Just to wander off topic for a second, I noticed the other day that these little sentences describing what will happen to you if you don't listen to the music I recommend would make awesome fortune cookie inserts. Lately it seems to me that every single fortune cookie I've eaten has just contained some kind of retarded statement as opposed to an actual prediction of future events. I might be expecting a lot from the tiny Asian children who are chained to typewriters in cookie sweatshops for 23 hours out of their day making them, but come on. At least put some effort into it; trust me, your overseers will beat you less if you just tell the future and aren't as lazy. We were at a Chinese/Korean place a few weeks ago, and after finishing off an amazing meal consisting of at least 23 pounds of dumplings and noodles, I cracked open my fortune cookie in gleeful anticipation of gaining at least some small weapon against my inexorable march towards an unknown future. Instead, I read something like "The shirt you're wearing is nice", or "Your shoes are happy fun for all." What the fuck is that? That's not a fortune; that's a cookie trying to hit on me written by someone who doesn't speak my language. It's an embarassment to the Chinese people and their precognitive abilities everywhere. Maybe it's just me, but I think it would be more rewarding to open your desert and read something like this:
"You will be raped by monkeys sometime in the next week. Your lucky numbers are 16, 32, 12, and Ape Penis."
This way, I'd know not to go to the zoo or hang around with any of my friends who own monkeys. See? Everybody wins.
Moving on.
The music for today is "Superstar Tradesman", by The View. It's awesome British garage-punk, and this is seriously one of those songs that I sing at the top of my lungs whenever I'm driving even though I can't really understand the words. Even at stoplights, which totally sucks for my passengers. Lily Allen apparently told Pitchfork that she doesn't like the group, but she'll be dead from an alcohol/cocaine overdose long before her fathers connections make it possible for her to make another album, so no one really cares.
Enjoy.
In other news, I finally submitted my application to portfolio school on Friday. It took me about a week and a half to get together, but that's because I'm an idiot and spent far, far longer than I should have making sure all of the ads had accompanying illustrations drawn in Microsoft paint. I tried to just sketch them out by hand, I really did; but most of them ended up looking like I had smeared my lips with ink, closed my eyes, and then smashed my face repeatedly into the paper. Which is artsy, sure, but doesn't really help you when you're trying to sell things. Or maybe it does; what the fuck do I know about advertising? Anyway, here's an example of my stunning artistic talent:
You'll notice that it contains a basset hound; this is because I own one, and I'm seriously incapable of looking at him without laughing. This ad is actually part of an entire campaign that I made up, so it needs some explanation, but trust me, it's brilliant. Am I even legally allowed to post stuff like this? Not that I consider my blog to be particularly influential, but I could seriously see the stock at Milkbone going down if too many people this.
More later.
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