Thursday, August 24, 2006

Outa Here

Tomorrow morning, we leave for Oakland, to finally get this kid off to art school. So don't expect me to be around for the next week. In a way, it kinda sucks, because it means I won't be able to go to the Sunset Junction Street Fair this weekend. Redd Kross and The Eels are playing Saturday, and Sunday actually has a pretty amazing lineup: Candye Kane, Dave Alvin (of the blasters), The Drive-By Truckers (one of my current favorite bands), Hank Williams III, and the headliner is The Cramps! And I realize that The Cramps are probably well past their prime, but I've somehow managed to have lived 38 years without seeing them. It seems like I should see them at some point before I (or, more likely, they) die. Ah well...

Hey, Christina Aguillera is paying homage to The Carrie Nations! The chorus of this song includes the refrain "Sweet-talkin', Sugarcoated Candyman!" It's a pretty fun song, too. I just burned it onto a mixtape for the trip.

One thing I forgot to mention in my last post, what most liked about Snakes on a Plane, is that it actually is about exactly what the title says. There's some movie that keeps showing on IFC or Sundance called The Invisible Circus, but then you read the synopsis and it's something like, I dunno, "two misfits find comfort in their friendship in post-war Poland" or something. Fuck that. If the movie's called The Invisible Circus, I want it to be about a fucking invisible circus! Or this movie called The Squid and the Whale. You hear that title, you think "fuck yeah, I'll watch that!" Then you see it, it's just about some loser growing up in Manhattan. Fuck that, I want to see a movie about a giant squid and a sperm whale battling to the death!

Adding this to my reading list.

Detective Bart Lasiter was in his office studying the light from his one small window falling on his super burrito when the door swung open to reveal a woman whose body said you've had your last burrito for a while, whose face said angels did exist, and whose eyes said she could make you dig your own grave and lick the shovel clean.

That's the winner of this year's Bulwer-Lytton Fiction Contest, the object of which is to come up with the worst possible opening sentence for a novel. Bulwer-Lytton was the author of Paul Clifford, the novel that begins "It was a dark and stormy night," a reference which I never quite got when reading Peanuts anthologies as a child. Jess Nevins calls bullshit. (I'm burying the lede here--it's the Jess Nevins link I want everyone to follow).

Sleestaks!!!!!!!!

More great Batmusic!!!!!

These guys tried to add my myspace. I don't want them on there, but I do think it's pretty funny, so as a compromise, I will link to them.

And with that, I sign off the internet for the next several days. Have fun.

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