Okay. This is sheer brilliance. From concept to execution, if I could marry a mixtape project, I’d be down on one knee right now. No joke. Plus, I’ve downloaded and listened, and it’s a fantastic mix. Bonus Jane Points for a Spanish version of “Secret Agent Man,” a classy font, and the Police. Extra Super Bonus Jane Points for the songs by Crooked Fingers and Low. (I considered deducting Jane Points for the use of Deerhoof and TMBG, but I can’t hold a grudge, at least not when it comes to music mixes, great ideas, and sexy design. Plus, someone else who’s heard of Crooked Fingers?! Be still, my heart.)

So. Everyone knows what’s coming next, right? If we tried something like this, who would be willing to participate? By “participate” I mean “create your own mix and send copies out to others in the project.” Don’t break my heart, people. Ante up.

I’ve finally gotten around to reading Everything is Illuminated, and yes, it really is as unbelievably fantastic as everyone says it is.

Time for the regularly-scheduled rant/ramble.

The way I feel about my headaches is the same way I feel about my hometown: a bizarre mix of hatred, morbid fascination, and self-righteousness. So I despise them both, although my new beta blockers seem to be doing some good works on my brain, and as I mature, the sting of Pampa wanes in miniscule increments. My overinflated sense of duty somehow contributes to the frustration usually felt in conjunction with either headache or hometown—the worst part of the headaches is often the way I feel trapped by them, incapable of following up on assumed or forced responsibilities; the worst part of Pampa is the way I feel unwillingly drawn to return and, as Dali would say, the persistence of memory—memories of other assumed or forced responsibilities. And yet, I have to be fascinated with something that continually sucks me back in with its sadistic gravitational force.
The self-righteous aspect is this: I can hate these things and talk trash all I want, but I get angry and defensive when others do the same. I don’t like people to talk badly about Pampa unless, like me, they’re Pampa-born and -raised and have subsequently suffered the same mind-numbingly painful experiences as other Harvesters. As for the headaches, few things made me as uncomfortable and irritable as when people tell me all I need to do to cure my headaches is, well, whatever. Best intentions aside, cutting out articles from health magazines and special internet reports or Discovery Channel features on curing migraines only makes me incredibly angry. Why am I rambling about this? I have no idea. Probably on account of scheduled visits to Pampa next Sunday and a couple Saturdays after that. I wonder if the dinosaur house will be open…

Time to go digitally elsewhere.

Peace, love, and mixtapes as bridegrooms.