Sinister: They were wrong, so we drowned. dude.

[kmhyde at xxx.edu]

Hi everyone, 


THE NEW ALBUM. This is the first time I've been conscious, in 
the B&S sense, when a new album (I'm not really counting 
Storytelling) was announced. I bought FISHYCLAP when it had 
been out for at least a month, maybe more. So the 
anticipation for Dear Catastrophe Waitress is, ho ho, a lot. 
And the only halfway decent play on the title I could come up 
with is "Mere Apostrophe mate-stress", which I think could 
only make sense in a world which (dismissively) considers 
quotation marks to be apostrophes who have joined in 
matrimony (or civil union), and also additionally allows for 
the fact that these punctuation-couples may go through some 
rough periods. 

Now, to sort of toot the living hell out of my own horn in a 
roundabout way of saying thanks, I'm going to say this: I 
mentioned the Listerine girl that my roommate and I were 
obsessed with in a past post. Well, that proved to be the 
impetus for writing an open letter for the McSweeney's 
website, which they decided to put up. It's here:    
http://www.mcsweeneys.net/links/openletters/listerine.html
But! More importantly, I'm just glad Sinister exists, so that 
I can, in good conscience, ramble on for WHOLE PARAGRAPHS 
about things that pop into my mind, with little or no 
consideration for others or to coherency or the possibility 
of dementia. aww. hugs. 

I came back from Minneapolis. It was a humongously great 
place: clean, walkable for the most part, and filled to 
bursting with incredibly attractive people from all over. 
The bad part happened when I ran out of money and had no way 
of getting from the hotel to the airport. So. The first plan 
was to walk what I thought was a short distance to a record 
store that bought used CD's, and simply exchange some plastic 
for cash. I walked for about an hour, and was slowed by a 
highway, and then, finally, the Mississippi river. I was 
later informed that this specific record store was actually 
like 1000 blocks away from where I was. So I walked back to 
the hotel, very very very sweaty indeed (on account of 
wearing business clothes which are mostly, um, dark wool) and 
pretended to have lost my wallet, which meant that one of the 
older blue-haired ladies in the lobby slapped a $20 in my 
hands and kissed my cheeks. It also made me sort of seem like 
an eight year-old lost in a department store, but hey, c'mon, 
when does that NOT happen? The best part of the entire sordid 
thing was my hotel window: it split the skyline into a 
triptych, the central pane of which featured a weird sort of 
religious-themed melodrama between two pairs of tall and 
yellow industrial cranes. Three of the four were turned to 
the East, the fourth was the lone infidel facing the un-Mecca 
West. If the crane drivers did this on purpose...wow. that 
would be fucking weird. 

Some girl at a house party flashed me her underwear multiple 
times the other night, and I was so confused I almost ran 
into a wall. I went outside and smoked two cigarettes at 
once, so unaccustomed am I to the sight of powder blue 
underwear revealed intermittently and, seemingly, in Morse 
code. I might add, for those who might be thinking 'what a 
thick idiot for not interacting more with such a person who 
casually and sluttily flouts sartorial conventions', that 
this girl has some mean and hairy gams. Which, heck, nothing 
wrong with that at all, but really, she looks like a human 
torso grafted onto gorilla legs. Subthoracic braidable-length 
hair is pretty low-down on my list of 'favorite things'.


Listened to Jonathan David today. 32 times. Try it, it's fun!

east coast picnic. mammoth. September looks good. 

take care, 

Kevin


 
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