Monday, July 31, 2006

The Wreckoning, Pt 19

Dyed my fingers purple today. Too bad the Dipset movement has beeen losing steam for "a minute now". I guess Prince? Who knows. But I got a crazy purple index finger. I'd take a picture, but it's too hot. Nosir. Instead, I'm going to drink the last beer and read Sandman comix. Yes, there is a lab report looming. I'm gonna go work on it in the air conditioning. Just lemme drink this beer first, okay?

Cam'ron -- Purple Haze (from the Diplomats Vol. 4 mixtape)

Sunday, July 30, 2006

SYKE.

Because I love you so much I am indeed gwan post the oft-and-on mp3 that YOU. CAN. HAVE.

MUST have.

Why? In one week I will have much less purpose in life... no more courseworks to take at the moment... and let's just say I'm trynna fill a void. Plus these musicbits are much fucking cooler than what those other dudes share.

In honor of this weekend's insane heatwave (yet again, thanx), I give you the sultry summer sounds of...

Honny and the Bees Band -- Psychedelic Woman

Off the eversteamy Ghana Soundz comp. Stays fresh for 7 days, kiddos. Butter up.

Friday, July 28, 2006

The Wreckoning, Pt 18

While a buncha my friends and such are off to watch some dumpy overhyped shit at the Pitchfork festerval I'ma be doing some fucking hardkore lab reporting on -- wait for it -- heat exchangers. Get it? And it's gonna be all hot outside? How do I exchange that? So classic it wounds (but don't kill).

Desire for booze: My, how you've growed up. No wonder my Friday is to be filled to the brim with Optimator, Yokel, and some fancy dvds courtesy of Four Star Video Heaven. Carnivale (season 1, disc 4) and Fitzcarraldo if you must know. And to think that yesterday I all planned to continue lab-report-workin' on thru today. FOOLISH.

The Wreckoning, Pt 17


Running 'cross knee-deep streets with a garbage bag over my head. You can call me the ghost of hefty past.

It's a well ordered lunchtime parade up in here, except I'm outta cream cheese. Peanut butter and cream cheese sandwhiches = the pros choice.

It's been all Stax this week... Otis, Rufus, Carla, Booker, "Can Your Monkey Do the Dog?"

You don't wear continental clothes or stetson hats.

Thursday, July 27, 2006

The Wreckoning, Pt 16

Trapped at the office over my lunchbreak... I'm not going back to the lab until it stops lightning like jesus out there. Woah.

If you have to wake up at 4am, I strongly suggest having "Time of the Season" come on the oldies station to prod you.

Wednesday, July 26, 2006

The Wreckoning, Pt 15

Just had to say I'm 60% the fuck done.

Listen to Black Moon. "Buck 'em Down" has the most mind drubbing bassline I have heard in some time. Go find it.

Monday, July 24, 2006

The Wreckoning, Pt 14

I've gotta admit, surely I could come up with better post titles then rehashing and reheating this over and over again, but that's not the point. The point is to drag you, fine reader, through this monotony with me. Denied brown sugar for yr Brimley-oats. Trust me the Rainbow will return to this Curved Air in two weeks time. Until then, just shuddup and help me pick at the drying asphalt, will you?

This is a bit sly, but I've been slacking. I can't help it, it's the semester-point where some part of my mentis demands that I make distinction between home-space and homework-space. Meaning: when I'm at the apartment there is just NO FUCKING WAY that I'm gonna get up on that responsibility-swingset and pump my brain-legs for any length of time. Nope, rather I will do that thing you always did to younger siblings where you pull yrself and 'set up the supporting side-pole and then release yourself, steel smirk matching the swing rungs as you give first lessons in inertia, parabolic trajectories, and the law of Big Kid Wins.

It should be noted that in this "loose" analogy (Whoo! Feel me shake my limbs all willy-nilly!) I am the older sibling and lab reports are little chump-targets. Meaning that when I am done with them they remain woefully underdeveloped and exhibit extremely muddled attempts at communication.

Maybe I should listen to fewer slurred booty raps and more intricate synthesizer music when I write these things. Then again, the Clipse arguably utilize way more Pyrex than I ever will, so who knows.

Friday, July 21, 2006

Friday Bonus Beats

So the Stella is gone for now, it's 3 hours 'til happy hour, and I'm feeling this summer drizzle we've been getting all afternoon (just a touch of autumnal in there) and I'm waiting around my office for another 45 minutes until I finally has to meet my lab pardner and, ugh, do some work (3 hours 'til happy hour -- say it with me). I am a benevolent man, perhaps even a bit keen on you, so I'm breaking the Wreckoning cycle -- today is just like that, it's spring break after all -- and giving you some links.

Don't call me pathetic, it looks good on me.

Return of Cocaine Blunts -- Okay, it was a few days ago but I've been buried. Noz does it the best, no joke. Makes me realize that I'll never, never, ever be schooled.

Bruce Dickinson saves his peeps -- New Wave of British Heavy Air Lifts.

Stereogum is a gets hack(ed) -- One of the sites that greatly heightened my precipitous decline from caring about "indie rock" gets a come-uppance. His password was "Sufjan"?! Is that for real?

Truth. Also, if you are 50-65 years (nobody over 65 is capable of understanding what a computer even is, duh) odds are you have no "practical knowledge". Expry.

The Wreckoning, Pt 13

I am officially halfway done with this bitch right... about... now...

And you know what I'm doing at 11am on this hazy Friday morning?

Sipping on a Stella.

For once the incompetence of my labmate (more on this later) paid off. Unable to finish the report due this morning, she's at home flailing around w/ whatever she's got. This is awesome, since I've gotta pretend we're doing research on our next project, meaning I can't hang 'round the lab. Nope. I'm at home, sipping on a Stella.

Spring Break!

Thursday, July 20, 2006

The Wreckoning, Pt 12

In a flailin' attempt at more than some ellipses and codewordz...

Looks like bunches of lightning struck right around our house last nite. Woke up at 3am to terrifying ruckus from the skies, wasn't sure whether to close the windows so demons couldn't enter or leave 'em open so pressure wouldn't blow 'em on our trembling bodies. Opted for the latter. No wonder all those spiders made a dash for our bathroom.

Slower lab day gave me some time to fuck about on the internet, such as now. Interesting things I saw:

Pitchfork does one of its occassionally redeemable articles (oooooh) w/ the Keith Fullerton Whitman interview. Not actually super-informative, but I just always dig the dudes phrasing. The only album of his I ever owned was Playthroughs, which I liked a lot. I use past tense 'cause I lost it, and it still irks me. I've been frozen tryin' to decide whether I should get another copy of that, one of his other equally recommended jawns, or plunge and get a trifecta. Anywayz, that one was one of my first drone albums and was all taut tonal interweave, from what I recall. I remember listening to it while donating plasma and feeling kinda, I dunno, replicant. Other redeemable Pitchfork works are the Six Organs of Admittance features. Those seem to turn out nice.

Also of note, the Fader linked to a producer of jewelry and such that makes these. I have daydreamed for some time now of a pendant w/ da U.P. prominently featured. I guess I'd be happy to rep the whole state. And the diamond-on-yr-birthcity? Gushtastic. Look for yours truly to be reppin' to the fullest whenever it is I ain't broke no' mo'.

Awright, chumps... I really gotta get back at this game called life. Go make fun of Canada or something.

The Wreckoning, Pt 11

Rain, wash away these Murphree vapor efficiency calculations...


This weekend gonna rule.

Tuesday, July 18, 2006

The Wreckoning, Pt 10

... a Stella and summer sausage sandwich...

... Isolee on the play ....



... my girlfriend rules ....


...40% done...

The Wreckoning, Pt 9

Nine miles ain't to far to jog in the dark.

I need to get back on the pizza diet, I can't eat enough Take 5 candy bars to make up the difference.

I bought clippers and cut off my mini wheat-fro. Frosted.

Sunday, July 16, 2006

Minor Breath #2

--Knowing someone who knows the passcode to private pools on 90+ days is better than knowing why you never get written into inheritance.


--Reggaeton should not be played unless the ratio of sweaty bodies to dancefloor size has reached or surpassed physical capacity limits. If there are two people on the dancefloor? The DJ may be kneecapped.


--LES RALLIZES DENUDES. LES RALLIZES DENUDES. LES RALLIZES DENUDES.

Friday, July 14, 2006

The Wreckoning, Pt 8

High life and private pools, now Imma heat to Jolly Bob's. Cachaca rematch in the works? Perhaps.

How do they survive any further south than this? And produce all the fuckin' hits?

Thursday, July 13, 2006

The Wreckoning, Pt 7

Two hours of couchsleep left me with one of the shittiest lab reports I can recall penning (but not reading). After spending a day scorching my hands with boiling ethanol -- if you ever ask me to distill anything but my ruggedness, I'll kill you yaddadda? -- I figured it was time to celebrate, Badger Liquor style. So here I am, and that's that.

I'ma miss the Boot Camp Clik show tonight, but I guess I've never seen a show at the Annex that I , y'know, enjoyed. In its place I've been listening to Enta Da Stage and Da Shinin'. And drinking. This is pretty much what I would have wanted outta that show, anywho.

Sweatfest continues.

Wednesday, July 12, 2006

The Wreckoning, Pt 6

I've had so damn much pizza to eat this week it is not right. I am finishing off the binge tonight with some crazy shrimp slicee that oughta be real nicee.

Tonight is dedicated to completing the first of my series of lab reports. Up until yesterday I was kinda stressing but as of tonight I do not really worry that much. Perhaps I should, but I do not. I will handin what I handin.

I wish I had more to say about interesting things but fuck, man, it is Wednesday and I am equillibrating with spending 40 hours a week in a lab class. Do you want to hear about how we wasted 3 hours trying to get a peristaltic pump to work only to find out the correct tubing was not available?

No hard feelings, though, peristaltic pump community. Without you I would never have been able to donate so much plasma a few years back and get a ticket to the Netherlands, which was pretty much awesome, except for the cachaca. I'm not gully enough for that stuff.

Tuesday, July 11, 2006

The Wreckoning, Pt 5

20% done and a bit charred today, though my feet were soaked.

At least there was free pizza. And far too much microwaved coffee.

This would all be more bearable if they'd just release the new Clipse album already. I had to mention it, this is an internet blog after all.

Monday, July 10, 2006

The Wreckoning, Pt 4

Summer in Madison, that sweet mixtgurr of several mid-ranged perfumes mingling with the grill- and waste- odors of State Street Brats. Question: Do semi-rich girls do mediocre blow in the bathroom there? I shall hopefully never know.

It is suprising, but apparently my summertime enjoyment of "the techno" is rather limited to the golden hour when sun begins to wane. I thought I would be more up on that, but I guess the icy detachedness perhaps pairs better with my winter or Spring headspace? Maybe I'm over-reading this. Maybe I just need to move to the Iberian and sweat it out. Probably I just still need a gold chain. Fix that hup, pliize.

Bing cherries keep a man sane when all he has to think about is wet bulb temps and their dastardly inconsistencies. Word is bond, I'm the eyes that's in back of your head.

Sunday, July 09, 2006

Minor Breath #1

Holy shit it's a hot 'un. Yesterday I managed to sunburn my armpits. Actually, I sunburned most of myself but my armpits are the only part that still sting. What would it feel like to have ones sunburnt armpits tickled? I cringe.

I am in also in strong agreement with Steven that early sweet corn is a bigger tease then them Lolitas what be walkin' about in the summer. Simmer.

Managed to discretely tie on on last night. Slept fitfully as the mercury droplets became swollen beads of pooled deth. Hg dth. That's my license plate, keep yr hands off.

Somewise decided to start some minimal packing. I am dreading the move we are undertaking in one month... we shall never move all this crap. We are doomed. Things are lost. Don't be too attached, whatever. My stuff kicks ass. I'll die for it. Do you have a test script for Bottle Rocket? I thought not. Hence, I gently tossed a couple gross of my precious CD collection into some plastic boxes, which I have sealed with hexxxes to keep in the sexxxes.

I should work more on lab reports. Sotted life.

Friday, July 07, 2006

The Wreckoning, Pt 3

Hitting Friday none too soon, spent today incorrectlly setting valves on a humidification tower our prof proudly told us was "part of a thesis project from the 1920s" by some famous engineer. Do those actually exist in some circles? All diamond encrusted safety glasses and ostrich skin saftey toed boots... Almost had to redo the whole damn thing on Monday. Not quite, but almost.

So of course I had to sprint out for a six pack, which is cooling in the fridge for a touch to my parched lips. "Hypothetical" question: So, if you yr walking and it's Friday and you totally witness a car crash -- somewhere on the "nothin' too terrible but some bad whiplash or fucked up arms coulda happened I guess" tip -- and yr all worn out and fuck, you have to do more work tomorrow, there really is no weekend but at least you can have some beers like right now with no guilt but aren't you supposed to wait as a witness? So you pause for about 2 minutes, and then kinda... sneak... away... slowly... That's proper etiquette, right? Now, say you see a parking cop that has pulled some fool over, and you kinda hesitate because maybe you should at least tell the parking cop that, hey there's an accident, not that your parking garage ass can do anything but maybe you can call someone... but you never get around to saying that 'cause the motherfucker honks at you -- was I staring? (hypothetically) ... I don't think so! -- well, FUCK!

Basically, that means you should buy a twelve pack instead, right? Okay. Good.

Thursday, July 06, 2006

The Wreckoning, Pt 2

48 hours in and we've already nearly blown up two hunks o' glassware. No protocol. No timeframe. No clue.

It ain't bad, but that may be 'cause I ain't pounded out lab reports like license plates yet. My time will come, I am braced.

And shyeah... I thinkin' about hitting up the Boot Camp Clik show here on July 14, even if it is at the fucking Annex. Who plays at the fucking Annex?

I can say that if yr ever in the mood for a mime flick (no, not a silent film, dumbass... a mime flick, geddonit) I'd recommend Les Enfants du paradis.

Wednesday, July 05, 2006

The Wreckoning, Pt 1

Today began The Last Class. Seven years all lead up to this. And it's a nasty 'un, on par with the final boss battles in Abadox or Shadow of the Colossus. I'm already nodding off for the evening, it's only 9:00, and I desire a fuckin' beer. No dice, only on the weekends for now.

In the meantime I add some gangsta lean to my step thanks to Mac Dre and pretend I can still feel the summer thanks to the Yellow Pills comp. My soul is shimmying.

Monday, July 03, 2006

Rappenstance

Second year in a row that I missed Rhythm and Booms for our own rhythm in tombs. Grandly occupying a straight frazzled husk of myself -- I had just failed a seven mile run -- I took the consolation in the form of countless Pabst slammers and one helluva spread. Six Organs of Admittance on the boombox at dusk got me all hippy-eyed, Madame P got me rather blurry minded, or perhaps that was the scotch. Coffin Chile kept it dun while we roamed for whatever scraps we could scrape... I think there's video...