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7:23 AM | |
29.7.04
26.7.04
into the woods
On Long Island. It's hard to believe it's so close to a city of millions; of skyscrapers, cars, trains, thoughts and the people who own them.
On Long Island. It's hard to believe it's so close to a city of millions; of skyscrapers, cars, trains, thoughts and the people who own them.
4:35 PM | |
19.7.04
proof that new jersey is manila's parallel universe
Fact #3
Bleedin mosquitoes (attacking only me, thus husband is incredulous: "No there aren't!")
Fact #4
Last weekend, we saw a man selling cold bottled water in the middle of traffic, on the road. How EDSA!
Fact #3
Bleedin mosquitoes (attacking only me, thus husband is incredulous: "No there aren't!")
Fact #4
Last weekend, we saw a man selling cold bottled water in the middle of traffic, on the road. How EDSA!
3:28 PM | |
16.7.04
with a tongue like that, who couldn't resist?
Marley has been propositioned by a local female mixed breed golden. A one (or four) night stand, no strings attached. Apparently, she wants him to be the father of her offspring. Apparently, he doesn't mind. At all.
Marley has been propositioned by a local female mixed breed golden. A one (or four) night stand, no strings attached. Apparently, she wants him to be the father of her offspring. Apparently, he doesn't mind. At all.
9:52 AM | |
new pet
One day we found this creature had attached itself to Dino's backpack during a hike at Red Rock Canyon. It was so cute and it seemed so serene at the time that we decided to take it home. It has long since become a favorite pet, although not as serene as we were led to believe.
One day we found this creature had attached itself to Dino's backpack during a hike at Red Rock Canyon. It was so cute and it seemed so serene at the time that we decided to take it home. It has long since become a favorite pet, although not as serene as we were led to believe.
9:42 AM | |
14.7.04
breakfast of champions
Holy Hell and Shit Batman! Get me an Iced Milo and a Longganisa Meal for breakfast under a freakin buck fifty, willa ya - NOW!
I'm freaked. I just paid over 13 bucks for breakfast at an American McDo just the other day. And they don't even have longganisa, garlic rice, or Milo.
Holy Hell and Shit Batman! Get me an Iced Milo and a Longganisa Meal for breakfast under a freakin buck fifty, willa ya - NOW!
I'm freaked. I just paid over 13 bucks for breakfast at an American McDo just the other day. And they don't even have longganisa, garlic rice, or Milo.
10:34 AM | |
a list of footnotes
I once had a classmate in university who was an angry young man. He was a devout Nietzsche reader and quoted him everywhere he went (although he called him Neatzke). He happened to enroll in the same comparative literature class I was in, although I think he would have fared much better in political science or better yet, community development. He was what you would call a tubao1 toting, tsinelas2 wearing student actibista3. He ripped into our teacher's political sensibilities with the razor sharp teeth of an askal4. He questioned her Weltanschauung (Shahani5 offspring, high schooled in Austria and colleged at Brown) as we read German authors Goethe, Kafka, Hesse, Thomas Mann, and another fellow I can't for the life of me remember. At the end of the day, he would leave her literally exhausted from their discussions, non the closer to an agreement on literary theory (can you guess he preferred doing Marxist readings to everything?). I stuck to my psychoanalytic and post-colonial readings because those I could somewhat understand. I was too dense to grasp the clash of the dominant and the repressed classes and what the proletariat had to do with the bourgeois. I'm sure he was a very nice boy, but really, very seriously angry indeed. I hope he is somewhere wearing a nice pair of affordable comfortable shoes and has simmered down a bit and is enjoying life despite all the injustices of the world. There is always hope. Ask Vin.
I once had a classmate in university who was an angry young man. He was a devout Nietzsche reader and quoted him everywhere he went (although he called him Neatzke). He happened to enroll in the same comparative literature class I was in, although I think he would have fared much better in political science or better yet, community development. He was what you would call a tubao1 toting, tsinelas2 wearing student actibista3. He ripped into our teacher's political sensibilities with the razor sharp teeth of an askal4. He questioned her Weltanschauung (Shahani5 offspring, high schooled in Austria and colleged at Brown) as we read German authors Goethe, Kafka, Hesse, Thomas Mann, and another fellow I can't for the life of me remember. At the end of the day, he would leave her literally exhausted from their discussions, non the closer to an agreement on literary theory (can you guess he preferred doing Marxist readings to everything?). I stuck to my psychoanalytic and post-colonial readings because those I could somewhat understand. I was too dense to grasp the clash of the dominant and the repressed classes and what the proletariat had to do with the bourgeois. I'm sure he was a very nice boy, but really, very seriously angry indeed. I hope he is somewhere wearing a nice pair of affordable comfortable shoes and has simmered down a bit and is enjoying life despite all the injustices of the world. There is always hope. Ask Vin.
1Tubao is an indigeniously woven kerchief that is used as a bandana, headband, or face mask in the event of tear gas attacks in the middle of a student-led rally.
2Tsinelas are slippers, flip-flops - the common footwear of choice among students who was one, wanted to be one or become one of the masses. Also, cheap enough to chance loosing a few pairs while running away from riot police or water cannons.
3Actibista is a word for student activist. A student activist walked around campus upholding the rights of the downtrodden, dressed in the uniform of jeans, t-shirt, tubao, tsinelas, and sometimes the occassional indigeniously woven back pack basket. They led students in rallies and meetings geared to change the oppressive status quo.
4Askal is short for asong kalye, or street dog. These make the most delicious type of dog dishes as opposed to pedigreed dogs who, for some reason don't have that seasoned flavor.
5The Shahani are a local political family. A former senator, sister to a former president, and recent actor-wanna-be-president supporter, the female head of the family is well-off enough to fund a daughter's education abroad.
7:11 AM | |
bouts of insomnia
When I was younger, I used to go off to bed hoping that my parents wouldn't become possessed by strange beings or turn into massively ugly creatures as they slept in their beds. I didn't really want to deal with rampaging monsters out to kill me in the morning. I think I watched too many warewolf horror flicks and alien sci-fi movies like Invasion of the Body Snatchers which my parents hadn't bothered to censor from me. So, my imagination would get the better of me and I would end up all hot and sweaty under my covers until I could stand it no longer and throw off the blankets, killer beasts and alien clones be damned at my door or hovering over me.
Last night I went to sleep having read a bit of the strange stories in Angels and Visitations and I nodded off at about 12:30 AM. I was woken up by the dog making loud, strange breathing noises, like shallow grunting deflecting off the wooden floors. I made sure he was OK and not suffocating to death, then was struck with a bout of insomnia. Think, think, think. I lay in the dark. What to eat for dinner tomorrow? I think 9:00 is a good time to give that Taryn Stack a call. People are usually in the office by nine. I need to buy some more good books to read. Then I was finally dozing off, on the threshold of sleep and awake, questioning god's existance and looking for his validation on the internet when suddenly I'm again awakened. This time by my husband stirring. He shuffled off to the bathroom to take a big dump (too much ice cream - lactose rejection), and again I lay there awake. Think, think, think. I turned on the light to make sure the dog wasn't suffering too much (I think he has some sort of allergy) and when I turned around Dylan was laying there with eyes wide open. I asked him "Are there monsters under the bed?" He says, "No. It's Chuckie's shirt and Chuckie's shoes under the bed (not that Chuckie, the Rug Rats Chuckie). There's no monster." Then he rolled over, shut his eyes and hugged his Pooh pillow. I turned off the light. Think, think, think. My husband comes back to bed and I ask "Too much ice cream?" He manages a muffled "Yeah". Soon they're both asleep. I pat Dylan to make sure he was still breathing, then I pat my husband because he's now snoring a little too loud. I hope he wasn't possessed by some alien while sitting in the bathroom. Then I pat Dylan again, hoping that he hasn't turned into some alien analytical thinking polite young genius and is instead the terrible two year old that he is that goes "Good morning Mama! Good morning! Wake up! Wake up! Need some help?" Then pushes my head off the pillow and drags my arm out of bed so I can spend my morning waking up with him.
When I was younger, I used to go off to bed hoping that my parents wouldn't become possessed by strange beings or turn into massively ugly creatures as they slept in their beds. I didn't really want to deal with rampaging monsters out to kill me in the morning. I think I watched too many warewolf horror flicks and alien sci-fi movies like Invasion of the Body Snatchers which my parents hadn't bothered to censor from me. So, my imagination would get the better of me and I would end up all hot and sweaty under my covers until I could stand it no longer and throw off the blankets, killer beasts and alien clones be damned at my door or hovering over me.
Last night I went to sleep having read a bit of the strange stories in Angels and Visitations and I nodded off at about 12:30 AM. I was woken up by the dog making loud, strange breathing noises, like shallow grunting deflecting off the wooden floors. I made sure he was OK and not suffocating to death, then was struck with a bout of insomnia. Think, think, think. I lay in the dark. What to eat for dinner tomorrow? I think 9:00 is a good time to give that Taryn Stack a call. People are usually in the office by nine. I need to buy some more good books to read. Then I was finally dozing off, on the threshold of sleep and awake, questioning god's existance and looking for his validation on the internet when suddenly I'm again awakened. This time by my husband stirring. He shuffled off to the bathroom to take a big dump (too much ice cream - lactose rejection), and again I lay there awake. Think, think, think. I turned on the light to make sure the dog wasn't suffering too much (I think he has some sort of allergy) and when I turned around Dylan was laying there with eyes wide open. I asked him "Are there monsters under the bed?" He says, "No. It's Chuckie's shirt and Chuckie's shoes under the bed (not that Chuckie, the Rug Rats Chuckie). There's no monster." Then he rolled over, shut his eyes and hugged his Pooh pillow. I turned off the light. Think, think, think. My husband comes back to bed and I ask "Too much ice cream?" He manages a muffled "Yeah". Soon they're both asleep. I pat Dylan to make sure he was still breathing, then I pat my husband because he's now snoring a little too loud. I hope he wasn't possessed by some alien while sitting in the bathroom. Then I pat Dylan again, hoping that he hasn't turned into some alien analytical thinking polite young genius and is instead the terrible two year old that he is that goes "Good morning Mama! Good morning! Wake up! Wake up! Need some help?" Then pushes my head off the pillow and drags my arm out of bed so I can spend my morning waking up with him.
6:25 AM | |
13.7.04
lo and behold
Another slobbering fan is born. I meant to post this ages ago, but kept forgetting. But really, how can one forget an original story line, clean, beautiful art (think: cute, Asian-inspired stationery), an hour or two of great entertainment (for cheap), all from an "Asian" point of view. It's somewhere along the lines of Craig Thompson's Blankets, although not as heart-wrenching, yet, still good. Viva la Pho! Pho lovers you know who you are (Todd) because you don't believe in the word subtle. This is pretty funny too.
Another slobbering fan is born. I meant to post this ages ago, but kept forgetting. But really, how can one forget an original story line, clean, beautiful art (think: cute, Asian-inspired stationery), an hour or two of great entertainment (for cheap), all from an "Asian" point of view. It's somewhere along the lines of Craig Thompson's Blankets, although not as heart-wrenching, yet, still good. Viva la Pho! Pho lovers you know who you are (Todd) because you don't believe in the word subtle. This is pretty funny too.
9:48 AM | |
cafeteria lunches, junk food, and fine dining
If you grew up in the States and went to elementary or high school in the decade of the 80's, then you'll know about cafeteria lunches. There are a few choice menu items.
1. Meal Ticket Lunch: the cheapest choice and you could pay for a month in advance. Usually consists of main course slop, fruit and a carton of milk. Slop is usually composed of a main course of mac and cheese, a corn dog, or spaghetti and something, or something with vegetables. Consistency of slop and a distinct flavor of cardboard, although "healthy". The fruit is made out of either a fruit salad bowl, a single apple, orange or banana.
2. A la Carte: any of these non-healthy offerings: slice of pizza, nachos, hamburger and fries, hotdog, and the ultimate - meatball sub (my personal favorite). Then various dessert offerings such as drumsticks, chocolate sundaes, popsicles, so on.
3. Get out of the cafeteria and go somewhere like a pizza place, MacDonalds, Jack in the Box, Carl's Junior, etc. and get more expensive types of pizza, nachos, hamburger and fries, hotdogs, and the ultimate - meatball sub (my personal favorite).
Now that I'm all grown up, I usually fix more delicious fare like Boboli crust with tasty tomato sauce, mozzarella, parmesan, gorgonzola, basil, green olives, sometimes anchovies or Italian sausage...pizza. Sometimes I feel like something more along the lines of tortilla chips, broiled marinated shredded beef, jalapenos, black olives, guacamole, sour cream and shredded cheddar...nachos grande. Or even lots of roasted garlic and basil pesto with sun dried tomatoes over spaghetti nooodles. And lastly bread, meatballs, tomato sauce, provolone and pepperoncini to make a tasty meatball sub - one of my personal favorites.
I wonder if school cafeterias have become even more healthy with low carb diets being so huge: lettuce wrapped burgers, breadless meatball subs, and cheeseless nachos. I should eat more fruit and vegetables.
If you grew up in the States and went to elementary or high school in the decade of the 80's, then you'll know about cafeteria lunches. There are a few choice menu items.
1. Meal Ticket Lunch: the cheapest choice and you could pay for a month in advance. Usually consists of main course slop, fruit and a carton of milk. Slop is usually composed of a main course of mac and cheese, a corn dog, or spaghetti and something, or something with vegetables. Consistency of slop and a distinct flavor of cardboard, although "healthy". The fruit is made out of either a fruit salad bowl, a single apple, orange or banana.
2. A la Carte: any of these non-healthy offerings: slice of pizza, nachos, hamburger and fries, hotdog, and the ultimate - meatball sub (my personal favorite). Then various dessert offerings such as drumsticks, chocolate sundaes, popsicles, so on.
3. Get out of the cafeteria and go somewhere like a pizza place, MacDonalds, Jack in the Box, Carl's Junior, etc. and get more expensive types of pizza, nachos, hamburger and fries, hotdogs, and the ultimate - meatball sub (my personal favorite).
Now that I'm all grown up, I usually fix more delicious fare like Boboli crust with tasty tomato sauce, mozzarella, parmesan, gorgonzola, basil, green olives, sometimes anchovies or Italian sausage...pizza. Sometimes I feel like something more along the lines of tortilla chips, broiled marinated shredded beef, jalapenos, black olives, guacamole, sour cream and shredded cheddar...nachos grande. Or even lots of roasted garlic and basil pesto with sun dried tomatoes over spaghetti nooodles. And lastly bread, meatballs, tomato sauce, provolone and pepperoncini to make a tasty meatball sub - one of my personal favorites.
I wonder if school cafeterias have become even more healthy with low carb diets being so huge: lettuce wrapped burgers, breadless meatball subs, and cheeseless nachos. I should eat more fruit and vegetables.
5:19 AM | |
7.7.04
bedbugs and ballyhoo and trying your best
I once went to see an Echo and the Bunnymen concert at the Boston Orpheum Theater during high school. I went with 4 (or rather 3) other friends and we were a motley crew: sexyhot Brazilian exchange student, black surfer dude who lived in Florida (yes, African-American), wealthy white girl with Spanish last name, and forgettable nerdy white guy (he was more Liz's friend, but I had a sneaking suspicion he was only there because he had a car). We had a great standing room area on the balcony. Leather Nun opened. By the time Ian McCulloch and hair came on, Liz, the white girl, had to go home because she claimed she was getting sick from the marijuana smoke wafting from the upper levels of the balcony. But personally, I think she just couldn't handle seeing so many spikey haird people dressed in black and torn pieces of cloth and smoking lots of pot. Doug, white babyface guy, drove her home (personally, I don't think he could stand it either). The rest of us minorities lost our ride home, but we weren't missing the party for anything and there was always the T.
Poor Liz. She tried her best but she just couldn't cope with her Myopia Polo Club games-in-Hamilton-on-weekends background. I tried my best too, when I went with her to her mom's polo games-on-weekend-events in Hamilton. I'm sure the yuppies around me tried their best, and obviously couldn't get enough of a Robert Smith incarnation (if they even knew him), only more dark-skinned, feminine looking and less disheveled. I'm sure they loved that - they smiled a mile when they saw me coming towards their trunk-open-sports-cars-spilling-with-picinic-goodies like champagne in fluted glasses and caviar and brie on crackers. I tried to smile back and there was always uncomfortable silence thereafer. Surprisingly, Liz and I were really good friends for the time we knew each other. Liz in white summer dress and big derby event hat, me in over-sized black clothes, creepers, hair everywhere. A picture of contrasting civility. We all tried our best, no doubt.
I once went to see an Echo and the Bunnymen concert at the Boston Orpheum Theater during high school. I went with 4 (or rather 3) other friends and we were a motley crew: sexyhot Brazilian exchange student, black surfer dude who lived in Florida (yes, African-American), wealthy white girl with Spanish last name, and forgettable nerdy white guy (he was more Liz's friend, but I had a sneaking suspicion he was only there because he had a car). We had a great standing room area on the balcony. Leather Nun opened. By the time Ian McCulloch and hair came on, Liz, the white girl, had to go home because she claimed she was getting sick from the marijuana smoke wafting from the upper levels of the balcony. But personally, I think she just couldn't handle seeing so many spikey haird people dressed in black and torn pieces of cloth and smoking lots of pot. Doug, white babyface guy, drove her home (personally, I don't think he could stand it either). The rest of us minorities lost our ride home, but we weren't missing the party for anything and there was always the T.
Poor Liz. She tried her best but she just couldn't cope with her Myopia Polo Club games-in-Hamilton-on-weekends background. I tried my best too, when I went with her to her mom's polo games-on-weekend-events in Hamilton. I'm sure the yuppies around me tried their best, and obviously couldn't get enough of a Robert Smith incarnation (if they even knew him), only more dark-skinned, feminine looking and less disheveled. I'm sure they loved that - they smiled a mile when they saw me coming towards their trunk-open-sports-cars-spilling-with-picinic-goodies like champagne in fluted glasses and caviar and brie on crackers. I tried to smile back and there was always uncomfortable silence thereafer. Surprisingly, Liz and I were really good friends for the time we knew each other. Liz in white summer dress and big derby event hat, me in over-sized black clothes, creepers, hair everywhere. A picture of contrasting civility. We all tried our best, no doubt.
6:09 PM | |
6.7.04
in progress
I first saw them on stage, in the intersection of the dark wings and the spotlight; disrobed and whiter than white, as the hot sear of brightness diminished any shadows or blemishes on skin left by the undulation of time. Their jutting hipbones were sharp enough to leave a bruise on anyone's cheek in the throes of their passion, and I couldn't see how they weren't pained as they thrust at each other's groins with their girl-on-girl lust act.
Not a hair on their heads out of place and not a bit of blood red lipstick smeared on paper white skin. They did not wear the usual lucite platform heels, but elected for bare feet and dark toe nails, the reason which was later to come. Not a piercing nor a tatoo visible to the naked eye, and in all their prurient purity the men did salivate so, imagining their tongues licking, snag-free.
I first saw them on stage, in the intersection of the dark wings and the spotlight; disrobed and whiter than white, as the hot sear of brightness diminished any shadows or blemishes on skin left by the undulation of time. Their jutting hipbones were sharp enough to leave a bruise on anyone's cheek in the throes of their passion, and I couldn't see how they weren't pained as they thrust at each other's groins with their girl-on-girl lust act.
Not a hair on their heads out of place and not a bit of blood red lipstick smeared on paper white skin. They did not wear the usual lucite platform heels, but elected for bare feet and dark toe nails, the reason which was later to come. Not a piercing nor a tatoo visible to the naked eye, and in all their prurient purity the men did salivate so, imagining their tongues licking, snag-free.
4:39 PM | |
saturday was get your ass off the couch day
Instead of Free Comics day (channeling Nikki). I blame my husband who couldn't muster enough strength to get his ass off the couch to get on a bus then on a train to the nearest comic book store that was giving away free comics. I guess he thought it felt too much like going to work on a Saturday, especially on a long weekend. So we ate a lot of Friendly's ice cream instead while we missed all the freebies. What a bunch of lazy bums. We'll just have to read all about it.
Instead of Free Comics day (channeling Nikki). I blame my husband who couldn't muster enough strength to get his ass off the couch to get on a bus then on a train to the nearest comic book store that was giving away free comics. I guess he thought it felt too much like going to work on a Saturday, especially on a long weekend. So we ate a lot of Friendly's ice cream instead while we missed all the freebies. What a bunch of lazy bums. We'll just have to read all about it.
5:28 AM | |
saturday was get your ass off the couch day
Instead of Free Comics day (channeling Nikki). I blame my husband who couldn't muster enough strength to get his ass off the couch to get on a bus then on a train to the nearest comic book store that was giving away free comics. I guess he thought it felt too much like going to work on a Saturday, especially on a long weekend. So we ate a lot of Friendly's ice cream instead while we missed all the freebies. What a bunch of lazy bums. We'll just have to read all about it.
Instead of Free Comics day (channeling Nikki). I blame my husband who couldn't muster enough strength to get his ass off the couch to get on a bus then on a train to the nearest comic book store that was giving away free comics. I guess he thought it felt too much like going to work on a Saturday, especially on a long weekend. So we ate a lot of Friendly's ice cream instead while we missed all the freebies. What a bunch of lazy bums. We'll just have to read all about it.
5:28 AM | |
2.7.04
cravings
My first memory of these chocolates was when I must have been 4 or 5. My dad came home early one morning, (from where, don't ask me) with a small box of 12's, just for me. And despite a rapidly beating heart, I carefully tore off the clear cellophane wrapper and slowly opened the box. There were twelve little chocolates in their little, yellow crinkled paper cups and they looked marvelous. I gently took off the paper cup, put a chocolate in my mouth and let it melt slowly. I savored the strange chocolatey flavor, not wanting it to end. Then we had to go somewhere later on that day, but I was allowed to carry my box of chocolates with me. I held on to it with care, making sure it wouldn't get crushed, dropped, or lost. I slowly ate each one thorughout the day, letting them all melt in my mouth except for one or two that I couldn't help but bite into a chocolately blissful mess down my gullet. When my last chocolate lay in the box all alone, I sadly took it out, and with regret but great anxiousness to eat it, I let that one melt in my mouth as slowly as I possibly could. That was a good day.
My first memory of these chocolates was when I must have been 4 or 5. My dad came home early one morning, (from where, don't ask me) with a small box of 12's, just for me. And despite a rapidly beating heart, I carefully tore off the clear cellophane wrapper and slowly opened the box. There were twelve little chocolates in their little, yellow crinkled paper cups and they looked marvelous. I gently took off the paper cup, put a chocolate in my mouth and let it melt slowly. I savored the strange chocolatey flavor, not wanting it to end. Then we had to go somewhere later on that day, but I was allowed to carry my box of chocolates with me. I held on to it with care, making sure it wouldn't get crushed, dropped, or lost. I slowly ate each one thorughout the day, letting them all melt in my mouth except for one or two that I couldn't help but bite into a chocolately blissful mess down my gullet. When my last chocolate lay in the box all alone, I sadly took it out, and with regret but great anxiousness to eat it, I let that one melt in my mouth as slowly as I possibly could. That was a good day.
8:36 AM | |
speak!
off the shelf
02.10.07
Earl Grey
by Harney & Sons
After polishing off my Betjeman and Barton Eden Rose blend a month back and not having gotten around to re-ordering it from nowhere but France (somehow I can't yet make myself pay whatever it is they're asking for shipping, so I'll have to wait for the next person to go to France and have them buy it for me, 2 kilos please this time, as the 1 kg. was gone too soon), I've been relegated to remaining teas on the shelf of lesser quality with diminished flavor. There was the 2-year old Mariage Frères Earl Grey Silver Tips that had a deadened flavor, falling flat and tasting more like wood chips off a wood shop floor (OK, it was probably expired and Mariage is normally just lovely). And the Upton Tea Fragrant Cloud Jasmine. Which, I normally love, but somehow this cooler weather just calls for something black, rich, chocolatey and bergamot-citrus infused. Harney & Sons' Earl Grey looked like it would do, sitting on the shelf, all it's loose leaves calling out to me in some weird vibrating dance of shredded tips and branches. So, I responded by plopping some $12 for the tin which might have been the shipping alone for a bag of Eden Rose. Well, fortunately for my taste buds, this Earl Grey is a loose replica of Eden Rose, minus the vanilla-rose infusion. But it'll do, and it does very well I might add; almost chocolatey and strongly bergamot-citrus. No shipping charges involved.
27.09.07
4 Songs
by Vampire Weekend
I LOVE IT! It's like quiet "punk" meets South African sensibilities. But 4 measly tracks are all I can get my ears around at the moment, so I eagerly anticipate the LP due out early 2008. There's no mistaking that indie sound, but so nicely infused with the Afrobeat rhythms – it's like a perfect fusion of distant cuisines that meld on your taste buds and do a quiet dance of joy in honor of wonderful flavors coming together so seamlessly. I await with eager ears – at last something to look forward to that doesn't sound like everything else I've been listening to of late. Hurrah!
24.09.07
Made of Bricks
by Kate Nash
Is this Lily Allen's second album? Oh, what? It's someone else? OK, so they don't sound exactly alike, accents and myspace accounts aside, but they do sing of similar things so that you could conjure up on your own that they might just possibly live on the same side of the pond. It's been called Chavtronica – I tend to agree. Although the poppy, soppy derivatives are quite infectious after a few listens, I wouldn't exactly call it to the top ten of my list. I'm not sure if I would pick Lily Allen over Kate Nash, although I'm sure I'd definitely rather listen to Amy Winehouse on most days.
good to read:
additional reading
reading list<
mcsweeney's
neil gaiman
jonathan carroll
read yourself raw
alan moore fansite
phil lit portal
ninotchka rosca
GABRIELA Network
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layers magazine
wired
food<
jamie oliver
la tartine gourmande
nordljus
orangette
schtuff<
gizmodo
engadget
boingboing
gallery
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