Lemme Gitcher Ear Fer a Minute...

Them Crooked Vultures ain't gonna surprise no one, but they may rock a couple of asses off. No shit... listen to John Paul Jones' bass parts (if you can get past Josh Homme sounding like every band he's ever been in). OH... and Grohl playing drums means for at least that instant, he isn't writing some song I feel guilty for hating. B+ but only because Plant died last year. Oh, he's alive? B-

It is worth mentioning that prior to editing, I referred to the band above as Them Heavy Vultures. Oh Kate Bush, will you ever relinquish your control of my brain?

V is brilliant television for Americans that hate terrorism. Solid B

Mad Men finale? B+ if you are a misogynist. A- if you aren't.

I used to watch FlashForward. Then baseball happened. I liked Lost the first time.

Oh... reality television? Kevin wins Top Chef, that bitch I-Mean-a wins Project Runway, no one wins Survivor unless a new-clear bawmb is dropped on Samoa, and General Hospital is just getting good. Whataya mean General Hospital isn't real?

I figured that Brother Ran would hit that Grant Hart record, but as he hasn't... OH MY GOD. It is the sequel to Intolerance that you never heard. Wait, you never heard Intolerance? Then why are you reading this? Fuck off. Hot Wax A++++++

Rum Trumps Memories

I'm listening to Ronnie Spector (most ridiculous sex fantasy ever, by the way) and realizing that (no shit) alcohol is so fucking stupid. No, seriously, alcohol has been this HUGE factor in my life. Most every good and bad thing that has ever happened to me has been a result of drinking. Oh, by the way... I'm drinking. Full disclosure.

But look... music doesn't taste as good sober. It just doesn't. If you are disagreeing, you either listen to a boatload of Christian rock, or an assload of contemporary country. Listen... to the latter group, Hank the Senior WANTS you to drink. Copiously. So get over yourself and go and buy a bottle. Trust me, you want no part of any Heaven that doesn't involve Hank Sr. Or Johnny Thunders. Drink up. But try really hard to stay away from the opiates.

I guess my point is this: it is just after three in the A.M., and I'm directionless. Alcohol doesn't help me anymore. No songs, no poems, no prose.

Wait... this is prose (sort of), right?

Lemme think about all of this.

ADIDAS.