let's pretend we don't exist...

Let's pretend we're in Antarctica. But I'm getting ahead of myself via jumping directly into the almost invasively catchy lyrics of this edition's Culture Snack, Of Montreal. Are they of Montreal? I haven't really made the effort to solve that mystery.

Things were going great for a while there, kids. I had made a temporary peace with my unemployment, certain that my dream job (pay) at the local shit-sandwich, The Missoulian, would come into my life. Around the solstice, I was staying up til four or five every night. I was making exciting new friends, having adventures and even fixing my gaze on a new lad who, as destiny will surely have it, somehow cannot like me.

But the Missoulian just sent me a rejection, not even giving enough of a crap about my blatant and numerous qualifications to grant me a goddamn interview!!! I mean, this isn't fucking Silicon Valley, how many people can there seriously be in this town with more publication design experience than myself?!

Whatevs. Trying to get past it via furious bonghits.

Luckily, I have an excuse to get wasted tonight: it's name is TOTAL FEST. I'm thinking...case of sparks on ice, beckoning one and all closer and closer towards the teetering brink of liverdeath and sparksburn! Between tonight and tomorrow there will be about 40 fucking crazy bands invading Missoula. YE GODS! I'm pretty fucking excited, and if I lived with a more values-disoriented house, we would surely be working to host some crazyass musicians. But we're not letting that happen, obviously.

Anyway, it will be fucking awesome to see my friend Jigga again and have another verbally Kurt-kiboshable voice in the house (suck it!). Trouble is inevitable.

OK, on with the snacks.

Culture Snack, 6.24.05
Of Montreal, Sunlandic Twins
Okay, what's great about this album, besides fucking everything, is the perfect juxtaposition of ridiculously brilliant lyric writing (a la, 'Let's pretend we don't exist...let's pretend we're in Antarctica, boredome strangles life from the printed page, don't let me be your pretty abject failure, etc.) and an unbelievable psychadelic pop beat that's like a delicious milkshake of Canadian indie-pop influences (like New Pornographers and The Unicorns). Basically, it kicks fucking ass. The album art is gorgeous, and I mananged to pick up a copy of the album with a bonus EP for a mere $10, so it may be priced to sell near you! My friend Travis and I have bridged our semi-idelogical clash in musical taste to gush over this album together. Fucking check it out, but telling 'em I sent you will land you headlong into nowhere. Peace.