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A monkey caught stealing
16 February 2012 @ 05:35 pm
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A monkey caught stealing
02 April 2010 @ 09:18 pm
There has been intense debate and discussion of a pressing matter betwixt my office-mate Ian and myself of late. We oscillate back and forth between the dyad, one taking up the first cause, the other taking up the second out of a sense of duty. We engage, make our cases, only to find ourselves arguing for each other's cause as the dialog traipses off into the esoteric. Neither of us can commit; the cases for each candidate are equally compelling. We turn to the collective wisdom of the Internet in search of succour for our dilemma.
Poll #1546798 Disney Cartoon Face-Off

Which Disney Afternoon cartoon had the best theme song?

Note that there are only two choices.

These are the only possible candidates.

This has been scientifically proven. I'd offer evidence, but you'd have to read Ian's recently completed paper "The Melody of Dialectics: Anthropomorphism and Hegemony in The Disney Afternoon", and it's currently awaiting publication in Critical Inquiry.

In short: yes, the Darkwing Duck theme was good, but it lacked the anthemic jouissance of the aforementioned duo. Tale Spin was acceptable, but was lacking lyrically and suffered without a dramatic key change (executed so masterfully in the Chip 'N Dale theme).

We cannot solve this on our own.

We are losing sleep.

We await your sage counsel.
Current Music: Nadja, "Bliss Torn From Emptiness"
A monkey caught stealing
22 November 2004 @ 06:22 pm
If I have to see Conor Oberst's milquetoast mug one more fucking time I'm going to seriously lose my shit. I guess the masturbating-whilst-crying set need music too, but if Bright Eyes debuting atop the Billboard singles chart is a sign of things to come, then we're all seriously fucked. Are these people planning on breeding? I've got nothing against sad bastard music; in fact my predilection for it is a constant sticking point with M, but if you're gonna mope-out, do it with flair, gravity, and a sense of tune. You want drowning your sorrows in booze music? Opt for Johnny Cash or The Replacements. You want avant isolation? Bowie, Pink Dots or select Numan. Bassy ennui? Massive Attack or Portishead. Screeching mechanical nihilism? Swans. Shit, even if you feel the need to keep your depression framed within a certified indie context, opt for Interpol fer chrissakes; the new one's not so hot but at least there's a tune and some cajones every few tracks. But Bright Eyes?

Reader Meet Author: a brief film

Scene 1: CONOR OBERST wakes up in a hotel room in a nameless midwest city, another tour stop. He gently extricates himself from the three still-sleeping fifteen year-old girls who managed to sneak past security last night. They wanted to "rescue him" by giving up their cherries, but CONOR insisted on playing guitar at them and repeatedly telling them about the mix tapes he was going to make them until they fell asleep. CONOR burps, slides on his jeans and leaves the room. He has no need to put on a tight brown shirt and navy cardigan, as his flesh naturally regrows these garments overnight.

Scene 2: CONOR is in the hotel elevator. A muzak version of "Walking On Sunshine" is playing. CONOR listlessly hums along to it. The elevator stops midway down the hotel. The doors open, and MORRISSEY enters the elevator. He is wearing an Armani suit and several gold rings.

CONOR: Omigod. Omigod. I can't believe it's you. Your music has inspired me so much...

MORRISSEY appears nonplussed.

Scene 3: The elevator doors open in the hotel lobby. MORRISSEY swiftly exits the elevator, followed by CONOR.

CONOR: ...And I knew she was reading my diary, so I wrote the lyrics to "Suedehead" in it so she'd know I knew because I couldn't tell her...

MORRISSEY exits the hotel through the front door, with CONOR in tow.

Scene 4: MORRISSEY walks to the curb just outside the hotel. CONOR is sweating profusely as he talks, running his hands through his hair. A limo with a license plate reading "D-MOZ" pulls up in front of MORRISSEY.

CONOR: ...And that's when I knew that I could never be wide to receive anyone, anyone but you.

CONOR awkwardly places one hand on MORRISSEY's package and goes in for a timid kiss. Before he can make contact, MORRISSEY delivers a swift headbutt, cracking the little punk's nose. Blood splatters the pavement. MORRISSEY follows up with a quick flurry of five punches to CONOR's stomach, finishing with a smashing right uppercut that knocks a tooth or two loose. MORRISSEY readjusts his jacket with a cool as fuck shrug. The HOTEL DOORMAN walks to the limo and opens the rear door. Nancy Sinatra's legs are almost visible in the gauzy black interior. The bangin' string riff of 50 Cent's "In Da Club" can be heard from inside the limo.

Scene 5: We get a grainy close-up of CONOR's thoroughly decimated pretty-boy looks. Out of focus in the background, MORRISSEY enters the limo without a word. The door slams shut and the limo pulls off. CONOR mournfully casts his eyes in the direction of the departing car.

CONOR: I'm...soooo...sorry...

Current Mood: bumpin'
Current Music: PWEI/PIL
A monkey caught stealing
16 May 2003 @ 12:40 am
A couple of people might've been wondering what I've been up to since I last posted. However, I know that even more people have been wondering what Morrissey's been up to since they last saw him. He's been a virtual nonentity since Maladjusted was released, and he no-showed here in Vancouver last year. Well, the answer behind Morrissey's absence is simple: he's been in my pocket.

Yep. Sick of fame and, well, everything, Morrissey shrunk himself to 1/20th of his former size using Swedish technology remarkably similar to that depicted in "Charlie And The Chocolate Factory" and took up permanent residence in my pocket six months ago. Since then, he's been feeding my ennui and I've been feeding him raisins and tea. Sample dialogue:

Me: Hmm...It's rather late to cook dinner. Should I just make ramen, or put on a spot of tea, perhaps?
Pocket Morrissey: Oh, why don't you just crawl into bed. No one will ever love you.
Me: Shut your pie-hole, Pocket Morrissey.
Current Mood: pensivepensive
Current Music: Swans, "The Great Annihilator"