Beowolfe03's Xanga

Jack the Ripper - Justin and A. Ford for the win.

Thu, 30 Apr 2009 03:26:43 GMT

This here is mein miniature brother doing what he does...which might be singing.
AFord helps out. It's pretty cute.

The Plot of Hazards of Love, Explained.

Sun, 22 Mar 2009 21:50:31 GMT

For those of you too lazy to figure out what the plot of the Decemberists’ new album is for yourself, here is the story as I discerned it from finally reading the liner notes:

Margaret: I’m a pretty girl!
William: I’m a handsome boy and I <3’s Mags very much, but my mom’s all like, turned me into a deer during the day or something. Yeah, weird crap. I don’t really know how that works out.
Margaret: Me either, honestly. Well, I <3 you anyways Prince Bambilliam! *deer-snog*
Queen: I am Bill’s possessive mother/witch/queen! I made him who he is today, and he goes and makes out with that hussy? Listen to yo’ mama and quit hittin that thing!
William: Awww, do I gotta?
Queen: YUS. >:O

Rake: Oh ho ho, I am the nasty children-killing villain, here to make out with some ladies! Oh ho ho, art thou a lady?
Margaret: What?
Rake: WAH WAH WAH!
Margaret: Oh, snaps.
William: WTFOMGRAKE?!
Rake: Tee hee! SCAMPER!

Queen: O hai there Rake. I see that you got that annoying girl I hate slung over your horse. Have I mentioned I hate her cause she took my son, whom I’m creepily attached to, away from me? How about I magically fly you over this massive crazy river so you can have your way with her and my son will obviously come running back to me, his mother, who turned him into a deer, and totally not go after the hot chick?
Rake: Giggidy giggidy! *fly! fly! land!* Ok, now’s time for my most awesome evil monologue, mkay?
Margaret: What you say?!
Ghosts of Dead Children: ‘Sup, Pops. You murdered us in brutal and terrifying ways, so we is comin’ back to haunt joo!
Rake: Crap, I knew I shouldn’t have killed those guys. I better…go…do something else. Forget this tramp. Deer kissing is creepy anyway. Okbai!
Margaret: I’m free I’m free! I’m…Hey, a really big river. Bummer.
William, on the other side: I know, right?
Margaret: Hmm.
William: Canoe?
Margaret: Can-what now?
William: NM. Let’s swim for it, Little White Dove…I mean, Margaret. It’s only a raging river. What could possibly go wrong?
Margaret: Mos def.
And so they swim, suck face and drown. Soooo sad.
So I guess…drowning in a river is one of the many hazards of love. Who knew?

And now you know. Good job.

What the Heck Doesn't Suck: The Hazards of Love by the Decemberists

Sun, 22 Mar 2009 05:36:56 GMT

The Hazards of Love is driving me bonkers. In order to fully enjoy it, I really need to know what the crap is going on in the story and who’s doing what, and I still haven’t gotten around to reading the liner notes, fearing that perhaps it won’t actually clear anything up. But it is pretty epic, I give you that. The Tain was like a simple version of it, a solid, ancient story told in about 5 chapters. This is like an epic novel with Tolkien-esque adjective strains expressed in music (and often words) and a complex storyline that is probably easily understood once you actually sit down and listen to it. So let me clear this up: this is not a casual listening album. I repeat: This is NOT a casual listening album! The Crane wife was like episodes of a storyline, interspersed with other stories; Each song stood on its own fairly well. But this one…the couple songs that they released by themselves (The Hazards of Love and The Rake Song) are about the only ones that truly hold their own once separated from the narrative. So far, the rest seem pretty intertwined (even though they are separate tracks.) I might change my mind on this later, but at the moment it’s pretty much an Opera of sorts, and when listening to an Opera, you’re just not likely to crave a reprise. This is not one of those albums that is going to have much airplay, sadly, but that explains the release of their very radio-ready singles earlier this year and late last year. You Decemberists are smart cookies/marketing geniuses! I knew there was a reason I loved you! But anyway.
The use of the two Diamond girls was an interesting choice, but not unexpected. I'm not used to so much female vocal in my Decemberists albums, but I can get used to it in this situation, especially since the "play" that is The Hazards of Love calls for it. I've seen them both live (their respective bands, My Brightest Diamond and Lavender Diamond, opened for the band on two occasions) and they play Margaret and the Queen distinctly and beautifully.

One thing I really noticed with this album is electric guitar, which in previous Dec'ist fare played little part, only truly introduced in full in The Tain and the Crane Wife. Here, the electric guitars are a poignant and sturdy backbone, yet never so harsh as to be out of place or out of time period, strangely enough. They are the sharp pen and ink lines that are filled with the softer colour of voices---except the Queen, whose part is never understated. She is somehow the electric guitars, just like in Peter and the Wolf, the cat is the clarinet. You can feel who she is and what she is by the music that surrounds her and the way that she sings it...a musical done right, if you ask me. All in all, this is perhaps the the piece de resistance for Colin and the band's already luminous career. I'm not sure how they will top it, but I have little doubt that they will---they always do. Now I just need to figure out what the heck this album is about, and everything thing will be on the up and up....
And that's what doesn't suck!

On more Decemberists-related news, I’m also excited to see Carson Ellis (lead singer Colin Meloy’s GF and in-house band art Illustrator) grow in her illustration popularity. It seems she will be illustrating the newest Lemony Snicket book, The Composer is Dead, along with The Mysterious Benedict Society (a series that runs in the vein of Lemony Snicket, but in this writer’s humble opinion, not on quite the same entertainment level.) Of course, I simply ADORE Brett Helquest, the original illustrator of A Series of Unfortunate Events, but I’m rather excited about the exposure this is going to give Carson (I emailed her once…I still have her reply! *fangirl’d*) I admit that I have a tendency to rather snatch up books when Carson’s on the cover, whether the book is good or not. So much for judging a book….

And that's all I got. It's late.

Just some (read: a lot of) words to tell you what I think about things.

Sun, 22 Mar 2009 05:06:43 GMT

Today, I felt like the ultimate twentysomething GenY stereotype.

Shopping at SuperTarget: Check.
Earbuds in: Check.
Organic foods in basket: Check.
Starbucks green tea frap in babyseat: Check.
Twittering on the blackberry in the Easter candy aisle: Check.
Shopping, twittering, and listening to music, all at the same time: Check and double check.

Sometimes I think that if the Stuff White People Like guys ever put out another book, they should reference me in there somewhere, perhaps in the appendices.
I need to get that book, btw.

Last Sunday my friend Nick-Don and I studied a Where’s Waldo book.
The past two nights (delayed reaction ftw), my dreams have been Where’s Waldo themed. Where’s Waldo dreams are weird, man, because there’s always a Waldo, and it’s never who you expect, but they’re always wearing the stripes and the hat. Last night, it was Boston Legal Where’s Waldo. Thursday night it was Star Trek/High School(?). Also, there were red and blue Ewoks. I…often wonder what my brain is up to when I’m not paying attention to it. Apparently, hunting for Waldo is something it agrees with.

Remember that time when Where’s Waldo was pulled off the shelves because there was tiny people porn in it or something? Where’s Waldo? Yeah, he’s the one on top, I think.
…
Yeah, me either.

Right then.

I found the newest Ben Folds album that kind of got lost in the labyrinth of awesome that is my basement today (I half expect David Bowie to pop out any moment, it’s that bad.)
But the album? It still sounds like he phoned it in.
I personally wish Ben would do more collaborations with William Shatner. That’d truly make my year.

I need to go back to organising my DVD collection. Is it bad that I’m writing all the titles in black permanent marker on the bottom of them? They’re laying in a way that I can’t see spine or cover, so there’s really nothing else I can do. Although, having a silver sharpie might make it a bit more functional. Oh well. I think I might have one somewhere.

Well, I think that’s all I have to say for now. I have my green peeps upstairs (even though the red ones looked so tasty…) and I think I’ll go grab another.

Cheerypip!

How Fleetly Flies Optimism in the Face of a Broken Heart

Sat, 21 Feb 2009 05:17:09 GMT

So much of my life has been spent (I won't say wasted quite yet) falling in love/like/lust with people who will never ever love me back. So in the course of time, I've learned to quelch crushes, stifle friendships, nip any signs or hints of interest the moment he backs away, or says something, or gives any sort of clue that "he's just not that into me." I've learned to spot those things because I know that's all it will ever be, because that's all it ever has been; I like a guy, but it is never reciprocated. Learning to take that step back first is so important because it is far easier than hearing the words, "I'm sorry, but..." fall from those lips that you've admired from a far and finding out that after all the hope, you aren't anything to him. That's the hardest hammer that I'll never have swung at my heart if I can help it.

And so I'm nobody's dream girl, it seems. At least, not yet. But at nearly 24, that seems a long time to exist without at least one person having the delusion that, perhaps, I'd be someone they'd like to dream about---and yet, no one has. Well, okay, one did. I assume he thought I was the one for him. I knew from the beginning it wasn't going to work. I tried, but I just couldn't be what he wanted and he couldn't be what I needed, whatever that is. Which is why he's dating my best friend now. And I'm still here, fawning over someone who will never NEVER be mine. He might as well be a movie star or a picture in a book for all the chance that we'll be together. But still, the feelings remain.
The human heart is kind of retarded that way.

Either way, it'd be so much easier going about my day if I didn't feel the way I did about him without knowing whether I should keep my distance...

London As An Old Man: A Metaphor

Tue, 28 Oct 2008 04:29:01 GMT

London is an old man who has worn many, many coats in his lifetime, seen many wars, many triumphs and many tragedies. He's ruthless, tough and haggard, his innards rotting and dissolving in the acid of his past, but on the outside he has put on a new jacket, a sharp suitcoat with blazing pinstripes that hide his withering physique and sunglasses that mask his sunken eyes. His face is painted up like a corpse, a dashing smile over tight lips and broken teeth. Despite all this, his mind is ageless and still has all the fury of the swords he welded in his reckless youth. He keeps all he knows and he knows all he keeps, and though everyone knows him, his secrets still abound.

He remembers the days when he was a king, when he wore a golden crown and all bowed down to his majesty, 10 cigarettes in his teeth and all power and iron. He still keeps remnants of that past in his pockets, which he shows to whomever will look, smiling gleefully as a child showing his favourite toys. "Look at my castle," he says, "Look at the white bastion of the west! I was a handsome man back in those days, and all wanted to make war with me---and all wanted to make love to me." He shows you the scars of both---when plague ravaged him, when foreigners' bombs blighted his countenance, when fires tore tendon from bone. The bridges and towers that still stand are the fairest tokens given to him by past lovers, as well as altars to religions he once clung to but since rejected, retaining them merely for their beauty, as any man will grasp at the last lovely strands of his youth. The shiny bangles that now decorate his newest suit are evidence, not of love, but of gold diggers who want a piece of his accrued wealth and status, and he welcomes their attention in attempts to appear revitalised and hip.

But London is married, did you know? You cannot go as long as he without finding a good woman to support you. And while he has lost his hold in the world, his wife is still a queen, and she is faded and old, just as he is. He reveres, and perhaps even loves her, but she is no longer his pride and joy; he has seen younger men with fairer ladies and refuses to let his age show with an old granny on his arm. So he has taken a mistress upon Downing Street, and she keeps him wrapped around her finger. His wife the Queen knows all of this, but is satisfied as long as she is still first in his heart, if not in his bed.
And this is how Old Man London Lives. Old and beautiful, ugly and new, crumbling into the ocean and yet still living and in some manner, pushing himself to thrive by bootblacking his beard. London reminds us of who we were and who we all will be eventually, and we use his wisdom to keep from making the same missteps that he made. As long as he remains living, though his looks are merely photos in picture books, he will never truly fall into disgrace. Long live London, and may the Ravens of Grace forever roost upon his ancient shoulders.

A Rather Good Conversation.

Tue, 28 Oct 2008 03:00:36 GMT

Harmony:
If a girl wears a nice black and white hat, a black and white scarf, a lovely colorful outfit, high heels, and glasses.... what sort of animal would she remind you of?
Something endearing, preferably.

Erin:
What colour are the heels?

Harmony:
You can't see them. Her pants are too long and cover them up.

Erin:
Oh. Oh okay.

Harmony:
But you know she's wearing heels because she keeps mumbling, "Stupid heels..."

Erin:
Haha. Perhaps a zehbra. On vacation.

Harmony:
Well... I considered that one.... But we've already been talking about zebras and decided that the vactioning ones are named Lloyd and the hippie ones are called Frank...

Erin:
Hmm.

Harmony
And her name is neither Frank nor Lloyd...

Erin:
Oh right.
Well then.
...
I shall say a rare Siberian Jehriff.

Harmony:
Oooh!
........
What's a Jehriff?

Erin:
A lot like a Giraffe...but not quite.

Harmony:
Ohh.

Erin:
If a snow leopard and a Giraffe met up one day at Islington station, had coffee and a biscuit and then never saw one another again...that's a Jehriff.

Harmony:
Oh! I see now...
I'm not entirely sure what I think of that...
But it made me laugh.

Erin:
But it's honestly what I thought of first.
Well, first after the zehbra.
And a tamarind.
but mostly first.

(Tho' I'm not sure how the tamarind got in there, seeing as it's not really an animal atoll.)

Harmony:
Hahaha.
I thought of albino rhino...

Erin:
An albino rhino?

Harmony:
Yeh.

Erin:
Hm.
yes, yes, that could work.

Harmony:
Apparently, when rainbows have babies, they have abino rhinos.

Erin:
Sweet action. I gotta get me one of those post haste.

Harmony:
They are pretty awesome.
But very rare, and actually rather small.

Erin:
do they have knobbly knees?
I want them to so badly.

Harmony:
Knobbly knees...? Hmm. I don't recall.

Erin:
Oh. Well, I shall keep hoping.

Design is the Dinner Bell to my Pavlov's Dog, where Pippin is the Meal.

Thu, 07 Aug 2008 05:26:31 GMT

It's complex and ridiculous, I know. But that's what it is.

Every night for the past week and a half, I've sat at my computer and designed stuff for a huge CD marketing project. I work until 3 AM and then I go to bed.
But without fail I've found I've had to listen to Pippin, a musical by Stephen Schwartz about the son of Charlemagne, while doing so. I sit in the chair and open Photoshop and the dinnerbell rings in my brain and out comes iTunes and the Pippin playlist. My brain salivates merrily as they dish out the "Think about the sun, Pip-PIIIN..." and it's killing me slowly I think.

You see, like Schwartz's newest musical "Wicked", I listen to it not just once in a sitting, but twice all the way through and then on shuffle and then again when a song haunts me after the playlist has ended. I swear that man puts crack in his musicals. They aren't even that amazing as far as musicals go---simple little morality plays, the lot of them, but you hear one of his soundtracks once and you can't escape it. I wake up every morning with a different song stuck in my head. Today it was Take It Easy. Yesterday it was the Finale song. The past couple days it was Glory. Before that it was Spread a Little Sunshine. It's like some sort of cruel musical torture. Blast you, Ben Vereen. If I had known how insanely addictive you'd become when I watched Zoobilee Zoo, maybe I would have watched a bit more Nickelodeon.

Although I did listen to Into the Woods quite a bit. That's right. I had forgotten about that. But it's too complex for doing something that requires a lot of attention. But it makes for a nice change, I admit. I still can't get over how great Friends did on that one.

Take it EEEEzee suuuh-neee...

GET OUT OF MY HEAD, STEPHEN SCHWARTZ!
(But I'd be okay if you'd embed into Xanga properly...oh well.)

Just in case you wondered.

Wed, 16 Jul 2008 06:05:27 GMT

My toilet's broken. The top lid thing is sitting in the middle of my bathroom. I didn't put it there.
I've got blood streaming from my top left incisor that keeps drying until it looks like I have a permanent piece of beet stuck in between my teeth.
Or maybe I'm a vampire. I refuse to read Twilight though.
I hate the dentist, even if it is like shooting the messenger.
I am never leaving the house without Igon again.
They killed off Marian for no good reason in the last episode of Robin Hood: Season 2.
I'm mildly addicted to 21 Jump Street and I'm not sure why yet.
I'm falling for a guy that I know I shouldn't fall for and I'm being set up with a guy I know I should.
I'm going to OKC on Friday for Nick-Don's wedding with two old friends. It's worrisome.
I have an entire marketing plan to create for a friend's record before August.
I don't want to join Weight Watchers but I'm so sick of being fat. Curse you, huge fat cells.
You don't know how much I wish my toilet wasn't broken.
I have to get my bloody drivers license tomorrow, and I totally don't have the time. My old one has such a good picture of me, too. I don't want a picture of me now....
I want to go see Pippin.
My face won't stop breaking out unless it feels like it, and apparently it doesn't feel like it right now.
My car needs oil.
And a wash.
And cleaned out.
And I need to go to World Market, which is all the way out east where the Indian Inquisition Man lives.
I think someone pilched my hairbrush. I can tell because it's been gone for a week.
I can't find good prepackaged curry at all, which is not surprising.
The new smoothies at Starbucks? Moderate. It's like drinking something that is trying very hard to be healthy, but isn't really. No matter, I still feel better getting a smoothie than a 1,000 calorie mint mocha frappucino.
The scariest thing about going to prison is probably the Dementors.

Just in case you wondered.

Another Brief Update

Fri, 11 Jul 2008 18:37:04 GMT

They had my favourite sandwich today at Caffe Moderne. There's something about a strawberry turkey sandwich on croissant that makes me hope for a new and better tomorrow.

My cell phone is not here. Where is my cell phone? Why don't I have my cell phone?!

I might sleep at the zoo tomorrow, by the gorillas. I <3 GORILLAS.
They're probably the coolest thing this side of strawberry turkey sandwiches.

But that's it, really. I like these brief updates.