Mama, today we learned about Jee-zus

Ok, quick grammar lesson for everyone out there posting pictures or shooting their mouths off (like I am doing) on their blogs.

Me = object pronoun
I = subject pronoun

When you were little you were probably taught all about saying "My imaginary friend and I jumped down into the ravine filled with snakes" rather than "Me and my imaginary friend were not attacked by the snakes because we spoke their language." There is nothing wrong or informal about the word me, it's just an object pronoun and can receive the action of a verb but not perform the action of a verb.

Say you have a classy picture of yourself with someone really cool, and you want to post a caption.

None of this:
Bruce Springsteen and I

Bruce Springsteen and you what? What did you do? "I" is a subject pronoun and remember subjects have to DO something. This is why we have verbs. Ostensibly you are saying "This is a picture of me with The Boss." So in this statement, you are one of the direct objects.

Thus:
Bruce Springsteen and me hanging out because we are cool like that.

Hanging is a participle, not a verb, so this is fine and dandy.

OR:
Bruce Springsteen and I hang out because we are cool like that.
Hang = verb, so me becomes I again. YAY!



Or if you are talking about having something done to you, use me after the verb. Why? Because "you" become either the direct object or the predicate nominative or the object of the preposition.


Examples:

Wrong- Skyler took Lisa and I to his house for the Swayziest dance party of the century.
Correct- Skyler took Lisa and me to his humble abode to discuss Jim James and Hogzilla.


Wrong- TBS tripped on her way up the stairs while trying to give a present to Jax and I.
Correct- TBS fell and rolled down a hill while trying to pass her homemade Olympic torch to Jax and me.


That's all for our grammar lesson today. Next week, tune in as we explore the improper use of commas and other forms of punctuation.

Richard and Blue

I've always been a sucker for covers, and I can't help myself with this one. If only they would have played it at the Casbah, then I might not have minded the destruction of my hearing

Eclectic to say the least

A few stats...

#41 - Arcade Fire - Neon Bible & Wake Up
Uploaded by lablogotheque

Pools of Sour Patch Kids

I'm ready to find the stats on my life iTunes stylee.

How many times in my life have I eaten macaroni and cheese? (infinite?)

How many times have I run through Hat Park on the Bear Creek bike trail? (~800)

How many times have I watched Fight Club? (~100)


So who's been keeping track? Lisa? Jax? TBS? Anyone?

Lovely locks

(dude and his fist)


Courtesy of the Vista...also Christine Osborn (whoever that is) talked about profs



I’m never going to the Casbah on a Saturday night again. Last weekend, I journeyed to that endearingly dirty little venue near the airport to catch a sold out set from Brit indie rock quartet Razorlight.

The band is touring in support of their garden variety 2006 release—which pales in comparison to sleaze-rock debut “Up All Night.” As I walked into the venue, I noticed that the band had brought two tour buses. To the Casbah. I suppose to each his own, or in this case, to each half a bus. They must be bigger in England. Rock and roll excess aside, Razorlight failed to impress anyone under the age of twenty-seven, but for those over that magically arbitrary age, this generic rock proved more epic than a Deep Blue Something show in 1994.

Most of the time I get annoyed by obnoxious kids at all-ages shows or fashionistas at the über-indie shows, but as of Saturday, this musical curmudgeon has a new group to shout about. Settling into the back just before the set, I wondered what lead singer Johnny Borrell would climb on. After his scaffold scaling at Coachella in 2005, the padded walls lining the stage seemed limiting for death-defying acrobatics.

Then, the music started, and they were in front of me. That couple. Around age thirty, this pair came complete with a nearly blacked-out, spastic, rump-shaking Carrie Bradshaw look-alike and a balding man in designer jeans who could not help but use her booty as a drum throughout the set. Oh, and they brought their friends: two fist-pumping dudes who spilled as much beer as they drank. I guess a late Saturday night is about all they're allowed in that working world I’ve heard so much about.

Usually, a concert-rusty crowd like this wouldn’t ruin an entire show for me. But normally, the music is powerful enough to hold my attention and keep me from smacking these imbeciles. The only word to describe Razorlight’s performance is generic. Minus a few intriguing drum solos, the band could have easily played at the Battle of the Bands on Friday—eager young lads looking for a big break.

So, I was left watching this group of wasted young professionals dance and cling to any scrap of youth they have left. You’d think they could have picked a better soundtrack though. The rest of the crowd was split between the just-legal quiet ones and rowdy stereotypical bros dancing like they got lost on their way to Safari in TJ. My decision? Bail after forty minutes or so.

The saving grace of the night was the opening set by Mohair, a SXSW-bound, and Watford, UK native piano pop group. Lead singer Tom Billington sports an auburn set of curly locks that would put Annie to shame, and the rest of the band brought British sexy back with ascots, vests, and entirely too tight button-downs. Their bouncy stage presence and three-part harmonies had the listless wandering in to see what all the fuss was about. Billington’s staunch classic solos—complete with his jaw-dropped open and a few bangs of his white-man fro—plus Alex Richards’s vamping keys combined to dance around the audience pied piper style. I’m just glad I got there early and left early.


(Mohair)

Quarterly Love

From Boze after she left my apartment...
p.s. #2 we took Eugene pics and I’ll send them to you.

What a great friend...I didn't even have to remind her.

Where have they gone?

Last week, my bar buddy and fellow chem nerd, Joanna, and I took off on two separate weekday nights down to accursed Mission Beach with hopes of running into a few people we know and getting our minds off PCAT scores and play packets. Banking on our success the previous week (Joanna: "So when did we walk there?"), we made the usual rounds and ran into the usual USDers. Normally, I would avoid seeing people from my campus at pretty much any cost, but the past few weeks it's been fun to run into some trashed Toreros down on their turf (Mission Beach).

Then we realized...every time we've gone out there we have run into the same people and had the same conversations with said people. That or we meet tools who wear shirts like this: complete with carefully mussed and gelled:
who get belligerent enough at Luigi's to pick fights with well everyone.

Yes, Joanna. I agree. "i hate you mission beach for stealing precious hours of my life when i could have otherwise been sleeping." Nothing of significance to anyone's life is discussed at those bars. Unless mitigating circumstances dictate, no more of this semi-tourist beach scene for me. I told people I hated the USD party scene, and that when I reached the magical age I wasn't going to do the Sandbar thing. Well, I got suckered in a few times, and even admittedly had some fun, but that river soon dried up.

I tried to give thema chance, but "dudes" who live in Southern California are now on the shit list. I'm sick of your Vans, your semi-designer jeans, your surf/skate brand shirts (most of you don't surf or skate), your 'hawks, your love of Sublime, and your solipsistic (there's a world outside of SoCal?) attitudes.

I need a place like the Castle here. What's that you say? Free pool? $1 beers? I'm there.