Sinister: still room on the broom

Kevin Hyde kmhyde at xxx.edu
Tue Nov 25 00:09:47 GMT 2003


Hi Sinisterines and -ettes,

Would you throw the back of your hand to your gaping mouth if I told you
I just bought the new album (which, OK, now I just refer to as Dacaw,
like someone with Elmer Fudd aspirations mentioning the city in
Senegal)? Well, it's true. So very true. My hipster quotient just
dropped 600 points with that admission, damn. Now I won't even be able
to get into an *Interpol* show. But: it's so good, the album. Wrapped Up
in Books is an impossibly good song, as is I'm a Cuckoo. If She Wants
Me, at least the way Stuart sings on the song, reminds me of the
BeeGees, and I mean that in the nicest possible way. 

Recent monetary deficits incurred because of grad school fees ( $70
'processing costs' obviously mean that the schools have to cover the 40
bottles of Caswell-Massey sandalwood soap they use to scour their hands
with after touching each piece of paper in candidates' applications)
necessitates me not taking part in the Christmas Exchange, although I
did have a ridiculously good time with that last year, thanks to Laura
Llew, Amy Page and Kieran Devaney (apologies to the girl to whom I sent
presents, you live in New York and I can't remember your name, sorry-
but you were a good recipient, I'm sure). The only caveat I would throw
into the pot, with respect to sending things, is that for those of you
who live in the U.S. you might want to think twice about sending blocks
of Floridian tuna to your U.K. recipients. Fish, for some reason, tends
to not travel well in hot cardboard boxes. Nor mayonnaise, if you were
considering that. Used ear-plugs are quite the favorite though, I hear. 

I bought some girl in Chicago the new single, and I was glad to hear,
today I think, that it's beyond good. Via Robin Stout, if I remember
correctly. I have to say though, I don't think the cover art for the
single is up to the level that they've established- I mean, the photo's
nice and bright, and the cover stars are all nice-looking, but why the
conflation of tennis and office-located sexual harassment? Are the girls
asking for a ruling on a dispute over some wayward balls? My
hermeneutical skills are frankly baffled by this picture. 

I'm vaguely looking forward to T-giving, although what food-centric
holiday is complete without some sort of dramatic tension? My uncle Gary
(who is not blood-kin) is a retired Marine, and will be in attendance
this year. I've managed to avoid him for the past couple Thanksgivings
by simply drinking lots before dinner and then collapsing into coma
immediately afterwards. This is the man who would, with feigned
casualness, tell me and my little brothers that unless we ate the rest
of our mashed potatoes, he would take us all out back and beat the shit
out of us. He used to say this without a smile, and with jaw ligaments
bulging- thereby affecting a very complex and intense fear in myself and
all of my siblings that persists to this day. I have a plan for this
year though- when he asks me, as I'm sure he will, what I'm going to
grad school for, I'll turn to him slowly and just say 'what the fuck
dude, get out of my face', and then grab my grandmother and hold a gravy
ladle next to her neck in a threatening manner. Should work. 

Even if short is the new long, I feel like I've failed in some really
integral way in this post. Maybe the other Kevin can fare better. The
other Kevin: hello, what's going on?. There's also a third Kevin,
non-jackflaps and non-Hyde. Hello third Kevin. I enjoyed your story of
roadside relieving-of-self. 


Take care, 

Kevin  

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