Warning! This Blog May Contain Namedrops!

This album cover is my new tattoo. Not sure how the fuck it'll look, but getting Bob Nanna Is Nearly God!! etched into my lower back crossed a major lurker line. For realz. So this will do and swimmingly.

Self City Monster - better known as Self Against City - shacked it up in the apartment for a couple nights this week. In the here's-my-couch-you-can-sleep-on-it way, of course, because I don't do those things (well, try not to do those things) to people in bands. My reputation won't ever have room for that sort of talk after my review-bashing. ANYWAY, it was awesome. After Sunday's night show at Fletcher's, those sunny CA dudes came back to the apartment, sat on our couch, and fully proved that - as offbeat as this sounds to me - there are other bands almost as fun to hang out with as The Graduate. And I suppose the apartment was thrilling enough to warrant a callback because last night, en route to Atlantic City's HOB's, the dudes stopped by for night cap number two. Booze and weed and N64 ensued, and I can only hope that Jacqueline won't be off vacationing next time. She could totally whip their asses in 007.

But the reason why I tell you all this is for a couple reasons. One reason - Providing couch/floor space and extraneous pillows for touring bands is a startup hobby of mine. It gives our apartment character and flavor and random insights into what it's really like to be on the road and in a rock band. From what I've gathered, it awesomely sucks. Meaning that it sucks in the awesome way. Meaning that even the things that suck are sort of awesome. Meaning that only a minute part of touring that actually sucks and everything else is just a roundabout awesome. Hence my excitement for Warped Tour this year. Another reason - I spent most of the time in my apartment pondering my friendships and values to other people over the past. This is no fun. What better way to pass the mullings by with a band and some sushi with London. I am thrilled that Jac is back in the apartment. Now two people live here - not just one with huge ideas.

Someone typed something somewhere that is going to change the course of my life from this point on.

It Means Flower, Right?

Watching Spanglish. I don't really want to watch Spanglish, but there isn't much else on and boredom is absolutely seeping through my skull. I'd prefer to watch Harry Potter over and over again, but I need to hold out until the seventh book. I am being unrealistic, dreaming and such. He's a wizard and I'm not even a Muggle, but apparently, The Chosen One has no problem taking advantage of groupies. Yeah, I'm OK with that. And apparently, I'm OK with a lot of other things, but those kinds of things stay wrapped up in my mind like one of the multi-steps Russian dolls.

Watch the first (and only) season of Undeclared. There is no faith in the world if a show as glorious and accurately depicting (in relative terms, that is) as Undeclared goes off the air. Ridiculous, really, and I'm almost shocked with the current state of our country (well, I am shocked, but that's for other reasons) for this reason. Same goes with Veronica Mars. And it's even more ridiculous that trying to stream them online is about as testy as my mother. The world is a very upsetting place and riddled with disappointment.

So now that I'm bored and everything, I figured now would be a opportune time to update this damn thing. I really love here, you comfy blog you, but I suck at it. Almost as much as I suck answering my phone. Tips to get in contact with Julia: Tell me I'm being an asshole, because I always ignore phone calls. I'm lazy. I don't want to be lazy, but I am. But now, as I spiff up the blog before I scrape some resin together, I'll be throwing lots of random stuff your way. See, I have two ways of writing. One - deliberate, like a review. This kind takes me forever because I always think too hard. Or I'm too stoned to formulate reasonable (and wholly comprehensible) opinions. And Two - random streams of thought that never actually make sense to me but feel great during. The best comparison would be a one night stand except that you don't try to convince yourself in the morning.

But! While we are on the topic of writing, I heard the new Motion City Soundtrack album (Even If It Kills Me) @ the Stunt Company offices last weekend. It wasn't as killer and I'd hope, but if any current rock and pop band knows how to makes good rock and pop, it's certainly Justin Pierre and crew. I rehashed Commit This To Memory before and after my sampling, and that made me realize how much I liked that album - CTTM, that is. Especially the production from Mark Hoppus. He must have more to do than prance around naked with pornstars, but I digress... Whatever. It'll sell fine. Probably not as good as if they were trapped inside a bubble but hey, at least they're not getting rained on. ANYWAY, "Hello Helicopter," Where I Belong," and "Point of Extinction" were my favorites, and as the album progressed, I warmed up to Pierre's smart, sassy and (sort of) sexy self. Alliteration is awesome.

But if you are going to be read a review today, read my review for Down To Earth Approach's Come Back To You. But don't actually read the review. Go straight to the score and cast your judgment. Or you can read the first couple sentences, see the word "emolism" and spit out some rhetorical nonsense dripping with your own personal dictionary definition of the word. Because, you know, it's not MY review or anything. Please, tracks your dirty soles all over my careless writing. I just use words at random, and I have no clue what they mean! Or I use words that have no journalistic value - like boring. Oh! You disagree with me!? Oh! Shall I try to start a discussion with your pompous flight or should I stand my ground because I know that my opinion is my opinion and that's how it works. Motherfucker. Sometimes it makes me so mad. And then sometimes I know that being the only reviewer that's also a chick makes it easy to write me off as another mindless babbler. I babble...yes. But I babble because I care!

No, really, I've paid my fucking dues. I know how to write a review, and I like being honest in them. Steve was right. If I sell out my opinion, it's not worth anything anymore. And then I might as well take up that promotion at the Bux.

I'm sorry, I'm ranting. I'm not stoned, for the record. And this movie is better than I thought it would be.