I’d like to apologise for my lack of posts recently. The more optimistic among you may believe that I am no more, but unfortunately, I am not quite so easy to kill. I am kind of like a disgusting cockroach in that respect. Nobody likes me, and scientists have yet to discover the reason for my existence, yet I live on, hidden in the in-between spaces of your homes. The reason I haven’t been blogging lately is that I am studying for my exams, all of which I will probably fail (because I am stupid), so I am too exhausted to write much. Today, though, I would like to wish a happy (belated) birthday to two of my heroes: Robert Smith and Randy Rose. (Even though there’s zero chance that either of them will read this, or even care if they do happen to come across it.)
Robert Smith, lead singer of The Cure, turned 55 yesterday. His hair is still very groovy and continues to defy the laws of reality, which is a relief. (I must say I am a little disappointed that he has not dyed it pink yet.) I have a theory that it is actually his hair that writes all the songs, but I have yet to find any proof to back this up. (Maybe there is a rodent living in it and controlling his mind, like in Ratatouille.)
According to rumours, it was recently Randy Rose’s birthday, too. Randy Rose is the lead singer of the experimental rock band The Residents, though his true identity is not entirely clear. If Tuxedomoon and most older Residents fans are to be believed, his real name is Homer Flynn, the group’s manager. They certainly sound a lot alike. (For the curious, there is a Tumblr dedicated to Flynn called Dirty Homer Flynn Confessions, which is just as horrifying as it sounds.)
Coming soon: more trite nonsense. Since I’ve been doing a lot of posts about music recently, I’d like to focus more on comics and literature for a while, seeing as they’re more my thing. Hopefully, Smith and Rose will someday make beautiful music together.