Amoeblog

(In which we mix up something good.)

Posted by Job O Brother, August 10, 2009 08:28pm | Post a Comment
music
Yum!

Today I’ve been doing one of my favorite things: making a mix-tape. Of course, I’m not using any tape in this process, but somehow saying “mix cd” feels awkward. Much like saying “dump Coke” and “poop shoulder” – those are also awkward to say.

Anyway, crafting a playlist for a pal is one of my great joys. I don’t have much free time these days, what with my stupid ol’ grown-up lifestyle, but I used to make mix-tapes for people at the drop of a hat. The most casual of relationships could be an excuse.

“What are you doing, Job?”

“Making a mix-tape.”

“For who?”

“A guy from the bakery.”

“What guy?”

“…The baker.”

“Oh. You’re friends with the baker? The old dude? Isn’t he, like, half deaf?”

“Is he? I dunno. I only just met him yesterday. Well, I mean, I saw him. Baking... things. I didn’t really talk to him. But there was music playing in his bakery – some Sarah Vaughn – so I thought I’d make him a mix of cool jazz and vocalists and maybe even throw in some early French cabaret…”

And so it goes.
tapes

A good mix-tape isn’t just an assortment of rad songs, though they’re the meat of it. I’m of the opinion that truly neat-o mixes are bound together by little, sonic amuse-bouches; snippets of odd, silly, or even spooky clips. A line from a movie, an excerpted musical flourish, an individual sound effect even – all these things work.

(In which Job has his reasons.)

Posted by Job O Brother, October 26, 2008 02:32pm | Post a Comment
Okay! Okay! Alright! Enough already!
 
I know I haven’t blogged since Neil Arnott invented the waterbed, and I appreciate the many of who have lovingly asked me, “What the hell, loser?” but if you knew the LIST of reasons why I haven’t been able to write here, you’d have a greater sense of compassion.

Therefore, I present you…

fancy

AN ENGLISH LANGUAGE LIST OF REASONS
WHY I HAVEN’T BLOGGED IN QUITE A WHILE

1.)    I was busy researching the origin of the waterbed.

2.)   I switched to decaf. But the not normal kind. The kind that makes you forget to breathe. So you collapse. You almost die. (Available in whole bean from Coffee Bean & Tea Leaf.)

3.)    I was in the hospital on a respirator that artificially kept my lungs going.
 
lungs
Not my best photo, but I like it 'cause I look slim.

4.)    I was busy inventing a version of the waterbed that could be used in hospitals.

5.)    I almost died of electrocution while testing a hospital waterbed (or, as I call them, Surf-a-Sufferer). As fate would have it, the electrical shock got my lungs to start got my lungs to start working again but also did something to my brain so that I now unwittingly repeat words sometimes.

(In which Job is born again.)

Posted by Job O Brother, September 25, 2007 11:31am | Post a Comment

[Insert cuss word here.] I forgot to buy cone filters. Now, instead of waking up with a fresh cup of organic Sumatra, I’m waking up with a cold can of diet Coke. This is low. I really should just crawl back into bed and start over tomorrow. Of course, if I did that, I still wouldn’t have any cone filters.

But maybe some kind soul would read this blog and, as I hid beneath my comforter, re-enacting the third trimester of my mummy’s gestation process, they would come to my apartment and gift me some cone filters. Then I could safely slip out of the vaginal opening I’d have reconstructed using tin-foil, Ikea tumblers and cat fur, and greet the world as a newborn baby. That would be sweet. I’d wipe off the after-birth, put on a fresh pair of diapers, sip on a yummy mug of coffee and wait for my cord-stump to fall off.


"It's Rufus with an 'R' not Liza with a 'Z'...!"

I saw Rufus Wainwright at the Hollywood Bowl Sunday night. I went there with my gorgeous pal, Carrie. We walked there from my apartment, an act which our LA-native friends thought akin to The Donner Party.

“You’re walking from Sunset Boulevard to the Hollywood Bowl?!” Cameron gasped, “That’s uphill!”

“It’s not uphill,” I answered, “It’s up slant.”

As Carrie and I neared the famed half-shell, I started to worry that we were there on the wrong night, and had actually arrived for a Bear Convention. I’ve never seen so many burly men in designer jeans.

(For those of you who don’t know what a “bear” is, I’ll explain:

(In which the group's adventures come to a close.)

Posted by Job O Brother, June 11, 2007 09:14am | Post a Comment
Everyone awoke a little gloomy. It was our last day, and check-out time was only four hours away. Logan in-particular was not okay with this and sought out the front desk to plea our case. The result was a new check-out time of four o’clock, at no additional charge.

I’m not sure what Logan had to do to get this sweet deal; knowing her, they were probably just charmed, but that makes for a boring blog, so let’s pretend she seduced the owner’s wife, or at the very least threatened them with rad karate moves.


"Hit me with your best shot" - Logan in control

With only half a day left, the majority agreed that the best thing to do was give me a haircut.

Uh, wha...? Really? It’s that bad?

What I saw as my sexy, shaggy mop – so hip and suave was, unbeknownst to me, something akin to Eric Stoltz’ hot look in the movie “Mask”. Apparently I had been unwittingly turning Greek adventurers into stone with my mere hairdo. Who knew?


Bad hair daze: Eric Stoltz, Medusa, and me

Carrie was adamant. She was going to cut my hair. My boyfriend immediately switched to publicist mode, yelling demands and controlling events from his chaise lounge. “Short!” he kept shouting, “Short… short!”


BEFORE: Carrie assesses the situation


The Master Hair-stylist can adapt to any situation


Beauty and the Beast

My own opinions were merely tolerated as flights of fancy. I had been reduced to a pre-Suffragette woman with hopes of one day earning a living for herself, winning the right to vote, or at the very least, opening her own door without being seen as a dangerous lesbian.

(In which horror shows its many faces... most of them silly.)

Posted by Job O Brother, June 4, 2007 12:52pm | Post a Comment

Last night, Carrie and Logan returned from their hike all a-glow. Logan in-particular seemed moved by the adventure. A woman of few words, the gleam of her face and twinkling blue eyes told a story her voice did not.

I presented my friends with the meal I had prepared only to learn that both women hate bell peppers. Hate bell peppers? But they’re so… innocuous! That’s like hating celery or Saltine crackers or Jane Pauley. I mean, I can understand not loving them, but they’re not dramatic enough to warrant hate!


"I just wanna be loved!"

After some bell-pepper picking and grumbling, dinner was served. The ladies had stopped on the way home and bought Slurpees to mix with the fancy rum that Corey had bequeathed. Between the two ingredients, I concocted an elixir that made you tipsy just by smelling it. Carrie and I fought over who would get the cherry-flavored, and as usual, she won.

We re-arranged the furniture in the living room and created an impromptu theatre, then popped in a DVD of Wes Craven’s “The Hills Have Eyes,” which had been recommended to me by Kirk, one of the VIP’s of the Amoeba Music DVD depot. I asked for a desert themed horror film and, like a computer, out came his suggestion.


Just one of many heart-warming moments from "The Hills Have Eyes"

I’m not a fan of horror films, per se, though I’m not opposed to them. I just never find them scary. Like, ever. My idea of a horror film is “Bowling for Columbine” or “An Inconvenient Truth”. Or, if you really want to see me sweat, tie me down and force me to watch “Dumbo”. I will pee.

[insert sound of Job screaming here]

What I am a fan of is seeing horror films with sexy chicks who shriek, hide their eyes, and clutch my arm; Corey, Carrie and Logan all fit this description.

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