Does anyone else get turned on by the Avatar's?I initially thought it might be regarding this or even this. But no, it wasn't. I checked the obvious rhetorical lyrics first, including "Can anybody find me somebody to love?" and "Is this the real life?" The latter question was posed some sixty times and I sought something more obscure. I found this gem on another site. And then I got an idea, but it was taken too! But it was totally worth it for this copy editor's dissection of the song.
While I don't really miss my old school, I occasionally miss the roommates I had. Not all of them, of course, but I certainly miss Rick and the opportunities I wasted with him. Such as lifting the soundtracks to The Producers and Avenue Q from his iPod. However, I have recently learned that the later will be coming to Portland later this month. I'm excited. The timing is a little precarious as I'm scheduled to start work the next day, but I'll walk it off. I'm just a little concerned I won't be able to find anyone willing to go with me, but really, how can you hate this?
Tickets here.
I Love Cheesy Poofs by Janene Jewsen
I feel a little guilty about using this image, but it makes me laugh a little.
I'm weird. This must be disclosed before I address my topic, which seems a little weird to me. But I'm weird, so maybe this is normal? I don't know! Let me begin:
I don't really listen to music. The last CD I got was the soundtrack to Enchanted, and it was a gift, although I recently grabbed the title music to Team Fortress 2 off Pirate Bay. I was a total band geek in high school and into college. I listened exclusively to jazz with an almost hipster-like superiority complex. This was before I discovered the wonders of public and talk radio, of course. I was really into the Aquabats for a while too, but I think that had as much to do with the superhero persona they adopt as their chipper lyrics. I ventured briefly into worlds of rock in more forlorn periods (bawww!), but never so much as to integrate any sort of music into my identity or espouse any sort of cause or attitude. An exception could be argued for jazz in my case, but in my standing as white kid from the suburbs, I don't think anyone is going to accuse me of swinging. Certainly, not enough to dictate my style. But it's been a long time since I favored jazz and I don't actively dislike any sort of music, except when it is conveyed with an aura arrogance (but that is not the fault of the music but its patrons). Perhaps my musical background could be described as apathetic, a musical outsider.
This is what I find interesting. I find it a little hard to imagine, or rather to empathize, with either group, especially when they come to violence! It seems a little silly, especially when I had initially read the boingboing post about it. Perhaps it is become the subcultures I have participated in seem to revolve around happy times and jello. A perverse part of me secretly wishes to witness these events, if only for confirmation that such things exist, and I am loathe to admit this about myself. At the same time, I can't help but imagine the Sharks and the Jets a little in some sort of musical tumult. And It reminds me a little of this. But maybe it's not all bad and I'm probably missing the point; it's not really about fashion.
I remain somewhat glad that I have never experienced the auditory epiphany necessary to devote myself to a form a musical expression so fully. Maybe I'm missing out.
I wasn't going to post anything today because making a snide comment about Zombie Jesus Day seemed beneath me. Oh whoops. There's some great Cyanide and Happiness on the subject if you want to look. Or not. Whichever!
But then I saw this on the bOingbOIng. It's like the complete inversion of Obama Girl or the knockoff, Hot4Hill. So much so that I can't decide if it's satire (or an insidious smear campaign), unlike this which is unfortunately very real. While it reaches the inversion very, very quickly, this does nothing to make it less appalling. Some of the comments on bOingbOing are pretty great in themselves:
Girl on the right in black, I'd knock her up.Of course, someone made the obligatory Chocolate Rain reference, although nothing can be said that the video does not properly express. I especially appreciate the references to 2G1C and Goatse, as if it really is that horrible. I don't think it is, but is a very special sort of auditory assault and I don't want to misstate that. You really just need to witness it for yourself, because when they write about the history of the 2008 election years later and the role of the internet, specifically YouTube, you'll want to be able to say, I watched It's Raining McCain all the way through, children, and I died a little inside. I died a little inside. You'll add lots of emphasis and your kids will think you were really hardcore and whatever unless they get the balls to look it up themselves and witness firsthand as an initiation the exciting world of history. In doing so you'll run a gambit of emotions, from disgust to disinterest to abject horror. After first 20 seconds, I could not look away, transfixed on this portal to the abyss. What will I do now that I've witnessed...fuck, I can't make light of something this dark. Well, I'm gonna go out an get absolutely John McCain.
Did she really just splash a whole handful of tiny John McCains on her face?
Dr. Jardin, may I have my unicorn chaser now, please?
It's been an exciting Singles Awareness Day. I was going to watch the valentine's day episode of The Office, but I can't find the dvd. So I'm watching America's Ballroom Challenge instead. I keep hoping for a collision, or some sort of mechanical failure that will send them skidding off into the wall of tires, but nothing yet. I'm not much of a dancer, that is at all, but I can appreciate it to an extent. Not enough to really want to try it. But I enjoyed this enough to post it.
They did a James Brown medley this year. I enjoyed it. I did some more youtube searching and found a clip from the championships last year in which a couple did a show dance to Justin Timberlake's "Sexyback" and my mind melted as a cliche shattered. I'm posting the clip, which is rather long. Said dance is in the middle of the clip.
I think I could really get into this program in the future. My sister walked past as I was looking at these youtube videos. My family thinks I'm crazy...
At seven funereal minutes, The Late Cord's
"My Most Meaningful Relationships Are with Dead People" feels about as
uplifting as its title would indicate. Amid a moody, molasses-slow
arrangement that would do Angelo Badalamenti proud, great young singer
Micah P. Hinson applies his prematurely world-weary croak to an
oppressively sad dirge. "Is it too far gone," he asks, "to be saved?"
Yeah, probably.
These five songs — all great, all released in the past five years — are for those wishing to wallow in the holiday's sheer, soul-wrecking brutality. Each is carefully selected to provide a vivid soundtrack for those moments when alcohol isn't even necessary, so drunk is the listener on his or her own misery. Enjoy!
I'm skipping my first class to do this. Also, because I hate that class with the fire of a thousand suns.
Anyways, the ethical ramifications of selling out. Inspired by The Merchants of Cool.
The Grammys (a spelling which troubles me to my core) were yesterday so you'd think I should have no problem with this. I've asked a few friends, with various degrees of fail between them, and a few humorous incidents where people mistakenly believed I was referring to ticket sales. I was confused because in my mind Hannah Montana had always been a corporate enterprise. People also said U2, but failed to quantify how they sold out. To the Earth perhaps? What a poor sponsor choice.
Using an example of a performer or group that has "sold out," explain what "selling out" means to you, how you believe they have sold out and why you believe they behaved ethically or unethically in doing so. Once again, my utter lack of cool (I lost track of cool shortly after it's birth) to be a handicap. Oh, I am not looking forward to this class today, listening to idiots try to quantify the decomposition of some music that was never very good to begin with. Can it still be selling out if nothing of value was lost? Doesn't it require some sort of decrease in artistic quality? I find many artists lacking the ability to sell out entirely in this case, or perhaps the selling out occurred before I was made aware of them (more likely). I must be sure to differentiate between selling out and shark jumping. Further complicating things are those darn hipsters, always being hip, that refuse to acknowledge an artists fiscal success on some supposed moral grounds. Must an artist starve to make something of value? I disagree, perhaps the art that supports itself has the greatest value. Certainly it does financially, and what is wrong with being successful? I understand there is always some conflict between doing what you want and what you need. I should also mention product placement. Some of my favorite shows have numerous corporate parasites. I don't mind so much; they fund something I enjoy, and it can be funny at times. Although it does bother me a little knowing that there is no Chili's anywhere near Scranton. Never mind me, I'm having a discussion with myself.
----------------
Now playing: Reel Big Fish - Sell Out
via FoxyTunes
Powered by ScribeFire.
This article made me laugh for like 20 minutes. Especially read the comments for the gold that is Sudden Infant Dance Syndrome.
Powered by ScribeFire.
I queue up my music and this is the first selection. ಥ_ಥ ...Beautiful
----------------
Now playing: TEH FINAL COUNTDOWN!!!1
via FoxyTunes
wrapping it up with a handy lyric sheet and chord chart so you can play the son
Powered by ScribeFire.
Powered by ScribeFire.
It's Friday. I start just a tad later than usual, with two classes instead of three, and I don't have anything pressing upon me in the evening; I love it. I just woke up a little while ago, and by woke up I mean, got out of bed. My bed is becoming increasingly hazardous. I use several fleece blankets, which discharge upon all things suspended in the proximity. I am used to such static, making it a point to discharge myself on ovens whenever possible. I use a nice foam thing my dad gave me, although the pillow I stole from him no longer seems as nice by comparison. But my bed is not that nice, I face peril each night. I sleep on the bottom bunk, getting to which is a hazard. One of Mike's friends told me to clean my room, but I don't listen to girls that aren't named Kirsten. Get it? She asked me what I'd do if Jesus came over and saw my room. I replied, "I'd ask him if he wanted to crash on one of my three beds." It was awesome. So anyways, my room is a mess (no sharing dance!) and its hard to get to my bed with the lights off, big deal. The bottom bunk, although safe from fall damage, has the distinct disadvantage of head injury- the original reason we took the top off my childhood bed, which is now Ethan's. Last night I nearly fell into the heater. My room does not have heat, a heater, but no heat. I believe there are some frayed wires involved, which could result in a tragic polyurethane death if the midnight klankings progress further, or I manage to ignite from static, or some ghastly combination. There is a gap between my bed and wall, presumably made by former tenants to get away from the windows. Finding myself precariously sprawling into such a crevice was quite frightening, but I am pleased to inform you that I did have some sweet dreams of katamari and x-men, with the daily dose of NPR dream-blend. But it's Friday! I get to sleep in past 8! A cause for celebration, I put an Aquatbats' cd on Sleep and roll over. I cannot sleep so late with my cheating, but my room is cold. I stretch like a dinosaur, curling my arms forward so they won't hit the bars above me and pulling my neck back in my somnolence. I image my pandiculation is quite amusing; I certainly enjoy it. I usually spend the next hour or so in oscitancy until I've eaten and showered, but this morning I took the time to read the linear notes on Charge! for the first time. No lyrics, but I enjoyed the special thanks section, which included such notables as Shaq, Karl Malone, and Big Gay Al. The very special thanks included the band members' families, and get this, Heavenly Father. Not to discount their gratitude, but that hypocorism has always appeared to me as an element of Mormon subculture, although I realize it must not be exclusive. It makes me wonder if more members than just Christian Jacobs are members, a term we've been told to discontinue. We were also told to discontinue missionary farewells, but I went to one two weeks ago.
"Woo! Whoa, Grandma! Woo! Oh oh oh ohh... Woo! Oh.." Jon was taking a shower, seems like he messed turned the cold water knob down, allowing for untold acts of burnination. I made that mistake yesterday. I think it has something to do with the different water temperatures not mixing right at the head of the shower, but someplace earlier. So any temperature adjustments are greatly skewed in the net products, if I'm write. Everything in this building sucks, but laundry is free, so.. Or he wasn't burned and just needs to talk to his bishop, and perhaps a psychiatrist for his super-oedipal complex. I tried my best to dictate his yelps, but I'm not very good at translating out of Canadian.
To address Melanie's comment (the only one in months!), it is not that my major is flexible but rather my lax approach to it. Only a fourth of my total credits this semester have any relevance to biology. A more ambitious alternate universe version of myself would probably change the major back to general studies, though I was never the one to select it. My mother selected it when she first registered me to live in the dorms, unfortunately when she did this she had also selected the third floor thinking the more studious atmosphere it advertised would be beneficial, which it wasn't; it was totally gay. Anyways, since I don't know what field I desire (I had been considering pharmaceuticals at the time prior) I see no urgency to alter it at this time, though it would be nice to not have to add that clause of indeterminatance each time someone asks me what my major is, as if it reveals some great truth about my nature. I'm neither limited by words or numbers-though this blog is certainly no reflection of that-I am no more predisposed to biology than literature.
Damn. It is -15*F currently. Today will be fun..