goldenmean

This post is dedicated to the lowly henchman in all of his multifarious forms, from goblin, to blue slime, to red shirt, to koopa, to stormtrooper to every beastly fido in every MUD I ever played. I am so very, very, very sorry. I realize that my work ethic is, much like the easter bunny or santa claus, a pleasant fiction whose existence I have long since realized is entirely illusory, but I believe that even much better employees than I would be hard-pressed to properly fill a good pair of henching shoes. It takes a certain terminal form of optimism to gaze upon the gore drenched demigod who has just turned a dozen of your coworkers into an oleaginous spackle on the walls and is in the process of removing his emphatically glowing ancestral sword from a pile of neatly stacked limbs that moments ago was Ted from your carpool and instead of thinking "The hell with Ganon and his lousy 401k plan, I'm getting the hell out of here", instead viewing the avatar of death bearing down on you as a ketchup bottle that has now been sufficiently loosened for you to deliver the coup de grace. I salute you in all your infinite stupidity and thank you for instilling in me a belief that if I looked left and right and noticed that everyone around looked more or less just like me that I was probably well and truly screwed. What little individuality I have, I owe to your sacrifice.

The previous paragraph is brought to you by the fact that I've been playing Ninja Gaiden 2 since getting home, which is a game that can best be described by the protologism "Decapitastic". I sort of want to get back to it, so instead of thinking up something new to say about it, I'm just going to copy and paste my running IRC commentary from when I first booted it up.

> My god. I think I could assemble a small village worth of people out of the
+limbs I've severed in just five minutes of Ninja Gaiden 2
> What makes it especially horrifying is it's not just an instant kill move
> So in a reasonably decent sized group of ninja minions by the time you've
+killed one, you've probably taken the arms off a couple of others
> They may be cannon fodder, but I've got to hand it to them. If some
+lunatic freak with a sword had just taken my arm, I'd be rethinking henching
+as a career
> Sadly I don't think you can take both arms off and re-enact that monty
+python bit
> This is really quite ridiculous
> I just executed a series of attacks I can only describe as a double spine
+thrust followed by a 3/4 boxing helena
> I think this game would really benefit from descriptions like that flashing
+on screen in the style of the tony hawk games
> Dear god... I am now wielding a staff and yet still removing limbs. The
+sound effects lead me to believe that they are not so much being severed any
+more as just dissolving into constituent atoms under the force of my blows
> I have replaced my staff with a pair of metallic talons. This can't
+possibly end well
> I am not quite sure why my character insists on dramatically plunging his
+death tipped fist entirely through the enemies stomach when he has already
+removed every limb they have, but it sure looks uncomfortable

I generally find gore for gores sake in videogames a little juvenile and tiresome, but you've sort of got to appreciate subject material that takes anything to such a ridiculous level that it becomes self-parodying (See also: Dead Alive or 300). When equipped with the aforementioned talons of doom, your character becomes what can only be described as a sirocco of dismemberment, the patron god of limblessness, an archetypal, blood drenched vision of terror worshipped in hidden rituals by Weeble and Mr. Potato Head alike. It's a sight to behold.

Instead of ruining a perfectly pointless entry by telling you anything about what my non-fictional life is like, I'll leave you with my amusingly schizoid itunes playlist that's been running in a loop while I've been updating this: Serge Gainsbourg and Bridget Bardot's Bonnie & Clyde, Elliot Smith's Needle in the Hay (though the Sad Kermit version is worth a watch also), Grendel's One Eight Zero (Life Cried Remix) and The Flight of the Conchords Prince of Parties.

Can you believe they used to pay me to play music for people? Neither can I.

You doubt yourself so much you don't even know what you really want, or how you really feel. And I'm so tired of you constantly over-thinking. I know why... because everything's going ok. Just your style, to break it all into pieces. I know why... because everything's going ok.

Another sort of fragmentary, "just to maintain momentum" sort of posting, which is sort of appropriate, as that's how I feel recently. Really just posting to prove that I can, in some small way at least, fight the inertia that's pretty much consumed my life for the past couple of months.

First off, why has nobody told me about this movie: There were five of them. The Indian. The ex-slave. An explosives expert. Charles Darwin. And the masked bandit.... I'm severely disappointed in all of you.

Secondly, there have been two Halou shows thus far at Cafe du Nord this month. The third and final one is this Wednesday. I will accept the following reasons for you not being there. "I can't get there". "Rabid lemming attack". "I have bad taste in music". "I am a bad person". Any other excuses must be submitted in writing to the JMSI (Joshie Ministry of Scorn and Indignation) by five pm pacific standard time on Tuesday for consideration. If not, you get added to the list... And no, you don't get to use "But I've never heard of Halou", because, look, links, links, and some more links

I'm currently reading the newish Nick Hornby. Mainly because I couldn't find my copy of Vonnegut's Bluebeard when I was walking out of the door this morning. It's not bad, but it's young adultish, and the arrow of time makes me steadily less the target audience for that. In general, I haven't been reading as much as I would like to recently. China Mieville's Un-Lun-Dun was charming, but also has the young adultish problem. Plus it made me wish he'd write some more Bas-lag books, and I don't think that's happening. Forlorn. Anyone have any suggestions?

Single best wiki page I've been distracted by recently: List of Cryptids. My favorites are the Drop Bear, Ultraboat (because the world doesn't have enough horse/boat hybrids in it), and The Vegetable Lamb of Tartary, which I'm pretty sure was the name of a vegan secret society in the Middle Ages.

My newly dyed hair is showing a distressing tendency to remain more purple than blue, no matter how hard I think blue thoughts (and I have been!). This is disconcerting, as to paraphrase Sailor Ripley, blue hair is a symbol of my individuality, and belief in personal freedom. You just can't get the same feeling with purple hair. They're all conformist sheep. Obviously.

As a tangent, while the cryptids are my favorite wikipedia page du millisecond, this is far and away the best wikisurf: John Lurie -> Bear Surprise -> How does one patch KDE2 under FreeBSD. Man I love the internet.

On the BART the other day during the "Please remember your belongings" spiel, the conducter appended "Any articles left behind will be confiscated and divided amongst the rest of us. Please do not leave behind spouses and children. They're harder to divide". Awesome.

I would like to go dancing tonight, but I don't think it's in the cards. Feh. Times like this I almost wish I drove.

I flee now.

Edit: Oh hey, I almost forgot. Who wants my older copies of Angel Heart or Baron Munchausen? I've purchased new and shinier collector editions, so they're up for grabs. Also strangely up for grabs is a copy of Permanent Midnight that randomly came with the copy of Abre Los Ojos I purchased so that I could watch Vanilla Sky without having to watch Tom Cruise. I'm not exactly clear what they were thinking when they made that two for one deal, but hey, you can profit from their bizarre matchup.

Disregard your inner monologue. Don't try to drown it out, 'cause it'll only wear you out. Sometimes things are just beyond control. That has to be OK, because you don't have a choice

Strange eyes, two little whirlpools, made by god to destroy fools. Two pearls of infinite cost. Two paradises lost. They swallow me, and all my dreams

Hey look, glasses!

( Glasses pics )

They're going to take some getting used to. They're dandy for reading, which makes a certain amount of sense considering they're called reading glasses, but they're not cutting it for computer work. Mainly they just change my left eye from being a more or less uniform blur to a selection of small blurs I can resolve into letters if I expend some concentration. All this has the result of my brain trying to shift from just completely ignoring what my left eye is telling it to jumping through hoops reconciling the input with what my right eye is giving it. It's all making me want to do optics problem sets.

Who else is planning on going to the Stromkern/New Model Army show on Thursday? Maybe dinner beforehand or the like?

Ok, work or something now.

Yay for finally getting out dancing again. Also, yay for Meat having a pretty steady crowd for lo' these many years so I didn't have to go through one of those unfortunate existential crises I get when I return to the club scene after a hiatus and it seems like the entirety of the people I recognize have stopped going out and been replaced by freshly minted 18 year old gothlings. This has happened something like five times, and I don't approve of it.

I had an optometrists appointment today. This was something like 14 years in the making. The end result is pretty much what I expected. My left eye is screwed, and my brain more or less just edits it out. Unsurprising considering that's the eye that went all crossy when I was young. He sort of half-heartedly asked if I'd want to wear a single contact lens for that eye, but I wasn't having it. I was tempted to ask if I could have a monocle, but decided against it, so instead I'm getting reading/computer glasses to help some with the strain of my right eye doing pretty much all of the distance work. They should arrive next week, at which point the law of archetypes will finally allow me to petition to be officially intelligent. Whew!

Also, having numb eyeballs feels very strange.

Here is an assortment of things that are awesome.

• This game..
• The word pessimal. For some reason it had never occurred to me despite being so obvious. optimism:pessimism::optimal:? and all that. Unfortunately I will probably almost never use it, because I tend to use optimal ironically by saying that things are suboptimal, and there's just not a good equivalent for pessimal. Superpessimal? Just doesn't work. And don't suggest that I use it without irony, because that's crazy talk
• After tomorrow, I won't have to think about javascript for at least 48 hours

I saw Doomsday on Tuesday with a bunch of people. If you know anything about my taste in movies (and you probably do if you pay any attention to this), that might give you cause to wonder. This was mainly by way of Simon taking revenge for all of the spectacularly uplifting indie/foreign movies I drag him to (4 months, 3 weeks, and 2 days is not exactly the feel good movie of the year). I can't actually decide what I thought about it. It was unquestioningly horrible. On at least one occasion, I caught myself staring at the back of Simon's head wondering if anyone would actually convict me if I murdered him by repeatedly braining him with the bag of snooty criterion collection DVDs I happened to have with me. At other points I actually just stopped looking at the screen at all and began to count the little light stars on the ceiling of the theater. But, along with all of the bad (and I could write so very, very, very much about the bad), you sort of have to appreciate it in the way that you appreciate it when small children ramble on excitedly about their fantasy worlds ("And then there were ninjas, but they couldn't kill the dinosaurs with their swords, so they got lasers from the robots, who came from the future!!"). It's just such a horrible mashup. It's like the writer took every random thing he liked and decided to make a movie involving them. "Ok, cyborgs, post apocalyptic primitives, knights, plague zombies, and car chases. I can work with this". I've decided that this is clearly an easy way to fame and fortune, so I'm going to write a script using the same methodology with things I like. Here's my initial treatment:

In the dark future, the scattered remnants of humanity roam the wastes on the backs of giant, city sized super-megatheria. When a mysterious cybernetic plague begins to devastate the sloth-cities (Did I mention that the sloths are cybernetic? Because they *totally* are!), one brave heroine must venture into the wastes (Yes, yes, I know I said that they were already in the wastes, but these are far wastier wastes I'm talking about now. Try to keep up) to bring back the cure. With a ragtag collection of mercenaries you completely fail to care about in the least (which is for the best considering they exist solely to raise the body count), she becomes embroiled in a war between the super-intelligent clockwork polar bears and their arch nemeses, the ur-hedgehogs, masters of cryptozoology. Also, there is an exciting chase on dragonback. Just because!!! The movie culminates in a final battle where the ultimate creation of the clock-bears, a gigantic steam driven replica of Philip K. Dick mounted on the back of a transforming robotic battle-panda (For reasons never explained, it transforms into a complete set of the works of Jonathan Lethem and a slightly battered first edition copy of Italo Calvino's "If On A Winter's Night, A Traveler") fires its doomsday weapon, the gnostic cannon, tearing gaping rifts in reality, through which emerge the entirety of the greek, norse and egyptian pantheons, and a gigantic tentacle of presumably cthulhoid origin. Then there's a dance number. And then the credits roll, leaving room for a sequel.

Man, I'm going to be so freaking rich.

Added another to my ongoing list of bad ways to start the day this morning. Woke up groggy after getting almost twice as much sleep as I've become accustomed to lately (a solid seven hours, what luxury!), and came out to rescue my ipod and keys from my computer table, which serves a secondary purpose as being the geologic bedrock upon which lies the great ocean of spare change (and its aqueous cousins, the gulf of unsorted cards and the straits of outmoded hardware, but those have stories of their own, unrelated to this ill-starred tale). This particular morning, like some gastropodal Ulysses, a snail had managed to maroon itself upside down in this argent sea. In the process of trying to retrieve it and carry it back to Ithaca, or at the very least, some place more favorably disposed towards mollusc kind than a table snail miles away from invertebrate foodstuff, it apparently decided that enough was enough, gave up the ghost, and began fizzing away to nothingness leaving me in possession of a goo filled shell and the distinct impression that I'd managed to inadvertently destroy it merely with the power of my seafaring (and subsequently saline) metaphor. Not my favorite morning ever for sure. Probably not the snails either.

In happier news, I got what is clearly the most awesome thing I have ever owned at work in the mail today. I'm not entirely sure it's functional, as I have yet to be hounded through all space and time by a deific head demanding its return, but I think that might just be because I'm too tall to use it properly. This and a bit in the book I'm currently reading (Steve Erickson's (not the same as the Malazan guy) The Sea Came In At Midnight, having finished up Ghostwritten) reminded me just how much I love maps. I should get more. I'm watching Map of the Human Heart to continue the theme. Sort of considering following a fire bombing of dresden thread off of that to Slaughterhouse Five (as an aside, I bought Slaughterhouse Five mainly because I was curious what the "Billy, Billy. We just had a baby" sample at the beginning of This Mortal Coil - Strength of Strings was from. Google searching led me to Slaughterhouse Five, which I'd managed to forget was made into a movie, so I grabbed it next time I was at Rasputins. As an aside aside, why is it that every time I find a good sample database, it seems to go belly-up a couple of weeks later? I'm constantly not quite able to remember where I recognize samples from)

Mrf. It's late. I think I'll sleep soon. Before I do though, I should probably mention that I got my sixth offer letter at my current company (three part-time/contractor gigs, three conversions to full time employee). I sadly bid adieu to a good chunk of my salary, but I'm still making more than the last time I was full time, and people keep telling me that at some point I'll be happy to have insurance. Meh. At least it means I don't have to think about going looking for work again anytime soon (well, until I quit or they lay me off... again)

And because it's an almost obligatory part of my entries anymore, my wiki distractions of the night (courtesy of Rachelhead) center around obscure typography, most notably, the Irony Mark (well, and the Interrobang, but that's only because I like saying Interrobang!?) Also Moof mentioned a good bit on Reverse Mathematics which I'm a bit too spacey/distracted to really parse currently.

Also, you've probably already seen this elsewhere, but I'd be remiss in not mentioning something this bizarre. Have A trailer for an organ theft themed musical involving Nivek Ogre and Paris Hilton

Dear Limahl's haircut:

I can't get you out of my head, babe. All last night, I tossed and turned, tormented by thoughts of you on top of me, your curls kissing the back of my neck, your follicles driven deep into my skull, some mysterious chemistry flooding through them, reassuring me that though the world might laugh, I can do anything as long as you're with me. I can throw caution to the wind, grow out some five o'clock shadow, and sing falsetto in a hypnotically self-involved jaw dislocating manner reminiscent perhaps of one trying to fellate an elephant. Such is the power you have over me. Your birth the legacy of a night of passion spent between a mullet and a drunken spider. What transcendent glory that one such as you could come from such humble origins. Though showered with mockery, there's a glimmer of insouciant luster to you that I can tell is ironic disregard for your detractors. You're not like any haircut I've ever known, and so different from the tramp I'm with now. Her blue the hue of indifference, the callous way she leaves my neck bare to the elements. Oh how I long to be encompassed by your blonde and black majesty, dappled like some jungle beast. But wait, I can hear her stirring in her sleep. I must send this now and tonight, with luck, I dream of you. Of us.

xoxoxoxoxoxo

Right. Now that I've gotten that out of my system, on with the minutiae of life, which, considering I'm me, might as well start with movies. I saw My Kid Could Paint That on Monday as a time-killer between work and Death Guild and liked it more than expected. Some of the best bits weren't really about the subject of the film at all, but more about the observer problem as it relates to documentary work, in that you change the subject by observing it. And of course all the great furor about abstract art in general. Personally, I don't much care about the furor over whether or not the girl actually created the paintings. My appreciation of art more or less begins and ends with whether or not I think it's purty. If there's some particular story behind it, that's dandy, but it doesn't make me like the art itself more or less. The art and the story behind the art aren't much coupled for me. This, and my complete inability to bullshit, is probably why I didn't go to art school. That or the complete sucking void of any spark of creativity or talent in me so vast(ly small) that I believe I might actually sap the artistic potential of those I spend too much time around. One or the other. I've got a sort of love/hate thing going with most abstract art also. Generally speaking I hate the actual art aspect of it (though there are exceptions), but I'm endlessly amused listening to people talk about it. This carries right up until the likes of Rothko, which I view as being an excellent joke taken entirely too far to be funny anymore.

Before I digress further, appealing trailers I've seen recently (or not so recently, but I just forgot to mention them), I'm Not There, and Weirdsville

After the movie, I noticed a group of people gesturing emphatically at each other in sign language, and spent most of the BART ride wondering what it would be like to be deaf. Given the state of my father's hearing and the fact that I spend a good portion of every day listening to music playing very loudly over my headphones, I'll probably get to find out eventually. There are some aspects of it that I would consider not so bad. I'd never have to use the telephone ever again, which would be bliss. I'd never give myself a headache trying to wish telekinetic death on people talking in movie theaters (I should note that I don't *really* want the ability to kill with my mind. I'd much rather just have the ability to remove people from history entirely, to make them never have existed in the first place as that 1) Saves on the hordes of corpse cleanup details that would inevitably follow me around as I grew mad with power (for a pretty excellent exposition on this subject, I would recommend you read Palahniuk's Lullaby), 2) It's cruelty free and 3) It makes for better scifi. Because if you can't have scifi written about your inevitably dystopic attempt at making a better world, then really, what's the point?) (This rant brought to you by the people sitting behind Simon and myself having a conversation throughout the entirety of Lust, Caution on Sunday). Anyway, another added bonus of the whole being deaf thing is that I'd have a pretty excellent excuse not to talk to people anymore, which, in a very general sense, I don't really like much, probably because I don't think I'm very good at it, and my immediate response to anything I'm not very good at is to decide I wasn't very interested in it in the first place and go find something else to do (I'm fairly convinced that in the greek tragedy of my life, this is my defining flaw (sidetracking wiki-hole Tragic Flaw->Nichomachean Ethics->Aristotelian Ethics->The Golden Mean (I love my nick)). I much prefer writing. For some reason I seem better able to channel what I'm thinking then, which is sort of amusing, because I tend to write in a conversational style. To a certain extent I'm just transcribing what is basically a spoken conversation I'm having with simultaneously nobody and everyone I think might be reading my journal. I always feel clumsy when I'm talking, and I don't much enjoy that feeling of frustration. Another thing wrong with talking that is far superior in written form: Parentheses. You could speak in a parenthetical manner, I suppose, but it's generally reserved for people who are very high and easily distracted by shinies. Also, multiple person conversations, while still problematic on something like IRC, are a complete trainwreck in the real world. It's a neverending mess of people stepping on each others sentences, and considering I'm not incredibly assertive, it's usually just me half saying something several times and then just sitting back and watching the other people talk, until I get (more) uncomfortable and go somewhere else. Anyway, eventually I decided that being deaf would pretty much suck, but mainly just because I love music. Becoming mute on the other hand still sounds more appealing than is probably sane.

Hrm, it's late. I'm watching Peter Greenaway's Belly of an Architect, and I'm struck by the fact that Peter Greenaway and Wes Anderson in some ways seem to be the inverse of each other, at least in the way they frame their shots. They both have incredibly posed shots, but while Anderson's tend to be tight around the actors, creating a feeling of intimacy, many of Greenaway's, especially in this movie, leave the characters stranded in the middle or to a side, overawed by the visual wealth surrounding them. I think I find the thought of my life being shot by Greenaway more appealing, but maybe that's just the hand stapled to my forehead talking, as so many of his characters come to bad ends (as an aside, there's an okcupid test that assures me that the director who is filming my life is actually Sofia Coppola, which I find rather appealing). Why is Prospero's Books *still* not on DVD? Oh, here's a sad little question for you. Which is more depressing? The fact that after watching Darjeeling Limited for the first time, I couldn't remember who sang Playing With Fire, or the fact that initial google searches for it came up with almost unanimously nothing but Hillary Duff references? I'd like to think it's the latter, but that's probably just because I don't want to feel in some part culpable for the bankrupt state of music these days.

Less than five hours till alarm and counting. I'm sure most people who are likely to care are already well aware, but I'd be remiss in my duties, if I didn't mention that the new Tim Schafer game Brutal Legend is clearly going to be one of the most excellent things ever (That link may well stop working soon. Someone seems to have been wandering about removing that trailer). My general reaction upon first hearing about it was "That sounds like it's going to be spectacularly idiotic... Oh, wait, it's Tim Schafer. I reverse my opinion entirely". It looks like wikipedia finally has a good selection of quotes from Psychonauts up (plenty of spoilers there. If you haven't played it yet, you really ought to). I've been giggling at them all day.

Sleep now maybe.

Darjeeling Limited was incredibly satisfying. I just felt everyone should know that before I go to sleep for four hours and wake up in quite possibly an entirely different mood about the cost/benefit ratio of seeing movies that start past midnight when your alarm goes off at 7:30. If you're planning on seeing it, you might want to watch Hotel Chevalier first. It's a prequel of sorts, which I was unaware of before walking into the movie, but there was a brief blurb for it. Also, the first previews I've seen for Juno and The Savages, both of which look relatively great.

Other events of the day: Needed to kill time before Darjeeling, so I watched Outsourced at the Shattuck beforehand. Formulaic, but enjoyable, and it seemed to fit. In two of the three movies set in India I've watched recently, the Indian characters bobbed their heads from side to side, in a gesture that seems to be used interchangeably in a positive and negative sense. How is it I've never encountered this up until now? I've lived in a major metropolitan area for well over a decade. I watch a lot of foreign movies. I have many coworkers from that area. Is it a regional thing? Specific to a particular culture there? Relatively uncommon? Am I just completely oblivious to have not noticed it until now? I find it incredibly charming, and if it weren't for the typical white liberal guilt at cultural appropriation, I'd be tempted to put it into use myself.

Finished Piercing and started reading Number Nine Dream, which is really, really, really great, and unless it goes rapidly downhill past page 70 or so, I think I like it more than Cloud Atlas, which I liked a lot. Any book that involves the mockery and subsequent annihilation of Belgium in the first chapter can't possibly be bad. =BM=. Man, there are maybe five of you who read this that will get that. The rest will just have to get by thinking I'm an asshole. Or I suppose you could ask.

Had an interesting wikipedia browse session today when I decided that my overuse of the word really and other fillers in my writing constitutes a form of Speech Disfluency, which is odd, because the mechanisms associated with speech disfluency don't really seem to serve a purpose in written work. Is there a more appropriate terminology used when it's written? From there, I wikisurfed through Valley Speak, California English (Ooh, look at the pretty vowel shift diagrams), through to Hyphy. Some days I just really love the internet. Hideously tempted to steal the phrase "Ghost Riding The Whip" as some lewd sexual innuendo, white liberal guilt or no.

I also decided on a rudimentary theory as to why internet memes annoy me more and more. Among other factors, I have decided that there exists a certain ever decreasing lifespan for every meme, which I have chosen to refer to as TTG (time to glue), after which that horse is well and truly beaten, and can be beaten no more, and should please oh please just vanish from my percept space already. The TTG is obviously inversely proportional to the number of people involved in the mutation of the meme, and directly proportional to a variable that I have dubbed the Herreshoff-Seabiscuit factor, which roughly speaking measures the inherent susceptibility of an individual to memetic transmission. Because there is an ever increasing number of people on the internet, the TTG for memes is ever-decreasing. I believe that there is an interesting interaction that occurs in people with exceptionally high Hs factors (which I have dubbed The Sleipnir Inversion), wherein the TTG actually becomes negative, and things are rendered unfunny long before the subject is actually exposed to them (Tangent quote from Max in Kicking and Screaming "I'm too nostalgic, I admit it". Skippy - "We graduated four months ago. What can you possibly be nostalgic for?" Max - "I'm nostalgic for conversations I had yesterday. I've begun reminiscing events before they even occur. I'm reminiscing this right now. I can't go to the bar because I've already looked back on it in my memory... and I didn't have a good time"). Further research is obviously needed.

In other news, a crazy and/or mentally challenged person on the bus today hit me three times in the neck and upper back before his minder noticed and dragged him away telling me "It's ok man, you don't need to beat him up". The mental picture this engendered in me almost made the pain in my neck most of the day worthwhile. Mornings are really sucking for me lately. But at least I didn't have my house accidentally destroyed by a foul tempered giant this morning like the spider whose web I walked into on the way out my door, so everything in perspective I guess.

Sleep now. Alarm in less than four hours. Woot!

Oh, what the hell, considering we're on a book theme. Have a meme.

( Book meme )

It's been a while since I posted anything of interest, and for that I apologize, buuuuut, this post probably still won't be it. Tomorrow, as I'm sure most of you already know, Underworld is playing at the Warfield. And Paul Oakenfold. But you know, mainly Underworld. And because I am a) stupid or b) have fewer friends than I think I do or c) have less faith in my friend's ability to schedule their own social calendar than I should, I've got some spare tickets. Anyone want to go? If so, poke at me here, or one of my assorted emails.

Anyone interested in seeing Cyndi Lauper, Erasure, Debbie Harry and the Dresden Dolls at the Greek theater tonight? I bought tickets a couple of weeks ago in a fit of "Employment, money, conspicuous consumption, huzzah!" and recently remembered I'm just not a huge fan of concerts of that size, and I'm just not really feeling into it today. Anyway, I'd rather not stand outside offering them to people, and I'd rather not just eat the cost, so if you've got any interest let me know. I've got 2 and they cost me 75$ each, and while preference will be given to anyone interested in grabbing them both for that, I'll certainly entertain any offers. Hell, I'm willing to give them up for free if it comes to it. Better I'm out money and someone I like goes than just being out money. Here's your chance to profit on my impulsiveness!

Details:
True Colors Tour: Cyndi Lauper, Erasure, Debbie Harry, & Dresden Dolls
Greek Theatre-U.C. Berkeley, Berkeley, CA
Fri, Jun 29, 2007 07:00 PM

Seat location: section SRO 4

Note: I don't have access to my usual email at work yet. Just leave me a comment here or hit me up via gmail.