Semi-goth by b psycho
So titled because something about the strings and organ reminded me of somethin’ you’d hear in the score of a horror film during a lull in the action, like when the last surviving people are trying to figure out how to kill the monster before it comes back.

Latest example of this shows that at least the scammers pay attention to the news.  Click for full size:

I vaguely recall a situation where some college professor actually fell for this kind of scam awhile back.

Grits by b psycho

Once the juice is squeezed and stored in gigantic vats, they start removing oxygen. Why? Because removing oxygen from the juice allows the liquid to keep for up to a year without spoiling. But! Removing that oxygen also removes the natural flavors of oranges. Yeah, it’s all backwards. So in order to have OJ actually taste like oranges, drink companies hire flavor and fragrance companies, the same ones that make perfumes for Dior, to create these “flavor packs” to make juice taste like, well, juice again.

This must have been a relatively recent development, because I distinctly recall in my childhood times where a container of orange juice, left in the refrigerator too long (probably because someone didn’t listen when I requested it not be shaken because I gag on the pulp — “juice” implies a liquid, I can’t stand the sensation of chunks of slurry suddenly appearing in my drink — so after that point I stopped drinking it) took on a funny smell.  It wasn’t as bad as spoiled milk, which ironically itself isn’t as bad as not-spoiled buttermilk, but it was a distinct scent that said “pour me out” nonetheless.

As I type this, I realize I have a carton of orange juice in the fridge right now.  Pulp free, of course.  While I avoid those “juice cocktail” drinks that are mostly corn syrup, the aforementioned re-tasting applies to products that are labeled 100% juice, and I’ve never noticed anything off about it.  I suppose if I wanted Teh Mad Real O.G. OJ I could just purchase some oranges and juice them myself, but that involves 1) extra effort, 2) purchase of other kitchen utensils, and 3) that damn pulp.  Besides, wouldn’t it be a super-huge let-down if you went to all that trouble only to find you couldn’t taste a difference worthy of the effort?  Yes, there would be a difference in sheer freshness, but is the difference between a penny and a dollar, or a penny and a nickel?  Hell, what if I juice some oranges, get rid of the pulp, and take a drink, only to decide that I actually prefer the fake 100% juice to the real 100% juice?

While I much prefer knowing about these kind of things, and will gladly pay the extra for more authentic when I have it to spare and feel that it makes a difference (I prefer purchasing Mexican food from Mexican restaurants run by Mexicans with Mexicans cooking, for example), if I don’t notice then going the extra mile strikes me as some form of reverse-psychology hipsterism — “sure, on the meat of the matter it’s negligible, but I will sink this additional cost as a signifier of just how much I give a damn, even though I don’t”.

Speaking of mass-produced stuff and its promotion, those commercials implying that if you drink Horse Piss Labeled as “Beer” brand A vs Horse Piss Labeled as “Beer” brand B you are less of a man were stupid to begin with, now they make me want to smack someone over the head with a bottle of Arrogant Bastard.  After drinking the contents, because even their skull isn’t worthy.

No particular reason for this.  Deflating my head.

Music at the moment is Noisia’s “Split the Atom”.  They branched out on this one, to the point where the opening track slingshots back and forth between drum’n'bass and an oddly melodic neo-Big-Beat type thump.  For all the old-school smash & growl fans, they didn’t forget y’all:

Now if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to go kill people. (relax, I’m talking Black Ops)

You figure it out by b psycho

Kind of a bouncy/jittery feel, yet with more filth than usual for that type of beat.

Weird disclosure on my part: though I agree with the above, and even further have always hated playing baseball even, I own and occasionally play a baseball video game, which I enjoy enough to keep playing.  If you can figure that one out, tell me.

Yeah, it doesn’t mean much.  But that’s the thing about being a rational cynic: small things working out better than expected in the end feel that much sweeter.