Quickly.

I've been lax in posting, I know, but that's what happens when your life is invaded by a seven-pound howler monkey: your blogging goes right down the toilet.

I know: priorities, right? Obviously, the internet came first, so it's only fair that that's where my loyalties lie, but I'm kinda legally obligated to make sure this live-action squeak-toy doesn't accidentally choke on her own fist (as she seems bound and determined to accomplish), seeing as I'm kinda sorta her Dad, y'know?

Fun Baby Fact: apparently it's normal for newborns to spasm uncontrollably in their sleep, as it's merely their nervous system discovering which neurons connect to their corresponding muscle fibres, and is by no means reason for terrified parents to call up emergency services and inquire about postnatal epilepsy and/or demonic possession.

Anyway: gotta make this quick, as I'm doing this all with one hand, the other arm presently being occupied by Her Majesty as she poops in her sleep (this is called 'multitasking'...):

1. The Mountain Goats, "Lovecraft In Brooklyn (AesopRemix)" - I hate The Mountain Goats. I really, really hate them. They sound like a bunch of rich kids who all bought the same Billy Bragg album and then decided to preach to the unwashed (y'know, us...) about the evils of Nestle and the merits of designer hemp clothing and soy colonic enemas.

Aesop Rock, however, is awesome, and proves it here by making The Mountain Goats somewhat listenable.

2. The Cure, "The Only One" - as much as I love them, the last few Cure albums have really been exercises in stagnancy, leaving me to wish that Robert Smith would one day just commit to one of his many promises to End The Band. This, however, gives me a bit of hope.

Also: Porl Thompson is a freak.

3. Pelican guitarist Laurent Schroeder-Lebec explains why his band isn't 'post-metal'; and seriously, the next member of the Skinny Jeans Brigade to describe a band as 'post-anything' gets a punch in the face.

4. David Lynch and Werner Herzog are teaming up to film My Son, a film about...y'know what? It doesn't matter, because Lynch and Herzog are TEAMING UP, which means that this movie will scare the shit outta you even though you will have no fucking clue as to what it's about.

It will be GLORIOUS.

To celebrate: Lynch's piece from Lumiere and Company. Holy CRAP.

Okay, Chunky Soup here just filled her diaper with the equivalent of her own body weight of, well, stuff, so I must don my radiation suit and douse her with all manner of cleaning agents and powders, and then wait for her to do it again in about forty-five minutes, because that is what Fathers do. I think.

It's either that, or drink lots of gin.