In a nutshell

This is the wedding you wish you were at.

Wahlberg of the Month Pt. I

"Performing 'Ulysses' on Bloomsday at Symphony Space is the only way I'll ever finish the damn book." Stephen Colbert

[NYT]

[BloomsdayNYC]

Blehhhhhhhhhhhh

A portrait of Primavera Sound 2010 (that doesn't involve me sucking face with an anonymous Spanish gentleman in a beautiful tartan sport coat): free shots in the Jager tent. Tom had 45,000, and it was all ridiculously indulgent.

"Never go with a hippie to a second location."

Words cannot properly express the mindfuck that was the party in the flat across the hall last night. I'm serious. The apocalypse quite possibly could have gone down in our building. Pynchon would have blown his load. The only monuments we managed to acquire to remember it by are a bright yellow cowboy hat and a strikingly innocent looking stuffed lamb, which seems strangely biblical. Of course we have three flights of stairs filled with crackden waste to remind us of this night of all nights, lest we become indifferent to the stench of urine and start to forget. Apparently some girl OD'd in the stairwell. Who wants to go syringe collecting? Shit was straight weird when it was happening, but God, the aftermath is just so damn sordid. Like the house in Fight Club, or that part in Apocalypse Now when they find all those playmates living in helicopters and going the fuck out of their minds at that abandoned army base. I'm serious though, these anonymous Europeans, they treat the entire world like it's Ibiza in the '90s. They don't even use toilet paper! I like their funky hats though.

1/1/10

Consider the Lobster

flickr.com/yellowcoat

Take anotha drinka wine!

It was Christmas last night on South Clerk Street!
Imagine this in a refined British accent

Ridhima and DB, thinking about how hungry they are.

Meanwhile, Shaun lends a hand in the kitchen.

Delicious, delicious roast

The chef



Giant Yorkshire puddin'







Pretty drunk and skeptical of the self-timer and really really really full


(photos courtesy of Lucy Stew)

I got a bird that whistles, I got a bird that sings

And so it's over, and we're too sickly full to care. Sure, Thanksgiving*, but also the year. One month left until this awful decade of millennial uncertainty comes to a fucking end. And I am optimistic for the coming year, I am sure it will be great, but I am also optimistic about this great month of December that lie ahead of us, because I think I have a chance to end this year on a much more phenomenal note than with which I began it. T'will be a month of mulled wine and decorating, of writing more than reading, of drinking espressos in bed and listening to the Mountain Goats and The Freewheelin' Bob Dylan and wearing men's trousers, of feeling the fierce December wind rush through the cracked window and whip against the corners of the room and then carry back out. Of finally saying goodbye to the Grudges of the Year before they carry on to 2010--of letting them dissipate alright, and completely; it's lonely with or without them.

*A quick note on the outcome of the Holiday: everything was extremely edible/non-toxic, and I'd like to give two shout outs, to Lucy and myself, for managing to balance, with a fairly even hand, the acts of preparing a feast, and of celebrating a Great American Holiday via excesses of debilitating substances. Seriously though. Who do you know who can baste a turkey and smoke a joint simultaneously? In this narrator's humble and modest opinion, our performance was admirable. Admirable, and American.

"Isn't it peculiar, Charlie Brown, how some traditions just slowly fade away.."

Year two with the whole National Lampoon's European Thanksgiving thing, only this time, I'm preparing dinner. Yikes. But uh. Yeah. Happy Thanksgiving, everyone. I long for the Great American Thanksgivings of yore, but this will have to do, and I am thankful for many things.

I'm wearing my Bob Dylan mask

"The seeds of big animals contain little animals; through the process of conception these take on new clothing (so to speak) which they make their own, and which gives them the means to feed and to grow, so as to pass onto a larger state and propagate the larger animal. Human sperm are animals that are not rational and don't become so until conception settles a human nature on them. And just as no animals completely come into existence when they are conceived or generated, so none go completely out of existence in what we call their death; for it is only reasonable that what doesn't begin naturally should not end naturally either. What happens at death is that the animal throws off its mask or its tattered costume and returns to a smaller stage, where it can still be just as sensible and as orderly as it was on the larger one." G.W. Leibniz, Principles of Nature and Grace, Based on Reason

Hm.

Also, there's this-

"Thus our happiness won't and shouldn't ever consist in a mind-numbing complete enjoyment with nothing left to desire, but rather in a perpetual progression towards new pleasures and new perfections." (Leibniz)

Vs.

"It's kind of nice to exist less, to live withing the limits of what's bearable and not worry as much about what else there is or how life must be made better." (Radin)

And I don't fucking know; Kundera calls the shots around these parts--

"..flung into the world's misery, man sees that the only clear and reliable value is the pleasure, however paltry, that he can feel for himself: a gulp of cool water, a look at the sky (at God's windows), a caress." Milan Kundera, Slowness

Mortality

Come see DMG, his decks, and his girlfriend Elliot at Ridhima/Tommy's birthday party!

Starmageddon '09

Here are some pictures from the other night (Guy Fawkes Night) as borrowed off Random Person's facebook. Thank you, Random Person! What a lovely night it was!
Peter in his 'Hunter S. Thompson' attire, aka an unbuttoned Hawaiian shirt and some pajama pants, aka just another day in the life of Peter.




That sacrificial glow..

Huh? Life partners? Me thinkest!

mission ignore the bullshit out of existence

Watched this shit last night, following our in-no-way-unamazing Halloween feast. It was funny. There's also this kind of raw bit in the end where they end up in this pit of dead, decaying cows (it takes place on a "ranch"), and they fight, with pieces of the rotting corpses, like huge leg bones and shit, to the death. GNARLY. Mandy Lane does have quite a rack though. I'd probably do her.

It was a proper lovely evening though. So much food. Candles. Acceptable wine. Sweets coming out of our ears. I love this flat. I love my flatmates. I'm stoked. No complaints. Other than this illness, of course, which has just completely attached itself to my body, and isn't making plans to leave anytime soon, like, it's having its mail sent to me and shit. This needs to end. ALSO, this fuckin DESCARTES paper needs to fuckin die AS WELL. Why am I taking a philosophy course?? The concept of philosophy baffles me, and I don't really even think understand what it's about. Yeah I'm retarded I know.

Everybody loves Lucy

(Stills from Lucy's bat mitzvah)
I asked Shaun to wear his yellow jumper so that, paired with my yellow dress, we might produce some kind of Donny & Marie effect. Did it work? Anyway, this is us practicing for our Christmas card photo shoot.
Tell me this doesn't look like the best feminist-themed bat mitzvah/birthday party for Jeff Goldblum you've ever seen. I dare you.
Misogynists.
Too much feminism?
Just enough!


Ridhima & Lucy doppelganger
George & Lucy measuring who, between the two of them, is more fierce.
Needs a poo.

Fresh pair of dentures!

Some photos from Octobre..