If you're fine, fine, fine, I'm sick, sick, sick!

(See what He did with the clever Slipknot lyric subtly parodied to fit the situation?
He's ever so good at those slight puns.
For those of you don't know The Heretic Anthem,
the line goes "If you're 555 then I'm 666.")

This whole episode started way back on the 20th of October, which was over a month ago now. It was a thursday, I remember because I had a 3-hour lunch break. That's when my headache started.

That evening I was faced with the standard energy-crash dilemma:

SCENARIO A:

I do all my homework, staying up much too late, getting much too tired and winding up much too ill for school the next day. Waste of time. Here, the question is:

"Is the satisfaction of knowing you've done good by your homework and can be proud of the achievement worth the physical exhaustion the next day?"


SCENARIO B:

I do none of my homework, getting plenty of sleep, and turning up for school healthy and apologetic. No homework though. Here, the question is:
"Is feeling good physically and turning up for class worth the negative guilt imposed by the disapproving teachers?"

I ended up with a kind of "6 of one, 1/2-a-dozen of the other situation":
I did do some work, but realised there was no way I could go to school the next day, I could just tell.

Sure enough, I had to stay at home on Friday and Saturday and Sunday, pumped full of headache pills and stomach-blockers.

By Monday I was feeling quite better. Not 100% yet, but well enough to go to driving school. That went on till Friday, and I got completely better. Had badly-timed growing pains in my legs, which didn't help with the stiff clutch they had on their Clios, but I just put up with it.

Gave myself Saturday off to recuperate.
I was completely cream-crackered after the 40 hours in cars anyway.
My first proper day of holidays, I deserved a break.

Sunday we had company round for lunch, which lasted well into the afternoon. I got a bit of reading done, but no proper work. I still had half a week, it would be plenty for catching up on the one-and-a-half days I had missed.

Monday lunchtime, and it was back to square one. I simply couldn't eat. This carried on through Tuesday, so on Wednesday we went to see the doctor. I was due for an MMR booster anyway. He said it was just a virus, take the mega painkillers and it should be gone by the weekend.

Which would have been fine. I'm usually on good enough terms with my teachers to get away with a stunt like that, they'd understand. Plus parental note overrides everything in these situations. I'd cope. No problem.

Thursday.

Yuck. Still not better. Not eating, and this time I was throwing up, too! Water-vomit is orange, in case you were wondering. And it hurts. Because it has to come from a long way down. Not fun.

That night was the worst night of my life.

I hate remembering it. I was genuinely afraid.
Feeling like you're falling, even though you just have, is the weirdest feeling I know. It creeps me out. This time it was worse though. I'm perfectly used to almost falling over in the middle of the night in the toilet because I didn't have enough for supper. That happens all the time. Sometimes, if I'm having thrill issues, I can even convince mysel it's fun. Like a game. Aim for the bed or you lose. But this was different. I was already in bed. There was nowhere lower to fall. And I don't mean that metaphorically.

The only thing I can compare it to, and I don't know how useful this will be, because I don't know if anyone else has experienced this the same way as I have, is what I used to feel like when I went to sleep when I was quite a bit younger.
I could see myself in my bed, from above, spinning slowly, and fading, going down. Not down anywhere in particular, or towards anything real, just down. Generally into darkness. It was sort of a transition between awake and asleep. My way of knowing that I was definitely on the way to Dreamland now, just a few more seconds of keeping my eyes shut and -
That always reassured me. I felt in control, knowing that I could always just cancel the whole operation, by opening my eyes. Simple.

This was different. It was all faster. I got worried, because it happened in spells which were longer, and seemed even more so. I felt no power over my own situation. Nervous about the guarantee of still being conscious in a few seconds time, I shouted; partly to get my Dad to come and hold my hand, and partly to remind myself what sound was like, and to check I was still here. I wasn't though. Not really. Mentally, I was a mess.

Talk about tempting fate. Thursday evening, before I went to bed got really bad, I had tried eating some toast, and Dad had looked over and said how terrible I looked, that he was beginnning to get a bit concerned, and that he was wondering wether I shouldn't be in hospital on a drip or something.

By Friday lunchtime, after more vomit, I was.

For the sake of my good mood and getting this damn post up at last (it's now Thursday 1st December), I won't go over the entire story of my hospital experience. I wasn't myself, I got very bored, they did lots of tests, it took them a long time to work out what I had. More on exactly what that is later.

However, at least one (in fact I can think of at least 2) positive thing(s) came from it:

I got lots of visits, and I'd like to thank the following people for making this troublesome experience as agreeable as possible with their visits and chat (and especially letting me use their houses!)

(There's no real order to this, except if you count that in which I remember them. Also, anyone who gave me half a thought counts as well, but you can't be mentioned, because I'm not telepathic.):

Saz, Tammy, Tash, Tess, Sash, Amy, Clémence, Jane Early, Maggie O'Boyle, Mum, Dad, Joanna, Alain, Phil, Nancy, Cara, Emily, Jo, C&C, and anyone else I might have forgotten (hope you understand, I mean, if you were there, you saw the state I was in!) .

Completely besides the point here, but notice how most of the people in that list are girls???
What (if anything) does that say?

Prty Knife

God's Final Message to His Creation:

"We apologise for the inconvenience."

"I think I feel good about that."
said Marvin.

The lights went out in his eyes for absolutely the very last time ever.

Luckily, there was a stall nearby where you could rent scooters from guys with green wings.

Douglas Adams.

I'm Eighteen

Lines form on my face and my hands
Lines form from the ups and downs
I'm in the middle without any plans
I'm a boy and I'm a man


I'm eighteen!
And I don't know what I want,
Eighteen!
I just don't know what I want,
Eighteen!
I gotta get away!
I gotta get out of this place!
I'll go runnin' in outer space, oh yeah.


I got a baby's brain and an old man's heart;
Took eighteen years to get this far.
Don't always know what I'm talkin' about;
Feels like I'm livin' in the middle of doubt.


'cause I'm eighteen!
I get confused every day,
Eighteen I just don't know what to say
Eighteen I gotta get away


Whoa lines form on my face and my hands
Lines form on the left and right
I'm in the middle, the middle of life
I'm a boy and I'm a man
I'm eighteen and I like it!
Yes I like it,
Oh I like it; love it; like it; love it:
Eighteen, eighteen, eighteen, eighteen, and I like it!

Alice Cooper (Love It To Death), 1971.

Tom Lehrer

Tom Lehrer was this comedy singer back in the '60s, but a lot of his stuff still applies nowadays. Just check this one out for starters:

Pollution

Time was when an American about to go abroad would be warned by his friends or the guidebooks not to drink the water. But times have changed, and now a foreigner coming to this country might be offered the following advice:

If you visit American city,
You will find it very pretty.
Just two things of which you must beware:
Don't drink the water and don't breathe the air!

Pollution, pollution!
They got smog and sewage and mud.
Turn on your tap
And get hot and cold running crud!

See the halibuts and the sturgeons
Being wiped out by detergeons.
Fish gotta swim and birds gotta fly,
But they don't last long if they try.

Pollution, pollution!
You can use the latest toothpaste,
And then rinse your mouth
With industrial waste.

Just go out for a breath of air
And you'll be ready for Medicare.
The city streets are really quite a thrill -
If the hoods don't get you, the monoxide will.

Pollution, pollution!
Wear a gas mask and a veil.
Then you can breathe,
Long as you don't inhale!

Lots of things there that you can drink,
But stay away from the kitchen sink!
The breakfast garbage that you throw into the Bay
They drink at lunch in San Jose.

So go to the city,
See the crazy people there.
Like lambs to the slaughter,
They're drinking the water
And breathing [cough] the air!

Found a great site with all his lyrics and even some MIDI tunes to boot so you get the gist of it.

The Cure

(it used to be so Easy
/"Boys Don't Cry")

10:15 Saturday Night.

10:15, saturday night
And the tap drips under the strip light.
And I'm sitting in the kitchen sink;
And the tap drips:

drip drip drip drip drip drip

drip drip drip drip drip drip

drip drip drip drip drip drip

drip drip drip drip drip drip

drip drip drip drip drip drip

drip

Waiting for the telephone to ring

And I'm wondering
Where she's been

And I'm crying

For yesterday

And the tap drips:

Drip, drip drip

drip Drip, drip drip drip Drip, drip drip

drip Drip drip drip drip drip drip

drip drip drip drip drip drip

drip drip drip drip

drip drip drip

drip drip

drip.

It's always the same...

Bounce!

Now, this one's going out (albeit late) specially for Mr. Mustard the Sacksquasher-sasquatch-sashquash (sat on a watch).

Rock and/or Roll
terminology 101.

Now, get this right, because I'm only going to say it once. Pay attention! Especially anybody.

All too often I come across ignorant fools (well this is France, after all) going on about how great the pogo at their last metal concert was. This is just plain WRONG. Metal concerts are not designed for pogo, and that's not what happens at them. At least, that's not what it's called.

(DISCLAIMER: I am well aware of how perfectionist and pedantic this next bit will sound, but after all, Sash did ask, so it's his fault (and Lauren's, of course, can't forget her ;p), and besides, a pedant is just someone who wants his opinions to the Truth. Maybe more on that later.)

The form of dancing known as pogo-dancing originated in small London pubs at the end of the 1970's, at the time of the emergence of punk into society (I like Johnathan Ross's way of putting it with the comparison to the sci-fi B movie with the alien worms that get into your head and leave later and you think "phew, that was close" but then the eggs (oh yeah) hatch and you end up with a head full of worms.), where gigs would attract 150 people (plus the band in the corner with next to no space) into the basements designed to hold 50 or so. As you can imagine, this caused something of a problem when it came to moving around sideways, as had been the style of dancing up until then. The only solution to release all the energy you got from your speed was to jump up and down and trust your luck that your feet might touch the groundat some point later. Because all this was going on underground in a big city, though, the ceilings were never terribly high, so you kept coming down a bit earlier than expected. The overall effect this produced was to make the crowd look like they were all hopping around on pogo sticks, hence the name.

Moshing, on the other hand, is something quite different altogether. (Well, insofar as two forms of rock dancing can be differecnt, sort of like the difference between African and Asian elephants.) This type of dancing is what most people refer to as pogo, because it's easier to pronounce, but that doesn't make it right. I'm not so much of an anorak on the exact historical origins of it, but my best educated guess would have to be the '80s, when metal started appearing with bands like Black Sabbath and Motörhead and all of them. It was old glam-guitar-solo-rock which had been injected with a huge dose of agitation by the punk movement, and my was it good. And with it came lots of money, which meant bigger gigs, stadiums and wide open spaces. More room to dance, so sideways made a comeback. But there was still the issue of anger management, and very soon arms (fully equipped with spikes of course) started flailing and punching. That's where it became a contact sport, survival of the fittest/biggest/best furnished in the guard department.

Here endeth the lecture.

Ironic Virus Theme Coming Through Here Part 3

She's gone into the valley,
Who the hell are Jack and Sally?
Dropped down from my high-hill,
Overview of the scene
Where have I been?

Where haven't I been in so many slow recent thoughts though?
What is there now that I do not know?
Am I out? Is this doubt?
Or do I just go on, singing my song,
Whch is now far too long,
And going quite badly wrong.

Never would have said,
Would have rathered seen 'em dead,
This idea doesn't fit in my head,
But I'm not seeing red.
That's life, blunt edge of the knife,

It was just my bit of fun,
Staring at the barrel of this loaded gun,
What did I expect?
More than second best?

Hidden meanings,
Cryptic message,
Got rid of the seemings,
(torn at the seams, straight through the sea)
Seeping away what I was seeing.
And yet through all the bleating,
In those moments that now seem fleeting,
That fleet of things, under my sheeted wings.

Massage my crypt,
Into which I've slipped.
Beware the brew from which I sipped,
Off the cliff, I have been tipped.
My ties to real world have been snipped.
Now the switch has been flipped,
And my heel in the Styx finally dipped.

Die Ärzte

Mein Ex(plodierte Freundin)

(salsa-style)

Gestern nacht ist meine Freundin explodiert,
ich hatte nicht damit gerechnet, darum bin ich blutverschmiert.
Wer konnte ahnen, da sie so reagiert?
Gestern nacht ist meine Freundin explodiert.

Täglich liest man in der Zeitung
von spontanen Explosionen
man blättert um und denkt im stillen:
"Das Schicksal wird mich sicherlich verschonen."
Ich frage sie - nee, ich frage SIE! - wie konnte so etwas geschehn?

Mein Baby war mein Ein und Alles,
und, entre nous: sie war auch schön.

Gestern nacht ist meine Freundin explodiert,
ich hatte nicht damit gerechnet, darum bin ich blutverschmiert.
Man kann sagen, ich bin ziemlich irritiert
gestern nacht ist meine Freundin explodiert.

Ich rief sofort die Polizei an
und sagte: "Komm schnell vorbei, Mann!"
meine Freundin ist passée,
so wie ein China-Beller "D"
Sie flog mir plötzlich um die Ohren,
kein Wunder, dass ich traurig bin:
ich hab nicht nur 'ne Frau verloren,
nein, auch die Bettwasche ist hin.
Ich wollte sie gerade kussen, da gab es einen Knall -
gerade eben lag sie neben mir,
jetzt liegt sie überall im Raum verteilt.

Gestern nacht ist meine Freundin explodiert,
zum Glück trag ich 'nen Integralhelm, darum ist mir nichts passiert.
Wer konnte ahnen, da sie so reagiert?
Gestern nacht ist meine Freundin explodiert.

Als meine erste große Liebe ganz spontan in Flammen stand
da habe ich noch laut gelacht.
Die nächste wurde dann von Außerirrdischen entfuhrt
ich hab mir nichts dabei gedacht.
Mit Freundin Nummer Drei
war es auch bald vorbei.
Sie versteinerte, das fand ich ganz normal.
Doch als die vierte explodierte, wurde mir dann langsam klar
da meine Partnerin zu sein wohl nicht ganz ungefährlich war?

Gestern nacht ist meine Freundin explodiert,
ich hatte nicht damit gerechnet, darum bin ich blutverschmiert.
Wer konnte ahnen, da sie so explodiert?
Gestern nacht ist meine Freundin explodiert.

The Vandals

My Girlfriend's Dead

(from the album "Hitler bad, Vandals good.")

I once had a girlfriend, but then one day she dumped me and everywhere I'd go people would ask me where she was.

But I don't want to talk about her.
But someone always asks about her.
So I tell them all my girlfriend's dead.

I say it's leukemia or sometimes bulimia or a great big truck ran her over and chopped off her head.

But I don't want to talk about her.
But someone always asks about her.
So I tell them all my girlfriend's dead.

I guess there's a part of me that likes the sympathy or the looks on their faces when I tell them how she passed away.

But I don't want to talk about her.
But someone always asks about her.
So I tell them all she's dead.

My girlfriend's dead you see, it's a total lie- but it's easier on me than having to admit that she likes someone else.

My girlfriend's dead you know, please change the subject or I'm going to go jump off a building and join her in heaven.

Squirrel Songs

www.illwillpress.com

Foamy the angry squirrel busking in a park, it's hilarious, the music's cool too, and here are the lyrics pinched straight from the subtitles:

Squirrelly Wrath

I will kill you all

Nothing you can do about it

I will kill you all

Nothing you can do about it

Squirrelly Wrath

Squirrelly Wrath

Squirrelly Wrath

You’re all gonna die

You’re all gonna die

Squirrelly Wrath

Squirrelly Wrath

I’m The Lord & Master

I’m the lord & master

All of you are bastards

Worship me

Or I’ll stab your eyes ‘till you bleed

I’m the lord & master

And So I’m A Squirrel

And so I’m, a squirrel

And you’re not, how pathetic you are

So I’m, a squirrel

And you’re not, you’re just human, how pathetic you are

You don’t have a fluffy tail

You don’t have squirrelly wrath

You just build to destroy

While I collect some nuts

And you all suck

Apart from anything else, just postng for thesake of it, quick'n'easy, because I can't be bothered to write up my two weeks in hospital (So that's where he's been then!) yet. Especially with having to go back for more final tests tomorrow. Might do it this afternoon if I'm feeling up to. Might not.

Bück dich!

"Das Gesicht int'ressiert mich NICHT!"

Ich will nur ficken,
Ich kann mich selbst schönen Briefen schicken,
Ich will dich hören,
Schrei, 'ber nur wärhend Augenblicken,
Mit 'nem riesenlauten Rammstein Lied.
Schneller Rythmus, kein Melodie,
Laut, lauft zu lang,
Fäng ich an zu kommen,
Ja das wird so gut,
Denn du riechst so gut,
Vom Hinter,
(nicht nur im Winter)
Die Sonne zwo-drei-vier
Komm mal hier,
Kuss mich und... dann... Bück dich.
Noch mal
Ich will alle
andere Pferden reiten.
Auch kein Nabel auf dem Bauch,
Auch keine Mutter,
Aber ich bin kein Zwitter
(I'm not that weird.)
Jetzt als es kalt wird,
Der kleiner Mensch stirbt,
Wo ist sein Engel?
Answer: in Hell
Mit 'm Teufel,
Hier, mein Tier,
Der mich nie verzweifelt,
Werd ich nie zufrieden sein?
Ich weiß was ich brauch: time.

"Feuer frei!"

Ezekiel 25:17

Jools Winnfield's "cold-blooded shit to say to a motherfucker before I pop a cap in his ass":

The path

of the righteous man is beset on

all sides by the inequities of the

selfish and the tyranny of evil

men.  Blessed is he who, in the

name of charity and good will,

shepherds the weak through the

valley of darkness, for he is truly

his brother's keeper and the finder

of lost children.  And I will

strike down upon thee with great

vengeance and furious anger those

who attempt to poison and destroy

my brothers.  And you will know my

name is the Lord when I lay my

vengeance upon you.

Who cares?

I side with Maddox, please someone convince me I'm at least a little bit wrong.

What is the point of this "blogging" bullshit? It's not like I don't speak to 99.9% of my readers (if there aare any that... you people never leave any bloody comments so how the hell do I know???) anyway, and even then most of the time we speak about nothing and bullshit and the usual boring pointlessnesses. It's like in Pulp Fiction when Vincent Vega (John Travolta) and Mia Wallace (Uma Thurman) are in the restaurant (Jack Rabbit Slims ("A wax museum with a pulse.")) and they've just ordered and they're talking about the awkward silence that has just developed (I could go on forever with the details, I know that movie prety much by heart, plus this is the Internet.)

MIA
Don't you hate that?


VINCENT
What?

MIA
Uncomfortable silences.
Why do we feel it's necessary to yak about bullshit
in order to be comfortable?

VINCENT
I don't know.

MIA
That's when you know you found somebody special.
When you can just shut the fuck up for a minute, and comfortably share silence.

VINCENT
I don't think we're there yet.  But don't feel bad, we just met each other.

Seriously, I reckon that even applies over the 'phone (The bit about "comfortably sharing silence".). Talking with nothing to say, I can stand it, I can just about understand it, but it's a shame really. It's not helped by pointless msn conversations that go (sic)

hey
hey
how r u
gd u
gd
ok (5 minutes or so go by)
soOoOoOo...
so
swdywtta?
eh?
so what do you want to talk about now?
oh
dunno
nefink * *I tried my hand at a little "txt-spk"
wha? nothing?
no anything
o
um...

And so on. That was a real "conversation" I had about a year ago (I was in red). I had just started using msn, after having been told and retold the miracles it could perform (Let's not start fellating Hill-Billy Gates just yet.). How dissapointing, eh? Put me right off that did. Anyway I kept it as proof of... hm I had a particularly sharp point to put at the end of this sentence but anyway I think you all get the gist of what I'm trying to say, and a fairly long time has passed since i was pretty pissed off at the world when I started writing this (Why does that always happen to me?).

On the other hand, I have had some really interesting discussions over the Net. And you can have loads of silly fun with webcams...

I suppose it just depends on the people really. Because I also find that my msn conversations often reflect my real-life conversations: anything from really cool funny deep whatever great feel-good discussions to hollow "hey - hey - gotta go -me too - see ya - bye" talks at school (although that's partly due to the hecticness of timetables and crowds and crap).

(And so smoothly the topic is brought circlingly back to where it started... long live structured essays!) Which brings me back to my original point. I think. Makes sense to me right now. Hm. Bleh who gives me any money about this being coherent at all? Most of the time people reading this type of blog (I don't have any illusions about the absolute standardness of this website - even in saying that I'm nothing special.) are usually happy for any kind of update at all, let alone a good one. But at least I think I'm not part of the large mass of REALLY shit blogs that Maddox had a really good (of course) pop at.

Apart from anything else (if there really is anything else to be a prat from), if I write too much on this small piece of webspace, I end up not having anthing to say (with my mouth) to the few people who'll listen (with their ears) (if they haven't already heard it, that is).

Who gives a fuck?

Or anything else for that matter? Everyone is selfish. It's human. Just acknowledge it, and the world will be a better place.

Tired, Tattered, Tortured &Torn.

"Fuck this shit I'm sick of it you're going down this is a war!"

It seems no matter what I try to write about, it always ends up coming out in rhymes, it's shite. It makes my texts sound a bit better (apparently- I'll take my English teachers' word on that one), ut then after a while I try to force mself to rhyme, and the mesage is slightly lost, and it takes longer, so I stop thinking about what comes next, and most of all it sounds corny. Not to mention the alliterations. But I can't help it. I'm almost obsessive-compulsive about it. And very quickly I start re-using the same tired old rhymes, which just sucks. That's why none of my songs are ever any good. Which is a real shame, because I really want to get good at that, but it seems that practise is bad for it, and everything is always less perfect than what came before. Maybe I'm just not one of those people who can just churn out songs like an elephant with diaorrhea moves shit. But then again, that's not what I want either, because what I'm after is more thought-out lyrics, with more meaning and depth and all that stuff (you know what I mean so I don't need to try and say it). Also, I must remember to write my material down more often, because sometimes I come up with really great stuff, and then forget it and regret it and never get it back. Bleh who gives a damn?

Twisted Sister

Why does she do that? It's just not right. I can't see the reason, and neither probably can she. Why am I not like that? The only difference I could see would have to the parents, but then why did it not happen to me? Spoiled maybe not by me. She expects too much, I won't let her get away with it. Mum and Dad won't do anything about it, she's so precious in their eyes, but I see straight through the disguise, won't be fooled by the lies, must stop talking in rhymes. Not my fault, but I get the consequences... I hate not her but what she has become, and what made it be so, but even then not all of it because I depend so much on it that I cannot afford to lose it. A world of her own, where she is alone, but that reduces my own. Pretty princess, not right, not fair, we fight, pull hair, but what does it achieve? Nothing, I believe. This strain I must relieve.

It's easy though, it's not that huge a deal on the scale of bigger things (nothing ever is).
Still I which it wasn't so, it could have been so mush better. Where did it go wrong? I don't want to have to keep on writing a song, each time we don't get along... This has gone on too long.

Basketcase

"Sometimes my mind plays tricks on me..."

"Oh sod off, you nauseating adolescent!"

ahem...

I realise I sometimes get carried away.
It's fun. I like not being able to feel the ground. And I get to move around without any great movement on my part.

But seriously, sometimes my train of thought goes a bit off the rails, and crashes and gets a all messy and there are loads of innocent passengers... oh shit, how far can I push this metaphor do you thank?

Sarah: le bol!
Ça: ras le bol!
Ça rase le bord,
Le ras du bol.
Ce rat: si beau.
Ce vin nouveau.
Ce chat, ce veau.
Je me bats, tu me vaux.
Jeune et plat, tu m'avoues.
(Sarajevo)
Mes aveux, pas du sot.
Ras du seau, pas de sceau.
Rats du sol, pas de l'eau.
Passe de l'eau, vu de l'aube.

RRR - 666

RoadRunnerRecords (responsible for unleashing upn the mortal world such amsters as Nickelback, SlipKnot, Deicide, Murderdolls, to name but a few), for their 25th Anniversary ("that's half the lifespan of rock music itself") have come up with an absolute gem: Roadrunner United, The All-Star Sessions. 18 tracks of great metal, performed by arguably (I am of the position that that "arguably" means "probably not, but maybe" as opposed to "I think so but for legal reasons I can't say so and I still want it to sound like a positive fact"), the best in the business (Oh yes, even I use over used clichéd alliterations.)

The concept is simple, yet devilishly (oh how poignant) brilliant, even if it did take a year for the great admin over at RRR did take a year to get it going (the original idea dates back to August 2004).

4 "team" "captains" write a few songs, and get their favourite musicians to record it. Then they pick a singer, to whom the song is sort of adapted to begin with, who writes and records the lyrics. The result? Awesome, just (!) awesome.

Check out roadrunnerrecords.com for more details, and then go buy it!

I had first read about it in May or June, and ever since I've checking up regularly to find out hw they're coming along. When I found out that the European release date was today (one day before the US! (plus the time difference)), I didn't think for a minute (didn't need to with my new-found metalhead) before deciding to go buy it. Which also gave me an opporunity to buy my Bloc Party ticket, which was good.

!8 tracks, 77 minutes, 59 artists, only 4 of which appear more than once.
Does it get any heavier than this?