My brother and I are having a showdown. He is blasting brazilian psychedelia and I am combating it with the most holy voice of Vincent Price on Thriller. Ultimately, the real loser is Laura Ingalls Wilder on the telly. That and the poor man fixing the washing machine downstairs who can only hear voices yelling in intermingled languages and ( Read more... )

Give us Barbies, would you dears?

What a drag it is, getting old.

This new Collateral movie... nothing more than an obvious ripoff of Driving Miss Daisy.

I really like Nina Simone. Good job marcus.

Just re-installed AIM, I'm alreadyinuseitis, so I would like to put forth the question, in a distinctly learned catterpillar manner, who......Are.......YOU?!!!

Name: The Writing's on the Bathroom Stall
Place: The Pillsbury House Theater on 3501 Chicago Avenue
Times:
August 8- 2:30
August 9- 8:30
August 11- 5:30
August 13- 2:30
August 15- 8:30

A splendid time is guaranteed for all.

Oh oh oh I hate hate forwards. Where do they get off threatening you like that? Do people honestly believe that they're going to be crushed underneath a garbage truck or (gasp!) do something embarassing in front of their crush, just because they don't enter twenty addresses and click "send"? Technology, I say. I love old folks. My grandma, ( Read more... )

Today I woke up semiearly and played mario with my brother until noon when I had to go to rehearsal for four hours, at least one of which were spent trying to learn to walk like a gay man. Then I came home, made my bed, and ate some pistachios and put the shells in a bottle as I talked to Norah on the phone. No one knows what was said. At seven I ( Read more... )

I had a dream... crazy dream. Actually, a series of them, but the song remains the same. One began on the last day of school and someone was smoking pot out of a golf tee, which they left smouldering in the broom closet. I picked it up and finished it off and then went into the hallway, which looked like the red team locker bay in middle school ( Read more... )

Oh beautiful musical goodness I am alive with the frequently stabbed and fishhooked spirit of Keith Richards.
And now for a bit of the Barrett, the Syd who perhaps had too much cid.

It's not what I say, it's what I DON'T say.

(Oh yeah, I'm back.)