…to describe the awesomeness contained herein. I have never been so happy to be living in Japan. These are bottle-toppers, it’s a popular promotional giveaway to move sugar-water in Japan, recent tie-ins include The Incredibles (theatrical release), Gundam, and Legos. Even more dr00l-inducing, the 1L bottles are coming out in mid-April with eight 4 meter rolls of scotch tape, each roll contains an entire Super Mario Bros. level printed along the entire length of the tape…eight levels in all…my response to this news was primitive monkey-sounds of joy.
“I think your stuff is…like, high-school yearbook…meets Hunter S. Thompson.”
…indeed. (if only)
If you want to look at pretty pictures but don’t want to make the effort of sifting through the morass, check out this cool quality-filter. [FD: they blogged me] …300 beautiful Fonts…dr000000L Share mp3’s on iTunes with the neighbors. It’s the TWO-YEAR Anniversary of Getting Our War On™ and so I thought you might like to read a native Iraqi’s thoughts on the past 24 Months in Baghdad. Browe teh w3b and give the Eye of Sauron the bad finger.
This song is patched pants and slick-soled all-stars hitting the street. Fumble, fumble. Shuffle. Shufflegrabcrumple. Fuck. Click. Click-click. Sucking one bent cigarette and walking to the park, trying to forget the latest string of mistakes that put you out of a job, a relationship, and your band. Hit the park on the last drag from your smokes. Hit the park bench and take out your sketchbook. Gonna just draw the shit out of something gonna just get a pencil and make a whole new world and then its all gonna be all right all right and maybe it’ll come up on my side come up on my side come up…
Been walking around Kyoto and other places for the past weekâ€¦have tons of pictures, two or three of them should be interesting in and of themselvesâ€¦the rest are the digital equivalent of a wood-panelled, late-70s/early-80s basement/den, where a large man on his fifth scotch is expounding upon the various not-so-subtle wonders of wherever he happened to go last with the wife and kids. And you sit on the scratchy couch upholstered in some sort of petroleum-derived fiber, sip your Tom Collins, and contemplate your hostâ€™s beard, the hair of which has the exact same sandy color and tight curl as the hair on his head, and you wonder if his whole body is covered with identical hairs, and you hope you never find out, but still the slides clack on, and four carousels are stacked and waiting patiently on the end table. And you figure that beard will no longer hold your interest past the second carouselâ€¦and you sip your Tom Collins.
This song is a surfing video game you played when you were eight. And the cat, denied your affections for too long, puts a five-inch scratch in your lower back, just above your tailbone. You still have the scar. The cat died years ago. You’ve tried to play other, newer video game systems. Trying to capture that immersion, total absorption granted to you when you were eight, but they don’t work anymore. Hormones have confined that ability to your past. So now you close your eyes, and imagine driving fast on a winding road, with loud music and shifting gears. Not exactly the most original moment, but enough with this endless search for novelty, this is just a well-made song well-played, and that is more than enough sometimes.