Christ. You asked. It's a boring list.

5 items in my fridge
1. Sake
2. Muffins de ingles
3. Peany butty!
4. Anchovy paste
5. A refrigerator thermometer-barometer.


5 items in my closet
1. Two pairs of cowboy boots, bought off-a eBay, both fit terribly
2. Several scarves
3. My ninth grade prom dress: Gold Sequins
4. One jumbo box of tampons: Menstruation, yo!
5. A fabric shaver. Believe it.

5 items in my car
1. Clothing for the clothing drive
2. Flares, fuckers!
3. Red Hash
4. Steering wheel
5. Rearview mirror. Very important.

5 items in my purse
1. A pair of headphones, but no iPod
2. Mints
3. My passport because I haven't renewed my DL. Shit. And buying alcohol is a lot like traveling to a foreign country.
4. Sunglasses that are so cheap, they sound cheap. Not just look cheap. Oh no.
5. Instant hand sanitizer. Bird Flu, mutherfuckers!

5 people who are now tagged
1. Dead blog #1
2. Dead blog #2
3. Dead blog #3
4. Dead blog #4
5. Dead blog #5

After Even Living Nearby, I Never Knew Until Now

Apparently, the SF "neighborhood" known as the Tenderloin is named so because back in the day the police were paid so much more to cover its mean streets that they could afford a tenderloin sandwich.

I always thought it had something to do with the tender young boys and girls and bois who are often calling for companionship. Or the way that drugz can make your teeth and gums kind of tender.

Alright. I Give In

Governor? Fuck. Mayor! Greg Nickels has great nipples.

HB = Heeb... ha-ha: Hamlice is a halfer.

This is the new band. Harvard Beef

Adverb Fever

Secret, Coded Rejoinders

Governor Great Nipples

and

Harvard Beef

Record Abortions

No, not a record-breaking number of abortions. Rather, records that made it into this world but that really should've been aborted.

I was discussing this with Hamlice as the Microphones' record It Was Hot We Stayed in the Water blared away in the background in our pretty hot apartment yesterday afternoon. A bit of background: It has been hot here in this wonky little burg, something that's rare and lovely. H had made a peanut-sauce-chicken-noodle-spicy thing and, like I said, we were eating, talking, and dammit that record was really distracting. Typically I like this record. It's a shitty basement recording, but I feel like the Mt.Eerie guy knows what he's doing--even when he's bringing marching band drums to the mix. And, Mirah, she's pretty capable, and I like how her voice sounds soft and spare and sweet. During this scene, I almost forgot to water the new pumpkin plant that I planted behind our apartment. I'd already left it three days in blaring 75-degree sun. I found it barely holding on. It had grown, but it was waning and yellow. I planted it near the massive, inedible rhubarb bush and I hope that the two will mingle and maybe get to know one another. I got freaked out by my environmental footprint the other day and realized via the Internet that if everyone lived like me we'd need 4.5 earths.

That's a lot of earths!

The city is willing to sell us a $200 compost system for a measly $40. So soon we will do this and have racoon babies living in the rhubarb.

Have you ever met a full-grown raccoon, one late afternoon that's just-a bleeding into the night?

Anyway, there are a whole swath of records that aren't just lo fi, that should've been stopped during the recording process in the damp basements of Olympia, the hothouses of midwest, the high-rent indie-rock producing studios in the Northeast, and the California's answer to it's absent basements: the practice space.

More: I like lo fi. I like the Aerial Pink records I've heard. I like hi-fi, too. But, I don't like these records.

On Avery Island

Michigan

Note: This blog is now completely devoted to things I don't like. Why, you might ask am I giving these things I don't enjoy such prominence?
Note2: At first I thought this list was going to be really long and say a lot, but I got tired.

Elimination Notes

Dining out is a human treat, with a dim caveat: public restrooms--unless you can hold it. Often I'm unable. In the process I'm not only delighted by convenience but equally so when I find little notes of explanation for subpar, underperforming facilities.

Please hold handle down until bowl empties. Thanks, Mgmt.

It is good that the management has signed this toilet missive. Otherwise we would be unsure of it's authenticity and might do something even worse to the bowl than empty it. Is there anyone who still needs to know whom these letters are from? Isn't it implicit?

They remain over and over signed by the management, as a qualifier. You are safe in thinking that no, that the table across from you isn't playing a unfunny joke on you. No. We are satisfied knowing this is from a known entitiy, the management. Faceless and authoritarian. And, paralyzingly cheap: hence the note itself.

Is My Crunching That Loud?

Sometimes I wonder because it is so loud in my head. I know my head is like a sound conductor and I have no objectivity on the matter. What does it matter.

Spicy Cheetos, not that I eat them, but they're becoming the prized contraband of so many 5th graders across the nation.

They said, "Follow the teenaged girls--they know what good music is" and sure enough in the front row of any great band there are throngs of them. They said, "Follow the gay men to the next up and coming soon-to-be gentrified neighborhood--you'll get a sweet place for cheap and soon, it will be the center of the city" that turns out to be true as well.

Now exhausted from this set up, I say, follow the fifth graders of the nation as they lead us to the latest in addictive capsaicin-loaded extruded cheese snacks. But, be careful, you eat the whole bag, you run the risk of the runs and your booty might be burnin'!

A Band That Is Good, Underated, and Annoying

is
.

A band that is annoying and overrated, though inexplicably critically acclaimed is

.

It's a fact!

Dear Unconcious Gabi,

Please stop grinding your teeth at night because the dentist has informed me that the mouth guard you need is $500, and I really can't afford that right now.

Thanks,
Waking Gabi

I'm Embarrassed to Say

That I really, really, really love this record:


I know. It's like a million indie years old. But, I'm thirty now, and I can't be expected to be on the pulse of things anymore. Like I ever was, fuckwads!