One of Mrs. NFB's aunts has been hinting around about her computer not being able to connect intermittently for several months. Lots of "my ISP says it's Norton's fault" and "I've changed settings I didn't even know existed" and that sort of thing. Basically, she's trying to get me to suggest something. Because once you suggest something, she thinks you're in, and then she invites you over. I'm not doing it. Been there, done that. And she's the worst person to deal with. Mrs. NFB doesn't want me to do it either, yet is beginning to lose patience with the constant contact and hint dropping.

I won't go back there. That place, it's a dark one. And in her case, I've told her in very clear terms that I will not do it again. Her old computer suffered a problem back when I was going through my "how bad could it be" phase and I made the mistake of saying, "maybe you should try. . . ." The next thing I know I'm sitting in her kitchen surrounded by her demon spawn trying to figure out how she brought a computer to a state that even the morons at work aren't capable of getting them to. I'm not slipping again on this one. No sir. In the end, I told her she's screwed and needs a new machine, because she basically was. And then I distanced myself as far from the situation as I could possibly get.

There's been a line drawn in the sand over this issue with the entire family. The only ones I help ever with computer problems are those what spawned me, and those that help me with things. Everybody else can eat it.

This is not up for debate.

Had she allowed her husband to help with our house back when the rest of the family was over helping, I'd be willing to concede a point or two. Being the selfish bitch she is, those points are taken away. She loses. At life and everything.

And speaking of losing. . .

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New musical realms are sometimes hard to come by for me. I'm not usually satisfied by the radio stuff, and know of few other channels save surfing youtube for videos of finding new music. But I heard this one tune a few times by this band and thought it was pretty catchy. Melodic, smooth, yet edgy enough to catch my interest. An odd combination in this day and age, when you're either pop-light or screamin' demon style with nothing in between.

Then I paid attention to the lyrics.

My heart's a graveyard baby,
And to evil we make love,
On our passion's killing floor
In my arms you won't sleep safely
And of lust we are reborn
On our passion's killing floor

Really? You're gonna go with that as your chorus? OK, I guess I can deal. I mean, I like gothically inspired movies and shit too.

It's poetry carved In flesh
this beautiful hell of ours
to the deadliest sin we confess
and tears of joy fill our eyes
we are safe where disfigured saints
cry out their prophecies of doom

Oh, you're cutters? Treading the line here, friends. Like, toe right on it.

At the first kiss the seeds
of hatred are sown
and Back into darkness we flee
To tear our hearts out.
We are safe where all faiths fail
Alive inside of our tomb

Seeds of hatred? Darkness? Tearing out hearts. Tombs? What are you, twelve?

Granted, anyone that posts on the web is about 1/5th of a degree off from being an emo cutter themselves anyway, so it's not like I can make a whole lot of fun of them, but is it so much to ask for a little. . . oh, I don't know. Shit, something. Something more than "dark images, I'm so spooky, dark images, look how spooky I am, dark images, cobwebs in my mind, deep in my heart's dungeon, closing around your throat" crap? I wrote shit like that when I was a kid and thought it was awesome. Somewhere around the time I started taking an interest in girls, still not capable of figuring out how to get with one, I lost interest in that sort of lyrical content.

Ah well, it's not like Obituary were brilliant lyricists either.

Chopped in half
Feel the blood spill from your mouth
With rotting ways comes destiny
Feel the soul taking over, bleed!

At least they had the excuse that you couldn't understand them half the time.

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My Logic book has turned into a "loops are us" fest at about the midway point. "Preparing for the Mix" apparently is all about how to put together a hip-hop song via single phrase performances and cutting and pasting loops and shit. I mean, that works for some folks, but I've just spent three chapters learning how to cut and past loops, and I'll probably never even think about that sort of thing again. Someone once said, "building a song via loops is a lot like painting a 7-4-7 with q-tips. Sure, you could do it, but wouldn't it be easier to just pick up an instrument and play?" Wish I could remember who that was, as it seems like the reasoning of a person I'd get along with.

And one who would laugh heartily at the amount of time this training manual spends building up the concept of loop shuffling. Chapter after chapter of it. I get it. You can clicky-clicky to make songs. Good for you. Now, get on with the mix-down shiznits already.

Not to say these chapters are completely useless. They intersperse all these loop capabilities with actual things I will use, so I have to read them carefully anyway. But the differences between the way the author creates music and the way I create music, and the fact that the author seems very preachy about his methods, are beginning to get on my nerves just a tiny little bit.

Maybe it was the night, as my guitar playing got on my nerves last night too.

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A new Chinese place opened just a block and some change away from us a few weeks back. We finally got to them this weekend. Awesome. So, we ordered from them again last night because neither of us felt like cooking anything. Bad practice, as it means the rest of the week we're stuck with having to cook at home, but whatever.

They make a MEAN chicken curry. So tasty. Though not quite as tasty as that Indian place down the road. I really need to get back there sometime.

Mrs. NFB tried something she'd never tried before, hated it, and decided to warm herself up some goolash. All while saying over and over again, "that's what I get for experimenting."

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BB just bought Destro a notepad that says, "Bosses, every village needs its idiot." Then there's a picture of a guy in a suit shaking some maracas and smiling like a moron.

Then he gave it to him.

Destro laughed, but I could tell it hurt his feelings. If it wasn't so close to being on the mark, maybe it wouldn't have hurt.

Enough. Posting.