pressure fluctuations worth listening to

If you haven't heard yet, Mp3 blogs are the surest way to hear the best in up and coming music that will one day become so big that you will be given license to turn a 180 and curse the band for cheating on you with multiple other fans. Millions maybe.

Yes, kids just like us (living pay check to pay check, and spending more money on cover charges and PBR's than food), except they live somewhere where shit actually happens. Shit that matters. Shit that one day could show up staring you in the face on the cover of PEOPLE magazine, while you count change for that six pack of PBR in the grocery store checkout line. These kids lace up their social representatives to fight their way through the sea of pretentiousness and deprecating image. They wage through all of this to get their hands on the latest demo tapes and 7", and share them with the rest of the world. Or, some just make you feel dumb for not being in the "know".

My thesaurus fell apart, I'm done.

So, by now there are a lot more blogs than two years ago, and even some of the old ones seem to be dropping in quality. This lack of Quality Control seems to be fueled more my numbers game, than a rise in blogs. Everyone has to get out the next big song, has to get the most page hits, has to be the first to mention Kanye sampled a Daft Punk song (and how great that song was 8 years ago, and how you were still listening to N'Sync 8 years ago).

Said the Gramophone, sorry, but I haven't visited you in months. We've just grown apart. It's not you, it's me.

No, I'm not going to just date Scissor Kick! We're just hanging out, and besides it wouldn't be none of your business, nohow. Fine, fine! You want the truth? I've been seeing Scissor Kick behind your back this whole time!

Why? Well Scissor Kick knows how to find real music worth my time, and only posts every week or two. You, you post every day! It's mostly boring dribble, and if you haven't noticed, I don't even pay attention to it anymore. That's right, it's bullshit!

When you get done packing my stuff, you can drop it off at Scissor Kick's house.

I know shit about music, and will only say "music is my life" when it alone is paying all my bills.

The Science of Sleep... and passive aggressive douche bags

I'm late.

Yes I was sleeping in, and decided to watch cartoons the day Science of Sleep made it's mark on the Indie film puddle. Full of clever music and people speaking French, they're just missing their bandannas (berets are not cool... for now). I'm not going to travel further down that route.

I must admit the director's interpretation of the dream world, and it's sometimes minor, sometime quixotic take on life's daily events was fantastic. The stop-motion FX using real materials, rather than CGI, gave the sequences even more authentic weight on the mind. The acting was great, all around. The leads were very convincingly awkward. That Gael Garcia fella plays one fine art geek, Stephane.

But Stephane himself, I cannot stand!

He shot himself in the foot so many times, right up till the end, that he shouldn't have been able to walk up those damn apartment stairs. First acting all cute and shy, then saying something stupid (like penis), then crying in the corner, then blaming the girl for not loving him for being a douche bag, and then that he wouldn't be a douche bag if only she loved him.

Then being so present in the current argument, that he falls asleep!

The movie was pretty much full of fuck ups, who I both loathe and scorn. The ManPig who really does believe "pussy is pussy", which he's obdurately been telling himself after being burned by too many real women in his 20's. The "hotter" of the two female friends, whose personality is so artificial the FDA will soon be demanding her type be removed from your daily diet. She is so unsure of herself, that she will lie about her job, and spray foot powder on your broken hand instead of just saying, "dude, I'm so sorry, we're outta broken hand cream!". Then there's the Mother who lies to her son about a shitty production artist job in order to bring her baby back home. Then again, mom knows best, and this kid still isn't ready to make it in the big world.

The only sane rational person in the film is the girl herself. About the only thing she did wrong was not bring the hammer down when she caught the dude breaking into her house. "But he was bringing her horsie to life. It's cute!" Bullshit. It wasn't really cute earlier when the dude was sniffing through your panty drawer, and pissing in your apple juice.

Creep FLAG. It only takes one.

One could say that the acting was so good, that the characters were played so well, that they hit the nail on the head.

That just takes the fun outta this rant. And either way, I won't sit through it again.

I'm gonna make a paper boat outta my ass.

What if...

What if the planet stopped rotating?

Somehow, say the core of the planet just froze in place, but the rest of the matter on this planet were still full of it's original kinetic energy. What would happen?

Would everything on the surface of the earth fly east? Would I be flung into my cubical wall? Would my office building pull up from the foundation? Would cars, buses, people, cats, dogs, trash cans, squirrels, and loose change go flying across the land? Would the oceans wash over half, or the entire continent?

Would the earth rip itself apart?

Sometimes...

I flush the toilet before I'm completely done peeing. Then I race the flush cycle.

Sometimes I win.
Sometimes...

Check your blind spot!

Now I'm not going to claim that driving a motorcycle makes you a better driver.
I still drive my truck like a mad-man in the city, and like grandma on the highway, but when you are on two wheels, you're only option is defensive driving. Period (in case you missed that dot after driving)

It seems that almost every trip with my bike involves avoiding some sort of hazard. Cell phone drivers, placid pedestrians, dumb dogs, tar snakes. But the other day I was coming home from work, cruising down Campus Dr, when all of a sudden the woman driving parallel to me starts veering into MY FUCKING LANE!

The only offense I had was my horn, and I wailed on that sucker like my life, no, my life DID depend on it! I hugged the shoulder of the road and let off the throttle to let her pass. She raised her hand near the rear-view mirror as if to say "whoops, my bad!" and kept on her path into my lane. Never did she swerve back to her side, or give any indication of a quick correcting reaction to my horn. I had no side arm, but boy did I shoot her the bird, and I was doing it as hard as I can!

It just happened that she was taking damn near the same path home as I. All the way to Willy. Maybe she had this thought: "Maybe that graphic designer, weighing 140 lbs. and wearing glasses, is just the one 140 lbs. glasses wearing graphic designer who isn't going to stand for my careless driving any longer? He's still fallowing me. OH GOD, he's still there, right behind me! What is he going to do? WHAT?"

I'll Ctrl+Z yo' ass

Socks like buttah'

A sock is a sock, right? Well sure they come in different colors and lengths, but they're still just a piece of textile that covers one's feet while stuffed in a shoe... right? I used to feel this way. I pretty much had a bunch of white and black socks of varying lenghts for different shoe/pants situations, and a few dress socks. After a few would get holes in them, they were cast aside and replaced with a new "bag" of Hanes premium socks, "Now a 7th pair absolutley free!".

I must now say that I've changed my simple foot cap dogma. One day I found myself before a wall of designer socks, and I'm now a total convert. I asked why anyone would pay more for 3 pairs of socks than they could get for 6 (7th pair free, while supplies last)? Then, the socks touched me. Well I touched them, but it was still a moving experience. I discovered "microfiber", or at least that is what Calvin Klien calls it. It's like a silky smooth layer of butter, without all the grease stains and saturated fat, for your feet. I'm sick of having to take my shoes off at work because my poor dogs get all stuffy. My feet want to breath, they want to feel free, they have rights too ya know.

My little toes were debating the purchase, arguing over monetary cost vs. daily comfort. Then the Big Toe silenced them all, for he was the biggest and sweat the most. It was settled, I decided it was an investment in quality product and superior comfort. My Big Toe agreed.

As we speak my feet are cool and comfortable in a pair of full leather Born shoes (I know, I know, if I can shell out for Born shoes, I shouldn't be wearing cheap Hanes socks in them) and they are breathing fine. How do they do it? I don't know. They still make them in Korea, or some other Asian country where other cheap crap is made. Maybe they are just made by only the finest Koreans... who still can't afford even Hanes socks.

Girls, be creamy.

Just when the internet seems to have run out of possibilities to waste your day, something like Engrish.com comes your way.

If you have a problem with wasting your life on a social networking site, then let this be your time wasting savior.

Not feel well. Get drunk.