Three Quick Things

1. There should be an emo Muppet show called Fragile Rock.

2. The bathroom at my office pipes in jazz over the speakers, even Miles Davis stuff. It's just a little odd. The soundtrack in there makes me feel like I should be tracking down a missing heiress in 1940's Los Angeles, when all I'm doing is going wee-wee and making sure I don't get any on myself.

3. I don't care how old this is, it will never stop being funny.

Hope in the darkness

These are certainly troubled times. An economy failing. A U.S. that finds itself with few allies. Turbulent world relations. It's times like that make us look both within ourselves and to our surroundings for hope. For direction. For a sense that maybe we're going to be okay.

The leader we need is here.

AC/DC has returned, just when we needed so very badly. Go here and you can hear their new single, "Rock N' Roll Train." The new album, "Black Ice," is due in October and features four different songs with "rock n' roll" in the title. Goddamn, we need these guys like we never needed them before. Welcome back, my Australian brethren.

I'm not a particularly religious person, but when I hear a really, really wonderful rock song, I feel a little more connected to the universe. There's a feeling in a song like the Stones' "Moonlight Mile," Prince's "The Pope," or Black Flag's "Rise Above" that lets you know that you're a part of something bigger. For those three minutes, you believe in something more than yourself. Like maybe, hippie-ish as it may sound, that maybe there is something in common between all of us. Maybe St. Joe Strummer was onto something.

There's something so incredibly reassuring about AC/DC's return, offering a song we've never heard before even as we've heard it a thousand times before. I can't stop playing it.

Let there be rock.

This is pretty great

Very cool video that ties in thematically with what I've been working on all evening. Never would have even seen this, but I just wanted to hear "The Passenger."

Not even noon and something horrific has happened to me.

Things started off so pleasantly. Wake up, read a little bit of The Road, then decide to go down to the weight room. Open the door, walk in. There, on the floor, next to the bike:

Two soiled latex gloves.

For one thing, I don't even want to think why those gloves were needed. For another, there's a damned trashcan less than 10 feet from where they were, right next to the water cooler I refuse to drink out of for very similar reasons. I used the treadmill, but couldn't bring myself to get on the bike with those gloves so close by. They might have the clap all over them, and that shit may have mutated to become airborne.

Hell, let's take a poll. What's the appropriate internal reaction to finding latex gloves on the floor of a public area where people are sweaty most of the time:

1. Oh, Jesus God, no.
2. Ewwwwwww.
3. Somebody go get an adult.
4. You never jerk it on the treadmill? What are you, a quaker?

Get yer ha-ha's out

1. Everybody saw Norm MacDonald's insane set from the Bob Saget roast, right? I've been laughing about it all week. God bless Norm.

2. The image over to the left there makes me happy and sad. Looks like there's one last album of Mitch stand-up coming out September 8th. I'm going to go be somber now.

Die Hard in a Bar

I assume that eventually I'll star in an action movie, despite not being an actor and not being overly attractive. I mean, I'm kind of attractive. I'm more handsome than you, you homely motherfucker.

What was I talking about?

Oh, right. Me in an action movie. I'm guessing said movie will be set in a bar. Let's say Smith's Olde Bar, just for the sake of argument. I'll be avoiding the bad guys and getting my plan worked out, just like in the original Die Hard. Maybe I'll be lurking around the stage upstairs. Anyway, at some point, there will be a big chase scene where either I'm going after the bad guys, or they're coming after me. I haven't worked that bit out yet.

Anyway, there' s a chase scene. Then, it comes down to the final fight with me and the bad guy. It goes back and forth for a bit, then it appears he has the upper hand. Just when all appears lost, there's a reappearance by an ally that we thought had perished earlier in the movie. We'll say it's Andrew Sweeney, since he and I had lunch together today. He helps me out, we defeat the bad guy, I make out with that girl that played Topanga on Boy Meets World, and we're all set up for a sequel. The sequel will either be set in a coffee shop or at a rodeo. Fuck it, we'll go with the rodeo, so we can get Whiplash in it.

The point of the above drivel, is that during the chase and final fight, I want the following cover of "Rock the Casbah" by Rachid Taha playing. I've been spinning it non-stop in the car the last few days, thanks to the soundtrack of The Future is Unwritten.

Literary pursuits

Okay, the story about abject failure in selling short stories may have to wait a bit, as I've found another avenue where I may try to sell what I consider to be the finest American short story since Hemingway thought up the name Nick Adams. Come to think of it, fuck Hemingway. Did his story have a horse that was six stories tall?

I think you understand now why I'm having a bit of trouble unloading this bad boy.

In the meantime, here's a list of what's been on the nightstand lately:

1. KISS: Behind the Mask. I found on this discount table and picked it up. It's good, but after Motley Crue's The Dirt, I've found that most rock and roll biographies tend to pale in comparison. Still, it's kind of interesting the read about the single-minded focus on success that Paul and Gene shared since day one. This is also the reason that I'm currently on my third episode of Gene Simmons' Family Jewels right now.

2. Confederates in the Attic by Tony Horwitz. A really interesting travelogue written by a guy who grew up fascinated with the Civil War, grew up and expatriated while covering wars overseas, then moved back to the southern U.S. He criss-crosses the south, uncovering the continuing legacy of the Civil War on southern people. A lot of it gave me pause and made me reconsider some of my own attitudes about the past and the present. A lot of it made me LOf'ingL, too.

3. Popeye, Vol. 2 by E.C. Segar. I've got a weakness for old comics strips, and these books are beautifully put together. Segar uses Popeye as a vehicle to tell some incredibly wide-ranging stories, from old west adventures to commentary on the issues of the day, like Popeye opening a Depression-era bank that only gives money out , never taking any in. Granted, Popeye was no Funky Winkerbean, but it's pretty good.

Next up, Cormac McCarthy's The Road and Haruki Murakami's After Dark. Well, to be perfectly honest, the roast of Bob Saget is up next. Then something highbrow.

Ch-ch-change.

Memo to the dude who lived in my apartment before me:

Attention, Michael H:

I found $2.00 in change jammed inside the washer. Four quarters, nine damned dimes, a nickel, and five pennies. Homeslice, how did you not notice this? Did you not hear the incessant jingle every time you took a load out?* Anyway, thanks for the free two bucks. Also, you really need to update the gas company as to your present whereabouts.

Coming soon: utter failures in short story publishing.


*This sounds like filthy slang for something.