Uncreated Conscience

Since I’ve been blathering on about this band for the past few blog posts, I figured I might as well share a few of my favourite songs with you, or at least, as many songs as I could find on Playlist.com. (This is the shitty thing about liking a UK band with relatively little US [...]

Dear Readers, I’m not usually the sort to go about airing dirty laundry, but I must confess something: lately, my blog and I have been having…”troubles”. Oh no, nothing huge or earth-shattering, but enough to make me guilty and uncomfortable whenever I look at it. No, no, I still love you, I want to say, [...]

Halp, you guys. I am obsessed with a centuries-dead, genius composer. Halp. I dropped $50 I don’t have on all of Mozart’s piano concertos. (Yes, all of them. Nos. 1 through 27, plus two rondos.) I rewatched Amadeus last night. With the commentary. Again. And then I cried. With anger. Then sadness. Then anger. Then [...]

Today I was going to blog about literary fiction and what comprises it (and I may return to that later when I am off Cloud 9), but right now I can’t form coherent thoughts because: You know, I’m not being hyperbolic when I say I am actually crying tears of joy. No seriously, my cheeks [...]

Whose brilliant idea was it to give me license to record myself playing instruments and singing badly online? Gaah. Anyway, in a fit of Libertines-related nostalgia (as it appears that a long-hoped-for reunion is in the works?), I decided to record a cover of “Music When the Lights Go Out”. I use the term “record” [...]

I’ve actually been fairly good about working these past few days (just got the soundtrack for Battlestar Galactica—what?), but a while back, in a fit of huge procrastination, White-Harp and I indulged in a little silliness. I loves my White-Harp, I do.

I have been struck with a sudden fit of nostalgia for London. I miss London everyday, but the memory of the experience of living there has been fairly faded in the three and a half years I’ve been back in the States. But lately small memories have been flaring with sharp clarity in my mind: the way the city constantly smelled of damp and wet and stone even on a clear day, the feel of the wrought-iron fences lining Russell Square, how I would wander by the fountains playing and walk past Senate Library and around the British Museum on a long, meandering walk back from class to my flat back in Clerkenwell. The taste of Marlboro Reds and the warmth of the lights under my hand as Sofa and I talked long into the night sitting in the niche behind The Guardian building. How Tesco and Sainsbury smelled. The sound of tuna cans clinking against my leg in their plastic grocery bag as I walked over the cobblestones outside Exmouth Arms. The unexpected jolts of bright red and green and blue and yellow and saturation in a City that I always think of as perpetually grey. How I never felt as though I knew her completely, the city, the way I know New York now, the way I knew Los Angeles then. I think I miss the feeling of being lost, of being new, of not knowing and finding my way. [...]

The world is finally, finally all right. Pete and Carl are recording together again. A cover of a Beatles song, no less. “A Day in the Life.” I. Can. Die. Happy. Now. P.S. I love the picture in the article. Because everything needs to have a little (or a lot of) hoyay.

Once again, stolen from Overheard in New York: Eight-year-old son: Dad, I can’t even tell the Ninja Turtles apart! They all look the same, they just have different bandages and stuff. Dad: Well, do you know their names? Son: Uhhh… There’s the blue one… Armadillo? Leonardo, it’s LEONARDO, kid. Come on, these mutant turtles were [...]