smattering

- beans are never as good as they say.
- sometimes alcohol tastes good in the morning.
- atmospheric drum 'n' bass is still better than techstep.
- my arms hurt.
- i've never bleached my pubic hair. i have attempted to shave it. that didn't really work out too well.
- i can't play bass guitar.
- i loved tang as a child. today i don't love it.
- i am currently hungry.
- i never liked ronnie james dio. i only fooled myself into attempting to like him because others said he was good. And I hated the fact that virtually every fucking writer for Circus and Hit Parader magazines (which i read fervently as a budding rocker teen) used the word "dimunitive" to describe Dio.
- Peeing is overrated.
- Eating is overrated.
- Sometimes, when I look at a large group of people, i think "man, all these people were created by people fucking." and yet, we are taught from an early age that sex before marriage will lead to trouble and we're taught it's dirty and blah blah blah...no wonder we have so many hang-ups about sex. everybody fucks.
- there is such a thing as too much house music.
- there is such a thing as too much cream cheese on my toasted sesame seed bagel.
- there is too much mediocre jazz appropriation going on in electronic music right now. it's a separate genre, ok?
- music is going to sound much different 10 years from now.
- just think: 100 years from now, you'll be dead.
- kicking can be fun.
- republicans still suck. Our fake president is dumber than ever.
- cassette tapes are becoming like 8-track tapes.
- marijuana is psychologically addictive
- MC Hammer was never good.
- Someday, Right Said Fred will return.
- Norman Fell is dead.
- Ducks are strange animals.
- Insurance companies are evil.
- Cable companies are evil.
- Money isn't real. It's temporary.
- I've never had an enema and don't really know exactly what it entails.
- I haven't had a shot in my butt since I was 4 years old.
- I cracked my head open in Chicago when I was 5 years old.
- I've broken many bones.
- I'll die with a stack of books and magazines that I'm "planning to read."
- sometimes i wish i could smoke without the health worries. i haven't had a single cigarette since May 4, 1999.
- i used to like crackers more than i do now.
- My parents never talked to me about sex. which is fine.
- i need to stop procrastinating.

love and biscuits,

Geronimo

Everything's funnier when grandma is involved.

not your grandma, not my grandma, but just "grandma," that indiscriminate faux person living somewhere in the upper regions of your noggin who you picture when you hear the word "grandma."

that grandma. whether it has to do with just throwing grandma into random conversation, blaming grandma for all the things that went wrong with your life, or specifically identifying grandma in a bizarre sex story involving Cheerios and the latest cd by Nikka Costa, you can be sure that grandma is readily available to use, abuse, defuse, choose and booze it up.

here are a few examples:
- i never knew i had such a spark in me till grandma came a-calling.
- grandma chicken ate my roast beef to spite me.
- my grandma likes to boil soup before giving it to grandpa, then doesn't tell him that it's hot.
- this cd kicks ass! i hope grandma will get me an extra copy.
- grandma introduced me to those hootchies that i fucked. grandma sure is something.
- we want to party, we got to party, we are the party...grandma in the house.
- grandma's kicking it old school on the decks tonight. better watch yo ass.
- dammit! grandma stole my stash again!
- me and kenny were just chillin when all of a sudden, grandma barges in, knocks over kenny and snatches his spliff right out his mouth. damn girl, you be trippin!
- get away from me or grandma gets it in the chin! if you don't think this thing is loaded, just try me buster!
- if it weren't for grandma, all my problems would be solved. damn her.
- grandma sure got us into a messy situation.
- grandma's gonna have to clean up her damn spilled grape juice or they'll be hell to pay from great-grandma!
- grandma!!! come do your push-ups! mom's waiting!
- i sure wish i knew how to solve this calculus problem. luckily, grandma has four doctorates, two in calculus-related subjects.
- if there's one thing i love more than winnie the pooh, it's grandma. she sure is lively.
- better watch out. grandma's on her way. and she's displeased about those carpet remnants you burned.
- let's hit the steambath, grandma!
- oh grandma, i'm in fear for my life from the long arm of the law. Hangman is coming down to gallows and I don't have very long.

as you can see, grandma is righteous and doesn't like to fuck around.
feel free to call on grandma whenever you feel the urge. not only will mom appreciate the fact that you really do think of your grandma more than once a year, but grandma will feel good knowing you use her in random conversation.
i know both my grandmas love it when i call them up and tell them about all the bitches and ho's i'm down with...i just say "s'alright, tho. cause when i'm with them, i'm only thinking of you grandma!"

works every time.

eat additional plums before supper

your sex slave,

grandma junket

fuck fee waybill.
the tubes suck.
they always sucked.
remember that awful song "she's a beauty"..she's one in a million girls...
god, horrible. horrible.
down with fee. he no be happening. he not good. no no.
ooooohhh no. senor senior.
dionne warwick is another one that should be shot down in flames. ok, maybe not that harsh of a punishment, but damn, she's goofy, no?
dontcha think? "that's what friends are for?" ummmm, go away. you must go away.
you bad example of "artist."
anybody ever wonder what happened to King? he had a minor hit in the mid-1980s, patterned after dead or alive. in fact, one could say he was a dead or alive copycat.
he was fey, had long hair that he swung right round baby right round like a record baby, really belted out the tuneage, he liked to stand atop large hills and/or mountains and outstretch his arms, and he surely loved america. as we all do.
i'm so patriotic.
hey, what about Marilyn? Marilyn was a minor pop star in the UK around the same time period. he/she was linked with boy george and is even included in the cast of Band-Aid...that loveable group that sings "Do They Know It's Christmas?"
maybe we should have a guessing game to figure out all the people that are in that song. and figure out how many of those people still have a career today. i bet it'd be a short list, though i know duran duran and u2's bono are still kicking it large. sort of anyway.
anyway...marilyn was a fine person. don't you agree?
i do.

that is all
live life, don't front and be kind, rewind.

eat duck bill with fee today.

your manager,
Ben

orange creamsicle.

it is possible to be in and out of the CA DMV in less than half an hour without an appointment.
yes, it's true. despite what you might think.
and i do know what you're thinking you chump.
yes yes, roll on up and into the coliseum dmv with my proper papers in hand, with my backpack filled to the brim with multiple periodicals, headphones and cd player, full water bottle, mini tape recorder and i'm ready to rock the dmv for multiple hours.

but uh oh...i was thrown for a loop! fuckin a man, tis some crazy crazy stuff there yo.
and be checking out the scene as i rolled on in.
i wait in the first line, they give me the nod to the looooong line to my right. i was thinking "damn, i'm sure glad i prepared myself for this monstrosity."
but then, after just a few minutes, this woman comes up to me to check my papers and then tells me to move on up to the express line #2. ok, ok. all right now.
so then i go from having about 40 people in front of me to about 5 people in front of me. well, within less than 10 minutes, i was up in there rocking it old school, feeling the love.
you know how it is.
shit.
and then, well then, i got the hookup and then moved on over to pay my dues when the girl asks me 'who is that on your pin?'
well, since you folks can't see me right now, i was sporting the lovely pin of the brawny man, appropriated by some good friends of mine, Content Provider, who make riotous sound attacks for the children.
the girl asks me "is that chuck norris?" ha ha, no no, young woman. no such thing. (chuck norris?? good god, there's an antique...maybe i should go rerent "a force of one." on second thought, why not drive my car off the bay bridge? either way).
i told her that it was the disembodied head of one brawny man and then i told them that some people tend to think that he's a 70s porn star. (he does kind of look like that, even if he doesn't have a penis. he's got the mustache).
they laughed. ha ha. laughter. and then i made my exit. nobody stopped me. nobody grabbed on to my collarbone.
nobody wanted to get some change from me.
and nobody, but nobody, called me chicken.
which often happens while i'm hanging out in oakland by myself with a bag full of periodicals, cds and headset.
now i am back, here to tell the outrageous tale to you, the loyal fan of paperspray.
please make a note of it.

there are other things that must be told, stories to unfold, concepts to grasp and philosophies to expound upon.
but for now, i'm content ending it at this. for later, comes the real story.
the real roxanne roxanne.
and you know that will be one lovely adventure the whole family can enjoy.
so tune in later my friends.
you are so lucky to be a part of this community.
can't you feel the love tonight?
i know i can.

so suckle that chin, suck in that nipple and saddle up for some hometown cheer.
daddy's coming home to roost.

whatever the fuck that means.
spaghetti rules.
eat less lettuce.

your arrogant bricklayer,

Corey Haim

Time:Space:Weatherall

Ha, funny. Yeah, so very funny. Everything is funny, right?
Yeah, man. Everything is so funny.
it is 2:24 in the a.m. of saturday and i have just concluded watching Planet Of The Apes, the new version by Tim Burton. Interesting film, that's for sure. Special effects were quite a sight and to be honest, the film was better than what many of the reviews said.
However, the film itself was just ok, the story...ok, i dunno. It wasn't bad, but i wasn't going "whoa" like joey lawrence at the end or anything.

Maybe things would be better if i were an ape. I know i could at least solve world hunger. Or let uncle sam take care of it. Because, as you know, ol' uncle sam takes care of everything.

Praise be, i think i've finally figured out the nuances of my cd burner that i got for my birthday some weeks ago. Yes, indeedy. the whole conversion process to aif files is what was puzzling me before. that and the disk to disk thing. now i realize that's an ok way to do it for slow speeds but when you extract from the hard drive, you can fill the damn disk all the way up with extras yo mumford.
and that be right done sensual or at least highly preferred. that be said on this day.

However, strange things are definitely afoot with my loveable iMac. Fuck. the damn thing keeps shutting down, well...i don't think the kensington mouse is too down with the microsoft keyboard, which is made for a pc. but i dig on the split keyboard scene, and frankly, i'm not really down with the roller ball anymore. maybe i should move on to a new mouse and figure out the new cool deal.
but the mouse isn't really the problem. nay, the problem lies in the controversy between outlook, which shuts down now all the fucking time, whenever i try to send and/or receive mail. i'm not sure if the problem is with hotmail, earthlink (who i should fucking cancel but i've been too lazy to do so) or a conflict with, what i think is the other potential culprit, microsoft office....specifically microsoft word, since that's what i primarily use.

tina had a good point today in that she said "ah so tim, have you been backing up your hard drive? probably not?" yes, tina always likes to keep me in check. god bless us everyone.
of course i hadn't. so that's a thing on top of my list, much like being on top of spaghetti, all covered with cheese. she lost her poor meatball, when somebody sneezed.

as i was saying, ahem....hard drive backing up, number one priority. number two is clearing up the stinking hard drive of all the damn dirty apeshit on there, fucking up my scene and making my life...well, not necessarily a living hell, but certainly an annoying situation that i'd prefer to avoid.

and dammit, we have these fucking things in our home, sharing our space and taking up our time so we can communicate, be a part of the world and be hip and cool and down and wow and ooh eeeh ooh ah ah ching chang, wally wally bing bang.

i must now attend to my just-finished burned cd. please make a note of this moment in your report for posterity's sake, whatever the hell that phrase means.

looks like we have a winner maestro. and thank you for playing. remove your ball cap before entering this ball park mister, for tomorrow we enjoy swiss cheese with our raw bread. nothing i like better than raw bread.

my stomach hurts

it is cold right now. it is raining right now....suddenly, i don't need the answer..but ahh-uhuh-hai, i'm ready to stay on my own with you.
those lyrics are probably bastardized some, but i was attempting to sing in my head the lyrics to olivia newton-john's favorite "suddenly."

ah, ONJ..i had a minor crush on her for about 3 minutes back in the 70s. i never really wanted to get on her during the whole Grease thing (which of course, in 1978, meant i didn't even have a fucking clue as to "getting on someone" was even about, though I knew it had something to do with pillows, a bed and sharing private part twingling), but i always thought she was kind of hot. Maybe i dug her voice, which had a kind of sexiness to it.
I know my dad liked ONJ....maybe he was wanting some of that action. but he was mad cause john travolta was smitten, after a torpid love affair during, oh those summer nights. i never was down with john travolta. he was always a putz to me. he wasn't cool with his "greased lightning"...so fuck that fatty oaffish dianetics freakazoid.

but as i was talking bout...you know, that afar shit, where upon people sort of think they possibly just might have a chance of getting down even one time with that lost love. sure we know all about that right? come on grandma, get on it.

dunno where that shit comes from man.
i just keep on feeling love like donna summer, another 70s diva, though my feelings for her were much different.

see, with ol donna, i was kind of afraid of her. I guess when she hit her peak, maybe 1978-1980, she was on top of the world and all that, but there was something about her did not like. i never totally trusted donna. she seemed a little too mean for my tastes. and god knows, i was all about being nonmean when i was that age.

my meaness didn't come till later, a combination of being forced to attend a baptist school against my will during a critical age in life (7th grade, at age 11) and the fact that my home was invaded every day by the kids my mom took care of. at one point, it was like a monster scene.

ha, funny, you know, something just occurred to me which i have to go off with a bit. see, i'm aware that i do pretty well in social situations. and when my mom took care of all these kids, many of them were only a few years younger than me. and it was during this time, every day after school, when i felt the most in charge, the most comfortable.

because it was my domain, my turf and the kids were generally sort of afraid of me, because i was tough, hardcore, sometimes mean (usually latent aggression from being picked on at school...i was the sort of the runt ..everybody picked on me there, so i took out that anger on the kids my mom took care of). but somehow, at some point, the kids respected me and i them....well, some of them...but we learned to get along....with a wide variety of people.

in a way, i think being in that situation gave me confidence i needed at a critical time, it helped me work in a social situation, working as a mediator between folks and also, learning to communicate period. how to interact. with a wide variety of people. embracing your differences rather than freak out about it.

fucked up. fucked up how different things in your childhood really do have a gigantor impact on your behavior later in life. freaky.

it's also odd that the things that remain the strongest part of my childhood memories aren't necessarily the things i devoted so much of my time toward. i remember odd things, random things,...yet for the majority of the memories, they are things that i have drawn upon and remembered and used later...or had a laugh at my own expense.

mr. rolls, and seofon and I were having this sort of conversation the other evening, the idea of memory. what its use and purpose is. how it works. the constant accummulation of more and more memory. constantly.

as in, the things stored in your memory as your reading this now will be slightly altered by the point at which you finish this sentence. hmmm.

i wrote a lead once for a story on younger funeral directors and it simply said "you're dying."
followed up by a thing about being "every minute you're alive,you're one minute closer to dying." such a simple thought, yet funny how sometimes the simplest of things can make the most sense.
memory is a great thing, it helps you become a stronger and more intelligent person.

unfortunately, there's a downside to that. = time.

so let's all get together and dwell on the time issue.

not really.

though i did always envy the people in movies who got to travel in time, like in the film i just viewed, "Planet of the Apes" (the new and improved Tim Burton edition!)....marky mark wahlberg accidentally travels through time...da future....wherin he comes upon a world where apes rule, all derived from the genetically altered intelligent chimps from 2029, that crashlanded on the ape planet when it went through some fucking portal of some kind. anyway, marky mark fights back against the damn dirty apes and crazy antics ensue, with kris kristofferson getting taking out early (just like in "blade").
MM finds his old ship and realizes that it crashlanded on the planet thousands of years earlier searching for marky mark. this is how the ape population was supposedly started, because marky mark was a chimp trainer and the ship had tons of genetically altered chimps.

marky makes everyone realize that we can all live together, apes and humans, and then his ol chimp pal comes flying in on the pod ship and then, coool, marky mark gets to go back to modern times earth, heads to DC. crashlands on the washington monument. and then, ooooh, the wacky ending, ol' honest abe is now some general and then the ape cops and fbi descend on him.

oooooh, outta control. what will happen in the sequel???

i don't know why i told that story, other than to illustrate my point that I don't understand how a future event could alter the past, unless he traveled back through the portal but in the wrong dimension (which...is understandable...i've done it before myself),orrrr...he didn't actually go far enough back into the past and at some point, the smart apes took over and kicked all us damn dirty humans to curb. maybe that's why humans had to kickit out in space in the future...those fucking apes kick our shit outta here.

i mean, why not? the more intelligent humans become, the more dangerous we become. hahhaaha.
another line from the movie. see, it's all part of a grand plan to brainwash my soul. those hollywood corporate bastards. damn yo.

sheeeeeeeit, and grandpa soup.

my thing about time travel is so true though.
i used to love reading books about time travel...the idea that i could stop time sounds awesome. i had this one dream in which i had a watch that could stop time and then i could do what i wanted to do, take my time and stuff, and look at some naked ladies in dressing rooms (this was at probably 8 years old-on---i was always interested in women, but this wasn't in a sexual nature...it was dirty because i wanted to see them naked).

of course, i could sleep as long as i wanted stopping time in the middle of the night, then i could start it and do things i wanted to get done at night, like reading my favorite books.

yes, i read lots of books, comic books and magazines as youngster. i remember we used to get highlights, though i never read that much. i liked national geographic world a lot, i received boys life for awhile but that sucked. my mom gave me subscriptions to some christian-related magazines like campus life (which actually wasn't all that bad). i also liked Dynamite and Supermag. god, i pray i still have some of those at home.

i think i have some of them.
anyway.

i also liked books by ruch chew, beverly cleary and judy blume. in fact, i read every book by judy blume. i loved her. isn't that funny? maybe judy is an influence. ha. i haven't read any of those books in years, though. god.

well, time has certainly been catching up with me at this here moment, (damn! it's now 3:44 am. and it's raining harder now..though here in california, that means slightly harder than a drizzle)

so friday was buy nothing day. because i did next to nothing and didn't really bother to leave the house until 11 p.m. to return "Blow" with Johnny depp (and yes, it did blow. bad script, plodding story, bad editing, plot holes, uhg..not a good one, though seeing paul reubans again is a good thing.)
the only thing i purchased was that godforsaken beer. beer. beer.

so let's just jot down a few more things to talk about from the previous four days you'll find all about these answers and more of life pondering later in today's broadcast. chapped pain is appropriate.

conversation at the harbin/trip to harbin - wednesday night to thursday morning..including rain, whole foods intrigue, mushrooms, hot hot hot pool, warm pool and coolllld pool. the deer, the shoes and belt. the first attempt through the woods. remember 1993 chicago. hippy hippy hip chik.

thanksgiving morning/day - turkeys descending upon us, the walk up the mountain sun and the cat that followed us, the woman with the large dreads. the coffee shop. the drive home. the long hard day back to reality. the tasty bird..sleeping a lot. coming home, sleeping much more.
today, another sort of day. a good day. slow and low as the tempo. ow ow.

earlier: wed...last day on da job. coba bucko supremo. what to do now that all of the kids are grown up? and spending for the dam.
we hads ze dinner partee as well. mucho loco.
not good with police man
testy framework

long live crunch
eat your fair share of rice today

in memoriam,
TuppleWear T. Bok

toodles

actual sticker i just saw on the freeway:
White Bread Sucks

At first, I thought it was some racial thing. But it didn't seem like it. The driver didn't look angry, wasn't of color, and genuinely looked like she hated some white bread.

Sometimes I wonder if people hate white wine for the same reason. Because they don't like it.
That's a lame reason.
I mean, sure, I'm a super-picky eater. I like approximately five to seven things. Ok, maybe more like 10-15, but not many. I'm not an exotic eater. But not liking something is simply no excuse.
When people offer me raw oysters or milk of magnesia, i simply say "no thanks, I'm fasting." or "i'm sorry but it will affect my condition." Another good one is "I would, but I'm Asian." Or better yet, "I'm stuffed. I just ate an entire boiled roast. And man, am I going to stink soon!"
My mom really likes the last one.

But my point here is this: how can anyone say white bread sucks? i mean, shit. look at all the good things white bread does for you:
Fights bad breath
Provides nourishment to certain parts of our anatomy that shall remain nameless.
Looks good on a resume.
Goes well with the hamburgler or mayor mccheese.
Cajoles tiny squirrels into running across the road in front of large mammals.
Incites insane fury among the citizens of Liechtenstein.
Elevates your status among your peers.
Makes you urinate more frequently when you want to.
Can be used as a pillow.
Is often served with milk or tripe.
Fends off harbingers of Satan and Oscar the Grouch.
Resurrects hard feelings among the Russian people for Americans.
Makes "President" Bush constipated.

and that's something that I'm thankful for on this wonderful holiday.

God bless us everypun.

Your sun,
Cassiopeia

So I have a roommate that likes to put used band-aids on my soap. Yes, you read that correctly.

Unless you're blind. Then you can't read what's on the screen.

Last night, Happy must have cut his finger doing something stupid, since he is, in fact, stupid.
Blood was in the wastebasket.
We had just returned from a lovely trip to Fat Albertsons' for groceries and na na na, gonna have a good time...hey hey hey.

I was putting away my dental tape, new toothpaste, new toothbrush and softsoap when all of a sudden, I was blinded. After several minutes of knocking things off the shelves, I figured out that i had to pry my eyes open with a hammer.

Once that was accomplished, I saw the nasty-ass band-aid on top of our soap. luckily, the soap was unopened, but still...why would you leave a used band-aid on somebody's soap? here's an idea..how about throwing it away?

tina left him a super-nasty note. happy is like a fucking child. and we've got to stop him, at all costs.
god, what an idiot. i'd sure like to kick him to the curb.
some might say i'm harsh. but you don't live with the oaf.

this is the same guy who is:
- 38 years old.
- spins happy hardcore and 10-year-old rave tunes
- is the dirtiest person i've ever witnessed
- keeps his toothbrush sitting on a dusty shelf where his food is stored.
- has his entire turntable set-up covered with chicken wire so the kitties or anyone else won't fuck with it
used to keep a knife pointing upward sticking out of a box to defend against kitty's invading. yeah, that's a great idea. have a knife sticking straight up so the cats can learn a lesson.
- is the loudest walker (i.e. stomper) i've ever heard.
- is the cheapest mother fucker i've ever met
- saves more shit than i do. never throws anything away.
- has a picture of him with tonya harding up in all seriousness.

as you can see, i adore this man. i must go eat food and replenish my soul. for tomorrow, i go to kandahar.

in merriment,
Clownie the Angry Boy

Eat tofu cereal today!

my brain is no longer calcified.
my bones are without joint.
I am rubber.
I slither and shake.
But what of it?
My butt is not flat, for it is too bubbly to comprehend. It is nearly a shelving unit, without nails.
Some butts are flat, some are not. What kind of world do we live in that upholds the right of people without butts? How can this be? We all need a butt.
All this butt talk reminds me of how funny it is to watch men's heads and eyes when females with halfway decent butts walk on by.
For all you women who think men aren't looking at your butt, think again. Men, young and old, check out butts, breasts and anything else that might titillate much more than you ever realize. Usually it's a quick glance, a once-over to check and make sure it's a quality butt for potential fantasy fodder. Usually these fantasies last no more than a few seconds, but they do in fact occur.
It's especially funny if you get some women (or men, whatever the case may be...we don't want to exclude our gay friends) with extremely nice butts and then watch 75% of all guys do the backward glance, the double-take, the stare, the salivate, the lapdog, or the beg. Seriously, it's like watching a tennis match on the street in slow-motion. Most men are pretty discrete about their staring, but unfortunately, some are so blatant, the might as well be grabbing that ass, much to the chagrin of the ladies. And these uncontrollable wanks ruin it for all the rest of us legitimate butt connossieurs, the ones who just like to take a glance or two to make sure we approve and/or fantasize about that butt.
It's a topsy-turvy world we live in. All we want are a few good glances and that's it. You can go on your merry way. We'll just walk a little bit slower and take up the rear.

And that's the way it was, at this moment, deciding to never use "whilst" again in a sentence.

You don't love America as much as Donnie Brasco.

Your Friend,
Bumpy Ankle

in case you were wondering, i've been lazy and dead for the last few days. luckily, i was brought back to life via powerful crystals used by emporer hirohito in times of war. as you know, i am a member of the war council of antarctica. so please make a note of it in your report. more things will be added when time is allowed to come. and yes, that time is coming soon. in the meantime, you can enjoy this lovely muzak playing at your local shopping mall. i'll be there hanging with mr. price.
he may look a little skinny since he's dead too. dead people rule.

i love porpoise spit.

your gasket,
bunny

no more funions. We don't like them. You are not allowed to have them anymore. Now leave and don't come back.

EEEEEE chuda

i need to write things.
this is the way to begin.
wish i wasn't twitching so go
i need to eat cheerios.

black skin. brown skin. i have neither. at least i'm also know as the rose garden maestro pageant brigade winner of 1997. people love me the world over in some parts of the other portion of the world that we all know and cherish.
haiku is for haiku freaks. they are all mean to me. therefore, i don't like them. because i'm a reactionary person. and there's nothing i like more than to put people down for all the wrong reasons, and i don't want reasoning at all. especially while running the naked mile.

i just remembered the time i egged the band in rockford. now that was a chilling night of ecstasy.
or the shirt i made at reptile with the nin reference. or the man who wanted to beat me up because i wouldn't play the same song. or the time i got sick while alex patterson was playing. or the time i went down the street to the illegal club whose name i can't recall and enjoyed cookies and milk on the couch with young oysters in search of hamstring glee.
video killed the radio star. in my mind and in my car. put the blame on vcr. oooooh, radio starrrrr.

today i did nothing. sunday is a hard day to do something. like things i have to do now. but i can't because i'm not doing that.
instead i'm doing this. while craving vanilla, coffee but not together necessarily. other things occupy equal time and space but then again, who really cares when you've got motor love? and bicyclists don't want to talk about the other real dangers of snow skiing. which is significant in this climate, economy and stairmaster-crazed society.
instead, we face shortages of the band bread, whose music helped us create a whole new world without michael jackson as a special guest star. he is special but in a short bus kind of way.
and we all know that's for nonfunctional offspring of cake mongers living in sin with twitching, agonized looks on their faces.
see, cheese makes sense sometimes. but we hoard it. therefore, cheese becomes a commodity. and nobody likes snot, which is what it is if you stop and take the time to smell the roses.

frantic energy fills the air. frantic energy in my hair.
those girls dancing on the little walkway on friday near us during sasha were cool. i like fake sparkly eyebrows i've decided.
stop twitchy for he is not your friend tomorrow.
important messages up for grabs if the price is right.

as much as i love america, i realize it's more important to move to europe than go overseas.
and by that i mean this...don't leave you friends out in the cold while you're sunbathing.
it's better to give others the love you shared with those other people that were once your friends.
i saw portions of back to the future 2 today and that was pretty wild. almost as wild as my offspring.
ha ha funnier than cancer. that's what people have always told me, especially during the last few minutes.
cream colored popcorn never tasted that good anyway.
time to pay the piper as it were. we don't have to take our clothes off...no no. chapter 4. the real saga. before america lost the war on oil to me.

before everything was in its dark place.
which was mixed in the other night as i recall by sasha. smile for me. now get out of camera frame.
should i see my family? will i have to pay small fee? tee hee.
me can you see is full of glee for me
and that was the way it was, before i could remember the other things we shared with each other.
now stop looking ahead to transgressions you have yet to commit.
omit yourself from this chapter and everything will be better.

for the lord is not my herd of sheep, even though he might want to be
he layeth down for awhile in poopy pastures and even better, layeth by still waters to get some drink on
restoring your soul is a priority as well, leading me down some cool path that's so full of righteousness, it's the extra bomb
forever and ever amen, leaving others alone while singing for goats
now if i could get me some of that feta cheese made from goat ass, i'd be swimming in a swine of luxury less taken care of by others that we shared.
fare thee well, good and faithful servant,
for thouest in the house of the tim forever and ever
ton of fun today!
eat blank checks for clandestine therapy.

love,
orange aid creamsicle man

I have two stories running today. Here are the links:

Death Cab For Cutie (this will only be available on the San Jose Mercury News site for one week):
http://www0.mercurycenter.com/premium/arts/eye/docs/death16.htm

Uncle ILL
http://www.freep.com/entertainment/music/band16_20011116.htm

Keep on Keepin On, yo

i've decided that i'm not going to swing my arms anymore while I walk.
Human arm-swinging is so 20th century. Lame.
Get a new look.
stop a-swinging.

chew less rock candy tomorrow.
good evening.
your lover,
charo

Lionel Richie must be stopped. He is evil.
How could anyone in their right mind remix fucking Lionel Richie's "All Night Long?"
Who EVER liked Lionel Richie?
If I'm ever at someone's home and I see that they have Lionel Richie CDs in their collection, I'll be heading for the door immediately. There's just no excuse for the man.
He's as bad as Randy Newman, who also needs to be eradicated.

So sayeth the Shepherd! (at this point, you're supposed to yell as loud as you can, "So Sayeth The Flock!" -- collectively)

Good afternoon.

your confidante,
Charlie Bucket

Late breaking update!

You may or may not have noticed I changed the name of the Blog to "paperspray." i like it better than "impromptu distaste and such," which was not only vague, but also fairly difficult to type.
PaperSpray is more fun to say, anyway. yay.
hey.
good day.

Thursday morning...i was up before the dawn.

I cut my nose shaving this morning. How does one cut their nose shaving? Only me! Now I have coagulated dried blood on the bottom of my nose, left side thank you.

Current mood music: Sean Deason's Allegory & Metaphor. Mellow Detroit ambient techno.

Ok, so i've been lax in updating this the last few days. And I'll tell you why: sheer laziness.
Not really, but busyness is the actual excuse. I mean, come on, Monday was like a holiday for me. Tuesday was "get back into work mode you dolt" type of mindset. Plus i was so overcome by emotion due to the fact that my whites were whiter than ever before that i fell down to my knees and thanked the mighty Chunnvver for helping me.
For those of you unacquainted with the great Chunnvver, let me tell you, he is quite helpful. He's similar to God, except he's not a supreme being in the same sense. He comes from another galaxy and is here on Earth to watch over lonely, misguided souls such as myself. The problem is that i'm not necessarily lonely or misguided, but I tell him that so he'll give me free gifts and stuff. For those of you with memories, I dressed up like Chunnvver in 2000 at the Burning Man Decompression party.

Songs in my head of late: Madonna's "Tell Me" (that song with Madonna dressed up as a "cowgirl" kicking up dust and stuff...it's got a good hook to it, ok?); and, even worse, Ace of Base's "All That She Wants." i heard that damn song while eating the other day and it's still kicking around my skull two days later. "she leads a lonely life..." i always thought that song was catchy. even if ace of base sucks, which they did. but i'm allowed the occasional love affair with cheesy pop music. I am an American, you know. We're entitled to anything, don't you remember? I may not be a good American right now because i'm not spending thousands of dollars a day to help fight the war on terrorism, but, in the immortal words of my sworn foe, Seofon, "I'm open for monkey business." So that counts for something.

I wish I could save all my eye goo that is crusted around my sockets each morning and sell it to people. I would think it's quite valuable to at least 4 to 7.3 people.

anyway, back to pop melodies that stick in your head. I also heard that song "There She Goes" the other day, not the old school original by The La's, but the new school version sung by Sixpence None The Richer, a "christian" band...whatever that means. I'm sure they're just like Stryper, a band i'm sorry to admit I actually saw in concert back in the 1980s. Yes, they sucked ass.
"There she goes" is one of those super-dumb pop songs that won't leave your head, no matter how much you hate it. In fact, I think it's designed to stay in your head longer if you can't stand it. The La's version sucked too, I think. My good pal Mr. Byrne in Detroit would likely disagree. But what does he know. Either way, crapola.

Speaking of crapola, how about that piss-poor cover of the Red Hot Chili Peppers' "Under the Bridge" by All Saints? Wow, i caught that video on MTV a few weeks ago and was stunned by its banality. Seriously awful. If you don't know All Saints, they're a Spice Girls rip-off band from the UK. Let's hope the damn thing doesn't catch on in the US.

Since we're talking about music, I cannot believe there's already "Best of 90s" rock compilations being hawked. I saw a TV ad for it the other day and it seemed like a who's who of one-hit wonders. Featured bands included: Spin Doctors (i interviewed them one time back in the day and they were such assholes..death to spin doctors); Verve Pipe; Dead Eye Dick, Ben Folds Five, the godawful Gin Blossoms (who hold a special place in my heart as being one of the worst piece of shit bands I've ever heard) and many, many more! It kind of reminds me of the time I received the "Best of '90s hip-hop" in 1992. Maybe i should turn retro and re-release hits from all the way back in 1999! Of course, I don't have any hits to release, at least in this dimension.

I'm on a retro kick at the moment. Simple Minds' "Don�t you forget about me." I�ve always liked that song�and I don�t necessarily associate it with The Breakfast Club because I never thought that movie was all that good�though I did have a crush on Ally Sheedy for awhile. Everybody I knew wanted Molly Ringwald�and I did too. C�mon. But Ally Sheedy, she was dark and mysterious. More intriguing to me. Judd Nelson was an annoying twerp with gigantor nostrils. Oooh, he's the bad boy. Shit, by 1991, he was playing small roles in laughable flicks like New Jack City. I'm sure there are peeps that worship New Jack City, but watch it now and it's so bad, it's good. I caught it recently and couldn't believe how lame it was. And a shitload of violence too.

sidenote --- So I just took a break and went downstairs to grab some Pretzel Flipz. On the way back up, there was this group of people on the elevator yakking about shit and one woman was talking about how much taller she was compared to everyone else and that she shouldn't wear heels. Then she started blathering about how tall her whole family was and one woman asks "Did you play basketball?" So typical of people to ask such a question and i'm sure she's heard that question countless times in her life, just like most tall men. As a short person, my first thought was "Why don't people ask me if I was in the circus? Or if I'm a jockey racing horses?" Trivial, yes, but i'm all about trivial shit. Obviously.

These pretzel flipz are making me thirsty.

So the Burning Man and related folk got together for our good friend Wendella's birthday Tuesday night at Fuse. She was spinning some downtempo tuneage, which was sounding pretty tasty. It reminded me that i've got to get a set together and spin. damn, yo. One of my presents to the lovely lass was a portable zoo, comprised of a bunch of capsules that, when doused in a glass of water, grow into nifty animals. It was quite exciting. Unfortunately, ms. Tina B and I had to cut out early to make it home in time for the damn BART. We needs to get our asses outta tha East Bay. Ugh.

So the world series ended last week and i'm proud to say i saw less than an inning's worth. Baseball is stupid. Who names a team the Arizona Diamondbacks? Or the Florida Marlins? Or the Montreal Expos? I was cracking up when I heard sports announcers calling the world series winners the "D-Backs." My God, do we have to shorten and/or make an acronym out of EVERYTHING??
Sports has deteriorated so much in my mind, it�s hard to believe I once cared about them at all. It seems so unimportant and meaningless now.
Happiness derived from other people�s accomplishments. Ya fucking hoo. I crack up when people get so riled and upset if their team loses (my brother is included in that group, unfortunately). Sports take up waaaay too much time anyway. It's not worth the time commitment.

I wish I knew somebody that has the gout, just so i could tell people about it. Is it contagious? Maybe I could pass it on. Another one is leprosy. I just remember when i was a kid and my sunday school teachers telling us these horrifying stories about people hanging with Jesus having limbs drop off and related fun. I was so freaked! I remember thinking that I never wanted to get leprosy because I liked my hands and didn't want to lose them.
I have small hands, btw. But they sure are nifty. They're better than your hands, I can tell you that.

As a temporary member of the corporate world, I've been having fun learning various corporatespeak phrases. Some recent ones: "We need to hold his feet to the fire;" "Let's put a bug in her ear and see what she says;" "I'm just thinking out loud here..."; "I'm with you all the way."
The funniest part of all this is that they're said in total seriousness. It's a whole separate dialect. There's a whole other species of human kicking it in the corporate world.

There's another person I work with who bugs me because she's always finishing sentences for people when they talk to her. It's like there's an echo every time you talk to her. And most of the time, when she finishes your sentence, it's not what you were going to say. How do i stop this madness?

Most days, when i walk down Montgomery to work at about 7:30 a.m., I encounter this strange red-haired gentleman. He appears to be homeless, though I'm not sure. He's definitely dirty. Unlike many homeless around here, this guy doesn't bother people for change, and is usually standing by a trash can. Instead, he does such things as: pick at his Walkman (he's constantly staring at it or taking it apart); gives random people a big grin and the friendly nod of approval (he did this yesterday, nodding toward this business man walking in front of me. he then proceeded to follow us down the block. the business man looked a bit disconcerted. I was cracking up); or just stares at people as they walk by. One morning i saw him smoking a joint, which i found particularly amusing.
He used to have dreads but then one day a few weeks ago he was sporting a close-cropped shaved head. I've thought about talking to him, but then i remember those few times i've seen him wildly swinging his fists at people or the one day when he had this crazed, maniacal look on his face. He's probably a bit mentally unbalanced, so no use in fucking with him. I am curious though. Funny thing is I've never heard him speak, ever.
That dude reminds me of this woman I was walking behind at 16th and Mission (i.e. crackhead central) last weekend. It was cold (i.e. mid-50s, which is COLD for us wimpy Californians) and pouring rain, and miss crackhead is strolling down the street in a tiny dress and bare feet. Now, if you've ever walked in a shitty neighborhood with crackheads lying about, you know there's all sorts of nasty-ass things on the ground. You don't want to be walking in bare feet. She was meandering back and forth in front of me on the sidewalk, swinging this plastic bag around her. I had to slow down my fast-paced gait just so i wouldn't get nailed by her bag. We walk by this group of dudes smoking down and after a few steps, she starts yelling "I fucking hate black people!" At this point, I decided to stop and let her get waaaaaay ahead of me so I didn't "accidentally" get taken out by the angry dudes she was dissing. Last I saw of her, she was still wandering up 16th street.

I think i have a small obsessive problem with quarters. I love 'em. If I have a bunch (like i do now), i find myself playing with them. I purposely take them out of my pockets because I don't want to be perceived as one of those dolts who walk around with their hands in their pockets, jingling change. I'll let the bored middle-aged businessmen do that. I only noticed this obsession within the last year or so. I don't know how it happened. I need professional help. Oh lordy. -------- I just finished writing this sentence and this dude who works down the hall walks by, hands in his pockets, jingling his change. Ha.

Does anyone remember KMFDM? Does anybody care anymore? Somebody does. I wrote this thought down yesterday morning and then an hour later on me lunch, i almost run into this dude crossing the street wearing a fucking KMFDM t-shirt!! And even stranger, I haven't even thought about KMFDM in a long time, as well as see someone sporting a damn shirt. KMFDM, doing it again. A treat for the freaks. Something something. We don't care.

Does anyone remember the film "The Seduction Of Joe Tynan?" Or how about "First Monday In October," starring the long-forgotten Jill Clayburgh? Why do I remember these inconsequential things?

if you can figure out the opening line on this post (as in, what song am i referencing? hint: it's from 1979), you'll receive a healthy reward in heaven. Trust me.

I'm just going to continue on enjoying my facial TwitchFest.

Lick the pavement today! It's good for you.

Your loyal pathogen,
BloodBoy

P.S. Yahtzee! Anybody up for a game?

if you took five years to make yourself look pretty, where would you be?
tantalizing tales from beyond the third wall, and even more from the fourth wall.
Look, matching sunglasses!
Phil Collins really does suck. I wonder if he'll rot in hell with Borkum Riff?
Look, defenseless pygmies!

I'm the jack of all trades and the john of all jacks.
They call me the jack because i like rack and pinion steering committees.

Kabul has fallen. Let the world now officially sigh.
Whoo, that was a close one.

Back to life. Back to reality.
Back to the here and now.
Again.

Plasticine porters with looking glass ties.
Perky brethren make for lifeless dolls.

And that's the way it was, at this moment. Not a thing that makes sense.
And dammit, don't you feel lucky?

Eat a mouse today!

Your loyal servant,

Pico

crazy crazy weekend for hungry hungry hippos
here's the new and improved version, just for you:

Friday - went home and drove right back into the city (gotta love living in the east bay!) to get dinner at this place in Hayes Valley that i can't recall the name. oh yes, it was a Brazilian place. We were there to say goodbye to one of Tina B's co-workers who was a intern from Brazil (Sao Paulo). The place was quite good actually. I had the flattened steak, which came highly recommended. It wasn't quite as flattened as i expected and contained a good many herbs, spices and other indistinguishable flavorings. I'm not a big steak eater (though i was back in the day...you know, that day), but this was a fine slab of meat. my only problem was that i ordered the damn thing medium well in an attempt to circumvent potential bloodiness but instead it was more like medium rare. But i declined to push it because the chef looked quite perturbed back there in the kitchen. He was in some argument with the host. Plus i had already had a number of glasses of Sangria (i.e. Kool-Aid) and a tall frosty Hoegarden (i'm sure that spelling is incorrect but fuck it), so i was feeling too happy. Confrontation is not my specialty, except for when i'm pissed. :)
The people at the dinner with the Brazilians were a virtual cornucopia, including a guy from Australia, one guy from Colombia, one person originally from Taiwan and now lives in Hawaii, one from Germany, and then Tina and I. They were predominantly tech people, so the conversation got a little boring at times. Everybody was very nice, but this one couple...you know you're in for a long night when the second question they ask is "What do you do?" and then pre-judge you based on what you "do," as if that defines your entire being. Tina discussed this and she decided she's going not going to answer that question anymore...well, obviously it'll depend on the circumstance, but if some non-personality tech dolt is quizzing her, it's not going to be pretty. I can't wait. Anyway, the tech couple were blathering on and on about target markets, business plans and other "exciting" fodder. I decided to tune them out.
After dinner, we hooked up with an old pal from my days in Michigan, Timofee. Mr. T likes his music especially dark (i.e. goth/industrial) and so he was hanging out at one of his old haunts in SF, the Cat Club. Well lo and behold, I've never been there, so ms. Tina B and I opted for a go-round at the ol' Cat Club. Suffice to say, it was an enjoyable, albeit enlightening, experience. I felt like I was in some weird timewarp in which it was 1990 again. Very odd. Tina B was one of the few people there sporting something other than black (her dress was a mixture of black and white). I was the other, wearing my Indie Rock-looking brown denim jacket.
There were all kinds of odd lunatics cavorting around the place, doing the ho-hum dance to their favorite industrial tunes. Of course, a night like this wouldn't be complete without a rendition of Nitzer Ebb's "Join In The Chant." Jesus, do we really need to hear that song anymore? Why does everyone feel the need to run songs into the ground like that? It's the total industrial cliche, if there is such a thing. Other industrial cliches include: Siousxie and the Banshees, Sisters Of Mercy, KMFDM, New Order and/or Joy Division (especially "Blue Monday") and Ministry (especially "Every Day Is Halloween," though we didn't hear it that night, thankfully. Instead, it was worse -- "Twitch"-era Ministry, when Al Jourgensen decided to use a fake English accent and sing atop cheesy synth pop tunes).
We also were told that DJ Fernando is the "most popular DJ in San Francisco" by one of Mr. T's pals. My response was "Who?" This guy has to be seen to be truly appreciated. You know you're in trouble when the guy is sporting a ponytail from the 7-10 hairs still left on the top of his head. It's like "Dude, do you really think you're fooling anyone?" Maybe the esteemed Fernando doesn't care, but he really didn't have to take his fucking shirt off in the DJ booth too. Jesus.
On the other hand, I highly recommend attending said gathering for the People Watching factor alone. Awesome. The whole time, i was thinking "what cave did these people crawl out from?"

Saturday - Worked about the house and related craziness. Our phone line wasn't working thanks to our lovely building manager, so i had to go to Tina's work to file a couple of stories that were due for Flyer mag. Actually, just a couple of blurbs but they took forever. so i was in the city by 5 p.m. or so. did i mention it was pouring rain all fucking day? of course, an hour after i got into tina's work, the phone lines were fixed. but i was already in the city at that point. my car was parked in the mission and everything. so after i did my work, i found out the power went out at home and ended up being off till midnight, so it's a good thing i left. i went back to the mission and hit pakwan for some fine pakistani food. good stuff there, that's for sure. the counter help is always very surly. kind of funny. so i left there about 9:55 p.m. and met up with Beano, who rode the bart.
then it was off to Kelly's Mission Rock for the Radiance party, featuring Wendella and Ty spinning at virtually the same time, early in the evening. We hooked up with our pals and cruised in to the event.
radiance was fun. lots of good peeps hanging out from burning man, which is always nice. silencefiction and LadyMo were there, as was Mollygolightly and her boy, T. oodles of fun time. The music was iffy in some parts, but the vibe was nice and friendly. I wandered around more than I danced, though. They had this cool photo booth that was free, so we took lots of fun photos. What a great idea!
stayed there and rocked till 5, then went with Wendella and Fandango to this dude fredness' pad and hung with the red melon crew for a bit, and watched the sun rise, which was totally gorgeous. cool cool.
then it was to the endup's sunday morning t-dance, which opens at 6. that was wacko. all kinds end up there..all the tweakers that stayed up all night. hilarious. good dancing and all that freaky stuff. stayed till 10 then headed back to the east bay.
of course, i didn't get to sleep much because . . .

SUNDAY - . . . was another day. We went to go see the theatre premiere of DJ Qbert's "Wave Twisters" flick, which was totally messed up. but awesome. there was a huge line for it at the Castro Theatre.
After that, breakfast at this cool place that i can never remember its name, but it's on like Guerrero and 22nd or something.
that was a fine meal. we stayed till 3:15, then headed back over to mr. R's place for some R&R of the kindly sort.
finally left at around 5:30 on the BART, where we encountered many strange folk coming home from the 49ers game. ugh.
the BART was jam-packed but luckily we got on early enough to snag a seat.
There was this strange man yelling things about Jesus and money and other odd things. Ms. Tina B. was kind enough to write them down, which will be thrown up soon (along with my remaining top 12-25, which i still needs to do).
i crashed that night before 7:30 p.m. and slept till about 9 a.m. yesterday morning.

MONDAY- yay, no work for me thanks to veteran's day. yep. did lots o work at home relating to the writing variety and then we tried to see "From Hell" last night but the damn line was so long, we missed our show. apparently the computer was down yet they only had one person to wait on all these people and sell the tickets by hand.
madness. so we rented "hannibal" instead, which wasn't as gross as everyone said it was going to be (though it was fairly sick in some parts).
and then last night my computer wouldn't send. and still wouldn't this morning.
and here we are.
eat vanilla cake tomorrow.

Biz Markie is a funny fellow.
Mr. Markie and old school compatriots De La Soul ripped it up at a sold-out show at the Fillmore Thursday evening. I didn't think i would dig on the Biz but he was entertaining. He was playing a DJ set, on two of those new CD players that can scratch just like a vinyl record. I was surprised to see him doing that, but no matter. He was throwing down a wide variety of old school hip-hop. He'd play a few verses of a track and periodically interrupt the music so he could say something.
The best segment was when he played a series of old TV show theme songs, including "Sesame Street," "The Jeffersons," "Fat Albert," "Sanford & Son," and, of all things, "Cheers." That was surreal, especially when everybody was sort of singing along.
He ended with the theme to "Micky Mouse Club."
De La was out on stage within about 20 minutes after the Biz was finished.
They were rocking the old school as well, playing a number of tracks from "3 Feet High and Rising."
At one point, they were going a little overboard on where the "true party" was at, choosing from the people in the front (like me), the people in the middle, the people in the back, the people on the right side, the people on the left side. The people kicking it up in the balcony got dissed.
Anyway, they were good...what i saw of them. Fortunately, or unfortunately, depending on your perspective, i enjoyed some tree action and then things started to get a little too overwhelming for me.
Pretty soon, I'm pondering the state of humanity, questioning our desire to watch other humans on stage performing music, and the ridiculous concept of being confined these weak and relatively strange shells we inhabit called bodies.
Yes, those trees were hardcore. Within minutes, I was bolting for the door behind my pal. I lost him in the crowd, and never found him again.
i ended up missing more than half of the show, including a rendition of Markie's signature song "Just a Friend." I heard it from outside though.
I have a headache this morning and need to do work.
at some point, i'll furnish the remaining albums o tha year.
probably not till tomorrow.
i be feeling like shite this morning.
back to the fun and exciting world of Commercial Banking.

Menudo on A - B - C
Dear Alex & Annie
Help me Obi-Wan Kenobi. You're my only hope.

How i long for my youth. Good thing i have a time machine and can get reacquainted.

Interim shit............
Lunching in the city.
Ah, what a joy. It's nice to be able to enjoy a hearty lunch outside on a warm November day. Especially when you're hanging at Bistro Burger. I bucked the trend and had a grilled chicken sandwich instead.
You're exposed to a variety of things at the ol' Bistro Burger, such as:

-- Occasional whiffs of marijuana. It was funny watching the people walk down the alley sniffing and looking around to see who was smoking the kind. I never figured it out either.
-- A kindly Asian man handing postcard-size handbills to everyone at the restaurant. On the front is an obnoxious picture of some no-neck jock and a blonde bimbo wrapped around him, with the words "Tanning's back at Studio 325." Just what I need, a tanning salon.
-- A strange man walked up to me and said "Can you give to the cheeseburger relief fund?" Before i could answer, he walked away. A minute later, a woman was handing him a dollar bill. He won somebody over.
-- A 30ish woman stormed away from the table she was sharing with another woman, saying "And that's what I'm going to do!" She looked angry. She only ate half of her chicken sandwich.
-- A bike messenger looked like he was going to get in a fight with someone, though i couldn't figure out who with. He got off his bike and screamed various obscenities at the unknown perpetrator.
-- After careful consideration, I've decided that Swiss cheese is not my favorite cheese.
-- I'm going to launch my own Tet offensive today.

On a day like today, the only thing i can think of is...Whatever happened to Men At Work? They came from a land down under. I weep for Men At Work.

finally, here's one of the albums i cut from my Top 10 of 2001 list:
TROUBLEMAKERS: Doubts & Convictions (Guidance). OK, so I realize it�s not very hip to be digging on the downtempo grooves these days, but it�s hard not to appreciate the stylish atmospheric grooves of France�s Troublemakers. Combining breezy midtempo beats, scruffy cinematic soundscapes, noteworthy vocal samples -- including two of Robert DeNiro from �Taxi Driver� � with Latin funk, �60s kitsch, smoky jazz, languid hip-hop and swaggering bossa nova, this trio (DJ Oil, Fred Berthet and Arnaud Taillefer) effectively stirs up enough style and substance to keep you moving on the dancefloor. Doubts & Convictions works because it crawls into your brain slowly and effortlessly. Yet, the more you listen, the more complex it becomes.

coming soon:
-- A discussion about butts and their various sizes and shapes (jutting butts vs. flat butts)
-- The top 12-24 albums of 2001!
-- An interview with Don Cornelius of "Soul Train"
-- A discussion about who was the biggest bitch among the girls on "The Waltons." I say Mary Ellen. She was a big meanie.
-- And another saga in the exciting story "the man who has an eyeball in his messy studio apartment" (yes, i changed the name...i can do that).

so long, farewell

folks
here's my top 10 of 2001, something i labored over for a long time.
there were a number of other albums that didn't quite make it, but came close. those will be listed in the next blog.
The 10 albums are listed alphabetically and are not in any sort of consecutive order.
Also, it's very important that you DO NOT FORWARD THIS TO ANYONE!. This text was written for a Bay Area publication and will be copyrighted. It will run in late November or early December.


To me, 2001 seemed like one big interlude, the in between time while waiting for something cool to happen. Unlike previous years, which brought with it excitement about a burgeoning new genre or sound, 2001 became a year of experimentation and reflection, as producers searched for new ways to produce electronic music.
There was the rise of 2-step, which made big inroads into the mainstream thanks to its combination of soulful R&B, house, hip-hop and breakbeat. Craig David, who was first introduced to the U.S. via the U.K. 2-step duo Artful Dodger (which has already split up), helped bring the sound to the mainstream this year with big hit �Fill Me In.�
The year also saw the rise of the fractured laptop sound, characterized by such terms as �microsound,� �microhouse" or �glitch.� Whatever term you prefer, the style brought with it a newfound emphasis on intricacies, minimalism and harsher sounds leaning more toward a technical aesthetic.
Artists such as Matmos and Matthew Herbert explored the usage of field samples such as the sounds of liposuction, laser eye surgery and biorhythms in the context of creating music. I believe this is only the beginning.
Electronic music has effectively infiltrated almost every aspect of popular culture, ranging from hip-hop to metal to pop and beyond. Those beats on the latest N Snyc record were made possible by cheeseball extraordinaire BT, who never met a dollar sign he didn�t like. He�s since moved on to producing tracks for Britney Spears, integrity be damned.
On the concert front, Moby�s Area:One tour was the first successful mainstream electronic tour, which is somewhat surprising considering this was the same guy who denounced electronic music several years ago as being finished. Apparently, he�s changed his mind. Unfortunately, other electronic tours weren�t quite so successful after organizers were forced to cancel Mekka and Creamfields due to poor ticket sales.

TIM PRATT'S TOP 10 OF 2001

APHEX TWIN: Drukqs (Warp/Sire). Richard James is one strange fellow. The British producer does his damndest to scare away potential listeners but somehow he still manages to command a sizeable audience that hangs on every menacing metallic fragment, scattershot breakbeat, placid soundscape, and irreverent vocal he can toss up. While some critics have suggested Drukqs is merely James� way of clearing out his hard drive of all his old material (and that may be true) due to the relative lack of cohesion, I think the album�s multi-faceted sides are merely a reflection of the wide range of emotions James illustrates through music. This is by no means an easy or comfortable album. James� penchant for hyper-hysterics in recent years runs rampant on several tracks. Yet, there are plenty of tracks that consist solely of pensive piano playing and ethereal pulsars, reminiscent of James� early work. The more I listened to Drukqs, the more I liked it.

BJORK: Vespertine (Elektra). After waiting nearly four years for a proper full-length from the quirky Icelandic artist (Selmasongs notwithstanding), Bjork returned with the hauntingly intricate album Vespertine. Decidedly more sedate and meditative than previous material and no clear-cut dance-oriented tracks, Vespertine finds Bjork experimenting with majestic orchestral strings, lush harps, a full-blown choir, and slithery beat and programming collaborations with San Francisco duo micro-glitch artistes Matmos (who toured with Bjork), the UK�s Matthew Herbert and many others. And then there�s Bjork�s vocal range, which seems stronger than ever (check �Cocoon� to hear her hit those near-impossible high notes). Opening track �Hidden Place� is one of the most beautiful songs Bjork�s ever written, an ethereal ride into the gossamer regions of her head. Gorgeous, heartfelt, dizzying, sexual and technical, Vespertine is a highly personal and intimate album.

B.R.M.C.: Black Rebel Motorcycle Club (Virgin). Yeah, so B.R.M.C. sounds like Jesus And Mary Chain. When I picked up this record last spring, my friend exclaimed �They sound like everything I�ve heard before!� Maybe so, but then again, who cares? Frankly, after spending years in the lofty clouds of electronic music, it was nice to hear a straight-up rock record that manages to kick your ass and keep you singing those catchy melodies. Indeed, the Bay Area trio has made a promising debut with Black Rebel Motorcycle Club, combining whooshing, shrill guitars that fly over your head and saturate your ears with emotive, brooding vocals. There isn�t a bad song on the entire record, ranging from the head-nodding anthem �Red Eyes And Tears� to the aching fury of �Whatever Happened To My Rock �n� Roll (Punk Song),� the blazing epic �As Sure As The Sun� or the swooning album closing �Salvation,� asking the question �Do you feel alive?� You should, especially if you grew up in the 1980s, as BRMC channels the alt rock sound of a foregone era. Whatever your age, BRMC�s melodic psychedelic pop-rock is damn fine.

JACK DANGERS: Hello Friends! (Shadow). Toasted, nicely toasted. Lifting a quote from Jack Dangers� highly entertaining mix CD Hello Friends, toasted seems to be the best way to enjoy the 15-track opus from the legendary breakbeat master behind Meat Beat Manifesto. Though MBM isn�t quite dead, it�s clear Dangers� attention has been focused on the dub leanings of Tino Corp. lately. Hello Friends is comprised of previously released tracks on vinyl from Dangers, Tino, Ben Stokes� DHS and Mike Powell . The result, while not necessarily technically perfect, is a beat fiend�s wet dream, as Dangers slides effortlessly from the mambo-fused �Tropical Soul/Tino�s Beat� to the tongue-in-cheek head-nodder �Christmas In Hawaii� or the gleaming Latin groove of �Kick It Dub� (featuring a hilarious sample from �Charlie�s Angels�). Don�t miss Cuban maestro Tino and his amazing drumming abilities on the bonus video track! What a joy!

RICHIE HAWTIN: DE9: Closer To The Edit (Minus/NovaMute). Richie Hawtin has been at the forefront of confronting new technology since debuting in the early 1990s with FUSE and his most well-known moniker, Plastikman. His sparse and mechanical sound influenced many producers, emphasizing space and substance over predictability by de-emphasizing melody. Yet, his recent material has seemed more about technical skill than substance. But on DE9: Closer To The Edit, Hawtin raises the bar for himself and all electronic musicians with a jaw-dropping mix CD that brings back the subtle funkiness of his early material with an intricate yet minimal 21st century flair. DE9 is attracting headlines because of the usage of a burgeoning new technology called Final Scratch, which enables the user to �play� a digital music file via a specially-made blank vinyl record. Featuring 31 actual �tracks� from a slew of Detroit artists (including Carl Craig, Theorem, Basic Channel, Stewart Walker and many others), the album actually contains hundreds of loops and snippets from more than 100 tracks. The result is an amazingly complex album that is still seeping into my brain months after its release.

HERBERT: Bodily Functions (!K7/Soundslike). It seems as though the trend of the year was taking sampling to the next level by using unconventional sounds such as surgery, random conversations and breaking plastic in a musical framework. On Bodily Functions, Matthew Herbert marries unlikely field recordings with warm and inviting jazz arrangements (using such live instrumentation as piano, stand-up bass, clarinet, violin, flute and trumpet) and thumping house beats amidst a recurring theme about human interaction. The result is one of the most uniquely satisfying albums of the year. Indeed, Dani Siciliano�s luxurious vocals provide the perfect gel with Herbert�s sensuous, propulsive music. If nothing else, this is a great way to introduce jazz snobs to electronic music. Tasty.

PREFUSE 73: Vocal Studies + Uprock Narratives (Warp). Prefuse 73 is one of the pseudonyms of Atlanta�s Scott Herren, a hip-hop head with a jones for cutting up beats and loops and rearranging them in a zig-zag aural patchwork that somehow manages to make sense. Landing somewhere between downtempo hip-hop, IDM and jazz, Vocal Studies + Uprock Narratives carves out a style all its own via fuzzy, fractured beats and chopped-up half-beats, rickety breaks and ticking percussion, wobbly horn loops, flatulent synths that burp and burble and disorienting vocal clips -- contributors include Mikah 9, MF Doom, Aesop Rock and post-rock vocalist Sam Prekop � that are blended into the mix, used as another aural component rather being the focal point. The vibe is fairly low-key throughout, but the multifarious, flickering groove manages to satisfy both hip-hop headz and laptop geeks alike. And when does that ever happen? If this is where hip-hop is headed, I�m on the right train.

STACEY PULLEN: Today Is The Tomorrow You Were Promised Yesterday (Science). More than three years in the making, celebrated Detroit DJ Stacey Pullen moves away from his buoyant, soulful techno and house associated with pseudonyms such as Silent Phase and Kosmic Messenger. Instead, Pullen comes into his own with the impressive full-length debut Today Is The Tomorrow You Were Promised Yesterday. Melding the stark elements of Detroit techno (a hint of sadness and despair hangs over much of the album) with brisk percussive fills, rapid-fire snares and dense beat arrangements that point toward jazz, the album is accented by a plethora of lush, sparkling keyboards that effectively set the tone throughout. Though associated with the recent proliferation of the nu-jazz broken beat sound popular in the U.K., Today is more a reflection of Pullen�s desire to make a unique and experimental album from a jazz drummer�s perspective (the son of a musician, he spent years playing drums). Whether incorporating elements of opera (in the haunting �Vertigo�), subtle funk and R&B or banging hard house, Pullen�s scintillating album delivers numerous rewards.

URSULA RUCKER: Supa Sista (!K7). This was the triumphant year for spoken word goddess Ursula Rucker, as she moved from being a well-known local talent in her native Philadelphia to full-blown international star. Previously known best for her stirring and troubling poems that closed the last two Roots albums, Rucker effectively eliminates the predisposed aversion to spoken word with the raw, emotive album Supa Sista. Combining forces with several producers (including 4 Hero�s Dego McFarlane, Jonah Sharp, King Britt, Alexkid and Philip Charles), Supa Sista seethes with anger and fury as Rucker addresses a number of tough social topics such as domestic violence, poverty, drug abuse, racism and sexism. Her eloquent vocals are accentuated thanks to the album�s spare production, combining hip-hop, drum �n� bass and soul in a smooth style that never overpowers Rucker�s forthright intonations.


SLICKER: The Latest (Hefty). The Latest by Chicago�s Slicker (John Hughes, who also runs the Hefty label) is a crackly noise-trip of supernova proportions, set at armchair impulse power speed. Taking a side door exit from the post-rock experimental world representative of his previous work, Slicker gravitates toward a downbeat, abstract blend of digital and organic musical matter that fluctuates between IDM, glitch and 21st century jazz. Featuring guest appearances from the cerebral electronic duo Matmos (on the nimble �Swap Track�) and other Hefty labelmates, The Latest succeeds in challenging the listener through a series of minimal shifts in time and tone, creating an aural atmosphere that�s refreshingly chilly and spatial.

patch them in before they tell more stories of doom.

the man glanced at his wristwatch.
10:32 p.m.
"Damn," he thought. "I missed more than half of 'ER.' Now i'm never going to figure out who did what to whom, who fucked up and who's getting fucked. Everything's fucked."
He knew he was probably going to miss his favorite show in the whole wide world that night. But he had other things to do. Things that were more important than watching TV.
The man leaned down and looked at his keys before inserting them into the tiny, grungy keyhole that lead to his castle.
"Castle. That's fucking hilarious," he muttered, while glancing around the shabby studio apartment. Dirty clothes were strewn everywhere. A couple of t-shirts on the couch, one stuck behind the couch that was spattered with blood from the stupid ass papercut he got the week before; piles of newspapers cover nearly half the floor of the cramped one-window apartment; dirty dishes sitting underneath the table simply because he was NOT going to clean those fucking things anymore; a weakly bubbling fish tank with several dead fish floating on top; and a knotty old recliner containing exactly 3 1/2 beer cans (one was ripped in half), two crusty plastic plates, and a ripped towel.
He picked up the remote and clicked over to 'ER.' Dr. Benton was pissed again. Goddamn, that dude is always mad! What's up with that?
Just then he heard a crash behind him.
"What the fuck?" he yelled while standing up quickly and glancing around the room.
On the ground lay a beat-up aluminum can, one of those old thick aluminum cans that coke and pepsi used to use in the 1970s.
There was a white piece of paper wrapped around the entire can, with the words "Unknown contents" scrawled on it.
"Oh no!" he yelled.
He bent down and picked up the can, split in the middle as if somebody had split the can apart with some sort of cutting tool.
He looked inside, spotting a small round object wrapped up in white cloth. It was oozing with some sort of thick, gelatinous substance.
The man pulled apart the cloth and put the object on the kitchen counter.
"Not good," the man muttered. "Not good."
It was a human eye, staring back at him. It was warm and gooey, with a small puncture on the side in what was formerly the corner of someone's eye socket.
The man knew this was not normal.
But he wasn't surprised.

Tune in again for more exciting and wondrous adventures of "the man who has an eyeball in his studio"

i am very tired monsignor.

Watch out for slippery nickels.

Did you ever think about who had your money before you? And where that money might have been located? It's probably better not to think about, isn't it? Kind of like not wanting to know too much about exactly how that steaming, juicy hamburger sitting on your plate got there. We just don't want to know. I know I don't want to know. Probably even scarier is knowing how processed foods are, um, processed. I'll stick to eating licorice, drinking water and chewing bark.

Isn't it fun when you're hanging out in a public restroom and you reach for the toilet paper and the damn roll won't roll? So you're forced to unravel it ply-by-ply, praying you don't pull too hard.
It sure is a lot of fun, junior.

Hotcakes are the sweet sensation sweeping the nation.
Enjoy roast beef today.

whoa, i guess i was a hit obsessed about death in that last segment.
don't cry.
dry. your eye.
said Slick Rick to that man.
So the Top 10 seems to be going fine and jim-dandy.
Except for the fact that that i have like 25 cds for my top 10.
i keep thinking of more.

did you ever notice middle-aged men love to jangle change in their pockets while they're waiting for stuff?
i have noticed this.
yes.
I've never worn Prada.
Thank you.
i must do things now and be a productive citizen.
Today's meal was two pieces of pizza.
i must go back to my database.
onward and outward.

to clarify: when i said that women pull their shirts down, i meant specifically older women who are generally a bit overweight. Of course, this doesn't mean that younger women don't do it either. But i notice it much more with the older generation, the plus 40 crowd.
They still do obsess about pulling their shirts down to cover things.

H.R. Pufnstuf was a fine being.
I sure wish i was zestfully clean.

Short things are much more fun to write than long-winded things.
Ok, i guess it depends on my mood.
And that changes from day-to-day.

somehow i need to figure out how to put my contact info on this here blog.
it's blog blog.
I would like the log lady to be on my blog.

pretty sneaky, sis.
stop being a character actor today!

excellent time for a cocktail.
brace yourself, i'm leaving this dimension.
there may be a small sonic boom.
cover every orifice, if at all possible.

Today I interviewed Death Cab For Cutie.
They are a band.
They like indie rock.
The question is: Do they run with scissors?

Peace in Detroit, panic in Pakistan
Oh my goodness.
Gracious.
Grave malls of ire.

Irridation should be used to clean the urine off the streets. I would pay for it with my lunch money.

Don't look at yourself in the mirror today. Make your mom proud.

If a dolt shoots himself in the head and nobody cares, did he actually exist?
Today is open casket day! I do declare. All you closed caskets, get on open! You know who you are.
Another important quote heard in the mission the other day: "I feel death circulating all around me."
Yes.
I'm about to have some toast. It's white bread. Does this mean I'm racist? I think so.
Ok, what else can we talk about?
Yesterday, a smiling fellow standing near the Montgomery BART stop in SF was hawking boxes of Crispy Creme donuts. Entire boxes. And he had a bunch of them. I was taken aback. I cried.
I nearly vomited on the sidewalk in fear for my life.
Luckily, I was chewing Carefree. Whoo, what a load off.
Speaking of loads, I hereby declare that certain people are called "Whaler" behind their back. I'm sorry.
My toast is now finished but The Kitty is licking my right hand as i type, making it difficult to retrieve that damn toast. Man, if only I was back in Nam. These things wouldn't be happening.
Of course, I was dead when Nam was going on. At least initially. I was born during the Nixon era, when men were men and women were cleverly-packaged frankfurters selling for $1.99 a package.
My, how times have changed.
I need to be writing my best of 2001 right about now. So you best be not frontin.
For those about to rock, we salute dad.
Does anybody have any saddlebags they can give me? Please mumia, please.
I never liked Casper The Friendly Ghost. How do we know he was REALLY friendly? Maybe he was a mean ghost who liked to fuck with people's heads for kicks.
Of course, he had a good gig going on with the whole Harvey Comics hook-up.
Maybe it was the cash that was keeping him friendly.
You know, i certainly wish I had a buttermilk biscuit right about now. Unfortunately, I'll have to settle for a sour milk biscuit, which are nearly as good.
If you don't like Mondays and aren't Bob Geldof.
By the way, fuck Bob Geldof. the Boomtown Rats were not good.
And so what, he started Live Aid. does anybody remember Live Aid besides me?
Does anybody remember laughter? Don Knotts does.
As does the Ghost and Mr. Chicken. They fucked over Casper in that deal.
Paper mache people rule, especially without the accent.
Too bad my face is distorted. I would have made a great kidney.
Ah well, at least I have my bile to hang onto.
Since when did jazz become electronic music?
Oh yeah, since always.
I need to stop burping my Thai food I ate today or I'm going to fall off the earth.
Peeing freely before eating four pieces of toast is an important ritual in every mammal's life.
I can't wait till I get my period. Right after the exclamation point maturation.
It's November 6. Do you have any idea how many parties you've missed this year? Damn.
I hope I'm never flayed. That would be very sad for me.
Though he's an easy target, Michael Jackson deserves a good flaying. Maybe it would help him.
Or maybe the world would find out that Michael and LaToya are the same person.
Ass grinder....everybody sing along now.
another new album on the top 10 i forgot: prefuse 73
i done forgot to post this here post. i not so cool right now.
people don't like me because of the color of my fur.
you love madagascar.
from, titonton

The Beta Band was limp and wobbly for about two-thirds of their set last night at the Fillmore, then finally got the ball rolling with several tracks from the new album "hot shots II," including "squares." Overall, though, it was a disappointing show from the Beta Band.They had an interesting pre-show DJ and films, basically a series of silly video skits. Many of the films were also used in the show.
I just thought the band sounded rather lackluster and dull. Opening with "It's Not Too Beautiful," which includes the long interlude via the samples from "The Black Hole," lead singer went on this long vocal riff of nonsense that seemed like it'd never end.
As I said, the show finally picked up after they began playing their new material, way late in the set by that point.
Beta Band just may have dropped off the tim pratt top 10. They also lost out on T-shirt money from me. Good thing I didn't purchase the shirt beforehand.
On another note, this woman working the coat check was quite the pleasant one.
I walk up to the counter and see the sign that says "if you want earplugs, just ask for them." So i waited a couple minutes and was about to ask for my earplugs when the girl snarls "You want earplugs, right?" and pointed at this jar on the counter. So of course, i think the jar contains the earplugs. I reply "Yeah, how'd you know?" and she says "Because you're not carrying a jacket." Meanwhile, I lean toward the jar and i'm about to reach into the jar when she freaks out. "Don't put your hand in there! That's fucking stupid! That's for fucking donations!"
I felt like I was slapped in the face by my mom in the middle of the grocery store.
I was in this great mood and this bitch completely freaked me back into harsh reality for a few minutes.
Needless to say, I didn't give her any money.
Tina B. recommended that we write a note saying "Here's a tip. Maybe if you weren't such a bitch to people, you'd get some money." Yes, another fun-filled evening. Still, it wasn't a total loss.
The band proved their mettle somewhat with a great rendition of "She's The One" with all the band members playing various percussion. In fact, the group switched instruments on one song, though it was just so-so.
Methinks the Beta Band are more of a studio band.

Bacon bits aren't that good.
When you order bacon in a restaurant, you don't expect to get Canadian Bacon.
And when you do, that sucks.

Regarding the top 10: Add Monolake to the list.

Alright, I got bills to pay.
Get outta here.
eek-a-rat

i never understand why women are so obsessed with pulling their damn shirts over their butts.
like, it's going to make a difference.

on another note, some people look better from the side.

don knotts is not my father

Cracker love

OK, so today is a gorgeous day here in lovely San Francisco. Nobody's blown up our bridges yet either, which is a nice plus.
Let's hope we continue on that track, shall we?
As my pal Seofon says, "I'm open for monkey business."
I heard some great quotes in SF on Friday evening, walking in the Mission attempting to make the Day of The Dead celebration. of course, we missed them entirely, but we did see a lot of cool and nifty people walking about dressed as if they were dead.
Which is always good.
anyway, the quotes in question:
"He's gonna shoot you fo sho!" while the man in question nodded in agreement.
"She called me a ho but she don't even know me like that!" said the non-ho to her agreeing friend.
"I feel death swirling all around me" said the fellow in white-face makeup.

Thank you and keep driving.
I love it when people tell you that you're a "candidate" but never bother to get back to you.
Enjoyable.

Last week, I left my chocolate chip cookie in Peet's Coffee somehow. I don't understand how i lost the damn thing, but I did.
It was quite upsetting. Someone scored a free cookie.
Of course, I manage to lose many things.

Tonight is Beta Band! whoooooooooo. At the Fillmore.
I am quite excited. It should be a fine show for all non-humans, humans and sort-of humans.

Speaking of humans, we're pretty self-obsessed aren't we?
I mean obsessed with humans on a whole. We always look (i.e. stare) at each other, watch each other, sometimes hurt each other, project an incredibly wide range of emotions on each other and give each other physical pleasure via such odd practices as, oh i dunno, SEX.
All very strange concepts. We entertain each other, we make money off each other, we live off of each other.
Yes, it's a very broad philosophical question there, isn't it?

alrighty, well i need to take care of this pesky festering zit next to my nose so i better move on out.

remember, BJ and The Bear was a fine television program.
As was Manimal.
Eat soup today.

There's this woman that works at the Starbucks in the BofA building here in SF that has the loudest, most piercing voice. Drives me insane. Not that i stop at Starbucks. God forbid. But i still have to pass by her. she is quite loud.

Lots of people spit on the sidewalk. yummy.

i need a napkin

Ok, well it's 9 a.m. in the morning and i can't fight this feeling anymore, much like reo speedwagon.
woke up feeling like i didn't accomplish a damn thing this weekend, even though i did.
the dark days of unemployment are looming once again after a short respite. my temp job seems to be ending soon, as there's little work to be done.
unemployment is worse than ever, you know.
ugh ugh ugh.
looks like i've got a lot more work to do.
but maybe that's what all i should do. concentrate fully on just writing writing writing.
and stop worrying about other shit. thank god the show season is going to slow down soon.
but i'm going to have to not go out as much anyway. it's impossible to do as much as i have been.
somehow the concentration needs to be put into a few things.
god, i'm stuck in this fucked up catch-22 in that i'm not very happy where i'm living because i have roommates that are incredibly distracting and situation that makes it difficult to concentrate.
yet, i have to because i can't afford to move and with the potential loss of job again, i could be way fucked.
i guess i don't understand how i got where i am. but here i am.
something needs to happen. something needs to change.
the question is how to do so.
hmmmm.
all this said, i had a pretty good weekend nonetheless. good hanging with friends and good chill time. never enough work actually completed, which always kind of annoys me.
if there was a way to get discipline implanted into my skull, that would really help immensely.

on another totally different note: a few more albums to add to the best of list:
peter benisch
mouse on mars
solea amphibia
orbital

2001 hasn't been the greatest year for clear-cut choices. lots of fairly good stuff, but nothing that really blew me away completely.
more ughness.

somehow i missed the benefit last night that many friends attended at 1015. chalk it up to plain old fashioned sleep and tiredness. just couldn't make it. i had places i could have gone too.
hmmm. you can't do everything.
somehow i wish i could do everything.
sunday is such a hard day to get excited about anyway.

well, my left eye is twitching and i need coffee, so i better move on out.
keep on keeping on and tell casey kasem he's in serious trouble.

love, chunk

if there's one thing i can't stand, it's random ranting for absolutely no reason.
i mean, what is up with those assholes? don't they know what i'm talking about?
who can understand anything anymore? it's all gone to hell.
and we all know where hell is.
bracing yourself is the first step.
i know this may not make the kind of understanding you desire, but at least you're one with nature and other things.
don't tell me about children.
i know who i am.
speed back on the promenade.
yo.
keep it on.
for this is the first and only way to understand exactly what i'm fucking saying.

on to other things of interest:
i need to pick my top 10 favorite albums of the year by wednesday. i needs to do it yo.
and other things. i also gotta get on top of. you know, you know.
at length, it tis.
here are some contenders:
floppy sounds
plaid
beulah
adult
stacey pullen
beta band
slicker
herbert
bjork
brmc
steve bug
stewart walker
groove armada
to rococo rot
ursula rucker

i need to go through more of my cds, albums and things to fully make the decisions i must make.
but make no mistake, make no mistake is the biggest cliche used today, both as a joke to make fun of g-dub (whooo, i'm sly yo) and also to use in all seriousness.
whatever.
make no mistake, i will make a decision. and make no mistakes, i hope.
i can only try.
troika is sitting up and nearly asleep.
i am full of pizza right now, freschetta.
it is 7:57 p.m.
i'm supposed to go to the city tonight but i really don't know if i'm going to make it.
on the other hand, ursula rucker is good. i'd almost rather go to that.
peace be with my butt.
i need to work on shit yo.
looks like i got me a fishin' pole.
love, crunkle

oh grandma, don't you cry for me. you shit yourself in front of my tree.
i enjoy those things that you said. as long as you are dead.
i have no use for a head.
impressive ass to be sure.
but who needs that when you have cream of wheat.
important things deserve important time.
love, bobo

This is my first call and response. And damn, it feels good.
Now shut the fuck up and leave me the fuck alone.
Onward christian soldiers.
and related shit
love,
bobo