It ain't meIt ain't me

I really don't do angst well.

I mean, Nirvana is/was my favorite band of all time. I hate happy endings. I prefer having my heart wrenched out. I've seen Braveheart 20 times. Trainspotting is my favorite book; Bukowski is my favorite author.

But I am more of a spectator/consumer.

For instance, I was singing along to Pearl Jam doing Fortunate Son, with conviction, and Stanette started laughing at the un-irony of it. And then I laughed. So, no mas. ¡Olè!

{{Check Johnny Marr in this and the chick from Heart [she is at 2:40, and worth it. best 8-10 seconds of sex-guitar-goddess i've seen lately] rocking the hell out.}}


~I said lately. Because, for extra cash, and because I look good on camera, I judge sex-guitar-goddess contests. It's a relatively easy job, because we rotate it between Nancy Wilson, and Joseph Arthur's guitar player and bass player every three years.~



(((By the way, I first saw ^^that video^^ on Verlaine's blog..

I also updated my links list, which is somewhere on the right. If you should be on it, shoot me an email.

Check it if you're pretending to work. Remember to rest your left elbow *ac/dc lightning bolt*unless you a demonspawn southpaw*ac/dc lightning bolt* on the desk and lay your index finger along your brow and your thumb along your temple and look really pissed off, Costanza-style.

Anyone walking by will think you are working on something heavy-duty. They will leave you alone, unless you're in a cubicle and your monitor faces out. In that instance, anyone walking by will know you are not working on something heavy-duty.)))

I don't think I could have been any more parenthetical.