Pixel Imperfect

Kid Rock is Boycotting iTunes. Why? Because they're business model is outdated and, how do you say.... "retarded." "I don’t steal things," he told the BBC . "I’m rich." As for everyone else, he says, "Download it illegally, I don’t care. I want you to hear my music so I can play live." Warner Music Group’s Atlantic Records [requested] that he publicly denounce file sharing. His response: "Wait a second, you’ve been stealing from the artists for years. Now you want me to stand up for you?" Ouch. ... "iTunes takes the money, the record company takes the money, and they don’t give it to the artists," added the country rock rapper. So, fuck yeah Kid Rock. Also, thanks for playing at the Rally. I'm not going to lie, I'm not a fan of your music, but you're an okay dude. Items in bold are from wired.com . Read that shit.

It's increasingly bizarre to see friends of mine on Facebook, friends from when I was a teenager, looking like they are in their late twenties, early thirties. I say this, barely realizing that I am in my mid twenties. I will be 26 in two months. It is not bad for someone to look their age, of course! But I have a hard time realizing just how close to 30 I actually am. I do not feel 26. I do not think I look 26.... Okay, I just uploaded two photos on to an age guessing website. I guess I'll know soon enough how old the average visitor of that page things I am. Or rather the average age that visitors of that page think I am. I suppose it doesn't help that K-Swiss is 23. And looks 23. I feel closer to 23, but I decided sometime ago that actual numbers do not matter so much. My reasons are kind of in line, but kind of opposite of a forever 29-year-old. They may not look 29, but they feel young! And don't want to admit their real age. I, on the other hand, get ca

When I looked into the mirror on the back of the door, it was shaking slightly from the door closing. I suddenly felt dizzy and drunk. I looked around the bathroom. The lights began to flicker. I didn't remember drinking. Was the sweet tea on my desk actually Firefly? Was the Crystal Light actually jungle punch? I didn't think so, but if so, it wouldn't be the first time I had gotten drunk unawares. The lights stopped flickering and the water heater started knocking from inside the closet. So, that explains that. I'm not drunk. Maybe a little tired. Maybe a little out of it. I made to pull down my tights. ... This is the part where you leave the bathroom, leave me in peace. Thank you.

I went to my first costume party last night. I don't really think hanging out and trick or treating while dressed as a Slutty Fairy counts. James and Josh were dressed as hos. That was hot stuff, let me tell you. So, let's say that it was my first costume party as an adult. It's wholly possible that I attended costume parties as a child and I simply do not remember. I went as a school girl from Battle Royale. I already had the basics of a school girl outfit (and my fellow party goers wouldn't know that the girls actually had on khaki skirts instead of my red and black plaid skirt). I used foil and cardboard to make the collar. Duct tape, cardboard and paper towels to make a couple weapons (nunchukus and a dagger, if you're curious. I had no interest in trying to make a gun. These were much simpler). I used to make my own makeup, so I pulled out my pigments to make some fake blood. Two shades of red iron oxide, a little ultramarine to make it less orange-y.

Harold Pinter died on Christmas Eve, two years ago. To My Wife I was dead and now I live You took my hand I blindly died You took my hand You watched me die And found my life You were my life When I was dead You are my life And so I live Harold Pinter June 2004

I'm quite proud of this one. She rolled onto her back and squinted. The sun tried desperately to peek around the heavy red curtains that he insisted in hanging. Now, she was grateful for the lack of bright early morning light. A dimness had settled into the room. On her side of the bed, there was an old scratched up night table adorned with a lamp and several books. There was a dresser, a tall one with five drawers sitting one on top of another. There was a vanity, a long glass table covered in glass bottles, brushes and jars, a chair that didn't match strewn with clothes from the day before, and a mirror above it all. An old wooden table that she had taken from her dorm when she graduated held a stereo that played radio, CDs and cassette tapes. Recently listened to CDs lay around it exposing tastes; Eric Satie, the CD currently in the player. A record player that needed a new needle sat on the table. A Cat Stevens album lay on top of it. Records, tapes and CDs wer

Here is another thing you should read. Regardless of all else, she's glad you think it's sexy. Because right now, she's lying on the carpet. Next to her lies an empty wine glass, stained with drops of cheap red wine that she bought for the sole purpose of getting to the point she's at now: lying on the floor and obsessing over you. Besides the empty glass is an empty bottle. It used to hold the cheap red wine. She can still smell it a little. But more than that, she can smell you. And, fuck if it's not all she can think about. She whispers nonsense to herself and wishes that she were a different color. February, 2009

There are things that I think you should read. Things that I would like for you to read. I am going to post them here. He watched her reflection on his computer screen. She pulled on the drawstring pants and slid into a pair of flip-flops. He absentmindedly clicked a few buttons to make it look like he was actually occupied and not completely distracted by her. For gods sake, she may not need it as much as better endowed ladies, her lack of a bra gave him an absolute inability to look anywhere else. Her nipples poked through the thin tank top as if it was snowing outside. He removed his eyes from her reflection for one moment to glance out the window behind his desk. Beautiful. Clear blue skies, a puffy white cloud or two. He looked back at her nipples. It wasn't fair, really. February 2009

Hailing all the way from June 2004, courtesy of the Internet Archive: Wayback Machine, may I present to you Mary Commentary at two years old I'm not sure how much of it is true, how much of it is my imaginary stories. Internet Archive for Mary Commentary Preese enjoy

It's a dreary day. It's wet and gross. Not necessarily raining cats and dogs, but just enough rain and wet to be miserable. I haven't been feeling well, so the weather somewhat reflects how I'm feeling. Last night, K-Swiss and I were over at Ray's apartment. We have loads of laundry to do. Loads as in a lot. Also, loads as in laundry. It got to be quite late. I was online, browsing reddit, commenting. They were watching Bad Lieutenant. I was beginning to get sleepy. I tried drinking a Coke, but lately, it feels like my whole body is sleepy. We loaded the laundry into the car and drove home. It was 2:02am. I didn't have to work today and K-Swiss has to be in at 10am. I guess 2:02am isn't that late for us still. It was wet last night, just like it is today. We have no gutters, so water has been spilling off the roof, dropping onto your head the second you stand still to open the door. K-Swiss grabbed one hamper and went to open the door. I stepped out