
[ Source: Didn't You Hear... ]
MOE CAN DANCE
- Bees - "Chicken Payback"
- Chromeo - "Needy Girl"
- Le Tigre - "I'm So Excited"
- Stephen Malkmus - "Kindling for the Master"
- Orange Juice - "Blokes on 45"
- Stellastarr* - "My Coco"
- Grand National - "Cherry Tree"
- The Slits - "I Heard It Through the Grapevine"
- Goldfrapp - "Satin Chic"
- The Greens Keepers - "Lotion"
- DataRock - "Computer Camp Love"
- Professor Murder - "Free Stress Test"
- CSS - "Let's Make Love and Listen to Death From Above"
- CSS - "Music Is My Hot, Hot Sex"
- April March - "Chick Habit"
- Of Montreal - "A Sentence of Sorts in Kongsvinger"
- Architecture in Helsinki - "Do the Whirlwind"
- Apples in Stereo - "Same Old Drag"
- I Am the World Trade Center - "Love Tragedy"
MOE CAN THINK
- Animal Collective - "Leaf House"
- The Magnetic Fields - "When My Boy Walks Down the Street"
- RJD2 - "Smoke and Mirrors"
- Eisley - "Telescope Eyes"
- Andrew Bird - "Skin Is, My"
- Teenage Fanclub - "Cells"
- Belle and Sebastian - "Meat and Potatoes"
- Mike Doughty - "I Hear the Bells"
- The Presets - "The Girl and the Sea"
- Neko Case - "Margaret vs. Pauline"
- Mates of State - "Along for Ride"
- The Knife - "Heartbeats"
- The Ditty Bops - "Short Stacks"
- Bill Callahan - "A Man Needs a Woman or a Man to Be a Man"
- Menomena - "Wet and Rusting"
- Klaxons - "Gravity's Rainbow"
- The Decemberists - "Mariner's Revenge Song"
- The Good, The Bad and the Queen - "History Song"
- The Polyphonic Spree - "Lithium"
MOE CAN ROCK
- The Fiery Furnaces - "I Lost My Dog"
- Louis XIV - "God Killed the Queen"
- Spoon - "I Turn My Camera On"
- The Coral - "Pass It On"
- The Replacements - "Alex Chilton"
- Ted Leo and the Pharmacists - "Me and Mia"
- Need New Body - "Show Me Your Heart"
- Aqueduct - "Growing Up With GNR"
- Nada Surf - "Indochine"
- Bishop Allen - "Empire City"
- The New Pornographers - "The Jessica Numbers"
- The New Pornographers - "High Art, Local News"
- The Marbles - "Magic"
- The Features - "The Idea of Growing Old"
- Dogs Die in Hot Cars - "Lounger"
- Dogs Die in Hot Cars - "Godhopping"
- The Decemberists - "The Sporting Line"
- M. Ward - "Right in the Head"
- Cold War Kids - "Hang Me Up to Dry"
- Amy Winehouse - "You Know I'm No Good"
- The White Stripes - "Icky Thump"
"Drew toiled away as an editor at a newspaper, where he spent his days reading what other people did — some other person's actions recorded into a news story which in turn reported who died, who arrested whom, who was elected, who was interviewed. On occasion, he'd edit a story that someone else wrote about something a third party wrote at a different newspaper. It wore on Drew, but he himself never left the office. No, he was held prisoner by his leather desk chair, his flat screen monitor and the humming overhead fluorescent lights. Somehow, their power combined to trap him in his windowless corner, his eyes darting from side-to-side until they stung."And so the book would have read, this book that I wouldn't have liked, not only because I don't need a retread of how my working day plays out but also because where the book would be going next would just make me want to put out my eye with a freshly sharpened No. 2 pencil.
"It was at that point, then, that Drew realized that his work as an editor did more than earn him a paycheck; it came to define his very existence. For when the workday ended, he made no more effort to enjoy the world around him than he did while on the clock. He'd merely go to his house and perform a slightly more casual version of his job, reading the writing of others and only occasionally jotting down anything himself. Even more seldom would he actually offer anything of value, anything that gave insight into himself or the world he lived in, which day by day grew smaller and smaller. Drew wasn't living life. Drew had no story to write. Drew was merely reading and editing reports of the lives of others."What a shitty book!
Hey.The second one ran with the subject line "Hi Meghan."
I signed onto MySpace because my email told me I had a message there from "Dave." I guess I forgot for a second that you're too cool to have your own space and, thus, deleted your profile. Needless to say, it wasn't you. The Dave in question did have exciting information about a place for me to meet exciting "girlz" in my area. I'd recommend you contact him, but his profile has probably been obliterated by the MySpace police already.
I guess what I'm asking is this: do YOU know where I can meet exciting girlz in my neighborhood?
Happy lobsters,
Drew
Hi Meghan (see email subject).As the letter implies, I did not, in fact, write Jill an email.
I thought of you three times recently. Once when Marcy and Moe and Taryn and a lot of other people were in town for the 4th. Don't feel bad for not showing up. It was nice to see Marcy and Adam. Moe is freckly now. Also, Katie was there and when I hugged her hello a bee that had apparently been sitting on my shoulder stung her on the cheek. Just like old times! Anyway, the whole thing was a mess for me, since I had an eye infection that started oozing that morning and I had to get antibiotics from urgent care. Don't get me wrong. Urgent care is great. It's just that the particular antibiotics they put me on came with the proviso that I shouldn't drink alcohol or be in the sun. You know, because nobody wants to be drunk and in the sun on Independence Day.
The second time I thought of you happened when I hired a new intern. Her name is Sheena. It's really weird, but she could totally be your sister. Only her name is too unusual. She's like a perfect combination of you and my friend Erika. Do you know Erika? Erika with brown hair? Did you and Erika somehow have a miracle baby together and name her Sheena and make her work for me at the paper? Because that would explain a lot.
Finally, I thought of you because I recently discovered a song that you should download. It's called "Lotion" and it's by The Greenskeepers. It's really catchy, if a little dark, but you of all people would get a kick out of it. You should really download it right now. It was on the Grey's Anatomy soundtrack, I think, or at least featured on the show, so it shouldn't be too hard to find.
In case you're wondering why I CCed Jill in this email, it's because I had initially wanted to email her as well, but now I am tired as today has been long and very trying. So instead of writing her an email, I'm sending her this one. Do you think Jill will like this? I think she will. I mean, she'd probably rather I had written her her own email, but like I said, I'm tired.
Bye, Meghan! Hope to hear from you soon! You're like a hundred times cooler than Jill.
Love,
Drew
[ Just so you all now, this post discusses the various awful things that can drip from faceholes. If you're squeamish, stop reading. In fact, I may henceforth only discuss dripping faceholes on this blog, so go ahead and delete the bookmark, drop my URL from your Blogroll and forget I ever existed. Furthermore, I may use the adjectival form of "pus" to describe my former condition. In print, that looks like this: "pussy." I realize that assembly of letters more often forms a different — and one would hope unrelated — word, but please understand my intentions. When I refer to my "pussy face," I'm trying to relate that my eye is oozing and not that my face resembles a vagina. Because it doesn't. ]For the past month, my left lower eyelid has been sporting a fashionable red bump. I call it my pussy problem. (Read it right, kids.) I like it. It's such a conversation starter. Co-workers don't hesitate from asking after it. "Is it a pimple?" "It looks like a stye." "Maybe something bit you." Or, as I understood them: "Why don't you wash your goddamn face?" and "What's wrong with your body that your glands don't work?" and "You associate with vermin and I therefore won't associate with you." Not content to just be a bump, however, the entity — a small demon or elf, I'm guessing — continued to morph into all manner of embarrassments. First, it scabbed over. Then it flaked. Then it leaked small globs that dried onto the ends of my eyelids. Then it made my eyes bloodshot. The last of these was particularly hurtful — not physically, but psychologically, as everybody who saw Knocked Up now thinks that one only gets pink eye from having slept on a farted-on pillow and therefore having ingested fecal matter.
[ At this point in the story, you might wonder why I didn't seek medical help early into my ordeal. Ha. That's the kick in the shitter, let me tell you. While I happily signed onto the Independent's healthcare plan the moment I racked up enough months in order to qualify for it, I've found navigating the medical bureaucracy to be exactly as difficult as the stereotype implies. Damn it, Michael Moore, you were right. The doctor I requested as my primary physician refuses to return my calls. I won't say my healthcare plan's name, but let's say it rhymes with SchmealthNet, and I'm now not sure that the "net" mentioned in the name refers to any kind of protective network of doctors. Instead, I'd guess it's the kind of net that one uses to capture rabid dogs or crazy people and lock them in a cage so they can die in isolation. ]The morning of Independence Day — which this year was marked by a wonderful reunion of college friends, some of whom haven't set foot on State Street since graduation — I walked in to the bathroom and noticed that my upper eyelid now appeared puffy and red. "Gracious! The horrible face disease has overtaken another section of the battleground that is my face," I said to myself. Perhaps foolishly, I pressed the upper lid to see if it felt tender and inflamed. It did. However, the cause of the puffiness was not just the inflammation, but also that a reservoir of orange puss has accumulated there overnight. (At this point, the situation took on the name "the puffy pussy problem." Again, please read it correctly.) Upon the pressure from my finger, it gooshed out, besmearing my eye and horrifying me in ways I haven't known since my nosehair incident.
[ Yes, the blog is back on. Sorry for the delay, but I needed to escape from work stress and I think I've done that now. I'm back, and I brought Brenis with me. And yes, I see in irony in restarting this thing on July 8, 2007 instead of the previous day. Rather than striking on the most numerologically auspicious in recent pop culture memory — seven-seven-seven — I chose the day after, which should be the numerological equivalent of a slot machine result of diamond-diamond-lemon. I have some semblance of a game plan and a renewed zest for polluting the web with my meandering, typo-ridden sentences. Suck it, Lady Luck. ]Oh. Um, hi. Well. That's the end. I hadn't thought of writing any more.