if you don't ask me out to dinner i don't eat.
in the artwork for the airbag / how am i driving? ep radiohead has a whole bunch of neat stuff. it's one of my all time favorite album artworks. it's formatted like a product questionnaire, i guess, only next to each checkbox are these sentences. my favorite is the one that says "if you don't ask me out to dinner i don't eat."
i've been told more than once (and sometimes incredulously) that my songs are all about girls. well, i guess mostly that's true. it's not on purpose though. it's just that i can't really help it. i'm not a great songwriter. i can't write a song about a party or a weeklong bender or a baseball game or a turtle crossing a highway. i do seem to be able to put thoughts down about girls once in a while though. i don't know why i beat myself up over it. lots of people can only write well about one thing. you have to be a real genius like springsteen or wesley willis (rip) to write songs about whatever you want.
but nothing i've ever written really sums it up as nicely as that one sentence.
it's a big city, new york. you can go out and you can meet new people every single night, if you want. and you can make small talk and you can buy drinks and you can get phone numbers and dance until 5am, if you want. this sea is full of fish with spikey heels and designer jeans and haircuts that cost more than my first guitar. fish are cold blooded.
last night i stayed up late screaming into a microphone to try to finish "a viking's funeral" and i did finish it but then my computer crashed before i saved. that song has gotten too big. too many tracks, too many layers. my computer really can't handle it. but i'm not willing to compromise. i might be buying a really fast computer soon.
i don't predict it'll be anyone's favorite song. it sure as hell isn't mine. but i've got a sound in my head and i'm not stopping until i've made it happen. an excercise in excercise.
some cool things have happened for me lately that i haven't really mentioned on here.
when you sit down to write but you don't know what to write about, i guess it comes out looking something like this.
a long while back i mentioned developing some old rolls of film i still have lying around. well, i finally did the first couple. taken circa 2002.
it's not super easy to tell, but this is a picture of how someone (we never did find out who) puked behind my friend victor's door all over his jeans. it's funny how you can forget all about something until you see a picture to remind you. that was so gross.
i've been told more than once (and sometimes incredulously) that my songs are all about girls. well, i guess mostly that's true. it's not on purpose though. it's just that i can't really help it. i'm not a great songwriter. i can't write a song about a party or a weeklong bender or a baseball game or a turtle crossing a highway. i do seem to be able to put thoughts down about girls once in a while though. i don't know why i beat myself up over it. lots of people can only write well about one thing. you have to be a real genius like springsteen or wesley willis (rip) to write songs about whatever you want.
but nothing i've ever written really sums it up as nicely as that one sentence.
it's a big city, new york. you can go out and you can meet new people every single night, if you want. and you can make small talk and you can buy drinks and you can get phone numbers and dance until 5am, if you want. this sea is full of fish with spikey heels and designer jeans and haircuts that cost more than my first guitar. fish are cold blooded.
last night i stayed up late screaming into a microphone to try to finish "a viking's funeral" and i did finish it but then my computer crashed before i saved. that song has gotten too big. too many tracks, too many layers. my computer really can't handle it. but i'm not willing to compromise. i might be buying a really fast computer soon.
i don't predict it'll be anyone's favorite song. it sure as hell isn't mine. but i've got a sound in my head and i'm not stopping until i've made it happen. an excercise in excercise.
some cool things have happened for me lately that i haven't really mentioned on here.
when you sit down to write but you don't know what to write about, i guess it comes out looking something like this.
a long while back i mentioned developing some old rolls of film i still have lying around. well, i finally did the first couple. taken circa 2002.
it's not super easy to tell, but this is a picture of how someone (we never did find out who) puked behind my friend victor's door all over his jeans. it's funny how you can forget all about something until you see a picture to remind you. that was so gross.
Labels: a_viking's_funeral
posted by mikey mcclenathan at 12:51
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3 Comments:
aaaaaahhhhhhh. that is the sound of me shitting my pants.
aaaaaahhhhhhh. that is the sound of me shitting my pants.
dude. i remember the morning after, vic was sitting in his butterfly chair. he was sitting with his feet on the edge of the chair. he farted, then cupped the air at his crotch, and pulled his hand to his face.
he took a whiff and gagged. and then he said, "why'd i do that?"
i'll never forget that.
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