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ARoB

Mutual Smeared_Mascara Makeouts: Divertimento

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div•er•ti•men•to-noun Music. an instrumental composition in several movements, light and diverting in character, similar to a serenade

This time, Dusty and I decided that it would be a lot more fun to take MS_MM in a cheerier direction. Thusly, Part 2 of our “celebrity” playlist is dancier and poppier. Generally, I really like it and I think you will, too.

    The tracklist:

  1. “President” – I Am X
  2. “Ramalama” – Roísin Murphy
  3. “The Prayer” – Bloc Party
  4. “Alala” – CSS
  5. “Map of the Problematique” – Muse
  6. “We Are Rockstars” – Does It Offend You, Yeah?
  7. “Your Body Is My Body” – Ellen Alien
  8. “55566688833” – James Figurine
  9. “A Match Made In Texas” – Her Space Holiday
  10. “Stuck To You” – Hellogoodbye
  11. “Pieces Of The People We Love” – The Rapture
  12. “Close To Me” – The Cure
  13. “New Round” – Beck
  14. “Satin Chic (Bombay Mix by The Shortwave Set)” – Goldfrapp

You can download the tracks for a limited time by clicking right about here. (~67 MB, m4a)

The disc cover can be downloaded in PDF format, too!

Honestly, squirrel, why are you looking so smug?

ARoB, Internet, Music, Technology, Television by

An item I forgot to mention!: The name of this design shall henceforth be known as Florence: End of Days, Sunrise. That is all.

Have you ever found yourself sitting on the couch, holding the remote for your televiewer, absent-mindedly flipping through the channels when the thought “see what’s on MySpace” pops into your head? Do your fingers frantically stab at numbers on the keypad before your brain makes the connection that you can’t, in fact, google “Chinese nuclear power” on this device? I’m not sure if this makes me strange, marks me as an interwebs addict or is a sign of what technology should become. Hopefully all three.

In music: Yeah, I’m listening to Ghostface Killah with my over-40 coworker, Brett, in the room. What are you going to do about it? I mean, really.

I wake up
And the day feels
Broken
I tilt my head
I’m trying to get an angle
‘Cause the evening
I’ve always longed for
It could still happen

How do I master
The perfect day
Six glasses of water
Seven phonecalls

If you leave it alone
It might just happen
Anyway

“It’s Not Up to You” by Björk

I think these lyrics are telling me something pretty important. What it is, I’m not sure, but I do honestly believe there is a lesson there and dammit all – I’m fixin’ to learn it! Actually, that’s an interesting statement. I’m also trying to figure out some fundamental things about Nick right now. Chief among these is why I don’t feel like I deserve for anyone to be nice to me. Why don’t I want gifts or help and why can’t I take a compliment? Socially, too, why is refusing a compliment rude if you honestly don’t feel as though you’ve earned it?

Danger: much pondering ahead.

Talked to Lindsie last night and I’m happy to report that she’s doing really well in her new city. I knew there was a cosmopolitan girl in there (probably a Cosmopolitan and a rum & coke, too.) Now, if I could come up with a justification for being her butler in a one bedroom apartment…

Hey, remember that time when I forgot to title my post? Dude…

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What will grow quickly, that you can’t make straight
It’s the price you gotta pay
Do yourself a favour and pack you bags
Buy a ticket and get on the train
Buy a ticket and get on the train

Cause this is fucked up, fucked up
Cause this is fucked up, fucked up

People get crushed like biscuit crumbs
And laid down in the bed you made
You have tried your best to please everyone
But it just isn’t happening
No, it just isn’t happening

And it’s fucked up, fucked up
And this is fucked up, fucked up
This your blind spot, blind spot
It should be obvious, but it’s not.
But it isn’t, but it isn’t

You cannot kickstart a dead horse
You just crush yourself and walk away
I don’t care what the future holds
Cause I’m right here and I’m today
With your fingers you can touch me

I’m your black swan, black swan
But I made it to the top, made it to the top
This is fucked up, fucked up

You are fucked up, fucked up
This is fucked up, fucked up

Be your black swan, black swan
I’m for spare parts, broken up

“Black Swan” by Thom Yorke

Not necessarily my mood, but I still really like this song.

Yay, yay and, also, yay!

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The design is all up in this piece! Hooray! Hooray! Thanks be to Dusty. The only issues I’m seeing that will need rectification thus far are:

  1. The color of the dividing lines between posts.
  2. The color of the stupid box that appears under the ARoB script text in the banner. Maybe magenta?

Update: Dusty fixes everything. He’s like a kiss on your boo boo by mom…but better, and less creepy-sounding!

Anything else, folks?

In other news, the weekend is over. Screw that noise. I had a pretty good one: went to Harrisburg to shop and have lunch with the always lovely Marie Sloan on Saturday, did much of nothing yesterday. Lots of Starbucks and coffee products in general which is always the mark of a successful time of relaxation. I’m kicking ass at WindWaker (thanks, in part, to 1-800-4-HOOVER…my private advice line.) Uh, and that’s really the whole story.

Anybody want to see The Fountain with me this week?

Recap of the weekend haps…

ARoB, Food/Drink, Games, Movies by

Hoover gave me a copy of Windwaker, just for the hell of it! (Actually, he received an extra copy from an eBay seller, but I like to pretend.) I’ll be playing in a bit. Finally, a reason to own a GameCube!

Overall, my Thanksgiving break was hella fun. Had a fantastic night out with Lindsie, Dusty and Hoover on Wednesday…do order the French martini at Sweet Basil if you are ever in Shippenville. Do not, so much, order the bread vines. My pear pie was a hit at Thanksgiving lunch and I cleaned up with some beginner’s poker luck at Barbara Ann’s that evening. Drove Jayme and the boys back to Erie with Flora on Saturday, which was a nice escape from home and a good chance to drive Klaus on twisty bits of Route 8. Intersperse these things with vodka, wine and Wizard People, Dear Readers and you have my entire time at home fleshed out.

Now, I’m working on a mental list of Xmas gifts. I think I have decided on just about everything to get for my varied loved ones…just a matter of actually ordering/shopping.

Speaking of which, I’m all out of foodstuffs. I need to make a paper list for Wegman’s. I bid you ‘adieu.’

A perceptive moment from an unlikely source…

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My brother, as those who have met him know, is probably not the most emotionally-attuned or insightful of folks. This is his personality and there is really not much to be done to change that. All discussions of it end in “Well, that’s just Nate” including those that involve him as a first-party.

So, this morning on our normally awkward, conversation-less drive in to campus, I nearly fell out of his truck when he turned and said “Nick, I think you might be the man in the box.” and then returned to his non-talking.

I’m the man in the box
Buried in my shit
Won’t you come and save me, save me

[CHORUS]

Feed my eyes, can you sew them shut?
Jesus Christ, deny your maker
He who tries, will be wasted
Feed my eyes now you’ve sewn them shut

I’m the dog who gets beat
Shove my nose in shit
Won’t you come and save me, save me

[CHORUS x2]

“Man in the Box” by Alice in Chains

I’ve never actually listened to these lyrics so you can imagine my shock when not only had Nate listened, but actually made the leap to an interpretation of meaning. Very interesting.

I hope they can’t see me…

ARoB, General Entertainment by

As some of you know, Tigg has been pissing all over my furniture. Or “wetting” as Shirley the Cat Lady so couthly put it. I gave her a week to take the antibiotic that the vet prescribed and let her chill in the bathroom. Unfortunately (depending on how you look at it), she decided to wet on my bed this morning, her second day out of solitary. So…back to Shirley’s she went. Graciously, I was offered another cat in exchange – good thing I kept the receipt.

Therefore, I give you Clyde. He is enormous and only seven months old. Apparently, though, he doesn’t realize he’s the epitome of feline studliness because he’s been hiding since three o’clock today. “Hiding,” that is. Oh, Clyde…

Random thought…

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Self-titled albums: thoughts? I’m of the opinion that they are like a ‘get out of jail free’ card in Monopoly. Something you receive and can hold on to until just the right time. Like when you are abominably stumped as to what to name your record. For instance, The Cure’s most recent album is self-titled. After decades of doing this music thing, they decided that now is the time to call a disc “The Cure?” How unusual.

I know this is pretty much drivel, but it felt like it was of GREAT IMPORTANCE.

In other news, Dave took my phone today with promises of making her a star. He took photos of her to use in some capacity. Tasteful photos? I suppose she’ll need a name other than Nokia 6131. Something with a little more ring to it (no pun intended, though I’ll still take credit.) She kinda looks like she’s wearing a tuxedo, so I was thinking k.d. with intentional lowercase-ness. But maybe something more original? Ideas?

Emo-est Point East of the Mississippi?

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And all you see is where else you could be when you’re at home
And out on the street are so many possibilities to not be alone

The flames and smoke climbed out of every window
And disappeared with everything that you held dear
But you shed not a single tear for the things that you didn’t need
Cause you knew you were finally free

“Your Heart is an Empty Room” by Death Cab for Cutie

The scene: Me, lying on my bed, listening to Death Cab…knitting…as the rain comes down…and my cat naps beside me.

Could this be any more emo? I don’t think so.

It’s a contemplative kind of day here in my apartment. I’m all done with everything I had listed for the weekend. Freelance is finished, the plants are watered, the laundry is clean and away. Floorplans for Hannah’s new kitchen are drawn, a pick up is scheduled for my computer and my phone is finally working with Gmail’s mobile app. So now what do I do?

No one is around. Even Nate’s away, having gone home for the weekend. I could drive to State College and see what Mike’s up to, but I like to pretend that I don’t need that town for just a few days. And it’s really wet. And frigid.

Not that it’s EVER any warmer in here.

Will I ever get out of this place? The job I had applied for in Pittsburgh didn’t work out. I know, honestly (thanks for the reminder, Dusty) that I don’t really want to live there. But it’s not here. At this point, that’s all I can really hope for. Just to not be here.

I think it’s most frustrating that this is all my life goal has been reduced to for the time being…

Here’s a fun game for you to play at home…

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It’s called “Nick’s Evening.” To play:

  1. Drink four cups of coffee.

  2. Drive five miles.

  3. Drive five miles back.

  4. Eat dinner.

  5. Print this photo then drive five miles.

  6. Stare at the above photo for two hours.

  7. Drive five miles back, again. Throw $43 out of the window on the way.

  8. Optional: stab yourself in the eyes.

This game is also called “Going for a routine oil change at PepBoys.”