content, the lack thereof

poo.

i've made a decision. i think it's something i can live with for the next year or so, hopefully. maybe not the best choice, but i think as most of my life is not terribly fraught with good choices, this is the best i can expect, and will certainly make me much happier than i've been in that sense for the past months.

things are looking better-ish financially too. i suppose there's something to be said for having hoarded gobs of vinyl for twelve years. i sort of feel bad betraying my record-collector scum self - no giant indie-rock time capsule for YOUR beneficiaries, sucka! - but as it perpetuates the sloughing-off of material goods that was thoughtfully precipitated by the Triangle development and the shoddy wastewater planning courtesy of the city of Austin, i'm not going to get terribly anxious about it. i figure if you're willing to pay that much for the damn sea and cake record i found for four dollars at the houston sound exchange in 1996, you're probably going to give it a good home and maybe some sweet, sweet aural lovin' in the bargain.

there's more, but i don't really feel like talking about it at the moment.

if you don't give a damn, we don't give a fuck ...

however, i do like the way you work it.

*sigh*

i'm depressed. cheering, prease?

you'd think that the new girl talk would make me sufficiently happy.

And yes, i know.

Neighbor kitty!

i forgot

that this existed. how on earth can clicking on topsy taylor not make you feel better about the world's brief shortage of new LOLCATs?

the weather, and assorted scintillation

the wind is right and i can smell donuts in my carport. the air is a gravid weight, full of mosquitoes and yellowjackets and moisture refusing to precipitate, miniscule plant matter and maybe even a bit of california fire. my laptop is still insistent in its belief it is merely a typewriter, spontaneously opening the cd drive as an inappropriate carriage return. it's not as though it's requesting something new to listen to, like a demanding pre-internet teenager who has discovered college radio and zines all at once. it had better not be, at any rate. i would think it wouldn't have much to write about in its journal, but i could be wrong.

my right shoulder has reconfigured its musculature, knotting and protesting against any position deviating from how i move the mouse eight hours a day, cutting and pasting and opening and closing ones and zeroes. i hunch more frequently now, longing for the days of ergonomic government workspaces, while my chin juts forward and my face angles up to a permanent, invisible screen even as i drive.

Can you find my well-dressed neighbor?

are you TOTALLY STOKED?

because i am.

a. party. holla!
b. is this not the early eighties all over again? because i feel like it is. i totally felt teh bite of the S&L failure when i was six, and i'm sure i can feel it comin' in the air tonight again. or if not tonight, then maybe soonish? i mean, come on! wonky gas prices, crazy republican in the white house, i'm regressing to reading YA fiction... what other signifiers do you need? weird slutty madonna (check). retarded poppy dance music? check. cocaine? totes checkers. the dollar making a horribly slurpy sucking sound on global currency markets? check. crazy nonWASPy nonanglo terrorists about to not really do anything to us again because we breed like rats? um, check. insert random fact that is semicorrelated with something that happened 25 years ago? check and AFGHANISTAN check, bitches. how can i not win this argument, omg? OK, yeah, except there wasn't OMG back then. whatever, shut up, go to the B&S show tomorrow (see below) after buying art at end of an ear and then we can stand around at a party being all drunk and deep and shit about how this country is still going to hell and it's still the old people's fault. and maybe we can start our own goddamned newsweekly and make stupid money with it. and on that note, also see below.

"SHEEEeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeyit."

whee!

well, not really. sort of. i had missed knob creek, and now i don't. there's a party tomorrow/tonight! saturday night.

let's make a deal. if you don't already know about it, go to the brothers and (not ampersand) sisters cd release at club deville, and then you'll see me, and i'll tell you about it in between singing along loudly and off-key to "i don't rely" and other gems, which could potentially but probably won't include "september girls/gurls." (because they hate me.) and then we can stand around in a front yard or sit around on a couch or - even! in a back yard and drink and talk nonsense at each other. which is different from what we normally do, with all our glasses-pushed-back-up-our-noses-as-they-slip-down impossibly erudite lofty conversation and whatnot.

is there any way i could possibly not sell this to you more? not even a. me getting drunk and showing you my tiny boobs you've already seen too many times, or b. walking over to concordia for a midnight inspection of the demolition to date? or c. horrors! both? double-you-tee-eff, mate!

text a bitch.

did i mention i'm drunk? also, if you insist (and probably, possibly, if you don't) i'll tell you more than I wanted to know about avocados and drug possession in the netherlands and worldwide "age of onset" drug use. gee, i hope i'm not spoiling next week's alternative newsweekly for you. just wait til you hear what torrid scandals surround the potential development of the lions golf course! the brutal conflict between two former UT-golf-teammates!

oh.

you don't care about any of it. why am i not surprised?

The creepy paper towel dispenser