Check Out My E-Feelings

I counted nine deer in my backyard the other day.  I think they’re planning something.  A gathering in such numbers can only be suspicious.

New music projects have started crowding my briefly clean desktop.  This is both good and daunting.  I should probably start finishing some things.  

Oh, and good news for everyone: 

Following extensive political posturing and bureaucratic tomfoolery, I think I’ve finally added my senior project, under the conditions that I act more effusive, take advantage of the department’s vast resources, and imbue my art with an explicit social message.  At this point I should quote the great Sir Thomas Waits, who famously stated, “I’d rather have a bottle in front of me than a frontal lobotomy,” but I won’t.  In cases such as this, it’s sometimes necessary to swallow one’s pride and take the frontal lobotomy.

In my day (today), we had to dig our cars out of the snow with our bare hands in order to leave our 18^th century log cabins and use the internet. With that in mind, I’d like everyone to take a moment to appreciate the ease with which we view lolcatz.

Log Cabin to the Blog Cabin

In between pacing around my room, being a piece of shit, and “focusing too much on trying to make [my] music sound good” (quote from my school’s music department), I sometimes like to do some field recording. This past Monday I decided to record myself breaking ice in my backyard. This could be looked at as a metaphor, if you’re into that sort of thing.

So I grabbed my portable recorder and proceeded to make sloshy, crunchy noises in the forest (Vince/Knever/Thoreau/Johnny/Iron Ahab/Long John Latham/Fontaine will tell you all about how I love to maximize the crunch). Just imagine me, having a great time hanging out with myself, kickin’ it in nature and balling out to the fullest.

Unfortunately for everyone, my fun was brought to a swift conclusion when I discovered I was walking on a frozen river, and despite my usual jesus-like ability to walk on water, my leg sank into a foot and a half of mud. At this point I tried to break the fuck out, but with each step sank further and further into the doodie-brown abyss (NO HOMO).

Needless to say, I wrecked my shoes, and need a new pair. Preferably something sturdy enough that I can do my usual traversing of rough terrain, but light and airy enough that I can frollick in the cornfields uninhibited.

I posted a recording of me cursing and running through the mud below. Call it an audio-photo, if you will (you will).



OK, so it wasn’t much of a story, but whatever, go fuck yourself.

Stayed tuned for more updates from Cold-and-Boringville whenever I decide I give a shit.