I Never would have guessed.

Still busy as hell, but thought I would mention: I have a new found love for System of a Down..... who knew?

Finally amused by the Cigaro song....

Yeah.

I'll properly post when I'm done with essays.

Here's a laugh for you: I'm willingly listening to Christina Aguilera this very moment, and I still know it is utterly wrong. Someone save my soul.

I never really thought it would come to this.

This is not a full post , but merely a lamentation.

Today as I loaded MSN messenger on to the computer at school to which I am attached to (desperately trying to make progress on my Religion and Cartoons final paper that is due tomorrow. 3 out of a minimum of 6 pages done, and I have not even begun the bulk of my argument), one of the MSN entertainment windows popped up, and the first thing I saw? A link to the new Finger Eleven: Paralyzer video..... Not only that it is rated number one.

It is official: the era is over.

Why do bad albums have to happen to good bands?

R.I.P. Finger Eleven. Midnight vigil to be held shortly.

The only true currency in this bankrupt world... is what you share with someone else when you're uncool.

So I'm sure if you're a good music junkie, and I hope that in fact you are, you should be competently knowledgable about the "groupie". You know the cutely named "Band Aids" from the only decent acting job Kate Hudson has ever had. Those girls (and guys) who devote themselves to their favourite bands, willing to do anything to be in their presence. They are the ones you roll your eyes at when you're standing line to get into the venue. Deep down however I know you truly want to experience their life, even if for just one brief beer-soaked, vodka and redbull filled moment

Unlike the glamourized portrayal given by Hudson and Paquin a la Almost Famous, groupies are generally insipid little freaks who have nothing else meaningful in which to occupy their time. These are the people who rather than have an actual life outside the music scene, obsess daily about their next music encounter


Here is part one my surefire way to be a competent groupie*

1) Be a girl. Having a Vagoo comes in handy, I won't lie to you. Unless you're an effeminate guy groupie for a predominately homosexual band, or bi-band, you'll have more hurdles to cross to make your way into the inner sanctum of the backdoor crowd. So if you're of the XY persuasion and want to carve out your place in groupie history, book your gender re-assignment counselling now!!!

2) Start young, and I mean young. If you are blessed with parents who are into the current music scene and are not complete and utter morons (yes Virginia, such parents do exist), then milk it for all it is worth. If my parents had been into modern music, I may not be the well-rounded musical individual I am today. Nor would I be happily STI free!!! Still, to have been a groupie for the Rolling Stones .... but I digress.


3) If you're going to be one of THOSE groupies, either learn to worship the world of BC, or you better expect to be popping out a child from some roadie you did to get backstage. If you have moral or religious issues regarding this, you will make a bad groupie, and probably go to Hell if you believe in such things. So become a blasphemous whore, and swallow that damned pill!!!! Now all I need is Planned Parenting to sponsor this site.

4) Strategically placed Sharpies, so at a moment's notice your tits can be signed. You're not a groupie, or band slut without having your tits signed. Those are what stories to your grandkids are made of. Trust me, that one day signature may in fact be the most important moment of your life. Screw the wedding day, the first born, the day you climb Mount Everest, having your cans signed by some band that noone will remember in ten years... kinda priceless.


That's all for now. More to come when I finish being a good student... or so I tell myself. Megadeth and Black Sabbath concert review and pictures to follow!!




* Not backed by lifetime guarantee

Listening To: One Hit Wonderful!
Reading: Lolita

The Lizard King--My Hero

Do you remember that band that set you on a musical direction? You know what I am talking about. That band who was so diametrically opposed to what you ususally listened to, but you were inextricably drawn to. I do. It was Jim Morrison's poetic lyrics and deep voice that drew me in. That's right, I was caught in the Lizard King's mesmerizing grip. I had finally been united with my namesake. After I had by-passed his grave on my trip to Paris, he and I came face to face.

I remember it fondly. I had just started at my current job, and the artist doors (no pun intended) were opening as fast they would without me tripping over my feet. There they were, sitting unassumingly on the shelf. As I put away stock, I came across them. The name had sat on my mind, not quite sure how or where I knew them from, but I'd be damned if I did not give them a listen. Once Break on Through came through those speakers, it was a musical awakening. That feeling you get inside when you find something that hits the spot. Musical orgasm perhaps? That was me.

The other night I was pawing through my collection, uploading crap to my lappy, trying to shove even more music on to lpod (I've re-named it), and I dug up all my old Doors cds. The memories came flooding back.

Moral of the story: Go through the collection more often, you might get some warm and fuzzies.

Goodbye Norma Jean, though I never Knew You at All

This is going to be short and sweet. I'm still buried in religious readings. Damn education and such. Those albums... really not so good.

Have you ever searched through your CD collection for one solitary album you know you own but cannot for life of you find? Well tonight I had another one of those nights. My collection is rather large, and tonight while I was ripping a bunch of Pink Floyd albums to my itunes I could not find my one Godsmack cd. The only one I don't have at my fingertips, and during my current state of angry music listening, I really needed itI knew I had bought it already, as my excel file told me so, but upon inspection of the main cd shelf it was nowhere to be found. I started pulling the cases out, searching over and over, and then after expressing my woes on MSN I find it. Back of the shelf, bottom. In its cream coloured glory, Faceless appeared. Internal laughter ensued.

Moral of the story: Laura needs to create a better organizational system for her music collection.

I swear my job is going to cause an organization CD crisis for me somedays.

Heaven and Hell Concert Review Next week... maybe even photos.

In other news, I spent the majority of my down time between classes today listening to Mars Volta. I had a nice chunk of reading to catch up on, and they were the only ones on my ipod that stuck out at me. This band I have a confused love relationship with. The music itself amuses me, but it makes me think of some ADHD kid with a guitar and synth to be honest. However, it did the trick, and I am caught up now in one book of reading. Mars Volta: 1, Roots of Western TRaditions Required reading: 0.

I will be back.

I Could Be the Million that You Never Made

Yeah, I'll get back to music blogging shortly. Just let me pull my head out of ancient religious texts and writing a paper on the Simpsons and their portayal of asian religions and islam. No, I'm not kidding.

'What will your obituary say?' at QuizGalaxy.com

Penguins in Paris?

You know what really winds my crank? Musicians (if that) who insist on living in the shadows of music in favour of sheer celebrity. The ones who have faded into some B or C status, but just live for the Page 6 mention. For the most part this only applies far more to modern musicians. I will amend that statement by further saying that Rod Stewart's continued success boggles my mind. He has ceased original material, divorced Stacey's Mom (Thank you Fountains of Wayne), and looks like some creepy cross between a tanned vulture and a peacock. So unnatural. Dear Rod, the only people who can pull this Old Manninsh off in rock and or roll is, and always will be Mick Jagger and Keith Richards. And Richards, bless his soul did so much drugs, that it aged him to the point that when he actually got off the smack he looked his true age. If that isn't talent, I don't know what is. Kudos!

Back to my diatribe now, shall we. It is this crap from faded musicians that I cannot stand. Since when is getting animals high amusing? Especially animals that could really be messed up by it. Sure there are funny tales about getting your dog stoned, but come on! I just don't understand Pete Doherty I suppose. I mean if I were a coke-addicted annoying Brit Rocker, I would have just tried to die in an alley somewhere. I am fully aware that the life of rock and Roll is long, paved with trick babies, blow, and boob jobs, but this is idiotic and cruel.

On a sadder note I was flicking through the channels today on my snow-day, and I came across Paris Hilton's newest music video. I would say I was appalled, but I've heard K-Fed's album, so I'll save that word for a later date. Cruel use of a minor in film, and endangerment of his health. No Paris don't give him your crabs. Almost the worst video ever.

God I need a bath after thinking about all of this.