Edwin Birdsong - “Cola Bottle Baby”
Wow, so that’s where that sample comes from.
And, my goodness, what a very very long sample that turns out to have been.
Yikes.
Well, I did not know. That is pretty rough.
I am a sucker for anything that pronounces the word “Robot” funny.
Dortmund Sideboard\Hutch
It’s like somebody took my Mondrian fetish and turned it into a cabinet.
(via krappfactory)
I like to think that after years of being under nearly constant psychic siege by the world’s most powerful telepath, you’d develop a sense of humor about it
Penn Ave is one of the major arteries of the city. A 4-lane avenue for most of the stretch, traffic can quickly grind to a halt if any lane is slowed or blocked. Which makes this one tiny stretch of Penn so confusing.
This is a stretch of Penn Ave in Point Breeze, where inexplicably, for…
A thousand times yes. I can kind of see why this might’ve happened politically for the Seminary, but why also for the shitty dive bar across the street?
If someone tried to take the same emotional impact of that old “For Sale: Baby shoes. Never worn.” chestnut that gets falsely attributed to Hemingway and put it in a poorly written Zillow listing, then it would read a lot like this one.
Ready Player WRONG!
Okay, this is nerdy as hell, but I need to get it out of me and Tumblr’s just the dumb place to do it.
I picked up Ready Player One from my local library and started digging in.
The inciting incident takes place in a dystopian future and involves the release of a film filled with 80’s pop culture references with hidden, cryptic meanings, which is analyzed obsessively like the Zapruder film, or the footage from Gibson’s Pattern Recognition.
However, right starting on page 2, literally the first reference in the book appears to be a complete shambles.
Anorak’s Invitation begins with the sound of trumpets, the opening of an old song called “Dead Man’s Party.” The song plays over a dark screen for the first few seconds, until the trumpets are joined by a guitar, and that’s when Halliday appears
Page 2, two sentences into the first reference of a book where the references are supposed to be the calling card and a huge plot point, and already a couple things are wrong.
“Dead Man’s Party” doesn’t start with trumpets joined by guitars. It starts with a guitar, then weird percussion and a synth bass. There aren’t any trumpets for about 30 seconds, well after the words start.
Next relevant bit:
When the lyrics kick in, Halliday begins to lip-synch along, still gyrating: “All dressed up with nowhere to go. Walking with a dead man over my shoulder. Don’t run away, it’s only me….”
I fucking defy you to find those lyrics in the song in that order. You cannot, because that is two early verse lines, followed by the end of chorus refrain.
Okay, that’s it for now. For the purposes of actually wanting to read the book, I can just assume that this reclusive whacko also re-edits Oingo Boingo songs, or I can just say the author fucked up and get on with my life, but for now I just needed to get that nerdery off my chest.
If I’ve gotten something mistaken myself, please tell me. I’d like to think that this author knows more about what he’s writing about than I do, because that is what authors are for.
So, Brian K Vaughn and Marcos Martin are doing a Radiohead style pay what you want thing for a 10-issue sci-fi noir series called The Private Eye.
Issue #1 is well worth it, and not just for the novelty of paying money and being given a CBR.
The panel I clipped up there is perhaps slightly cheap as a rhetorical device (shades of rappin’ grannies), but on the other hand, I find it hard to deny the weird, wincing effectiveness of just looking at generational behaviors in the old folks home context.
Oh God, the ’70s are about to ruin Mad Men. Why? Why??
NOOOOOOOO
I’ll be honest, I’ve been super excited that this would one day need to happen ever since all the fussy design internet went bonkers for the 60s post-Mad Men.
Time for the journey to take us through the tackiest two decades in recent American history!
Apparently when you are in such desperate need to do laundry that you’re dressing like a slob, but you push past even that, you get to a point where you have to dress like a gentleman because those are the only clean clothes left that make any sense as an outfit.
