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as we speak i am uploading the art folder for my site. yes, i am going in alphabetical order, yes art is the first folder to upload. it may take a couple of days to do this. i have to keep an eye on it because my internet disconnects at random times, so i can’t just set it to upload it all and then go watch the jetsons. i have to sit there, making sure i have a limited number of screwups. (as a note, the art folder is one of the smallest folders. just wait til i get to the “shorts” folder. sigh.)
but forget that for a while. joanna newsom is awesome. i read an article about her by dave eggers a while back, i think it was in spin. he couldn’t really describe her very well, and now i see why. she has a voice like a southern child, and she plays a harp…a HARP. but it’s not new age or sparkley music or anything…it often just sounds like a guitar. if you have the means, get this cd.
i picked it up at waterloo records, along with kevin devine’s new cd make the clocks move, and jolie holland’s cd escondida. more on those later–i haven’t listened to them much, i’ve been listening and listening to newsom. i don’t think i’ve heard anything like it…sometimes it’s like an early black and white cartoon character.
hey, now i’m on the fillers folder for the site. maybe i’ll get this done before the month is up!
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ugh, all these internet and tech companies really get my goat. They’re all yappity yap when they want to sell you something, then when you’ve got a problem they get very quiet. Then address they gave you for their hi-tech headquarters turns out to be an abandoned lot. I have had nothing but bad experience with these assholes. — I don’t get the bit about updating from prison, but it sounded funny. But I reckon you could update from prison. You could dictate the copy when you get a phonecall, or you could use a WAP phone or something like that but I’m not sure if they let you take those in – perhaps one could revive the age old art of smoke signals. Smoke-blogging you’d call it.
OK, that’s all – happy uploading!
so this guy opens his door one day to find a snail on his porch. he picks up the snail, throws it as far as he can, and forgets about it.
ten years later he hears a knocking at the door. he opens it, doesn’t see anyone, and was just about to close the door. then he hears, “The hell did you do that for, asshole?”