Excuses, Stuff on Cats

So yes, I’ve been delayed in completing my 2008 project to document every album I got that year. 3 reasons:

1. As expected, December was a doozey in terms of CD purchases. I think it’s at 26, but I think I’m intentionally ignoring a few. Did I really buy “Everything That Happens Will Happen Today”…uhg. Yes, I did. 27. And what am I doing with yet another Mark Lanegan album? Arg! He got me again. 28!

2. I am treading the uncertain waters of these economic times. I know: BORING. But at least I have 28 more CDs to sell. What is that, like 28 cents? 

3. I discovered a website and its two books devoted to the foundation-shaking equation: stuff+cats=awesome. Stuff like…

20090222_yoda…really unfortunate glasses…

 

20090224_mrpidzington3…really unfortunate holiday outfits…

…and the best stuff of all…

 

20090211_jarvis_martha…another kitty!

Ah! I can’t take it. I am going to scream.

We’ve spent the last month devoted to our own attempts freighted feline photography (which, btw, is not easy). We humbly submit…  

img_200411Stuff On My Cat as stuff on my cat!

 

It’s totally meta. 

Don’t try this at home. We all have graduate degrees. And we’re probably infected.

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So Cute I Could Puke

The prospect of documenting of my music consumption since March depresses me to no end. Instead, let’s look at pics of kitties. Aw…if hang you in there, little guy, so will I.

Aw…this one’s trying to get over the couch. But it’s so big and he’s so tiny and tired! What is he thinking in that kitten-kute brain…”I think I can.” But you can’t. And your futile ambition makes you 10X cuter.

Maybe my futile ambition to write about ever album I get this year makes me just as adorable?

I once read about the cat-carried parasite toxoplasma gondii.  Cats infect those close to them by tricking them into ingesting their pee or pooh.  The parasite migrates to the infected’s brain, altering the infected’s behavior so that the infected becomes unhealthfully attracted to cats. This is noted in the behavior of infected rats. Rats, who should be by all accounts on the other side of Dodge when kittie comes to town, when infected are found to be close to or even following kittens around.

Scientists realize that there is an evolutionary advantage for cats to carry and spread this parasite: so that may always have something nearby that they can kill and eat. Here’s the kicker: this parasite has also been found to infect humans and has been offered as an explanation for the irrational enthusiasm for kitty-pies exhibited by even the best of us.

Okay, so first I have to get over the distinct possibility that I have at one time or another ingested cat pee or pooh.

Fine, done.

Second, I have to get over what this has to say about affection in general. It insidiously pathologizes love. Is the enthusiasm we feel for an other not love, but an evolutionary trick so that we stick around long enough to give the other the opportunity to kill and eat us?

Fine, whatever.

But now I have to come terms with the likely fact that my kuddly buddies are waiting to digest me. I look at them, I see oodles of furry joy. But they see me as a tuna can soon to be opened.

Oh, well. I guess we all gotta go.  Not so bad to end up in this little guy’s bowl. 

Aw…he’s wet with a mohawk! I can’t stand it!

Jerry Grit’s Year in Albums #2: March

This would have been up earlier, had I not erased the first version. Oh blog posts…easy come, easy go, not so easy coming back. And don’t get me started on WordPress’ new formatting limitations. So here’s a shorter, less funny and image-restricted version.

This month was an even more insane for music accumulation than both January and February combined. The mere prospect of documenting every album I now have gives me a stomach ache. So I’m limiting this post to albums I had a chance to think about. Even though it only represents about like 10%. I still have this glut problem. But I still appreciate all of it. Unless it stinks. 

Michael Showalter – Sandwiches and Cats This should have been funnier. I was just as disappointed with the Michael Ian Black CD. What happened to these guys? They are so stand-up-comedy-ish. The “clean penis” bit is great, but nothing of the genius of the State. It’s still old school observational comedy. But I may be overestimating the State from the 3 episodes I kind of watched.

Dengue Fever – Venus on Earth Chhom Nimol’s voice is the seller here. Their whole kitschy Cambodian pop shtick has been getting a lot of hype lately (Fresh Air?), and it’ll be too bad if her voice gets overlooked when the balloon bursts. She’s had to have been with better bands. If you can recommend a better album, I’m all ears.

Stephen Malkmus – Real Emotional Trash God bless Stephen Malkmus. He’s been a seminal influence, he always impresses live, but the fear is his solo output has diminishing returns. He’s like the George Lucas of indie pop, where Pavement are like the solid original trilogy and all the solo stuff are the treacly goofy prequel mess…okay, that’s unfair. But still, I think he needs a band, he needs someone to prevent him from indulging every eccentricity. Would it be so bad if he just joined the Jicks? It doesn’t matter, I guess. I’ll still buy it. “Wicked Wanda” is pretty good.

Thao – We Brave Bee Stings and All “Beat” is my new running song. And I feel good about running to it. It earns its driving force, without programmed beats or gimmicky loudness, but with a catchy and rhythmic hook. I feel like hitting myself at points. So it’s been weird. I’m happy, I’m running, I’m hitting myself.

Atlas Sound – Let the Blind Lead Those Who Can See I need more soft noises to drown out the dumb sounds of a college town. And this one does the job nicely. Not a memorable tune in the bunch, though. But I put it on to forget it, so no surprise that I don’t remember anything.

The Gutter Twin – Saturnalia Much better than I thought. The terrible band name for the Greg Dulli-Mark Lanegan collaboration was bested (or “worsted”) by an even more awful album name. Who wants to think of these fogeys engaging in an orgy, ritual-based or not. But still they’re backed by a great band and they continue and build upon with cool shady guy reps. No real standouts, but this is an old fashioned album. Good for night listening. If you buy into either of their vibes, like I do, you’ll be happy with it. But it’s not canon-bound.

Betty Davis – They Say I’m Different Wow. This was made 34 years ago? It’s like a coked up Erikyah Badu got in a time machine and crashed into Sly and the Family Stone’s garage (Overblown Time Machine Simile #1). I’m not a funk fan. It’s faux cool bothers me. But she keeps it pretty weird. “He was a big freak/I whipped with him tourquoise chain”…What?

Destroyer – Trouble in Dreams Another Dan Behar album. I’m onboard with the schtick, but it’s not for everyone. And it’s not as great as This Night or Streethawk—which have moments where you might actually identify with Dan. Nope, you gotta set sail here. I haven’t listened to it that much. Too busy playing the Destroyer Drinking Game

She & Him – Volume One I don’t know what I was expecting, but I wasn’t expecting it to be this good. It’s like M. Ward got in a time machine, picked up Carly Simon on a lonely day, and hung out at Phil Spector’s studio during its gaveyard shift (Overblown Time Machine Simile #2). Still, it may be offering up its pleasures too easily.

John Cale – Paris 1918 I still don’t know who he is, but this is of course excellent, elegant and well-crafted. It feels like I should already have this, like I’ve lost $15 while simultaneously finding an old cd.

Los Campesinos! – Hold On Now, Youngster I like it, but I’m a little skeptical of the let’s-get-ecstatic-by-the-beauty-we-create thing. Or that means I’m bitter.

The Everybodyfields – Nothing Is Okay My family makes fun of me for loving unapologetically sad albums like this. Screw them. They ache and wrench beautifully. Canon bound

Tift Merritt – Another Country The song I love the best is the one my father taught to me. “The kindness of a stranger is dust from an unseen wing. But an old friend at my table is by far the finest thing this tired mile could give to me.” The colors of the man I love are deepest blue and green and it isn’t very often that I say just what I mean, ’cause the feeling seems to scatter and these words fall in between. For what I miss, I’ll just tell you this. It’s something to me.

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