hanging my tomorrows on the bones of yesterday

As performed by Fiona Apple and Nickel Creek
(click on Extraordinary Machine to play)


I certainly haven't been shopping for any new shoes
And I certainly haven't been spreading myself around
I still only travel by foot and by foot it's a slow climb
But I'm good at being uncomfortable so I can't stop changing all the time.

I noticed that my opponent is always on the go
And won't go slow so as not to focus and I notice
He'll hitch a ride with any guide as long as they go fast from whence he came
But he's no good at being uncomfortable so he can't stop staying exactly the same

If there was a better way to go then it would find me
I can't help it the road just rolls out behind me
Be kind to me or treat me mean
I'll make the most of it I'm an extraordinary machine

I seem to you to seek a new disaster every day
You deem me due to clean my view and be at peace and lay
I mean to prove I mean to move in my own way
And say I've been getting along for long before you came into the play

I am the baby of the family
It happens so everybody cares
And wears the sheeps clothes while they chaperone
Curious you're looking down your nose at me while you appease
Courteous to try and help but let me set your mind at ease

If there was a better way to go then it would find me
I can't help it the road just rolls out behind me
Be kind to me or treat me mean
I'll make the most of it I'm an extraordinary machine

Do I so worry you
No need to hurry to my side, it's very kind
But it's to no avail
I don't want the pill
I promise you everything will be just fine

If there was a better way to go then it would find me
I can't help it the road just rolls out behind me
Be kind to me or treat me mean
I'll make the most of it I'm an extraordinary machine

I can idolize Sarah Silverman, because it's completely safe to worship at the feet of people more deadpan and sarcastic and arrogant than I am. I can't see this going bad AT ALL.

The "I Love You More" Song

at the Hugh Hefner roast, very loud

"The Porn Song"

"Low Self Esteem"

Life is rhythmic in nature, right? And, biologically, things that fall out of cadence create dissonance, ill health.
Music is a good tool to promote physical and mental harmony. What music you choose to harmonize yourself with is thus pretty defining. So what does it say about me that I have 23 & 3/4 hours of music on this computer and that ALL of it can be danced to? Even the <*blushes*> Eminem.
I have an hour and fifteen minutes of remixed cartoon theme songs. And I'm freakishly proud of that.

I'm starting to believe my roomies. There's something wrong with me, and I don't think it can BE medicated.
Maybe I should give in to the brashly cheerful grin I feel hiding behind my eyes, and let it out more. I can be careful, now. The threateningly exaggerated points of my teeth are still a bit scary, but I now have a cutely All-American face to make people think the feral grin is a lie, cute like a kitten trying to be fierce. Or so I hear. I can understand why Clint thinks it's cute, because really my sparring skillz have rusted with disuse and I can no longer kick anything like his ass. So I'll just have a "Hello, Breakfast!" expression and nothing to back it up. I've gotta fix that. I know better than to let survival skillz lapse. Hell. I laugh at people for dumb shit like this. Well, one more thing on the to-do list.