Ugly and Swearing

The proverbial boot of truth circumvents the harsh butt of reality.

2007-01-28T23:28:00.000-08:00

If anyone comes across this and wants More, Bigger, Faster then go here for my new rapid desalination project:

http://www.boogeresque.com/

[This paragraph reserved to discuss insole choices of the Third Reich.]

Gub Mint Che

2007-01-18T10:33:00.000-08:00

I spent most of last evening reading Bukowski in a hospital waiting room, periodically listening to Lindsay Lohan's alcohol "problems" and a crazy woman prattling on about how much she hates non-American white people. There was no stark realization I reached, just merely half-observing my surroundings of a strange, wholly unfriendly place. I don't get hospitals, and I don't get doctors. Unless your limb is falling off, you don't get much help. Unless your limb dropped behind you 10 feet back, you'll sit there for half a day until you get the privilege of sitting in a different room for the second half of the day waiting around for nothing to work itself out, so you can trudge home confused, angry, and searching for a reason why.

Two years ago I went to the doctor because of pain in my chest. I've dealt with a nasty case of an overly acidic system for years, but this was a new ordeal. New equates to strange, and strange equates to fearsome. I don't do doctors, but I got tired of feeling like a hooker had the business end of her heel burying itself into my chest once or twice a week. After sitting around for so long I began contemplating self-inflicted rectal trauma, I spent a whopping 5 minutes with a condescending doctor who recommended "Motrin, maybe Tylenol," and then unceremoniously shooed away with little more than the explanation of "muscle spasm, don't worry about it." Seven years of med school for that? I should've stabbed myself in the throat and then worked on her before the blood left my body into an ever cooling pile of death floating out of and around in Room 6, if anything just to ponder the surely confused look on the detective's face as he jots down "suicide, then murder???" probably slightly misspelled and randomly capitalized in part I'm sure.

So you'd think an old man dying of cancer would receive slightly more priority than my whiny Motrin-slingin' ass, but last night proved not to be the case. Again. I thought those in the health-profession got into the job because they cared about people, or at least pretended so. I can't get even a smile out of anyone on the night shift.

I went across the country, I found myself an apple

2007-01-17T08:16:00.000-08:00

It's been yet one evening since I at The Bran Muffin, and I've been shitting my way back home ever since. There's something magical about a thing that tastes good in a perfectly inoffensive way, then within 4 hours won't let you leave the bathroom for the following 24 hours. It's not like when I go to El Colima and have too much salsa only to be left groaning in pain the next day because it is tearing apart my bowels, but rather a seemingly innocent being whose sole use in the world is to WRECK YOU. Last night before the pooping commenced I ended up writing a first chapter and subsequent outline for a book idea, I'm not even sure where it came from but I wrestled it out of my person and onto paper (I may be an internet junkie but serious writing requires pen, paper, and hand only). I tried writing a book in the past and failed, went in with no ideas because I thought I was just like Montaigne drinking Kerouac Juice, or at least harboUring that type of spirit. This time I told myself no bookattempt until I had a solid idea, and well, one hit me. Of course only if I finish the job will I be able to say "hey, look at this ball of holiday cheese, all covered in almonds," so until then I'll simply plug away when the muse strikes me on the top portion of my testicles with the corner of a book.

So now I'm back at work the next day plotting how I'll be able to sneak out of the 2pm meeting in Newport Beach I'm being forced to attend later this afternoon. Meetings can suck it, in such a way that not only the sucker has no pleasure in doing so, but the suckee only engages in the act itself to make said sucker uncomfortable. It's like a public blowjob after playing soccer for 6 hours: nobody wants to be anywhere near the whole situation.

1854

2007-01-16T16:46:00.000-08:00

There's truly only one thing left to do. The only possible explanation for the existence of existence is quite simple. One last time, yet for the first time ever, it shall be revealed. The mannerisms undone by saucy redheads will finally come to fruition. The earth shall quake, and the vanilla shake will be made from real ice cream. This is finally happening. The end is NyQuil. The results are out. The babies have been shaved for the last time. My feet itch. It spells relief with a capital X. She happens upon you whilst cheating on her sister, but you can't even see out your own ojos. Tacosneeze faceplanting Chia-ass. One o'clock, two o'clock, schfourteen o'sock cocque. Everything else is meaningless. Nothing left is flavoUrful. Ants are eating Ents, but nobody told the Dogs of Babel. The answer has come:

I WARNED YE!

glass nuts

2007-01-16T16:04:00.000-08:00

Well seriously, I mean this is just getting ridiculous. I don't even know why you're here, and by you I mean me, why I mean what, and here I mean Tetris. I tried to Craig's List a drummer, but so far no bar. I suppose what I really need is to move to a community that doesn't have an overabundance of emo homos because by putting Queens of the Stone Age in the ad I made 86.732% of the viewers cry, and King Crimson as the other half of the equation made the remaining 13.268% say "who?" So as per usual, it's all my fault. I don't know why I bitch about things, anything I don't actively pursue to change myself might as well be the weather because I'm not getting off my ass and finding that fucking dog anyhow. Hey speaking of fucking, I mean dogs, one tried to attack me and my special ladyfriend last night. Well okay not really, but he was big and not friendly, so I was on my guard. He placed no less than 3 vehicles between himself and us before started barking, almost as cowardly as me yelling "you are the one who is the asshole!" 5 football fields too late just like in that one special features commentary (keywords: I think I just filled the cup). I think I'm straying beyond the point at this point so I better point myself back in the proper direction. Who Am I (What's My Name)? I don't even care right now. It's not really nihilism when you still avoid personal discomfort.

In closing, I've never had a henna tattoo, and don't plan on it anytime soon.

Big shoes to fill...
Big shoes to fill...
Big shoes to fill...
Big shoes to fill...
Big shoes to fill...

Woman inserted golf carting.

2007-01-16T15:37:00.000-08:00

Sorry, that last one wasn't exactly what I was driving toward. I think the crux of the biscuit about this whole deal is that I'm honest to fucking goat tired of sitting in an office every day, or at least 5 days a week. So tired in fact that I had an EMERGENCY PROJECT to do yesterday, 5 of them actually, that I found out about at 9am and didn't start them until after 3pm. Not because I lacked the time or the drive, rather because they didn't quite smell kosher until the mid-afternoon. So I sat 'round for that few hour gap engaging in work-banality, which I think the elders are starting to notice because I've had several people approach me this week immediately stating "wow, you don't want to be here, do you" not as a question or statement of purpose, rather as one of fact (oops, that F-word rears up once again). Why? Because I'm an idiot for accepting this sidetrack path of life that pays the bills. Just yesterday, for the first time mind you, I thought I should change my major, even though I graduated over 5 years ago. How would things have changed due to that? Well not one bit excepting perhaps one extra quarter of college on top of the already one extra quarter I was forced to take. The kids these days, they think stuff matters when in fact everybody knows nothing does once you reach the ripe old age of 25, everything after that is just variations on a rewind. Personally, I blame Ivan Raimi.

Now if you think this one makes sense more than that whole Defartation biness, you sir are more lost than I can even imagine I would ever end up. Boil yer bottom.

Mandatory Defartation of all Elephants

2007-01-16T15:21:00.000-08:00

Well I think I've had it. The time has come to get rid of all the elephant farts ONCE AND FOR ALL. As you can see I'm still ending my sentences by YELLING INCOHERENTLY. Okay well I'm done for now, after this sentence is RAPED BY THE LOCAL ELKS LODGE. Right. I'm assuming that people know what I'm talking about, although I suppose that has always been my greatest flaw: assuming that people know. Hey I'm not going to try and say I'm some elitist brain-using nose-breather myself, I'm just a big of a moron as your average Jessica or Ashley Simpson. Well okay maybe not, because I think last I checked they both still had blonde hair and money, so obviously aren't stupid at all, but rather just "not deep" and I'm "just jealous" of everyone else's "good fortune" on this "plane" "of" "existence" "." Of course, then again, rather, it would seem, perhaps, you were thinking it could be something else, here's the real cheese, the doctor isn't in, your face is ugly, you got beat by your uncle at Parcheesi, but hey, I'm not the one buying you dinner tonight anyhow. That job is left for the unemployed who would much rather toast their toast as they roast their host in a manner most eloquent, succulent, and divergent as to assume that one even knows where that sentence back there (two ago) was going in the first place because even though I'm Behind The Wheel you probably don't understand that it's not even a car but rather that one couch I got high while sitting upon back in '95 and thought I was driving to the moon but in fact I was already there, if in fact you consider the planet Earth as a moon of the sun which is only a star in fact but I don't think the planets work that way anyhow (if in fact we're not talking about Pluto here). You didn't think this was about Harry Nilsson again, did you?

Oh yeah, those are exactly my sentimonies!

She Shit Sea Shit By the Shit Shit, and shit.

2007-01-16T10:02:00.000-08:00

I've sold my more music equipment this year than a GOAT IN CHINA.

I find it best to end sentences by yelling SOMETHING INCOHERENT.

That way what stays in Rome happens in CORPORATE FLEX TIME.

There are no more MONKEYS EATING RAISINS.

If you disagree then all I can say to you is "POTTED FLOWER."

Just last week I GRAFTED A CAT.

Your mother reminds me of a BUTT'S DOG.

I actually had a point to accomplish here but NOW I'M ON FIRE.

Twenty Fuckin' Five to One, My Gamblin' Days Are Done

2007-01-15T08:42:00.000-08:00

I've determined, on this gloriously gloriful Monday morning which signifies the first 5 day work week I'll have attempted to accomplish in about 6 weeks, that I could sit around listening to The Pogues all day, every day until prohibition recommenced. Granted, I don't wish either occurence to occur (does that count as super- or supra-alliteration? no? piss off then), but if it did, I would say "hey now, there's a yellow curry if I ever seen King Kong in the theatre, now where's me quarter?" and then be on my merry way. By merry way I mean back to the tubroom for some of grampa's patented Bathtub Gin. Ever been kicked in the face by an elk? Well me neither but I'll bet if one of my grampa's would've made gin, and to the best of my knowledge they did not, that's about what it would feel like. What would the elk hoof feel though? A face, I just told you that. Idiot.

So here it goes anyhow, raunching about the place running like toothpaste at dawn, everyone trying to reacharound their mothers as if the world were coming to a cold, dark, and mysterious pause. I'd love to be a leather boot right about now, if only I so could feel the softshoeness of the world eclipse my stomach ache.

Empty feet and full recycled paper bag economics.

2007-01-15T00:21:00.000-08:00

*CLANG*
"What are you doing?!"
"Making a screwdriver. Ahh, smells like college."

So I'm putting together my writing portfolio see, and since it's Sunday night and I have to be at work in about 7 hours, I figured what better way to kill off a nearly empty bottle of vodka than by tossing it into some Pulp Free Orange Juice (Not From Concentrate). So even though I'm listening to Colour Haze all I can think of is Stephen King in Creepshow:

"Oh, Jordy Verrill, you lunkhead!"

The man never said it better.

There Once Was A Man From-- aw, fuckit.

2007-01-12T13:52:00.000-08:00

Yeah so as I sit here in my office blasting Tool and barely working, I got to thinking: this sucks. Okay well I've thought that nearly every day I've come into work, but this time I finally mean it. I mean seriously, this sucks. No really, this sucks. Why am I still here? Should I open a business of my own? Nah. Should I start building effect pedals in my spare time, give them away for a year, and then if they turn out good start selling them around 2010 for 3 years before I realize that the only money I'm making is based on tax write-offs for owning/operating a failing business? Well that doesn't sound attractive either. Rock star? Nah fuck that, I can barely deal working with even good musicians, let alone bad sycophantic ones with delusions of grandeur.

So I write.

Did you see that? That was a Chuck Palahniukism, making an almost meaningful sentence into its own paragraph. That was my first example of what I'm not going to do, force it into swill like that tripe (note: I loved the movie). I'm going to write and write and write, and when I'm done writing, I'll write some more. There are no goals here, other than creating a pile of papers that I find attractive to read upon reinspection. Any recurring ideas will be run into the ground until I'm tired of them and will move on to something else, I'm not going to say "I'm writing a book that will have 19 chapters and will be done by 2008," no. I'm just going to write and see what happens naturally, although being aided by whisky on more than one occasion will certainly happen. After a few months, everything goes into a portfolio which I'll dump off to random publishers and see if anything sticks. Writing is something I do anyhow, so this is my gimme for a possible career re-launch into something enjoyable for a change. We'll see what happens, hooray 2007, REGGAE HAIRCUT, ROCK AND ROLL! Anyhow:

I can't believe I haven't seen Idiocracy yet. For shame.

2006 Demo: Fuckaid: 666

2007-01-11T20:49:00.000-08:00

No it's not called Fuckaid: 666, I just felt like typing that because it's god damn funny, not to mention having two colons in one title with no defined sentence division is pretty awesome (this happens once more, tune in later).

Anyhow I already posted these three songs about 2 months ago but figured this would make a convenient time to say HEY! HERE THEY BE! Instead of burying them below some pseudo-existential rant about goat cares who, so here they be (note to self: stop repeating yourself yourself):

Rehashed Browns
This one started life in an old band I was in up until a year ago. I liked where it went, but at the same time knew I had to make it my own to really be happy with it, so I took my sole song contribution to that group and rehashed it back into exactly where I wanted it to go to begin with. This one probably makes a better solo bass piece than full song, but hey, recording it this way gave me a chance to peep out my new phaser.

Fartea
If the title held some sort of significance I'd say what it was, but I can't even assure you that it was a joke I found funny, because I didn't. In fact I'm pretty sure that when I saved the original sketch idea I haphazardly typed "Fart" just because I enjoy 8-year-old toilet humoUr a bit too much, and rather than spend the whopping amount of effort it would've taken to hit the backspace key 4 times and start anew, I sealed the deal by attaching a half-word to the end of said juvenile attempt at a half-laugh. We're talking Before & After bad, no not Jeopardy, full on Wheel of Fortune. Anyhow this one has 4-part harmonies that are faded in and out of one another, played in a different time signature than the main riff, in order to create some fairly respectable dissonance.

Song of Whale
The third and final song was actually finished first, a few months before these other two halfwit concoctions, and completely by accident. One day I bought two weird pedals and while dicking around with them they began making odd noise, so I thought what better time than now to hit record? This was done in one take while discussing the latest shopping list with the woman, she didn't know I was recording at the time and I didn't know I actually had something I would listen to later and enjoy. The world works in mysterious ways, although that has nothing to do with this 5 minute "song" if you even want to call it that.

Oh yeah, these were all done using 2 basses, 1 drum machine, and various effects. No guitar or vocals. Cheers and shit.

Fans of violent anal gangbang pornography have deeper psychological issues (sexual and otherwise) than I'd care to discuss at this current juncture.

2007-01-08T08:43:00.000-08:00

Called into work today for the first time in... probably a year or two. I still think it possible that the wind has caused my allergies to act up, but either way I'm taking a 3-day weekend to sit around playing with myself because I don't have the energy/desire to utilize this spare time to accomplish something meaningful like read a book, create a new recipe for broccoli salad, or compose a medley of showtunes on the clavichord.

Had a dream about my new grey beanie the other night. It involved me being part of The X-files as well as a hermaphroditic ex-body builder with a penchant for nudity and ugliness (unrelated), but the biggest part I remember is my beanie. All stretched out, barely even recognized its former self. I love that beanie.

In a final Thought of Ages for today, I'd like to remind everyone out there (nobody) that because I failed at writing a book on my first attempt, this blog serves to allow me to vent out any sort of wordplay and other verbiage I please on a basis as regular as I wish. This is like the demon that claws its way out but rather than being oppressed by the wielder or other form of master, I allow it to thrive in this e-world of 98% pornography, 2% crap. SO BE IT!

Pissing Upwind

2007-01-05T15:53:00.000-08:00

Man do I love The Silver Mt. Zion Memorial Orchestra and Tra-la-la Band. To show you how serious I am, I'm going to type their lengthy name out one more time, not using copy/paste trickery: The Silver Mt. Zion Memorial Orchestra and Tra-la-la Band. I suppose if you have to give them a label, Modern Classical would suffice. Modern Classical As Influenced by Bob Dylan and to a Lesser Extent Merzbow if you want to get really specific and are not into the whole brevity thing. I mean even all their CDs are set up like little vinyls with recycled paper and nifty images and designs. Saw them live last year and ended up buying the missing albums that weren't yet in my collection. The dude working the merch table gave me a solid, honest, and true Thank You which I found a little odd, until 45 minutes later when I realized he was a member of the band. Whoops. Anyhow I'm not really into making new paragraphs today so this looks like a stream of consciousness bit at best, a jumbled mess at worst, but honestly it's just one brief display of my laziness on a Friday afternoon at work where nothing pertinent is happening so anything sitting in front of me that isn't a 3 minute typing exercise gets put off until Monday morning, at which time people will be screaming on the phone at me whining about goat cares what, because as I and a few other keen individuals know none of this shit matters anyhow, I mean going to "work" every day is probably just some other tool of the man to keep you down and keep the taxes paid, with no real bearing on life, the universe, or anything at all. Huh, I guess that was a bit of a stream after all, sorta like the one I'm getting ready to unleash once I unass myself from the chair to go take and that piss I've been threatening about in the title of this whole shebang from the get-go. Fixin' to take a dump at this point, awesome.

Thinking Doing Nothing

2007-01-04T15:56:00.000-08:00

Nobody told me Sunn O))) and Boris made a collaboration album that was released a few months back, and my forehead is sweating with rage! To the philistines who think both bands are a bit too "artsy-fartsy," "gay," or "flat out fucking amazing but I'm a moron who'd rather listen to shitty Iron Maiden records and pretend I'm tough," let me remind you that Kim Thayil was involved. If you don't like him then I don't like you.

http://www.southernlord.com/press/sunnborisaltar/

So I decided to celebrate purchasing it using my Barnes and Noble Gift Card (along with the third and final book in those recent Lovecraft collections by Penguin) by listening to Johnny Cash. Johnny Cash fucking rules.

In other news, I'm still pissed that Jessica Alba pisstianed out by keeping her clothes on for Sin City, so much that my attraction toward her in a solely physical way has diminished gradually ever since said news broke. Slut.

2007: The Year of the Jew

2006-12-28T14:39:00.000-08:00

This year shall be a frugal one. In fact I'm going to be so cheap that I'm not going to even finish this bl

Got Evil?

2006-12-21T11:01:00.001-08:00

I’d love to know why I turn into a bastard sometimes. There was a period in my life where I would snap at even the mildest unpleasant situation, but I thought I was done with all that bullshit because it’s something I’ve worked on for years to eliminate. Unfortunately it still bubbles up from behind a vile pit of putrescence and the problem isn’t feeling like an ass for a few days afterward (I feel like an ass most of the time anyhow, including while sleeping), but rather the lingering effects on those who suffer the brunt of my wrath. I always know the end result before I even get started, and I don’t enjoy it, yet continue plaguing loved ones with the same mistake. The frequency and scope have lessened considerably from darker days, but it still happens several times a year and it is a thing that should not be. Do all men get this way, do we all have this spiteful, vindictive nature that is brought about by little if anything at all? I hate it.

In other news I ordered a custom jazz bass the other day, a Mike Lull M4V. It’ll look something like this, only better:

So concludes another schizophrenic Booger.

warm eggnog and day old beer

2006-12-10T21:06:00.001-08:00

The following images describe the past few days:

Been a good weekend.

In other news, this year is probably a new record for xmas spending. I mean jesus fucking piss I've spent a buttload of cash, and I still have two people to shop for, as well as purchasing random bottles of goodbeer to leave in the office for passersby who happen to drop something off toward my person: "hey thanks for the hat, BY THE WAY I got you this!" But who cares? Money is gay, and I'm proud of my latent homosexuality. Um... yes.

Preoccupationatory

2006-12-05T19:12:00.000-08:00

For several weeks now I've been distracted by the thought of opening my own business. There are two problems to work out before getting there, unfortunately they are two large ones.

First, I want to own a house before starting up some enterprise, as I'd much rather take out a home equity loan to fund my entrepreneurship than pay 186.72% interest to some megabank like a chump. Sure, with the current housing market I could buy one in town right now, but that would possibly leave me stuck in Subversive California for longer than planned. The risk is made easier with a steady job here that I would remain employed with until if/when the solo endeavour would launch into ludicrous speed, but I don't fucking want to live in this quadrant of the continent for too much longer.

Second, I don't know what I want to do yet! I have a few solid ideas, but when I make the plunge I want to make sure it's right. I need to combine the attributes of Unique and Practical, otherwise the idea is likely doomed. I'm still in the brainstorming stages obviously, but I haven't yet discovered a "can't live without this" thing, a "guaranteed hit" on my hands, or even a "wheelbarrow in the bayou" idea just yet. If I could sell farts, OH MAN would I be in business.

Ah fuckit, for now I'll just listen to the following albums because they are all ruling my face:

Fartography

2006-12-02T18:09:00.001-08:00

Yeah so I spent today with the woman and her family, which was pretty rad because I got to eat all kinds of food and watch bits and pieces of an awful, awful movie entitled The Chase. Even Henry Rollins was pretty crap in it, and Kristy Swanson isn't that hot with short hair. Some people ask why I hate America, and all I do is launch DVDs like The Chase and Mission: Impossible 2 directly at their forehead, laughing maniacally, for an answer. Yeah so anyhow, I just wanted to say it's nice to be accepted into a family like this, which I seemingly have been, especially one I love so much. My family away from family but still family, or something. That's the official title in fact, starting now:

My Family Away From Family But Still Family, Or Something

So yesterday I bought a new-to-me bass, which should arrive sometime this week. It's another Korean-made Lakland. Funny how even though given my unpatriotic status as mentioned above, I've always been a firm supporter of American made musical instruments, because many are of the utmost quality. Well Lakland is an American company, but the particular lower cost series I now own 2 basses from are exclusively made in Korea, although tested in the US. Anyhow, here's a god damn picture (and shit):

Cancer, more like pain-in-the-ass-cer!

2006-12-01T09:40:00.000-08:00

Had to rush the woman's dad to the hospital yesterday, and when I say rush I mean it because I drove. I treated the situation like everyone in the car was on the verge of jetstream diarhea and the hospital was that great always open gas station with the clean bathroom, like that one Mobil on MacArthur and Redhill that has tile and golden sink fixtures and shit (seriously, go check it out, tell them I sent you to do the poop), so we made it to UCI in under 30 minutes.

I once heard some douche say "fuck bees, I'll punch every bee in the face!" but I sorta like bees. I'd rather punch cancer in the face and maybe even a little kick to the groin. It's one of those things that I really hope I never get because I don't want the pain or to put any loved ones hanging around through that, but in the words of the e'er eloquent Mike Muir:

"It doesn't matter I'll probably get hit by a car anyway."

In happier news, I got a sizeable bonus this week for remaining loyal to the company when a large shake-up occured about 6 weeks ago, so all the Christmas shit I bought will be paid off when the hefty credit card bill arrives, those I haven't shopped for are getting good scotch instead of Cluny, and I just might buy myself a bass like this one:

Still listening to that Xenogears soundtrack several times a day, and I was able to finish another Vonnegut book this week. FUCK I'm cool.

misc. bullshit

2006-11-29T14:26:00.000-08:00

It's windy as fuck today, which makes it unruly. People on the freeway were driving all slow and wussy, so when I found myself staring into the abyss that was 3 empty lanes, I punched it and off I went approachig 88mph:

1.21 GIGAWATTS

Also, this is probably my favorite picture on the history of everything:

In other news, the logo on this hooded sweatshirt is pretty unruly:

Finally, this album rules but even so the artwork surpasses it in terms of awesomeness:

Gimme four steps, gimme four steps mistah...

2006-11-27T22:00:00.000-08:00

1) I love listening to the woman speak in Farsi, especially when she's talking to her sister because her accent changes. I can't tell if it's something childlike or simply a relaxed, comfortable attitude, but it is most certainly different.

2) Song #4 is nearing completion from a structural standpoint, this one is a doozy and could be my best song, which puts it in about 4,972,385th standing in line for Best. Song. Ever. Anyhow:

DUCKY!

3) THIS SPACE INTENTIONALLY LEFT BLANK

4) I'm on quite the In Flames kick right now. In Flames, Miles Davis, Trans-Siberian Orchestra, and Xenogears. Yeah, I'm cool.

Two for... Sunday.

2006-11-26T15:23:00.000-08:00

Here is my latest pedalboard picture:

It doesn't include everything, but it does include what I use on the most regular basis.

Here is me rocking the fuck out:

(photo credit to My Noushie, she's so talented)

Yeah so I have one song left to complete that I'd like to add to my demo, but if I don't no big deal because I have three songs done and they are rather okay. Also the artwork is nearing completion so it's about time to pack everything up to Kinkos, print 25 copies, and then have difficulty giving any of them away to those that aren't friends and family. Here are the mp3s:

Rehashed Browns
Fartea
Song of Whale

REGGAE HAIRCUT, ROCK AND ROLL!

3 songs completed

2006-11-21T11:15:00.000-08:00

Bought a microphone, tried singing, did okay, didn't save the track. Fuck all that, I didn't even write lyrics yet and the song is worth more than saying "I don't have any lyrics, but I bought this mic at Sam Aaaaaaassssshhhhhh" nearly in key. So yeah for all intents and purposes this demo is complete, other than artwork which the woman is currently working on. I might do another song or two this week but even if not, veni, vidi, vici.

Also apparently I'm going to see The Rolling Stones tomorrow night due to some free tickets floating my way. I honestly don't give a fuck about them past 1973 but hey, the price is right.

Oh yeah I didn't even tell anybody about this blog so I'm totally talking to myself at this point. Awesome.

Studio report

2006-11-19T23:20:00.000-08:00

Yeah so I started to record my demo this weekend, one song is completed other than vocals and overall mastering, but I think it turned out well and my nifty new digital 8-track is pretty radical (and stuff). Hooray.

That's some instruction manuals because a) I just bought the 8-track and b) it's been so god damn long since I've used my drum machine that I forgot how to program it. Honestly it's a piece of shit (no multiple tempos, limited number of odd time signatures, etc.) but it sound real enough so fuck it I say fuck it all.