Mein Herz Brent!

I’m so fucking headfirst deep into Rammstein right now, that I spontaneously shriek German in class. I constantly mumble deutsche to myself. And sometimes, in Till Lindemann’s voice, I operatically belt verses in ze Mutter tongue at my unsuspecting classmates who simply sit and take it all. Like sheep.

Seriously, the band is so fucking good. The guitar and bass are both so brutal. The keyboards add a technoish touch to the mix.

But it’s Till’s voice that makes the band so unique. His voice drips of East German descent, and it is as rich and deep on the ear as any operatic baritone you may hear in concert. His voice belts, chants, and whispers. And his “R”‘s. His “R”‘s are the stuff of gods. He rolls them as only Germans can. So, so well.

95% of Rammstein’s songs are sung entirely in German, and they’re world famous regardless of the fact that half of their audience doesn’t even understand them. I think this is nothing short of incredible.

I’m doing the standard procedure with these guys. I downloaded every album, and I’ll be listening to them exclusively for the next one and a half to two months. See ya then.


I NEED to learn that riff.


Filler Day. Maddox!

Nobody cares that you took a
nap, really.

Bloggers are ruining the internet. What are “bloggers”? They’re
fat–usually gothic–losers who keep web logs instead of
hanging out with
friends because they wet the bed and don’t have any. A web log is a type of
online diary where people who aren’t important can pretend to be
by writing to an imaginary audience. Girls are notorious for
keeping these. On a typical site, you’ll find a 17 year old girl
with hundreds of webcam pictures of herself pasted everywhere,
an Amazon wish list so they can exploit wankers that visit their
site, and about 2 gigs worth of text documenting every time they
took a shit, had an epiphany about taking a shit or ate something (all
written in extremely stylish, yet IMPOSSIBLE TO READ micro-font).

Here is an actual quote from a web log I happened across in my
referral logs today: “I took the best nap today.. so
so great. And I ate a sandwich, but it wasnt that great, and it kinda made
me sick… but it’s better than nothing.”

So the question is: does anybody in the universe care about Ms. X who
had “the best nap today” or
that she ate a mediocre sandwich? I
don’t, which is why I promptly uninstalled my browser and
punched some guy sitting next to me. The page goes on and on about
how she’s bored, tired, depressed, lonely, hungry, frustrated, etc,
etc, etc. I can’t remember the last time I wanted somebody’s fingers
to break so badly.

I ate sushi today. They were Dragon Rolls. They were awesome.

You know what pisses me off?

Discussing music with girls.

It’s not even the actual discussion, it’s that one phrase you say that makes my blood boil: “Oh I like everything!”

This is, of course, in response to: “What do you like to listen to?”

Now, I like to consider myself as someone who appreciates music. I listen to a broad variety of genres and generally dabble in anything that is pleasant to my ear. But my regimen still consists of a general mixture of rock and metal. I’ll have stints when I listen to Eminem, sure. A little bit of Paco de Lucia when I’m in the mood for something spicy. But I still enjoy rock at the most basic level. That is what I like to listen to. Not “everything.”

I was discussing Dragonforce, a fantasy metal band, with a buddy of mine, and I say to this chick, “Since you like everything, do you like Dragonforce?”

“Yeah, I love ’em.”

“Oh really? What songs have you heard?”

“Oh I don’t know.”

My bullshit detector was about ready to explode. Sure you don’t know, you idiot. You know the latest music video from Hellogoodbye. Just go back to listening to your zombie shit that every one of your stupid friends can recite by heart because you have no lives to call your own.

Is it that hard to find a girl who’s actually interesting to talk to?

I mean, shit, maybe the chick’s trying to impress me. I’ve mulled this possible scenario over in my mind. It’s plausible. She doesn’t want to seem like a moron in front of me, so she lies about liking the same band as I do, only making me further dislike her for her very deceit. Plan didn’t work out so well, did it? Honesty is the best policy. There’s a reason that’s a proverb. But what the hell am I talking about? Women being comfortable telling the truth? Next I’ll be wanting peace in the Middle East and Alabaman children counting to 20 without the use of their digits.

I had to handwrite a little piece on a situation in which I was an authority figure presiding over a subject who I felt was somehow wronged or mistreated, so even though I was ironically the oppressor, I was actually in fact for the oppressed.

Well I couldn’t figure out what to write for shit. This shit never happened to me! So I didn’t write anything until 1:25am. It was then that I decided, “I want to fucking go to sleep already.” So I sat down, and within 3 and a half minutes banged out my page. Fucking unbelievable.

Miata fever’s spreading.

It’s true. These things are fucking addicting.

I think it would be hilarious (and equally awesome) if I saw another Miata in the parking lot come mid year when the younger seniors finally get licenses and/or cars.

Getting in my car at the end of my work day is perhaps the single biggest thing I look forward to.

I was absolutely hauling ass tonight. And it felt fucking fantastic. Every light was green. Summerhill was a ghost road.

Blipping the throttle downshifting into 4th is just so satisfying. And she loves being pushed like that.

The last first week of school I’ll ever have has concluded.

And I’m happy.

I have good (and thus far piss easy) classes. I have nice teachers. I have awesome friends. I have a bitchin car.

I have almost everything a senior could possibly want.

God! Read between the lines, people.