...KCRW is the pretty much the best radio station evah. Just open your iTunes to radio->eclectic->KCRW if you're not in the LA area. Yesterday, there was Primal Scream's "Higher Than The Sun" (which is actually like 100 years old in music time) followed by the Todd Terry remix of Moloko's "Only Love Can Break Your Heart" (the joint with Steve Miller samples..."doo doo doodoooo"...) and followed closely by one of Beck's new tracks.
And because we all adore a good mp3 blog - welcome to Smart Music. Prefuse 73, Interpol, Lemon Jelly, telefon tel aviv...all legal and free, the way it oughta be. (thanks, moka break!)
Some of you might remember the drama of the rats. Well, mama must be movin' on up to the east side, cos my new house has a much different sort of vermin. My neighbor stopped to tell me this story, and I thought I would share it with all yall.
So the neighbors have a cat, and hence they have a cat door. The other night, everyone was coming home late, drunk and tired. There were two beady eyes staring from the closet in the bedroom. Of course, they assumed it was the cat. But NO!
People, there was a raccoon running around loose in their house. And raccoons, in case you don't know, are not what they call "small". Or, while we're on the subject, "tame".
The raccoon dashed out of the closet and into another bedroom. Then down the hallway. So, of course, Neighbors did what any sensible drunk people would do. One opened the back door while the other one (wait for it) talked to the raccoon. "Listen, dude. You've gotta go."
And it DID.
From rats to having both raccoons and the Beastmaster living next door.
Me: "How was the Odeon last night?" Jason: "I won a shot of Fernet because I asked the question 'why can't dogs laugh?' I don't remember the answer, but I finally got the shot." Adam: "and there was a rapping jelly donut that was AWESOME."
Newsweek gets in trouble for reporting that US troops flushed the Koran to try to get Muslim inmates to talk.
"It's only fair to say at this stage that Newsweek can be held responsible for the damages caused by their story."
HELLO. Is this thing on? The reporter wasn't the one giving the good book a swirlie. Why are they in trouble for reporting it? And why are we listening to Pakistan and Afghanistan pontificate about what the press should be allowed to report about?
Will someone please explain to me exactly why this is news story about a news story instead of a news story about an atrocity committed in a prison?
As any of my formerroommates can tell you, I am not a morning person. Unless, by morning person, you are thinking of someone who desperately desires nothing but coffee and minimal conversation. Now, my mornings usually involve the dog park, which involves some talking, but usually, it's just listening to people chat about their dogs, or their dog's poo, or some combination thereof.
So, in the interest of self-preservation and not offending the holy fuck out of some enthusiastic morning-loving-collie-owner type, I took my book with me this morning, which I have been dying to finish before the San Francisco Public Library hunts me down for late fees on it. I figured this way, I could keep one eye on Stella and one eye on what I'm reading. The universal sign of "I would not like to talk with you" is having your nose in a book. It works on airplanes, yes?
Not so in the dog park.
First off, as you might remember, dogs do not read. However they do
a. have explosive diarrhea at importune moments (thanks, Stella) b. have the ability to sniff out treats in your pocket and c. act all cute as hell to try to get you to give said treats to them.
So there I am, with two pit bulls gazing lovingly into my eyes as though I were the only being in the world who could ever provide them with comfort...in the form of processed bacon, of course.
And then, a homeless-ish guy sits down next to me. Hi, homeless-ish guy!
He tells me all about his three birds and his old dog, Sadie, who got hit by a car. He tells me about the community in Terre Haute where he grew up. He tells me about his gig last night playing piano somewhere in North Beach. (Old musicians never die, they just move from bar to bar, right, Dad?) He tells me about how his grandma and he used to both live in the same area of San Francisco, how they would both hit the bricks each morning at six to walk in the park. He tells me about repainting a commune on Valencia that was all tangerine inside. "Eight rooms!"
Sometimes, all you need to do is ask a couple of questions and listen, and no one even cares if you're a morning person or not.
He also asked me out for coffee, which I politely declined.