Is that what being mugged in the city means?
Yeah, sorry about the lazy post, I just had a little too much 'tussin last night, if you know what I mean.
I've got a guest staying with me from out of town, and we had a pool party and I ate steak and drank Tecate and jumped off a ladder into the pool. Also, we danced to "Caribbean Queen" by Billy Ocean, which is like, the most awesome song in the entire world. You guys should have been there, it was way better than blogging.
Any suggestions for Thursday's post? Like last time, I'll build to order.
Speaking of giant mugs, I don't have much time for today's parasite blogging entry, but today I feel strongly about at least one thing: all the press attention directed to Liz Phair misses the point, yesterday's article in the Times included. It's true that her sound has become more produced with each album, and that this trend may have reached its zenith with last year's breakthrough in "I can't tell it's not Avril" recording technology. But the signature trend in Phair's music is not away from a rougher indy sound toward glossy production -- even though with each album her sound becomes more polished -- it's away from great, evocative writing and strong hooks, and toward songs that are, well, just a little more bland. After all, a polished sounding song can still be a great song. Phair's problems are more fundamental. What gets lost in the risque lyricism of her first two albums is how great and f***ing literary her writing was. Her songs told full and complete stories. They featured real characters, with fascinating qualities, and every song sparkled with inventive phrases and cool throwaway lines. Liz Phair is a great writer. Her songs have always been intelligent and engaging, but the songs on "Exile" were more than even that: they were brilliant. The song "Little Digger" on Phair's last album is as good as anything she's written. The problem is simply that it's the only stand-out on the album, and that some of the songs on the disc ("HWC") are dreadful. So it's not as if Phair has completely lost her touch. It's just that those first two albums (I say the first two, but my friend Kate maintains that "Whip-Smart" is not as strong as "Exile") were brilliant. It's only a small step down, but music is a fine art. Which is why the music press also mistakenly assumes that the modest decline in the quality of Phair's albums represents a conscious choice. It's clear from reading her interviews, though, that Phair is simply suffering the affliction that can visit any writer, at any time, and that sometimes never goes away: the magic is simply gone, and she doesn't know where it went.
I think you should detail the actual steps in one of two things:
The Neutron Dance Walking the Dinosaur
Although I would love another poem post, I think some sort of online scavenger hunt would be cool.
The giant brain mug is scary makes me think of Cthulhu.
keep it ghetto at the pool parties! (better than blogging for sure)
Am I the only one who recognized the sadness in the overly contemplative, obviously depressed and suicididal mug of yesterday? And now the mug appears to have taken the plunge! Somebody please stop the madness!
suggestions for thursday: that awesome robot arm that they have on the space shuttle, PR ideas to get people to go see "murderball"
man. until 2 months ago i didnt know the song was carribean queen. i always thought it was caribou dreams.
