I love the lines: “Who’d you rather be: The Beatles or The Rolling Stones?” and “Your panties are a pot of gold”; so dark, so metaphorical, so Canadian. The Coachella 2008 acoustic version is more beautiful, but I can’t find an embeddable version to post here. Instead, here’s a link to the video.
Cripes, I love Emily Haines.
I was driving my parents around town, and my mom suggested we go to Burger King. She had a few coupons in her purse, and her otherwise thrifty nature directed us to a fast food chain I’m not necessarily keen on.
Looking through the coupon book, I spotted what seemed like a good deal on the so-called “Loaded Steakhouse Burger.” As opposed to paying an arm and a leg for one of these things, you get two for the price of one. I decided to be a little adventurous and go for it.
Now this all occurred before Burger King began airing those rather terrifying Steakhouse Burger commercials — the ones where some crazed maniac craving the Steakhouse Burger rams his car into some unassuming couple’s vehicle. Naturally, as with any hamburger seen on TV, the Loaded Steakhouse Burger’s real-life counterpart is a lot smaller. Furthermore, the consistency of the meat itself was a lot like chewing brittle rubber; I don’t know what the hell Burger King’s “Angus” meat is, but its texture limbos between hamburger meat and a bad steak. In other words, the meat was just weird.
Perhaps the most peculiar element was the apparent mashed potatoes slobbered all over the hamburger. At first, I had no clue what the fuck this pasty white stuff was; its texture was grainy and it tasted like sawdust. Ultimately, however, I deduced it was mashed potatoes — which, by far, is the last thing I ever expected on a hamburger. I feel bad already eating at Burger King, but I feel worse forcing a diabetic-causing, Mr. Potato-Heart-Killer into my digestive system.
Overall, I would not recommend buying this when sober. I mean, if you want to experience gastric problems, gout, and a mild stroke all at once, go ahead and order it the next time you’re at Burger King. However, if you’re slightly intoxicated and your judgment skills are impaired, this is good drunk food (after all, any greasy, fat-ass-making food is good drunk food). Of course, whether your excessive vomiting the next morning is attributed to your drinking, the Loaded Steakhouse Burger, or even both is well beyond my knowledge.
Tim: so did you catch the derby nonsense?
Tim: true story: hillary publicly said to bet on the filly.. the only female horse, called eight belles.
Tim: that filly came in second.. to a horse named big brown
Tim: plus, the filly wouldn’t stop running, broke both legs, and was euthanized on the track
Finished one goal on my 43 Things.
Original Entry: All my favorite writers and artists – from Coleridge, Wordsworth, Picasso, Wilde, and Hemingway – have drank that stuff. Even though I’m not all that keen about the alleged druggy/hallucinogenic effects, to say that I drank the same stuff my idols did would be rad.
Accomplished: Went to a martini bar last night, and I was surprised they had an absinthe martini on their cocktail list. Naturally, I was excited to try absinthe, so I ordered it.
Now it may have been the gin that was mixed in the martini, but the drink wasn’t that great. Absinthe has that deep, somewhat overwhelming licorice flavor to it, and I’ll be honest, I’m not a fan of licorice. No weird, trippy after effects (probably on the account that it’s both a mixed drink and maybe not even real absinthe), no surreal, drunken stupor.
Bottomline: it’s “okay,” but not something that I was really impressed by. I’m just glad that my friend was able to knock my drink over as she was going to the bathroom, and I was able to leave that fairly mediocre (yet expensive) drink in a pool of licorice liquid and broken glass.
02: Split-Second Memory Conditioning. from Phillip Retuta. on Vimeo.
I miss what I had. I miss having a best friend like I did with A., J., or Z. — people who were beyond acquaintances, casual buddies, or even close friends. This old video I made just feels more poignant now.
So this is the first season I’ve ever watched “American Idol,” and honestly, this will be the last. If you don’t watch the show, bear with me.
Ever since Michael Johns was eliminated, I’ve been weary of the American public and how they’re basing their votes on popularity rather than actual talent — talent that, in a fair and subjective world, should be predicated by only the previous night’s performance. For instance, as much as it pains me to admit this, “Top Chef” and “Project Runway” typically (of course, not always) base their eliminations on the specific challenge of that day.
Now last night, Carly Smithson was voted off and Syesha Mercado was in the bottom two. Both, in my opinion, are very talented singers throughout this competition, and in regards to their performances last night, neither of them should have been at the bottom (especially Mercado). The fact that Jason Castro and Brooke White were declared safe astounds me and makes me think that the entire fucking competition is just a fucking popularity contest.
In fact, as I was reading the IMDB boards regarding the show, it seems a single person can vote for their favorite singer unlimited times between a specified period. One person, according to the boards, voted over 100 times for a single person. This is why reality TV winners cannot be safely decided in the hands of its viewers. Of course, this is reality TV, so there really is no reason to defend any of this.
Granted, although this is my first time watching “American Idol,” I’m starting to lose faith in the American public; they simply don’t know any better. These are probably the same people (or at least the children of said people) who probably re-elected Bush into office: ignorant, unaware, and misguided masses looking for the most accessible and/or most charming.
Now if David Archuleta wins this thing entirely, I’ll be pissed. Sure, he can be a good pop star and appeal to the idiotic masses, but I don’t think he’s as talented as the other contestants. He just doesn’t cut it for me, vocally. My vote is for David Cook whose maturity, vocal range, and edginess — for all it’s bubble pop-addled worth in this goddamned show — is ready to become America’s next music sensation. Then again, I don’t vote nor really care for the show, so everything I just wrote is pretty much a moot argument.
Ugh, I just wrote about “American Idol.” Someone hurl a brick at me.
I went to two different concerts on Sunday: Stars playing a free concert at Northwestern University and The New Pornographers/Okkervil River at Chicago’s Riviera Theater. All in all, it was essentially an Indie Canadian Music Day.
Stars were awesome, and since this concert wasn’t even publicized on their tour page or really anywhere else, the place wasn’t even crowded. Furthermore, a lot of the people who attended were Northwestern students, and I doubt more than half of them were actual fans but rather kids who happened to pass by. The sound quality was a lot better since I last saw them, and overall their setlist covered their entire discography as opposed to their newest album:
01. Beginning After The End
02. Take Me To The Riot
03. Elevator Love Letter
04. Soft Revolution
05. Window Bird
06. One More Night
07. Bitches In Tokyo
08. Set Yourself On Fire
09. Personal
10. Going Going Gone (with Amy Millan on vocals as opposed to Metric’s Emily Haines, who originally sang it)
11. What I’m Trying To Say
12. Midnight Coward (interesting tidbit: they said it’s about their friend, Metric’s Jimmy Shaw)
13. Ageless Beauty
14. The Night Starts Here
15. Your Ex-Lover Is Dead
ENCORE:
16. My Favourite Book
17. This Charming Man (originally a Smiths’ cover)
18. Calendar Girl
Of course, the day wasn’t exactly stress-free. I actually lost my ticket to The New Pornographers concert, so about an hour before the Stars concert, I had to drive home from my friend’s house to look for it. Ultimately, I wasn’t able to find the ticket and I assumed it dropped from my backpack (where I keep all my tickets). I then had to call Ticketmaster to replace it (I said to them that I never received my ticket in the mail; an obvious lie), and they told me to go to the venue’s box office and claim a “lost ticket.” My main concern, however, is that if I did lose the original ticket out on the street or something, someone else may have found it and use the ticket before I ever arrived at the venue. As far as I knew, the original ticket and its replacement had the same purchase/serial number, so if the original were to be scanned and used, my replacement ticket would be void. Of course, The Riv clearly isn’t as high tech as some other music venues, so instead of scanning ticket numbers, they just tear off the stubs.
Music crisis averted.
The openers, Okkervil River, were fucking awesome. I only started listening them recently, but their live performance rocked my socks off. As for The New Pornographers, I was hoping to see Neko Case; she was one of the main reasons why I went. Naturally, I was pretty disappointed when they started playing “The Laws Have Changed Here” and Neko didn’t show up. She had broken her ankle a few dates back, so I assume this is the reason why she canceled her appearance for the rest of the tour. Still, I was pretty bummed out; this would have been the third time I’ve seen The New Pornographers, and each time sans Neko. Here’s hoping that the next time they come around Chicago, she’ll be with them.
Trying to hide my disappointment at her third, consecutive absence (at least through my concert experiences), I attempted to enjoy the show. No Neko Case was a real bummer, and it hindered me from truly enjoying the concert; I kept dwelling on the fact that she was able to show up on previous dates a week before, but now — all of a sudden — she was unable to come to Chicago. However, by the time they started playing “Challengers,” my happiness and confidence were renewed. Even though she isn’t Neko Case, keyboardist Kathryn Calder has a beautiful voice. She was excellent covering the Neko-riffic “Challengers,” and by the time they sang “Unguided” and “Adventures in Solitude” (both Calder-specific songs), I felt more than satisfied with how the concert turned out. Overall, a great way to end my Sunday.
Their setlist:
01. All the Things that Go to Make Heaven and Earth
02. Use It
03. Stacked Crooked
04. All the Old Showstoppers
05. My Rights Versus Yours
06. The Laws Have Changed
07. Twin Cinema
08. Challengers
09. The Electric Version
10. Testament to Youth in Verse (with AC Newman singing Dan Bejar’s vocals)
11. Unguided
12. Mass Romantic
13. Adventures in Solitude
14. Myriad Harbor (Okkervil River’s Will Sheff covering Dan Bejar’s vocals)
15. Sing Me Spanish Techno
16. The Bleeding Heart Show
Encore:
17. Don’t Bring Me Down (a cover of Electric Light Orchestra)
18. The Slow Descent Into Alcoholism
And here’s the new video from The New Pornographers, “Myriad Harbour.” I just love the animation…
While looking for new trailers for The Dark Knight movie, I stumbled upon this. Is it too soon to make jokes about Heath Ledger’s death? Regardless, I still laughed and was impressed by the amount of detail in both the costumes and characters.
So apparently Illinois just experienced an earthquake.
For me, it was around 4:30-4:45 in the morning, and I was in bed with my laptop catching up with my favorite web series on YouTube and SuperDeluxe. All of a sudden, the entire bed started to shake. At first, I thought I was having some involuntary muscle seizure, but I never had any preexisting epileptic condition. Then, naturally, I thought it was a ghost or something supernatural — like some deceased relative was trying to get my attention or scare the shit out of me. Logically, I then thought it was my dog, Nico, trapped under my bed, and she was trying to struggle free from under the wooden frame. Now my gut reaction was to kick repeatedly underneath my bed and get her the hell out of there, but of course, she wasn’t even in my room. I then realized that it was simply a small earthquake, and now — as I’m watching the local news — everyone in Chicago is making a big deal out of it, as if it was 9/11 all over again. A slow news day, I must admit.
I blame Graboids.
