Order Carcetti products by clicking on the kowinkydinks store link.
Saturday, October 28, 2006
Monday, October 23, 2006
Wednesday, October 18, 2006
Ear-Biting Endorsement
Tyson endorses Steele
Mike Tyson is enthusiastically endorsing Republican Michael Steele for a Maryland U.S. Senate seat.
Paging Mr. Cardin: Time to call "The Rock" Rahman. Tyson says he would go so far as to climb in the ring and fight again in support of Steele. Well, let's get him in there with Rahman (in support of Democrat Ben Cardin).
Winner takes my vote.
Monday, October 02, 2006
Nevermind - 15 Year Anniversary
Never Your Old Mind Again
When Nirvana first released Nevermind, I didn’t even own a CD player. Soon after the release, though, I bought one of those all-in-one 5-disc changer/tape decks from Circuit City, and I was on my way to amassing quite the CD library (don’t get me started on the process of ripping them all to mp3 format).
The first CD I owned? Dr. Dre’s The Chronic. Why? Well, it was on the shelf near the cash register at CC; it had a parental warning sticker on it; and my mother offered to buy me any CD I wanted so I could test my new equipment out.
The second CD I owned—Nevermind; though, it did come as part of the first 12 CDs I ordered through Columbia House. But for the purposes of the quasi-myths of your youth, it was number 2, alright?
Up until the Nirvana era, my musical tastes ranged from the skaterpunk music I picked up on from the neighborhood baddies to the heavy metal noise I picked up on from the other baddies (the alcoholic versions, though there was a lot of cross-pollination) to the rap music I was turned on to by my city-dwelling wigger cousin to listening to Lite 102 torch songs and ballads, calling in to make requests for songs to be played for all those girls in my class I had quiet crushes on.
Then came Nirvana.
And never again did I stay up late at night making embarrassing requests. Crushes: “oh well, whatever, nevermind.” It was time to accept that the prettiest girls in class (even the mid-range ones I settled for—in my mind) would view me as nothing more than an odd curiosity (not to be confused with a curious oddity: that came about when I discovered Aphex Twin years later)—a rather short-lived odd curiosity.
Instead of hanging my head in dejection, my head would be bowed only out of spite, a disdainful gesture for all those I now considered unworthy of my time. If I’m invisible, then so are you.
This attitude (which has been oh-so all been done before, has been commodified, has been ironically vilified, absurdly embraced, etc.) still didn’t change the fact of how alone I was. Nirvana’s Nevermind was the soundtrack that made it all too clear that ‘alone’ was just an illusion; I was alone because I was around all the wrong people; I was trying too hard to be part of all the wrong people.
Nevermind helped the Disaffected find each other. Say what you will about Nirvana’s artistry, or lack thereof: paradoxically, Nevermind, Nirvana, and particularly Kurt Cobain probably inspired FEWER suicides.
When Nirvana first released Nevermind, I didn’t even own a CD player. Soon after the release, though, I bought one of those all-in-one 5-disc changer/tape decks from Circuit City, and I was on my way to amassing quite the CD library (don’t get me started on the process of ripping them all to mp3 format).
The first CD I owned? Dr. Dre’s The Chronic. Why? Well, it was on the shelf near the cash register at CC; it had a parental warning sticker on it; and my mother offered to buy me any CD I wanted so I could test my new equipment out.
The second CD I owned—Nevermind; though, it did come as part of the first 12 CDs I ordered through Columbia House. But for the purposes of the quasi-myths of your youth, it was number 2, alright?
Up until the Nirvana era, my musical tastes ranged from the skaterpunk music I picked up on from the neighborhood baddies to the heavy metal noise I picked up on from the other baddies (the alcoholic versions, though there was a lot of cross-pollination) to the rap music I was turned on to by my city-dwelling wigger cousin to listening to Lite 102 torch songs and ballads, calling in to make requests for songs to be played for all those girls in my class I had quiet crushes on.
Then came Nirvana.
And never again did I stay up late at night making embarrassing requests. Crushes: “oh well, whatever, nevermind.” It was time to accept that the prettiest girls in class (even the mid-range ones I settled for—in my mind) would view me as nothing more than an odd curiosity (not to be confused with a curious oddity: that came about when I discovered Aphex Twin years later)—a rather short-lived odd curiosity.
Instead of hanging my head in dejection, my head would be bowed only out of spite, a disdainful gesture for all those I now considered unworthy of my time. If I’m invisible, then so are you.
This attitude (which has been oh-so all been done before, has been commodified, has been ironically vilified, absurdly embraced, etc.) still didn’t change the fact of how alone I was. Nirvana’s Nevermind was the soundtrack that made it all too clear that ‘alone’ was just an illusion; I was alone because I was around all the wrong people; I was trying too hard to be part of all the wrong people.
Nevermind helped the Disaffected find each other. Say what you will about Nirvana’s artistry, or lack thereof: paradoxically, Nevermind, Nirvana, and particularly Kurt Cobain probably inspired FEWER suicides.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
