More on Halloween later. Just thinking about writing about my weekend is making me tired. But here I am, in my Laura Palmer costume.
This week, a spooky-ish Halloween edition. Nothing too frightening, just some Tex-Mex haunted house music courtesy of Muse, songs about doom and ether by Benni Hemm Hemm and PJ Harvey, more Elastica because I forgot I put them on my mix last week even though I’ve been listening to it about six times a day, and Tilly and the Well’s terrifyingly fey tap-dancing. Also, just in case you liked the solo Tracey Thorn song last week, a song by the band she was in before Everything But The Girl. And, for the big climax, Stephen Malkmus sulking about castration fears. As always, if you like the music I suggest you use some of your hard-earned hooking money to buy some of the albums.
(If you’re not sure how to actually make your mix, click here.)
1. Tilly and the Well, Nights of the Living Dead
2. Marine Girls, Tutti Lo Sanno
3. Beach House, Auburn and Ivory
4. PJ Harvey, When Under Ether
5. Benni Hemm Hemm, The Doomed The Damned
6. Sleeper, Ha Ha You’re Dead
7. Muse, Muscle Museum
8. The Dylans, Mary Quant In Blue
9. Twiggy, When I Think of You
10. Suzy Andrews, Teenage Iceage
11. Stereo MCs, Step It Up
12. Something Happens, Hello Hello Hello Hello
13. Elastica, Never There
14. The 6ths featuring Clare Grogan, Night Falls Like A Grand Piano
15. Jens Lekman, The Opposite of Hallelujah
16. Talking Heads, Sugar On My Tongue
17. Pavement, We Dance (Alternate Version)
I briefly contemplated making this some sort of world series-themed post, but I can’t really muster up the strength to channel my hormones towards a sport where at any given time only like two out of eighteen players are actually doing anything. Come on. That’s not a sport. It might be fun when you’re nine and there’s a big dog next door and all you have to worry about is just when the sudden Heartfelt And Life-Changing Appearance by James Earl Jones is going to happen, but you are grown men. You should be running around and working up a sweat and beating the shit out of each other with hockey sticks. Or boxing gloves. Or your bare fucking hands. Jesus.
I just got back from lunch. Sometimes I like skipping fast food and going somewhere where I can sit down and be alone for a while, but today I made the wrong choice. There’s this soul food kinda place up the street, and they have really delicious salads and even better french fries, not to mention awesome black bean soup (despite constantly playing really drecky soul music and forgotten Zhane follow-up singles.)
Anyway, at the next table over were three ratty gay boys, and one of them was talking about how he wanted to get into porn, and the other two were just letting him talk for a while. (Except for when he’d break out his phone and call people and say things like “Hey honey! Listen, I don’t remember last night–I know I talked to you, I just wanted to make sure I didn’t hurt your feelings! HAHAHAHAHAHA! Okay, I’m at lunch now, call me later bye!!”) And he was saying how he was going to go to Vegas in January for the porn festival.
I kind of wanted to tell him to shut up (or at least ask him to pull his dick out if he thought it was so special, because his face definitely wasn’t attractive.) It kind of ruined my lunch–I wish I was better at blocking out the people around me.
Anyway. Here’s some pictures I took in Vegas last January.
(That’s Jenna Jameson, by the way, not Janice.)
(Me and Gia Paloma. By the way, my favorite picture from that weekend got deleted by Photobucket for violating their terms of use. Bastards.)
Filed under: music
Okay, I don’t, but judging from this new Of Montreal track that just got posted on Music For Kids Who Can’t Read Good, Kevin Barnes is continuing his trip through puberty. I remember back in my freshman year of college, the music director at the school’s radio station* told me that Of Montreal had played there the semester before, and after the show they had gone to a party, where Kevin Barnes proceeded to sit in a corner and play with a boxing nun puppet. That was the Of Montreal of yore, the one that sang Tim I Wish You Were Born A Girl and that song about the Happy Yellow Bumblebee, before Kevin Barnes got all into shirtless live Peaches covers, and lyrics about riding crops and the CCAA Booty Patrol.
(*I’m only linking to this picture so you can check out the tie on the guy in the middle. The guy I went to school with–who apparently works in a seminary in Wyoming now (!)–is in the bottom-left corner.)
I lost my wallet. Again. I’m not really sure what to do about it. I lost it some time between visiting my parents on Saturday night and going out for Singapore noodles on Sunday afternoon.
I’m mad. Mostly at myself. Partly at other people. But I won’t get into the other people now. Luckily there was only 20 dollars in it (my wallet, not other people.) And my credit cards are basically maxed out anyway, so even if it got stolen it’s not like people could do anything more than use my library card. And not even, because I rented Young Torless again last week and still haven’t returned it. Or watched it, for that matter.
I’m sorry if I sound vague and fourteen. It happens when I get really bored. Which I am.
Also, The Go! Team is playing in Boston tomorrow and I don’t think I have the money to go. Kind of like how I didn’t have the money to see Of Montreal. Or The Pipettes. Blaggh. The Go! Team are one of those bands that are really cool, but wouldn’t make good music to play while fucking a stranger, so they don’t get featured on here.
This week’s mix is a little bit on the mellow side. I discovered, listening to it last night, that it’s an equally good soundtrack for smoking cigarettes and driving around trying to figure out how to make your life less depressing. I didn’t come up with any answers, but the music helped. This particular mix has a couple of my all-time favorite songs ever, as well as a Guided By Voices motif (GBV, plus a cover by an all-girl GBV tribute band) and a couple of songs inspired by the Twin Peaks-a-thon that my boyfriend and I have been having lately. Oh, and the song that this blog url (and my online persona) is named after. 20 tracks in 60 minutes and 11 seconds. By the way, the Nico song is something of a downer, so if you have any special moves you want to pull out, that would probably be the time.
(If anybody happens to be reading this because of the link from the $pread blog, hi! I’m a big fan of $pread and getting the blog mention was enough to satiate my fantasies of writing something for them some day.)
This is the second round of my search for the hottest guys in America, the only way I can think of–by searching Manhunt. This time, I go to South Dakota, which is kind of even worse than Wyoming was. [links in this blog entry are to Manhunt pages. If you don't have an account it only lets you look at a few of them before it tries to make you log in. Also it removes any pictures that the member has "locked" (that is, the ones they have to personally "unlock" in order for you to see them. Often if you have face pictures in your profile, locked ones will be of your penis. And vice versa.)
Ahhh, South Dakota. Land of Mount Rushmore. Land of abortion woes. Land of straight, straight, straight white people. When I just checked, there were 274 guys on Manhunt in Rhode Island and, um, 31 in South Dakota. And if you discount the guys that don't have pictures, and the guys that just have really uninspired headless chest shots (or, in one weird case, collar shots), there's not a lot to look at. The first guy that comes up seems nice enough. He's 6'4" and a top (just like me!), but he doesn't exactly put fuel in my rocket, if you know what I mean. Plus he's looking for a relationship. Then there's some really unfortunate-looking guys. People in South Dakota are very chinny, it seems. And then there's one guy standing in front of a ridiculous loud black-and-white backdrop. One closeup crotch shot of a guy wearing tacky leopard-print underwear. One guy looking so full of himself I want to kick him, even though he's half a country away from me. One guy whose screen name is Smokedcow7. One guy wearing an American Eagle shirt with the collar flipped up, which I thought even the gays didn't do anymore. One guy (the last one, meaning the one that probably just leaves himself logged in for weeks at a time just in case) wearing, from what I can tell, a t-shirt with a picture of an American flag printed on a bass, and the guy's holding--I'm not sure, but I'm going to say a hand towel--with a picture of an eagle on it. And that's his only picture! Oh, and I forgot to mention the one guy posing with his dog [nb: I love dogs, but they are NOT HOT and you are NOT HOT if you're posing with one. Dogs, in the online cruising world, are the equivalent of a party-size bag of Doritos. Of course you want it, but not in bed.]
Really just a couple of guys stand out. sfsd1973 has a really vague four-word profile (”looking to meet guys”) but he has big sideburns and I’d probably do him in a pinch. His pictures aren’t impressive but I feel like it’s the photography rather than the subject matter. strokinsf has a better body and looks like he night be sort of kinky in a rednecky way, but he uses the word hella in his profile so I’d rather not consider him to be the hottest representative of his state. fargomorehead is a vague but potentially promising dick shot. He refers to his AIM screen name as the yellow face, which I’ve never seen before.
One of the problems with South Dakota is that everybody there seems to be in the closet. Nobody’s willing to show their face. One example is sdakotaman, who I ended up talking to because he seemed like he probably was the hottest guy of the 31. He told me this weekend is the beginning of hunting season, which is a good time for cock, I guess. It probably also explains why so many of the people online claimed to be just visiting. Anyway, he unlocked his private pictures for me. He’s got a nice dick, with nicer balls, and he’s in good shape. No idea what he looks like from the neck up, though.
Although I try to limit myself to the guys that are online, I had to take a peek at some of the others. If you’re into tattooed thuggy-looking guys, omacock4u looks like he’d be right up your alley . squirty69 looks kind of like a jackass with his camera phone pictures, but a hot jackass, at least. And…. that’s about it, unfortunately. Since I’m limiting myself just to guys that are currently online,* I guess the award goes to sdakotaman. Whatever he looks like.
(*this might not make any sense now, but it will when I get to, like, Massachusetts and California.)
So, I’m back, after an awesome trip to New York to see MIA (aka a hellish seven-hour ride home in the rain with my wipers only kinda-working.) The city was fun, although as usual I feel like I barely saw any of it. (If anybody knows of anything fun to do in the city, leave me a note in the comments section.)
We tried to take in some art, and caught the Mike Nelson show at the Essex Street Market. I wanted to see Sex In The City, but we decided to high-tail it home instead because I had to be home for my radio show. We stopped at Babeland, though, but were totally unimpressed by the lame selection and wildly unfriendly sales guy that was too busy listening to LCD Soundsystem to acknowledge that we existed. I really have a problem with feminist porn stores that think it’s okay to hate male customers.
It reminded me of a store here in Providence. I went in a couple of years ago, just to check it out, and the two girls working there were talking about a scam artist that’s always in the area talking about how his car broke down right around the corner and how he needs gas money and whatever. I told them how I had called the guy out a few days before that, and how after that we were kind of friends (or at least he’d say hi to me.) And the two girls both made disgusted faces and told me that they felt violated as women and there’s no way I could possibly understand what they went through when he asked them for gas money.
I didn’t go back.
It’s too bad, too, because there’s a total shortage of sex stores around here. There’s one chain of them that kind of drove everybody else out of business, but they’re just not that interesting. There were two other video stores, but I think they both closed now. One of them didn’t even make it three months, I don’t think.
In other news, the gays in Providence are all agog because somebody OD’d in a bathhouse. They’re also all in a tizzy because a new all-male strip club opened and, from what I can tell, they’re complaining because it’s exactly like the old one. Whatever. I only went to the old one once, for lube wrestling, which was disappointing because a) it lasted all of seven minutes, b) allegedly started at 9 and didn’t get going until about 11:30, and c) was all twinky boys that were totally unattractive. There was seriously one cute-ish guy in twelve rounds of wrestling–he looked really good from behind. Nice legs, nice ass, nice hair, even if it was a little early Joey Tribbiani-ish. But then he turned around and–I shit you not, reader–he had a Cher tattoo on his chest. I mean Jesus.
Anyway, enough complaining. I’ll be back with a mixtape tomorrow. Sorry there was no starfucking this week, but maybe you can entertain yourself with this series of pornographic stories that I wrote when I was young enough for them to not be creepy.
Starfucker Friday is going to be late this week, because I’m heading down to New York to see MIA* now and won’t be back until right before my radio show tomorrow night. In the meantime, check out this crazy website.
*(I’m linking to her last.fm page because her website may give you seizures. For real.)
Catch you later.
