Disapointments: Voxtrot

At work today, I had the sudden urge to listen to "Sway" by Voxtrot, one of their lesser known songs. Probably because it's a bittersweet ballad and Voxtrot is more known for their upbeat joints. I was in the middle of listening to a podcast, but I try to feed my musical impulses instantly now because: a) I find that listening to podcasts non-stop is quite boring and having brief music breaks keep me awake, and b) I miss music so much I need to find it again. Normally I would just let the idea of listening to music pass while I drown myself in more useless gaming news and information. However now I turn on some music and sometimes I don't go back to the podcast I was listening to which has caused me to get so behind in my podcast schedule that I have to consider cutting back on the amount of shows I subscribe to.

Anyway let me get back on point. First, I love Voxtrot. They make me leap joyfully with my nose in the air like how Snoopy dances when he's excited. Some compared them to the second coming of The Smiths except not so sorrowful, though Voxtrot can pull that emotional gear off as well. The first two EP's got Pierre hooked which in turn, got me hooked. I think his vice is/was "The Start of Something." I am a "Soft and Warm" kinda guy, but all ten of those first songs were hits in my book and I wanted to listen to nothing else for months. I can't wait for the album...where's the album?

Sometimes a band can do no wrong. I waited. They released another EP. More good shit. Give me the album. I want to hear sweet love songs and dance. I know it's going to be best album of the 00's. It has to be. They(Voxtrot) made me wait a whole year. 2006 was a terrible, slow burn.

(This post is disappointing HOHOHOHO)

Anyway, I'm tired. That's a whole lot of pointless setup. Voxtrot releases their debut LP in January of 2007. I liked three songs on the album. To me, that was so heartbreaking because obviously the best album of the 00's should have at least ten head exploding-ly good tracks. The songs were flat, boring, and even too pussy for me. I have no problem admitting that I enjoy some pussy rock, but just some lyrics made me squirm not because of the content, but just the cadence of the words coming out of the lead singer's mouth. I still listen to that album in hopes that I will someday be like, "Oh, this is fine. I don't know why I was so hard on it."

My whole aim in this post was to inspire you to write something. Tell me about how you were once disappointed. Like, really disappointed. Not like this stupid story of shallow disappointment. I'll think of something else that disappointed me and I'll make it more interesting.

You know what's disappointing? Vicodin.

I enjoy the chat rooms that we've been doing lately. It's good to talk to you guys. I have a fantasy where the lords of this blog do a podcast. It would be like the chat rooms. Except we would talk. With our voices. It would be funny. No one would listen. NO! Someone would listen. Then we can start advertising on our blog, and make Google monies. Win one of those blog awards. That's my fantasy.

Non-Meta Random Musings from Post-Apocalyptic, Pre-Arthritic Hands

Back to the business in the haberdash of balderdash, coming correct mic check mic check.




















So many engagement parties and weddings, so little frequent flyer miles and time. Something's bound to give and sometimes I think it's my sanity. It's like a prize fight every night in the tormentor's skull aka The 10-10-321 Skull Dome; Misanthropy vs. Thoughtfulness, both are in my instincts and I don't consider myself selfish but think it's underhandedly narcissistic to call yourself a good guy or to follow lame ass tenets such as "Good guys finish last", that's some self-fulfilling prophecy right thurr. I prefer my self-loathing in the form of bad posture, motherfuckers.
That's not to say life isn't beautiful or anything like that but to villify the ugliness of life is to deny a child the lesson of "Shit happens". You ever train a dog not to poop in the house? It's worth it for everyone involved and proves any and all theorems of not to edit the sad parts.

I timed this internet session so I won't miss Mad Men but something compelled me to type, click, click and click once more to "New Post". It's not the size of the ship but the motion in the ocean (and the captain's resistance to motion sickness + willingness to admit that size does matter. Rub that ish rub it).

If you master one thing, you sacrifice others. Soulsucking is such a pejorative word. I prefer dream enhancing.

Of the ones that post here, two are engaged to be married, two are perpetually single and the other probably has the illest game in the arena of the undercover job interview (or speed courtship). You can ask my sister about the schaudenfraude that involves me and the XX chromosizzomes. Going to the club is like getting a pass to see ugly girls in short skirts transform before your very beer-goggled eyes for the most part. Sometimes I want to just print a business card that says "Pierre Bautista - I will fart on the first date, nothing personal" just to weed things out but things aren't supposed to be simple and more likely than not my crotch has led me astray while my brain has led me to the wonders of being a shut-in. It's as if those two mongs have been trying to pull a Geneva Convention in my heart (a neutral site).

Writer's block is an ugly thing.



















Remember how you would spin around in circles just so you can feel dizzy and pretend an earthquake was occuring? We were just asking to like drugs, weren't we?

The debates are sickening and I think Will Leitch said it best here:

So over the weekend, the two candidates for President — Sen. Barack Obama, head of a Muslim sleeper cell, and Sen. John McCain, organizer of the first Hanoi chapter of the Ku Klux Klan — spoke at the Al Smith Dinner, a big Catholic charity event held in Manhattan right before the elections every year. Each of them made a bunch of jokes, and, all told, they were both pretty funny. (Not surprisingly, the best jokes were about the Clintons.) This was covered in the political press as a curiosity, like, "Hey, look, they don't really hate each other! When they think no one is looking, they talk like normal people!" And then everyone went back to talking about William Ayers and being "erratic" and everything that made everyone want to turn off the debates. Like the Al Smith thing never happened.

I cannot fathom this. Watching the two candidates joke around like that was like learning your grandma is secretly a leather fetishist. Wait ... they can really talk like this? And if so ... why aren't they talking like this all the time? For all the talk of Obama being "elitist," or McCain being "out of touch," watching this proves just how stupid they think all of us really are. In a room with a bunch of journalists in tuxedos, hey, everybody's havin' fun, I love this guy, isn't campaigning just a gas, look, I have a personality! And then the minute they leave the room, they go back to alternating being cruel, boring and completely beside the whole point.

Floral dresses are really becoming on certain damsels. I got turned on by Debra Messing for the first time while flipping channels and seeing a Will and Grace rerun.

Last Saturday I thought I met the girl I was going to marry and then two days later I forgot what she looked like. I got a number and a piece of mind but calling her won't give me a peace of mind. I've got to focus focus focus like a hungry hypnotist before lunch. Got things on my plate and can't let it rot. I will watch Mad Men, drink a glass of brandy for a night cap and work on what I should be working on before I have to work on what I need to work on later this month.

I miss you.

well

looks like blogs have slowed as mentioned. i honestly have not kept up with it. maybe if you got more people involved?

Start of the week in brief

-I voted today. Just skip all the bullshit and do it already if you can.

-Got my wisdom teef' removed. Rockin' the vicodinz, but it's not that great. Might be better with a Sam Adams Oktoberfest, but not today. Also got super charged ibuprofen, and some antibiotix.

-Actually listened to the new Bloc Party and judged it way too early. With the exception of one or two songs, "Intimacy" makes me feel like I'm at a BP show. "A Weekend in the City" didn't make me feel like that. I was head knocking so hard I fucking loved it. Good album.

-Played Call of Duty 4 for the first time in months. Yup, still suck at it. I thought the vicodinz would help me not suck.

Billy Frumpers, on quaaludes and watching a Nic Cage movie, lists down his shared female memories in chronological order

1986 - First grade, her name was Alison Wonderland. She gave me her carrot sticks during recess. She smelled like faery dust. One year later, we had different classrooms but our classes merged to watch Reading Rainbow together. I accused my best friend, Tony Tranh, of liking her in front of all the boys in a recess basketball game. He denied it, the rest of the kids joined in my taunting. We weren't sure what we were mocking, I felt guilt and relief that I wasn't embarrased for what I wouldn't be sure about.

1988 - My cousin's friend, Elena. She was 13, I was 8. When babysat by my cousin Alfredo, she would come over. She liked Richard Marx a lot and when looking at my class pictures pointed out the future cute boys. She would ask if any of them had older brothers. Once drank a glass of milk and re-filled it with water. The water was a cloudy white. I was turned on by her indifference. One night, I had a boner in front of her and so I carried around a blanket pretending I was a mummy.

1989 - Moira Gracie. Bolivian girl, new in school. Sat next to her due to the luck of alphabetical order. Her first friend in fourth grade. Told me knock knock jokes. Defended my attire from people that made fun of it. After seating arrangements had moved, we lost contact.
1992 - Sabrina Kellogg, neighbor who lived behind me. Over the summer, she went through puberty. Our summers, which used to consist of riding our bikes in figure eights and watching whatever was on HBO, now consisted of me making sure she would never know I liked her despite finding new ways to see her. I tried to shave my hairless face for her.

1993 - Sabrina Kellogg, now classmates in junior high. She liked my friend Jason, who liked her friend Hazel. I would talk on the phone with her about Jason all the time, Jason would awkwardly entrust me with his own secret. I was the middle man, was there for her when all I wanted to be was to be there for her.

1995 - Hazel Gutierrez. Jason's junior high crush. Hanging out with Sabrina meant hanging out with Hazel. I never really liked her all that much, but when Sabrina started going out with a senior who owned a Miata then going out with Hazel was almost consolation. Jason had moved on, although I can't determine whether or not it was before or after I lost my virginity with her. Her parents were gone for the weekend, we were on her couch. It lasted one whole commercial break while watching Blossom.

1996 - While with Hazel, crushed very hard on Olivia Kelly. Average looking girl, braces, slightly overweight, wore floral dresses. A little off the grid in high school, but when she was back on she was usually picked on. Of above average intelligence. Started wearing all black a year later. Stopped talking to me, but when we ran into each other we spoke amicably. Broke up with Hazel (she outgrew me), but was too scared what other people thought if I asked out Olivia.

1998 - Clementine Harper, girl from a school across town. Had a couple dates. We both bonded from our parents divorcing. We both thought a relationship is too complicated. Both held on to each other like lottery tickets. Drank way too much. Did doggystyle for the first time. She moved to Texas for college. We promised we'd write. Maybe two letters in, we both decided our roles were transitional to each other.

2002 - Moira Gracie, saw her over the summer from college. Platonic mostly, hung out and watched movies and had dinner. Funny how what ideal you held from childhood can still hold up if you allow it to. We had nothing in common, but being polite. Stopped hanging out when I met Annika Martinez.


2002 - Annika Martinez - Worked at a where I was temping, a non-descript company with two last names combined. I typed a lot, she did filing. On last day of work, I asked her out. She agreed. We played russian roulette with our hearts and never managed to find the bullet. She moved to LA and I moved with her. My mom cried when we left. In LA, she had a job working with B-level celebrities while I worked at a drug store and ran into B-level celebrities. Watched the same movies over and over again. Something comfortable about her, how she felt in my hands, how she tasted, how she would move in my line of sight. We knew each other's secrets, ones I choose not divulge. We had an abortion. She fell in a love with a B-level celebrity and I hated LA. Things seem to fit, except I was hoping they didn't. We lasted four years.

2008 - Liz Jimenez. After about 2 years of a drunken blur in which I returned to school, dropped out, found everything wrong with Annika and tried to forget with pills there was Liz, who was a roommate at first but we didn't need for the extra bedroom eventually. We would shoot fireworks in the porch. Then one day, I cheated on her (something I never thought I'd ever do) and kind of called it off like an asshole. The girl I cheated on her with was not a female memory that was shared, it was like someone else was in my body. I was possessed. Telling Liz that would be stupid and almost selfish.

2012 - The end of the Mayan Calendar. The world is supposed to end tommorow and here I am watching The Weather Man, waiting for you to come through this door, this composite of everything I loved and hated. The idea of love has scarcely left me and has left me all alone, trying to reach an ideal of lowered expectations. Every day is the day I meet the girl I am going to marry and every day there is an excuse not to even find it. Today is the end of the world. Every kiss is my next love, but the next kiss is a goodbye. Sandra O'Malley, we listen to each other and I wouldn't mind watching the universe implode with you in a Costco parking lot. Tommorow we settle for the end of the world and if it doesn't happen, well then, may this list end here regardless.

I go bed now

I hate it when I'm watching porn and the sound isn't synced up with the video. Like, why? Why?