"Cotton, it's goddamned 5 o'clock and you haven't even updated this shit today! I hate you, and you probably smell like old wheat bread-and-celery sandwiches"

First of all, go to hell. I'm still in the office, and I should be home by now, pouring myself something wonderful. Second, I smell great*. and third, I've been in a holding pen getting repeatedly punched in the groin by angry dwarves for the past 11 hours, so cut me some slack**.

The zoo was a lot of fun. Well, as much fun as the zoo can be on a humid, embarassingly hot evening, anyway. I took all these pictures of the polar bears eating fishes, monkeys having sex (a mature one, I am), and my beer as seen from a hot air balloon. It’s a pretty sweet shot. Unfortunately, though, I left my phone at home so I won’t be able to post them until Monday or so. Because whatever they tell you about being able to post pictures from your cell phone is COMPLETE BULLSHIT. Anyway, last week one of the Asiatic bears caught up with one of the dozens of peacocks that roam freely throughout the zoo and mauled it before eating it. I couldn’t find anyone that could tell me if it happened while the zoo was open or not, but the idea of a dozen terrified kids watching a little brown bear snacking on a peacock was just about enough to make me cry tears of bird-eating joy. I fucking hate peacocks, and don’t understand what their appeal is. They have a freakishly annoying call, and those feathers are worthless. You know what? I think any bird that can’t fly is pretty much worthless. Except penguins. Especially those wooly ones. Those guys are A-OK in my book.

Some key dialogue from last night:

“look at that monkey scratching himself!”

“uh, he’s not scratching himself”

“then what’s he – oh, god.”

It’s Friday, and I should be doing backflips in excitement of sleeping in and drinking out, but in all honesty I just can’t bring myself to be all that pumped. Probably because I don’t have a single thing planned, except maybe going to the Hollertronix reunion, which I really don’t see myself doing. Which is a shame, because I’m sure it’ll be a blast. I did get paid today, though, so who knows maybe I’ll go do something stupid with my earnings. The Good news is that I can finally afford to buy some more CDs to complete the mix I started a month ago. So yeah, Ricky, keep your eyes peeled…for me to ask you what your address is for the 30^th time. So yeah, that’s pretty cool.

The Paramounts were a British R&B group in the mid-late 60s. They were tortured and prodded and twisted into Procol Harum. I can’t tell you a fucking thing about them outside of “Whiter Shade of Pale”, which isn’t nearly as bad a song as the shitty name would lead you to believe.

“Pride & Joy” - The Paramounts

Don’t buy Abbey Road Decade here

I hate Sid Vicious. I really do. I think he’s the most pointlessly overcelebrated piece of trash that has ever crapped out of first wave punk. Seriously, the man couldn’t even tune his instrument, and is more famous for slamming broken beer bottles against his bare chest and murdering his girlfriend more than anything else. Yet to this day there are dumb misguided kids that hold him to some mythical status, their own patron saint of self-destruction, a token icon of the misunderstood. This is fucking retarded. Maybe he was a nice guy, I don’t fucking know. I’ve heard as much, though. The point is I still don’t give a shit, he was worthless (bassless bassist = flightless bird?) and somehow more annoying than Johnny Rotten. The strange thing is I’ve always enjoyed his cover of the Paul Anka classic. I think it was because I assumed it what was punk was supposed to sound like. Years later I realized it was pretty much what old people assumed punk sounded like, and that it was commonly accepted that Elvis Costello was a punk rock musician. Then I didn’t know what the hell was going on. As you might have noticed, that’s pretty much the state I’ve been in since then. Some interesting notes that this song always reminds me of:

-my one brother quoting this in his senior yearbook in high school. He attributed it to Sid Vicious. His other quote was from the Cure.

-my other brother, in his no good punk kid years***, borrowed some money and bought a crapped out 1976 Dodge Charger. He promptly carved “SID” in the trunk with his pocketknife and vowed to rebuild as a rubber-burning hellraisin’ machine. It spent the nesxt 2 years parked halfway in the woods behind my grandmother’s house, occasionally used to get high in by said brother and his friends. Finally, my grandmother had it quietly towed away without telling him. This saga is still mentioned at family gatherings.

-The end of Sid & Nancy. Despite his douchebag of a character study, Gary Oldman is the greatest actor I’ve ever seen. He’s more impressive than a life-sized Mount Rushmore made out of diamonds, magic, and elbow macoroni.

“My Way” – Sid Vicious.

Buy The Great Rock n’ Roll Swindle here.

I Don’t know much about the Avett Brothers other than what I’ve heard. They play the same sort of stomping bluegrass the Boggs used to, and from what I’ve heard they’re an exceptional live show and really a swell bunch of guys to boot. I’ve never actually booted them, but I hear things. I should probably throw some opera and Irish funeral dirges in here to while I’m posting a bunch of mismatched shit.

“Let Myself Live” – The Avett Brothers

Buy Mignonette here

*this is a lie

** This is also a lie

***This is yet another lie. Though my brother isn't Henry Rollins, they were about as obnoxious as each other around then. And I couldn't finds a picture of Matt Dillon in Over the Edge to use instead.