Massive Aggressive

Rain blows, with the exception of its rare byproduct, rainbows, which rule. Rain makes friends not see you DJ, and granted, it is a valid excuse (I too have used the rain to not go out, so, this is by no means a passive aggressive attack upon 95% of my readership). If only rain could somehow be limited to the 3am-6am time period and days where I need not be tempted outside by nice temperatures and activities... Anyways, Grow Up is this Wednesday, April 7th, 2010, at Madrone Lounge, and forecast is clear, with 9mph winds, 54F, and if that prediction holds its course, I expect to be emancipated from any of the weather related excuses mustered by friends who have guarenteed attendance.

So I'm gonna be upfront about it: I'm reposting up a track that I got off of the following blog, which totally kicks ass, Kefir80s. It's all in Russian, but it does have an autotranslate tab, which I might add is very progressive (OMP and most American blogs, alike to American citizens in general, assume that every visitor is gonna roll over for the English language, and to a certain extent that follows suit with a worldwide trend, which has been imposed upon you all by marketing, occupation, and whole host of other factors). I'd put Kefir80s up on that sidebar which shows all the blogs I dig, but I can't, since I only update my bitchass cry baby of a blog at work. The computer that I'm provided with is kind of a dinosaur (Dell Optiplex 210L), and it tends to crash whenever I open up any type of pop-up style window in IE. So I'll just shout them out and update it at some point in the future.

Some Library Business, re-edited by Alien Delon who runs the aformentioned blog. I'm gonna just leave up his tags on the tracks. Is that proper form in blog etiquette, or is it better to just link to the post? Who knows (who cares)?
Garnegy & Maties - Dominique Et Darina (Alien Delon Extended Edit)

Discount

It's nice to know that my Bachelor's Degree was utilized today to its fullest potential. I was asked to remove staples from a packet of 20 handouts for my superior officer! I was really able to put my motor skills to use! I love it how at work, when I am asked to do a relatively complicated task, they address me very professionally, with even a tad of respect, and direct me like a normal human being. However, when I'm asked to do something ridiculous and insulting, I am instructed to do so as if I am retarded. Like today, I was approached with this tantamount staple-removal task, and instructed at an ultra loud and slow pace, with every word enunciated to its extreme. I'D LIKE YOU TO REMOVE THE STAPLES...AND THEN...REMOVE THE LAST PAGE...AND THEN...RE-STAPLE THE PACKET...DO YOU THINK YOU CAN HANDLE THAT? Oh and also, can you please send us the budget update for the entire quarter, with all net gains and losses highlighted, and provide an explanation of the reason for any negative loss.

New edit up...some acidic business.
Mr. Lee - Pump Up London (Hotthobo Edit)

Back It Up

So for the eight-billionth time, I needed to get on my skateboard to escape my life, and I wound up re-injuring my back (I was sort of aware this would happen, as, being down & out and impulsive, makes for having little to no self-control). Unfortunately, skateboarding and booze are my only two outs for current problems in my brain, and they both damage my body. What the fuck? In order to remedy one, I have to damage the other. Odd how that works, but I guess its fitting, in a very sick way (thank you God, I hope you are laughing). Buying stuff is another go-to method of coping, but that hurts the wallet, and actually doesn't really help the brain, unless your new material possession somehow tricks the brain into thinking that you are now somehow improved (this is the mind frame that capitalism feeds on; my insecurities ultimately make others rich!). Of course, music helps too, and I don't think that there is a much better tune to post up (that hits some of the sentiment expressed in self-healing, at least lyrically) than A Rock 'N' Roll Fantasy by The Kinks. For an extra added bonus, I've included another track of sheer sublime beauty, Jennifer, by Faust. These two are getting me through tough times of pain and anguish, so hopefully they'll do something for you.
The Kinks - A Rock 'N' Roll Fantasy
Faust - Jennifer

Scumstache

There are a ton of little bullshit tasks that I wish I could somehow eliminate from my life without ever having to deal with any of the consequences. The ones that really seem to provide me with the most anguish deal primarily with haircuts and shaving. I’ve already provided blog with a long account of my hatred of haircuts, so now it’s time to rant about something that happens even more frequently, and granted, has less risk. I mean if you get a shit haircut, it’s the pits for at least 3 weeks, or until you buzz your head down to size. Shaving is more like a constant mosquito nipping at you ever two days, reminding you (at least in my case) that you could never grow any impressive facial hair other than a scumstache (thank you 25% french canadian heritage) or the dreaded neck beard. Plus blood will be drawn, occasionally, which always seems to happen before a wedding or a (court) date. I can’t foresee any time in my life that I would actually grow anything out and keep a mustache, beard, muttonchops, etc…; sideburns are the extent of the facial look for me.

I’ve actually considered getting the laser hair removal on my face, as the thought of not having to shave 120 times per year seems on the surface to be an nice advantage. However, perhaps having a neck beard will be the new scarf in 2020, and I’d hate to not be adequately equipped to participate in any fledging trend. Laser hair removal is pretty tight though. I mean, if I wanted to, I could permanently etch something cool and simple, like a music note, into my cheek, and people would say "Hey, that dude, likes music". All at once they would understand my bond with sound waves. There was this one dude at my high school, and I forget his name (but it was something epic like “Jazz” or “Turbo”), and not only was he mature beyond his years (both physically and mentally), but he could pull off an entire neon green Sean John jumpsuit with neon green Saucony Shadows (in the exact same hue), and also rocked cool designs in his facial hair, like half a basketball, or a diamond. All the girls loved him, he like, knew all the janitors by their slang/street names, teachers cut him slack, and everybody was giving him 5 at all times.
Golden Dawn - I'll Be Around

Hate

Fuck you blog. I've got much better things to do with my life, like bend over backwards for a bunch of people I get paid to assist. When do you ever pay me? I've given you eveything, and you've given me nothing more than an outlet to a repetitive, simple activity (in an otherwise endless void). I'm starting to loathe the pointlessness of it all (anyone looking for ad space?), and I'm thinking that instead of spending time developing sentences, I should be bidding on abused puppies on the internet. Ya'know, start my own kennel: do something worthwhile.

In re-reading this garbage, I've realized that this should probably be posted in missed connections on craigslist instead of up here (even though it isn't a missed connection, crap like this gets posted there on the regular, with bad poetry, youtube links, dick pics, giberish, etc... I think thats why they created rants and raves, but nobody seems to check those out). Ahhhh, I'm running low on time and creativity today, and I'm sorta mad at blog for some reason. I've been told that winners don't make excuses...
Xavier - Work That Sucker To Death

Compromised Ethics aka Blog Sympathy

I post up music onto the blog and people do not even care. That is not to imply that people care about my blog either, as I feel that the only people that really frequent it, are people I actually know (and they probably only check it out, because I’ve referenced it and reamed it into their minds in the real world. Sorry about that, cohorts). Enough sympathy rambling for the moment, as there is an issue that I want to explore.

So I record a track or two off some album that I like from the mid 70s or 80s or whatnot, and feed it to the blog. In theory I understand that, without their permission, I am officially stealing and screwing over the artists by posting up their songs (if the albums they reside on are currently in print). Like, if you could buy the Wah Wah Watson album Elementary right now, brand new, from the record store, I’d be preventing a potential buyer from purchasing the album since getting a free taste might just compromise the impulse to make the purchase (especially the case if the whole album is available), even though the album as a whole is pretty amazing and recommended. I do agree with that concept, but, since his album is not currently in print, is it still negative for me to post up one MP3? I’m not putting up the whole album, and even if I did, the artist would not stand to make a penny from an interested buyer. That buyer would have to seek out the album (99% likely it’d be used) in a record store, or on ebay, and there is no chance what-so-ever that a dime from that exchange is going to get back to the artist.

So what does the artist prefer? The free promotion, to get readers interested to either find their albums used (which will get them no money), or to purchase reprints/current albums (which will get them some dough hopefully, based on how they negotiated their deals), or to have no tangible/downloadable auditory presence on the net, and simply be based in print. In my case, it does not matter much, since no one downloads anything off my blog anyways. It’s seriously pathetic how little people are moved by the shit that gets me into the boogie groove, chills me out, etc… It’s almost as if everyone just gets to the blog by accident and then reads a couple seconds of my bullshit and then peaces.
Change - Hold Tight
Wah Wah Watson - Good Friends

100

Well, One Man’s Problem, has made it to its 100th post!!!! Big fucking deal, right?!? Perhaps not to you, but for me, it’s like defeating that one level of Mega Man that gave me such a hard time as an adolescent. There were no significant changes in my life after the boss had been defeated, and it wasn’t like I’d beat the entire game; it was just a checkpoint that I could officially lay to waste. So, at this instant, if “wasting time at work” was a legitimate sport, I like to think that I’d be drafted into the minors, or at least on the radar of some respectable scouts. I mean there is something about the number 100 that is more significant and relevant than say 87. I’d like to say dignified too, but, I could’ve just dug up my 100th grave to have unprotected necrophiliac sex. So I’ll settle for significant and relevant.

On my way back from lunch, while brainstorming a topic to include on my 100th post, I was able to come across something a bit off topic, which I have to include, that I think holds true to many of the sentiments expressed here on the blog (mostly, how extremely depressing events [that don’t involve physical pain or destruction] that don’t relate directly to my personal life, often juice me up. I hate to say that I wallow in others’ sorrow, but if there is a certain sense of humor in that sorrow, where it becomes bittersweet, it just destroys me in the best way). As I just walked back to work from my lunch, I saw a bum in the corner of a packed parking lot, slumped over with his pants half off, singing (loudly and surprisingly in key) “Let’s Get It On” into a Schlitz microphone. I know it's messed up, but it couldn’t have made me happier: instant smiles, among a crowd of horrified tourists.

So, despite the fact that one of my least favorite holidays, Valentine’s Day, occurred over the last weekend, I was still able to have a relatively epic time here is San Francisco. V-Day is always, and I assume, will always, be a tough day to cope with, regardless of relationship status. It either affirms a sense of pathetic loneliness, creates guilt for any half-way, unfulfilling or strictly sex based relationship a person might have (which are either entirely doomed or pointless), and/or hustles one's brain and wallet in an intense rush to sheepishly meet any televised or government-ordained, neurotic Valentine’s Day criteria that has been consumed and accepted by lovers across this continent since birth. Regardless, I was able to spend some money on my true (and partially tangible) love at the KUSF Rock n Swap Record Fair. I could probably write a couple pages that outline just how weird I think these events are, and expand about all the record collector/reseller stereotypes and anomalies that you’d observe in the period of an hour. Perhaps I will in the future, and hopefully I can get that article published in Sweatpants Quarterly. I’m sure that I fit the exact mold of your common record nerd, with impulsive/feeble budgeting skills and odd neurological social ticks, and I could also expand on that. But, for now I’d like to just list a couple stand out moments from the two hours that I spent stimulating my eyes and ears with my so-called “peers”:
1. Watched a guy scratch his balls for a full minute while explaining his pricing system to me.
2. When I asked if the price could be negotiated for a particular record, some seller psyched me out saying he’d sell a $40 dollar record to me for $15 bucks. When I said “really?” with some excitement, he looked me dead in the eyes, paused, and said “No!” and snickered. For the record (not to get literal, waka, waka, waka) I’d never met or talked with this guy in my life before our little conversation.
3. Observing two nymphets (possibly aged anywhere from 15 to 22 years old) in short shorts and revealing tops pass by a table of ugly old men, and watching as all of them stopped whatever conversation or browsing was occurring, to focus their communal energy on staring at these girls' assess in unison.
4. The guy that told me that the DJs are the only ones who buy the “Queer” music off him.
5. The guy, who didn’t have a record under $30 for sale, who lectured me with a straight face (and without me even asking) that his definition of “VG” or “Very Good” condition trumped all other sellers in the building. To put it in his words, “My VG is everyone else’s Mint. Some of these guys wouldn’t know a Mint record if it was still sealed”. I assume he uses that line often.
6. Two jazz aficionados arguing loud and arrogantly about which label was the most relevant: Blue Note, Verve, or Prestige.
7. Lastly, the sweatpants/balding long hair combo, who dropped his piece of pizza, face down onto the dirty carpet (that everyone had been pacing around on all day), and then rapidly picked it up and ate it with no hint of remorse in front of everybody there.
The Three Degrees - The Runner (Loose Shus & Hotthobo Edit)
Incredible Bongo Band - Bongo Rock
Split Endz - Poor Boy
Dynasty - Here I Am
Dynasty - Revenge
Herbie Hancock - Magic Number

Torture

What do you do when you tell someone (in a very professional setting) that what they did was uncouth, and they listen to you attentively, process it, apologize, swear it’ll never happen again, and then do the same fucking thing a week later? Do you throw a fit? Give them the cold shoulder? Do something equally fucked up to them out of spite? Maybe I should just dump a full canister of scalding hot coffee in their face, and pretend like we both just won the super bowl. Of course that would be a waste of coffee, but unlike boiling water, it burns, smells and stains. I’ll probably just hold it inside.

Sorry blog, I’ve got a date with Microsoft Excel today.
Brenton Wood - I Want Love
Brenton Wood - I Think You've Got Your Fools Mixed Up
Codek - Tim Torum

Counter Culture

While at the video store the other day, I noticed that the clerk was moaning under his breath, as a couple near the register discussed whether or not to rent the movie A Mighty Wind. Dude, was fed up with all these fakers not renting the right stuff, and it was clear that he has that complex which a lot of peeps in the retail world have: no one understands me/you people are all idiots. I get it, as I had the same complex when I worked at a record store, and I’d have to ring up Radiohead CDs and listen to people spew about how Thom Yorke changed their lives. But dude, you gotta just step back sometimes and think, I work at the place that harbors all the things that I love, and while it may be an outlet for retards with horrible taste to cop “tip of the iceberg” cinema (or fill in the blank with a specific product), when they could dig for some real meat, it is still a haven for obsessives (like you) to geek out. So to all the underpaid ‘tards who work at places that foster the things that they are actually passionate about , perk up for a moment. You are where you belong, and if your boss and/or management are dicks, just start stealing. It really makes that abuse tolerable.
Kurupt - Calling Out Names

Just Bad

My roommate just purchased a huge screen TV with the works, yet, we do not have cable, and the last movie that he bought was Beverly Hills Chihuahua (which is apparently “good”, according to a friend of mine, so perhaps I should not judge solely upon the title/cover). Such I've been subject to a bunch of flicks lately, and the last few I’ve seen, whilst being visually stimulating, also stimulate vomit to come up onto my lap (with the exception of District 9, which did make me want to throw up, but solely out of joy). That last sentence was cheesy, but not as cheesy as my last two weeks of movie watching (newest Star Trek and Avatar, fyi). Waka, waka, waka. Obviously the FX are the nuts, and the 3D boobs (or bluebs) on the aliens are procuring rock hard boners on 13-50 year old males world-wide (and after draining them, they’ll be saving up all their cash to get those hair tassel things implanted, so they can link up to flying pterodactyls), but the plots to these movies are sooooooo fucking cheesy that I almost need to regress mentally just to endure them. The wholesome and sociopolitical messages directed at the audience are so ludicrous that they are similar to a Care Bears Movie, where the power of a smile transforms pure evil into a shiny sailboat or something. Ah fuck, just like America I’m a clone, shamelessly blogging about movies and Avatar. That hurts, and while it’s true that I could forgo posting this, I’d rather just point out my lack of originality (which in itself is original, right?). I can only blame this on the fact that I drank tea today instead of coffee. Hmmmmmmmmm.

Let’s talk about sythnthesizers for a second (or more so, summarize some shit that I read on Wikipedia that I found interesting. I don’t wanna claim it like this is some first-hand info that I am privy to). For me, synths are responsible for some of the best non-traditional music ideas to come up in the last 40 years or so. I had always thought that the first synths were a product of the late 60s (I mean people credit Moog as being the first one specific to music, more or less), but apparently the first electric synthesizer was patented in 1876 by Elisha Gray (best known for his development of the telephone prototype, a by-product of which became the Musical Telegraph). Gray accidentally discovered that he could control sound from a self vibrating electromagnetic circuit and in doing so invented a basic single note oscillator. On December 29, 1874, Gray gave the first public demonstration of his invention for transmitting musical tones and transmitted "familiar melodies through telegraph wire" according to a newspaper announcement. This was the first electric music synthesizer using self vibrating electromagnetic circuits that were single-note oscillators operated by a two-octave piano keyboard. The "Musical Telegraph" used steel reeds whose oscillations were created by electromagnets and transmitted over a telegraph wire. Gray also built a simple loudspeaker in later models consisting of a vibrating diaphragm in a magnetic field to make the oscillator tones audible and louder at the receiving end. Basically the guy is an inventor/gangsta that paved the way for bands like Tonto’s Expanding Head Band to wreck shop on my speakers.
Tonto's Expanding Head Band - Tama
Tonto's Expanding Head Band - Cybernaut

Facebook

Fucking Facebook is the ultimate validation of popularity. I never felt that I was particularly popular, but I did at one point feel that people I know would respond somewhat (whether positively or negatively) to my attempted jokes and banter. There is nothing worse than typing up a quick soliloquy summarizing your agony, or posting a link that defines your sentiments concretely, and receiving absolutely no response, while Cool Girl 87 posts up “I love tacos” and gets 15 responses from her peer group, affirming that sentiment like she deserves a Nobel Prize. On Myspace, I felt that my relatively low friend count, made me selective, as opposed to pathetic. But with Facebook, that shit is ultra-tested to the max, as you can have tons friends (who don’t give a shit about you) and you basically bomb your audition to entertain them, every time a post goes unanswered. It’s a harsh-ass barge, and a high school-esque dose of reality ("Facial...Disgracial" to be muttered with a Valley accent).

Tracks this week are all courtesy of Fenster a.k.a. (DJ) Fenstar. Dude has an epic record collection, and I’m already hyper-stoked on the jams that we recorded the other day. Even back in the day, he was waaaaay ahead of his time; anyone who has seen the Pineapple Man freestyle homevideo knows that even as a teen, he was destined for great things. Today’s track is a dollar bin find, of synth geek Don Muro, and as a bonus, there's a Fatback track I've been meaning to put up, which if I don't put up now, I'll surely forget and then be wasting 8MB of space in my Divshare account (which would be wack, since I'm all about keeping that shit tight and tidy).
Don Muro - Squash
Fatback - (Are You Ready) Do The Bus Stop

Music Reviews

I’m writing real music reviews again (without the pretense of comedy, unfortunately) which is the lowest form of scum that I can commit to text. I’m embarrassed, and I can’t think of a better way to get over it other than to rant about it on my pathetic blog. The only possible benefit that I see from a music review is just the information that the album/artist exist, and maybe getting some knowledge of the label and the genre. Outside of that, everything written to praise, rate, compare or deny the album is beyond subjective and relative entirely in sphere to personal tastes, experiences, and influences. How the fuck is anything that I have to say about an album even closely relevant for someone who is entirely obsessed with octave bass-lines. I think that shit is hack, but that’s not to say that I did not at one point enjoy it (electro-clash anyone?). The purpose of the review is to ultimately make you want to buy or avoid the album, right? I’ve probably wasted thousands of dollars in my lifetime buying crap that I read was great, which I ended up hating, dismissing, and returning. I’ve also probably avoided albums that I totally would’ve dug, due to 20 sentences written by some college-educated dipshit (like myself) with obvious comparative skills and feeble technical knowledge.

There are tons of bands that I’ve absolutely hated from the get go, which are revered by music dorks everywhere (like Yacht), and conversely bands that I love which get more hate than I think they really deserve (unfortunately none are coming to mind, but they do exist; maybe think along the lines of simple synthy 80s stuff). Also what happens when I am not familiar with the obscure band that the new band is blatantly ripping-off? Do they deserve credit for ideas that they did not even attempt to develop into something slightly more unique? Am I a shitty writer because I didn’t realize it? Yes. Oh, okay.
Wuf Ticket - Ya Mama
Wuf Ticket - Ya Mama (Instrumental)
S.O.S. Band - S.O.S. (Dit Dit Dit Dat Dat Dat Dit Dit Dit)
S.O.S. Band - Take Love Where You Find It
Pino D'Angio - Ma Quale Idea

Heart of Gold

Whatahhhhhha, Whataaahhhhhhhhaaa, Water. Can't sleep. Don't Care. Damned if I do and I'm damned if I don't but I love you. I'm talkin' Alan Parsons. I'm talking late night, drunk, cigs, spitting, dancing, rapping with cab drivers and getting their phone numbers. Fucking Avatar, and America and violins. Drunk post (obviously) and I told myself never, but I'll let it ride for the day after new years. If you are stalking me, then absorb this shit (right now). I run my 300 viewership to the fullest, heed my words. If you know me personally, then this is not a cry (for) to help (seriously, its ok). I'm talking listening to cds on my tv, laying down with the laptop on and the backspace key. This one is out to all my mates abroad, keeping shit massive, and the shirtless dude wearing elvis glasses that didn't think I was funny at the club (i was on point tonight dude). Ups to divshare, google images and photobucket, without you I'd be the same but without this international voice. Next track is mad gay, but Padded Cell sampled it, and even so, gay shit is cool.
Lime- I Don't Wanna Lose You

Appraisal

The reason that I'm sitting here at 8 am, by myself in a cafe, typing this shit (on a Wednesday morning that I have off from work no less) is due to the fact that some dip-shit is in my apartment doing an appraisal. Which leads me to the paranoid feeling that in the near future either my rent will be raised, or the place will be sold: the end result of both will cause me to move yet again. When I moved into my current apartment, my motto was "this will be the last time". So, lets briefly, vaguely, and indiscriminately run through my moving/living situation over the last 7 years since I initially moved to San Francisco. Yet another ME! post, so read it or fuck off and scroll to the bottom and just get the free track (its a real good one today).

1. After couch surfing for a few weeks, I found a rich young adult with a great place on Craigslist, that paid 2/3s of the rent on a shared unit in which I got more space than him(?). Although he was on par with some of the shittier drunks I've met, it was honestly rarely a problem since we didn't hang much, and he had money (drunks without money suck, duh). Everything was fine until some pill popping alcoholic piece of night trash from Long Beach moved up to go to SF State, asked to sleep at ours for a few weeks till she found a place, and ended up staying for five months. With every last dollar I could muster, I saved up to take a trip to Japan for two weeks, and upon my return I found that my roommate had gone on a bender, taken our "guest" to Vegas, married her, bought a house, and was moving out in two weeks.
2. Having just enough to cover next month's rent I hit up Craigslist like a fiend, and found a shithole with a roommate somewhat in my age range who did not need a deposit. Parts of my room went down at a 30 degree angle, but I took it out of desperation. Upon moving in I discovered that I'd be living with an unfixed pitbull that was afraid of everything and everyone (she probably needed glasses, but they don't make those for dogs. Actually, I stand corrected), and a roommate that did coke every other night and dated a stripper, that he lambasted for her career choice and alleged infidelity (although he brought home random bar skanks, and genuinely nice girls home on the regular behind her back). My friends hated coming over, and after 3 months I bounced,
3. To end up with some kid fresh into City College whose Dad had just jetted from his house to move in with some model. It was the kid's first time living alone, and anything seemed better to me than where I was before, until I got my bank statement a month later with 6 checks (totalling only $140) on it that I didn't write, made out to said kid, with my signature forged. He said he needed money to buy weed. So left that arrangement, and took a bunch of the nice furniture that he had at Daddy's place as a consolation prize.
4. Moved in to a crazy nice but sketchy place with a guy that grew weed (a lot of weed) inside, and a graphic designer. Best place ever: cheap rent, super huge, immaculate detailing, jacuzzi tub, free laundry, but everything I owned always smelled like weed, and everyone always thought I was high (and I kinda was as I was getting free pot).
5. Moved after a year and a half (longest place other than my childhood home that I've ever lived in) to get a place with my then girlfriend.
6. Moved everything into the unit upstairs after about half a year due to the downstairs neighbor being adverse to any music at anytime of day ever. I used to get blamed for my then upstairs neighbors' music all the time, in conjunction with my own, and she had the landlord's number on speed dial (I felt worse for him than anybody actually) and had a therapist girlfriend who used to like to confront me about how "I was restricting the freedom from flowing in their apartment". After the move up things from a neighborly perspective improved, but these were times of extreme mental anguish and paranoia.
7. After another 6 months moved again, across town, as the gf wanted a larger place with a yard.
8. After another 3 months gf and I parted ways. I spent two of the shittiest months of my life living with her while looking for a new place and then moving into the place which I'm in now, which I like.

I know that nobody cares. Still, I recounted all of it just to simply state that I don't want my rent raised, or my place sold. I am very broken in regards to the moving thing, and although it is a basically a constant ritual in my life, I'd like to break the cycle for a moment to save my back and my bank. I guess I could have have written about Phreek, and classic underground disco, like a proper disco blog, but seriously just google Phreek, P & P, and Patrick Adams and you'll find a wealth of more relevant info on other pages which'll be waaaaaaay better than some half ass plagiarism by me.

Phreek - I'm A Big Freak (R-U-1-2)

I'm Outta Here

Its getting to be time to leave when:
1. A stranger starts a conversation with you by saying "Don't you love this bar? I mean everyone here is so cool, right?", but they are not being sarcastic.
2. You need to exit the freeway in a couple miles, so you put on your blinker and the guy to your right speeds up specifically to block you, so you can't get over. So you chill for a mile and wait for another gap, put on your blinker, and the same guy speeds up again to make sure you can't get over. And now he's mad dogging you and staring through you with the intensity of the devil, and you just missed your exit (btw, I'd been driving in the same lane for 20+ minutes so I didn't cut the dude off earlier or anything).
3. You're at a party in a hotel room with 20 people smoking indoors with no windows open.
4. It takes 30 min. at a minimum to get anywhere you are planning to go to.
5. Your favorite mom and pop owned stores and restaurants from your childhood are now the GAP and Verizon, and you drove 30 minutes in traffic just to find that out.
6. Certain males and females about town (at night, and specifically downtown), rock a touch of fake blood across the throat or under the eye for the sake of fashion (or maybe Halloween nostalgia?). You also have to hang out and conversate with them.
7. Your childhood bedroom, now looks like the posted photo.
8. Your mom gives you a pamplet titled "Best Sex In The World: A Guide", and tells you to check it out...and you do.

I Heart Los Angeles!
Mitch Hedburg - Soda Pop

Look At Your Life

Drive, Eat, Drink, Drive, Wait, Drive, Wait, Smoke, Wait, Drive, Drink, Drive, Sleep. Then skin the shit out of your forearm skating a 4 inch curb in front of your parents house (so it looks like you took a cheesegrater to it), and think about the fact that you are a 28 year old man. Then write up a pointless blog post. Then sulk.
D.O.C. - The Grand Finale
Heaven 17 - Let's All Make A Bomb

Blog Vs. Vacation

Blog thought that he'd be getting some concentration and content, seeing as I'm on vacation and still in touch with computers, but his thinking is wishful at best. I need to be forced in front of a computer for a long period of time in order to really make this thing happen, and the only angst I'm feeling to get those psycho-lexical juices flowing has to deal with my family (which I'd prefer not to write about, but probably will. The apex of angst should hit this Friday, so we'll see how things play out).

Anyways, here are some endearing tunes by Jonathan Richman, who was previously the front man of the Modern Lovers (and is now still very relevant and poetic in his own solo right). I went on a date once at a Jonathan Richman show, and I thought that I dug the girl, cuz the show was good and she was smiling. But I was fucking fooled by the show, as I was just having a good time because of it, and not her, and it took a full hour after the show to shake that daze outta my brain and realize that she was a 'tard.
Jonathan Richman - A Higher Power
Jonathan Richman - Velvet Underground

Tear It Up

My body is not as resilient as it used to be. 4 hours of serious skateboarding with a bunch of dudes who are 7 years younger than me has left me humbled, with my legs throbbing in pain (days later in fact). I could have been the token older guy and just benched myself in the corner at every spot smoking cigarettes and talking shit, but I felt the need to show these fucks that the slightly older generation still grips it and rips it (that’s just how I live my life). These dudes had video cameras and were intent on documentation, which brought out the mental beast: I could prove that I still rip and have the evidence laid down permanently on a gigabyte somewhere. I felt driven to show that the inkling of skate skills which are cryogenically frozen inside me could be reheated and released to course through my veins again. Well, if anything I’ve proved that I am not able to kick it in that environment anymore, the shredding to comfortably walking ratio is outnumbered by at least 20 times; not a particularly even trade. So I have to kick myself off of any dosage of heavy shredding and simply accept shred-light, which I guess is like making the change from regular Cola to Diet. Not quite as tasty and satisfying when it’s all gulped down, but absolutely necessary to ward off the devils that require its consumption.
Cameo - Please You
Bernard Fevre - Dangerous Mixture
X=R7 - XR7

Gormandize

What the hell is going on with people’s dietary choices. This little asian girl (a very FOBby one at that) told me that she was feeling sick today since all she ate yesterday was sugar. I laughed thinking that she just over indulged a bit, but then she explained that she had two donuts for breakfast, a pastry for lunch, and then had cake for dinner for someone’s birthday. That was all that she fucking ate yesterday. As shitty as that sounds, it caused me to ponder whether it is worse to ingest sweets all day long, or to omit from eating completely, and just drink beer and liquor continuously. One path gives you acne and headaches, and the other makes you into an irrational weirdo with nothing to vomit, that passes out and then wakes up with acne and headaches. Unfortunately I tend to favor the latter path every so often, and although it seems much worse on paper, it just sort of happens sometimes without much of a plan (it still seems better to me, even when I have my fingers rammed down my throat hanging over the toilet for five minutes, with nothing coming out of my mouth. For the record I’ve gotten better about not making that mistake). I think the sugar route tends to be more premeditated, but I guess it can also be coincidental (that only sugary products are available for consumption in a given day). People don't realize that sugar is a fucking drug, slanged out on a massive scale by huge corporations to the youngest of children, and the oldest of adults. Its effects, though not as jarring, last longer than something like nitrous or even salvia, and when used unremittingly, may be responsible for conditions like diabetes mellitus and for thousands of dollars to be wasted on oral maintenance. Take heed, sugar destroys lives.
Eazy - Project Funk
Eazy - Project Funk (Instrumental)

Hiatus

Every single day of my life at work, this one guy says "Good Morning, Ryan" to me in a very pompous and proud manner, as if to suggest that he is the only cool, older, distinguished gentleman that graciously greets the surfs of the workplace (to set himself aside from the others, who could care less about us peons). Unfortunately that is not my name, and I know that I've missed the window to correct him, however I had no idea that he was even talking to me in the first place for a full two weeks. Once someone has made that particular mistake that many times, the fault falls into your lap if you decide to correct them that late in the game. Anyways, right above my desk, my name is displayed in at least a 72 pt. font size, so he is either oblivious or has a vision impairment of some sort. I must look like a furry ball of colors to him, which prompted me to thinking about how odd and psychedelic it must be to live in a world surrounded solely by tinted fuzzy spheres that talk.
Skying High - Getting Off On Your Loving
Musique - In The Bush (Remix)
CAM Stati d'Animo - Indian Feeling
CAM Stati d'Animo - Psycho Feeling
SPEED - Tremplin
Distortions Pop - Microchaos