An Introspective Retrospective of a Prospective Genius

Aimee Song of the Week 5 and stuff

So, I haven't blogged much at all lately. I just haven't been much in the mood. I might get into the whys later, provided that hurricane Wilma doesn't blow me across Tampa. Granted, the odds of that are pretty low, but one never knows. I am getting really excited about the Aimee Mann concert this Thursday. I'm actually far more excited about Aimee than I was about the Alanis concert. I've finally admitted to myself that Alanis isn't really as great as I once thought. I realized that what really drew me to Alanis was the raw emotion in her songs. She was mad and depressed and she sang about it unflinchingly. It wasn't so much her lyrics, it was her overall tone. However, her tone has completely changed and her skill as a writer isn't enough to back it up. I don't even have her last 3 albums on my iPod anymore, I just couldn't keep pretending to like them. Though, I did try.

Anywho, this week's Aimee song is one of my favorites from her latest album, The Forgotten Arm. What really amazes me is that I genuinely dig every song on the album.

Particularly Little Bombs:

From the 22nd floor
Walking down the corridor
Looking out the picture window down
On Sycamore

While perspective lines converge
Rows of cars and buses merge
All the sweet green trees of Atlanta burst
Like little bombs
Or little pom-poms
Shaken by a careless hand
That drives them off
And leaves again

Life just kind of empties out
Less a deluge than a drought
Less a giant mushroom cloud
Than an unexploded shell
Inside a cell
Of the Lennox Hotel

On the 22nd floor
Found a notice on my door
While outside, the sun is shining on
Those little bombs
Those little pom-poms

Life just kind of empties out
Less a deluge than a drought
Less a giant mushroom cloud
Than an unexploded shell
Inside a cell
Of the Lennox Hotel

Inside a cell
Of the Lennox Hotel

Inside a cell
Of the Lennox Hotel

Inside a cell
Of the Lennox Hotel

Aimee Song of the Week 4

Well, I'm in kind of a suck mood right now and this week's song appropriately reflects such.

Here you go, It's Not:

I keep going round and round on the same old circuit
A wire travels underground to a vacant lot
Where something I can't see interrupts the current
And shrinks the picture down to a tiny dot
And from behind the screen it can look so perfect
But it's not

So here I'm sitting in my car at the same old stoplight
I keep waiting for a change but I don't know what
So red turns into green turning into yellow
But I'm just frozen here on the same old spot
And all I have to do is to press the pedal
But I'm not
No, I'm not

People are tricky, you can't afford to show
Anything risky anything they don't know
The moment you try, you kiss it goodbye

So baby kiss me like a drug like a respirator
And let me fall into the dream of the astronaut
Where I get lost in space that goes on forever
And you make all the rest just an afterthought
And I believe it's you who could make it better
But it's not
No, it's not
No, it's not

A History of Suck!

Today was pretty interesting. I went to see A History of Violence and it was bad, really bad. I don't get the rave reviews at all. The film's plot (I use that term loosely) wasn't intelligent, or creepy, or unsettling, or compelling. It was flat out slow and boring. The dialogue was absolutely flat and pointless. Even the violence (of which there wasn't much) was pretty uninspired and generally blah. I really don't see how anybody could call A History of Violence "gritty" on any level, whether it be psychological or visual. Oh, wait, there were two pretty graphic sex scenes that were supposedly full of plot-critical symbolism. However, that sort of talk is just pseudo-intellectual arthouse bullshit. Sure, on some level, oral to vaginal contact is "gritty" and rape on tiny staircase is "gritty," but in this movie it was grit without particular purpose. Like, "Okay, this guy's a brutal killer living life as a small-town family man, so let's toss in some really harsh sex for symbolism." Sex can definitely be a plot device replete with symbolic artistry, but such was not the case in this film.

However, aside from the borefest that was A History of Violence, the actual movie going experience was kind of a landmark. This is the first time I've seen a theatrical movie without either my mom or my brother. I went with somebody entirely different. So, after almost 25 years I can cross that off the list! What's next? Angry tiny staircase sex, maybe? No, of course not... it would have to be in an elevator!

Aimee Song of the Week 3

I've been grooving to this song a lot today. I've had to create a pair of Keynote slideshows, one of which involves all the fun things one can do with SwitchXS. Like it's not blatantly obvious that people with disabilities can and want to have fun with their Macs, but evidently people still need such ideas illustrated in slideshow form. So, for one of my slides I did a screen capture of me gabbing it up in iChat while operating iTunes at the same time. Woooo!

Anyway, the song I used in that slide is this week's song, Red Vines:

They're all still on their honeymoon
just read the dialogue balloon
everyone loves you--
why should they not?
And I'm the only one who knows
that Disneyland's about to close
I don't suppose you'd give it a shot
knowing all that you've got

Are cigarettes and Red Vines
just close your eyes, 'cause, baby--
you never do know
and I'll be on the sidelines,
with my hands tied,
watching the show

Well, it's always fun and games until
it's clear you haven't got the skill
in keeping the gag from going too far
So you're running 'round the parking lot
'til every lightning bug is caught
punching some pinholes
in the lid of a jar
while we wait in the car

With cigarettes and Red Vines
just close your eyes, 'cause, baby--
you never do know
and I'll be on the sidelines,
with my hands tied,
watching the show

And tell me, would it kill you
would it really spoil everything
if you didn't blame yourself
do you know what I mean?

Cigarettes and Red Vines
just close your eyes, 'cause,
baby--
you never do know
and I'll be on the sidelines,
with my hands tied,
watching the show
watching the show

Shoot the Messenger

Why is it that whenever something goes screwy with a computer and it can't be fixed in 2 clicks or simply fast enough, it's ENTIRELY the tech person's fault? What the FUCK is the deal with that? I accidentally just instructed somebody to boot from the wrong hard drive, adding maybe another 2 minutes to the overall procedure. No big deal, right? Wrong! Evidently it's a huge deal. For my error, I got treated to a lovely bit of yelling, including my favorite little line from the overall rant:

"Hey, hey, hey, look, don't fuck with me."

I bet it's less annoying and generally less stressful to work tech support for the FBI than it is to troubleshoot my family's iBook's. Anyway, blog ranting FTW!

Aimee Song of the Week 2

This week's Aimee Mann song is one that I find particularly awesome.

Check it out, Lost in Space:

Lost In Space
A bubble drifting
Into a place
Where planets shift and
The moon's erased
Its features lift in the glare

But I'm the stuff
Of Happy endings
Though mostly bluff
Belief suspending
But close enough
For just pretending to care

And I'm pretending to care
When I'm not even there
Gone, but I don't know where

Well, she's the face
And I'm the double
Who keeps the pace
And clears the rubble
And, Lost In Space,
Fills up the bubble with air

By just pretending to care
Like I'm not even there
Gone, but I don't know where

You split like a cell
And then cannot tell
The line from its parallel

So baby, beware
I'm just pretending to care
Like I'm not even there
Gone, but I don't know where
Gone, but I don't know where
Gone, but I don't know where