24.9.08
It's not that I think DJing is some all-sacred high art. It's not. It's mixing together, according to your style or preference, other people's musical creations. Some are better than others, but this is just....horrific.http://kotaku.com/5053773/dj-oakenfold-grabs-a-gander-at-dj-hero
16.9.08
2.9.08
Total VILF!
22.8.08
A little song I co-wrote and co-produced a long time ago. Sigh."If ever there could be a future in you, Life is forgetting, so that's what I'll do...."
/13%20Hey%20Tomorrow%20-%20Zev%20%26%20Tinsley.mp3
15.8.08
14.8.08
Does it make me a bad person that every time I watch this I think "U r doin it Wrong" and start laughing?
http://deadspin.com/5036664/so-this-is-what-it-looks-like-when-your-elbow-decides-to-quit-on-you
13.8.08
Dear Diary: August 2008
Italy, Santa Croce Cathedral.
iPod: The Hardest Part - Coldplay (On infinite repeat.)
So I'm sitting in a giant cathedral. A few rows behind me and across the aisle a man is sitting with a pained look on his face, deep in thought staring at the alter. I wonder why he's here so early. My only excuse is jetlag; I haven't slept since midnight. Personally I'm not one to feel a whole lot in churches, though inexplicably cathedrals have historically brought me some strange level of comfort while at the same time making me feel very small. I don't receive any fulfillment in my soul from them, but I think that that's mainly because I don't believe in any "isms" or "anity's".
I've never been any good at prayer, per se, but when in Rome...
Padre nostro che sei nei cieli, sia santificato il tuo nome;
(Dear Father in Heaven, Hallowed be thy name)
Lord, if I'm to be completely honest I'm only in here because I wanted to hear the sound of my new hand-made Italian leather shoe soles clicking on the marble floor. I wish there was a confessional booth though. I'd video tape the whole thing. Can you imagine? I wouldn't know where to start and am quite confident I'd run out of battery or video tape (or both.)
Me: Mi benedica, padre, perchè ho peccato.
Priest: Da quanto tempo non ti confessi?
Me: Come se dice "since the beginning of time" in Italiano?
Yeah, I doubt it would go well either, Lord. Even if you allow me to skip over the dead bodies, I'm still left with the gay thing, which would lead to all kinds of philosophical arguments I have neither the language skill or patience for. However, Lord, I have many important things to discuss. There's much conflict in the world today. Russia and Georgia, John Edwards and his videographer, Jennifer Aniston and John Mayer, but mostly within myself: please grant me the will to forgive myself for not bringing a Slinky with me to the Belfry of Santa Maria del Fiore. As you know, it's an enormous tower with 414 stairs that go straight up. I was on step 311 when I realized my error in not bringing a Slinky with me. I might never forgive myself.
Also, Lord, thank you for showing me that couture fashion as we know it is not dead, and that there exists, outside of Silverlake, people who do not wear Members Only jackets and vintage converse, and instead, take pride in fine-hand made Italian leather shoes, hair product and Roberto Cavalli sheepskin jackets. I would like to pray for those popping collars during this time of 80s retrospection: Please remind them, your Infinite Grace, that it was a bad idea in 1987 and it's still not a good idea today.
Additionally and most importantly Lord, as we embark further into our meshing of diverse communities, I'd like to pray for the 2008 U.S. women's beach volleyball team. May Your Grace see Kerri Walsh and Misty May to another Gold Medal, but mostly just so the rest of us can watch them fall into each others arms and roll around in the sand again like they did in 2004. Oh, and on that note, dear Lord, good job on Michael Phelps' pectoral muscles. I think I speak for the rest of the modern world when I say "good Lord" every time ESPN shows him in his little swimmer underwear. And on a very serious note, Lord, I'd like to offer my eternal thanks for my new Rive Gauche hand-made Italian leather shoes and for finding that little store in the alley way behind the Palazzo Vecchio that had those little satin red sneakers. It was like Christmas, dear Lord, but like, so much better.
Oh, e non ci indurre in tentazione, ma liberaci dal Samantha Ronson.
Amen.
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