What th' ...

I sneak across the pond for a mere 11 days, and what in the most Les Paul Junior of Christs happens? It appears some drunk roadie flipped the earth's polarization switch. (Too much feedback from those Marshall stacks? Thats what you get from using single-coil pickups.) Mama Weer All Krazee Krucoff working the board at Gawker; Kid Dig It reunited with the Farm for a six-fingered solo ala Carlos Cavazo, and, er, Tony Randall's dead. (Cum on, the jetlagged can stretch a metaphor only so far.)

A Hiku to Tony Randall

Tony Randall, who
Barbara said eyed me up, and
I: odd couple, no?

The Motherland: A Travelogue

Italy is a magical land, resplendent with mythical characters such as the Kappa Sport Hoodie; the Very Heavy German Fucking Tourist Who Just Stepped on My Goddamn Foot; and the stunningly lovely Alitalia Stewardess Si, Bellina, Un Altro Cafe Per Favore, Raaarow. The country had a rich and storied history, culminating with a game of musical chairs in which everyone sat down in 1898. Those left standing fled to America clad in oddly tilted caps and pants pulled up to their armpits. (You already know how that story ends.) All those remaining were dubbed "Italians" and forced by several iterations of government to work as little as possible, drink tiny cups of strong coffee, and take lunch breaks lasting only slightly longer than Napoleon's march into Russia and back.