So I'm listening to Craig's cousin's ipod (he's visiting and clogging up my post-Cambodia world), and since he's 21--a sweet bearded young thing, all told--I had great hopes for fashionably I-ain't-heard-it rocknroll revelation. I mean, I'm over thirty, so officially mistrustable, but you know what? The music on Joe's ipod is all pretty and...um, I don't like it. If I want to listen to pretty, I'm'a listen to opera, and I am not shittin you. I don't need some two-bit post-emo guy to have some keyboard piano riff to afflict me with. ICK. God. I have to listen to the ramones. I mean, we were having stereo wars with Joe and I everything I could come up with was along the lines of "way before you were born, little dude," but SHIT. OK, to be fair, he's played me some things I like but most of it is way too fucking PRETTY. I don't want pretty music. Pretty clothes? OK. But that's about it. Well, I like pretty cakes. But pretty music? Yugh.
That's my rant for today. Now I have to go make sure I have enough calories on the stove to counteract that bottle of wine Craig's friends' cousin gave us (me?) as a new year's present.
OK. I'm going nuts. I just spent 800 bucks shipping books back to the US and I deleted whatever you had sent as a flag design. See, usually I use PINE--no graphics to fuck with my concentration,and whatever you had up there went by the deletey wayside. ANd I have no patience/time right now in the middle of getting drunk on yummy beer that my husband bought me and packing all my horrible crap that I suspect I may not want anyway to upload *my* design (which looks like a 6-year-old drew it). But here's the idea. 6-year-old-drawing of a pig's face plus cross-bones. I can't draw for shit, but it's kind of funny. Then, and this is the part that I'm really serious about--like, I wanna incoporate and I'm fixing to Shanghai either Peter. Moni, or my mom to get it done, we gotta have The Church of Barbecue + The Sandwich Ministry. I'm serious about this shit. I'm ready to be a priest. I've heard my calling. And the flag is kicking my ass. At the very least I can have an internet presence. I mean, well, maybe I should clarify. Main organization is the Church. Clearly need Sandwich Ministry. Happy to have other arms and branches. Like beer study. Speaking of which, I gotta go to sleep, but mainly the pig's in the middle, and the church and the ministry run along either side. I'd like to add a fork as a finial on the flag pole, but I'm afraid Peter will stab some nice Catholic lady in the ass and then there will be hell to pay.
TACO TOUR!
So I'm listening to Craig's cousin's ipod (he's visiting and clogging up my post-Cambodia world), and since he's 21--a sweet bearded young thing, all told--I had great hopes for fashionably I-ain't-heard-it rocknroll revelation. I mean, I'm over thirty, so officially mistrustable, but you know what? The music on Joe's ipod is all pretty and...um, I don't like it. If I want to listen to pretty, I'm'a listen to opera, and I am not shittin you. I don't need some two-bit post-emo guy to have some keyboard piano riff to afflict me with. ICK. God. I have to listen to the ramones. I mean, we were having stereo wars with Joe and I everything I could come up with was along the lines of "way before you were born, little dude," but SHIT. OK, to be fair, he's played me some things I like but most of it is way too fucking PRETTY. I don't want pretty music. Pretty clothes? OK. But that's about it. Well, I like pretty cakes. But pretty music? Yugh.
That's my rant for today. Now I have to go make sure I have enough calories on the stove to counteract that bottle of wine Craig's friends' cousin gave us (me?) as a new year's present.