Hump day

Where, you ask, is Peter? Well I’ll tell you: I’ve been paddling desperately to emerge from a vortex leading to deadline hell. I’ve been reading about pirate radio. I’ve blogged elsewhere (it’s only virtual infidelity). I’ve been working on secret projects that will blow your mind the way everyone seems to think V for Vendetta did. I’ve been trying to figure out how much I dislike that movie, and though distaste is a slippery, squealy pig sometimes, I think I can safely say this: somewhere in the neighborhood of a lot.

I’ve also been utterly immersed in the fourth season of The Sopranos. I lent a bit of cash (like ten bucks) to someone the other day and my first instinct was to remind him that I was charging two points and would break his legs if he didn’t make the payments. But don’t mind me; I’m not Tony. I’m not even Pauly or Silvio. I’m definitely Artie Bucho, though I haven’t lost all my hair. Let me put that on your tab.

People ask me about music all the time. Music is even more subjective than film, but I’ve been rocking the new Yeah Yeah Yeahs disk, Show Your Bones, pretty endlessly. Thought their first album was decent but not as good as folks said. This time out, Karen O. is definitely prom queen. Prom king even. More on this some other time.

The Blackheart Procession has a new album out too, called The Spell. These guys are the coolest goth kids you know. I think I once wrote a review of one of their albums that said they sounded like freaky circus clowns playing mourn-rock. Still pretty accurate. If it were Halloween and I wanted to get my Crow on, my first step would be to rock this record for a couple of days. Followed, of course, by tattered fishnets on my arms. That’s a classic. What I wouldn’t give to read Flannery O’Connor’s take on modern day suburban high school Goths.