Sitting at Boston Stoker right now, experimenting with the extremely awesome Last.fm and putting the finishing touches on a short story.

Last.fm is pretty damn cool. It’s an online music service which tracks what you’re listening to, based on that, recommends other music to you. So you search for a band you like, listen to a couple of their songs and create an online playlist, and then other similar bands are recommended to you. For instance, I was listening to some tracks by the Queers and clicked on a similar band, Teenage Bottlerocket. Like Ron Burgundy, they’re the balls (and I just discovered they’re made up of some former members of the the Lillingtons).

This shit is addicting. I wish I’d discovered it sooner. I’ve been really tired of all the music I’ve been listening to lately, and want new stuff to listen to. But it’s hard to just walk into a music emporium and find a new band to like. Last.fm actually seems like it might do the job.

Interesting. By signing up, you also create a public profile where others can see what bands you’re listening to your favorite tracks. If you wanna see what other swill I like, you can find out here.

JAB

As evidenced from the horrible title, I am in Gatlinburg for a few days’ holiday with the family. I’m having a lovely time so far, not least because I am not at work. I’ve read a book and a half so far, MARSBOUND by Joe Haldeman and the second book in the Dresden Files series. Am currently killing time before we go out to dinner.

One item of note: When we were wandering around Gatlinburg last night, I went into one of the many tiny shops selling touristy stuff. There was no shopkeeper at the counter, staring suspiciously at potential customers, which I found unusual. Most of the time that is all they do because it’s not like anyone is going to buy something. Then I went around the corner and nearly stepped on him. He was out cold on the floor, curled up behind a row of tacky t-shirts that bore clever lines like “I am a Princess (My father is the King of Kings).”

I’m not sure if he was dead but I didn’t stick around to find out. I wonder if someone beat him to death with his own shoe?

JAB

You may have noticed there is a new skin up. Things may consequently be glitchy for a little bit. If you discover any errors or have any suggestions, please point them out to me in the comments. I’m sure most of you will have no problem with this directive.

JAB

Tucking in your shirt does not hide your obesity. It in fact only makes it more noticeable. If you are required to do so for work, it is still unfortunate though at least understandable. But if you’re out and about socially . . . for my sake, and for your sake, do not tuck in your shirt.

Please cease this trend at once.

That is all.

I cleaned my bathroom today. Boy, was it in desperate need of it too. Funky doesn’t even do its former state justice. I should clean it more often, but it’s one of those household tasks I absolutely loathe. Usually I can’t even use force of will to make myself clean it. It’s like someone placed an “avoid semi-manual labor” block in my head, so that every time I prepare to clean, I instead become compelled to hop on the Internet, watch Boston Legal, or do any fucking thing else other than clean the bathroom.

So today I tried a new strategy: distract the brain.

First, I plied it with alcohol. A little vodka made everything hazy, at least enough so to make the thought of starting on the bathroom not completely unbearable. Then I put on music. The dulcet sounds of the Mortal Kombat soundtrack now thumping in my head like techno-y drum, I proceeded to start the cleaning process. Thirty or so minutes later, the bathroom was spotless, and I felt strangely satisifed having done it.

Interestingly, the cleaning chemicals coupled with the vodka did leave me a bit lightheaded. This is not a bad thing as it has resulted in me finally banging out the ending to my new short short story. I am now glowy inside.

Tomorrow is Friday. I only work three days next week. Fun events are in store in the near future.

All is well in the universe.

JAB

Brain feels like it’s being fucked by a robot with a spiked codpiece. Vicadin won’t kill the bastard. Neither will sleep.

Going to the bar in the hope that beer will. My last hope.

A few weeks back I visited the Creation Museum in northern Kentucky. For the uninitiated, here’s how the museum describes itself:

The Creation Museum presents a unique and unparalleled experience, a walk through time portraying significant, life-altering events of the past, illuminating the effects of biblical history on our present and future world.

Be prepared to experience history in a completely unprecedented way.

The state-of-the-art 70,000 square foot museum brings the pages of the Bible to life, casting its characters and animals in dynamic form and placing them in familiar settings. Adam and Eve live in the Garden of Eden. Children play and dinosaurs roam near Eden’s Rivers. The serpent coils cunningly in the Tree of the Knowledge of Good and Evil. Majestic murals, great masterpieces brimming with pulsating colors and details, provide a backdrop for many of the settings.

I, on the other hand, would choose to describe it as phenomenally executed monument to illogic and fiction that panders to the ignorant and only the staunchest of Creationist advocates. Most sane people — including, I’d gather, your everyday Christian — would regard it with a raised eyebrow, and be astounded that such a loosely-labeled “theory” can be considered as equally plausible when compared to evolution.

But enough of my soapboxing — if you care to learn more of my visit, wander on over to the photographic essay.

JAB