Here is my addition to the Sleeveface project on Flickr- Hazel has always loved the Damned, and is part pig anyway. For those unfamiliar, this is a project where people pose with vinyl record sleeves in a way that completes the image.
If you haven’t seen the rest of the Sleeveface pool, it’s pretty incredible. Look here!
I found this clip today and wanted to share it. I’ve never seen Radiohead have as much fun as they do recording a Smiths song about corporal punishment. I love them both.
Pete: Despite what you’ve been told, Robert Smith is *not* the lead singer of the Smiths.
In the throes of postholiday depression, I was just remembering the majesty of Claude Tanner’s pre-suicide poem on Degrassi High. If Caitlin hadn’t dumped him, maybe now the actor David Armin-Parcells wouldn’t be a former Canadian child star working as a wine buyer in Troy, Michigan, and he’d be able to participate in the Next Generation Degrassi with Snake and Spike and the gang. Let’s take a moment to remember, shall we?
Autumn Leaves
Dying Leaves
Season of DEATH!
When winds blow cold
Thoughts of death creep in as I sleep
I dream I’m in a coffin
Safe from the life I don’t want to lead
I’m not afraid
Soothing, black and warm
SOOTHING, BLACK, and WARM!
Safe from the pain
And safe
From the fools
Safe, soothing, black.
On the thirtieth anniversary of the first punk record that I heard, the Sex Pistol’s Never Mind The Bollocks, I find myself helplessly drifting off into nostalgic reverie, as the aged will sometimes do. When I was a teenager, I was 12 years too late for punk. Punk was dead and in a coffin in the King’s Road. But I had a haircut and some homemade t-shirts and I remember thinking: “It’ll be great, man, when everyone’s a PUNK and you go to the bank and the teller is a PUNK and the waitress at the restaurant is a PUNK and the COP is a PUNK and PUNKITY PUNK PUNK PUNK, and we will TAKE OVER.” And now, at last, my dreams have come true.
Everyone from movie stars to graduate students wears black, smeary eyeliner and has tattoos and a really nice guy at work is a 24 year old Cornell alum with a two-tone faux hawk. And it’s terrible. Really, really bad. When I spent my free time getting superfluous facial piercings and listening to questionable music, I felt part of a small, surly culture, but because these pursuits only involved a small cash outlay and willingness to risk infection, they eventually filtered down to the general population. The first time I saw an eyebrow ring/baseball hat combination, I knew it was no longer a mark of my people.
All I’m saying is: bike messengers, death metal kids, transvestites, animal activists, militants of all stripes and outcasts of all denominations: don’t be surprised when one day, people you have nothing in common with look just like you. I found it painful, and I hope you’ll steel yourself from that same disappointment.
Ten seconds of fame, from years ago- I was excited that my own pink-haired blatherings were chosen to intro a video of Neil Gaiman reading Neil Gaiman stories to Neil Gaiman fans. I love him, even though he’s the man who made black leather look a little LARP-y.
Once in a lifetime, you’ll see a photograph which expresses the true nature of your soul, and it will scare the shit out of you. Here’s mine.
One hour of nonstop Convergence DJ action, and a signoff dedication to the evil Dr. Bennington and the patient and genteel Nurse Whatley. And now, pictures of me in a skull face and a bustle.
Little dogs specifically do not like wearing tiny hats, although they are perfectly suited to one another.