Friday, May 27, 2005

What are these things called again?

Okay Glitzy. I'm busted-late, but them's the breaks. Aren't these things called memes or some shit? Well, whatever they're called, it got passed to me, so this show is officially "on the road".

Let's see here...

Total volume of music files on my computer?
Jesus. I have no idea. Definitely gigs worth. But NONE of mine are MP3s. I need them in WAV format so I can dick with them properly. Call me a snob, but the music quality turns to shite when you lop off that much of the frequency range. Unless I was into Nelly, Kelly Clark, or Fitty Sent. Then it wouldn’t matter, now would it?

The last CD I bought was:
(I bought 2 at the same time, almost three years ago)
Nick Drake: Way to Blue.
The Red House Painters: Songs for a Blue Guitar

I have no idea what was going on with the whole “Blue” thing. I guess it was my “period” or whatever. Actually, I was in the middle of a remixing fest, and there were several songs on each album that I was interested in tinkering with. “All Mixed Up” is still one of my favorite songs, and it is significantly better than The Cars’ original (but The Cars remain one of my all time favorite bands).

Song playing right now:
Outside my mind? The obnoxious hum of the cavernous air conditioning system.

Inside my mind? Bloc Party: Like Eating Glass. That goddamn song is too good. It is eating my brain.

Five songs I listen to a lot or that mean a lot to me (in no particular order):
Whoa. This is a daunting task. EXTREMELY daunting. I mean, HOW do I pick just five? Fuck. I’m worried about forgetting one. It’d be like forgetting your own child… but here goes.

I’ll leave “All Mixed Up” off, because I got to mention it above. Word.

New Order : Temptation This song… stirs up all kinds of emotion with me. It excites me, and brings me to sit down and think at the same time. But really, it just makes me happy.
Inspiral Carpets : When Worlds Collide What this songs says to me is extremely important to who I’ve been, and what I intend to become. It’s a powerful description of what it means to scrap and build at the same time. The dichotomy of living as a conscious thing. The chaos and shame of it all. Brilliant.
The Strokes : Hard to Explain I drove this song into my mind over a month-long period where I stopped getting tanked all the time so that I could get my mind right. Boy howdy did this song help me shuffle by.
Tegan and Sara : I know, I know, I know Not everyone has gotten on the Tegan and Sara bandwagon yet, and that’s okay. This song appeals to me because it calms me down, just as I’m about to unload some really unnecessary BS on my girlfriend. Hm. “Girlfriend” sounds so seventh grade. But then again, so does believing that a song ‘speaks to ME’. Check it out though, fantastic harmony.
Frank Sinatra : My Way This was my favorite song to remix. The emotion involved is almost beyond description. I get a crack in my voice when I sing it. In my car. Crying at the beauty of it all. And wondering whether or not I will deserve to have this anthem sung at my funeral. ‘Cause it’s uplifting like that.

Which 5 people are you passing this baton to, and why?

You know what? I’m not going to pass this baton on to anyone in particular. I’m no slave-driver (neither are you Glitzy, I’m just sayin’) so I won’t push this on anyone else. But you *should* definitely consider what your favorite songs are and why. Good times right there.

Digging around

Holy shitballs
Originally uploaded by truecraig.
Hey there. I'm smacking Flickr around at the moment, testing out some features. I figure, photos could really make this blogging thing more interesting. And take up more space so you don't have to read so much of my crap. Or, not. Because you'll have to look at pictures of my crap instead.

I just found this photo on my hard drive. At work. My WORK computer has crap like this floating around on it.

Kick. Ass.

That's a good friend of mine, Mare. I don't remember who owns the body/hair of the chick my face is superimposed over. I did not create this wondrous piece of photoshop treachery.

It makes me laugh. And cry. On the inside.

Tuesday, May 24, 2005


Have you ever jumped from a plane? An AIRplane? Parachute and the whole nine?

If you haven’t, you need to. There’s something completely freeing about the whole thing. The FREE fall. The FREE feet, dangling above the approaching surface. The FREE vision of the curvature of the Earth. The FREEdom to yell as loud as you want and not hear a goddamn thing.

The cost, however, is far from free. I would classify it as… luxury-level prohibitive. I mean, it’s a fifty second freefall followed by a five minute parachute-float to the ground, ending with you landing on your ass in a field.

For one hundred and fifty smackeroos. American. See what I’m saying? Damn.

The wait to fly up was lengthy though. We got to kick it out in the heat with the wasps and bees. And hordes of smoking waiters. Not the table waiting variety. They were waiting to fall from a perfectly good plane, just like us. And they smoked like chimneys. Like me. Honestly, when you’re about to place your life in the hands of the potentially meth-bent who are rolling up parachutes into a ratty back pack, you don’t give two shits about your probability of developing lung cancer.

Fuck. It.

Fuck it.