Answers from a magic 8 ball

Am I a putz?

Does everything I touch naturally turn to crap?

Is there any hope for me at all?

Gee, thanks, Magic 8 Ball. You're a real help.

House Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest

Damn good writing.  I actually like this concept for the show more than the previous set-up, and as it was House was probably my favourite show on television.  Sadly, though, given the nature, it probably only works as a one-off with the occasional continuing element and then it's "back to normal".

Most times the hardest part is asking for help.

Then let the havoc choose to shape us all, push us to invent

Somtimes you need something sweet.  Something to leave a nice taste in your mouth; like a bottle of Coke (and I know that the American bottles of Coke with your silly corn syrup pale in comparison to the taste of the cane sugar used just about everywhere else, so you don't necessarily know what I'm talking about) or a mandarin orange.  Other times, you need something bitter, maybe a little salty; like chocolate peppered with chilis.  Some days, you may feel like something tart or sour; like a gin and tonic.

Now, you may be wondering why I'm going on about flavours, especially in what is ostensibly a review of an album.  Well, I'm currently suffering through a certain amount of pain in my mouth; the second of my upper wisdom teeth is coming in.  I know, I could just go to the dentist and get it pulled, however, as he's said previously, there's enough room on my upper jaw to hold it, and sometimes I'm just stubborn.  To weather out the pain, I've been listening to the new Chevelle album, Sci-Fi Crimes.  I picked it up earlier this month, but until now, really haven't paid it much attention.  I needed something to listen to that could be aggressive, but wasn't necessarily the level of napalm that much of the black or death metal to which I listen.  I needed something that had a certain undulating rhythm and bite to it; but I wasn't in the mood for Agalloch or something as pretty as Nest.  I didn't want doom or drone.

I'm an unabashed fan of Tool, and sometimes it's just too long between albums.  Unlike their cookie-cutter clone, Earshot, Chevelle manages to sound a wee bit like Tool -- certainly in Peter Loeffler's vocals, but different enough that it has a flavour of its own.  With Sci-Fi Crimes, I think I've finally figured out what the other influences -- aside from the obvious in Tool and Helmet -- might be; late 80's/early 90's grunge.  Especially a band like Pavement.  Coming from me, that's a compliment.  It also dawned on me the overlap that exists also with bands like the Deftones and The Mars Volta.  Strange to come to that conclusion just listening to this album.

Grr Arg

Someone in our neighbourhood got themselves a shiny new router.  They're probably down at the end of the street or something, but their signal is blanketing the neighbourhood.  It's also unsecured.  This isn't necessarily a bad thing, but they're currently using a) the same frequency as the network in my house, b) the same channel which is messing with my network adapter, and c) they keep bogarting bandwidth.  If it weren't easy enough to just change everything on my end, I'd almost be tempted to just password protect their router and connection.

Random Amusements

This month sees the release of several different albums that have grabbed my attention.  With all the buzz surrounding this week's release of the two remastered Beatles' box sets, the Beatles Rock Band compilation and more Beatles, Beatles, Beatles, other things may have flown under the radar.  Tuesday sees the release of Muse's new album, The Resistance, while later in the month we see new releases from Pearl Jam, AFI and Alice in Chains.

I've heard the entirety of both new Muse and Pearl Jam albums and am suitably impressed by both.  AFI's first single, "Medicate" is equally impressive, while I think AiC really should have died with Layne Staley.  I'll probably post full reviews of the Muse, Pearl Jam and AFI discs when they come out.

The fifth-season prmiere of Supernatural was awesome.

That is all.

I Love You, But I've Chosen Darkness

You could definitely say that I'm a strange man.

Eccentric. Odd. Weird. Any of those apply.

I'm afflicted with an eidetic memory. I make connections between things that would take other people years to try and figure out. I have incredibly diverse tastes, equally at home with Daylight Dies or Rachmaninoff, the WWE or Yevgeny Zamyatin's We. [I don't know where this Russian theme is coming from, but it's neat]. I can ramble on ad infinitum about books, comics, music, film, television, history, philosophy, theatre, magick, or food at the drop of a hat, weaving in and out of other disciplines while I'm at it. Usually either confounding or capturing, often a combination of both, the listener. I'm a little obsessive compulsive. It's not out of hubris when I say that I sometimes scare people with my intelligence.

...and for many years, I've hidden. I'm not entirely sure what happened, but some part of me got broken, fell into patterns of "normal" life, got broken again, and has been trying to piece itself together ever since. One step at a time.

You could say that I've been to hell and back, and met myself somewhere along the way. I've been torn down; bent, spindled, mutilated. I've had what I thought was my identity ripped away from me, some deep seated beliefs shown to be empty, and yet, somehow some thing survives. Persistence of self is an interesting phenomenon. An aggregate of ideas, thoughts and experiences clutching on to existence with every last inch.

The one thing that I know is true: I'm a writer. Writing has been the one constant through it all, the only difference is that for quite some time, I haven't written anything public. [Ooh, writing about writing, how very meta of you]. It takes a special kind of misanthrope to continue doing an activity that results in a faulty liver, pale pasty skin, and an inability to react appropriately in social situations. It's also odd when you think about the sheer level of ego one must possess to believe that anything that they write is even worth reading by one person, let alone publishing things for many people to read.

It'd be nice to sit and stare at the Sun. Feeling the warmth on my face. But the formulae of the dead and dying god are past and I must persevere on.