the greatest Pac-Man victory in history
I'm writing a little earlier than usual this evening because I got so frustrated by Dubya's State of the Union Address that I had to try and get my mind on something else. That also explains the hyper-cheery music I've got playing in the background. I was halfway into a huge diatribe when I realized that he's really not worth the effort. But let me say this, my fine feathered friends, and you can draw your own conclusions: In twelve years I haven't voted in a Presidential election, but I'll be one of the first in line come this November. And now on to a happier topic, which will hopefully purge me of all the bile currently coursing through my system ...
High Fidelity works for me as a weird sort of cinematic and literary mirror. If anyone wants to know what my life is like when no one else is around, or what's going through my head at any given moment (especially regarding women), just check out that movie or read the book it's based on, follow the antics of the protagonist (also named Rob, coincidentally ... or not), and receive a bizarre glimpse into my life. I'm reminded of the similarities again tonight as I work on a mix CD for DeAnna. I take those things as seriously as death, figuring out the exact right songs, getting the pacing right, running it through in my head before committing anything to disc, revising as I go, making sure the internal logic of the song selection continues to hold up ... it's a major operation. But here's the thing: it's fun. I did one last night at the request of Jen J. and Katie R., and it's one of the most pleasant things I can do with my spare time. It's like being a DJ at a club where I'm not forced to play Creed or Britney or Justin or Limp Bizkit. I get to immerse myself in music for a couple of hours, which, as anyone who read my post of a few days ago knows, is one of my favorite places to be. But when Rob in High Fidelity talks about all the rules that go into making a good mix, he's not kidding. It's a complex business, but I won't go into it here. I'm like the Great Oz of independent music, and you won't be peeking behind my curtain anytime soon.
Improv shows tomorrow and Thursday. Support your pals by showing up and giving us some good ideas on those handy-dandy sheets - no rain forests, strippers, or proctologists, please. I promise you'll be rewarded in another life.
High Fidelity works for me as a weird sort of cinematic and literary mirror. If anyone wants to know what my life is like when no one else is around, or what's going through my head at any given moment (especially regarding women), just check out that movie or read the book it's based on, follow the antics of the protagonist (also named Rob, coincidentally ... or not), and receive a bizarre glimpse into my life. I'm reminded of the similarities again tonight as I work on a mix CD for DeAnna. I take those things as seriously as death, figuring out the exact right songs, getting the pacing right, running it through in my head before committing anything to disc, revising as I go, making sure the internal logic of the song selection continues to hold up ... it's a major operation. But here's the thing: it's fun. I did one last night at the request of Jen J. and Katie R., and it's one of the most pleasant things I can do with my spare time. It's like being a DJ at a club where I'm not forced to play Creed or Britney or Justin or Limp Bizkit. I get to immerse myself in music for a couple of hours, which, as anyone who read my post of a few days ago knows, is one of my favorite places to be. But when Rob in High Fidelity talks about all the rules that go into making a good mix, he's not kidding. It's a complex business, but I won't go into it here. I'm like the Great Oz of independent music, and you won't be peeking behind my curtain anytime soon.
Improv shows tomorrow and Thursday. Support your pals by showing up and giving us some good ideas on those handy-dandy sheets - no rain forests, strippers, or proctologists, please. I promise you'll be rewarded in another life.