TAYUAUNOTLuSPerSupsI3D
Hello, me! Here's another quasi-weekly update of Tim Daily! This week's entry: The Amazing (Yet Uncomfortable) and Unfathomable Neighborhood of the (Lucid) Slovenly Perpetual Supperers in 3-D
MP3s
First things first, I have this version of Robert Plant's Shine it All Around on my computer, and it ends with what I assume to be some French radio disc jockey. It's here that I notice that our DJ's are totally fuckin' American. At the end of said song--which I believe to have been brand new at the time of transference from radio to computer--in a perfectly respectable and informative voice is a Frenchman speaking quickly and sans emotion. When I think of American radio, on the other hand, I think of that cackling hippie like Pierre Robert(note the irony of his name) sawing open my cerebellum on a crisp autumn morning, when I want nothing more than to be lulled into a day of full consciousness with the gentle arms of music! I don't need the crazy-father-weilding-a-chainsaw-and-bursting-into-the-room-at-4-AM effect of an over-caffienated, burned out, middle aged "citizen"'s voice. But I digress. The point I'm trying to make is that the little snippets at the end of a sloppily-transferred MP3 can be quite satisfying. Like at the end of U2's Beautiful Day; on the radio or CD, fade out. On my mp3? Heavens no! I have some sort of weird split-second '80s synth drum burst followed by a fragment of a guitar note straight out of some lame Nickelodeon game show from 1990. At the end of an acoustic version of Toad the Wet Sprocket's Comedown is some woman who, if the band had one giant collective dick, would have licked her was to the chocolate center of it by the end of the song. She adds an extra 8 seconds to a great song and caps it off perfectly with a hilarious faux interest, like a quivering laser-sight is trained on her forehead. My point is, through all of this much too long section, is that I wouldn't change these songs for the world. The little mistakes and bloops are the digital equivalent of the aging Pink Floyd stoner's love affair with the way the laughter skips in the middle of Brain Damage on his original vinyl copy. I don't think I could deal with CD's anymore, unless I make them myself. What an age.
Pigeons
Today I noticed something; not unlike the moment a 55 year old mother walks in on her jobless overweight thirtysomething of a son masturbating to I Love Lucy and sees its time for change in not only his pathetic life, but her own as well.
I try to avoid the pigeons on my route, I really do. They walk in the street like yearlings around a cool stream (only without the grace), scavenging for food. I look at the concrete-colored eggs with legs and see their disgusting beetle-sheen of green, purple and blue--no longer borne of nature, but of their bathing in gasoline slicks. These fat, overfed "birds" keep their superfluous wings tucked at their sides and wobble like that last bowling pin in your possible 300 game that's on the line. I drive slowly and around them, not anymore worrying about killing them, but so that underdeveloped, coal-black beak doesn't puncture my tire. I can't help but look at these creatures too lazy to move out of the way of traffic for the sake of food and laziness and see America--nay, humanity. Look; I'm a big guy, but I'm no pigeon. When a car's coming, I move out of the way. Physically and metaphorically speaking. I see people walking around this city, and when the slightest thing disrupts that beeline to food, or the train, or the TV, they flap their little stubs and let the feather fly. The overfeddus glutonii species is too closely related to humans nowadays to not be the missing link. I don't want to be a pigeon.
Fences
Today I saw a pretty funny thing. There was this house on Megargee St. With a pretty high fence. Now, I'm not talking chain-link alone, but this thing was jet black, pointy and menacing. On the end closest to me was one of those oh so subtle "Littering Fine" signs placed there to scare people (and their dogs, I assume) from shitting on their lawn. Then, as my eyes scanned along the fence whilst I walked, I came to a cheery flag stuck in the barren mudslide of a front lawn. It said, in a plain and fancy script surrounded by floral pastel coloring, "WELCOME". If that's not confusing, I don't know what is.
The Headless Fan
Further down on my walk today, I saw a scarecrow in a chair wearing a white T-shirt with "EAGLES" painted on it in black ink. Good move, since I alone with the rest of degenerate society would probably have stolen any merchandise with any value on that thing. Anyway, the head was missing and the snapped off end of a broom stick was the only thing protruding from the shoulders. Fuckin hilarious.
Safety Word
There needs to be a word, sound, or visual that all creatures understand and interpret as "NO". This symbol would immediately strike fear in the groin of any creature (in the universe; if it was limited to just earth, then the aliens would have a pretty awesome weapon against us). This would solve a hell of alot of problems and be alot nicer than "anyone caught trespassing will be shot" or "fuck you homo, you don't get no Chee-tos." We could make a sticker with the symbol and put it on our properties, then have secret entrances so we can get in without seeing the symbol. I guess, of course, then you'd have people inventing contact lenses that could filter it out or something and these people would be invincible until a new thing was conceived. So, bad idea.
That's all I got in meself for now. Later, beautiful.
MP3s
First things first, I have this version of Robert Plant's Shine it All Around on my computer, and it ends with what I assume to be some French radio disc jockey. It's here that I notice that our DJ's are totally fuckin' American. At the end of said song--which I believe to have been brand new at the time of transference from radio to computer--in a perfectly respectable and informative voice is a Frenchman speaking quickly and sans emotion. When I think of American radio, on the other hand, I think of that cackling hippie like Pierre Robert(note the irony of his name) sawing open my cerebellum on a crisp autumn morning, when I want nothing more than to be lulled into a day of full consciousness with the gentle arms of music! I don't need the crazy-father-weilding-a-chainsaw-and-bursting-into-the-room-at-4-AM effect of an over-caffienated, burned out, middle aged "citizen"'s voice. But I digress. The point I'm trying to make is that the little snippets at the end of a sloppily-transferred MP3 can be quite satisfying. Like at the end of U2's Beautiful Day; on the radio or CD, fade out. On my mp3? Heavens no! I have some sort of weird split-second '80s synth drum burst followed by a fragment of a guitar note straight out of some lame Nickelodeon game show from 1990. At the end of an acoustic version of Toad the Wet Sprocket's Comedown is some woman who, if the band had one giant collective dick, would have licked her was to the chocolate center of it by the end of the song. She adds an extra 8 seconds to a great song and caps it off perfectly with a hilarious faux interest, like a quivering laser-sight is trained on her forehead. My point is, through all of this much too long section, is that I wouldn't change these songs for the world. The little mistakes and bloops are the digital equivalent of the aging Pink Floyd stoner's love affair with the way the laughter skips in the middle of Brain Damage on his original vinyl copy. I don't think I could deal with CD's anymore, unless I make them myself. What an age.
Pigeons
Today I noticed something; not unlike the moment a 55 year old mother walks in on her jobless overweight thirtysomething of a son masturbating to I Love Lucy and sees its time for change in not only his pathetic life, but her own as well.
I try to avoid the pigeons on my route, I really do. They walk in the street like yearlings around a cool stream (only without the grace), scavenging for food. I look at the concrete-colored eggs with legs and see their disgusting beetle-sheen of green, purple and blue--no longer borne of nature, but of their bathing in gasoline slicks. These fat, overfed "birds" keep their superfluous wings tucked at their sides and wobble like that last bowling pin in your possible 300 game that's on the line. I drive slowly and around them, not anymore worrying about killing them, but so that underdeveloped, coal-black beak doesn't puncture my tire. I can't help but look at these creatures too lazy to move out of the way of traffic for the sake of food and laziness and see America--nay, humanity. Look; I'm a big guy, but I'm no pigeon. When a car's coming, I move out of the way. Physically and metaphorically speaking. I see people walking around this city, and when the slightest thing disrupts that beeline to food, or the train, or the TV, they flap their little stubs and let the feather fly. The overfeddus glutonii species is too closely related to humans nowadays to not be the missing link. I don't want to be a pigeon.
Fences
Today I saw a pretty funny thing. There was this house on Megargee St. With a pretty high fence. Now, I'm not talking chain-link alone, but this thing was jet black, pointy and menacing. On the end closest to me was one of those oh so subtle "Littering Fine" signs placed there to scare people (and their dogs, I assume) from shitting on their lawn. Then, as my eyes scanned along the fence whilst I walked, I came to a cheery flag stuck in the barren mudslide of a front lawn. It said, in a plain and fancy script surrounded by floral pastel coloring, "WELCOME". If that's not confusing, I don't know what is.
The Headless Fan
Further down on my walk today, I saw a scarecrow in a chair wearing a white T-shirt with "EAGLES" painted on it in black ink. Good move, since I alone with the rest of degenerate society would probably have stolen any merchandise with any value on that thing. Anyway, the head was missing and the snapped off end of a broom stick was the only thing protruding from the shoulders. Fuckin hilarious.
Safety Word
There needs to be a word, sound, or visual that all creatures understand and interpret as "NO". This symbol would immediately strike fear in the groin of any creature (in the universe; if it was limited to just earth, then the aliens would have a pretty awesome weapon against us). This would solve a hell of alot of problems and be alot nicer than "anyone caught trespassing will be shot" or "fuck you homo, you don't get no Chee-tos." We could make a sticker with the symbol and put it on our properties, then have secret entrances so we can get in without seeing the symbol. I guess, of course, then you'd have people inventing contact lenses that could filter it out or something and these people would be invincible until a new thing was conceived. So, bad idea.
That's all I got in meself for now. Later, beautiful.