What's your favorite technically recorded Mountain Goats track? (Go ahead. Name a few if you like. I'd never hold you to standards I couldn't keep myself.)
Oh my god, that is a hard/good/hard question. It changes almost daily and I know there is no way I won’t forget something, but I would say a short list would have to include Autoclave, This Year (Cliche? Sure, but it was the first MG song I heard and it literally changed my life. And yes, I know what literally means. Literally.), Old College Try, Woke Up New and Going to Georgia. This still feels incomplete.
… And right now I’m really into Attention All Pickpockets. And Alibi. And Against Pollution, but only live. And these are only the A’s. This is hard. I’ll just stop.
"Sign of the Crow 2," The Mountain Goats, Sixth & I Historic Synagogue, 3.21.09
This is my favorite technically unrecorded Mountain Goats track*. And it’s pretty high up on the regular list of Mountain Goats songs, too. And obviously that puts it pretty high up on the list of the best songs of all time, so you should give it a listen, live or no. Not convinced? A) You are being super stubborn today and you should know that that’s kind of a bummer; and B) “Of the several things you have to do today, you’re gonna regret one. This generation asks for a sign, it isn’t gonna get one.” Yeah, you’re welcome.
*Technically unrecorded to the best of my knowledge; anyone know different?
After your finale party last month I've decided to devote my Summer to watching all six seasons of Lost. This isn't really a question, I just thought you should know that come August, when I'm pale and malnourished and screaming out "NO NOT THE SMOKE MONSTER", it's partially your fault.
I actually tipped my head back and yelled, “Successssssss!!” when I read this. Although I apologize for the ending you’ve already seen. So, focus on the laughter and the tears and Sawyer and not the giant frozen donkey wheel, etc.
I added a link to my Ask page on my front page because I didn’t have one before, in case you kids have questions. I know this was holding you back from literally hundreds upon thousands of queries and pleas for advice. I have a lot of knowledge, obvs. But don’t thank me, nono, don’t thank me. It’s really my pleasure.
Pssst, also I am trying to knock that last thing a little down my page because I think my Mom reads this now (Hi Mom! I love you! Stop reading this! Just kidding but not kidding!) and she will be not mad, just very disappointed with my use of slang terms for vaginas and masturbation, but sometimes you just have to get into character and sometimes that character is Dov Charney and that dude is just one way.
Dov is the founder of American Apparel and the reason why I used to check their clothes for stains before buying. He’s also the reason I don’t really buy their clothes anymore. Well, that and the realization that I was starting to dress like a popsicle.
The following is the IM conversation that took place when Nick just sent me that number:
Nick: Call this number 213 923 7943 Meredith: Why? Nick: Ask for Dov Meredith: Charney? Nick: Yeah Meredith: Hahaha, WHY? Nick: That’s his number Meredith: I can’t prank call Dov Charney, he’d just jerk off to it. The man is unprankable. Like, “Do you have Prince Albert in a can?” “I have a Prince Albert in my dick.” “Is your refrigerator running?” “No, but is your pussy wet?” Like, ah!
(a short amount of time passes, but too much for my only child need for recognition)
Meredith: Wow, I hope you are listening because that was all gold and I am never going to have someone ask me to prank call Dov Charney again.
If a girl had an extra reservation for tonight’s Mike Birbiglia show at UCB, would anyone want it? Strangers who don’t murder or rape welcome, since many of my reallifefriends are humorless (JK reallifefriends, you get that that is a joke because of how humorless you AREN’T).
Izismile seems to be mostly galleries of photos of famous women being judged by incredibly opinionated people with a remedial grasp on the English language and/or questionable taste, and I am obsessed with it. Everybody’s got an agenda! Use of the word “still” abounds for women over thirty, things that are “weird” are regarded with suspicion, and a very scolding tone is taken for anyone under 18. Women, get in your places! There are empty kitchens and unadorned poles all over town! All titles, spelling and capitalization are left as is:
There’s a saying, “there’s a lid for every pot”. In the dating world, this loosely translates to “there’s someone for everyone”. … Your lid may be out there but it’s going to require some introspection on your part to first figure out what kind of pot you are.
Okay, say I’m Sour Diesel*. Now what?
*Sour! It works on two levels! YOU GET IT. Haha, ohhh jokes that are only jokes, Mom! I will be here the majority of the week, folks, picking up right where Cheech Marin and Rita Rudner intersect, a very lonely intersection indeed.
"Well, I mean, being in your twenties is like, the worst, because it’s confusing and you don’t know what you want and you don’t know anything and you’re not any good to anyone and ahh! and what’s next, you know? But then once you figure it out it’s like, maybe you have a few years where you’re happy and you enjoy it but then you’re think like, your life is figured out and nothing’s new and there’s nothing to wonder about, and you’re unhappy about that… but then it’s like, ahh, shut up you effing baby, why can’t you ever just be happy?"
If the last thing was the advice I get, this is the BS advice I give to others. I am receiving and giving advice all over this and other towns. Someone should hold me responsible for the stuff I say, because I am a moron and here is proof (this particular long-winded diatribe having been responded to with, “I think you should put THAT on your blog. Exactly what you just said.” “I have no idea what I just said.”). Here is one of my recent ideas for long term happiness and career fulfillment:
"Maybe I should start watching The West Wing on DVD again.”
“Sometimes the classic hetero formula works right and sometimes it doesn’t. When it doesn’t, meh. … And when it works, hunny (sic), lock that shit down. And make more gay friends (if that’s even possible).”—Mr. Nick Divers is a straight man, but he knows I only speak one language.
“This is going to sound corny,” says Mountain Goats’ John Darnielle, sounding nothing like the acid narrator of his bleak acoustic songs. “But I goddamn love playing music!” He’s not the only one in a good mood. A shirtless bro in front of us is overjoyed to realize that a shirt-wearing bro has found his backpack. They clutch each other and spin to the gorgeous climax of “This Year” in a way that trumps choreography, nearly falling on those around them, before the shirtless bro retrieves the all-important contents of his once-missing backpack: a Sprite bottle half-full of brown liquor. Toward the end of his time, Darnielle is still beaming; “I hope I never get sober,” he sings.”—
So this is just the Mountain Goats section of this article because of priorities, wheelhouses, and things that are relevant to my interest (does that cover phrasing, Internet?). My good god, how I wish I had been there.
I just applied for a job at Meredith Publishing and received a form email that closed with the following: “Thank you again for your interest in Meredith.”
I know it’s an automatic reply, but I badly want to write back, “No, thank YOU for YOUR interest in Meredith, presuming you have an interest in Meredith, which in this case is me, Meredith. Name twinsies! My business cards would be the cutest!” But I suppose that would be unprofessional.
Ohhh, Marco Polo Ristorante. Ohhh, 76th precinct. Can you say you truly love your neighborhood? Because I ADORE mine.
From Brooklyn Paper (the good BP!): “‘There was a bunch of fighting and yelling, people running in and out of the restaurant and tastelessly dressed women cat fighting or threatening to cat fight,’ one witness told this paper. ‘They were all behaving like unflattering stereotypes about certain Italian-Americans. It was very interesting to watch and we spent at least five minutes observing from across the street.’
Marco Polo restaurant owner Joseph Chirico, who has had his own trouble with the law when he was once cited as a Gambino family associate during a major Mafia case, was unavailable for comment as our deadline bell rang.”
I genuinely don’t know why people would live anywhere else. I once saw two people in side by side buildings, but differing floors, talking to each other out their windows like an episode of Hey Arnold. Carroll Gardens, not just Virgin Mary statues, social clubs and old ladies who watch your every move! (via)
I was Googling the phrase “as is my want/wont?” as I am want/wont to do, and I came across this message board. Antimoon is apparently a website dedicated to learning English “effectively.” Obviously when I saw this, I abandoned my original search. This thread quickly devolved into the only topics that matter: Imperialism and Anderson Cooper’s sexuality.
"John Wayne had no gay accent" (No one had implied that he did)
"Scissor Girls" (A concert Andy is accused of attending)
"So my theory is this: Female speaking (personality) + Male voice = Gay man sound" ("What’s that sound?" "Oh that’s Gay man sound." I’m assuming this is the sound of like, fabric swatches rustling or Kylie Minogue or judgment or something; the aural equivalent of the Nike swish)
"I can detect blond women from their accent."
"I wish someone invented a machine to detect gays."
“It seemed to her that everything she had ever needed to know in her life she had known at one time or another, but she just hadn’t known all these things at once, at the same time, in a single a moment.”—"Terrific Mother," Lorrie Moore, Birds of America.