Amoeblog

Diamanda Galás Hates The Food Fighters

Posted by Job O Brother, February 28, 2011 01:32pm | Post a Comment
blond girlbuttons
Call it a survival kit.


The boyfriend is out of town this week, enjoying* the chilly dewiness of Portland, Oregon. (I wish I was with him – I get hungry just thinking about Portland, with all its easily accessible, diet-vanquishing, culinary goodness. Plus there’s a lot of hella rad folks who live there, and while I normally loathe good food and great people, something about the air there makes me all for it.)

I love my boyfriend, and I never find myself wishing he was gone; all the same, I cherish these times when it’s just me and the cats. It’s not that the boyfriend keeps me from doing anything, per se, but self-respect  keeps me from behaving certain ways in his presence.

For example, alone, I do nothing with my hair other than washing it. The result is a blond afro which effectively doubles the size of my already-capacious noggin. I wear a wife-beater constantly – something that never fails to get me not laid in this house – and if it’s too cold, I simply toss a hoodie over the wife-beater. That’s fashion, kids.

afro
The cover for my new album, Save Auntie

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(In which the author receives an anonymous gift.)

Posted by Job O Brother, February 21, 2011 04:38pm | Post a Comment
vintage diet
Don't you hate it when you're stuck sitting on a plane next to someone with thick ankles?

The other day I was busily preparing my usual breakfast – a small bowl of nonfat cottage cheese with a few cucumber slices, a cup of black coffee, and a rice cake, all deep fried and smothered in butterscotch gravy – when a knock came on the front door. Imagine my surprise when I opened it and found no one there, some eight hours later. What was there was a small package, neatly wrapped in what looked like paper (though this is merely speculation on my part).

Strange packages from persons unknown should always be regarded with suspicion, but as I am a curious person by nature (my great-great-grandfather was a cat) I couldn’t help but open it, which proved to be a long and arduous task as I opted to use only my tongue, rather than the more versatile and saliva-free hands I keep at the end of my arms.

Inside the package was a cassette tape, painted a variety of colors, but without any linguistic explanation as to its purpose or content. I assumed it was a gift from one of my fans, but then I remembered they were without capacity for thought, incapable of free will and basically only good for circulating air. No, this cassette tape was almost certainly from a human, probably a living one, and almost certainly residing somewhere on this planet!

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Happy Black Valentine's History Month Day!

Posted by Job O Brother, February 14, 2011 01:07pm | Post a Comment

It’s Valentine’s Day, mothertruckers! What to do, what to do? The boyfriend is working at the office all day, so I have until tonight to devise some kind of romantic surprise. I was thinking of transforming our dining room into a kind of “outdoor park at night,” using white twinkle lights as the only illumination, lots of houseplants, cushions on the floor, an elaborate picnic, and something like this playing…
 

But is that surprising enough? Perhaps I’ll hire one of our actor friends to pretend to be a mugger – he’ll arrive halfway through desserts, beat us up and take our money. That would be both sweet and romantic, because violence is both those things at once.

“Every punch is like two kisses,” my Grandma used to say as she tucked me in. (And every morning my Mom would ask me why I woke up with bruises on my face.)

In honor of Black History Month, I’m using this day of sweets and crushes and gay hearts to celebrate some of my current favorite black entertainers and artists and others (an entire list would be, how you say, retardedly long), any and all of whom I would very much like to be my Valentine. Enjoy!

Easy does it.

Posted by Job O Brother, February 7, 2011 06:14pm | Post a Comment
wurlitzer

One of the most rewarding and confounding things about being an Earthling who loves music is watching my tastes change with time, or better said, watching them grow – I don’t think there’s very much music I once loved I no longer do. My first favorite acts (at age 3) were The Beatles, Linda Ronstadt, and The Chipmunks, and I still adore them all today.

More surprising to me is how much I’ve come to cherish music I would have once loathed. 2010 became the year I “discovered” easy listening, both light music (which can be found in Amoeba Music's classical section) and lounge music (which can be found in the coincidentally-named Lounge section).

robert farnon

canadian impressionsfarnonstardusttogether

(In which we swing down, sweet chariot stop and, let me ride.)

Posted by Job O Brother, January 31, 2011 12:42pm | Post a Comment
Note her cheerful, colorful clothing!

I take the bus to and from work at Amoeba Music, and rarely do I disembark without witnessing something story-worthy. Unfortunately, these stories usually fall under the “horror” genre. Occasionally I tell them to the boyfriend, but usually I tell no one, because even remarkable things become forgettable when they happen constantly.

The above filmed snippet occurred on my way home after working a recent Friday. The elderly woman in the seat in front of me is flipping-off the many people, both locals and tourists, men, women and children, that swarm the sidewalks of Hollywood Boulevard at night. What everyone did that so riled the wrinkly rider remains a mystery. Later on in our journey, when the bus stopped in front of an assisted living establishment, she began gesticulating again, only this time she waved (to no-one – there was no-one standing outside the building) and crossed herself like a good Catholic. In-between these two fits of cursing/blessing, she simply sat and sniffled into her small stash of tissue, kept clutched in her claw. Aww.

If I was a smarter writer, I would simply ride these buses daily and record the many scenes I see. As it is, I stuff my Skullcandy earbuds Eustachian tube deep (often vainly), trying to block out all external noise with sweeter sounds such as these:

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