Matt Garza gets emotional.
Chan Marshall is carving up some TV cake with David Bowie.
The E*Trade baby is enough reason to send CGI back.
Jamie Moyer is one hell of a strike against ageism. The Phillies are just strikers.
I just saw a little bit of Coldplay on SNL. Ew!
Today and today only, Dr. Delay are selling the heart of my record collection at the WFMU Record Fair. If you are a fan of anything that happens here, please come down, if only to say hi. I am selling the records I care most about, the ones I have held on to for the longest time. I am genuinely ready to let these records go (more on that later) but I would ideally like to see this music end up with people who will love it and share it.
2:43 PM: Slight dealer frenzy. Hard to let go of DNA EP. Thurston stopped by, didn't buy. Talked briefly about "Walls Have Ears."
7:08: I forgot how hard retail is. (Even my fake-ass retail.) Standing around all day? How could cashiers even be denied a chair? UNRIGHT.
Anyway? Boring liveblogging. Sorry.
Tom and I have secured an actual table at the WFMU Record Fair: to be specific, "table A-7, down in front, near the main entrance." Starting Friday, I will be letting the whole motherstopper go. The nest egg I was sitting on is now your omelette. ALL HEAT. Whatever does not sell on Friday will go later in the weekend at an undisclosed location. That will be that. I have no need of a turntable now, Rega or otherwise. Sometimes, the time wins.
The track for the new Beyoncé single is totally making fun of music. C.-Tricky-Stewart and The-Dream? Maybe a takeover in progress.
And? Also? B? YOU MARRIED JAY-Z. WE HEARD.
So. More record selling. Nerds unite. Me and my man, Dr. Delay, will be outside the WFMU record fair, next Friday morning (October 24), in some kinda vehicle, with a few boxes of heat. Get there early and get what you can get. Then we will conduct one final public sale somewhere.
I missed my own fifth anniversary. The first post here appeared on October 1, 2003. The only good thing about it was that I mentioned my oldest and best friend, Samantha Gillison. More facts: my very first blog address has been taken over by someone else. That's cool. I wasn't doing anything with it, and I never did write that book. (It was going to be called "2, 3, Break.") I wonder where those twenty or thirty posts went.
The next blogspot address I used—before Abe Burmeister pulled me from the whitewater of Blogger—still redirects here, which will be helpful for those friends who went to the Amazon in 2003 and are just back. (And while we are making R.I.P. shirts, R.I.P. Sticker Shock. It really did exist—Noz saw it.)
Today's post is a step up from October 1, 2003: I got the nod from Cameron Cook and the strong people at Neighborhoodies to create a series of Think-Ups. I submitted some dumb-ass ideas and words, and their designer created the visuals. Somehow, they can get all that stuff out of a computer and put it on a shirt. (Do not ask me about that.) You can stare at, and buy, these things here. I quote: "All proceeds from the Sasha Frere-Jones line of Think-Ups will be donated to the Global Fund for Women." Spread the word.
We may come up with a few more.
You know this SNL skit is not entirely about you, right? You must understand that it is built around your delivery, the parts you play, and how these two variables might affect your ability to talk to animals.
I am worried that maybe you do not understand this, because you said the word Joe and then the word Piscopo. That distracting citation could lead one to believe there is a mix-up at the Wahlberg house about the whole “funny” thing. (And, yes, SNL sucked for years but it’s decent now, which you acknowledge with the Feylin nod.)