped up and down for joy when i heard. i then spent the rest of the day trying to tell people who didn't want to really hear why it happened why it happened, because they kept fucking asking. this almost got me fired, and i was told not to discuss politics or 9/11 with anyone, and they were told to do the same. i tell you that so you know where i'm coming from. even though i'm talking about this, i truly care not one whit for the lives that were lost. i do care about the incident itself, but not the people who died. i'm just being real with you.

why do i not care? people die in great numbers all the time. floods. earthquakes, mudslides, Union Carbide, all those things have killed people in far greater numbers and people don't go to pieces about it unless it strikes them personally. i knew from day one that this incident did not touch me personally, but i think a whole lot ov other people pretended it did. a whole hell ov a lot. most ov america. all those disaters all had bigger death tolls and people in america didn't/don't care that much about those situations. why? cuz there's no outrage or outpouring ov fevered emotion that can get your blood pumping. there's just no thrill ov bloodlust to accompany a natural disaster, it just don't seem right. but an attack on god and country, hell yes. add that into the mix and it's easier to pretend those deaths matter.

so, what you get now is a lot ov people being released from the burden ov pretending to care about something they never truly personally did: all the lives lost in the world trade center attacks. if you were to try and argue the point that i just made earlier to a conservative, many ov them would no doubt try and explain off the presidents actions as part ov a greater plan rather than question why he is not doing what he said he was doing; exacting revenge. the underlying reason for this in my mind is that those people did not care then and they do not care now about actual revenge, they just want to justify domination and mayhem for their side's aggrandizement.
the same type ov nationalism that made it easy to rally around a more personal and visible attack makes it easy to do whatever you want to do in the name of promoting your agenda if you give out rewards ov violence and tragedy to what is seen as 'the other team'. actual followup on what you said you were going to do no longer becomes relevant because it's easier to just quit caring about what started it and keep on focusing on the little shit that keeps popping up in your face. it's actually quite sad that we have this type ov nationalism. if we had the kind that actually had brought whoever bomed/flew into the towers(both are possibilities to me) to justice without blowing up a bunch ov irrelevant persons i would personally respect that, even if i did not quite approve. the type ov nationalism that we have though, so poorly rooted in realy person to person unity, is just a very poor excuse for nationalism for anyone but dickheads in power.

don't get me wrong, or at least not too terribly so. i'm not really into nationalism. i think it's stupid to section off humanity like that. but if we're gonna have it, can we at least get some respectable nationalism to fight against? this shit is totally lame.

okay, i done.

I'M TOO DRUNK TO POST

i'm wrinting in all caps and everything. thank lord for spellcheck. here's a pic ov me drunk.

Today I started blogging again.

a reference to an obscure song that most ov you would more than likely hate. i don't. i think it's fun and carefree like a teenage girl with a new brand of tampon.


So lately beth has been sick with a new mystery virus that's going around town that's alot like strep throat. no one panic unless that's really your bag, it seems rather harmless. it has, however, rendered beth so weak that our cat lunchbox keeps dragging her to me and asking if she can eat her. fun times, fun times.

more later, but no one knows when that will be.

Friends: How many ov us have them?

friends: ones we can depend on to humilate and ridicule us at every concievable opportunity. friends are good for lots ov things, but the humiliation and ridicule tip is definitely a friend strong point.

the other night i was hanging out at Two Bells with a couple ov lovely ladies and suddenly felt the urge to pee. as i'm not a huge fan ov bladder infections i decided to trot on over to the restroom and correct the problem. two fellows in the bar had the same idea and beat me to it, but one ov them turned back and went and sat down. 'that's odd,' thought me, 'there's multiple stalls.' so i go on in and sure enough find a free urinal and start doing that peeing thing i've been practicing for so long. sure enough, the guy who hesitated and sat down comes into the bathroom at that point, only to find every urinal full as well as the stall. 'sucker,' thought i, 'snoozing=losing!' boy was i ever wrong. this man was a winner!

suddenly there's a flash from behind me and the guy who i thought was waiting runs out ov the restroom and i hear an agonized groan from the stall. 'fucking digital cameras!' he yelled. 'and i had my "unh" face on!' he added. me and the other guy in the bathroom started cracking up. out ov sympathy, ov course. 'by the time you get out there it'll be emailed to at least half your friends,' the guy next to me said in an effort to soften the blow ov the obviously tragic experience. when i walked out ov the bathroom all that guys friends were huddled around a table looking at a picture ov their friend taking a crap and laughing uproariously. now those are friends.

children can be cruel, but it really takes and adult to get it right.

Spam Freestyles

the weirdest shit is showing up in my spam mail these days. instead of american companies putting offers that make some sort ov laughable sense in the body ov my spam messages i'm instead getting these surrealist missives from zaire or hong kong or some such place where spam is an artform. i put a few together and have them below. feel free to send in your own bizzare spams to this very spot. yesiree.

i call this one: 200 MORE SOFTWARES FROM 15-70 ONLY friends.

yours anybody trying,
social promised leader? fascinate respect suddenly?
window wife social night profession. steps window motor back.
suddenly reply news. widow use servants arms later?
back somewhere thus happened speaking.

different next hard. fascinate my tech did fill similar. very end hard.
love force drew young, wrong across raise his edge.
studied across pretty carefully nothing? reading across use.
bad different respect fascinate.
him wanted out is yours? he corner arms wife suddenly. light light light why,

wanted immediate whom widow or whom.
carefully speaking filled across back. the mischievous respect corner. or sandwich benefit,
music black prison. mentioned happened fascinate?
turning letters fire? very similar goes back edge. thus how disappoint few promised.
find how wanted.

the warm red stuff

i'm making sauce, red sauce. saucey sauce sauce sauce. better'n momma used to make, and momma made some damn fine sauce. i'm testing out different styles ov meatloaf for my catering business and i like to serve my meatloaf with a fine red sauce on top ov it with a little mozz. so hence the saucey sauciness what is the sauce what i'm saucing right fucking now. but i ain't sauced, oh no sir. just sassy.

unwelcome affections

yesterday was valentines day. whoop whoop! that's two big whoops for valentine's day! one whoop for killing trees to express childhood crushes, and another whoop for sugar-induced comas! they're what all the fashionable kids are having on the playground these days. instead ov going either ov those routes myself i opted to just tell my sweetie i loved her and make dinner for her and her mother. it was good. i love to eat dinner.

speaking ov childhood crushes, beth's mom, jo ann, just happens to be the head ov a school over here on seattle's west side. it's called westside school and they get big marks for originality. ANYWAY, as head ov school she gets to recieve valentines from all sorts ov children, from the genuinely nice ones who want to give a valentine to their principal(okay, head ov school) to the ones who were forced to suck up by their parents. she brought several over to us so that we could share in the sugary joy and fantastic penmanship that are the hallmark ov the Hallmark holiday in younger circles. that's when i saw it: the darth vader valentine.

i'd seen them in the stores, the episode III valentines box, and i wondered what type ov 'romantic' messages might be inside, but didn't enough to buy any. well, here was my chance. the outside was fairly innocuous, just 'happy valentine's day' and lucasarts 2006 on the outside, but when you open it up there's a pic ov ol' helmethead himself, Mistah Darth Vader, standing in front ov a sea ov lava with his lightsaber in his hand with the inscription "You have my allegiance."

how cute. this motherfucker just finished stalking through the jedi temple lightsabering the heads ov all the little kids that popped up like some sadistic whack-a-mole game and now he wants to give me his allegiance. what girl wouldn't want that? george lucas needs to stop hanging out with steven spielberg, then perhaps all these attempts at scaring the holy hell out ov children will stop and he can get back to what he's really good at: making his adult fans hang their heads and cry.

i honestly can't imagine a lamer or more inappropriate valentine's day card. wait! yes i can! i'll tell you later. "you have my allegiance?" all i can envision is some smelly and obese fourth grader with a black trenchcoat, a top hat and a ferret passing those cards out to all the cute girls, kneeling before each one and passing it over with head bowed. i want to beat that kid up now so perhaps he'll take fewer beatings in the future.

mommas, don't let your babies grow up to be dorkwads. get them some at least vaguely real sentiments to pass around at school.

on the plus side, it came with a groovy Darth Vader temporary tatoo!

Swattin' Ospreys with an I-Beam

so the gayest sporting event ever is over once again and the steelers won. if you are one ov those people who wants to get all outraged and technical and say the seahawks won, then tell it to the football commissioner cuz i so very much don't care. at least the weather is still nice and i have all ov my limbs and such, some little football game ain't gonna ruin my day. that is the job ov rain and phonecalls from creditors. wish me luck on both fronts.

i am disappointed though. i really wanted to watch the seahawks win, not out ov any adopted hometown pride, but because i read somewhere on the internet that if your home team wins the superbowl, anyone in your town can legally do whatever the fuck they want and not worry about the long arm ov johnny fuckin' law. I was torn, as i usually am, between throwing purse dogs off ov the Denny overpass and shooting SUV drivers along with their demon offspring. i know, tough call. i would have just gone with how the spirit moved me.

the truly manliest display i saw all yesterday was Yeti Vedder, aka Daniel Talsky, eat a warm two pound pile ov lightly spiced and buttered raw hamburger. apparently it grows hair on your chest, cuz he's a fuzzy lil' thang, ain't he?


go play now kids, daddy's got no more drivel to tell you.

you're so metro......

my sweet baboo and i spent the morning trading 'you're so metro' lines back and forth and this is the list we came up with. metro being short for 'metrosexual' for all you nonhip cats out there. metrosexual as in being gay without the 'having sex with men' part, that is. as far as i can google it is the first list ov 'you're so metro' jokes on the internet, whatever that means. i'm so metro i think that kind ov shit matters. feel free to send more.

you're so metro you won't order food that clashes with your outfit
you're so metro gay men ask you for fashion advice
you're so metro you have a different purse for every day of the week
you're so metro you had your armpits waxed
you're so metro dykes ask you out
you're so metro you listen to podcasts of 'the view' while you work out
you're so metro you know twelve different shades ov purple by name
you're so metro you have a purse-dog
you're so metro that you use the term metro
you're so metro the girls on 'sex in the city' wonder which one of them is you
you're so metro you're a real estate agent
you're so metro you joined weightwatchers
you're so metro you have kenneth cole's home number on speed dial
you're so metro you call it "american football"
you're so metro your purse dog has its own celphone
you're so metro your girlfriend calls you her "high maintenance bitch"
you're so metro you let her
you're so metro you host stitch & bitch
you're so metro you go out dancing at gay clubs to pick up chicks
you're so metro you know kirstie allie jokes
you're so metro you ask your girlfriend 'does this make me look fat?'
you're so metro you 'only eat good sushi'
you're so metro you drink double-tall-skinny-halfcalf lattes
you're so metro you can order a double-tall-skinny-halfcalf lattes with a straight face
you're so metro you don't believe in competitive games
you're so metro you get manipeds
you're so metro you use a tanning booth
you're so metro you're on a kickball team
you're so metro you listen to the shins
you're so metro you wouldn't take a job at trader joes because of the shirts
you're so metro you think kelly clarkson is underappreciated
you're so metro you use dish as a verb
you're so metro you have an 80s dance favorites playlist on your ipod
you're so metro you think in LOLSpeak
you're so metro you have a favorite powerpuff girl
you're so metro you have Mr.Metro@gmail.com(i checked: it's taken!)
you're so metro your closet has a revolving door

people should come with knobs.

i'm stupid hyper today. like wayyyy yyyyyyyy yyyyyyyy yyyyyyyy yyyyyyyy yyyyy stupid hyper. so hyper i can't even stand it. so hyper that even though i'm gonna sand the joists down in the basement i'm pretty sure i could just use my teeth and get it done faster. so hyper i wish i could turn it down to eleven. stupid daniel talsky and his stupid incredible two hour massages. i blame you daniel talsky! and i blame nice days, great sex, loving partners, new homes, parties, an overall satisfying lifestyle, and even the seattle seahawks. even the seahawks, yes yes. stupid seahawks with their going to the superbowl for the first time ever selves. the general elation you damn ballplayers have spread through this sleepy rain infested city has hit even those who don't give half a squirt ov liquid bodily waste about whether you win, lose, or all die in a flaming bus accident. stupid makng me happy and goofy against my will sports team.


and you, whichever ov my three to seven readers you are: I BLAME YOU. why must you all please me so? why why why? i like you all. that's why i write dumb shit for you. so you can laugh and be glad you're not this kind ov silly and have something to show your kids. that's right! show me to your kids, point, and say: "if you keep eating your boogers, eventually you'll poke a hole in your skull that'll make your brain rot. then you'll end up like him. yes, i know they're tasty. that's cuz we feed you well. just stop."

maybe, just maybe, it might kind ov be my fault. but no matter whos fault it is, i want to have set ov knobs implanted on my person so that i might modulate such feelings ov jitteryness. not that i don't love them, it's just that i get them so very often. an off switch might work, but with off switches you run the risk that someone might just not turn you back on. not that you'd know. you'd be off. also, if it was just a switch you'd be just as hyper as you were right before you or a dear friend who was sick ov your shit threw the switch. no, you'd have to reboot and you might lose any unsaved information. since i don't plan on ever being saved in the christian sense i risk losing quite a lot ov info.

i'm gonna go buy a sander now. it's just that my teeth kinda hurt already. i'm sorry if you read this, but not sorry enough to NOT hit the 'publish' button.

Spring comes early to Seattle.

My lovely bride-to-be saw the first red-breasted robin of the year this morning! it was partially eviscerated on our bedroom floor and i think she stepped on it. ick. i was awakened by her saying 'oh my god! this is nasty' or something like that. i don't really remember cuz like i said i was asleep right before then. after that i just pretended to be asleep so that i didn't have to pick the nasty thing up and cart it to the trash. when i heard beth say 'i don't think i can do this' i covered my head and pretended to be asleep even harder than ever! i hope she doesn't read this post or the jig is up for me. whatever that means. what does that mean?

i was honestly expecting our cat, lunchbox, to keep in her vein ov bringing us human food, but it seems that ship has sailed and we are back to the world ov increasingly varied wildlife. since i expected her to bring crackers next i hope she at least named it crackers before she killed it. given its size i suspect that she mistook it for a chicken and expected us to fry it up for her. it was fucking big, bigger than a game hen but not as big as a capon, with apparently enough feathers on it to be able to decorate most ov the bedroom and still look quite downy. lunchbox kept following me around this morning looking at me and mewling like 'when does the frying begin? i don't hear no sizzlin! don't forget the rosemary!' i should have never introduced her to the gentle majesty that is my fried chicken. luckily even though she does seem to be smart for a cat she was fooled by a can ov wet food.

poor little robin. i'm feeding lunchbox steak from now on in the hopes that she'll bring home a cow, but only if she leaves it on beth's side ov the bedroom.

oh yeah, here's what "the jig is up" means. sorry for all the canuckspeak, but you do get to find out there are at least three canadian dictionaries. whoodathunkit?

When commiting sin loses its luster, try living in it!

It's like rubbing an old penny with your nether juices until it gleams.

I just finished officially moving in with the lovely, irrepressable, and sexually molestable, Beth Yockey. we're gonna get married and all that old sausage, but until then we get to sin sin sin while doing nothing at all! just breathing and walking around i get to infuriate christians, muslims, jews, all sorts of religiously outdated, old testament based, intolerant persons! and let's be honest for a moment: isn't that what it's really all about?

WRONG, FOOL! it's all about the Beth Yockey Love! it would be best if you recognized that now so i can quit repeating it. not that i mind, mind you.

so, i moved all my stuff out ov my joke ov an apartment and into our new shared domicile. i say new, but she's lived here for some time. i myself have lived here twice before. yeah, it's retarded that way. this is the fifth time i moved stuff either in or out ov this place and i'm not going to do it again unless she comes with me. don't worry folks, it's not about breaking up and getting back together cuz that never happened to the two ov us. it's about other shit that someday i'll tell you. but this is a happy post.

the worst thing about moving in all permanentlike is finding places to put all ov your stuff that you straight up didn't know where to put in your last place. or the place before that. or the one before........i'm sure ya feel me on this one. i've been sorting and moving and shuffling around all sorts of crap that i know i want to keep, but it beats the fuck out ov me where that keeping place is. so far in my considering and sorting i've written three(including this one) blog posts and watched disc two ov Aqua Teen Hunger Force's third season. mister productive is what they call me, that's right, but they usually just skip the 'sir' and go straight to snickering into their sleeve. at least i haven't resorted to playing Half-Life 2 yet. Yet. where is the action, action, it's action, action, it makes things happen.........

the biggest problem i'm having can be summed up in telling you what i think should go in a toolbox. so far in my toolbox i have found all ov the following: twelve AA batteries ov questionable usefullness, astroglide, a string i spraypainted red four years ago, a lollipop from the first time i went to burningman(7 years ago, i think it's not good to eat anymore), fuses for a car that i don't have, a strapping wench, safety pins, an eyeglass screwdriver, a broken bicycle chainbreak, one bright orange water wing, a list ov potential advertisers for an organization with whom i no longer work, two gold stereo adapters of different sizes, a steak knife, half a flashlight, feet for an ottoman, cleats for some bike shoes i haven't owned in four years, one allen wrench, a fuckton ov nails, a plant hanger, three pens that don't work and one that does, half ov a completely different flashlight, a silk purse containing: (three mother-of-pearl button covers, a young communist party pin, pubic hair from three different people(please never ask), and various coins from around the world), solder, three bags of different colored stereo connectors, and some other things that i quite honestly don't know what the hell they are. how the fuck do you organize that? it's a real question and i demand an answer now.

please please please wish me some kind ov luck in getting all this shit a good home either in a bin by the curb or an appropriate spot in my home with my sweet baboo. i'd love to fool her into thinking i'm not a packrat even though i'm sure it's far too late for that. anyone need a painted string?

Next time bring mustard.

I awoke this morning at 4 A. fucking M. to the insistent mews of our cat Galaxy 500, aka Lunchbox, now aka Mittagessenkasten. insistent early morning mews only mean one thing around this house: "I brought you a gift!" since stepping on an eviscerated vole first thing in the morning is not my idea ov a good wakeup i decided to take care ov whatever her gift was right away.

Lunchbox has taken her gift-giving to an entirely different level in the last few days. while before she was content to bring us whatever she found in the yard, she seems to shopping with an eye that is unnervingly discerning for a cat. saturday afternoon she ran into the bedroom with a hunk ov cheese. we figured that she had just grabbed some from our lunch that still lay out on the kitchen counter but this was not the case. she had snagged herself a fine piece ov soft gouda from only the Kitty God knows where. i guess she noticed we liked cheese (since we eat it more often that we eat voles, mice and sparrows) and decided to get us something special. so what did she bring us this morning? vienna sausage streaked with some kind ov white sauce that i preferred not to even try to identify. it may be strange and disgusting but it beat the hell out ov voles. if she follows in this vein she'll bring crackers soon.

Rainy days and Mondays always get me down.

first off i would like to thanks the tempestuous bitch goddess that is in control ov seattle weather for making sunday the first break in the rain. thanks bitch goddess; i was so hung over that there was no way in hell i was going outside. even if you had decided to make it rain free money and LSD i was feeling so bad i couldn't have crawled outside even in my robe to fill my pockets and lick the front porch. so the next day i'm feeling fine and what do you do? buckets and buckets ov that wet stuff. so inside again for this poor fucker. thanks for today though, you tempestuous slut you.

you'd think that i would have posted this yesterday what with being inside all day and all, but i have a theory about that. you see, Martin Luther King Jr. had a dream. why did he have a dream? cuz he got to sleep in. then, when he woke up from that dream, he had chicken and beer. who am i to argue with greatness, that's what i'd like to know.

lest one think that all i do is drink and lay around the house, i'd just like to say that yesterday i did leave the house for a while, albeit in my sweatpants, and while i was away from the home i was at the gym. i shuffled my feet back 'n forth like an industrious hamster on one ov those eliptical trainers and stretched out and stuff. i even put books on the bookshelf here in the living room. then, and only then, did i allow myself the sweet tastes ov chicken and beer.

pretend i wrote this yesterday, and that all the tenses that should be changed for me to have written this yesterday were just me seeing into the future.

Ant Finger Puppets? Eight Finger Puppets.

holy hell my head hurts.

why, do you ask? why? i'll tell you why. two simple words: manifest destiny. two more words: carte blanche. those are the names ov the drinks i decided it would be cute to create and then consume all evening. here's how you make them:

carte blanche: a glass ov champagne with a shot ov maker's in it. tasty, but it totally kills the bubbles.


manfest destiny: a glass ov champagne with a shot ov tequila in it. this one stays bubbly. the tequila and the champagne embrace like long lost friends and dance the night away like they haven't a care in the world. damn it's yummy.

i tell myself all the time: tequila is friends with no one. do i listen to me? no one listens to me. so now i 'm bedridden and have my sweet baboo bringing me tortas carnitas and blistered jalapenos while i watch the third season of aqua teen hunger force. don't drink, kiddies, or this could happen to you. my sweet baboo's so fucking cool.

titles are good things for some reason.

i'm gonna get maried to some chick i didn't meet on the internet. does that make me weird? i hope so. people have been calling me weird for years and i'm notreally sure why. i'm hoping that this one act ov nondesperate marriage can validate my being called weird wherte years ov taking lsd and then preaching to uninterested rednecks has failed. her name is beth yockey and i think she is just the greatest thing since or before sliced bread. i'm not trying to knock the importance ov sliced bread though. without it, there would be no sandwich. i love sandwiches, but not like i love beth yockey. it's a totally different kind ov love, the yockey love and the sandwich love. i hope you understand.