It's been so long, and I've been so lazy. Popular culture will only allow me to think or communicate in soundbite form.

Spoon's Gimme Fiction: This shit is hotter than it needs or has any right to be.
Bob Dylan's book: "Balzac is hilarious."
Summer: Genetics have made it impossible for me to take off my shirt. Damn this season.
The National's "All the Wine": "I'm a perfect piece of ass, like every Californian." Yes, finally, someone got it right.
Six dollar wine: Way too easy to drink.
No more Shaw Report in Entertainment Weekly: My only hope is that Jessica lands on her feet. Somewhere, a ragged near-40 type is mumbling "5 minutes ago" at people with the collar of their Le Tigre shirts worn up.
Bloc Party's "Price of Gas": "The price of gas keeps rising/ nothing comes for free." Is metaphor now considered "5 minutes ago"?
The Decemberists: Who can sit through an album with lyrics like "Below the tamaracks/ He is crying/ 'Corn cobs and candle wax for the buying'"? The answer: not me. Did Colin Meloy hear Belle and Sebastian for the first time and think to himself "Good, but not precious enough." "16 Military Wives" kicks a lot of ass, though.
People with the collar of their Le Tigre shirts worn up: Assholes.

Television Without Pity says it a lot better than I could.

Indie-rock Cribs, courtesy of Joe Pernice. Man, Ive really been on his jock recently. But nothing else has really caught my eye besides catching Michael Stipe on an episode of "Molto Mario" on the Food Channel this morning. Which was odd, but really, what is there to say about that?

We are absolutely balls deep in streaming albums, and the internet demands sincere thank you's.

First off, does Joe Pernice ever dissapoint? This one isn't as poppy as Yours Mine & Ours, but it's another step and another surprise for a band that started off with an album full of sad chamber-pop. I'm sorry, does that read too much like ad copy? I'm on vacation and my mind's on fucking autopilot.

Second of all, the new Sleater-Kinney has been compared to Fugazi, circa whenever they decided to throw off the shackles of that most suburban of hairshirts, straight edge-ism. I mean, there's a goddamn 11 minute song on here. That's going to have a lot of the 15-year-old girls at their shows adjusting their "Livestrong" bracelets in silent discomfort.

David Cross lists the Top Ten Albums to Listen to While Reading Overwrought Pitchfork Reviews.

Summer 2005 is shaping up to be summer 2003 part deux, at least musically. I got two of my favorite albums that year over that magical summer: The New Pornographer's Electric Version and The Pernice Brothers' Yours, Mine & Ours. We already know the new New Pornographers album comes out in August, but now it comes to light that a new Pernice Brothers album is coming out in a mere month.

But of course, the day after I place an order for their live CD (which you can preview here, and it's pretty sweet) and the Big Tobacco album, they announce a pre-order for the new album that comes with a special gift. Balls! And this is all after I found out they don't have a sweet Pega Luna, Manny t-shirt available in my size (XXXL). I don't wish this life on anyone. This must be how Elliott Smith felt.

Hot Hot Heat goes acoustic, and somewhere outside a Vancouver recording studio, a young hipster yells "Judas!" because it was Hot Hot Heat that was supposed to save the revivalist rock. But no one gets the reference, and no one much cares anyway.

Anyone else ready for the Britney Spears reality show. She asks us "can you handle our truth?" I think so. I've seen enough episodes of "Cops" that I'm numb to hayseeds with wifebeaters and bad facial hair, improper grammar said with a Southern lilt, and borderline retards. So yes, Britney, to answer your question, I am ready for your truth.

Finally, a new rallying cry for the lowest common denominator. Joe Dee Messina has a song called "My Give A Damn's Busted" which should give red state hausfraus who were late to the party with "talk to the hand" and "don't go there" VIP access to the catchphrase club (half-price Long Island ice teas from 6 to 8). Future annoying catchphrases as song titles equals instant buzz, so listen for it next time you're at Coyote Ugly. You'll know when it comes on because all the bachelorette partiers will be like "Woooooo!" They're all going to eat this up like a bloomin' onion, for sure, and it'll keep fresh just as long.

Me, I'm still not finished with Messina's last great catchphrase, "I hope you daaaaaaance!" I said it just last night, to a homeless man. I think it uplifted him more than a quarter ever could.

Not only can you use MySpace.com to prey on the opposite sex's insecurities about acceptance in order to get laid, but now you can preview the new Weezer album there as well. Then you can post on your profile that "Hold Me" brought a tear to your eye, but it's no "Across the Sea" and add a little wink (;-D) and all that's left is to figure out the perfect excuse why you can't wear a condom (here's a start: allergies).

In general, the album's good, but boring. I mean, you know what you're getting at this point, so it's almost pointless to argue the specifics. Big choruses? A little irony? Hair-metal influence? Maybe a little bit of sadness, hiding behind the clown's mask that's only worn so the world won't beat you down more than it already has? Check, check, check, and check. So there you go.

What the internet needs less of is more stuff to dick around with and serve as cheap distractions. What with its wealth of poo-rating sites*, church sign generators**, and cube-gleaming dogs***, I barely have time to do real-life stuff, like start my own chapter of the Ya-Ya Sisterhood. But what the internet needs more of is stuff bearing the Yo La Tengo imprimitur. And lo, there appeared a middle ground: Yo La Breakout!

^*Seriously, don't click the link. I feel bad even putting it up. But it still makes me laugh. And for that, I am a child.
^**An oldie, but a goodie.
^***It's a bulldog, and he's fucking skateboarding. Adorable.

Sweet honey in the rock, there's a new New Pornographers album coming out, and while we have to wait until summer's nearly over for the whole thing, Matador's posted "Twin Cinema" online and God bless them for that. It's a little edgier than stuff from Electric Version with that synth, and goddamn that bass tone, where did that come from? Sounds more like 80s than 70s, you know what I mean? It's alright if you don't; I'm barely on the same page with myself these days. But this song alone could get me through the summer.

Visit Ryan Adams' home page, where silhouetted bears serve drinks and hand out roses to children; Ryan pulls a Sammy Sosa and kisses his fingers and points to the sky for Mitch Hedberg; and you can listen to the new album. On first blush, it is probably closer to Gold than Heartbreaker. Although "Meadowlark Street" all of a sudden just got real interesting.