randomness personified

random recollection

I just remembered something funny. Sometimes (okay, oftentimes) I mishear lyrics. We all do, I know, but I think my faults are entirely hereditary. My father, you see, always heard the Rolling Stones "Beast of Burden" as saying...

I'll never leave your pizza burnin'

Now that sounds pretty crazy on first blush. Now, though, sing it. See! See! He's not crazy. It almost sounds "right."

My worst? Until literally last year I heard a line from "My Favorite Things" incorrectly. I didn't think that Rogers and Hammerstein listed "when the bee stings" as something to feel bad about. Nope. Not me. I heard...

When the pee stinks

Which, if you think about, is pretty bad, too.

random rocking

I've never wanted to live in Oakland, CA. But now I wish I did. Because I'd go see "Fahrenheit 9/11" every day of it's run at this theatre...

I found this PDF kind of interesting, too. It's a breakdown of political activity by recording artist. Looks like George's going to have to sing for his own supper. While the Kerry list is long and impressive, W. can only claim the embarassing trio of Charlie Daniels, Travis Tritt, Billy Ray Cyrus along with a handful of Christian acts. Rock on!

fool, his money, etc.

So I get home from a long day in the city to find an offer in my inbox that a boy simply can't refuse. A two-day sale at BMG. All CDs 50% off and free shipping. Seriously. I didn't go too crazy. I spent about what I normally do when I go to any of the various musical emporiums that I frequent.

My question for you, though, is this. Why does BMG still have an option for "bill me?" Isn't this 2004? Doesn't everyone have a credit or debit card of some flavor? Don't they know that "bill me" might as well say "never pay me?" Naturally, randomness chose the "bill me" option...

hear ye, hear ye

Please spread the word! Copy and paste 'til it hurts.

keep on rockin' in the free world

If you see but one film this year...

It's probably important for anyone reading anything I write about "Fahrenheit 9/11" to understand the prism through which I viewed it this afternoon. I'm from Michigan. My political leanings lie pretty far to the left on the spectrum. I own "Roger & Me," "Bowling for Columbine" and both seasons of "The Awful Truth" on DVD (I draw the line at "Canadian Bacon," though). I own every book he's ever written. I even like to wear baseball caps. All of this is to say that I'm basically an unabashed Michael Moore fan.

That doesn't mean, however, that I don't understand and even share some of the complaints that many people make of him. He likes to play fast and loose with facts if it makes better film (the butcher job on Heston's speech in "Columbine," for example). He likes to compose grandstanding stunts to make for really incomfortable and, oftentimes, absurd conflict. Such moves often detract from the impact of his productions. His need to be the star of his films are often their biggest weakness.

Well, that's not really an issue with "Fahrenheit." Moore has plenty of people and stories with which to populate his picture. I'm not going to comment on the politics of this film. I don't think I need to. You know where I stand. I will say, however, that this might be the most "important" film in recent memory. You will react to Moore's revelations and images. It's simply superb filmmaking. His film construction has improved with every single outing. "Roger & Me" seems patently amateur by comparison. His underappreciated "The Big One" seems like only a bunch of loose ends. This picture never wavers in its agenda and only once (when he drives around D.C. in an ice cream truck reading The Patriot Act) gets too goofy. The tone, the passion, the fervor. It's all spot-on.

You will also question your reaction to much of the film. Am I being taken along on a ride? Am I following the lemmings over the cliff? Am I reacting the same way as the Religious Right did after seeing "The Passion of the Christ?" That's up to you to decide. However, the feeling of this film is something that won't escape you for several days. That, to me, is perhaps the finest compliment one can pay a filmmaker.

For the record, I believe every word of it. Almost. I honestly felt bad for Britney when some reporter asked her what she thought of the war and W. I mean, really. Should she have to have a ready opinion on that? Is it so funny that she said something stupid? She's a 22 year-old undereducated singer fer cryin' out loud. When our elected leaders, though, can't lucidly explain their positions (which happens time and time again in "Fahrenheit" and on your local airwaves) and beliefs? That's a different issue.

Whatever you do, though, wherever your political allegiances lie, you owe it to yourself to go see this film. Don't go, though, if you don't like to think. Don't go, though, if you don't like to be made uncomfortable by the world in which you live. Should you choose not to go you certainly won't be alone. When White House Communications Director Dan Bartlett was asked if he or the President had viewed "Fahrenheit" he replied...

This is a film that doesn't require us to actually view it to know it's filled with factual inaccuracies.

Comforting. Very, very comforting.

Ignorance never settles a question.
-benjamin disraeli

a believer is born

On more that one occasion on these pages I've declared my favorite album ever to be Wilco's "Yankee Hotel Foxtrot." It's a delirious album with gigantic hooks and melody hidden behind a strange wall of fuzz, distortion and sound effects. It was a quantum leap from the band's previous output and was an album that really suggested, nay required, careful repeated listenings. Even now, more than three years after we first got our hands on it, I still discover new corners and angles while marvelling at the songcraft.

I managed to get a copy of the band's latest, "A Ghost Is Born," about two months ago. I put it on, I think, expecting to hear more of the melodic output. I expected it to be comfortable, in other words. It wasn't. It was jarring. It was challenging. It was odd. As a result, I must admit that I gave up on it pretty quickly.

Fast forward to this week. After lead singer Jeff Tweedy's well-publicized stint in rehab the album finally sees an official release. It immediately found a nice snug spot on my iPod. I listened and listened and listened and somewhere along the way the light came on.

It's never going to be YHF. The hooks are all but gone. The lurking melody is non-existent. Wilco is now a band working in a different game. The opening track, "At Least That's What You Said" starts as mournful piano dirge that wouldn't be out of place on "Being There." But at the two minute mark it becomes a head-bobbing (and mind-boggling) Crazy Horse jam. By the third track, "Spiders (Kidsmoke)," we're almost being dared to tolerate ten minutes of chaos as Tweedy spits out non-sequiturs about Michigan beaches over randomly strummed guitars and throbbing synth loops.

Our reward for making it through "Spiders" is yet another challenge. Parts of "Muzzle of Bees" would fit well on Nick Drake's "Bryter Layter." The end, however, would almost fit on Lou's "Metal Machine Music." I told ya it was a challenge.

But suddenly the onslaught takes a break. From the Sesame Street bounce of "Hummingbird" until the almost flawless "Theologians" six songs later, things become much more tame. There's still nothing as immediate as YHF's "Pot Kettle Black" or "Jesus, etc." but there are plenty of interesting diversions and some near hooks.

Things come to a screeching halt, though, with the already infamous "More Than You Think." Lou once said of the aforementioned "Metal Machine Music" that "anyone who gets to side four is dumber than I am." Tweedy's pretty much said the same of this track. The first three minutes are a somber affair seemingly about a migraine headache. The next twelve minutes consist of one single note drawn out, oscillated, distorted and joined by feedback. Anyone who finds any enjoyment whatsoever in it has serious issues. It's patently absurd.

The album draws to a close with the only real radio-friendly track. "The Last Greats" is about as close to alt.country as Wilco 2004 gets. A very palatable end to a challenging album.

In the end, it's a work that I marvel at. It's ambitious, it's thought-provoking, it's a challenge. It's also fairly frustrating and fairly schizophrenic. Somehow I think that's exactly what they were hoping for...

my kinda town

You may remember that last week I was making fun of Detroiters for going cuckoo over Jimmy Kimmel's comments about their fair city. On Wednesday some nutcase started shooting at the annual summertime fireworks display in Hart Plaza. He shot nine people. Luckily no one was killed.

But what are Detroiters worried about? Stopping violence in Motown? Reversing urban blight? Restoring some of the amazing vacant homes of Brush Park?

Guess again. They're worried about their image. Huh? Now's it tarnished? They're also making calls to ABC to make sure that Kimmel doesn't hurt their feeling anymore. Man. I'm embarassed to be a Michigander these days.

I am, however, proud to report that my fellow Tri-State Michigan transplant seems to be be fairing much better. I attempted to see a screening of "Farenheit 9/11" at three different Manhattan theaters this evening. Each one was showing it on at least three screens. The only shows I could've gotten a ticket for? The 12:20 a.m. and 1:10 a.m screenings at The Empire 25. Wow.

run, lolla, run

Well, I guess I no longer have to research a believable yet potent ailment to come down with for the two days of Lollapalooza. Drag. This assertion bothered me, though:

When the lineup for this year's trek was announced, it was met with criticism that not many music fans, especially those in the middle of the country, would appreciate Morrissey, Sonic Youth, PJ Harvey and the String Cheese Incident, let alone smaller acts like Broken Social Scene, Sound Tribe Sector 9 and the Dresden Dolls.

While I applaude Middle America for not wanting to be subjected to the banality of String Cheese Incident and almost understand some trepidation with the scary fun that is the Dresden Dolls, I hope that's not true.

Speak to me, oh Heartland. You're not that unhip, are you?

a little light on the edge of town

Andrew Rasiej, the owner of New York's fine Irving Plaza, is trying to recruit Springsteen to play Giants Stadium on the same day that Bush speaks across the river at the GOP convention. Simply brilliant.

Apparently, though, The Boss needs some prodding. Help convince him. The stadium is reserved and several other big names (r.e.m., Dylan, etc.) are apparently interested. This could be a great night. A real "Meeting Across the River," if you will.

(via Vernam)

it's a dead man's party, who could ask for more?

As Daniella alluded to in the comments yesterday, we're pleased to announce...

The First Annual Paul Frankenstein Memorial Big Apple Blogger Bash

It's a joint production of randomness, The Illuminated Donkey and Daniella's Misadventures.

Where - Siberia Bar
When - Friday, July 9th @ 7:00 p.m.

Snazzy logos and links are on their way. In the meantime feel free to link to the announcement page and RSVP.

what have you done for me lately?

Hey. I gots five gmail accounts to give away. They're free in exchange for a mix CD. To sweeten the offer, I'll also send you a mix CD. I just love mix CDs, that's all. So. If you want one just email me at mikewolf -at- gmail.com.

i feel better now

Walking back from the bank and a couple of errands this evening I overheard one 50'ish woman say to another,

Don't worry. I brought an extra pair of panties!

I tried not to be troubled by such an outburst on a public street but, alas, I couldn't. All kinds of lurid scenarios churned through my already over-taxed brain.

I literally breathed a sigh of relief, though, when I passed by the Palace Theater and realized that Tom Jones was in town. Whew.

nausea, bloody red eyes go

I'm not making any judgement regarding the merits of her case. However, isn't there something wrong with a world where Exene makes about $5k a month? Especially when compared to her ex's more than $276k per month?

Perhaps, though, the better question is what kind of elementary school would hire her as assistant teacher/librarian? Wherever it may be, that's where my kids are going. Hypothetically speaking, of course...

P.S. This is probably where I should admit that I remain convinced that for a brief period Exene was incredibly hot.

take me out

I'm afraid I was too old, too jaded and too cranky to attend either of last week's much ballyhooed, absurdly late and grossly sweaty Franz Ferdinand shows at Webster Hall and Volume. I did, however, manage to see them on Conan. Yikes. Those boys are a force live, I swears.

Next time I'll manage to make it to a show in Williamsburg where the headliner goes on sometime near 1 a.m. Then I'll get in my car and navigate the crazy one-way streets of Hipster Central back to the pastoral fields of Stamford.

Yeah, right. I'll just live vicariously through Jesse.

remnants

* Miss Ross is putting on a free show in Greenwich. If I didn't think it would be a complete zoo and if I didn't have to work in the City on Thursday I would totally go because I'm sure it's going to be the craziest, campiest, glitziest thing ever.

* I sat down and was mesmerized by Bill Clinton tonight. I've met him, mind you, and he has such a bizarrely commanding presence and warmth. It somehow translates through the medium of television. I think I'll buy his book this week. Does that make me pathetic?

* Downtown Stamford continues to gussy itself up. It's changed so drastically in the nearly three years that I've lived here. It's really starting to develop "a scene" and I couldn't be happier about it. There's now a new 24 hour diner (where I had breakfast yesterday) to join the hyper-trendy restaurants and soon the ritzy Target will be completed.

* Made a totally impromptu trip yesterday to Dia: Beacon in Beacon, NY. It's an absolutely amazing building on the surprisingly mountainous banks of the Hudson. The more than 200,000 square feet of exhibition space allows them to show much of their large-scale collection. I absolutely adored the huge Serra sculptures and the impact of a dark Nauman installation.

* Went to see "Control Room" today at the lovely Avon Theater. I dunno. I wasn't bad. It was good, I guess. Its analysis was a bit, well, superficial and lacking. It was chilling, though, to see clips of W adamant that our P.O.W.'s be treated in accordance with the Geneva Conventions. Do as I say, not as I do...

humble and gracious, the gravity of the situation

With the amount of reverential treatment and pimping of Mssr. Vic Chesnutt that occurs on these pages and in my crazy little life I guess that it's only natural for people to assume that I "know" Vic. The truth of the matter is that I really don't. Sure, I've seen Vic in a hundred tiny little clubs. Sure, I've had a many, many little conversations with him over the last 12 years. Sure, he once went on an expletive-filled tirade onstage at my expense (it was crip thing). But the the simple fact remained that Vic was quite literally unapproachable. See, Vic was a notoriously vicious drunk. As Michael Stipe writes in the liner notes of the re-release of Vic's debut disc "Little:"

...as far as I could tell he would play for beer and whiskey, singing songs every week to the small crowd that would hear them. Then he would fall offstage near the end or get really ornery.

I think it was near fall when I went up to him, presented myself and said we need to get some of these songs down on tape before you drink yourself to death...

For many years seeing Vic live was a frustrating game of chance. You never knew if you were going to see the stereotypical troubled troubadour in a fit of stops and starts or an inspired artist at the top of his game. More often than not, I'm afraid, the uninitiated would leave mumbling things about "supposed genius." Those of us who were used to it would simply say "that's just Vic" and mark our calendars for the next appearance. It didn't take an psychologist, though, to figure out that he was drinking to deal with his disability. It didn't take a doctor to figure out that he was in a lot of trouble.

But a few years ago things started to change. It was subtle at first. Vic seemed more jovial and chatted onstage rather than ranted. Soon I noticed that his shows were much less spotty. When I started to see him in NYC his musicianship was dramatically improved and his frail voice was no more. I mean suddenly he could literally croon! I took joy in all of it but didn't really think much of it, I guess, until last night.

Last evening I saw Vic with a six (!) piece band at Joe's Pub. The setlist was divine. It consisted entirely of the "bonus tracks" from the Texas Hotel re-releases. As a long-time fan these were mostly songs that I heard him play live during the lean years. With a full-band and lively Vic they were simply amazing.

Then the oddest thing happened. Vic told the small crowd (it was a 7:30 show, after all) that he had the re-releases with him and that we should "all meet in that little hall back there" to buy them and get them signed. After attending countless shows since 1992, meeting several famous people thanks that attendance and fostering a "smile and nod" relationship with his wife I have exactly one signed Vic item. It's a t-shirt that was sold at the 40 Watt at a Sweet Relief show. I had the audacity to ask him to sign and, seriously, I thought he was going to punch me. I've basically been frightened of him ever since and have said little more than "hello" in the subsequent years.

You've probably figured this out already, but I had my first honestly sober conversation with Vic last night. It was surreal. We spoke about Athens, reminisced about a lot of crazy shows and about how good he feels. He hasn't had a drink in five years. He signed a couple of things for me. He had his always lovely wife take our picture.

I didn't know how to even process it for the longest time. I still don't even know how to explain what it meant to me. When I did sorta wrap my brain around what had happened it was about all I could do to not cry little tears of joy. Not for me. For Vic.

a quick shopping list

cds that randomness has purchased recently and really loves
Polly Jean Harvey - "Uh-Huh Her"
Jesse Sykes and the Sweet Hereafter - "Oh, My Girl"
A.C. Newman - "The Slow Wonder"
Mirah - "C'mon Miracle"
Morrissey - "You Are The Quarry"
Modest Mouse - "Good News For People Who Love Bad News"
The Weakerthans - "Left and Leaving"
My Morning Jacket - "Acoustic Citsouca"

cds that randomness has purchased recently and kinda likes
Prince - "Musicology"
The Streets - "A Grand Don't Come For Free"
matt pond PA - "Emblems"

cd that randomness has purchased recently that makes him giggle
Devandra Banhart - "Rejoicing In The Hands"

cd that randomness has purchased recently that induces fits
Animal Collective - "Sung Tongs"

cd that randomness has purchased recently that he's reluctantly going to have to admit that he doesn't like
Sonic Youth - "Sonic Nurse"

cd that randomness hopes is much, much different than the mp3s that he's had for months
Wilco - "A Ghost Is Born"

Sorry for the frenetic pace. Just have to get those out of the way so I can write about the Vic re-issues and seeing him at Joe's Pub tomorrow night.

randomness is aboard

I've been meaning to post for some time a little comment on Allison Moorer's latest album "The Duel." Longtime randomness readers will know that I take a moment to gush about Allison's work from time-to-time. For those of you unacquainted, the quick story is that she's Shelby Lynne's younger sister and possesses one of the most lush and powerful voices you'll ever hear. Allison's trying to forge a career in "country" music sans the Nashville machine. Her success has been spotty (she was nominated for an Oscar for her work in "The Horse Whisperer," later dropped from her label and even had a duet with Kid Rock re-cut with Sheryl Crow). Her output, though, has been nothing short of brilliant.

"The Duel" is murky, dark and beautiful. It's a bit more Allman's than her previous work which isn't a bad thing. In spots it literally rocks but more often is that twang/torch style that I adore. What makes me love it, though, is the courage of some of the writing. The title track has her denouncing her diety and the new single "All Aboard" is literally the anti-Toby Keith. Take a look at the lyrics. Simply sardonic. Simply devastating. Simply spot on...

all aboard
bandwagon rides for free
satisfaction guaranteed
fall in line and let it take you farther
hurry up they're going fast
this special offer will not last
all aboard yells the main street barker
all aboard all aboard
all aboard all aboard
sign up and get a flag
wear it proudly you can brag
to the fools who didn't volunteer
some restrictions do apply
watch your mouth and close your eyes
and we allow no yellow foreign queers
all aboard all aboard
all aboard all aboard
a team of old white studs
pulls this rolling country club
climb right on and take a seat
down the beaten path we'll run
high stepping to the drummer's drum
and if you don't like it you can leave
all aboard all aboard
all aboard all aboard
-a. moorer / b. primm

Wow. That's effing brilliant. It's available as t-shirt, too, but somehow I doubt people would "get" it if I wore it to, say, the gym. Or am I not giving people enough credit? What say you?

all aboard

Been there, done that. More times than I care to admit, in fact. The option that the author fails to mention is the one I'll always opt for: hold court in another bar until the 4:00 a.m. closing time and then a quick breakfast at any of a number of diners. Then again, I'm hardly one of the "fearful suburbanites."

thin skinned michiganders

As I celebrate the Pistons taking a commanding (let me gloat a little, please) 2-1 lead over the evil Lakers, I hear that ABC pulled Jimmy Kimmel's awful show for comments he made about Detroit?

Are we really that thin-skinned? Do we really not know that Detroit is a hellhole? Is ABC really that paranoid? Apparently so. Kimmel was forced to release this statement yesterday:

When you're 2,000 miles away from a city you've never lived in, it's hard to understand the sadness people feel from something that happened in their town - even if it happened many years ago. It was never my intention to cause anyone pain. I was trying to make a joke and I'm sorry it resulted in anything other than laughter.

The odd thing is that I thought he was referring to the 1984 Tigers celebration and not the 1968 riots. The bottom line, though, is that this reaction from Detroiters is flat-out embarrassing.

How in the world can he make such a remark like that, having never been to the city? That's terrible! That only instigates things, causes things to happen because of remarks like that.

I turned down a really good job in Southfield and opted instead to move here to the Tri-State. I couldn't move back to Wayne County. How 'bout it causing things to happen like, say, making your city liveable?

you know it

I know you all sit on pins and needles waiting for stories of my brushes with greatness in NYC. "Who have you seen lately, Mike?" is a chorus I'm very used to hearing. Well, my darling readers, wait no longer.

The scene: Today outside some random building on Park Avenue.
The miraculous sighting: The one, the only, the legendary Danny Bonaduce.

This pathetic celebrity sighting may actually be trumped by the sighting Daniella and I had last week in Times Square of some unnamed (To us, at least. His mother probably knows his name) random character actor that Daniella swears has been on both Hill Street Blues and Law & Order.

You're jealous of our glamorous lifestyle hobnobbing with the rich and famous. It's okay. I understand.

things that make you go hmm

In a bizarre era where everything, everything, everything under the sun is being censored I just watched last night's Late Show. The simply delicious P.J. Harvey sang -

take the cap
off your pen
wet the envelope
lick and lick it and lick it and lick it

And with that I'll be running out to buy her new disc tomorrow...

you know the bit where it goes...

From the department of too many lists comes this, "The 50 Coolest Song Parts." While any list that Phil Collins tops is a list I'm not interested in, I must admit that bit is pretty memorable.

My favorite bit? The shrieking sliding-scale weirdness before Peter Murphy starts singing in Bauhaus' "Bella Lugosi's Dead" Oh. Wait. No. It's the bit where part where Ambrosia Parsley (yes, that's her name) of Shivaree whispers in "Goodnight Moon." What's yours?

(via memepool)

trampin'

Costello wrote it for Maggie, but I don't think he'd mind us absconding with a bit of it for our own beloved...

well i hope i don't die too soon
i pray the lord my soul to save
oh I'll be a good boy, i'm trying so hard to behave
because there's one thing i know, i'd like to live long enough to savour
that's when they finally put you in the ground
i'll stand on your grave and tramp the dirt down
-d. macmanus

pretty as a popsicle

Wanting to escape reality for just a bit, I decided to sit through "The Day After Tomorrow" this afternoon. Yeah. Me. Go figure.

I'm not going to write anything that hasn't already been written a thousand times about this little piece of work. It's amazing to look at. Seriously. Some of the effects are eye-popping. I found myself giggling with glee when tornados shredded "downtown" Los Angeles. The icy wasteland that Manhattan becomes is truly mesmerizing.

The rest of the film is also mesmerizing and giggle inducing, but I have to believe that it's completely unintentional. The plot is absolutely cornball beyond belief. Rational thought and logic are completely obliterated at every single turn. The science is certainly shoddy but the plot is flat-out embarrassing.

That said, it did just what I wanted it to. It provided a quick escape from the cares of the world. I have to admit that I was a little freaked out, though, when I emerged from the theater and it was about 55 degrees outside. It couldn't be...

must be the season of the moz

Like most kids, I rode many musical bandwagons. As a pre-teen I, for some odd reason or another, loved John Denver. Some of you will recall that I later spent large chunks of time as a Prince fan, a Journey fan, and even a brief stint as a Michael Jackson fan. None of my bouts with fandom, though, were as fanatic or as encompassing as my disaffected youth love of The Smiths.

I've never really recaptured my youthful enthusiasm for most of those acts. However, I now find myself completely entralled with the cult of Morrissey. Maybe it's my recurring dark moods. Maybe it's the rough and tumble Northeast. Perhaps it's just that his new release, "You Are The Quarry," is pretty damn good. Whatever it is I find myself constantly re-listening to "The Queen is Dead" and "Meat Is Murder" between visiting "Quarry." Don't worry. I think I'll draw the line at revisiting my dyed black crew cut.

Here are some artifacts for your Mozzing pleasure -

"Heaven Knows I'm Miserable Now" - Hamburg 5/4/1984 (right click, save target as)

Ah. The whining falsetto of young Morrissey. One of my favorites when I was so very, very sad. Also contains a brief bit of the beloved football chant at the end.

"Rubber Ring" - Harlem 5/8/2004 (right click, save target as)

A fan favorite never performed live by The Smiths. Alas, not from the show Ken and I attended. However, the old boy really does still have some of the energy I thought he lost long ago. This version will do nothing, though, to settle the old arguments regarding what he's saying. No "rubber ring," no "smother me."

"The First Of The Gang To Die" - Later with Jules Holland 5/25/2004 (WARNING - 71 MEG ZIPPED VIDEO FILE UP THIS WEEKEND ONLY)

The centerpiece of "Quarry," methinks. If nothing else it's certainly the lost brother of "Last of The International Playboys." Contains all the proper elements of a good Morrissey song: weird visuals, macabre storytelling, soaring vocals, a great riff, some weird sing-song bits and is catchy as hell.

** For some weird reason MT blows up when I try to put this link in as an href. Weird. Any ideas? At any rate, if you want the video it's at http://www.mikewolf.net/MP3/gang.ZIP. Please be courteous with my bandwidth and download it rather than stream it.**

bad blogger, bad blogger

Sorry I've been so slack in my bloggerly duties over the past couple of weeks. I'm in Manhattan almost every day as of late and oftentimes don't even have a PC that I can check my mail on. I'll do better. Promise.

So, Sotheby's is auctioning off items from the Cash estate in September. I'll at least go to the preview, I guess. I'd like own something, though. Perhaps there will be a scrap of something I can get on the cheap.

For the record, weekday binge drinking is a bad idea. Fun at the time, bad later. Much fun was had, though, with my new pal Daniella.

humble and gracious

Vic Chesnutt's first four (and perhaps best and certainly most "authentic") records were originally released on the tiny Texas Hotel label. That label has long since gone belly-up making them pretty much impossible to find. New West, Vic's current label, is re-releasing them as expanded versions on June 15th. This is absurdly good news. One has to wonder, though, how many copies they'll really move. Vic is certainly an acquired taste and is far from a household name. Three cheers for a very heroic and brave move from New West.

You know what this means, don't you? Yep. I'm gonna have to insist that you buy all four. If you want to be cheap I'll allow you scrimp by on just "West of Rome" and "Is The Actor Happy?"

a thousand thanks

Go out to the fine, fine Continental Airlines flight attendant who decided that it was okay to give the unaccompanied minor sitting next to me coffee at 10:00 p.m. He was eight and he asked for some because he "wanted to stay awake." When he started punching his sister next to him and, in turn, accidentally hitting me as well it seemed like a particularly brilliant decision.