I am one of those annoying people that stands at the doors of a shop, waiting for it to open in the morning. Luckily, a certain Sexiest Record Store Employee was working. He recommended one really, really good album that shouldn't even exist, but I'll save that for more dire days. But, dammit, while I was hunting for LPs, fucking Nine Inch Nails kept showing up everywhere, basically begging me to get it. I said hell no, of course. Then when I got home, I put on an mp3 that was sent to me over the weekend. Turns out that I had a little secret NIN-ish flavor hiding in my iTunes already, care of Sneaker Pimps offshoot, I Am X. This is less gummy and more glammy, with a touch of hygenic electro stalker. There should me more writhing on Mondays, non?





Lest you think unrequited love is all gross and depressing, here's a little something I've been reeling over. If I ever got a poem like this from a boy, I would capitulate on the spot (and I would totally let him fart in bed). Don't mind the awful Middle English pronunciation in the audio clip; it's some professor from the Virginia Military Institute.

"To Rosemounde," by Geoffrey Chaucer [click for audio]

Madame, ye ben of al beaute shryne
As fer as cercled is the mapamounde,
For as the cristal glorious ye shyne,
And lyke ruby ben your chekes rounde.
Therwith ye ben so mery and so jocounde
That at a revel whan that I see you daunce,
It is an oynement unto my wounde,
Thogh ye to me ne do no daliaunce.

For thogh I wepe of teres ful a tyne,
Yet may that wo myn herte nat confounde;
Your semy voys that ye so smal out twyne
Maketh my thoght in joy and blis habounde.
So curtaysly I go with love bounde
That to myself I sey in my penaunce,
"Suffyseth me to love you, Rosemounde,
Thogh ye to me ne do no daliaunce."

Nas never pyk walwed in galauntyne
As I in love am walwed and ywounde,
For which ful ofte I of myself devyne
That I am trewe Tristam the secounde.
My love may not refreyde nor affounde,
I brenne ay in an amorous plesaunce.
Do what you lyst, I wyl your thral be founde,
Thogh ye to me ne do no daliaunce.

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Let's hear three cheers for a year of no sexual activity! Sorry, y'all… I accidentally consecrated myself to someone else. BYE!