So, The Kleptones. They're a bunch of British DJs and mix artists who do mash-ups, which are tasty combinations of songs and soundclips which are more delicious than the sum of their parts. They also violate all kinds of copyrights, which is why The Kleptones have all of their music available for free on their website. I've got their latest EP; the individual tracks are all pretty cool, but when you listen to the whole thing in order, it's got a powerful sort of resonance to it. It's story telling at its most oblique, and I like that.

Mashups are pretty addictive things, actually- I've now got three different ones involving NIN's "Bite the Hand that Feeds." I don't even like NIN, but I'm almost tempted to get the original song. I think it would just be a disappointment, though. I mean, it'll be weird hearing the song without pieces of the Ghostbusters theme in the background, or "Dude Looks Like a Lady". XD

Possibly I'll write my final paper for English on them; I'm not really an expert on the mixing scene. Middle sk00l video games, on the other hand...well. I'm sure I could write an 8 page journalistic analysis of FFVII as art, but I'm not sure I could hand it in for a grade. (I did get an A- on my Fell paper. It was actually pretty shitty, as far as the writing quality goes, but damn if you couldn't hear me chortling in the background of every paragraph.)

...for some reason, the word "chortle" always makes me think of birds. Something like a chicken crossed with a turtle, with fewer brain cells.

My brain has gone dry; this is a disconcerting feeling. I finally finished that chunk of story I just posted- and it still needs work, everything always needs work- but now, 4800 words later, I don't have anything else in my head. Nothing but dust bunnies and crumpled gum wrappers. It's startling to think that I'm running out of backstory.

When I get home, I'm going to have to tear my room apart to find the notebook that birthed this story; it's one of the little spiral bound ones I've had since eighth grade. I'll tear out everything I've already written and start over again, until I remember how much I hate handwriting things.

Two weeks, and I'm out. I can't wait.