from happyrobot - updated 6/9/2026 8:49:57 AM https://www.happyrobot.net/words/klutch.asp en-us https://www.happyrobot.net/words/klutch.asp?id=9639 i have not cleaned out the internetz bookmarks in my tv-window thingy, in, like ever.  and today i decided to do so. and i couldn't help but notice that at some point a long time ago i bookmarked a site called:

wikipedia

you know, cause at some point I wanted to make sure i didn't forget that it existed and that i mite want to visit it again
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Can I say that? Am I giving too much away? "Help me, Rhonda!" I find myself saying that in my head a lot when I need to say "help me." Not like in a "OMG, I've just fallen off a ladder, someone please help me!" kind of way, but more in a "Lord, help me!" kind of way, like when I used to say that. That was before I was born-again (June 22 2007.) That was before I read countless pages of Joel Osteen books. Before I knew that the Baby God Jesus did not want me using his name in such a fashion.

Help me Rhonda. Can I say that? Am I giving too much away? Perhaps it is because I have been reading this god-awful Morrissey biography.

Which brings me to my point.

The least-worst top something digital record albums of 2007.

First let me say.

No, wait.

First let me apologize to Stu, I apologize for all those vile things I accused you of doing on New Year's Eve. Seriously. I am sure that was NOT what you were doing. I should never have made that phone call. Technically, I didn't MAKE that phone call, but it never should have happened. For that I apologize. I am manning up. Not saying it will never happen again, because it will. I'm just saying that i will continue to act, and regret. And it is the deep, dark regret that allows me to stand before you and say:

I'm Sorry.

So, Morrissey. No, wait.

The top of the shit heap that was foisted upon us in 2007

So, like Stu, like the post-modern drunkard, I can't say for sure that what I commit to print (is this print?) is the best of 2007. I can't say that it will stand the test of time. I can't say that I have even heard any of this, as my hard drive crashed not 3 weeks before the new year wiping out years and years of "the best music of xxxx year" and whatever nonsense. Though my "back-up" drive managed to copy an image of my desktop including "shortcuts" to all previously referenced music. Shortcuts that when loaded on my "new" hard drive linked to nothing.

So here goes.

Wait. Let's get back to Stu. Seriously.

1. For all the shit music of 2007, I have to say that one of the joys of 2007 other than being baptised at the mouth of the great Naugatuck River, finding my way, and being born again (unlike those of you who have been born only once, FTL), has been experiencing the love of an on-line music community, a community I may never participate in in "real-life" (as Joel Ornsteen has warned me against these intertron predators) and having my eyes opened to a wealth of "new" music from throughout the years. It has been most fulfilling.

2. Stu, I warn you that what comes to follow would likely fall into your category of (quote) groups that I occasionally suspect people pretend to like as a joke on those of us are haven't committed fully to being hipsters yet (unquote). Were you to see me sitting here in my expensive tailored shirt, platinum cufflinks, and shoes costing what many people living in the Northeast Kingdom might call an inheritance or a first-time-homebuyers-downpayment you would be remiss to call me hip.

Better than Bad - 2007

1. Radiohead - In Rainbows

Okay, I am a fanboy. Whatever. This is still in my list. And, as a fan, other than their greatest album (live "Bull Run, VA - Aug. 11, 2001" bootleg) I believe In Rainbows to be on-par with, and perhaps surpassing, OK Computer. At first listen I thought "hm, I wonder what Phil has been up to these past few years." Then I realized that all the percussion on the album was live. wow. Then my brother called to say that it sounded like they recorded the album in the swimming pool at the New Britain, CT YMCA. Then I realized that it sounded like they bought all of their instruments out of the 1976 Sears Wish Book X-smash catalog. And that's not a bad thing.

I'll touch here for a moment on "All I Need." The most wonderfully paranoid lyrics. So simple and beautiful. All the self-loathing. I am a million things. But you are only one thing. You are all I need. So honest.

All of the gloom of Climbing up the walls but with a more brilliant build. We get to about 2:46 and the piano kicks in. Then at 2:56 Phil starts with the crash. When it comes down to it we get a perfect minute and two seconds of harmonius madness. And then, like a proper "album" you are expected to flip the record. God,it takes my breath away.

2. M.I.A. - Kala

Admittedly, not as good as Arular, but in 2007 good enough to make the list. You ever want to put on two pairs of socks at once, maybe flourescent colored, and roll one down so you can see the other? And put on some glimmery stretch pants? And dance in your living-room? And sing about the atrocities of war in east-central africa? Well, M.I.A. wanted to, and she did. And so do I, luv.

3. Panda Bear - Person Pitch

Someone said "have you heard Panda Bear?" and I said "yes" and they said "it sounds like Brian Wilson but it's better"

Yeah, exactly.

# 3 here, but really, my album of the year. It's not always an easy listen. No sing-alongs. I understand his composition, but maybe splitting the 2 twelve minute tracks in half could have helped my drug addled mind pop this on on my commute more often. Made it more "mix-tape-able." But, man alive, this dude made this shit with samples. Damn.

4. Rihanna - Umbrella (VNDLSM Remix)

Holy crap. This is not an "album" but a remix of a song. But I would have paid $9.99 for it. I hold lonely solo cubicle dance parties daily to this song. It makes me so happy I want to cry. Seriously. Find this on hypemachine or whatevz. Go. Do it. Now. Unless you hate fun. In which case, skip it.

5. Hallelujah the Hills - Collective Psychosis Begone

Gots to give some love to the hometown heroes. It could have used a bit of editing at times but each song cycled through as a favorite of mine at one time or another. It only saddens me that their fight song came out here, on an album before they break it big. I cannot believe that this song will not someday be a "summer anthem." Seriously. Check it out. Maybe wait till summer though.

****************************

You know, I didn't give "the Boxer" a chance, thought LCD Soundsystem was failing at times, and other than a few off of Sky Blue Sky wasn't in love.

But damn, that Side with the Seeds. That song makes me want to get down with my woman.

=20 love=






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I constantly have to remind myself that this is not about me.

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i'm a day late with all my promises.

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Don't you fucking take me for granted!


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My Top 5 Favorite Playlists

1. SadSadSongs

2. Fuck that indy shit

3. On-The-Go 7

4. SFTBH

5. s0ngz 4 d4d

6. nancy

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It's a movie with a Nick Drake soundtrack.

It takes place in the fall.

In New England. Or at least the northeast. Maybe an old mill or steel town. A town where maybe some people look forward to attending a high school football game sometime on Friday night or over the weekend.

It smells like vanilla. And smoke (the good kind.)

There are no pastels.

There is a car, old timey, without bucket seats.

There are no moms or dads and no children.

Someone stays up too late. Maybe even all night.

There are no bad guys. I don't believe in bad guys. It's all relative. Maybe I'm a bad guy. Maybe I'm not.

It is not a happy ending.

Sometimes people cry. Always they are wearing sweaters. Preferably made of wool.

If anything the ending could be considered bittersweet. Or maybe hopefull.

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It wasn't just what she said. It was the condescending way it was presented. I am forgiving, and I am a Libra. I often assume my antagonist is ignorant, refusing to believe professional people could act in such petty and malicious ways. I am naive. No amount of situational experience prepares me for the next blow.

It crushes the soul and the spirit. Two things I have long determined I don't believe in but still throw around in daily conversation. Like a wrench smashing down on the outer wall of the chest, then the lungs, then the heart while the flames of anxiety lick upwards encasing the stomach, the pancreas, the abdomen.

It is a challenge. I enjoy a challenge. It annoys me when I am confronted in a passive-aggressive manner, and I respond to the threat, and the agressor backs down. I want to be called out. If backed into a corner I will fight my way out. I long for a worthy adversary. And it is the "worth" that is missing.


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. . . fail . . .

. . . !!! . . .]]> https://www.happyrobot.net/words/klutch.asp?id=7585

From the H.C. to the O.C. this post comes straight from the heart, Honkey Cracker style. Sentamentalist Bloggerist Extrodinaire.

The OG SBE HC.

Spring.

I been wound tight of late. Ready to go off at any moment. No amount of working out, no minor successes at work have been able to loosen me up. Ready to go off. Don't back Klutch into a corner. Cause he's gonna find his way out. At all costs.

Spring rings in with the Moff. The bestest of friends. The one you don't talk to for six months and see maybe once a year but think about often and long to see. Q-Dogg phones him over the weekend and he's back in the right time-zone reprezentin' east coast style. Hopefully for good this time. A phone call, which I don't partake in, but screams spring into the air.

Two of my favorite all timey vacations.

One dismal Feb. we eat free pulled pork sandwiches on a cheap ass flight to Austin Texas to visit the Moff. We swim outdoors. In February.

One late March we fly to L.A. in JetBlue style tracking our progress on the heads of those in front of us. The Moff in CA. We luck out with a convertible rental car and cruise the strip with the top down listening to the Postal Service and forgetting all about our life back home.

2nd day of Spring and already things are looking up. I may not get home from work until 9:30pm or so but when I do there should be a very special package waiting for me. Buckethead's DVD has been on my mind and my wish list for 4 (four) years and finally it will arrive. Two wedges of pure insanity. 180 minutes of mindblowing bliss.

Do celebrities seek other celebrities because they are afraid their star is about to fade? Do they seek out new talent to ensure they don't fade into the obscurity of all us every-day desk-jockys?

Just another "playground" legend?



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pwn3d!



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seven failures in seven years

one: career: what a mess. i can't seem to stay in a job for more than a year or so without getting completely disgusted. so i bounce around without advancement.

two: family: all i do is dissapoint them. i owe them money; i don't see them often enough; i don't return phone calls. we're one step away from being aquaintences.

three: friends: who needs em? at least that is what they think i think about them.

four: the creative life: i don't write anymore. i don't play my guitar. i don't paint. i consume. and consume. and think about machines.

five: faith based initiatives: i am too cynical about the things i once believed in. now i believe in nothing. and i'm not talking about religion. just everything, vaguely.

six: motivation: it's too much trouble to open up MS word. so i'm writing this in notepad. with a pencil.

seven: i can't even be bothered to come up with a seventh.



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Dear Honkey,

Dude. Get your brother some Fritos Brand Honey BBQ Flavored, Flavor Twists.

He'll forget Cheez Ballz ever existed.

Ever.

Regards,

X St.X


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You've seen the commercial.

Two-tone ska music plays in the background. It is dark outside and the urban thurough-fare is dimly lit by streetlamps. An attrractive young floppy-haired man emerges from behind a beat old Buick and tosses a small rock at an apartment window. Hot chick #1 peeks outside and the man ducks behind the car. Once again our protagonist slips out of the darkness and throws a chunk of asphault towards the tenement. A light goes on inside. Hot chick #2 cranes her well formed neck out her window and again this Tom Joad, this Jack Duluoz hides from her stare.

Rewind. Repeat.

Window three allows us to observe the visage of an older, not-quite-attractive, somewhat unattractive actually (soory if she's your mother) woman. Ironically (HOW IRONIC!), "hero" remains in the light. Woman smirks knowingly.

Oh no. I am a confused viewer. Has this young man lost his mind? Will he enter her apartment and in some short time enter a place only previously known to her husband? Will they share a cup of tea or perhaps some brandy . . . just enough to let their guards down so that they can proceed to the inevitable? Will they gasp and shreik? Perhaps we will be welcome to another shot of Hot Chick #1 and Hot Chick #2 covering their heads with their pillows as we hear the muffled sounds of a headboard bouncing against the wall? Perhaps this woman is their madam, their mother. Assume they are his ex-friendlies and he is exacting a disgusting revenge.

But no. He is there for his pants. Left absentmindedly in the laundr-o-mat. And this older woman holds the key.

Man retrieves pants. Shruggs. Leaves. Walks back into the hell that is his life.

But where are his previous pants? The ones he was wearing when he went in in the first place? The red track pants with a white stripe running down the side. For the love of god! What kind of Sysiphean life does one lead, forgetting and retrieving pants from location to location to location to location to location?

Stupid Hipster.]]> https://www.happyrobot.net/words/klutch.asp?id=7135 So, although I have become a total technophobe at the age of 31, with some help from teh Q-Dogg I have set up my very own Flickr (tm) account and have uploaded some photos from my nifty new all manual 35mm camera I gots for my barf-day.

See here kLutCH.xLs

Anyfuck, I found this label under my photo of "beer" quite untruthful:

#4: Beer
• 9 views / Nobody counts Beer as a favorite / 1 comment


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Q-bone and Klutch.xls are in teh ceetay for teh weekend. If you want to have some dranks, let us (or Honkey) know.

Writing this from the sticky hotel keyboard.

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It's been raining since June and everyone seems to be feeling the effects. It's quiet and sad in the office today. Someone will likely have too many gins at lunch and someone will drop their important proposal in a puddle.

When I first got Mr. i-pod I made a sad sad playlist and it's perfect background music for a puddly friday morning at work. Here's the playlist:

1. Please Call Me Baby - Tom Waits
2. Son of a Prophet - The New Amsterdams
3. Gagging Order - Radiohead
4. Sad Sad Song - M Ward
5. Which Will - Nick Drake
6. End of the Day - Beck
7. Such Great Heights - Iron and Wine
8. A Case of You - Joni Mitchel
9. Fade into you - Mazzy Star
10. Tell me why - Neil Young
11. They Ran - My Morning Jacket
12. I've Been Eating for Two - Bright Eyes
13. Action/Adventure - Andrew Bird
14. Happiness is all the Rage - The Promise Ring

Have a shitty weekend!]]> https://www.happyrobot.net/words/klutch.asp?id=6666 When all the sick kids at Childrens Hospital saw Clifford pounce throught the door it was like Christmas in August. At first they lined up in expectation of taking a romp with the lovable character but the anticipation was too much. After one or two children patiently walked up and stroked his red mane the room erupted in a shit storm. Quadraplegics threw themselves out of their chairs using their chins to inch along the floor. Cystic Fibroid riddled little bodies grasped on to each of Clifford's appendages. He ran around the room, bucking and turning. Shouts of Joy! Parents smiling! Doctors and nurses nodding to each other knowingly; they have given these children's dark lives one, small, ounce of joy.



But, for Clifford Odets, it was the WORST DAY EVAR!!!!!



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No one is taking off all their clothes in hell. It's 9am and it's hot and stinky in the office and theres condecention dripping down the outside of my iced coffe. Just when you think a cliche is a cliche and "you've seen it all" and you're tired of laughing at people falling down, a woman drives by applying eyeliner whilst steering with her knees. This is what it is like living with that feeling, that moment of recognition that you are going to be hit by a car, that you are not crossing the street fast enough, that the car is looking left and turning right or traveling to beat the light. Somehow you are seen at the last minute. Somehow you hop onto the curb just at the right moment. And instead of feeling relieved, skirting death, you are crushed by the memory of your own mortality.

I am the one recieving dirty looks as I stare down the man in line with the SUV stroller. My hand is slapped as you dip yours into the fire. My breath is short as you run headlong down the hill.

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