Christopher Pratt (cpratt) wrote,
Christopher Pratt
cpratt

Random shizzity nit

Saw Daft Punk last night. Sadly, was stuck in the Korean exchange student smoking section just a few feet away from the drugged up party chick on boyfriends' shoulders section. Oh, and the recently imported from Managua mail-order bride posse kept pogoing on my feet. Sooo not fun, but the show was good. When I control the universe, Daft Punk shows will take place with audiences limited to five hundred concertgoers of impeccable taste and breeding. There will be no seven dollar plastic cups of beer. Instead, there will be ten dollar glasses of Porcupine Ridge cabernet sauvignon served in Riedel's first ever plastic glasses.

Somehow convinced aairplane to go see the Melvins next Friday night at the Troubadour. Yo, the rest of you: you're missing out. Seriously. Ask cbertsch and tpratt - they were at that Kennel Club show back in '91 and they can tell you better than I that hearing them play Lysol live will change your life. Didn't like metal before? I didn't. I do now, and I blame that show. I'll see you there.

Figured out how to get djmrswhite's reviews front and center on My Yahoo!, which made me very happy. Decided that I need to get up to LA early this Friday, long before the show, to camp out in movie theaters all day long and catch up on stuff. I'm thinking Rescue Dawn, Sunshine, and that other movie I keep forgetting what it is.

Speaking of reviews, Dave, you gotta read this one by Adam Mars-Jones, the extremely woofy and awesome Welsh novelist and critic (movies for the Independent in the '90s, now largely books for the Observer). I'm a fan of bad reviews in general and this review of Woody Allen's latest is awesome.

Picked up just two new CDs at Amoeba: the Ryoji Ikeda that doesn't feature barely audible, fairly painful electronic noises that make everyone else in front of the speakers hate your guts (seriously, ask austinlb about that sometime), called (op., which I'd been searching for for years but had never found. Also: replaced my crappy US version of Flowers of Romance with the UK version cuz it was easier than setting up the turntable to rip my copy of the 12" vinyl of Under The House. Also, aairplane creeped everyone out something fierce at D&A's by busting out the new issue of The Wire with Genesis P-Orridge on the cover. *yark*

Oh, and I read the new Harry Potter book. Mad props to JK for using at least one bad swear, Aliens-style. *rawk*

This week in San Diego: not much. GH2.1 (aka "that cash-in video game with Holy Diver") gets here tomorrow, so tpratt and kingfuraday will probably duel each other to the death by the end of the week. I'm taking bets on who wins the Yngwie Malmsteen award already. Then, rugbybearpa gets here, my new Mac gets here, I talk to more recruiters, and if there is a God (and by that I mean a real God, not an Alice Walker fake earth mother God), then someone at Intuit, Qualcomm, or Nokia will frickin' call me in for an interview already, because I was so not cut to be a sit around the house doing nothing all day kind of gay. I mean, hell, you can only play about three days' worth of video games before even ibuprofen won't stop the pain in your hands. You know?
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