We-phobia

Oh, you're vegan? Like with PETA?
Well, I've got friends who work for them, sure. I got a really cute e-xmas card from one of them that depicts Santa's reindeer unshackled from his sleigh and flying off toward my MacBook's date and time bar. But I'm not down with that See-You_En_Tee Ingrid Newkirk who's in charge of the whole ops. So me? No, not "like with PETA".

This is Georgia,

and she's sweet as a gumdrop, but she said to me, "Damnit uncle Shawn, I aint no media profile killer, but if you let me near this bitch, I swear I'm takin some toes with me. She jumped on the whole Michael Vick pitbull case like record labels jumpin on Gang of Four rip offs from the Lower East Side-- makin a pretty buck for her cause with all of the public concern and attention. Well, come to find out-- she aint raising money for my poor brothers and sisters who were mistreated by that bastard Vick, but putting it toward other PETA spay and neuter programs, and veggie sausage-a-thons, and payin artists to make cute little e-cards with unshackled reindeer. Listen: She said my dogs need to be put "to sleep". These dogs live through Vick-etnam, and instead of a parade, or at least a meal and a nice family, she wants to give us a needle full of lead?! Some rescue."

Some people at PETA do some great things; turning the pitchfork on Colonel KFC, and making me aware of Huntindon animal lab testing. The problem is groups. Wherever "we" gathers, whether online or in the flesh, the law of averages drags down the IQ. Decisions become rash. Our leaders mislead.

For the record:
I'm not a vegan, I just don't eat animal products and my shoes are faux leather. It's just my thing. If you like it, you'll have to call it your own thing.

Do you support Generic-titled Clothing? Well, I'm wearing it, but I didn't sew it myself, so I can't very well put my name on it too. Come to think of it, I found a 6 year old's fingernail sewn into the threading, and it says "made in China". No-- I don't support this clothing company!

Do you support Obama? If he's elected, I may stay in the country.

My point is,
It's all about you and me. You and me are human. We isn't human, it's an average. You and me are better than average.

Eve

Merry "My Half Birthday" to all, and from all, best wishes to the birthday-Jew other than Jesus, triangle man Ben Young.

Nuke Nuance

It's 2007. Tim Burton is a man mimicking his own shadow. He heard the cutesy-macabre market is his alley, and he's out reclaiming everything in it. "A murderer who aspires to slay London and serve their asses back to them in meat pies? Hmm. Maybe a bit toooo dark. What's that you say? It's a musical?! Well sweet Panic! at the Disco, this shit is MINE!"

The movie was unwatchable, from the vantage point of a human anyway.

Burton didn't write the script, but without having seen the original play, I speculate that the failure was in his screen interpretation. Revenge marbled with nihilism isn't an objectionable theme. I'm sure the musical's original author Christopher Bond was inspired on the subject. The idea: to use the legend of murderer Sweeney Todd as a plot in which to convey and abstract this universal feeling of rage and despair by illustrating it beyond conceivable limits. The massacre is a charicature of these complex feelings you and I have. One can relate to the character's trauma, and can relish in the concept of his unconventional coping strategy: to butcher all of London in his plight to exact revenge on his wife's killer. A fucking ocean liner of a concept to try to navigate into an audience's heart. How to properly wink and nudge it through? Make it a musical--the last medium you'd expect to tell such a story.

Extra! Extra! Mr. Burton launches a nuclear attack on nuance. The characters were no more dimensional than coloring book pages or a Bush press conference. The females are cleavage with a musical refrain of "pretty women". Sweeney emerges from vague exile with a brief and trite nostalgia recounting his love for his wife for reasons of "beauty and virtue". He then delves into pints of blood and a new exile, this time from my sympathy.

The sets, costumes, and art direction were beautifully morose, and I send my sympathy to those fantastic artists whose skills were squandered crystal coating such an ugly result. It was a really difficult movie to watch.

I was surprised with my revulsion-- I love Kill Bill and Pulp Fiction, which are gratuitously bloody. In those movies, I feel like me and Tarantino are sharing an inside joke about the all-pervasive violence in modern media, and I'm nudged by him through the shock concept of overdoing the already copious amount of pop culture violence. In Sweeney Todd, I got the feeling that Burton missed the idiosyncrasies of the contradiction and just didn't get the joke.

Being Burton or Johnny Depp means that fans are going to see whatever film you choose to work on. Like buying an album recommended by a friend to find it to have only a few listenable tracks, I couldn't help but feel slighted or fooled, and hey, maybe this is the desired effect: nihilistic marbled with a hunger for revenge. But as much as I hated Sweeney Todd, I only figuratively wish to slit the movie's jugular.

Out of Order: Come Back Yesterday

Disability creates ability. For instance, a deficiency of recent posts on my blog equals a new Matches album, artwork, and video. For a further read on the subject of disorder vs. creativity, visit the latest spin.com book club entry.
For further on new Matches, hold the course! The record is due out in March, and info and music will begin creeping from under the bed in January.

And if you should be so lucky to live near 1417 W. Sunset Blvd in Echo Park, CA, get here for such supplies as

I designed the dinosaur egg incubator. Proceeds from the store go to the 826 free tutoring center for young writers, so that we may one day be replaced by a more talented and creative generation. (who will surely right our offenses to the natural world, and will never never never vote Huckabee)

Actual Letters Sent to Television Station Video Program Directors by the Matches in 2005.

Remember when you were going to buy a lottery ticket because the prize had
gotten so big, and remember how you didn't know which numbers to choose? And
remember how I said to use the numbers in your phone number and your address?
And remember how you did that and then you won millions? Millions! Remember
that?

Well, you still owe me.
So when are you going to play my video?


= = = =

Remember when you said you needed money and you had this great idea about
scamming a fast food place. But remember you said you had to somehow find a
human finger that you could plant in a Wendy's Chili and claim you bit into
it? And remember I said I'd help you, you could cut off the tip of one of my
fingers if you needed. Remember that?

Well, you still owe me.
So when are you going to play my video?

= = = =

Remember how everyone made fun of your hair all the time?. Remember that I
didn't? (well, except that one time at Jen's party, but, come on, that was a
particularly weird day even for your hair.)

Well, you still owe me.
So when are you going to play my video?


= = = =

Remember when you were downed behind enemy lines in World War II and I
volunteered to learn German in 6 weeks so I could get parachuted in with a
German uniform and find you and say you were being taken back
to headquarters and then we'd meet the boat at the harbor on the night of the
rendezvous? And remember how the plans got all messed up because that one cook
got suspicious with you limping like that and me helping you walk, so we
missed the pick-up time, and, instead, I stole that U-boat and we made it out
alone in the middle of the night?

Well, you still owe me.
So when are you going to play my video?


= = = =

Remember when we were on that picnic and that swarm of bees started to attack,
and you were crying and couldn't run anymore, so I took off my shirt and let
you run ahead and gave my back to the bees so that you could get to the car first?

Well, you still owe me.
So when are you going to play my video?


= = = =

Remember when we were in that small plane your uncle owned, going down to the
Caribbean for the weekend? And remember when he had a heart attack and died
while piloting the plane and we crashed in the ocean and we were floating in
that little raft for three days with just a bottle of Snapple and half of an
energy bar and by the morning of the third day you thought you couldn't make
it and you were going on and on about how hungry and thirsty you were so I let
you have my rations because you wouldn't shut up? And hours and hours later,
just when it was getting dark, we were spotted by that tanker and were saved.
And remember how you said you didn't think you would have made it through that
last day without my share of the food? Remember that?

Well, you still owe me.
So when are you going to play my video?


= = = =

Patterns

Sequencing a record is like getting on the train after dressing in the dark and trying to rearrange your layers to make the most presentable combination before you get to work. Is there a number of tracks that scares you? How long are your favorite albums? Two of us say sever at 10 or 11 and leave the listener wishing for repeat to be hit, and the other half is tormented by cutting loved songs, and wants to pile them all in.