The stick? She has been passed to me, by the ineffable and too-long-since-last-we-met, er, -ish Tigerpants. I, possessing a curious fondness for surveys, and being easily swayed by peer pressure (I mean, if everyone's doing it, then none of them can judge me for doing it, too, right?), have decided to take the challenge and run with it. So to speak. Wanna hear it? Here it go:

Okay, um...zero. Am I fired? I have a good excuse, though, I swear! See, you'll remember I recently got a new computer right? Well, my old one was more ancient and rickety than that wooden bridge in the end of Indiana Jones and the Temple of Doom, and twice as dangerous. So there was really no hope of my downloading anything on that piece of crap, save perhaps for a file-destroying virus or two (Exhibit A being, well, the file-destroying virus that made it so rickety in the first place). Not to mention the fact that the point of me downloading anything was pretty much moot, since my antediluvian machine didn't have CD burning capabilities. The upshot being that I had no cause to, and therefore did not. I have cause now, though, but I just haven't gotten around to it yet.

I believe that was Franz Ferdinand's eponymous debut album, which, by the way, totally rocks. I don't really get to buy a lot of CDs anymore, for the reason that...well, I always seem to have more pressing needs for my funds. Buying CDs doesn't enable you to socialize, I guess is the point. Oh crap, I'm starting to look like one of those freaky music-haters that are so helplessly out of touch with society, aren't I? Okay, seriously, we need to move on, because I can answer the other questions a lot better!

That's Just What You Are by Aimee Mann. It's Aimee at her slightly accusatory, slightly deadpan, very sarcastic best. Or at least that's how I interpret it. Perhaps I am slightly accusatory, slightly deadpan, and very sarcastic? Only my hairdresser knows for sure! That bitch.

Hmm...this one's tough. See, I'll go on jags where I'll listen to one song until it's dead and floating upside down in the tank. Then I'll listen to it a little more. Then I'll toss the CD aside and not pick it up again for about five years or so. There are, however, some songs that, when I do hear them, I freak out. (Like, good freakout, not axe-murder freakout. Or Organ Freakout. Heaven forbid.) Because they still impact me on some level, you know? Those songs might be Save Me by Aimee Mann (for when I'm feeling helpless and emotionally destitute), Fan Mail by Blondie (for when I'm feeling crazy in love, coupled with a juvenile sense of abandon), Mozart's The Marriage of Figaro (which I listen to whenever I write), Polyester Bride by Liz Phair (for when I'm feeling like I'm taking myself for granted), and Stupid Girl by Garbage (because...I mean, it rocks). That's all I can really think of, off the top of my head. They all mean something to me, I guess, and I listen to them as often as I listen to anything else, so.

I will send this along to May Day, because she loves (and knows) her music well, and to elle-emme and purplecigar, because I want to know what those two are doing with themselves these days. Holla!

Someone Got Here By Searching: marry fuck kill game I'm Watching: Alias. I don't get it, but there were some great moments! I'm Reading: I'm still finishing Native Tongue. Sigh.

my last adventure: Apartment Complexity
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my next adventure: The Birds and the Beas