Sunny Day

Ok, b’gawd, I’m calling it ready.

I’ve got the Sunny Mix to a point that I’m happy with it, and I’m taking orders!  Anybody who wants to see the kinds of music that make ol’ TB happy can get a disc of your very own!

It’ll be 150+ mp3’s of all kinds of stuff, from the ridiculously ubiquitous to the thoroughly obscure, from bubblegum to moshers.  (As before, I’ll post the editorial note that the music that makes me happy can be weird, loud, varied, extremely profane, or all of the above.  No really heavy stuff though – that’s all being saved for my “Smash the World” mix, forthcoming…)  I have and will post a track listing, but I thought I’d keep it quiet to give the folks who want a disc the opportunity to be surprised.

All I need is a name and address to mail it to, emailed to me at taobikerblog at gmail.  (I don’t even care if the name is fake or it’s a PO Box.)

So…who wants one?


6 Responses

  1. Me. I’ll get my contact info to you later. If I forgot, just email me and remind me.

    You got it.

  2. There will be Opeth, right?

    Sadly, no, although they will be featured heavily on the forthcoming “Rainy Mix” and “Smash the World.”

  3. Me? Me? Okay, me? Please? Me?

    Dear Mr. Taoist Biker,

    If you would find it in the goodness of your heart to include me in your CD’s distribution, I would be incomprehensably grateful.



    If only letters to Santa could be answered this accurately!

    You’re in, lady. 😀

  4. I’m not worthy! I’m not worthy!

    I assure ye; no such thing!

  5. I get in and what’s sitting on my desk? A package addressed to me! So I rip the package open with my usual aplomb (meaning I probably got a paper cut) and see, personalized to my own damn self, the long awaited TB’s Sunny Mix Disc!

    There was even a personal note! Oh sure, it was sent to everyone but it sure felt personal! Like a cuddly missive from some far off benefactor.

    Sadly, that euphoria was short lived for one guy. Me being that guy. Boy, it’s a cold slap in the face when you’re singled out at the only person on this massive list to live in such a frozen wasteland, barren outpost, inhospitable clime, that the benefactor would choose anyplace else to reside.

    It made me begin to hope my ears aren’t too ice-caked to hear these wondrous tunes.

    Then, at the end of the page, when my last vestiges of hope drained into a chasm of despair, there was a slight reprieve. A chuck on the chin, if you will, to shore up my battered ego.

    A message from the man himself. In his own handwriting. It was uplifting sentiment that reminded me if I’d just move several thousand miles in a southward direction he would possibly consider mailing himself to my locale.

    It didn’t take my good feelings long to dissipate when I realized not only would my job, family, and physical address it’s own damn self be difficult to move Southwardly there was also my irrational fear of buttermilk (a horrible childhood memory of along with that of the task of shucking peas. Please, do not ask me to linger longer in that memory).

    After singing a rousing rendition of Hurt Feelings – – I summoned the manners taught to me as a young child (and mainly ignored as an adult) to thank my benefactor for what I am sure will be one hellacious collection of tunes! Thank you, TB!

    Okay, I cheated and looked. I was right! It is one hellacious collection!

    Thanks again, TB. Trust it’ll spend quality time in the old mp3 player!

    After I burn your letter. That still stings a little.

    Heh heh. I will completely concede your fear of buttermilk. I’ll never forget being at my grandparents’ house one morning and accidentally putting buttermilk on my cereal. BLEAGH!

    To assuage your hurt feelings, there has since been a request from someplace ELSE I wouldn’t mail myself this time of year… the rest were all from balmier climes. Or Europe, which I wanna visit for entirely different reasons…

  6. Oh sure, try to mend my feelings!

    As my girlfriend always says when someone complains about hurt feelings,

    “Fuck feelings.”

    As far as buttermilk, YOU made a mistake. My grandmother MADE me drink it every day I was visitng.

    Made me want to punch cows.

    “Fuck cows.”

    Gah. Your grandmother was evil.

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