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2009 December
From the monthly archives: December 2009

Toxic avengers

By On December 18, 2009 · In As I Am Now, Danse Macabre

Orange House ProjectBuying a house in Florida has turned us into Republicans with no interest in saving the environment or protecting the health of others around us. You wanna know what’s in the little red house to the left of our Christo sculpture? A day care center. That’s right, kids, the hell with your future deformed progeny; we gotta kill the entire ecosystem in our cute little 1920s “handyman’s special” in the Vernacular style. (Interesting sidenote: Do you know the first thing the exterminators did when they showed up? They set off TEAR GAS inside the building to make sure there weren’t any squatters inside. I had no idea.)

Well, finally my life mirrors my logo.

(Oh, and that circular gray thing sprouting out from the side of the house is not a mushroom; it’s a DirectTV satellite dish. Because the squatters were in such a hurry to get out, they forgot to take it with them.)

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Cats ate her face*

By On December 17, 2009 · In Cremains

There’s not a lot to add to this rather sad, and perhaps slightly unfortunately titled, article, “Pugs Forced To Eat Dead Owner”:

Officers found the man dead and determined that his pets had no dog food. So Papillion Police believe the dogs survived by using their owner’s face, head and torso as a food source.

You know, in the winter, when it’s really cold? I think I can relate. (To the dogs, not the owner.) [Via Tim, on FB.]

*Ref.

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Omigosh, the Poo-Jazz Is Here!

By On December 16, 2009 · In Cremains

I cried.

[Via.]

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How to skank.

By On December 16, 2009 · In Adipocere

The other night I happened to catch The Harder They Come, a film I could watch over and over again. One winter I had a job working in an unheated artist’s studio. There was a boom box and a crate of ancient cassettes, and the soundtrack was the only listenable one in the bunch (the others being, like, Hot Tuna or something). I still really like the album, despite the adverse conditions associated with it. But then again, I like the smell of turpentine, as well as a bevy of things Other People find distasteful, so whatever.

Toots and the Maytals was my first real concert (not including Sha Na Na and…uh…Weird Al). 1987 I think? God I wish I still had that t-shirt.

The sad legacy of such music, however, is that it’s now the province of bands with the [adjective] [color] [animal] name algorithm. And frat boys.

I’m going nowhere here. I’ll just leave you with this. For those of you who love original and indigenous sounds. Don’t forget to keep the beat with the upper half of your body.

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