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Jun 29, 2004

Üpsidähzi. Probably left it for to long and now have no dedicated readers. Not that I ever really had any.

I am now a gainfully employed member of society. (Fitter. Happier. More productive.) I'm stuck in Alpharetta, which not only is a complete bore (Comfortable. Not drinking too much.) but has a name which defies all attempts to cleverly insert the syllable "yawn". You know, like "Yawn-aretta" or "Alpha-yawn-ta" -- they simply don't work. (Nothing so ridiculously teenage and desperate. Nothing so childish.) I work afternoons - mostly - at the Dunkin' Donuts/Baskin Robbins on Old Milton, so you can come bug me at work if you want. (Keep in contact with old friends. Enjoy a drink now and then.) Ice cream for all!

It's kind of depressing being a lyric in a Radiohead song. (Like a cat tied to a stick that's driven into frozen winter shit.) But less depressing than you'd think.

Because college is coming back! And just to spite all of you mopers who seem to think higher education nothing but drudge and misery (At a better pace: slower and more calculated.), I am going to have a most excellent year. I think it shall top even the last one, and I shall call it Squishy, and it shall be my Squishy.

So I still don't have the internet in my room, and at this point I doubt I will until August. But I do have a few most excellent new bands, like Muse and Yeah Yeah Yeahs, to keep me company; and a couple of as-yet-undiscovered gems by old standbys, like Cuttooth (better than EEIRP, worse than National Anthem) and Tangerine (better than Misty Mountain Hop, worse than Bron-Y-Aur Stomp). I'm also reading the Sandman, all out of order this time. How postmodern of me.

So I could get into a long rant about how Radiohead has an irritating tendency to put utterly shite tracks on their albums while relegating absolutely amazing songs to b-side-ity, or how breakthrough authors who defy highbrow pretensions eventually find themselves setting new and more ridiculous highbrow pretensions simply because that's what they feel they're supposed to do, or how celebrity has become its own Jormungand but continues to feed on itself as though this will not cause the implosion of its fragile little world, or the sound luster makes when you drop it into an artesian well.

But I will not rant about any of those things, because it is late and I am tired. Consider them conversation starters for anyone so die-hard that they still periodically peruse this poor neglected little corner of cyberspace and would like a bit of a chat on a conversation board.
Nick ::: 12:09 AM ::: 0 comments

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