Archive for August, 2003

  • Rob Spectre
  • 31
  • Aug
  • 03

If you aren’t outraged, you aren’t paying attention.

I had possibly the most angry show of my life last night thanks to the gift of outrage that came with my newly given copy of Bowling for Columbine. Add a dash of insanity, blatant disregard for human life, and sheep-like devotion to outdated dogma, mix and stir with automatic weapons and disproportionate casualties, and let sit for three hours, and you have a Safari Lounge show fit for a room one quarter full of alcoholics and Sam’s parents. Woo.

Blogger’s still not working with the new server, fucking lovely I know. But, we’re dealing and should have a solution put together soon.

This line is getting a bit repetitive.

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  • Rob Spectre
  • 28
  • Aug
  • 03

Took a little downtime at the amazing new gig to design a pretty new logo for all you folks. I’m in absolute love with Photoshop 7 and Swift 3D, which were the tools instrumental in the new logo’s creation. If I get some time with my machine, I’ll take some time to touch up some more things around here. Hopefully you guys will dig them.

It’s Sam’s farewell weekend before he leaves for prestigious GWU. If you want to say goodbye, for .plan fans only there will be a party at his place post-show at their house in nearby Pawtuxet Village. See you all there.

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  • Rob Spectre
  • 27
  • Aug
  • 03

Oh. One other thing. Iced coffee. Why the hell isn’t this in the Midwest? Best method of caffiene consumption yet invented.

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  • Rob Spectre
  • 27
  • Aug
  • 03

Bliggity-blam! The tour date database is now up and running with a veritable plethora of shows coming up with a metric shit-ton more on the way. The Shaft is starting to gain some notoriety in New England, and our tour schedule reflects that. Rock or be rocked shortly.

In other news, my new job at BZ Productions is unbelievably cool. Casual dress, wicked environment, a gigantic mp3 server, and intense work are all huge bonus points, but the big boss Adam came around yesterday and sealed the deal. As you well know, one of the most important movies ever came out on DVD yesterday. Adam, in his infinite generosity, walked into a office full of twentysomething computer geeks and started handing out widescreen copies. Santa Claus doesn’t get a better welcome in Somalia like Adam got yesterday. Incidently, the special features disc rocks and comes highly recommended.

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  • Rob Spectre
  • 25
  • Aug
  • 03

What would you do if you ran out of friends? Would you work? Would you continue the same shitjob work in the self-delusional dream that the schlock that you sling day in and day out brings any sort of happiness to anyone else on this planet, including yourself? Would you lie to yourself every morning you woke up with a soul shaking hangover from yet another night’s futile attempt to stave off the futileness of a hamster-like existence – would you lie and say you were happy?

Would you lie to your own face, that mask of horrible shame that reminds you every goddamn time of every inadequacy and every regret from a life spent trying to hide from rejection, hide from genuity, to hide from the unforgiving glower of an ancestor who spends his life in that same mask? Would you live this mockery of a life, forsaking the gifts that millions covet, the inborn stupid star fucking luck talent that – in the hands of another – would find unparalleled success and extraordinary love but in yours only the sullen infantile sobs and pouts of a self-important egocentrist falling on knees from broken dreams missed only because you thought it should be served to you on a silver platter instead of taken from the pedestrian buffet line on a paper plate.

Would you blatantly ignore all the joy in your life and sing solely sorrowful songs of seven year stupid high school obsessions and subject yourself to the same life of eternal regret and lament, forsaking any event as valuable after Grade 12 just to keep the tradition of a family of gifted losers and idiot savants to become the last in a long, pathetic line of people who could only wish they could call themselves “wanna-bes” but in fact are living “never weres.”

Would you look to the bottle to ease your self-inflicted pain? Would 70 hour work weeks ease your asinine stigmata of hyperbolic histrionics? Would all the activities that make you a worthless social outcast make you feel better about being a worthless social outcast? Would you hide behind words like “principle” and “honor” to make up for phrases like “$10 an hour” and “47 and single?”

Would you blame time for the life that was taken from you? Or would you – on a Medicare sponsored deathbed in a piss-soaked, vomit-stained 3 bed nursing home ward with no visitors and no one around but a high school dropout pothead orderly to remember your death – face the light at the end of the tunnel and suddenly realize that time wasn’t the thief… but it was you. you stole your life. you took promise, talent, and ability and squandered it like a selfish brat. will you realize you have no one to blame for yourself?

Will that be what you do when you run out of friends?

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