choking on the dirt and sand

I spent my holiday engaged in a lopsided battle to root out the forces of entropy from their subterranean lair, or in less florid terms, "I cleaned the basement." It's a project I had been meaning (however reluctantly) to tackle for some time now, though a stream of convenient distractions (read: videogames and weak excuses) made it possible to postpone the inevitable longer than I ever dreamed possible.

My idle leisure's stay of execution ended last Thursday, however, when a representative from the natural gas company came knocking at my front door in order to inform me that our meter was past due for replacement and that they'd send a crew to the house on Wednesday to install a new one. While I've long since resigned myself to having a disgracefully messy cellar, I was not comfortable with sharing knowledge of its present state with outsiders. Being a member of civil society means that there are standards which must be observed, and one doesn't allow just anyone to bear witness to the large pile of soda cans that have fallen out of the recycling bin (sometime back in 2005, but the intent to redeem them was there, honest) or the haphazard jumble of boxes that once contained various household appliances...and the replacements for those appliances...and the replacements for the replacements.

I set aside this, the last day of my long weekend (because there is nothing so important that it cannot be deferred till the last minute), to impose a degree of order upon the chaos borne of complacency. It was surprisingly easy going. At least, it was until I broke out the push broom, and generated a cloud of airborne debris with my sweeping that rivaled the output of a major pyroclastic event. My glasses, my clothes, the hair, my bronchial passages quickly became coated in a layer of thick gray layer of dust that no amount of deep soaking seems to be able to dislodge completely.

And so, while I head off to the bathroom to attempt to expectorate a few more chunks of phlegm-crete, I offer you these fine particulate-themed tracks for your musical enjoyment. (Breath masks optional, though strongly recommended.)

Siouxsie & The Banshees - Cities in Dust (from Tinderbox, 1986) - Where the band and I parted ways. They did release a few minor gems after this Vesuvial masterpiece, but -- much like The Cure did around the same time -- seemed to increasingly play toward the public's flawed perceptions of the band's image, and that's a one way road to embarrassment.

Mazzy Star - Into Dust (from So Tonight I Might See, 1993) - The dark dreaminess of a Nyquil-triggered haze distilled into musical form, and I mean that as a compliment, really.

The Chemical Brothers - In Dust We Trust (from Exit Planet Dust, 1995) - Your volume do not adjust, though your hair may get mussed. Instead moves you should bust, to the beats of electro lust. (This concludes today's test of my readership alienation experiment.)