Jason Hoffman is a multi-talented artist, musician, and Chicagoan. He used to live in a dark cave, where he watched a movie where the screen turns from white to grey over the course of an hour over and over. In that fearsome era, he was also spending a lot of time looking at Suicide Girls. Now he is in this awesome band Chord, whose newest album Progression recently came out on Important Records. It is about how these six chords ring and drone like great bells. It is epic. One of his other projects is anatole, which is very dark and quiet. The new anatole record is called Our Bodies Fold in Empty Detriment.
Jason taught me the word "brutal." In light of this, for the first edition of Random Demands, I randomly demanded that Jason respond to a certain segment from a Japanese game show where these dudes get hit in the nuts. Intrepid readers will also notice that this falls in with the running leitmotif of my blog, balls.
And now, without further ado, "they are supposed to be played in various combinations of simultaneous, making it my first opera!" Minimalism + testicles=amazing.
Wednesday, December 29, 2010
Friday, December 17, 2010
Sunday, December 12, 2010
Wednesday, December 8, 2010
Friday, December 3, 2010
I recently had a dream in which the devil was a combination of Snooki and Johnny Depp. Some minor demons and I had been trying to battle The Dark One, but then later He decided to sleep with me. "Well," I rationalized my decision as His face flickered between the Princess of Poughkeepsie and JD, "maybe this will work."
Thursday, December 2, 2010
Saturday, November 27, 2010
Friday, November 26, 2010
Tuesday, November 23, 2010
"Listening to the Pretty Toney album on the elliptical"
Going to the gym makes me have a lot of feelings. Some of these feelings have to do with gym bitches. The first time one of these amazing people made my head explode was one day when I was stretching only to find myself distracted by some gyrations in my peripheral vision. I turned my head to see oh shit some bitch hyper-vinyasaing while reading the New Yorker and listening to her favorite songs on her iPod shuffle. Holy fucking shit.
Especially when they know backwards yoga or something, trying to exercise next to a super gym bitch is like trying to disobey a talking dog. Fuck it. Next time I saw that girl she was on the treadmill with sunglasses on, kind of tapping her toes not touching the tread waiting for the drums to kick in so that she could start running. Below her, I was about to explode from the continuous hardship of three minutes on the rowing machine. I felt like a galley slave. My ass let out a whimper.