Never believe a friend who says the microphone that he left at your house last year won’t work without special software.
A fair warning, I intend to bombard you with videos and italics today. So to start it out, I’ll engage in some narcissism. On a side note, is the act of having a blog and talking to a non-existent audience as narcissistic as it gets?
Anyhow, here's me playing with the new microphone:
(note: this will sound shitty on laptop speaks)
SUCHH a better sound quality. This is good, because I’ve been looking for a way to showcase some of my favorite drum rudiments (wink).
Speaking of narcissism, is it just me or is the current political atmosphere kind of like a Broadway musical? As Americans, we are led to believe that we inherently have a right to behave like momma grislys, defending our children from the evils of obamocracy, etc, etc… And though the previous two sentences have little technical substance, I will proceed with my case and point:
Consider these two videos for a moment, which in my mind sum up our farcical world: who is making sense here? On one hand, we have “The Punk Patriot,” solving the economy for us. Now, is this man actually a cobbler? We will never know… Personally, I will continue to believe that he spends his days sweating in a boot factory, thinking about the global (or geo-, if you will) political atmosphere. Perhaps, while making a repair to the sole of an unsatisfactory moccasin he will look up to address his cobbler colleagues: “guy’s,” he will say “men,” correcting himself, “don’t you understand that our labor is what makes this company? We’re paid precisely peanuts and we are the working class! We must demand higher wages, benefits for the poor and so on…” To which no one responds, silently working, hammering on their own soles, thinking “no, The Punk Patriot, your but a man with his head in the clouds.”
But in a moment of sincerity, and despite his supposed profession, his desperate need for aesthetic categorization, could ThePunkPatriot be on to something? Would Diogenes
