Tin Speaker » Meta

Time to party, internet.

hornblower — Tue, 26 Oct 2010 19:56:43 +0000

You and me

hornblower — Tue, 15 Dec 2009 21:06:52 +0000

Let’s discuss this, now. You’ve been hurting these past months. While I’ve been gallivanting about Europe and Africa, spending and making money, breaking and mending hearts, purchasing and consuming foodstuffs, you’ve been at home, shivering under a blanket you stole from Southwest Airlines the one time you ever flew in an airplane. The blanket doesn’t even cover your feet, so you have to wear your socks to bed — your holey, ratty socks. And by “to bed” I mean “as you lie curled up on the floor like a mangled Slinky” (even though you’re curled up, the blanket still doesn’t cover your feet — that’s awful).

I was surprised to see that my hits have actually gone up, but then I realized the pattern — your anxiety has grown to the point where you now do nothing but refresh Tinspeaker.com all day, mindless, automatic, subhuman. You’ve been reduced to the status of automaton, and for that I am sorry. Do know that my advertising revenue has increased dramatically, and for that I am grateful (this is actually false; I don’t even know how to put up Google ads on the site).

So what now? Does this post signal the return of the king? We’ll see. In the meantime, as always, the back catalogue remains open for business. Get at it.

Bet you though that link was going to be Lord of the Rings, didn’t you? Idiot.

A Yellow Friend

hornblower — Wed, 23 Sep 2009 22:07:08 +0000

What up, chumps. There’s no question mark because that’s not a question, it’s a greeting. As if I would care to know anything about your miserable lives. Listen. I’m thinking of turning Tin Speaker into a cooking blog, maybe calling it Tin Whisk or Tin Springform Pan or Tin Fondue Pot or something. Ever since I’ve been in Madrid, also known as The City That Indie Music Forgot, I’ve been spending all my time reading foodnetwork.com and cooking, as opposed to reading Brooklyn Vegan and going to concerts. While this is perhaps a more practical use of my time (though slightly less sociable (very slightly less)), it is not without its unfortunate consequences. For instance, although I have finally learned how to cook rice like a motherfucker, I have made no friends (and in fact, several enemies — several powerful enough that I have feared for my life and the safety of my family) in the past few weeks. Also, my Spanish abilities have actually declined, with the notable exception of my spice-related vocabulary (tomillo, estragón, albahaca, &c). There is also the not-insignificant matter of the seven kilograms (metric strong! (no, not you, Emily Haines. Your band’s overrated, and you’re not even that hot.) I have gained in two weeks. This has been a factor in the friend-making department, as I have taken to wearing enormous tee shirts to hide my new girth.

Ha, ha! Had you fooled. The seven kilograms are actually entirely muscle. I’ve been training for my return to the concert-going sphere. The first thing I’m going to do when I land in New York is go to the Market Hotel and sock an N.Y.U. freshman right in the forehead. Whatup, class of 2013! Getting punched in the forehead in front of Todd P and all your new, wack friends is what! Holla! Ouch! Hurt my hand! Shouldn’t have gone for the forehead! Awfully hard, the forehead! Hope I can get someone to help me carry my luggage! No! No one wants to help the violent dude with eighty pounds of bags! Uh oh! Going to have to rely on my wits! And excessive use of the exclamation mark! Call my friends! All of them have company tonight! Cousins from out of town! What a coincidence! $100 cab ride to Grand Central! Overdrew my ATM card! Looks like I’m working Christmas this year! Again!

Also, I was just kidding about not having any friends. I’m great friends with the lady who works at the pastelería near my crib. I say hola to her four times a day — once every time I come in and buy a milhojas.

To touch upon another subject, has anyone heard the new Flaming Lips album? It’s outrageous.

What girls say to each other about me when I eat alone in the cafeteria of my university

hornblower — Thu, 17 Sep 2009 23:04:17 +0000

This one is just what the title says. Actual transcript, edited for length and clarity by Hornblower.

Girl 1: Who is that guy over their eating by himself? Look at him brood. He’s probably really intellectual.

Girl 2: I don’t know who he is, but I think I want to sleep with him.

Girl 1: Is he doing the crossword puzzle? I heard Tuesday’s crossword is really hard. He doesn’t even look like he’s having any trouble.

Girl 2: I heard guys who do crossword puzzles have big wieners.

Girl 1: I heard that, too. It’s like the same gene or something.

Girl 2: Look at all those plates around him; he must eat a lot. It looks like he got one of everything. That’s really impressive.

Girl 1: He must be so good at eating.

Girl 2: I think I want to sleep with him.

Girl 1: Look, he’s wearing a tie.

Girl 2: Wow, he probably has a bunch of money. He probably does really cool expensive things all the time.

Girl 1: I’ve never seen him before at any parties around campus. He must be too busy going to exclusive rooftop parties with the Knicks and also with models.

Girl 2: Girl models.

Girl 1: Uh, yeah.

Girl 2: …

Girl 1: I wonder if he’s single.

Girl 2: I don’t care. I will murder to be with him.

Girl 1: I think that’s a little extreme.

Girl 2: No. I will murder you.

Girl 1: I don’t think that would help you in any way.

Girl 2: You quiet down, Girl 1. You just quiet your damn self down.

Girl 1: …

Girl 2: …

Girl 1: Look, he’s getting up. I think he finished the crossword puzzle. Wow, look at his shirt. He spilled sauce all over it.

Girl 2: He probably did it on purpose. As part of an art project.

Girl 1: Yeah, maybe. He looks really arty. Look how tight his pants are.

Girl 2: Awfully tight.

Girl 1: Awfully tight.

Girl 2: He’s getting more food? Uhhh…

Girl 1: Hmm.

Girl 2: Look how long his hair is. Some people would say that he looks like a greasy, dirty cur, but I think it just makes him look European.

Girl 1: He looks like a European footballer. He looks like he plays for the Spanish national team and makes a hundred million Euro a year.

Girl 2: …

Girl 1: You know what, I bet he only eats once a day, that’s why he’s eating so much.

Girl 2: Wow. That’s pretty hip. I think I’ll start doing that.

Girl 1: I bet you won’t, ‘cause you’re fat as hell.

Girl 2: I have told you before that I am prepared to murder you.

Girl 1: Listen, Girl 2. I will fight you in the streets for the right to this man’s heart. I will fight you in the streets, and I will fight you in the gutter.

Girl 2: Let us adjourn, then, to a place of true reckoning, wherein we may this dispute settle. And all our yesterdays have only wrought what we have dreamt to be so, until now the end time of our suffering and our dreams. As it must be, it shall. As created, so destroyed; as forgotten, so recalled.

Girl 1: Damn you, mystery man, man of deepest mystery. The fire of your brooding, solitary mystery touches souls all ‘round you, and there is naught to be done for succor.

Yeah, it’s been a while. What are you going to do, complain like a little tiny four-year-old?

hornblower — Fri, 11 Sep 2009 20:06:29 +0000

You and your puppy-dog eyes have no effect on me. I empathize not with your pleas and insistent cries. Be grateful for what you have had at your disposal these past few weeks: a back catalogue of exceptional beauty and wit. These are posts to savor, posts to revisit. If you have not done, you have deprived yourself of a priceless treasure: the treasure of rediscovering greatness. Remedy yourself, reader. Return to these past months, return and relive once more the glories of the past. For there is naught else to do when barren times take hold and helplessness looms like a terrible pronouncement of dread. Arise now, and know the succor of the archive. The healing power and the cleansing wash. We wake and breathe and eat and pray, and this our lowly present will yet be a tired past.

Rejoice now in your lowly present, for sustenance is night. Tin Speaker is back.

Evaluate yourself

hornblower — Sat, 08 Aug 2009 03:52:40 +0000

There comes a time in every Hornblower’s life when he (there are no female Hornblowers) must examine his life, and his reasons for Web logging. I do believe that my purpose with this Web log is to convince my self that I’m really cool, while at the same time (and this is crucial) making people think to themselves, “Hey, this Hornblower guy is actually really not cool. All he does is write this damn inconsequential Web log. Doesn’t he have a job, or friends — besides the made-up readers of his Web log, anyway? And he usually ends up killing those guys, anyway. And the way he talks to them — it’s like he doesn’t know what human interactions are supposed to be like. It’s pretty disturbing. If I met this man, I would flee for the highlands. I hope he finds help, or the Lord, or help in the Lord. We are all in danger.”

People are talking

hornblower — Wed, 05 Aug 2009 04:48:50 +0000

Readers 1 & 2 are deceased, but I happened upon some others who have gallantly taken their place. A dialogue, then.

Reader One: I don’t know about these links Hornblower keeps posting. I just want to read Tin Speaker on Tin Speaker. Is that so much too ask?

Reader Two: This is like the time my father told me that when we used to have steak for dinner, it was really just old boots. Old boots and Béarnaise sauce.

Reader One: I don’t see how that situation could be in any way like this one.

Reader Two: You wouldn’t understand, Reader One. Your heart is cold with the ice of hatred and mistrust.

Hornblower: I invented ice.

Readers One & Two: Hornblower!

Hornblower: Neither of you would understand. Only I am privy to such knowledge.

Reader One: What’s with all the links, Hornblower? First you kill Readers 1 and 2, now you don’t even host your writing on your own site anymore. What’s next? Are you going to kill Friedrich Nietzsche, the famous German philosopher?

Hornblower: I have already done this. I have also killed God.

Reader Two: What about my father? Why haven’t you killed him?

Hornblower: Surprise, Reader Two — I did. Your father was God. He was going to reward you with many treats and splendors. The only thing he required was that you not complain once he told you about the whole steak-that’s-really-boots thing. Too bad you complained, like a little sissy baby. Plus it’s too bad I killed him, because you could have said you were sorry and you appreciated the boots, or at least the Béarnaise sauce. He was really more of a New Testament God, so you probably would have quite easily gained his forgiveness.

Reader One: Ha, ha, ha.

Reader Two: I need to go get my hat blocked.

Hornblower: Yeah you do. Man.

Reader Two: Did you hear about the rabbit comedian?

Reader One: No.

Hornblower: I have also not heard about the rabbit comedian.

Reader Two: He was a funny bunny.

Hornblower: Your time on this Earth draws near its end. Let’s go to the Yankees game, Klaus Kinski. I am hungry for a ballpark frank, and the only place to get one is the ballpark.

Klaus Kinski: All right, let’s go.

Reader Two:
And so we few must onward march! Until
but none remain, where once were mighty numbers.
A sow, an ox — needless lots drawn ragged
in dark, windswept corners. Breathed hellos fall
in faint and ill-turned phrases. Count not words:
nor trust you syllables for wholesome mettle.
For hope may rise and none shall hope deny
but those who in hope see not light nor wonder.
And dreamt goodbyes will find no solace still,
with light a man could follow to an end
less solid than his lonely cuff links, weight
upon a wrist less dreamt about than dreaming.

With dreams like these, we paupers might yet fly –
until, like whispers lost to time, we die.

…

Reader One: Hornblower has murdered yet again. Reader Two has joined his father in the afterlife. Enjoy your time together, brave friends.

And So, Friends, I Return

hornblower — Mon, 20 Jul 2009 04:26:33 +0000

I have been negligent, I know. This causes me no shortage of distress and heartache. Believe me, gentle readers, I would like nothing more than to be able to sate your mad appetites for constant literary gratification. There is, however, an unfortunate impediment to this dreamy wonderland world: the cold iron shackles of reality. This past week has found me working 13- and 14-hour days (not including lunch break!) at the Brooklyn Navy Yard, performing the admirably selfless duties of an extra in a feature film of unprecedented cinematic innovation and extraordinary social import. A film called Step Up 3D.

During this arduous process, my internet access was limited in such a way that Web logging to any meaningful degree was rendered near-impossible. But let us not turn now to despair, for these dark days may now watch our backs as we saunter forward, ever forward. We chance upon this day or that, fearful and loving and cold, until at last we find a hammock to sit in as all the world passes by at once and for always, infinite repetition of a spiral leading nowhere.

Advert #3

hornblower — Fri, 10 Jul 2009 19:09:19 +0000

Come on now, this one didn’t even violate any of the craigslist rules. I’m just an honest guy looking for some help, here.

At the point of my writing this advert, I just wanted to throw some traffic over to the old Tin Speaker. I wasn’t trying to be clever, I had no designs on greatness, I wasn’t looking to ruffle any feathers. And it did stay up long enough for someone to write to me — a simple message: “nitwit.” So that was at least an improvement. And yet, and yet, and yet… People are so miserable. So cold, so little, so miserable. What kind of low person would flag such an innocuous post as this? A miserably low person, is who. Observe for yourself the innocent beauty that these bastards have destroyed.

Looking for help
Reply to: gigs-zk7zm-1239266343@craigslist.org [Errors when replying to ads?]
Date: 2009-06-25, 01:43PM EDT

I need you to read the Web site tinspeaker.com and tell me what’s good with it and what’s bad with it. I need heartfelt answers and bitter truths. I need brutal honesty and sugar-coated bullshit. I need absurd compliments and devastating insults.

I’m going to collect and publish the best feedback, with full credit and copywrights to the authors. This will be exciting for everyone, I’m sure. We will all grow and learn, and we will all be better people for it.

Advert #2

hornblower — Fri, 26 Jun 2009 01:12:43 +0000

This is part two of my struggle against the miserable homebodies who patrol the Gigs section of craigslist. I was so enraged after being flagged for this one I almost pulled an Orlando Brown (you really should click that link if you don’t know what I’m talking about). Good thing Hornblower is wilier than that. Wilier by half. I strike back with the force of my wit — the most potent weapon I know.

Here is the offending advertisement, gentle readers. Look upon it and render in your mind an opinion. Mull it well. This is what democracy looks like

Looking for a hard worker — drive, determination and delicacy a must

Reply to: gigs-zk7zm-1238504477@craigslist.org [Errors when replying to ads?]
Date: 2009-06-24, 08:47PM EDT

There are these Web sites. They’re called http://tinspeaker.com and http://orpheusweaponry.com. They are filled with terrifying words — terrifying… yet enthralling. Spooky. Spooky.

Where do I fit in this crazy world? This is what you are asking yourself. Here’s what I want. I want you to paint your belly to say ‘tinspeaker.com’ or ‘orpheusweaponry.com’ and I want you to walk around hooting and hollering and drawing attention to yourself.

Not your game? Try this on for size — spray paint… you… everywhere… tinspeaker.com… orpheusweaponry.com… giraffes.

Mmmm. That’s nice. Real nice. What else could I possibly have in my bag of tinspeaker.com/orpheusweaponry.com tricks? Ho, boy.

Rice pilaf. Panama. Sir Alex Ferguson. The Pottery Barn Rule. What do these things have in common? You just read them.

Still interested? Sure you are. Here’s what you’re going to do. Dance. In the street and in the gutter. And sing a song. A song that you’ve composed yourself. The song must mention tinspeaker.com and orpheusweaponry.com. You like this idea, don’t you. Sure thing.

Sounds good? Yeah, it does sound good. You know what sounds better?

Money.

How much money?

Try 21 Czech Koruna per hour.

Yes, this is for real. Yes, you also get a baseball autographed by Hornblower.

Will I write you a letter of recommendation?

That depends.

On what?

Well, do you deserve one?

Yes?

Then I guess I will.