I have been having visions. Visions of posters. And posters. And posters. And stuff. And stuff. And stuff.

I’ve been cleaning my teeny tiny little lavender house, in preparation for the coming spawn, and for me, that mostly means finding all the little cubby holes where I’ve got art, toys, or ‘stuff’ stashed, and trying to do something with all of it.

Did you know that in order to properly archive a 24×36″ poster you need to store it flat, in a $2 bag, mounted to a $7 board? Which is all well and good…but what do you do when you’ve got 200 of those posters? And then roughly twice that number of 19×25″ posters?

A word to any burgeoning poster artists out there: Stick to 18×24. Max. It’s cheaply frame-able. Super standard. If someone doesn’t want to frame it, they can buy a profolio and store it—like, forever—safely. Something about the hubris of my youth had me seeking out the biggest, most flamboyant artwork known to man, and now, in my ripe old 30s, I find myself wishing that it was all 11×17 so I could put it into a lunchbox.

But oh well. Wah Wah. My poster storage woes are not why I’m here today, children. To be honest, I had every intention of reminding you of the scene in ET where Drew Barrymore hides ET in with all her stuffed animals, and right when you started to slip into your feelings of nostalgia, I would, like, crossfade over into the same scene from Interview with a Vampire where Kirsten Dunst has the dead body buried in with all her dolls and then Tom Cruise acts like a total dandy about it…and then I was going to correlate that to organizing/going through my collection of collections, and THEN!!! I was going to arrive at the point: cleaning out my ‘For Bloglin’ drafts box and dropping a bunch of mildly-entertaining-to-wildly hilarious-depending-on-your-mood video clips and links on you.

It’s a stretch, I know. The lazy freakonomist in me would love to dole these out one at a time over weeks and weeks thus making me seem like a hugely prolific blogger, but we all know I’m not going to do that. It’s now or never, folks. So, without further a-do: behold my dust bunnies. Fear them, but only after you chuckle a time or two.

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So first things first. I’m surprised Cornbluth didn’t get the drop on me with this, but! for anybody’s who’s interested, a 5-track EP of the Trent Reznor score to the coming Fincher/Sorkin-helmed ‘The Social Network’ is available for download over at Nullco. I have been listening to it for a moment, and I can’t tell you how I feel about it, past the fact that I do not hate it.

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Next, while you’re pondering whether or not you care about Trent Reznor, I’ll hit you with some Meowrissey, which is nothing new to anybody anywhere, but it came up in conversation this week and, well, here you go. I am mixtaping the shit out of you right now.

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You’re happy now, so I’ll hit you with some sol: Our solar system is a wicked-big place, son, and you best recognize. I am—of course—so totally excited by these photos. In fact, I’m heading to the mountains this weekend with a telescope, a palette of beer, a 98% waxing moon, and Jupiter-at-large in the Eastern sky. I am hoping to bring back some photos. Behold my amateur dude diligence.

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Keeping things light and flossy with some leftfield Suntory Time. Your head wound is a super power. Super.

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Do you know Chad Vader? He’s hilarious. A dear friend sent this to me when I sent her a photo of my favorite slave Leia from Comicon. You will have to wait until next year’s girlpost for her. She is worth the wait.

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Incidentally, right where Journey or Foreigner would be anyway, in drops the meaning of the internet. This, to me, really sums up YouTube.

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As constant readers may know, I have a love/hate thing with Ke$ha…she is my fallback whenever I go to a wedding and request BBD ‘Poison’ (the fucking THRILLER of 1990, jeez. Could that song have been ANY bigger?) to no avail. Mrs. Hateball found this and got mad when I told her that I prefer TNG. This was pretty funny, however.

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And, like all good mixtapes (when did this become a mixtape? I should have set that up in the totally pointless beginning of this post, huh?) this one ends with an ironic cover…that being a faux-vintage faux-television commercial for a modern flip of a vintage toy version of a classic icon from a max-zeitgeist movie. Perfect. Almost as good as Rammstein covering Depeche Mode.

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And now, of course, you want to date me. Because I’m standing on your lawn with the Bloglin hoisted over my head, blaring 8-bit The Final Countdown and wearing a t-shirt with a picture of the solar system on it and I’ve got toys in my backpack. And I live in a lavender house.

A likely story.

- Hateball