In Which a Hobo is Disciplined and Furniture is Assembled

And let me just say that by "disciplined", I don't mean the kind of discipline that involves a ruler, 3 yards of white satin, some wax, and a very naughty nun. I mean discipline of a sort that keeps me from blogging as much as I want to for the moment. Circumstances beyond my immediate control have conspired to prevent me from blogging during normal business hours. Which leaves mornings (I try to have as little "morning" as possible, so that's out), afternoons (involves consuming food, as avoiding mornings also involves avoiding breakfast), and evenings, which are currently occupied with The Girl, who is in town at the moment.

I expect things to settle down a bit soon. I'll get into some sort of alternate habit that will allow me to regale you with strange tales of my adventures, like the time I ate cat food coated with nutella and the time I caught myself while fishing. What? I didn't tell you that one? Just wait. It's a rollercoaster of a tale featuring hooks, marshmallows, pliers, much gritting of teeth, and a frantically (and poorly) rowed rowboat.

Oh, and the furniture? I bought some chairs and put them together this evening. They don't even wobble! Truly, I am a master craftsman. As long as you consider allen wrenches and locking washers "craftsmaney".

Soon.

I'll give you a real update soon, I promise. I've been dealing with a very bad situation at work, and that's sort of taking all of my free mental capacity (it's hard having a brain the size of a walnut (aside from the obvious problem of being constantly attacked in the face by ravenous squirrels)).

In the meantime, please complete this sentence:

I love Tony Danza because ___________

Indie Rock Friday! Yeah!

It's Friday, and that means it's time for a review of this week's new Indie Rock releases!



Elbow Follicles: We Ate Your Toast

Sometimes, it's enough to be inscrutable. This seven person outfit (3 of whom play glockenspiel) are as confusing as listening to Animal Collective backwards, underwater, and while being eaten by a tiger. A water tiger.

Lush guitars and sweeping melodies are punctuated by seemingly random bursts of what sounds like a chicken being beaten to death with spoons. The eerie, plaintive clucking is brutally severed into methodical 12 second clips sprinkled liberally through the first 7 tracks of the album. This grisly thread reminds us all of our mortality. And also that chickens are delicious.

7.2



Fortuna Canina: HAIRHAIRHAIRHAIRHAIR

Fortuna Canina has one thing going for her, and that's her forearms. Seriously. I've never seen such large forearms. They look like they're going to eat her guitar. Which is another thing interesting about her - the story that's been making its way through the blogocircle is that it's actually John Lee Hooker's guitar. The one he was buried with. She and those forearms of hers dug him up, stole his guitar, and now they're touring the Midwest, flogging an album of songs about how pixies will steal your skin while you're asleep.

8.7



The WheatFuckers: Fonzie on Fire

The WheatFuckers are really just two guys with beards. One of them plays a guitar and the other one hits a phonebook with a two by four. They sing songs about refridgerators, transmission oil, and a tumbleweed named Jim.

9.3

Tune in next week for another installment of Indie Rock Friday!

I Thought You Should Know

I sort of embarassed myself just now. I stood up from the couch and yelled "SANDWICH TIME!". Only there was no one there.

Except for some plants.

And they didn't act very excited about Sandwich Time.

Leafy traitors.

In Which Our Hero Finally Fucking Updates Already

Yeah, yeah, I know it's been a while. Sometimes (rarely) I clam up and just keep to myself. Don't worry, I'm feeling better AND more verbose. So prepare to be rambled at. Shut up, Robert Plant.

First off, I've been doing some more writing. In addition to that Porcelain Seed thing (which I WILL be continuing, like it or not), I've started working on the stuff for the Russians. I'm pretty sure I've talked about that here, but I'm too lazy to look up links, so I'll re-cap.

Two years ago, I was asked by a Russian company to write some stuff on how to personalize a Pocket PC, and how to use it for multimedia stuff like playing music and movies. I was asked to do this because I am a) a geek, and b) sort of good at being funny and explaining complex things in a simple and clear way. I guess it worked, because then they asked me to write the help documentation for the program, which fulfilled a lifelong geek-dream of mine - namely, to write vaguely insulting help documentation. And they PAID me for it.

Now they want me to update and expand what I'd written before, and they want to give me EVEN MORE MONEY. To write about technology and make jokes about Japanese music and sweaters with rhinestone cats on them. Could things get better?

They can. I watched THIS AMAZING VIDEO this morning:



I am watching this very closely, as I have been drafted to play the title role in our office Halloween costume thingie. I think I'd rather pull my sweet moves from this thing rather than from the original.

Finally, I ordered a BROWN HORIZONTAL CORDUROY REVERSIBLE SMOKING JACKET WITH ORANGE INFERNO BROCADE INTERIOR the other day. I don't know if I can pull it off properly, but I'm damn well going to try.



And no, that's not me in the photo. If anything, I am even more ruggedly handsome. And several orders of magnitude cheezier.