"someone should take him up on that offer"

today 33 students died in a gun massacre at virginia tech

at the 2000 National Rifle Association convention, while brandishing an antique Sharp's Rifle over his head, Charlton Heston, then the association's president and spokesmen, proclaimed that Al Gore , the democratic presidential candidate at the time, would take his Second Amendment rights "from my cold, dead hands". He repeated these five words in announcing his resignation in 2003, again raising a rifle over his head

the soundtrack of my life

reprise

fuck that

today i was alerted to the fact that korn have recorded and released an mtv unplugged session

my band rocks harder than your band...

i saw a kid wearing a t-shirt with a picture of jim morrison and the accompanying slogan read "an american poet". i felt like asking him to name another american poet

I went to the woods because I wished to live deliberately, to front only the essential facts of life, and see if I could not learn what it had to teach, and not, when I came to die, to discover that I had not lived. I did not wish to live what was not life, living is so dear; nor did I wish to practice resignation, unless it was quite necessary. I wanted to live deep and suck out all the marrow of life, to live so sturdily and Spartan-like as to put to rout all that was not life, to cut a broad swath and shave close, to drive life into a corner, and reduce it to its lowest terms, and, if it proved to be mean, why then to get the whole and genuine meanness of it, and publish its meanness to the world; or if it were sublime, to know it by experience, and to be able to give a true account of it in my next excursion

Walden or Life in the Woods - Henry David Thoreau (1817 – 1862)

i saw my favourite band of all time perform tonight at the venerable corner hotel in richmond. when last they toured, i saw them play this venue on consecutive nights. i was younger than i am now

i was so much older then, i'm younger than that now

my back pages - robert zimmerman aka bob dylan (1941 - )

Transient Random Noise Burst With Announcement Version 2.0

on saturday, my father said of a fellow road-user who may or may not have been of asian descent, "he should learn how to drive, too." to which i replied, "what?! in addition to learning english?"

monkeys?

i don't know what the french call it, but i intend to further the socio-political melange that has become the want of this forum recently by relating my thoughts on the debate i just witnessed between wayne swan and joe hockey broadcast on the ABC's lateline programme. well, thought really; when is virginia trioli going to stand in a federal seat for the labor party? and, whilst i bristle with political wit and wisdom, may i add, much to the annoyance of members of the public service, that should kevin rudd win the forthcoming election it will be the biggest win for style over substance ever. well, member really

he ate when he was no longer hungry

my epithet

Transient Random Noise Burst With Announcement Volume One

Mrs. Clinton has always been a follower of public opinion on the war, not a leader

-Frank Rich in an Op-Ed column in the New York Times, Sunday January 28, 2007

chilli oatmeal

bore witness to the glorious, hmynal noise of the new pornographers last night at the venerable and salubrious st kilda venue, the prince of wales hotel. the oxymoronic indie-supergroup minus destroyer/swan lake's dan bejar were supported by the chiming indie-pop of local act the crayon fields, whose appearance motivated one of my fellow gig-goers to state that she was prepared to bet large sums none of the four-piece line-up got laid in high-school. further furnishing my theory that indie-girls are way hotter than their undeserving indie male counterparts. the headliners came on strong opening with sing me spanish techno, the laws have changed, jackie dressed in cobras, and the bleeding heart show on which they achieved transcendental joy. what followed was a sublime display of crunchy power-pop ably assisted by the bellowing purity of noir-country chanteuse neko case's vocals which seemed incongruously disproportionate. none of the shittiness, predicted in a show of faux-modesty, presented itself. in its place we were treated to a cacophonous example of noise-pop delivered by a professional outfit who knew exactly how good their songs were and who did no disservice to them. there was no pomp or pageantry, the unadorned stage filled with what looked like middle-aged kids rocking out, but who needs to look good when you can sound this tight particularly in the service of music's harshest mistress; the pop song.

a roller-skating jam named saturday

incognito, i arrived, bantered, parted with the requisite sum and duly had arranged prospective activities. what did become of tuesdays? in a rare show of spontaneity, suddenly i was wondering whether they explained to the children of collingwood that cow equals beef (chicken, of course, still equals chicken; and pig, well that's just a magical animal). a presidential moment; what is a good price to pay for pumpkin and poppy-seed papardelle? and did they choose papardelle because of its alliterative possibility? following some logistical faffing, it was decided that my afternoon would be spent in the company of mr daniel craig and in the comfort of the art-deco surrounds of the rivoli theatre. amid action scenes that adequately served their purpose, the psychology of bond, a broken man, was superficially explored. notably few of the cliches associated with the franchise were present and the inclusion of relatively confronting and graphic violent scenes broke significantly with tradition. lumbered with the bond mythology was, i felt, disadvantageous as the film could not be viewed without expectation or judged in isolation. had it been possible to do this, my opinion would have been undoubtedly and overwhelmingly favourable but comparisons are always smelly. my margaret felt the degree to which conventions were broken and the endeavour to recast the protagonist was an asset to the film. one man's meat is another man's tomatoe. actually, it's probably dan quayle's tomato. two dinners ensued, the latter of which in notting hill thankfully did not feature academy-award-winner julia roberts. the quarrel in coral gables was revisisted thanks to the incisive coverage of the daily show thus fulfilling my daily dietary requirement for disjointed socio-political commentary. and when wifey passed out, we duly departed and two dudes, who are completely unqualified to do so, navigated the pitfalls of post-modernity in a conversation that can only be described as pretentious. fitting, really