Curtains For You, Kid: July 2005

Friday, July 29, 2005

New G*F*D artwork above. (Shit gets deeper.)

Ok, fuck it. I'm totally getting one of these (via engadget.) and getting rid of all doorknobs.

You can't do anything with 'em. I guess you collect 'em. I don't really want 'em. But then a part of me totally wants one. (A tiny manifestation of DiFlankSteak in my head says: "It's just so you can spend more money on more stupid bullshit." And I say: "No, sir. Look! Limited edition art you can afford to collect! You of all people ought to understand that!" So he says: "I do understand that. But you only want to spend money on ridiculous crap." And I'm like: "Whatever shut up.")

I may snag shit from screenhead often enough to bring about suggestions of poor blogging form. However. This shit is awesome and completely worth a perusal. And while we're at it, it's good to have resources at hand.

Apparently, you can fit the great nation-state of Jenkin, Nebraska into Edinburgh, Scotland in a pinch. How come everybody gets to go to Europe all the time?

Did I do my homework? Kind of. I forgot the damn URLs. Get at me.

Thursday, July 28, 2005

In Lieu of Cleverness

I've spent the past three or four days trying desperately to resurrect my fucked up ass iPod. At press time, I'm at at, say, an 80% recovery rate. Shit has been ill. This shit, though, is holding me down. I even actually paid for it.

Banksy got a pretty sick write-up in old Wired Magazine. I say that like I know him or something. Anyway. Somebody, Higg'nblatt, Shamanz, one of you, needs to tell me how to make stuff like this.

Ooh. Speaking of Old Nicholas, I found a little .45 web-presence. That's okay, man!

Brett done took the Splatt-Pak international. I'm hoping he's bringing back pictures to post & Gitane Blondes. Meanwhile the Thinkin' Fellers Union lost its damn ass off Tuesday.

(What?)

Watching Steamboy.

I'm not one to get a video game boner, you know. I mean I'll head to the shed every now and again. And I'm taking all comers in some Man Cup. That's about it, though.

But damn if Killer 7 isn't some engrossing shit. It's like if David Lynch made a video game. (What the hell is up with davidlynch.com, anyway? Who has a pay site? And more than that ... it's been like 15 years man. I almost don't even care anymore. But can I get the Season Two DVD's already? Fuck.) Gouichi Suda, the guy who made Killer 7, has a pretty good thing going over at his Grasshopper Manufacture. And you don't even have to pay for it.

I think that Dungen would be Rai-Chile's favorite band but he won't listen to 'em even though he's been watching TV at my house for like 48 hours now.

"I fuckin' hate Kid's Week, man." - J. Rai

ATTENTION JENKIN, NEBRASKA & HIEBREDOND: Sad news.

More soon.

Monday, July 25, 2005

That picture up there is your first taste of the intended Curtains For You, Kid changes to come.

Also, there's no Blogger "NavBar" now, thanks to these guys. I think it looks way better.

Took a little while to update. Stressful couple of days. Take a dash of Macleod, mix with three parts fucked ass up iPod, wind up with a little cocktail I like to call "The Sleepless Fahsboro."

Life after Libertines.

Another medium funny super entertaining memoir. Eggers, appropriately, put a little blurb on the back.

Capo Status.

Seriously, If you're going to look like this dude you pretty much owe it to everybody to absolutely rule since we already wasted time looking at your crazy ass head. Unfortunately, I, personally, don't think he rules at all.

Res Magazine is so goddamned focused right now.

Currently listening to: kick-ass old school '98 shit.

Hate it or love it. (I think I hate it. Been then maybe I secretly love it. Oh, 50! What are we going to do with you?)

Lastly, me and my sister spent a whole day trying to make a "podcast" for everyone to enjoy, but that shit is way too hard and I don't think the old ass iMac will ever recover. So. Sorry about that.

Thursday, July 21, 2005

Tell Your Friends

Goddamn I love The Fader. Because, seriously, where else can you read Jack White saying that "it's almost dangerous to do anything these days in the public eye. There's just so much opportunity to blow it." (Ch. 11 fellas know what I'm talking about.) Also, the Fader recognizes that their whole medium is kind of flawed and outmoded. So these days it's like an advertisement for young blogging internet talent. I secretly kind of consider myself a part of that even though like only 10 cats read Curtains because (Fader staffer) Nick Catchdubs answered an e-mail I sent him once.

It seems like Tha Fork had a little Dipset Day of their own, but I was sleep.

Life after Libertines.

Ayo, man. For like $4, you're damn right I'll buy like the most ridiculous movie ever.

I said a while back on here that I was accepting donations in the form of Moleskines, & then S. Higginblatt handled it. So. Um. While we're at it, I could go for some fresh new shit. Seriously, you can get 'em for me. Ha ha.

For real, I fuckin damn near died laughing my ass off. You know my insane idiot laugh? I think people in the theatre we're laughing more at it than at the movie.

You had better fucking blow my mind, douchebag.

Saturday, July 16, 2005

So I was listening to this Fresh Air interview with Iggy Pop whilst stuck in a traffic jam on 95. I think Iggy Pop is secretly Jason Duncan and that's why we haven't heard from him in so long.

We are the music makers. We are the dreamers of the dreams. Dare I say it? Better than the O.G.?

AND NOW A PARAPHRASED EXCERPT FROM A CONVERSATION BETWEEN (y)BF & ESP

(y)BF: It's good to see you're still holding it down at the College.

ESP: I don't think I'll be holding it down much longer.

(y)BF: Yeah. You should retire. You're really old.

ESP: Aw, shut up.

(y)BF: Okay.

THANK YOU.

Someone is New York is winning.

Last thing today: I am hereby bringing to the Sarchichan Security Council a full-on boycott of the Days Inn hotel chain. (There was a bloody hypodermic needle hidden in window. How gross does something have to be?)

Thursday, July 14, 2005

Received a strange package at my house with no explanatory note of any kind, just a little envelope with this picture of the cat. Mom opened it. Scared her to death.

Not much today. Gotta go get my stank ass back into college.

Doo-Wop \ Punk Rock over at Copy, right? Half-pennies and Forty-fives take note.

Higginbotham Texas Exit Strategery.

It's more like a movement.

Wednesday, July 13, 2005

If those boys in Camden don't get one of these things in that damn shed, somebody's not doing their job.

Killa Cam interview.

Today: Secret Ruler. Spent all of it re-laxing. Talking about extra large pizzas, Halo 2, Patio Burritos, and Doctor Who. Supreme fucking Dork Out Texas Hold 'Em Diet Mountain Dew Blind Buy In. (Diet Mountain Dew, I guess, is a little less extreme.)

And then and then and then Our Beloved S Dot Higginblatt sent Your Boy a goddamn Incredible De-Luxe Gift-Pak! Two Little Books!

(Insanely creepy Mom-scaring cat Godfather photos to come.)

It doesn't get any better than that.

But then it does, because Chapter Eleven has been getting unexpectedly favorable reviews all around Sarchicha.

I'm going to bed.

Tuesday, July 12, 2005

That up there? It's the first page of the Rai Child's ridiculous children's story idea, illustrated, chopped, & screwed by yours (t)ruly.

FancyNerds, this could really go either way.

Sickest. Intro. Ever.

Man. Me and Foster were just talking (without the use of phones) about how bad we need to get everybody to move out to Nowheresville and buy a big old warehouse and set up a base of incredible-ness and house all projects and call it Steever Studios. I want it to happen so bad it makes me feel weird to even talk about it. Somebody get rich.

I've always wondered, kind of, why Ferris didn''t take out that other car in the background in Mr. Frye's garage. But, then, I guess. There's a damn Ferrari right there, and his name is Ferris, you know, so there's no way he would've taken that other thing. I don't know what I'm talking about, but I can't blame him. Sloane Peterson? Not doin' a whole lot these days.

It's Dipset Week over at All Hip Hop. Fuck that rules.

I just bought Tiger & the new iLife because I'm a dumb sucker.

Did you guys see that Jenkins added comments? Add some damn comments.

Saturday, July 09, 2005

More E. Lamar creations here. Also, the old Gorilla Head put me onto this shit, which is kind of awesome in a kind of kind of way.

This is an excerpt from a poem I sort of created madlib-style:

silver Walkman's silver Walkman

I listened you'd writhe the way you make,
But I create hot and I destroy your grape.
(I consume I smoke you up inside my glass.)

I should have rebuilded a bottle instead;
At least when sickness lights they modify back again.
I sleep my glacier and all the nightgown swims camera.

(I consume I smoke you up inside my glass.)

- (young) Bo Fahs & Sylvia Plath

Now, me, I don't like to read this kind of stuff, but it is fun to do. You can make your own here. They got a bunch of stuff to fuck with. (via Screenhead)

If you're going to get arrested, be doing something this rad. In other DipSet news, this crazy shit is the craziest shit I've ever seen. I can't even read it because it makes me feel epileptic.

New Do's & Don'ts.

I mean. I know Quiksilver is a surf company and everything and the X-Games are stupid and all that but - come the fuck on. Sometimes you just gotta pay your respects.

So, Jenkins beat everybody. He's the first to leave a comment, all time.

Where is Duncan? Goddammit!

Thursday, July 07, 2005

So, The Rai Chile wants me to illustrate his series of children's books. I guess.

Kicked in the nuts. Hilarious, in a classical sense. (from Sir Jenk-o)

Speaking of Jenkins. I have a feeling that maybe he forgot. As a related, um, thing: someone get me back issue number 37! Fucking seriously. And further ... I have a hunch ... and am compelled to find out what's going on in here.

Man. It's a good thing this guy is, like, forty. You know what I mean?

Read today in Shamanzo's copy of Big Sur (for which I think I inadvertently traded my Ticket To Nerdtown.) today and ran across this:

"Tonight the moon shall witness angels trooping at the baby's window where inside he gurgles his pewk [sic] looking with mewling eyes for babyside waterfall lambikin hillside the day the little Arab shepherd boy hugged the babylamb to heart while the mother bleeted at his bay heel -"

And it reminded me of those Sarchicha-wide e-mails that DiFlankSteak used to send all of us. (And of a multitude of "poetic" posts on Babyshambles. Gives me the warm feeling like maybe these cats are onto something good, if it worked out for Our Old Mr. K.

Went to me & Dad's favorite restaurant. If you want to know what fat and happy looks like, get at me.

Wednesday, July 06, 2005

Boom! Duck Man! Part II

The score is now 1 to 1.

So. Two posts on the day. (The internet, lately, has been on the fritz. A glut of accumulated CFYK)

So there's this thing where I feel like I've been taking in so much information lately. I feel full. LIke I need to retreat into a neo-luddite Walden Pond decompression set-up. I've been reading a bunch of books lately (although only like one fourth the books that my sister L has, true to form) ... seeing movies, watching TV, being on the internet. Checking out the radio. It's stifling to me. So I thought I'd have an occasional, like, thing where I can get rid of the day's media intake.

I watched all but the first 15 minutes of Basquiat over an extended lunch break. You always miss some part of a movie when it's on TV. (VoD is such an enormously useful idea it refuses to ever catch on.)

Watched it with The Old Searching Analytical Rai Chile - he who wants (and I can't necessarily blame him) all of modern art broken down for him into a set of static symbols like code. Jeffery Wright's performance is so honest and earnest I can't shake it.

Also, (can you tell?) I have found Shamanzo's old Big Sur & I read about the plashing Pacific Waves - the same waves wherein a nude Team Blue swam with the Security Council - but I am half-asleep reading 'neath a blue umbrella, adjacent to staid swimming pool, with its own set of happy childhood sunburn sounds.

Today I watched Aqua Teen DVDs, and I heard this NPR interview with The red-head from Six Feet Under, but it wasn't interesting. Neither is this. But, yo man. It has to be done.

Boom! Duck Man!

Said, recently, re Curtains:

'It's like reading Micahel Musto' - Sharon

'It's like a giant inside joke, and like, I'm not in on the joke.' - Ian

"I'm on it all the time, but I have no idea what you're talking about ever." - Babyface (Two weeks running, bitches!)

Speaking of Camdonian B-rett, I have decided that he looks like some strange, white, Woodbine version of Jermaine Dupri.

I put this up, I think, a while back, but it is too damn funny to not get a second look.

It's almost too easy to be funny, but then it comes right back around to being funny.

Hiebredonic Mass Mailer. Excellent. It's important that a little pep rally letter is written somewhere in Sarchicha and received here in Fahsboro.

Also, spent a great deal of pleasant time on the phone with S. Higginbotham (Sarchicha Extended Black Bag Ops Net) speaking on the nature of writing. Now, as a rule, I do not write about what it is to write, maybe barring one incident. I don't know. I mean. People do it, you know. Sometimes with good results. And sometimes not. Treacherous waters either way.

Dio Rai Janeiro recommends: Tropicana Twister Grape Soda. It wins. It's the new NuGrape. In fact, I said to said soda: "Get ready to have the fuck drunk out of you." (Can you believe there's a BevNet?)