Itunes write up

I got this idea from someone else’s post but whenever I tried to reblog it it kept linking back to theirs so I’m just making another post.

How Many Songs: 1180

Sort By Song Title
First Song: About As Helpful As You Can Be Without Being Any Help At All- Dan Mangan

Last Song: 2000 Light Years From Home- The Rolling Stones

Sort By Time

Shortest Song: Stranded- Red Hot Chili Peppers
Longest Song: Joey- Bob Dylan

Sort By Artist
First Artist: AC/DC
Last Artist: The Yardbirds

Sort By Album
First Album: Accelerate- REM

Last Album: Voodoo Child: The Jimi Hendrix Collection- Jimi Hendrix

Death: 6
Life: 31

Love: 53
Hate: 1
You: 123
Sex: 1

Watch on

KID KOALA: Moon River

Super Moon this weekend, guys.

ASHA BHOSLE: Aaiye Meharbaan

Been a wild past few days involving a miniature animal petting zoo, spontaneous dance parties, v. v. dope bagels, etc. Anyway.

Dreamt last night I was pet-setting my old roommate mom’s pet fox (who eventually evolved in such a way he spoke in a British accent) pygmy deer and alligator (both nonspeaking dummies). Dismemberment Plan was there, too. We all hung out at my absurdly huge stone home.

Then a vicious storm struck, trapping us all. But it was chill. My alarm sprightly sounded just as Eric Axelson finished preparing a cheese and jam plate for the group.

Good morning.

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THOM YORKE: All For The Best

Don’t sweat the video, but this song — I’ve listened at least 10 times today. Its quiet narrative skates like rolling drops of condensation down a cold glass on a hot porch.

If Only You Were Lonely
  • If Only You Were Lonely
  • The Replacements
  • Boink!!

THE REPLACEMENTS: If Only You Were Lonely

I recently reviewed the (spoiler alert) the puke-uke Replacements tribute album from Bright Little Field. Proverbially spinning (via busted iPhone) it over and over just stuck me with a hankering for the real deal, inspiring a major ‘Mats revival, particularly this track.

Often Westerberg’s smart songwriting gets masked by general sloshery. This song is so raw and sad and honest and pretty. The stale beer and pounding hangover. Vomit, heartache. It sounds exactly like a sloppy, solo walk home. 

Perhaps it just took my first six consecutive months of singledom in years to entirely get the last wisp of optimism closing the cut. Or maybe I’m just getting old.

In other news, I think my marriage pact count is now up to three or four.

09.13.14 // don't squeeze the latte


Recovering from a steady three job lifestyle, I graciously accepted a position at a cafe close to my apartment two springs ago. I was actually probably the worst barista ever — with too little short-term memory, too much sass. Anyway, I struggled at making lattes, especially. The trick was to not over-think it. Drop the double shot of espresso at the bottom, steam and add milk. Maybe do a little ambient design in the foam. Holler something and hand it over. 

The handing it over part, man. I didn’t make a lot of cute lattes, typically slopping something on the cup lip or not filling it to the top. But when I did pull of a cute one, I defaulted to staring into its foam. I’d grow rapidly aware of how hot the milk was and how little the paper cup protected my marshmallow hand. I watched its perfect foam top too long, open-mouthed zoning at the customer who ordered it. I noticed how I didn’t fuck up yet. YET.

And then, almost every time, my grasp intensified and anywhere from a 3 to 95 perfect of the latte overflowed, scorching my skin and confidence.

Don’t. Squeeze. The latte. Whatever the actual latte is.

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CHRIS BELL: There Was A Light

So when I adopted Ryan Catwood, the nurse met me with a frown slicked across her face. “I found something,” she said. I felt sick.

"I found paperwork saying he was neutered," she continued. "And also paperwork saying she was spayed."


"Is that a problem?" she asked. Fuck no, I said in so many words.

Anyway, I took Ryan home and tried to treat his/her kennel cough. But since he/she would never eat, I could almost never distribute to medicine. He/she was clearly in a lot of pain and distress, wheezing laboriously when trying to breathe through his/her little squished face.

I took Ryan to the vet this afternoon and learned she is a girl — and a purebred Burmese. And it isn’t kennel cough at all, but an upper-respiratory infection. The vet told me if I hadn’t taken her in, it could have turned into a severe lung infection. This is the kind of shit to be careful of with a senior animal. Ryan is 10 and was found outside a thrift shop, taped into a cardboard box with another animal. Her past is still a mystery. I’m relieved I acted quickly.

So like… if shit seems off, if your animal seems freaked out or in pain, don’t wait it out to see if it passes. I almost did, writing off her lack of appetite as stress over a new living situation.

I don’t make much money (writers are broke! I bet you never knew!), but the clinic worked with me to make treatment possible. My heart swelled as the doctor struck charge lines and explained how to administer medication.

After thanking her for the 90th time, Dr. Daniel clapped a palm on my shoulder and bellowed, “Oh honey. No problem. And welcome back to the South.”