This Ain't Stealing, Volume Whatever: Fasciination

Wow, how cuddly (read: disinterested, lethargic, neutered) is the new Faint sound? Way, that's how. My old friend Dead Alison would be spinning in her grave if she heard what has become of her second-favorite Omaha export.

The Faint: Fasciination (pw: nodata.tv)

Bachelor Week, Day 1

Let's all wish Sweetpea safe travels during her ScavenTour road trip, okay. And while you're at it, send some of those guardian angel vibes toward me and Chairman Meow left at home, because if anything happens to to that cat while Sweetpea's away, this blog will get updated even less frequently than it is now.

... because I'll be dead.

... and they don't have WiFi in whatever torturous hell it is Sweetpea would send me if she comes home to a house one kitten lighter.

Jealous?

Lemme paint a picture for you: It's mid-July in Chicago and it's hot, real hot, maybe 91 or 92 and humid as fuck. The house is sweltering. But here in this room, the window is letting in a little breeze and you have a big, icy glass of lemonade sweating on the table in front of you. She's at her desk across the room writing a new story and playing DJ. She likes the Air France EP and your Smiths library and between songs you joke and snark and talk nostalgia in that easy manner afforded to best friends sharing cold drinks on summer nights. The sketches and scribbles that will eventually become the poster for the 2008 (downtown) omaha lit fest are spread out in front of you, gathering momentum in your mind, but, for now, sit mostly untouched. It seems such a shame to spoil this moment with work. Work can wait. It's time for lemonade and "Suedehead" and Sweetpea.

This Ain't Stealing, Volume Whatever: Black Kids

Oh boy! I haven't been this excited over a new release in a long time. Wizard of Ahhhs [previously] was so raw and fun and good, but the Black Kids' Columbia signing and slurping in Rolling Stone had me worried for the integrity of the follow-up.

Fret not, however, as Partie Traumatic retains most of the spirit of the self-released EP. Rough edges have been buffed smooth but not slick. The DIY vibe of friends-and-a-four-track hasn't been major-labeled to death. Well played, Black Kids.

Black Kids: Partie Traumatic

It's Just a Shirt, People, Not a Political Statement

All day long I've been getting looks. How-dare-you looks from old dudes. Right-on-brotha looks from hipstery types. All kinds of looks. I heard one girl, before she shouted across the street, "I like your shirt!" hiss-whispering with her friend something along the lines of, "Well, it can't be a coincidence today. You should say something. No, you say something. Fine, I'll say something..."

Sorry to disappoint you, ladies, but yeah, it's just a coincidence. This was the shirt at the top of the laundry pile today, so it's the one I pulled on. No biggie.

Everyone be safe this weekend, mkay? Don't light Ladyfingers with a Zipppo and call me if you need a ride home after the party.

Oh Covetous Desire, Thy Name is iPhone

I just watched this entire clip and all I can say is, Me want. Remember back when my Pilcrow wish for a Tony Fitzpatrick painting came true? Let's try that again, shall we? Better make it two, though; I'm not sharing with Sweetpea.