The full album is done. Click below for more.

And no, not for its subject matter. Just 'cause it's good and I haven't been keeping up my posting appropriately.

Ballboy, "You Can't Spend Your Whole Life Hanging around with Arseholes".

Today I received one the most fascinating pieces of mail ever.

Strikingly, it was addressed to Mr. and Mrs. Adair H. Iacono. As it happens, I am not a Mr. Nor am I married to myself. So that was something of a red flag. But the thing that really drew me in, that told me that this was going to attain a special place in the noble pantheon of shit I've been sent unsolicited, was this logo on the outside:

What would I have to face, and why now? Was it Jeebus? It had to be Jeebus, right?

But no! It was my own mortality!

Yes, they want me to send away for a brochure so that I can FACE IT NOW and get myself a mausoleum. It's kind of them, isn't it, to worry so about how prepared I am? The only qualms I have:

1. I'm not even thirty! I don't wanna fucking face it now!
2. The photos in their brochure are so creepy and out of date that they look like stills from the Zapruder film. Look at this! Look! (click to enlarge)

I could never possibly trust my eternal repose to an outfit with such a gross disregard for graphic design and photography. After all, a memorial park is for the people who have to look at it. If these clowns can't handle aesthetics, what good are they?

Anyway, the good things to come out of this:
1. I told my roommate my basic wishes: no religious acts or paraphernalia of any kind, make sure the Spikers gets looked after, and I'd rather be cremated.
2. I waved the pamphlet in my roommate's face and exhorted her to FACE IT NOW!!!!!
3. I have acquired a new masterpiece of Found Art.
4. I have added a new phrase to my--and, I almost dare to dream, our--vernacular. See my and my sister's IM exchange below:

Me: from now on
Me: when somebody is driving us to nigh-murderous rage
Me: can we say that they need to Face It Now?
Alanna: Yes
Alanna: yes we can
Alanna: ahahaha

That's all the sanction the phrase needed to become an official, Iacono Certified saying. Use it wisely, people.

1. Saw Nick Lowe live at 7 WTC last night. I found myself in the front for Lowe's set (sweet!) but next to one businessman with a horizontal stripe of facial hair across the middle of his face (excepting just the nose itself) and another man with a brand-new, terrifying nose job that I ardently hope was prompted by something more virulent than self-loathing, 'cause man would that nose not solve that particular problem. Despite these peculiar neighbors, I had a lovely time. Nick Lowe rules. He played solo acoustic, which is always effective for somber songs but can be tricky on more upbeat numbers. I had my concerns. They were misplaced; Nick Lowe knows what he's about. I may love him just a little.

And really, my own rather ordinary nose has never appeared to better advantage.

2. Going by the iTunes libraries visible to me on my school network, I may be the only person who cannot abide capitalization errors in my song files. I mostly knew this. But it's always dispiriting to be confronted with veritable walls of uppercase articles, conjunctions, and prepositions. It hurts my heart.

There are a lot of good things I can say about my experience thus far at law school. It's engaging, I like my fellow students, I like my professors, etc. But those are all important things. As we all know, it takes a trivial achievement to earn sincere affection.

So, today's reason I ♥ this place:

In an email sent out this morning to the student body, the dean of the law school used the phrase "first-come, first-served basis".

That's right. He didn't fall prey to the entirely nonsensical and maddening "first come first serve" error, AND he properly hyphenated the compound adjectives. My heart overflows. Sorry; I meant my ♥.

These are the songs it spat out, in order, on my way home:

Mendoza Line, "We're All in This Alone"
Low, "Just Stand Back"
Versus, "Double Suicide"

Definite theme there. Of course, the next song was "Push the Button" by Sugababes, meaning it was a happy joy dance party all the way back from the subway. So maybe my iPod just doesn't trust the subway itself.

From the ad above what I swear was a totally innocuous gmail message:

Cornhole Sets, Bags - cornhole4sale.com

Sweet fancy Moses, people.