Hey, I made another shitty movie for a song recorded by Ian (awful drumming), Z (spazz guitar) and I (over-used delay pedals). Dubbed it “Missile Test in Suburbia,” it’s us playing to a soundtrack of explosions, psychological warfare recordings and jet engines. With a description so unwelcoming, why would you even want to waste seven minutes watching it? I don’t know, because there’s nothing better to do? … CLICK HERE.
Last night after sunset at the Art Park, it was Ilya, Z, McGoff and I drinking rum and Cokes while watching “Be Here to Love Me,” (the Townes Van Zandt documentary) on the Sundance Channel. We masked the film’s sadness with our blend of humor. Z keeps saying that he can’t watch a movie about music unless it boasts something even more wild than conjoined twins. At one point, Ilya called spicy cashews “the Williamsburg of snack foods.” This, of course, is due to our perceiving that you can pretty much call anything “the Williamsburg” of something. I think it started yesterday, when I dutifully noted that, “the Ionosphere is, like, the Williamsburg of the sky.” What a bunch of stupid, useless kids we are. There, I’ve successfully ended another one of these entries with a self-deprecating remark.
