Rethinking my posts from yesterday: I suppose even if music journalists looking for a weird semi-recluse hadn’t found me, the Felice Brothers’ fan club would have, owing to that year or so I spent tagging along on their tour and hanging out with David Tubbs almost every other night. So I probably owe them — the F.Bros and their fans — for all of this too.
For the record, I miss Tubbs sometimes. Maybe not as part of the band, but in general. We still keep in touch, except we’re both kind of hermits — and I often *do* pass messages along to him, which he always appreciates, so bring ‘em on if you’ve got ‘em.
If you are an adult on the receiving end of sexual attention from a minor, the only appropriate response is a firm, non-negotiable “no.” Not an “I would, but the darn law…” not, “maybe when you’re eighteen,” a “no.” It is your job as…
Meanwhile, I am not famous for blogging about a band like, say, Purity Ring. But it would be cool. There are many reasons why. For one thing, I saw so many of their shows in the early days that Megan James wore my perfume once and I nearly sold her a pair of my boots.
About four years ago, when I was nearing the end of my Drunken Fuck-Up period, something similar happened. My then-bossfriend was a big Bondy fan, and as she was just getting her blog up and running, we generated content by writing about the times we’d seen his shows. Between the two of us, I think we averaged about one post a week — more if you count boss-lady’s weekly Livejournal picspamming.
This was right after When The Devil’s Loose, before Believers, and in between tours, so we sort of single- (quadruple-?) handedly provided a lot of free publicity for the guy. There was a period of time wherein that dude from Buddyhead and I were the two people writing most about Bondy on the internet, which was a dubious honor. All I gotta say is, it was really fucking weird and uncomfortable to Google the guy, which I had to do for blog research, and have my own name come up.
Around then, Boss Lady had shifted to writing mostly about Dan Auerbach, who hadn’t won a Grammy award yet. Dan’s uncle took notice, Dan himself apparently started reading the blog, and comfortable or not — suddenly Boss Lady was on the map.
I’m not sure which of these factors ultimately led to people noticing me, but they did, and some of them got in touch asking if I could pass a message along to Bondy or help them set up an interview or whatnot. Somewhere along the way I had realized he was a real trick to contact, and all these requests (from real music bloggers, nonetheless!) really drove it home.
In my first real work of self-promotion and public relations, I was like “no, I can’t be your ‘In’ with this weird indie rock star, but I do have a fairly entertaining Twitter feed … ?” Thus was born my internet fame, such that it is.
So I indirectly owe Bondy, I guess, and can only hope he would be proud of what he accidentally wrought. I thanked him electronically once, but it’s impossible to know whether or not he reads his email, and I haven’t seen him in person for approximately three years either. Which means, who knows, and also I still couldn’t be anybody’s In even if I wanted to. But you’re still welcome to read my social media feeds. I try to keep it entertaining for you all.
We have, as a society, such a completely disordered, distorted perception of female bodies that the vast majority of people are incapable of recognising what “overweight” actually looks like on a woman, let alone “healthy”. As such, we’re now at a point where women are not only…
… the Deep South, the supposed “New South”, Lovecraftian horror, palpable evil, and dudes who spout psychedelic nonsense, I will be trying something new after the last of my SXSW recaps go up.
That’s right, you probably guessed it: I will be recapping Season 1 of True Detective. My friend and I watched it together in Louisiana, and we had too much to say about the experience to just keep that shit to ourselves.
Yeah, there have already been a million recaps and reviews of that show, many of which made crucial statements on the program’s themes and such — but all of them missed a very important element: when it isn’t being genuinely creepy or (often accidentally) sad, TD is unintentionally fucking hilarious.
To be fair, subtle signs have been pointing to that particular bear awakening from hibernation for some time, and these are just rumblings from within the cave.
(And by “hibernation”, understand I actually mean “protracted surfing vacation on the west coast”. Sounds pretty good. I wouldn’t stir from that, either.)
But nevertheless. This would not be my first clairvoyant dream, and it was a pretty specific one too, so we’re going with that. We’ll see if my title-and-cover-art predictions are anywhere close to the actual results.
That “New South” bullshit is total bullshit, though. It’s pretty damn near the same old South, just that its PR firm has come to the realization that the whole region still largely depends on Northern money.
I’m really fond of the Deep South, though. Obviously there are aspects of it we can all do without, but in the grand scheme it has a huge number of positive redeeming qualities I don’t have the energy to list from a smartphone.
new englanders are fucked up lovecraft was probably writing about real events when he wrote a shadow over innsmouth
It’s true! Between the Puritan influence and the Founding Fathers’ spirits and the secret military presence and the old money and the libertarians and the entire city of Boston, New England beats out even the Deep South in terms of palpable evil you can sense in its air.
“What Thompson calls “the most famous of all anthropodermic bindings” resides across the river at the Boston Athenaeum. The book, “The Highwayman: Narrative of the Life of James Allen alias George Walton,” is a memoir whose author lives on inside as well as on the book’s covers. Walton was impressed by the courage of a man whom he once attacked, and when Walton was facing execution, he asked to have his memoir bound in his own skin and presented to the brave man.”—ok this is pretty badass (via dong-energy)
Book one:a life-affirming story about pretentious teens with superiority complexes who have experiences and give nauseatingly quotable musings on philosophy and what it means to be alive, which often involves their enjoyment of books and tea and their condescending view of the popular kids as sheep
Book two:the same exact story, except this time it's being narrated by the teacher who has to deal with these asshole kids on a daily basis but is legally barred from saying "are you fucking kidding me" when they say some pretentious bullshit about how they prefer the smell of old books to the taste of alcohol. The teacher is re-telling the story to her friend at the bar, and her friend refuses to accept that these children could POSSIBLY be as pretentious as she makes them sound
movie where the deep and soulful white boy protagonist finally finds true love with his manic pixie dream girl to a kinks soundtrack but actually she’s a violent sociopath who seduces deep and soulful white boys with her diverse, trendy interests and keeps them all in a basement for bloodsport, forcing these spaghetti-armed “creative professionals” in thick-rimmed glasses to fight each other to the death for her amusement while she listens to ke$ha and eats taco bell
if someone says a person raped them, i am going to believe them. there is a far greater chance that some celebrity you love is a rapist than there is that people are lying about something so incredibly traumatic. if you start making up excuses for the rapist,…
the “i’m a sad plant, cum on me” tumblr aesthetic weirds me out
"I’m a sad plant. You probably haven’t noticed. I write vaguely and nonsensically, as if working for VICE. I also invented sex, drugs, *and* rock ‘n roll, so my life is super edgy. But it’s NBD. Here’s a photo of me mimicking masturbation. Can you see my tits? Not like I care. Btw, you’re old."
I’m two and a half hours deep into a twelve-hour layover in Chicago and am working on SXSW recaps. (They’d be up already, but while there are many insane things I’ll do for the sake of art, typing out 2500+ words on my phone while my thumb is in a splint … is not one of those things.)
Once I find free wireless: green light, go. Thanks for waiting!