autistic pug.

end of story. my night is complete.

( see, now, if you are going to spam, this is the kind of spam you need to send )

lucy was totally reading this over my shoulder like it was a historical fiction novel of high intrigue! and i don't blame her.

so, for ATLiens and those who follow resonator:


just got back from seeing the first ever tealights gig, with richy and lucy and matt. tealights=second coming of the great idea that was one hand loves the other (click if you dont know).

i have such, such, such hope for the atlanta music scene with this band existing. despite being new, and nervous, and skittish and having problems with sound levels...i felt uplifted.

me: i just don't want to be reading the golden notebook anymore.

lucy: then you don't have to.

me: but aren't i a poseur feminist if i don't?

lucy: you're a poseur feminist because you have a penis.

If you know me at all, you're probably aware that this week has had me wanting to throw myself off a cliff, to land on yet another cliff to throw myself off of if only to ensure the finality of the whole absurd gesture. Well, to top things off, last night my gmail account was hacked, sending out the following:

hi
Dear friend:
We are an electronic products wholesale .Our products are of high
quality and low price. If you want to do business , we can offer you
the most reasonable discount to make you get more profits. We are
expecting for your business.
Please visit our website: http://www.sjmyz.com
E-mail : sjmyz777@yahoo.cn
MSN: sjmyz54@hotmail.com
Looking forward to your contact and long cooperation with us!
Our mainly products such the phones, PSP, display TV, notebook,
video, computers, Mp4, GPS, xbox 360, digital cameras and so on.
Welcome to visit our website!



if you know me at all, you also know that there is absolutely no way, NONE, none whatsoever, that i could compose the above. for starters, there are absolutely no footnotes or parenthetical asides. i don't even KNOW how to BEGIN to tackle the fact that the copy is completely lacking in self-awareness, and further more there are the grossest things of all: capital letters and exclamation points.

EW. gross.


secondly, MSN screen-names are for 15 year old girls on webcams in tankinis and 65 year old balding men looking for 15 year old girls on webcams in tankinis.

if you got this message, and looking through the sent mail a LOT of the publishing industry did, i am sorry. i've changed my gmail password, and i'd send a letter to the gmail admin folks...but the amount of mail in the past 12 hours that has been sent, without my knowledge, and marked as "spam" has caused a 24-hour freeze on my gmail account, so i can't.

again, i'm sorry-believe me, if i wanted you to buy a psp from me i certainly wouldn't implore you to do so by calling you "dear friend". ick. that's hallmark saccharine. i'd just say "hey, i have this psp (i mean, i have a psp, not necessarily THIS psp because that implies the platonic ideal of psp)" or something like that.

anyway. off to see how today can get even more awesome. in the words of queer eye, oh things just keep getting better.

(sorry. i know some people, and i know this because i used to professionally send spam for a living while at KSU for a year, view the receipt of spam in their in-box as a sin, an affront to god and jesus and jeff gordon and kim gordon and gordon elliot, and to you i say: doubly sorry.)

oh ho yes, folks, it's the sarah palin baby name generator

david foster wallace is dead.

i am reading amy hempel for the first time, entirely because chuck palahniuk warned against ever reading her if one wishes to not be spoiled and thus unable to ever appreciate a short story by anyone else again.

the funny thing is, i love chuck's recommendations much more than i've ever enjoyed his writing; the bumps he gives (most recently to knockemstiff) totally end up flooring me, always.

i'm not really expecting to be able to commiserate with anyone regarding this, but just a note and a "keep your eyes open" sort of alert:

with the paranoia/fear about an impending gas shortage actually creating one, i thought it was strange that, while everyone else is locking down their regular unleaded, the shell station on east college ave here in decatur was proudly proclaiming they had PLENTY and at LOW prices...so i did the stupid thing out of necessity and pumped some. now, my car's sputtering and responding as though it's had a nice healthy dose of water poured down its throat.

if there IS, randomly, anyone out there that went to THAT gas station and had THAT experience today, obviously i'd like to know, but as it is just consider this a note to not be as stupid as i.

re: a conversation over at lucy's livejournal combining katy perry and sarah palin:

why has no one yet done a "it's like putting cherry chapstick on a pig" commentary/meme/wtfev?

i have purposely attempted, my entire life, to avoid kate bush videos. for many reasons but mostly dr zachary sending me awful stuff by peter schilling this self-imposed exile ended this morning, and i found this




THE LAST TWO MINUTES OF THIS VIDEO ARE THE GREATEST THING EVER RECORDED IN THE HISTORY OF FILM.

i also don't enjoy that facebook is seemingly forcing the new facebook format in a user-by-user timeframe. i woke up to the inability to switch back, and now, one by one, i'm seeing comments on it popping up in my friends feed....

i guess i am writing my memoir, or something akin to it, after all.


sigh. i'm tired, i totally slept in this morning when i should have gone running or done anything physical at all, and it felt so, so lovely.

ok maybe this connection has been made previously, but i am just now getting it-i respond on an emotional level to post-rave uk gutterpop the same way that i respond to screen door/front porch/girl-named-mary americana singer-songwriter stuff because it's all about the same thing: ennui, longing for more.

i mean, then there's u2, but that's all about jesus.

in the words of a commenter on gawker: right now, right at this very second (and only this very second), the internet rules.

open letter:

Dear tori amos:

WHERE THE FUCK ARE YOU, SON? no, really, i know that you were last seen sporting a trash bag on loan from missy and signing comic books inspired by what happens when artists listen to ecstasy and take boys for pele...or, wait, maybe it's the other way around. anyway, you've been M.I.A. in a way that only she should be, but even maya's been more up in my grill this election year, talking shit about "blop blop" and "pow pow" and probably something about mr plow, also, cause that's his name, that name again is mister plow.

regardless:

SARAH FUCKING PALIN. i know you've heard of her, t-am. i know you have. she's from a state so boring even sufjan stevens refuses to write a song about it, she wouldn't let her daughter have an abortion even if the baby was conceived via rape, and, oh, yeah, she thinks doing public or community service work is for "pigeon-toed sissywhackers (i may be misquoting).

that's the sort of utter and complete assbag insanity that would normally have you frothing at the mouth, Tee-Aim. Isn't this where you hop on some platform, either Letterman or Leno or something fat dude with a lisp in a baby blue/black ringer tee three sizes too small who writes for a fanzine called "Breakfast Every Hour"** or "Civilized Syllabub"*** or "Freakish Pancake Amistad"**** clutching a voice recorder, a pen and a doll he made from scraps of your hair he gathered over the course of sneaking backstage approximately five hundred and seventy two times in the past six years (and he can tell you about each and every time-what shoes you were wearing, how many choc-o-nana-crispies he had to bribe the guards with, whether or not you played "leather"...and you always played "leather"), and start spouting complete and utter nonsense that ends up with deep, passionate truth attributed to it out of sheer and utter incoherence? stuff like "if i was a tigress, that bitch would be a panda cub and in my safari...no, no, listen...in *my* safari, we eat the flesh. we. eat. the. flesh" or "it's like the state of ketchup being met with a ice cream float on a tuesday...and i will not stand for anything less than a hamburger. we have to protect our sundaes, and our meats, before the convenience-stand vendors in power begin coleslawing through the milk chocolate." or something like that.

WHERE ARE YOUR POLITICAL QUOTABLES, Tiggity-T? where is your "i would set fire to that bitch's igloo with the pom-pom in my wampum"? I GREW UP THINKING THAT THE ONLY OPINION THAT MATTERED WAS YOURS, which is why i care SO MUCH ABOUT ICE CREAM FLAVORS, SHOES, and LED ZEPPELIN. in what could possibly be the most important, at least the most memorable, election of my generation's lives, i want to hear you mutter completely senseless but partially and almost-epically brilliant noun/verb/wild animal/clothing store half-phrases that both empower and befuddle. fuck, Ori-Tay, you shoulda been a pundit. you make at least as much sense as o'reilly, and i'm fairly sure at one point or another you compared evil drunken grandpa bill to "a lost goose sliding down a mountain of graham cracker pudding into a world of shitstorms and bound feet" OR SOMETHING. AND THAT IS BRILLIANT. people think "it's the economy, stupid" is quotable til infinity? give you a half-bottle of red wine, two lines and the opportunity to use the words "shoes", "track-horse" and "milk-maid" in one sentence and we'd all have our new political mantra.

in the words of the great god-poet of the sky Yeezy: tori, we needja right now.

tuna rubber a little blubber in my igloo*****, which probably means OBAMA 08 MUTHAFUCKAS,
-russ

**an actual tori lyric, probably not a fan-zine name

***see above

****i'm just fuckin' with you now.

*****nope, she said that.

ok, so, today has just utterly, absolutely, mind-blowingly sucked. i am getting drunk NOW, and do not hold myself responsible for the next, oh, twelve hours. and lauren? i am so so so so sorry we can't make your party.

jill found this earlier today on youtube:




which is a testament to the redneck culture i grew up with that has yet to be glorified and idealized through folks like john t edge. this is the real shit right here. i grew up at the stone mtn lazer show.

this somehow led me to googling cracker barrel, which led me to this: in case you ever wondered what counts as a "vegetable" at one of the most popular sit-down southernfried restaurant chains in the south