who doesn't love a trainwreck?
so, here it is. saturday night. i'm home. with a cold.
it's awesome. yay for ill.
anyway. i ventured to target earlier today. needed a bathmat as mine is officially falling apart. and of course, the halloween shit is out now. and i haven't been in a couple of weeks (trying to save money) so it's like everything is new. in the first place - hallelujah, the skeletons are winning the halloween decoration war. for the past 7 or 8 years, spiders have been very in vogue for halloween decor, but this year the skulls and skeletons are making a HUGE comeback. which just makes me happy in a 'i can feel the money flying out of my checkbook way'. i was restrained. got stuff i needed. and stuff i didn't.
the most expensive of the stuff i didn't need is the Amy Winehouse CD Back to Black. i don't listen to the radio. or when i do, it's npr or the tech or gsu stations. so i don't hear a lot of pop music. what i do do (ha) is read trashy celebrity tabloids. why? who the fuck knows. i know i don't. but still, i read 'em.
so i've been reading a lot about the heroin fiend antics of amy winehouse and her husband. it's scary shit. and her hair is also scary. ditto makeup. ditto heroin. but this lady is always described as a soul singer or soulful lady or something along those lines. curiousity - as it often does - overtook me last week and i listened to a bit of her stuff on the 'ilike' thing on facebook.
damn. she's good. her lyrics are hella fucked up, but the music is just...wow. and her voice should not be coming out of her.
so today, while looking to see if they had dvds of hocus pocus or young frankenstien for the cheap (like they do sometimes around halloween) the target 'buy this' thing in the electronics/media section played rehab. i entered a trance and had purchased the cd before i could even think.
it's good. solid cd. but the girl's gonna be dead at like 25. she Might be 24.
hence the title. we love watching willfull self-destruction. even the sad, non-schadenfruede kind. you know? we love other people's misery and all the better if the miserable ones are rich and famous. or just famous. or even marginally famous. we're dicks.
luckily, my trainwreck of a cold and status of poor-ass, q-list local 'celebrity' means that i may drink my oj and feel my brain escape via mucus in privacy. good night all. here's hoping that i may call in sick (almost legitimately) on monday.
it's awesome. yay for ill.
anyway. i ventured to target earlier today. needed a bathmat as mine is officially falling apart. and of course, the halloween shit is out now. and i haven't been in a couple of weeks (trying to save money) so it's like everything is new. in the first place - hallelujah, the skeletons are winning the halloween decoration war. for the past 7 or 8 years, spiders have been very in vogue for halloween decor, but this year the skulls and skeletons are making a HUGE comeback. which just makes me happy in a 'i can feel the money flying out of my checkbook way'. i was restrained. got stuff i needed. and stuff i didn't.
the most expensive of the stuff i didn't need is the Amy Winehouse CD Back to Black. i don't listen to the radio. or when i do, it's npr or the tech or gsu stations. so i don't hear a lot of pop music. what i do do (ha) is read trashy celebrity tabloids. why? who the fuck knows. i know i don't. but still, i read 'em.
so i've been reading a lot about the heroin fiend antics of amy winehouse and her husband. it's scary shit. and her hair is also scary. ditto makeup. ditto heroin. but this lady is always described as a soul singer or soulful lady or something along those lines. curiousity - as it often does - overtook me last week and i listened to a bit of her stuff on the 'ilike' thing on facebook.
damn. she's good. her lyrics are hella fucked up, but the music is just...wow. and her voice should not be coming out of her.
so today, while looking to see if they had dvds of hocus pocus or young frankenstien for the cheap (like they do sometimes around halloween) the target 'buy this' thing in the electronics/media section played rehab. i entered a trance and had purchased the cd before i could even think.
it's good. solid cd. but the girl's gonna be dead at like 25. she Might be 24.
hence the title. we love watching willfull self-destruction. even the sad, non-schadenfruede kind. you know? we love other people's misery and all the better if the miserable ones are rich and famous. or just famous. or even marginally famous. we're dicks.
luckily, my trainwreck of a cold and status of poor-ass, q-list local 'celebrity' means that i may drink my oj and feel my brain escape via mucus in privacy. good night all. here's hoping that i may call in sick (almost legitimately) on monday.