Sun 23 May 2010

13:28 - toast with Nutella and strawberry jam, tuna-raisin melt, and black coffee.

Maybe it's as simple as B12.

Maybe that's what I need, instead of TIP-TOEING THE FUCK AROUND.

Came across this three-year old article (and this related piece) this morning, and couldn't recall a sad song I'd heard in recent years.

The only two songs of which lyrics made me sad when I first heard them as a kid raised on oldies, who didn't know who Michael Jackson was 'til 1993, were 'Tell Laura I Love Her' and 'Honey'.

	Ray Peterson - Tell Laura I Love Her .mp3
	Found at bee mp3 search engine

	Bobby Goldsboro - Honey .mp3
	Found at bee mp3 search engine

Everything else after that just made me happily depressed to the point of suicide. What is a "sad song" anyway?

Songs sung blue, with a "cry in your voice"?

Thu 20 May 2010

10:27 - a tart C bought me from Le Moulin, three peanut-butter crackers, and black coffee.

Today's music: Margaret Leng Tan and the toy piano. Way adorable!

'Eleanor Rigby'


'Nothing is Real (Strawberry Fields Forever)'


'Dinky Toys'

When a vicious Brazilian wax job would feel like a mind-blowing orgasm in comparison.

Wed 19 May 2010 (Happy Jen's Birthday!)

09:35 - pain aux raisins (which C bought me from Le Moulin yesterday), and black coffee.

After yesterday's decision, I spent over five hours compulsively trawling through free and streaming tracks.

Not new music, not the newest and hottest [insert hip genre] music, but nice music - even a nice collection of digitized 78 RPMs and cylinder recordings.

I'm gonna cue this up every time I feel like a black-and-white silent weepy punctuated by kicks from a fat opium-puffing master before concluding with a hacked-up TB-ridden lung on a bloody white handkerchief:



Soundtrack of my life!

Tue 18 May 2010

10:48 - the last of the jambalaya, Salada crackers with Nutella, and black coffee.

Oye.

My back - it fucking hurts, and I can't bend over without whimpering.

It's that time of the month again when my uterus starts throwing tantrums like a two year old, fists banging and legs kicking, so that I feel as old and bloated as a geriatric whale.

And its partner in crime - the brain - keeps screaming to EAT MORE CHOCOLATE. MOOOOOARRRRR!

Seriously.

I only wish this were a parody of the effects of menstruation, but, alas, that stereotype is true.

I should start seeking out and listening to new music again.

My old darlings, I hope you're all still out there, and have not been (forced to or otherwise) shut down. I miss you, and I'm coming!

Other than watching Tough Love, I also got C hooked on Tool Academy. Tool Academy is Tough Love for men ... except - waitaminute! - can men really change?

It appears they can! And it's hysterical watching these jock-clowns tear, weep, and plea their way to conjugal nights and USD 100,000. (Could Tool Academy be a twenty-first century interpretation of Lysistrata? Maybe!)

And their nicknames, they're hilarious! Matsuflex? What's that supposed to be - a vacuum cleaner?!

Finally, the cherry on top of the icing: homoerotic sexiness!

I hope we get The Pickup Artist on free-to-air telly soon!

Mon 17 May 2010

10:55 - leftover jambalaya, and black coffee. (I'd been munching on caramel popcorn prior.)

Dearest Inconsiderate-Fuckers-Who-Live-Upstairs:

Is there a reason for the innumerable and inexplicable loud bumps and thuds to our ceiling (aka your floor)?

Are you hunters? Butchers? Taxidermists? Wrestlers? Axe murderers?

Do you have OCD that compels you to move your furniture around every day?

Would you mind if I snuck up one night and peed all over your front door? Don't worry, I'll also be sure to leave a nice big steaming pile of Number Twos in your mailbox.

You're very much welcome.



Yours faithfully,

Guess-Who-Wishes-For-Much-Stabbitystabstab-Action-On-Your-Hobbit-Feet