my friend carlos is keeping me awake right now with inane instant messenger conversation, so i might as well take the time to post my extraordinarily deep observations re: this blogger culture.

last week, jeralyn (the evil evil creature who gave me my first sweet taste of friendster way back when) convinced me to start my own livejournal. so now not only do i have this site to post my pointless thoughts aloud, but i have a livejournal, as well as an actual paper and ink home journal as well! the different tiers of information in each are pretty self explanatory-- my deepest thoughts go into my ladies home journal, my semi-personal though inevitably exposed to friends in drunken conversation thoughts are reserved for the livejournal, and finally, everyday, nondenominational ramblings go right here.

all of this is very self-indulgent. i mean, who am i to think that anyone on the interweb gives two fucks about what i have to say? i mean, who do any and all of us think we are?? im still getting the hang of the livejournal business, and ive been reading my friends' friends' postings and i mean, what the FUCK? do i care what these people did for christmas? do i care how much they love their snuggly-wuggly boyfriends or their dear dear cunty best friends back in whatever hick town they originally sprang from??? fuck NO! and yet there i am, reading it all, sniffing elitistly to myself and running like a bastard to post my response to it all here. like the two people that read this thing actually give a fuck. i mean, i guess in that sense im just as bad as the rest of the bloggers at large. and i mean, im not going to lie, i like seeing my name in print just as much as the next person. so, i guess my point it, i wish people would be more selective about what they blog and post and publish and all that jive. keep your innermost thoughts as innermost as you can and save the bandwidth for shit that will actually entertain the masses.

thank you. good night.

TOP TEN BAND NAMES THAT DONT EXIST BUT SHOULD:
10. last orders
9. sex before marriage
8. the clap
7. la douche
6. bigger than jesus
5. bed and break, fast
4. GBGS
3. special ed (one man band, preferably led by a chap named ed)
2. toxic shock syndrome
1. that band (just to be fucking different, no THE)

TOP TEN BAND NAMES THAT DO EXIST BUT SHOULDN'T:
10. good charlotte
9. flock of seagulls
8. phantom planet
7. the star spangles
6. black rebel motorcycle club
5. rancid
4. limp bizkit
3. the big wu
2. hoggboy (i love these guys, but the names GOT to go)
1. hoobastank (fuckin twats)

last night was the joe strummer tribute at irving plaza. i miraculously made it to the venue a mere 2 hours after i had originally planned, which unfortunately meant missing mark, chris and the rest of the irving plaza house band crew who had wowed the crowd with a ten minute set-- at 835. when i got there, ari up of the slits was just taking the stage, which is supremely fitting.

you see, you know how certain things end up stalking you? like steely dan and brigid-- theyve been following her for years. there are just those morsels of pop culture that meant absolutely nothing to you until one day they turn up around every fucking corner. well thats the way i feel about the slits. when i first immersed myself in the world of music, i had the blind misconception that punk music consisted of green day, the offspring, rancid, and um, bush. not to say that a number of these bands havent made serious developments within the punk landscape, but clearly they had to come from somewhere. so anyway, it pains me to admit it, but i had never even heard of the slits until this past summer. they first popped up on my radar when massimo, jeralyn, anna and i went to this insane warehouse party in chelsea. there were trapeze artists, drunk yuppies, and a performance by ari up. when she took the stage, i was all, who is this crazy rasta-ette with dreads and a poon hanging out? and everyone else gave me a collective smack upside the head and were all, ari up from the motherfucking slits motherfucka! that was point a.

flash forward a couple of months to me flying out to england for the reading festival. american airlines was rocking the raddest in-flight radio with all this original punk shit and the post-punk bands that emerged as a result. featured prominently-- the slits. you know theres something magical about music if youre on red wine and valium and you still want to bust caps in peoples asses-- in that good, gettingoutyouryayas sort of way. that was point b.

and then last night. i arrived when she took the stage. point c.

ok, that was the most ridiculous digression in the retelling of last night, but youve obviously dealt with it if youve gotten this far. so... mass and i parked our behinds backstage (thank you house band!) in the smokiest room to exist since bloombergs election. we chortled loudly and pretended we were somehow important to the new york music scene and that we somehow blended in with this motliest of crews. i held court on a couch, inhaling listerine and the noxious fumes of 234820938409 cigarettes. massimo, forever on the lookout for malnourished men in glasses and vintage gear, honed in on a shady character in the corner of the room. delighted by the mans crass button, he asked for a hug and i drunkenly demanded that it occur with the wave of my sceptre. the man in the glasses was visibly frightened and the two of them settled on a handshake. turns out, that was our introduction to ted leo.

radio 4 were fucking awesome-- they avoided the obvious cliche of covering radio clash and instead opted for a version of white man that had massimo changing his pants. despite the fact that i made it to irving a full 25 minutes before radio 4's set, MY STREAK IS STILL INTACT. anthony and phil delight in the fact that i am the biggest radio 4 fan to have never seen a radio 4 gig. this is obviously an exaggeration, but it is funny thinking about how many of their shows ive been to without actually seeing them (blur, siren fest, reading, countless others). here i was, all excited that i was finally going to be able to waive this title... when a guitar string decided to snap. thus, the band was prevented from playing any original material. thus, i still havent seen a radio 4 gig. sorry boys.

and that is all. for now.

so very exciting. graham sent me the new hoggboy 7" which finally arrived today. a 7". ive got nowhere to play it. its called "believe" and its produced by richard hawley of pulp fame and features him "playing his cigarette packet."

these boys from sheffield are some kick ass rawknrollers, if only the people would take notice! brothers and sisters in arms i beg you-- give hoggboy a chance!

witty observation of the moment: one of the best things about sitting next to the table of office treats (thanks promoters!) is seeing my coworkers various snack picking styles. like the one who asked me if i had the box of chocolates memorized. no, xxxxxxxx. oh shoot. like the one who complains about what torture it is and then samples a wittle bit o this and a wittle bit o that. give it up folks, youre like the fat ladies at dinner... "take this cake away!!! (munch munch)"

seeing as this is the half hour anniversary of me rolling into the office this morning and i had no voicemail, no noteworthy emails, no faxes, and no boss, i decided it is the perfect time to update this motherfucker.

the soundtrack to this morning is final straw by snow patrol. my friend andrea sent me the cd, unsolicited, and i kind of ignored it the way i usually ignore peoples music recommendations. however, my best friend virgin radio has been playing the shit out of the first single from the album, "run," and it is so beautiful it makes me want to move in slow motion. thus, the cd came out of its case and my entire office has been listening to it since. for those of us who arent doomed with my inescapable british inferiority complex (and therefore havent heard a damn thing about this so-called snow patrol), theyre kind of like coldplay meets collective soul meets death cab. rad.

my rant for this morning is: i hate ordering anything as an office-- breakfast, lunch, afternoon coffee. i just paid 7 bucks for an iced coffee from cosmic! thats 7 dollars neither me nor my landlord will ever see again.

this weekend was pretty dull-- the highlight was going to a bithday dinner at otto on 8th street with one of my best friends from high school and her most intimate crew. i delight in seeing old friends from high school these days. i sat at the head of the table, swarthed in leg warmers and a homemade tee, polished off 3/4 of the pinot grigio on my own, and ended up crying tears of laughter, banging the table, and single-handedly clearing the tables around ours.

brigid is back in d-town for the holidays, so ive been really fucking bored and with the shows on hiatus for the tinsel season, i need some serious motivation to leave the pad.

for now ill just listen to thursday, put on my oversized shades, and parade around the east village with the attitude adjustment that came with my lease.

and the award for the absolute worst fucking piece of recorded music ever goes to.....

"changes (2003)" - kelly and ozzy overexposed osbourne

ok, so a couple of things. first, i took my first listen to the recently released sophomore brmc album this morning on my way to work. um, not so good. on the first album, the use of fuzz and drone was hotness. i felt like i had been hanging out with lou reed and bobby gillespie too much and it was a good thing! this time around, it just sounds like the band are a bunch of little boys from california who have been listening to too much of the raveonettes. i mean, the raveonettes are killer, but isnt it a bit early to be ripping them off-- poorly?

second, apparently i have grown a mean set of balls. carlos, give credit where credit is due, ok?

my subway rant of the day-- arent express trains supposed to be faster than locals? fuck you, Q train!!!!

my fashion rant of the day-- hey ladies! block letters across the ass of your pants are NOT ok. you look like douche. thanks.

ariptag: sorry miss tastemaker, i meant to say, go to some no name hole inthe wall bar where i can watch some crap band spit beer from the stage onto my face, hoping that he will wanna make me his bitch
KarenRTAG: thats the spirit!

thank you, the syndicate, for providing me with my meals for the past couple of days. mmmm. large chocolate block.

last night i witnessed one of the greatest displays of rocknroll groupie acrobatics. i was sitting, minding my own business at one of the VERY important tables at irving plaza, when two girls straight out of long island's finest jew-school were followed, pouting, by a burly man with white man's dreadlocks towards the backstage door. upon reaching the door, they stopped, pouted, and looked expectantly at the burly man. he spoke ever so briefly with the other burly gentleman positioned at the door which resulted in the pearly gates opening wide. the dreadlocked character entered first, nodding knowingly at some of the salivating goons backstage. all eyes were on the jewpies as they sauntered backstage nervously/seductively. the door closed. they left with pearl necklaces.

furthermore, in re 3DD:

KarenRTAG: did they thank their shitkicker, their baggage handler, their pet groomers, their elementary school cafeteria workers, their manager, and god?

http://quizilla.com/users/Entropicalia/quizzes/


according to this, i am a MOD. anyone that knows me knows this is wrong, and if you pick out what i really am, ill have your british babies.

"that looks so wholesome."
"what?"
"playing in the grass, grandpappy whittling on the porch, on a lazy summers eve..."
"eating frozen mashed taters?"
"yeah."
"gross. it should be, like, mamas home cookin"
"nah, frozen is more like, middle america."
"which makes it not wholesome."
"come on, like lassie wasnt wholesome? leave it to beaver?"
"well that was like 40 years ago."
"yeah."
"that commercial is like, yesterday. those kids are not virgins."

http://www.yetanotherdot.com/asp/80s.html

for the record-- i got 117 points. including 10 for knowing the song from '76. im a goddess.

i really wish some interesting shit was going on in my life-- it would give me more blogger fodder. last night was the first official meeting of the fag hag staff. we were assigned our columns and im going to pretend my rock star antics are way more interesting than they actually are. like for instance, carlos coming over on a particularly balmy night to watch the footage of him singing at pianos would translate into "carlos from interpol came over to watch some racy videotape from one of our nights together. he left blushing. it was hot."

i see a bright future for this crew. stay tuned.

furthermore i must give props to dj nita for a slamming shout out at the cock on monday night.