Ow! My Most of Me!

Achey hands because I just wrenched off the basement door in order to cut a cat hole in the bottom of it. Well, not a cat "hole," persay, but more of an arch. An opening. An aperature. And hopefully something that won't look as though a monster took a snaggle-toothed bite from the door.

Nihao's immediate response to me removing the door was to puke. Thank you Nihao. Now I know exactly how you feel about it. She's been meowing incessently for the last couple days, probably because I've been rendering huge upsetting changes, like cleaning out the litter box. I've tried to make sure she is extra loved and patted. She's actually much better than she used to be--It's been months since she's thrown up because of stress. I'm dreading how it will be when the time comes to rennovate the kitchen, starting with flat-out gutting the place. Poor Neen.

In any case, now that I've got the door off, I'm at a standstill because I can not, for the life of me, make the blade snap into place on the jigsaw. Oh, I've tried. And tried. And cursed like a sailor. I'm beginning to feel that perhaps the jigsaw is designed to entirely ignore people with that extra "girl" chromosome. This sort of thing drives me insane. I can open tight bottle lids, assemble furniture without the directions, program a VCR, even change the oil on a damn car, but I can't...plug...the little...blade...into the jigsaw. GGAARRRRR!!

C-to-the-omic

Here is a comic that takes neither itself, nor you seriously.

Starshift Crisis

Summary: elitist, cynical curator of a museum of worlds based on an intergalactic starship has a giant, humorless preying mantis-like butler who makes him tea. The art is entertaining, but the writing is what comes in a cut above many a web comic I've browsed. In a way, it feels as though someone shook Douglas Adams and a webcomic fell out (except that dear old DA is dead. Uh, ewww. No shaking dead people). I'm not saying that it draws too much on Adams--just that it makes me snicker in precisely the same ways.

I tried BBQing pork chops tonight. Big, thick meaty ones. And they turned out dry and sucky. Oh well. It could have been worse. They could have been dropped in poo.

Calling All Audio-Nerds!

I stumbled across a website for the best type of audio-nerd today. This guy scanned vinyl into his computer and managed to interpret it into something akin to music. The sound samples on the bottom are barely recognizable swishy, crackly bits of Vivaldi's Four Seasons.


Observe.

Someone needs to use a sample of this thing in a song or two. It's practically good enough to listen to on its own as minimalist techno or something along those lines.

You! Musically inclined friends! Let me know if you make anything from it. I'd be excited to hear.

The first time I saw the Monkey, I was spinning at a club in Dusseldorf...

Someone sent a link to THIS today, and I was much entertained by it. It reminds me a little, for some reason, of the people who made the Urban Monkey short films years ago.

The Urban Monkey films revolved around deadpan documentary interviews with people and footage of an elusive "urban monkey" who can out-breakdance anyone on the block. They did a recreation of the legendary "bigfoot footage" that was killer as well. All of this was set against a backdrop of original hip-hop. I'm sad to find that it's disappeared so utterly from the internet. I couldn't even find it using the Wayback Machine.

Now-a-days, the Urban Monkey title has been claimed by some British kid who hops around. Okay. He's slightly cooler than that, but it makes me just a wee bit bitter.

It Grew on an iShrub

Now this is rather slick.



I'm tempted to make some sort of crack about how it only plays rustic folk music now... but I won't.

Oh. Dear. God.

Poor Ennio Morricone, legendary composer of western music and countless movie scores... even HE is not immune to hokey covers.

This must be Swedish. And it's got to be the seventies. It would have to be Sweden in the seventies for anyone to remotely think this is okay.

For those of you of the "Read Now, Click Later" school, the above link is one the Boy sent to a video of what looks like the cousin of Lemmy from Motorhead fronting a fringe-laden band of Swedes high on peyote who've decided that converting Morricone compositions to disco music is actually somehow a good idea.

This is not a joke. The front man seems so taken with the idea that occasionally he punctuates the music with a triumphant (yet slightly sinister), "Hahaa!"

Clad in genuine apache bikinis, the Swedish ladies swim team gyrates their way through the set, brightly crooning, "Apache-pache boy!" as if to somehow convince us that the fluffy-haired gent in a yellow fringed jumpsuit is, in actuality, a certified Native American.

Don't miss a priceless moment near the end where, unable to resist the Apache Boy's aura of seventies sexiness, the ladies run their hands over him...and one earnestly squashes his puffy hairdo. The motion reminds me more of the desparing "Lifetime original movie" mother vigorously stroking the brow of her injured child and choking out: "It's aaaall right. It's going to be aaaall right. It'll be over soon."

Don't worry, Apache-pache Boy. It'll be over soon.