Mild.

I recently (perhaps two months ago?) lamented on those über-cool "journalists" whose fingers act capriciously each December to crank out yet another end-of-year list that ranks albums based on some bizarre scale of self-importance and a deeper desire to impress the douchemongers at Pitchfork (get over it, no one at Pitchfork reads your blog). Alas, as 2007 drew to a close I felt an overwhelming desire to share my top albums of the year. I have refrained from doing so in a battle of the will that was not quite as intense as whether or not to have that "I'm bored as fuck and it's Wednesday evening" beer, but more intense than whether or not to eat the pink cupcake. Thankfully, I used my better judgement and did not succumb to the demons of establishing a musical hierarchy. This relates to why I hate battles of the bands. Music is not a sport. You cannot have a deathmatch between a band of 15 year-olds who play Fallout Boy covers and a few original songs about that girl who doesn't know you exist in some bullshit class like Family Studies (to address that misconception: she absolutely knows you exist. She probably even knows your name, who your friends are, and that you wear cargo pants at least once a week. Regardless of this, there is no way that she will ever, ever "fool around" with you at Steve's party. From what I hear, Steve's parents are going to be upstairs anyway––it's going to suck) against a band of 17 year-olds who play Every Time I Die covers on their Ibanez guitars that are tuned down so low you cannot even hear notes anymore, just devil farts.

I have difficulty reconciling the role of the artist with a basic need to survive. I don't know if I want to survive. Suffering allows for a better artistic flow anyway.