Missing Image ;(

M.Ward.......M. Ward and Bright Eyes......M. WArd and Bright Eyes and Mary Kate.....M. Ward and Bright Eyes and Mary Kate and a road trip......so fun...I could go on....but I'll spare you.
So Febuary 22nd, I had better be pressed up against the stage in Club Laga....immersed in a sea of (God love 'em) obnoxiously obsessive Connor Oberst fans (I swear I'm not one of them).....singing and swaying and ...... sweating (you try listening to "Lover I Don't Have To Love" and not break into a sweat) I have had too many let-downs latley and I need this to work out!
ANyways, thanks for agreeing to go with me MK.....hopefully, you don't end up despising concerts as much as Mike and Beast....I seem to have that effect on people. Check out M. Ward (picture above, link to the right)....it's good stuff.

Missing Image ;(

The following is taken from Chuck Klosterman's book "Sex, Drugs, and Cocoa Puffs".....It's a guaranteed chuckle (and if it doesn't make you smile at least, than I pity you....have you no joy in your life?)

I'm pretty careful when it comes to my socks. Certain philosophers (Emilio Estevez in St. Elmo's Fire, for example) have speculated as to why socks so often get lost whenever people do laundry, but - until recently - that had never happened to me. In the span of fourteen years, I had never lost a single sock. But then I lost a sock in October of 2001. And then I lost another two weeks later, and then a third around Thanksgiving. And it slowly dawned on me that something was afoot. "What in the name of Andrew W.K. is going on?" I asked aloud while sorting my freshly cleaned garments. Why were my socks suddenly disappearing like Chinese Panda Bears? What had changed?
The answer: Mr. Smokey.
It occured to me that the only aspect of my laundering that had changed in recent weeks was my newfound affinity for petting a feline of unknown origin. Accessing the public laundry room in my apartment complex required that I briefly walk outside of my building's back door, where I consistently encountered a large grey cat I liked to call "Mr. Smokey". Despite our initial differences, I struck up an amicable relationship with Mr. Smokey; whenever I saw him, I would scratch his kitty ears and his kitty tummy, much to his kitty delight.
Or so it seemed.
Evidence began to mount suggesting that Mr. Smokey was using this weekly exchange as a diversion to steal my socks, one at a time. It's still not clear why he wanted my socks, since it had always been my assumption that kittens wanted mittens (in order to acquire pie).
However, there was no other explanation for these disappearances. In fact I have reason to believe there was a whole network of cats involved in this: Perhaps Mr. Smokey stole my attention while a second cat (or cats) pounced into my laundry basket, snaring the best available footwear and fleeing into the darkness. I'm convinced an even larger cat ("Mr. Orange") from a neighboring building was part of the conspiracy.
"How often have I said" asked coke-addict Sherlock Holmes in "The Signs Of Four", "that when you have eliminated the impossible, whatever remains, however improbable, must be the truth?" This is true, I am nothing if not logical.
Mr. Smokey must die.

My dog smells.....boy does he smell....some glandular condition, and the smell has evolved with age. Like you know how almost all old people smell similar.....like aspirin or musty basement drawers?....well Petie smells like the dog version of that smell. It seems a little more offensive than his past odour, mabye because every time I smell it, it reminds me that he is pretty old (fourteen years to be specific)....and he may not be around forever.

Although the years have actually been pretty good to the Petester, and he has cheated death on numerous occassions (more on that later), I can tell that he is gettin old. My remedy: a new hip green mohawk.....that's right, my dog is officially the punk rock representative for the dogs of Elmwood.....and the new haircut has seemed to have affected his attitude....sassier, edgier, challenging authority....He'd flip the cats the bird...if he had fingers...

I guess you'd have to see it to understand....I'll try posting a picture soon!

Missing Image ;(

I love dark cold nights, eating oranges, listening to Nick Cave and reading Tobias Smollett.....give it a try....but always together.....always
Also, I totally dig the sites new look....so pretty.

So I have to print a retraction......St. Nick's Day is not the 5th, it is the 6th.....so the big fuss I made, (including the rather detailed poster I hung on my refrigerator) was quite uncalled for..........Man I'm lame