His ethernet is fat.
Say “Hello.” — standard line out.
Handshake.
Connection Types
Networking can mean
conference rooms or crimper cable,
depending on context.
two short poems and an ice cream cone
I didn’t write or post a poem yesterday. I did write a 1200 word short story (that doesn’t actually feel finished quite yet). In a few minutes I’ll post two short ones as penance.
Last night Laura and I went to see Low, Kid Dakota, and the Fog at the Tripplerock. It was an alright show, but toward the end of Low’s set I found I was having trouble standing up. My big toe joint was seriously in pain. I decided to check out the merch table one last time before we left, and I’m glad I did, because I’d somehow missed Dosh’s new album lying there. (Not in stores till Tuesday.) I wanted to make sure it wasn’t the third release of his first album before I got it, (since I picked up the re-release not knowing it was the same album with a different cover — in retrospect a third cover for the same album would be extremely unlikely, but what do I know?), and when I asked him about it, he said he’d have to cut me a deal to make up for my buying the other one on accident. He basically threw in his live album when I bought the new one and the new single. He was really nice about it, seemed like an awesome guy.
After I post this, I’m going to go see John’s art exhibit at the Tilsner in the St. Paul Art Crawl.
There is no ice cream cone.
Tiki Obmar in a Ziploc!
So I was organizing my music this afternoon, something that is sorely overdue, and allows me to procrastinate the other sorely overdue thing I have on my list of things to do today: mowing the lawn. Anyway, I finally came to the pile of CDs that I had previously set aside to either listen to or throw away. (Basically, they’re cds I got for free or something, and had no idea what they sounded like.) By the looks of them, they were all crap. But I pulled this one out of the stack that was in a Ziploc plastic baggie, thinking I’d trash that one first. It was a hand-written CD-R, with a tiny scrap of paper with it in the baggie with a track-list. I looked closer and discovered that I somehow had a Tiki Obmar sampler CD! How I got this, I have no idea. I can’t for the life of me remember where I picked it up.
Tiki Obmar are a relatively recent discovery for me, sometime in the last six months Laura and I heard them at a weird cabaret concert thing she got tickets to for free, and they were awesome. They’re a local three piece electronica type group. It wasn’t till I heard them again at a friend’s gallery in the Art-A-Whirl that I went out and picked up both their CDs. The CDs are AMAZING. I highly recommend them for any fan of electronic music.
And all that time, I already had a sampler CD that one of them probably made on their computer… crazy.
packet loss
Messages in glass bottles
like ships carefully tweaser-constructed
adrift at sea — but instead of water —
an ocean of other glass bottles.
Messages arrive as if by accident,
a miracle of numbers.
I cross my fingers, and hit send.
House smells of cat piss.
I always said I didn’t want to live in one of those
houses that smell like cat piss all the time.
Today that little furry fucker pissed on the bathroom carpet.
I guess he knew what we do in there, just got the location wrong.
If cleanliness is next to godliness, but I don’t believe in god,
where does that leave cleaning the cat box every day?
I picture the commercial where the kid says
“I learned it from you, Dad, I learned it from you!”
Mmmm… shower.
I can’t bring myself to update Norton Antivirus. It’s another $50 for a year’s worth of protection. It’s like paying for insurance. I never want to do it. I feel like insurance is legal racketeering.
Laura and I saw the faint tonight at First Ave. Their new album ($10 at the concert) is awesome so far.
This is my six hundred and first blog entry.
I’m trying to decide if my “remix” of jason’s poem counts as my poem for the day. I didn’t write any of the imagery, so I don’t really think it should count. But I’m going to be going to bed soon, so I don’t know if I’ll get around to writing another. Laura is waiting for me in the shower right now. She told me to wait a minute, then come in after her. Yummy.
Road Rage Remix
[The following is a remix of Dr Bombay’s latest poem, Road Rage.]
I bicycle past an
immobile hunk of steel,
stalled out, unmoving.
A fuel-injected stupor,
internally confounded
failure to combust.
Trumpeted indignation,
honk of fury,
incited by impotence.
windows into worlds
[Could it really get much worse or self-indulgent than this?]
Continue reading “windows into worlds”
404 insanity
The page or archive you were looking for cannot be found!!! This is probably because I’ve upgraded movable type and chose not to use the “backward compatable” archive scheme. Google will catch on eventually, but until then you can always view the cached version in their results.
Click here to go back to the main blog index.
Or here to go back to the huge archive list.