:: a.whisper.in.water ::

:: Saturday, August 09, 2003 ::

Dear Mr. Gates...
Were I he, I'd have my PR folks distance myself from my products, since they seem to suck such copious racehorse shaft on such a regular basis. I mention this concurrently with a lost post, when my computer spontaneously reset when I loaded Unreal Tournament. Twice. Makes sense, doesn't it. Naturally, I run the risk of sounding like a technilliterate moron, railing against a machine that is stretched beyond its capacity, misused and neglected, but need I remind the jury that this shit is new, and I feel rather entitled in my ire, since (and this will sound familiar) this shit simply shouldn't happen. And I had a mildly-pretentious review of Welcome Interstate Managers in good progress, too. Poo. It's really fucking good, by the way. Collingwood does a great Cars impersonation on the radio-friendly "Stacy's Mom," and they'd be fools not to include a "My Best Friend's Girl" or such in their live set. It suffers from the same weakness as Utopia Parkway: a weak, weak end. It's hard to top "Everything's Ruined," and they've yet to do so as an album closer. The throwaway "Senator's Daughter," though instrumentally crisp and spot-on, isn't enough to make up for the stream of bilge one has to wade through to get there: "Laser Show?" "Lost In Space?" Yikes. Though "Prom Theme" is a solid number in the vein of (ugh, dare I?) Rockin' the Suburbs, FoW possess that unassuming, carefree power-pop edge that Ben Folds will never, never have, mostly because FoW's overall sound comes from heavy, playful guitars with synth accompaniment, rather than the losing piano + drum machine combo, but slightly in part because he reminds me of Billy Joel. There's no shortage of cute ballads on Welcome Interstate Managers too, though the almost-tragic, Oasis-evoking "Supercollider" has no business being on the album. Ooh, and James Iha plays guitar on an otherwise-weak song! Oops. It's definitely not without its flaws, but it's a solid embracing of a polished, produced sound that their self-titled release was better off without, and Utopia Parkway occasionally finds smothering. Right, on to the next CD.

Holy shit, I'm flying to Boston(!!) tomorrow, unless the government grounds me again. If they do that again, I'm sending a box full of my feces to the White House. With a catapult. From across the street. It's far too late, but there's no point in going to bed when you're this jouncy. Plus, there's been a lot of 'craftin' goin' on, and I need to type off a few retarded losses on retarded maps. I don't know why I thought psi storm would work on 'toss, but I made tons of templar anyway. Oops.

In happy, meaningful, relevant news, Jenn found a way to make prolonged contact with me from the island, though unfortunately I was out erranding my ass off with the folks, rendering me far from as available as I'd like to have been, though I hope I've made up for it through my slew of voice mails, some of which are far from sane...I suspect one of my personalities is Balki from Perfect Strangers, though any awkward chap from behind the Iron Curtain will do. I've had a good couple of chats with Anne (she posts frequently enough, she gets linked: simple as that), one nice and one mean (wherein we argue about things to no effective end, and just get generally punchy). So, I'm to check whether or not spiders drink human blood (i.e, whether they bite unprovoked, or only in instances of feeling threatened), and if they do, not alter my behavior at all, because, hey, spiders are cool. I tend to let them live, and feel poorly killing them when I do. I let one ride with me on a pointless trip to the barbershop (my particular stylist/barber/what-have-you wasn't in that day, so I remain a scruffy fellow indeed), though I'm almost certain it caught the wind and blew away on the wildest ride I could possibly give a spider. They both like alt-estrorock, they both listen to lyrics intently, they both hate spiders...though I'm probably out of line in making these comparisons, I really just wish the situation were friction-free and that they played well together.

So, as cute as Topanga was on "Boy Meets World," the fact that the actress portraying her dated Lance Bass is a little stomach-turning, though I can just as well play the card of TOTAL IRRELEVANCE, realize I'm blathering about nothing that anyone cares about, and go to fucking bed. (though Topanga was way cute; ah, the weakness for the hot nerd girl is strong in me) What the fuck happened to that show? It went all crazy and they got married and Mr. Feeny got prostate cancer, or something. Maybe I'm making that up, but dude, LOOK at him. Totally has it in the cards).

::The Spread of God (Roughly Transcribed From the Book of Fucking Awesome Things)::
+ Advocado
+ Roasted Garlic
+ Lime juice (take it somewhat easy)
+ Olive Oil (definitely take it easy)
+ Capers (to taste)

- Mix in a bowl and thank me later, though it'd be faster to thank my mom.

Music: Massive Attack - Inertia Creeps. Trip-hop with hook-filled vocals from a guy who knows how the fuck to deliver them. Sweetness. Alternately, pretty much all of Portished's Dummy, though notable tracks include "It Could Be Sweet," "Numb," "Wandering Star," and pretty much the rest of the album.

:: Aziz 5:13 AM [+] ::
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