Rest well, Miss Cookie. You were an amazing dog who brought my mother comfort and companionship during some difficult years. I will miss you so much, and I hope you have already forgotten what pain feels like.

girl 1: would u take us for a ride on your BMW?
BMW-driver: even to the end of the world!
soldier: hey, i’d like to drown some vodka, girls!
girl 1: just a second!
girl 2: where do you live?
soldier: right here- daytime at work, and at night in the clubs!
girl 1: which work???
soldier: contract of course!
blonde girl: contract?? marriage contract or what?
girl 3: army contract, stupid!
BMW driver: hey, don’t you wanna ride in my car?
girls: forget it, take yourself for a ride!
narrator: it’s about time for new heroes! with contract based service in ukrainian armed forces!

Saturday evening, d. and I went to P.A.’s Lounge to see Travels. They were great, despite Mona Elliott’s admission that she had food poisoning. Not as dramatic as her previous band, Victory at Sea, but the songs were beautiful and she and her boy had chemistry in spades. In fact, their harmonies rivaled — maybe even surpassed — those of John and Exene.

But first, we had to sit through a nearly hour-long set by the execrable duo (plus occasional drummer) Arms and Sleepers.

If they play your town, avoid them at all costs — unless you’re partial to soporific Stereolab wannabes (minus interesting melodies, rhythmic complexity, and artful arrangements). They’re the electronic instantiation of Spinal Tap’s Jazz Odyssey.

I hated their use of fey, superfluous novelty instruments (little xylophone, little accordion, melodica with creepy length of tubing, thumb piano). I hated the keyboardist’s stupid muttonchops and beard and his “oh I am so into this that I just can’t control it” headbanging. I hated the bassist’s near-constant pelvic thrusting. I hated the screen-saver film loops and handheld footage of power lines and trees. I hated their constant twiddling and fiddling with laptops and gadgets. I hate how they only list their own records under “Influences” on their MySpace page and they peddle their merch under “Sounds Like.” And oh, how I hate the band bio d. dug up:

Arms and Sleepers started one night in the back of an ambulances destined for Hampton Road in Boston’s South Side. In an alleyway a man was bleeding with a cassette player in hand, the play button still on. What sounded like recordings of a gospel choir blared from the tin speaker while down the street, a jazz band could be heard. The man was dying. He dropped the cassette player on the cement and closed his eyes, the sound carrying through the air into his ears for one last time. Though this moment in time died with him, his cassette lived on, and Arms and Sleepers was born.

They must be stopped.

Golly, I’m starting to regret that our new coffee table isn’t signed by the artist.

People definitely offer up a lot of dross that wouldn’t be worth the gas to pick up, but this is the strangest one I’ve seen yet:

Offering: corn cobs
Posted by: [redacted]
Sat Aug 23, 2008 10:55 am (PDT)I know it’s a little weird, but you never know.

We bought a large amount of corn, 60+ ears, cooked it, removed the kernels to cook and freeze, and are now left with a large quantity of “used” corn cobs.

We can’t compost them - too many raccoons in the area. We don’t want to throw them away. Perhaps someone with a fireplace can dry them and use them on a fire, or some artist can make something with them.

Must pick up ASAP. We are in Malden. Please call 617-[redacted].

Thanks!