goldenmean

Ok, ok. I finally broke down and bought Venture Brothers on DVD, and just as expected, every single episode with the exceptions of the ones people sat me down and said "Oh my god, this is the best show ever, you should watch this" are amazingly funny. Testicular Torsion, not funny. Episode combining The Scooby Gang doubling as (partly) serial killers, Frankenstein and a peyote trip, funny. So, mea culpa. I was wrong. I was wrong to ever doubt. I can get along without. I can love my fellow... err, sorry, more than a decade in the goth scene and you just start randomly breaking into Sisters of Mercy lyrics. It happens. Don't become me. Start wearing pink while there's still time.

Death Guild was fun tonight. Too damned crowded, but at least it was just flat out impossible to dance most of the time, instead of fooling you into a false sense of security and then having half the dance floor simultaneously kick you in the shins. Dear summer people. Learn to dance. Post-haste. Thank you. Instead I spent a lot of time goofing off with Starr in our nook (Ask us nicely and we might perform interpretive dance to The Sparrows and The Nightingales at your next social function), and singing along to everything overly dramatically. Seriously, Peter Murphy's got nothing on me. I can do a mean Bela Lugosi's Dead. You could almost see David Bowie having vampire sex/murder in flash cuts behind me, just like the beginning of The Hunger. Such is the amazing power I wield. Eventually I just wandered off upstairs and danced myself moist and into a nice endorphin buzz. Because everything worth doing is worth doing until you're wet and in danger of passing out. Which makes a whopping two things worth doing apparently.

Brand Upon The Brain! is unbelievably awesome. If you appreciate the bizarre, you desperately need to see it. Probably sometime in the next week, because in my experience, most of the universe doesn't actually appreciate the bizarre, so it probably won't stick around for long. It doesn't quite have the beautiful simplicity of Sissy Boy Slap Party, but that's quite a peak to aspire to. It is at least as good as The Saddest Music In The World.

Now I'm home again, home again. Sent off my offer letter, so I've got a week left of freedom before I return to the bit mines. Feel myself sinking rapidly into an incredibly tiresome "I am going to die alone" headspace, which is always fun. Maybe I'll just throw all of my energy into work instead. Woo! That's possibly the funniest thing I've ever said. I don't see why I haven't been having more luck attempting to date. I'm hilarious.

Dear universe:

You are still in the dog house thanks to my personal life, or lack thereof, but today you really came through on the hilarity and ability to live my life in the style to which I have become accustomed fronts. So, thanks for that. Don't think you're getting an overall positive performance review for the quarter unless you shape up in other areas though.

Looks like this bout of joblessness is about to end, which, while I'm of sort of mixed feelings about, is probably for the best. I was hoping that I'd have my mental landscape a bit more tidied up by the time work came calling again, but I don't really seem to be going anywhere fast with that, and I have a nice offer letter sitting here from (can you guess?, can you guess?), the exact same company that laid me off in November. And that I quit at a couple of Augusts before that. Oh, the wacky hijinx of the tech industry. They really do never get old. So, basically, instead of getting laid off in November, I got a 7 month semi-paid leave of absence, and a not even vaguely insignificant raise. Heeeelarious.

I've got another interview tomorrow, but even if it goes smashingly, I doubt they'll make a competitive offer (Game industry. Nuff said), so I expect it's back to Emeryville for me in a couple of weeks. Tra la.

Ok. I don't really have the momentum to make a long and epic "What I've been doing in the past two weeks" post at the moment, as I'm sick, and despite having one aspect of my life suddenly ironed out, am pretty damned crotchety about all the rest of it, so I think I'm going to go chew on cough drops some more now.

Oh inertia, you are a harsh mistress. Not much updating this month, mainly because this month has been very confusing, and I'm constantly thinking things will resolve one way or the other and then I can update on it from solid ground, but that doesn't really seem to be in the cards. For somebody so fond of subatomic physics, I'm really not nearly as appreciative of uncertainty as I ought to be. Really though, I'm generally of the opinion that one's personal life should stay Newtonian as much as possible. Imagine the hassle if you constantly had to observe your friends to see if they liked you or not and then as soon as you left the room they went back to both enjoying your company and not, at the same time! Fickle bastards, the lot of you.

Anyway, it was becoming easier and easier to not update, and I've been down that road before, so here I am. Besides, Diana was guilt tripping me about it. Meanie.

The problem with these updates after long gaps is that they're either a millionty pages long (or, considering how verbose even my small entries are, more like a trillionty), or else you need to be very surface about everything. I'm going to try for the second one and probably end up with a happy medium somewhere around the size of your average doctoral paper.

So, random things that have not sucked:

The See Colin Slash/Gothsicles/Caustic show was easily the best show ever that has included the Konami code, a Frontline Assembly cover, ridiculously oversized cowboy hats, incredibly well deserved jabs at Combichrist songs, and Under The Harvest Moon (actually not entirely sure if that's the name of the song. I tried to google the lyrics I could remember when I got home, but didn't get anywhere. Apparently there are almost as many songs about harvest moons as about more mundane things like, you know, battlefields, and swords, and robots, and headhunters, and duck hunting in marshes, and things like that). Regardless, funniest show ever. If the universe were perfect the deluxo edition of the CD would include all of the show patter, but somehow I doubt that's going to be happening. Added bonus, so many old fogies showed up that I actually knew more than half of the concert audience.

Tom Parker, campmate of the year (That's as short as I'm able to make his name/title. Generally my intrinsic laziness causes me to start chopping off parts of people's names when I refer to them, until everybody is just a pleasant monosyllabic blur to me, but I am incapable of even thinking Tom... without then continuing with Parker, campmate of the year. As an aside, ever since I first began listening to the Violent Femmes, every time anyone ever says Chicago, my mind immediately follows it up with "That bitch took my money and she went to Chicago", which was problematic when I had a college roommate who was actually from Chicago (TBTMMASWTC)). Wow, that was parenthetical of me. I'm rocking the old terseness about as well as expected it seems. ANYWAY, Tom Parker, campmate of the year had a barbecue (other people were involved as well, but I don't have their LJ usernames, and hence, they go creditless), wherein there were kittens. I'm told that there were people there as well, but mainly just kittens. Oh my god. Kittens. Saw lots of people I like and don't see much due to their unfortunate taste in places to live. Seriously, nothing good can ever come of anywhere south of San Jose, and I'm still on the fence about them. Saw lots of people I see a fair amount, but somehow still manage to like anyway as well. Also, kittens.

I actually enjoyed the Thunderdome fundraiser. I guess this isn't really surprising, considering I've enjoyed all of the ones I've been to, but after last years Burning Man o' misery, I've been of pretty mixed opinions at best about the whole affair. When I saw the row of portapotties and started getting all misty eyed and thinking "Awwww, it's *just* like the playa", I knew I was probably going to end up going again this year. We'll see how my mood swing roller coaster is looking in a couple of months to be sure though. Also, going there with some Burning Man/Thunderdome virgins threw just how jaded I am into sharp relief. As we were walking up, it actually took me some noticeable lag to realize that their expressions of shock and amazement were because they were not accustomed to warehouses suddenly spewing gigantic gouts of flame into the air. I wonder just how much Burning Man has dulled my fundamental survival instincts. "Several million volts of electricity? *yawn* I saw this 7 years ago". Also, my new band name courtesy of this event, Do-Si-Do Forklift (thank you Jen for writing it down so I actually remembered it). I see us as Einsturzende Neubauten meets square dance. Now swing your partners into the circular saw *SKREEEEEEEE* *GRIND* *THUD THUD THUD*

I went to go see Miranda July (You might know her as "Oh, that You And Me And Everyone We Know person" (and if that's the case, I both applaud and am revulsed by your ability to think in HTML). I think of her as that person we used to listen to on the way to Shrine, and why my sister sometimes calls me Sasquatch, because I'm all old-school like that. Ok, ok, my sister's all old school like that, I just happen to have the good sense to realize when she's onto a good thing) read from her new book, which is wonderful, and I think less of all of you for not having already read it because I'm a judgmental ass. I'm not a hypocrite though, as I think less of myself for not having finished it yet also, but the bookclub book this month is actually a little hefty and something I haven't already read (Salman Rushdie's Midnight's Children FWIW), so I needed to stop reading Miranda July so I could finish rereading the 1100 page fantasy epic I was in the middle of, so I could safely start on Rushdie. Books are hard.

Speaking of that certain ginormous fantasy series, I assume all of you good Malazan reading people (all, you know, three or four of you on my friends list) are aware that the 7th book is out, yes? For some "In England" versions of out that is. Borderlands didn't have their copies last time I checked, though that might have been rectified at this point. Again I state that if you like fantasy and are not reading this series, you're doing yourself a grave disservice.

Hrm. I feel like I'm missing an event or two. Such are the perils of updating a month at a time. Anyway, I think that's enough random event talk anyway. And now for something of import. To me at least. And considering you had the poor taste to occasionally allow me to waste 2345 normal sized livejournal entries worth of your friends page, you get to come along for the ride.

Dating is hard, and I'm not at all sure I'm wired properly for it. I've always suspected that this was the case, but have never really had to do it before, so didn't know for certain. As a case study in the relationship stylings of the elusive Joshie, then called just plain old Josh, or sometimes "Oh, you're that math kid", I give you me at 17. I am sitting on the couch, quite possibly wearing what I consider the height of fashion, a hypercolor t-shirt, but probably not as in retrospect, I think that was more of an early high school thing, and I was already onto Bad Religion or Nine Inch Nails t-shirts by then. Regardless though, I have a ponytail down to my ass, and there's just no talking my way out of that one. Next to me sits one of my sister's friends. Another one of my sister's friends walks up and says something along the lines of "You two should go out". We sort of look at each other and think "Yeah, ok" and then make out for the rest of the evening. And so on. While a bit of an extreme example, that seems to have set a theme, as most of my relationships start with something akin to me going to sleep in a magical fairy ring and then waking up next day in a relationship and thinking "Hey, neat!" So this is really my first experience with the whole dating thing. I think my main problem is that I just don't have that many different internal settings. Romantically speaking, I seem to have approximately two, labelled 0 and 11. Which works just fine ... in relationships. In dating, it's a bit more problematic, as I've found that going around set at 11 is akin to not just wearing your heart on your sleeve, but sending it off to a particularly cruel elementary school in dorky clothes (dare I suggest a hypercolor shirt for your mental image?) with a "Kick Me" sign on it's back and then walking around issuing everybody steel toed boots. It works poorly. More succinctly put by Interpol "She feels that my sentimental side should be held with kids gloves *ridiculously non-applicable line snipped* She swears I'm just prey for the female" So, my goal for the near future is to look for a new knob, maybe one with a 5, or a 6, or dare I even hope, a 7? One can dream.

How the hell do you people do this? Show me the way to the nearest fairy ring! Because, you know, that turned out so well for all parties involved last time.

Onward and onward and onward I go. Where no man before could be bothered to go. Till the soles of my shoes are shot full of holes. And it's all downhill with a bullet. This ramblin' and rovin' has taken it's course. I'm grazing with the dinosaurs and the dear old horses. And the city streets crack, and a great hole forces me down with my soapbox, my pulpit

Dear 30. Good bloody riddance. For the most part, you won't be missed in the slightest. Also, when you see 21 in whatever hell realm really bad years go to suffer, give it a solid kick in the temporal teeth from me. I seem to have very poor luck with supposedly meaningful years. At this rate, is anyone up for a suicide pact in 9 years or so?

31, you have a very, very easy act to follow. Admittedly, I haven't been incredibly thrilled with the past 8 minutes, but I choose to blame that on 30's lingering influence. I am already favorably disposed to you, as you are a prime, and while you're not also a fibonacci number, well, I wasn't that interested in seeing the other side of 89 anyway, and besides, we can't all be perfect (especially if we're prime) (Yes, a truly miserable pun that I'm sure will largely go unnoticed).

So, apparently I am still a dork. I guess that's sort of a relief. I'm sadly and entirely unsurprisingly also still in a pretty bad mood, partially thanks to the day itself, and partially because I made the mistake of succumbing to a bad case of hope last week, and am now paying the incredibly predictable consequences thereof. I would find the Pandora myth a lot more reassuring if the last thing to come fluttering limply out of her box were resignation instead. Resignation by it's very nature is incapable of disappointing, which cannot by any stretch of the imagination be said about hope. Feh.

I think I need more things to fill my weeks up with. This whole whiling away time between club nights doing nothing thing is sort of beginning to get old. I love bookclub, but that's only a monthly. The weekends generally take care of themselves, but Tuesdays, Wednesdays, and most Thursdays could pretty much be replaced by me sleeping for 72 hours and I doubt I'd notice the difference. Anyone have any suggestions? I'd like to be able to host something here, but that's just never going to happen, especially as I inherited a couple dozen old boxes of mine that had been idling their time away in my mother's attic for the past 6 years or so. There's some well and truly embarrassing stuff in there. Also, plenty of things I've ended up with multiple copies of that I'll probably toss at interested parties. Actually, speaking of, anyone want Buffy season 1, Jan Svankmajer's Alice, or The Machinist on DVD? It'll be a very hobbit birthday this year.

When I look back upon my life, it's always with a sense of shame. I've always been the one to blame

So, yesterday, at the previews before First Snow (which I liked, though not as much as I had hoped I would), there was a trailer for yet another inevitably bad butchery of a Phillip K Dick short story (The director's most recent movie was xXx, State of the Union. Blade Runner this is not going to be). This time they're picking on The Golden Man, which I find even more offensive than usual, as it is so close to my preferred internet sobriquet. With this sad new information, I have come to the only possible conclusion: Hollywood has developed a machine powered solely on the angular momentum of writer corpses that is poised to burrow through reality itself into the collective unconscious. Once there, they will construct dark, steampunk cinematomorphicmaschinen turning our every thought immediately into really, really bad movies. Only an elite corps of ragtag freedom fighters stand any chance against this horrible plot. Yes, you heard me. Elite AND ragtag, at the same time! If you're interested, I could probably write a couple of you into supporting roles before I submit the final script to Newline. I'm seeing it sort of as Adaptation meets Hellboy...

God I hate Hollywood. And yet I love movies. In much the same way I love video games, but hate video game culture. My life is hard and full of woe.

Miscellaney follows.

Books finished since last update, Richard K Morgan's Altered Carbon. Books that have entered the apartment since last update, Alfred Bester's The Stars My Destination, Shirley Jackson's We Have Always Lived In The Castle, Vernor Vinge's Rainbow's End, Catherynne M. Valente's In The Night Garden , Scott Lynch's The Lies of Locke Lamora, and Italo Calvino's The Castle of Crossed Destinies. Me: 1, Books: 6

Most amusing ipod transition recently: Simon and Garfunkel's Sound of Silence to Covenant's Ritual Noise.

Also, confidentially to the Allman Brothers Band in regards to Jessica. Long enough for you guys? Because really, I think you missed the mark by not just going whole hog and making it 23 minutes long. Give In-A-Gadda-Da-Vida a proper run for it's money. (Yes, I am happy I don't ever have to play this song again until I get to hard mode)

Oh, and Grindhouse Wednesday at 8:00 at the UA Berkeley 7, if'n you're interested. AKA The Boy Theater (as opposed to the more cultured Shattuck theater a block away).

Just back from seeing Music and Lyrics with Jenny and Melissa. It was about as bad as you'd expect it to be, but it's not like it's something anyone is going to have high expectations about. Personally, I think it was worth it solely for the Wham!-tastic faux 80's video that starts it off, but I don't really ask a lot out of my romantic comedy. For a while I was the only male in the theater, and I was convinced that I was going to be torn limb from limb at the inevitable point when the male character did something unforgivably stupid (Which, just as inevitably, he'd eventually be forgiven for of course), but that's probably just me being influenced by Ink, the section of which I'm just finishing is based off of Euripedes' The Bacchae. Anyway, nice seeing a movie (even a mediocre one) with company, even though movie watching is a fundamentally solitary activity anyway.

Speaking of solitary movie watching (and just to prove that I still have some taste), I saw The Namesake yesterday, which was great. I got a little teary, because I am a great big girl. Sometimes I wish my first and middle names had any meaning whatsoever, other than being (as far as I can tell) the last flailing remnants of my mother's Catholic upbringing. At least of all the archangels I could have gotten as my middle name (Michael, if you didn't know), I got one associated with dragon slaying, hence establishing myself as a hopeless nerd from the get go. Then they turn around and give Nadja not just an interesting name, but an unusual spelling of it, and *two* middle names. I guess I shouldn't bitch though, as apparently I was *this* close to being named Zachariah, after this movie. Yeah, I think I'm glad my mom won that particular argument.

It's approaching that grim bad season for movies, though there's still some blips of hope. I just found out that there's a new Julie Taymor (Titus, Frida, etc.) coming out some time this year called Across The Universe which I'm hopeful about, though it doesn't appear to have any solid date. Meh. Assorted and sundry other things I'm interested in: Paprika, Grindhouse (because if you're going to make schlock, you might as well go whole hog), Day Watch (strangely not based on the second book in the tetralogy apparently), Sunshine (pushed back to September now apparently, meh), and First Snow (whose writer is apparently now the billionth or so person attached to the John Carter of Mars movie in production, which seems doomed to failure given how many people it's been tossed through at this point (Why oh why couldn't Robert Rodriguez have kept it? It would have been great. Stupid Hollywood guilds))

Sunday, another trip to the bookstore, another day I have to postpone that severe smack habit I've been meaning to pick up due to lack of funds. I actually managed to buy the book club book this time though... and six other things... I blame it entirely on Pegasus orienting their books cover outward. It's so much easier to impulse shop that way. At least I own a copy of The Phantom Tollbooth again as all good people should. Also, new Jonathan Lethem (as an aside, he's apparently giving a reading at Moe's in mid April), and a repurchase of Barlowe's Guide To Extraterrestrials that I promptly tossed on my pile of coffee table books awaiting a coffee table, where it will keep my Art of the Cthulhu Mythos and Jan Saudek (Oh, I should probably warn that that link is entirely likely to be not at all work safe) books very happy.

Oh, also, Nadja redyed/cut/etc. my hair. My life would be so much easier if it would just stay this blue and never grow out. I'll wait for someone else to take a picture and then steal it, as I don't think I have any way to transfer pictures from my camera to computer at the moment. I think some got taken at Death Guild (which was especially fun this week, though I think I might have done myself permanent injury dancing upstairs)

And now, I shall succumb to a meme, because, well, honestly, because I'm bored, and can't think of anything better to do with the time. As an aside, when did ye olde marketing gods decide that the term viral was going to become a positive thing? I keep seeing cellphone ads that tout their ability to access viral content. "Buy our new Nokia meme-master, now with Herpes Simplex built in! Woo!"

( In which I succumb to the memetic impulse )

Anyway, Meat tomorrow. Dancey dancey.

Ok, I am going to try a bold experiment here and post mainly fluff. It's been commented that my journal has been more than a little bereft of updates recently, which is certainly true, but it's not for lack of me writing them. I've written several, and then decided that there were already enough elegiac paeans to misery on the internet, and I wasn't really looking to be in the market for a dripping blood banner, and so deleted them forthwith. So, I'm just going to skip how I feel most of the time, and try to concentrate on things that don't suck.

I just got back from Compulsion (thank you Melanie for the ride home allowing me to stay for the whole thing), which was fun, though seemed to be plagued by the most fractious DJ set up I've seen since the good/bad/at the very least amusing old days when we were running Shrine off of two Discmen hooked up to a crossfader. I've got to say, one thing that has been pretty universally nice recently is poking my head out at clubs again, seeing old familiar faces more, and meeting new ones. Just the faces though... Oh, ok, you can include the torsos too, but that's my final offer. Yep, limbless clubbing is where it's at. And yes, I am fairly sleep deprived, why do you ask? How would you club someone if you were bereft of limbs, anyway? Clearly the only proper way to do it would be to wield your own severed arm holding a club between your teeth. And then maybe an elaborate pulley system to provide enough momentum for a proper whacking. My vast experience of Weeble ways from my toddler days is pretty clear that the only way they're going to damage anything is if something else is providing the energy. Also, when the hell did they give Weebles arms? I'm not ok with this. Is nothing in my childhood sacred?

Aaaanyway, before clubbing, I went book shopping, ostensibly to buy the next book for our book club (Yes, I am in a book club. Yes, it makes me feel mildly like a female retiree, for no real good reason other than that's how book clubs always seem to be portrayed in media (Seriously, page through this google image search if you doubt me)), but I was easily distracted by the depths of Sequel-land! Ink is the one I am most excited about. It's the sequel to Vellum, which came out last year, and I thought was pretty spectacularly brilliant, though nobody on Amazon seems to agree (though the book itself is pretty much dripping with positive reviews). Has anyone out there on my friends list read it? Seth? James? I've been wanting to talk about it with someone since I finished it, but I've been pretty lax about pushing it on people, which I will correct now. You should read it. At least if you can deal with a book you need to actively work at, and not expect to grok it properly the first time through. I mean, it's not Dhalgren, but it's way closer to that than a Star Wars novelization. It's got metatext, Metatron, Babylonian mythology, nanotechnology, what more do you really want? Personally I want it to not have a character named Phreedom Messenger, but sadly it has that as well, but is good despite it (And if I hadn't read it, I wouldn't have thought that was possible. Man, that's a horrible name).

Also in sequel land is the next book in the new Tad Williams ?ology. I expect it'll probably have 4 books total like Otherland (and like any sane person views Memory, Sorrow and Thorn), but I don't have any solid information to base that on. Anyway, at the very least 2. Also, Daywatch (Sequel to Nightwatch) is out. Well, that's been out for a while, but as an added bonus, it's now in a language I can read. Also, I, uhhh, got the second omnibus collection of Robert Asprin's Myth series. I know, I know. My only excuse is that the other books I bought were just too cool, and I feared for the structural stability of my bag to withstand it. Also, they're one of those things from my childhood that I somehow still get that warm being a kid fuzzy feeling when I reread, instead of my more traditional "What in the name of all that is holy was I thinking?"

Oh, and for the Robots and other people known to partake in Boardgame geekery on occasion. I propose that as a possible alternative to some nice and beautiful and elegant German board game the next time we get together, we instead get ridiculously trashed, watch a load of Z-grade scifi and play Venus Needs Men. I will warn you ahead of time that it will require approximately an elephant full of liquor to get me in a state where I don't break down into tears upon looking at the rule pamphlet (randomness, all theme, no mechanics. It burns. How it burns).

And now I sleep. Hopefully.

I am a real boy again.

New job (starting Monday) - check. New apartment (starting in early July) - check. New cat with an exciting tendency to mistake my toes for bedmice (i'm hoping that his error in mistaking my groin for a trampoline is a one time thing, and the bedmice effect will remain his only real downside) - check.

I have an overwhelming desire to buy approximately everything.

Newfound ability to write relatively terse updates - check.

There's a man who spoke wonders though I've never met him, He said, "He who seeks finds and who knocks will be let in". I think of you in motion and just how close you are getting, And how every little thing anticipates you. All down my veins my heart-strings call. Are you the one I've been waiting for?

This is just a quick entry to maintain my momentum. I keep meaning to make a real one, but then update worthy things keep happening, and now the potential journal entry is some titanic looming structure that seems poised to crush me underneath its very threat of corporeality if I were to go into any amount of detail. So, just a quick one then, because it's late/early. I'm almost insufferably happy recently for completely unexpected but greatly welcomed reasons. And, ummm, that's all for now I think. I've made enough long-winded posts in the lifetime of this journal, that I think I can forgive myself this one piece of fluff.

And just because it's been stuck in my head...

The devil makes work, for idle hands to do. He can take these hands if they`re not touching you. And these lips of mine would rather turn to stone than kiss another now that you are gone. Sweetheart, I'm so alone. Sweetheart, when are you coming home?

So many movies.

Simon was right. Made In Secret: The Story Of The East Van Porn Collective is probably the best thing I've seen at the Indyfest thus far. Lots of good commentary on gender and body image issues and the sad state of mainstream porn, in addition to insights on consensus based decision making in general. Mainly though, all the characters are just incredibly likable, except of course the glorious thing about documentaries is that they're real people instead of characters. I find it a little less creepy to like real people as opposed to small parts of a writers brain. I want them to move here, or be my pen pals, or something. Random Quotable Line: "I want us to be like the Fugazi of Porn". Punk rock!! Tangent: The last five shuffled songs on my iTunes playlist have been New Order's Bizarre Love Triangle, VNV Nation's Beloved, Depeche Mode's Strangelove, Nick Cave's Let Love In, and now Fugazi's Waiting Room. One of these things is not like the other...

After Made in Secret I went to go see Sons of Provo, because really, there's just something singularly satisfying about following up a documentary about porn with a mockumentary about a Mormon boy band. It was of course incredibly funny ("Now give me an 'Oooooh' sound and show me repentant") . I'm actually trying to think of a mockumentary that I've thought has sucked, and I'm not coming up with anything. My deep, dark, secret confession: I kind of want the soundtrack CD now... How can you resist these lyrics... Actually, I can't pick my favorite lyric, just go look at all of them at the Official Webpage. Added bonus, samples of the songs themselves. Score. Actually, while I'm at it, I want the Made In Secret soundtrack also, especially the Wet Spots stuff. I've been humming Do You Take It? to myself all day. It's going to get me in trouble sooner or later.

I think I'm hoping that if I keep watching Indyfest movies I'll eventually be able to blot out the cthulhoid soul-crushing terror of watching the Star Wars Holiday special last week. Never in my life before have I experienced such a driving urge to not be sober. As if somehow I could muffle my fragile psyche in a thick wool from the unrelenting terror assaulting it. Thankfully we were prepared for just such a situation, or I'm sure I would have been forced to turn to trepanation or huffing glue. Even in a dissociative haze however, the first ten minutes consisting of nothing but screeching in Shyriiwook (Yes, I know what the wookie language is called. I'm a sad, sad excuse for a human being) was almost enough to do me in. There are really no words to describe the terror...

Anyway, after Sons of Provo, I hung out with Maggie who gave me several well deserved kicks in the ass, but then just settled into berating me verbally, which was nice, as upon last report anti-Joshie sentiment was running high. Also saw Aneel and Joshrander, but didn't talk all that much. Ended up skipping Zatoichi and heading back early. Tonight I think I will go see Dry Spell again and then hit up an un-Valentines day party. Fun fun.