Soundtrack to Shady Dealer production run #11:

"Sweet Jane", "Rock and Roll" - The Velvet Underground

Thunder, Lightning, Strike! - The Go! Team

Fuck yeah, I feel happy. Also, I'd like to thank Civilization IV for quoting and playing "Rock and Roll" for dramatic purposes. Damn, I need more Velvet Underground...

And, everyone who ever had a heart
They wouldn’t turn around and break it!
And anyone who ever played a part
Oh wouldn’t turn around and hate it!
Sweet jane! whoa-oh-oh! sweet jane! sweet jane!...

Oh, what a weekend: drinking on a Thursday, Tucker Max, Jeff Tweedy, some comedy, and so forth.

So, one fine Thursday afternoon, Damian comes over so I can make program for him that will play online poker, thus saving one the grunt work of playing a conservative yet profitable semi-system. Goals established, Damian says to me “Are you doing anything? ...want to have a party?” Keep in mind it is 3 PM on a Thursday at this point. And we almost did, too, but we ran into some people on the way back from the liquor store… and wound up watching a movie on a makeshift projector screen at their apartment. It worked quite well once we put sheets over all the windows (college student do not have curtains). Coconut rum was enjoyed by all, as was I-Spy, which while an incredibly dumb movie, still bounced Owen Wilson and Eddie Murphy doing their respective things fairly amusingly. And in the end, I got a free meal on account of Damian randomly sort of knowing somebody else on the way back. Situations like this are why I refer to Damian as a “force of nature.” Crazy things happen around him.

And after that, Rosencrantz and Guildenstern were dead. And still are, for all I know. It was a great production, although I’m the sort of person who can’t witness an extended meditation on mortality without getting at least a little depressed, funny though it was.

And then on Friday, the Shady Dealer achieved the greatest publicity coup in our history, by bringing New York Times Best-Selling author Tucker Max for a book signing. The event went well, as did the protest we held before it. Yes, we protested out own event. “More like Tucker MIN!” and “Douches are people too!” were some of our better protest signs. Nevertheless, a good portion of the crowd seemed to think that “Tucker Max is unpleasant toward those he disagrees with!” and “We respectfully object to Tucker Max’s lifestyle, although he is free to lead his life as he sees fit!” were chanted in earnest... I weep for America’s youth, I really do. Anyway, Tucker did some Q&A:
DUDE: “You’re my hero!”
TUCKER: “Dude, you’re fucked”
And other such gems. He was really quite entertaining. And then there was the book signing, which included signing all of our protest signs, and at least one breast (which was unaffiliated with the Dealer). Sadly, the after-party was at a respectable establishment, so we could not attend, but there was a staff dinner and further fun that evening. Also, the dealer has been linked on his site, and our web traffic has, to put it mildly, skyrocketed.

And then there was Saturday, which was also awesome, because Jeff Tweedy (of Wilco fame) did a show on campus. It was awesome: long show, good mix of material, and fantastic sound quality. Also, his opening act was a crazy guy with about 50 distortion pedals and tape loops. While not exactly catchy, Nils [last name forgotten] overcame his extreme prog-rock-ness and did what he set out to do, which amounted to making a soundtrack for a bizarre and creepy future with a lot of aliens and robots. Fun stuff, kinda. But mainly Jeff Tweedy was incredible, and a pretty entertaining stage presence to boot (“I can’t actually see you guys, I just hear your voices coming out of this balck abyss… not that you’re, you know, abysmal or anything”). And we tried very hard, and somewhat successfully, to play hipster bingo, despite forgetting the sheets. People wear a lot of plaid these days, I’ve noticed…

Anyway, I need to go eat hardtack, because there is an Oregon Trail-themed study break about to happen. Oh, college…

So the Shady Dealer, in its infinite wisdom, is bringing Tucker Max to campus today, for a book signing. I'm just saying, if you don't hear from me again, assume something went terribly wrong...

Given that my record with Valentine’s Days is pretty marginal, I can’t exactly be bitter about one going by uneventfully. I mean, last Valentine’s Day… hoo boy. Heck, I even spent part of the evening dancing, though this is because I am taking swing dancing lessons. Though even then, the class seemed alarmingly small, so I guess a lot of people had other things to do. In any case, I am at least finally learning to swing dance this quarter, for two reasons: (a) it’s a lot of fun once you know what you’re doing, and (b) I have an unexplained tendency to fall for dancers, so I may as well be prepared.

In any case, the preceding weekend was jam-packed with entertainment. Friday I witnessed the most depressing musical performance I have ever seen. Casiotone for the Painfully Alone was in fact mostly just painful. The “Casiotone” part is quite literal. It is in fact, one man, of questionable vocal ability, playing a cheap and heavily-processed keyboard – slowly – and adding rather strident and unpleasant sound effects from time to time. Additionally, the acoustics of the Ida Noyes 3rd-floor theatre are a disaster, and vocals invariably die there. So I couldn’t really here the lyrics, although I did catch the phrase “cold, white Christmas in St. Paul.” All in all, he sounded kind of like Craig Finn, without the lyrical brilliance, backed up by the opposite of the Hold Steady. And I really love Craig Finn in the context of the Hold Steady. But this guy, much less.

But the concert was free, and we went ironically, hipster-style. I wore my shiny shirt, and I was very depressed that I had forgotten to take along Hipster Bingo. Some people attempted to dance… it was more of a swaying, I guess. Not a lot more you could do with it. We left after the fifth song, when all hope had been lost and the audience had begun to talk amongst themselves to degree audible over the music.

Additionally, talk of hipsteriness led to the discovery that I know someone who’s been to the Ashbury… but swore off going there once it stopped being ironic. So… yeah…

And I almost forgot that I lost a lot of blood on Friday. And then I got it back. I gave platelets, which involves having a great deal of one’s blood filtered through a large machine full of centrifuges and pumps. And it comes back in colder, which is an incredibly creepy feeling. But I got free snacks, I got to watch a movie, and I gained a little karma, so it’s all good.

And... Saturday was a fencing dinner, fraught with delicious Chinatown cuisine. And afterwards, I continued my crusade to bring Undeclared to the unwashed masses. Which had even more irony this time around. Suffice to say, I know someone who can draw clear parallels between Eric and her ex-boyfriend. But this makes sense, because my first-year was basically Undeclared without the sex, the British guy, and Ted Nugent.

This is my obscure literary all-purpose Valentine's Day message:

Tinuviel! Tinuviel!

There. Actual content sooner or later.

Soundtrack for Shady Dealer layout marathon #10:
Herman's Hermits, The Original Hits

Thank you, BitTorrent.