Summed up nicely by a reviewer on Amazon: "It's hard to overstate the religiously transcendant goodness of Transmetropolitan; these books are greatness beyond human ken, and could probably be set up in shrines as small but powerful local deities if you had such a mind."
Also, definitely don't miss this, either:
Much has transpired since I logged into Vox, my neighborhood peeps. I plan on getting back into the habit of posting funny drivel on the regular and taking advantage of this aesthetically pleasing and non-effensive (generally) outlet for saying my piece. You know I always thought it was "saying my peace" until the other day? What a maroon I am.
Also, if anybody knows the etymological beginnings of the expression "what a maroon" and wishes to share, I'd be very grateful, as I'm ignorant as to it's origins, and don't want to be slinging horribly outdated slurs from the 20's just in case I am.
Cheers!
Also I've pics of my new apartment to share, and longer hair. Say it with me, "that rhymes and you know it rhymes."
Only one of my favorite movies ever. And this is what is passing for 'blogging' these days if you're me. Yikes.
Orange. iPod. Shuffles?
We were dressed to the nines having just come from the opera (that Don Giovanni is not a very good person).
All we wanted was a classy, dimly lit corner where we could sip icy Tanquerey and savor a mussel or twelve.
It was nearly closing but you welcomed us to come in and get comfortable.
Then it all went South.
I can't remember being so ignored for so long when dressed so dapperly. Our martinis sat on the bar until luke-cold, and that was after you chatted with your busser for about 20 minutes, willfully oblivious to the two very thirsty patrons desperately trying to eye contact you for a little attention.
Our mussels arrived before the cocktails, and even then it was a different waitress that brought them to our table.
I think your French accent was a fake.
When it dawned on you that our experience at Voila was a wash, you gave us two free glasses of Porto to reconcile, making a last ditch attempt at a decent tip. And you got it. You got your 20% you magnificent bastard because you knew what all villains know: we don't stoop to your level because we think something good in us separates us from restaurants like you.
You know the conventional wisdom on pissing off restaurant customers is that they'll promptly tell everyone they know whenever you come up in conversation that you're not a very good place to visit, and from there, the negative word of mouth spreads like a virus throughout your target demographic, decimating your sales, and finally, in the end, forcing you to close up shop, declare bankruptcy to avoid your investors, and move back to that little French backwater you worked so hard to escape.
I'm sorry it has to be this way, but I'm breaking up with you.
I hate to say it, but a band that I've carried a torch for forever is finally starting to fade from my all time playlist.
AIR.
For years they were my favorite band. They had airtime all the time on headphones, car stereos, anything that would accept a CD. They were the perfect mix for the chilled out, hankuna matata lifestyle of my San Franciscan college years. I think Kelly Watch the Stars was the first single I ever heard, and from then it was short slide into complete fandom. The older I've become (27), the less people I know who even like them at, despite the mass market success of Surfin on a Rocket, their single from Talkie Walkie.
The second to last album, Late Night Tales, is a 90 minute mix made by the French duo, and I found it to be too bland to hold my attention for more than a few minutes at a time.
And the latest offering, Pocket Symphony, is a walk down an airy (sorry!) electronic memory lane constructed with beats and samples off some of their better albums from years past. Er, decades past.
I keep wanting them to evolve musically along with me and continue to innovate and impress and wow me with the same style that turned me on so much back in the late 1990s. Ha. But no, instead I'm realizing that I've been carrying a torch for a band that might as well be an Air Supply for a new century. And that, well, that's a shame.
On the other hand, if you even liked Clap Your Hands Say Yeah's awesome single "Skin of my Yellow Country Teeth" in 2006, you should waste no time picking up their new album, "Some Loud Thunder." I don't think it's officially released yet, but you know, internets. :) You know how to find it if you want it is all I'm saying. Anyway, I'm picking it early to be a hit album early on in '07, if the popularity of good indie music continues to thrive. To be perfectly blunt, this album is fucking outstanding.
I'm not in the mood to heavily troll the foodweb to find inspired recipes for tomorrow morning's brunch, so I beseech my lovely neighbors with all their cumulative culinary expertise to help guide me to the perfect eats for a lazy Saturday morning.
All food is fair game; no dietary restrictions.
I yearn for delicious food and drink for 4, ranging from the sweet and bakey to the stout and savory to the crisp and fruity to um, dishes that end with the word 'benedict.'
[ thank you ]
Also, we're off to the opera tonight. Don Giovanni. Greatest music ever written, some say. Dude slept with over a thousand women, so the story goes. Should be classy -- like a chandelier. Figaro, etc.
