It’s fucking 10:40 on a Thursday night. And I’m feeling relieved for the first time this week? Why? I’ll tell you why. Because I just finished outlining the second half of my first of two final papers this semester. What a sad fucking state I’m in, no?

I actually don’t mind it. It’s just amazing, I’ll put my head down to outline something, and the next thing I know, there’s a wasteland of pens and soda cans and novels strewn about.

It’s this madness that is responsible for a lack of updates lately from me on the most Omega of Levels. Classes finish next week, the first paper (which I have gleefully half-written, completely outlined) is due a week from tomorrow. And then I have until the 20th to churn out the last paper.

It’s cool.

Right?

Sure!

Hey, remember the Micro Machines Man? Yeah, me too. Question, though: Why the fuck did he feel the need talk so goddamn fast? I’m fairly certain he could’ve calmly said, “Hey, these are miniature cars and planes and boats,” and I would’ve still been interested.

Just a thought.

Just in case you forgot, Marty Friedman is *really* good at guitar.

Watch him unleash Street Demon on a Japanese crowd:

[via kotaku]

Neon Genesis Evangelion is one of those monumental experiences that occurred in my teenage years, that shaped who I was. No lie. It goes Star Wars, Final Fantasy VII, Neon Genesis Evangelion, Broadband Pornography. NGE drifts into the back of my mind, but things like this figure bring all the old warm fuzzy feelings both in my heart and my crotch up the forefront.

SHINJI-KUN.

LAUNCH EVA.

TEENAGE HIGH SCHOOL BONER.

This shit is so fucking amazing, it can only be the result of some sort of karmic justice paid forward to me. Welcome to 2010, where Absurd Rules the Domain Of All.

the guardian via robot 6:

However, the project has finally been confirmed. Patton and Broadrick are both attached to Unearthing, “a bewitching story written and narrated by Moore set against an epic score”. Although the soundtrack is led by Crook&Flail, a partnership between Fog’s Andrew Broder and rapper Doseone, there are a slew of cameos, including Hella’s Zach Hill and Mogwai’s Stuart Braithwaite. “It is about, uh, a co-worker of Alan’s and somehow seemingly about Alan himself,” Doseone told Pitchfork last year. “And it’s about the comic industry, the world of magic, the world we live in, the world we don’t live in.”

How do you fit this much fucking insanity and awesome onto one album? I have no idea. I can’t even wrap my head around this. It may be the worst shit ever, and I’m still there Day One.

I used to work in a run-down mom & pop video store. Without any real customers, I had more than enough free time to watch some really awesome shitty movies. One of my favorites was MVP 2 – Most Vertical Primate. The premise is pretty simple; in the first MVP the monkey was really good at hockey but now he’s good at skateboarding. It’s amazing. I mean think about it, it’s a fucking monkey on a goddamn skateboard! What’s not to love?

I tried to find the trailer and was successful…but it’s in German (I think). In a way, I think watching this movie in another language (and high) would only make it better. Which, I had previously thought was impossible.

I had heard about this project some time ago, but it looks like it’s finally going to see the light of day. Mike Patton’s Mondo Cane (due out May 4th) is an Italian language release, in which the singer is backed up by a forty-piece orchestra. Just when ya think the dude can’t do anything crazier, he goes and proves ya wrong!

Check out a live rendition of Il Cielo in Una Stanza:

[via egotastic]

I love Christina Hendricks. A lot. It’s well documented. So when glancing at these pictures from Esquire, I can feel so much blood shifting in my body that I near collapse, only to rally to the point of consciousness, and become acutely aware of an inexplicable, unrelenting, indescribable pain in my groin.

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When I met Type O Negative and Peter Steele I was a fat, confused, sixteen year-old. I was beginning to realize that my parents were as fucked up as me, the path of glory led to nowhere but the grave, and rot awaited all of us. In other words, the dude spoke to me. A penchant for the melancholic, his discussions of life and death and fragility and infidelity made a real lot of sense.

Over the years I haven’t listened to them as much as I used to. Mr. Steele and his lamentations have faded into the background of my mind. Steele, much like what used to be my incessant obsession with my own mortality, floated to the forefront every few years only to drift away.

It seems fitting then, in a year that has had me caring for a withering grandmother and once again uncomfortably aware of my own impermanence that Peter Steele would pass away.

Oh, you would do that.

One of my most magical concert moments ever took place at a Type O Negative concert. I must have been a junior in high school, and I went to the show with a pack of friends. During the bridge to Love You To Death, Steele polished off the bottle of wine he had been drinking the entire time and gunned it into the crowd. He then told us to give ourselves a hand, and the quiet bridge accompanied the sound of applause. I don’t know why it’s stuck with me throughout the decade-plus that’s passed, but I’ve always recalled it fondly.

Maybe the thing I enjoyed so much about Type O Negative was their ability to turn the morbid into the beautiful. Their songs about death weren’t nearly as depressing as they were pretty. Steele somehow managed to capture the gorgeous decay of existence.

Steele passed away this week. So it goes.

…In case you’ve been wondering where I’ve been. Ohh, Charlotte Bronte, I hated you in high school, I’m hoping can enjoy all 550+ pages of you now. I’m doubtful. I’ve had enough British women’s literature in the past three months to satisfy me for life.