They pay me to do this?!??

Last nite was my inaugural DJ gig @ Genna's. Tho' my transitions started off choppy, a leg fell offa my turntable, and I seem to have lost the power cable for my external hard drive, thusly separating myself from my digital music vaults until I can find 'dat puppy, it was... well... awesome. Fun as crap. No kiddin', either. Of course, it was also pretty much dead, and though I was promised that I didn't drive anybody out this also means that the real test of my skillz on the wheelz of steel and aluminum-cased-cheater-jukebox will have to wait until there is actually somebody there that would complain to me about the shitty kuts that I choose. Catchdubs I ain't, folks. But I promise it will only be a matter of weeks until I am crab-scratching my dual copies of Toasted Marshmallow Breaks while supremely wasted on the free Point I'll invariably be quaffing.

Today was, then, awesome... I somehow dodged a much-deserved hangover, finished a bunch of work (not frequent in my day-to-day), soaked up a meager amount of sun, and all without the help of a functioning iPod. The biggest worry I am having is that it seems that a couple of record orders I am waiting on have taken a rather long arrival time, sparking some nagging package-theft doubts. I'll kill any mutha that lays finger on my goodz. Be forwarned, vinylthieves.

Mayne, I get to DJ tonight. I'm kinda nervous. Yup. Four hours seems like a lot of music... I am estimating about 50 songs... which is easy, but what about that whole maintain a flow thing? Maybe I'll just do a jolting, jarring ride through my collection. Time ta' mash Hototogisu up against Superpitcher. Yawrl.

New Arthur out. As good an excuse as any to place another fairly mammoth order w/ Forced Exposure. Whoo-doggy...

No hope

Fucking cold, blah blah blah. Fortunately, I had received this lil' pup earlier in the week. Good Sir Plastic Crimewave had thoughtfully made this mix up specifically to antidote the kinda shit we're neck deep in right now. One play is good as tealeaf. Inspired me as well to extend the concept and line up some listens to Hive Mind, Workbench, Dead Machines & John Weise, transitioning to Magick Markers, and then on to... huh?... the Congos and Cedric IM Brooks. That's some full-on maximum strength dosage right there. Now I'm drifted and, knowing I must leave the apartment, swallowing the Replacements as an easy comedown.

I have eaten today:
1) Open face turkey sandwhich w/ gravy and mashed potatoes
2) Closed face turkey sandwhich w/ tomato, mayo, and havarti.

I am sleepy.

souds like it looks

Snowed in and we had to do something. I brought over the laptop, Joey brought the harmonium, Tim a clean precision, Steven a reckess abandon. Aaron fitted a ringleaders uniform and then ripped patches off the elbows. Unfettered, we dug tunnels and reburied bones that would grow into skull-lilacs in the melting sun of Spring. It's all here on tape, and I'm scared to play it back.

Loss of momentum

Caramba. I have entered a slight rut. No desire to fulfill my current homeworkin' duties. This is week numero cinco, meaning we are getting to be 1/3 of the way through the semester / 1/4 of my remaining sentence down. It's bad news when I start droppin' the stats on remainders, that means I'm getting to a state of utter despondency and slack-justification. At times like now, it is needed that I count off "the good shit":

• It is my goddam last semester of school. Just "git 'r ding dong done".
• It is almost almost Spring. Soon I will have ample opportunity to clean my porch, wipe off the constantly mysteriously spotted lawn chairs, and sit in some pale, cool sunlight drinking a pale, cool beer.
• Somewhere out there are packages bearing me batches of Destijl freek records releases, black metal picture discs, and Corrupted's Lienandose de Gusanos. I figure if I can't beat the doom 'n gloom here, I might as well sink into it...
• 5.1 megapixel cameras are only $200 now. This is fucking cool and may have to be taken advantage of soon.
• etc. etc. etc.

So yeah, an altogether materialistic and unfulfilling bulletpoint collection. Still, between this and another spin of Opera From the Works of Tadanori Yokoo life is pretty much better.

Thanks for the beers, Casey Fitzrandolph

Friends will of course know of my long-running fascination with speed skating, so it was an honor that I was granted passage to Madison's own DoubleTree hotel to be filmed by local and Milwaukee news watching Casey Fitzrandolph's family watch Casey Fitzrandolph lose last night. Their enthusiasm for his losing ways was exemplary, complete with filmed segments of each member offering condolences in his time of need.

I myself was unfortunately too full to partake of the tortellini provided for his loss, but did manage to put down three longnecks and watch Steven interact with some LA marketing-types. Entertainment! You know it!

Now I am mentally preparing for a lovely V-Day out at ye olde expensive Harvest. I would do a post-feast food review, but I will be drunk on wine that I will be informed is an excellent pairing for whatever it is I'm going to eat. Snazzy! And delish!

I told my dear friend Davis M. Skankingville that I would post daily. Whadda maroon I was! Yesterday, not 12 hours after this statement, I broke my solemn oath. Of course, all I had to possibly write about was that I watched Six Feet Under for 4 hours. And got fat.

Today almost wound up similar, with "worked for 12 hours" replacing "watched TV for 4", except there are a couple things of (operative word here) mild interest going on:

1) It is Friday and our dear friend Levi has purchased a keg of Guinness and a handle of Dewars, and

2) I just got a bimonthly DJ gig.

I have wanted to DJ for pretty much my whole life, and have never done so... when I was in 6th grade or so, there was some cheap keyboard available with a "scratch pad" that simulated, well, scratching. I asked for it for Christmas. Not getting it was the beginning of years of repression and channeling of my musical predilictions into things like tablature books and band camp. I have owned a few turntables (always 1200's, natch, but never more than one at time), a couple diffferent dj mixers (with only 1 turntable! I'm an ultra-minimal Philip Jeck!), and yes, a copy of an Invisbl Skratch Picklz (sic?) turntablism tutorial. Fortunately, I was kindly denied passage into true "turntablism" aside from watching a few DMC world championship tapes and owning a Mix Master Mike cd... but I've still always wanted to, er, "spin"... just music in that whole "celebrity guest DJ/you don't really need to know about beat matching" kinda way. Now I have my chance. And I am excited. It's on Tuesdays, which will be nice and low pressure, but I will have to be careful not to specifically drive people out of the bar. This is my goal. Updates on its accomplishment forthcoming...

I would love to write more on other mundane subjects, but I've got half a Hot Pocket and 3/4s of a Miller Lite to finish and then must head kegwards. In lieu of personally snapped blurry photos or unwitty commentary, please enjoy the picture of one of my heroes (as of about 9 months ago) Keiji Haino, which I ripped of from this site, which looks eerily similar to mine. Except with better writing. I suppose blogger templates may be the cause of this.

All pants need ass pockets

I really like everything else about these pants, but they HAVE NO ASS POCKETS. What do I do with my wallet? Or do I just get a money clip? Actually, these pants make me start looking at other dude's asses to see if they have a wallet/Skoal ring/whatever in their back pocket. I mean, where does the wallet go? No way am I gonna put it in the front pocket. That nonsense'll get a man slapped.

Man, all that lookin' at dude's asses... I could really go for a Polish right now. With kraut.

Lawry's For a Better Tomorrow

Know the power. My night is complete. Surrious-- forget that there are some crap-ass pasties in yr local freezer. You need this. I've never touched motherfucking Myles Teddywedger's up by the Capitol. Cheese?!? Fuck no. Ketchup or gravy at most. It is the only True Path.

Now if only Ralph's cudaghi would get the hook up...

Aside from my Cornish delights of the evening, things are rolling as is the norm. No taping of the Saturday show, though video footage is said to exist. We are currently apartment hunting. I've heard that 'loft living is out', though I cannot recall the source. But I've never lived in a loft! Or, so far as I can recall, been in a loft. And the price is right... and they have a dishwasher! Still, I suppose I ought to hold out for a refurbished tobacco sorting facility or book bindery.

The kind of people that look up the definition of 'Hot Toddy' on Wikipedia

Looking at the different ingredients commonly used, it occured to us that by picking select items from different columns we could fashion some crudely rendered psueo-Toddies. Lime tea, lemon juice, cinnamon, and Gosling's. It was actually pretty good. I was already drunk, true, but I swear... actually. pretty. good.

Last night we welcomed the return of one Levi Tallguy Amishbeard to Madison after a semester wandering the streets of Vienna and even pissing in Freud's toilet! I ate dinner twice, drank for a solid 7 hours, and cut my thumb open attempting to do 'the worm' on a kitchen floor that a glass had recently been smote upon. Then, off to Genna's to continue with the drinking and trying not to bleed through my paper towel/duct tape bandage. I settled for Miller Lite, just to be safe. And a couple shots of Hornitos.

Tonight we are performing in the Valkyrie's Hovel with LoVid. This ought to be really, really cool indeed. I continue an internal debate on whether or not I should attempt to tape our show. I actually think I might do it, since we've had such a sizzling couple of sessions as of late, and will hopefully be on full Five Alarm Meltdown tonight. Stay tuned...

Tax'd b/w Relax'd

This is exaktly how things looked when I got to work yesterday. Yup, after about 5 months we's finally got a coffee pot. We also proceeded to make some of the most pisswater-weak bean juice this side of Rockapella Folger's crystals commercials. But it has begun. I am left now the task of stealing as many lil' half-n'-halfs as possible from the Union...

I haven't been recording bleek jamms for a minute (isn't that what people say now? Is it played out? Give me a clue!) now, mostly because they somehow always seem to just go better w/out the mic present. I don't think anybody cares or is thinking about the mic when it's there, though... it's just a weird coincidence that I have noticed. Still, I cannot fucking believe I didn't tape last night. Shit was WILD. Methinks. From what I remember, though, you should be pissed 'cause you'll never, ever, ever hear it.

I also got my taxes done and am looking to a hearty chunk of change coming my way. SWEET. What do I do w/ it? Invest? Playstation 3? Years supply of longnecks? Maybe a sweet fretless bass? Do you even know who I am? Fuckere.

Kiss my power pellets.