There is some sort of sickness slowly attacking my sinus cavities and throat. It is the opposite of fun. No matter how sick I am, I'm still going out for Halloween. Mark my words. I'm not staying inside for the best holiday ever.

Apparently if I had stayed past the Electric 6 after party at Lenny's weird and wacky things would have happened. Alas, the 9-5er.

My blog is now the color of chocolate. Or poo.

Two phrases I've been throwing around recklessly this week: "contingency plan" and "tort reform." (originally I had this spelled "torte reform" but I think that's a pastry. Or not. I actually have no idea which is right, which is kind of sad for the 7th grade spelling bee 4th place champion).

So...busy...writing...ads...

The blogaverse (blogniverse? blogauniverse?) is getting smaller.

My blog is now the colors of my new bathroom.

Junior Senior really really want you to remember that their name is "Junior Senior." It's in every song. At least 10 times. Fun show, but I really expected Junior to be the crazy one, when it was in fact Senior. Some guy was standing behind us was wearing a shirt that said "I'm Rad." It was a lie. It should have said "I'm lame."

Belle and Sebastian rocked it out hard core! I don't know if I've ever been in a wilder pit!

Ok, one more for the masses: they're malnourished emo kids. They break easy under mosh pressure. Alright, that "joke" is officially retired. I told it twice last night; the second time I didn't even realize it because I was so lacking sleep.

Also, I was so tired that I couldn't figure out how the bathroom stall door lock worked. And there was a line. It was embarrasing.

Bad guys with French accents aren't all that threatening.

Last night I dreamed (dreampt?) that R.E.M. was playing another show in Atlanta. So I went and it was just a football game. Then I woke up.

www.sweetadeline.net

www.elliottsmith.com

www.killrockstars.com

Damn. Now I'm sad.

Finally! Someone else sees the corellation between Radiohead music and a thousand-foot ice cream cone. (I'm not sure if I spelled "corellation" correctly, or even used it in the right context. Which is kind of sad for a writer.)
Anyways, it's an amusing article about 5th graders' interpretation of Radiohead.

"Kill Bill" ROCKS.

God, people can be such morons. This weekend I had conversations with:
1. A guy who saw no point in voting, yet was endlessly critical of the government for no discernable reason.
2. A (different) guy who was absolutely convinced that Arianna Huffington was the porn star than ran for governor. He also thought that there was only one debate for that race, period.

And you can't convince stupid people otherwise.

ALERT! It turns out that California is the best state for giant scary babies hovering over the Golden Gate Bridge.

I NOW HAVE AN APARTMENT!!! (double thumbs up, big cheesy grin)

Well, I got nothin. It's raining, I want to be at home, and traffic is gonna suck.
Other than that (thumbs up).

Best food review ever.

Ever forget where the letter "M" is in the alphabet? Like when you're trying to listen to an album in i-tunes that starts with "M," and you just can't find it? I think I need to repeat kindergarden, with special emphasis on "left vs. right." (not the political tendencies, the directions. i've always lacked the instinct for left and right).

Worse prescription drug side effect: heart palpatations or anal leakage?

"At My Most Smart"
"Trivia, Lower"
"I'll Take the Onion Rings"

DIY publishing now underway. Coming soon:
"Your Dress Code, Explained!"
"How to Build a Robot Out of Everyday Office Supplies."
"Breakfast Recipies of the Future"
"Breakfast Recipies of the Future II: Junky Edition"

Well, if everyone else is going to review the R.E.M. show...

For a review from CNN's employee of the month, and someone who knows R.E.M. way better than you, see the V+ blog.

For a song-by-song breakdown and shirt-by-shirt clothing removal analysis, see the Hindsight blog.

However, if you'd like lessons on how to dance like Stipe, you've come to the right place!

First of all you'll need music. And you have to understand the lyrics to dance to the song. We suggest something simple for beginners, maybe "Losing My Religion," or "Man on the Moon." Do not, I repeat DO NOT attempt these steps to New Adventures in Hi-Fi. We've had several people end up in the hospital as a result of attempting to discern "E-Bow the Letter."

First, raise you're right arm in the air. Now the left. Now yell something. It doesn't matter what. "Cool" or "Fire" will do this fine. Louder, now, they have to be able to hear you in the back. Rub your stomach until it gets creepy. Now jump. Higher!

Ok, now that you've mastered jumping, it's time to move on to running across the stage. Pretend you have no bones in your legs. Now run! to stage left. Stop. Stare for a second. Like we practiced, arm in the air. Now stage right. Repeat, as needed.

If you should get hot at any time, feel free to remove one of your eight shirts.

Before we continue, stop and think of some catchphrases that you'll want to repeat when doing this particular dance. Some suggestions are "My name is ___ and this is what I do." or "There is no yesterday. There is no tomorrow. There is only right now at (your nephew's bar mitsvah/club eleven50/the basement)" or wherever you are. DO NOT CHANGE THESE CATCHPHRASES. You'll only confuse people. Oh, and now would be a good time to look up the word "flail"

Now we have come to the "flailing" portion of our lessons. Both arms in the air again. Now flail. Flail! Get those feet going. Who cares what you look like! Choreography is for people without decent songs!

Before you know it you'll be breaking it down to "Imitation of Life."
__________________

The show was thouroghly enjoyable, by the way. Not as good as Birmingham, and a bit Hi-Fi heavy, but still good.

Oh, and remind me never to go to another Interpol show. It was like the album come to life. No variation whatsoever.

Signing off,
Dehumidifier
Assistant Instructor
Miss Parson's School of Dance

Oxycotin? (I don't feel like looking that up to see if I spelled it right) If you're going to have an addiction, Rush, at least get a real one. One where you have at least one story that includes a crackwhore. Being addicted to Oxycotin is like being addicted to Advil.

Listening to Interpol makes me feel like I'm tipsy in Greenwich Village, living in a better week.
Call me a huge dork, but I'm fucking stoked about tonight's show.

Mark's latest out-of-office autoreply:

I�ll be in Southeast Asia dealing with my garment factories.

It would seem that my half-brother Nguyet Billows (same father different mother) has let the family garment factories miss their quotas for the third straight quarter and it is time for me to throw my weight around. It appears the workers in my factories have been goofing off like children rather than working like them. The person I blame for this ordeal is the head foreman Binh Hai. It is his negligence that has let my factories dissolve into a large pile of manure that poses as a factory making shirts, but instead only makes more piles of manure with Hilfiger labels on them. I would expect this kind of carelessness from a five year old, but Binh Hai is almost ten. What is doubly disappointing is that he has been employed at my factory since the age of four: his nimble Laotian hands making everything from Air Jordan sneakers to Gap cotton chinos. But an example must be made. He�s going to have to go.

Because of Binh Hai�s managerial incompetence, the children in my factory have begun a strike and have made the following demands:

Demand #1: A five-cent raise in pay. (That�s more than double what they get already. Screw that!)

Demand #2: That the workday be reduced from 18 to 16 hours (you want to work bank hours than go work for a bank you little brats! Until then suck it up.)

Demand #3: The windows are to be open in the summer. (They were obviously painted shut for a reason you evil munchkins, so don�t mess with them!)

Demand #4: The doors to the factory are to no longer be locked during work hours. (Those doors are locked to keep them protected from things like, I don�t know, wild angry monkeys and pissed off snakes.)

Demand #5: No more leg shackles. (Now wouldn�t that defeat the purpose of having leg shackles? Idiots.)

Demand #6: We are to no longer be forced to worship your likeness as a God. (I give you jobs and a purpose. Without me you�d have nothing. Now if that doesn�t make me a God, I don�t know what does?)

Honestly, it�s as if they criticize every freaking move I make � �we don�t want this� � �we don�t want that.� For crying out loud, they act like those 4th graders in Pennsylvania I had mining coal over summer vacation. This constant complaining is enough to drive me nuts. And you know what really gets under my skin? All those people who go on and on about how children are our greatest natural resource. Well you know what? That�s a load of crap. Do you know how many kids you have to burn to heat just one house? Well I lost count, but trust me, it takes a lot.

Now lets get back to the matter at hand, the strike at my factory. First off, I haven�t gotten to where I am today by bowing down to the ridiculous whims of my employees. I know for sure I can break this strike. How you might ask? Well fortunately, if there�s one thing I have learned about Southeast Asia it�s that cigarettes solve most every problem. One pack of smokes for each kid and these demands will be forgotten the moment they light up. However, if they refuse my gracious appeasement I have no other choice than to break-off negotiations and replace them with toddlers. Sure it takes two or three toddlers to do the work of one kid, but they work really cheap: usually for stones with smiley faces painted on them. And yes, I am fully aware the toddlers will decrease efficiency, but I figure with what I save in hourly wage, it�ll work out all the same.

I�ll be back as soon as I restore capitalism to the Far East. I should be done by Tuesday.

I saw a trailer this weekend for the movie "Sylvia," based on the life of Sylvia Plath. They called her "the century's most powerful voice," which seems like a bit of an overstatement. Not that I have anything against Sylvia Plath. I read everything she wrote in high school. It helped shape me into the breezy upbeat person that I am today. But still...the century's most powerful voice? Maybe in the top 20.

Speaking of depression, the Radiohead show is tonight. I've never seen them in concert. I hope they rock, and it isn't the live version of "Kid A."

Did I just pseudo-diss Sylvia Plath and Radiohead in the same post? I'm sorry, high school self!

Is it wrong that I laugh quietly to myself every time I think about Roy vs. the tiger? I'm going to feel awfully bad if he dies.

Bathroom grafitti is a perfectly valid form of literature.

My roommate and I are going to make shirts that read "Strung out on Steve," with pictures of famous Steves on them. The original idea came from a Steve Perry song called "Strung Out," but we've decided to expand it to other Steves, such as Steve McQueen. Any ideas?

I have to move in a month. Where to go, where to go.

Top Spice really is top spice. You should go.

When did Lenny's become so hipster? It seems like that's the only place to go Friday nights now. I can't decide if it's good, bad or just wierd.