bring my car i feel to smash it

i don't have anything particular to talk about really in depth today, but i have some thoughts swirling that, when put together, might make an interesting one-person conversation. because we all should have one-person conversations.

i forgot to post here about the npr.org live performance series. for those of you who are unaware, NPR has been recording shows of the musically great at the 930 club in D.C. the latest to post is Mogwai. my personal favorite is the neko case show. martha wainwright's on there also singing about an orifice or two. and in case any of your forgot my neko case story, let me recap:




went to the hi-tone to hear some tunes (along with the high dials...they were really pretty great and fiddled with a sitar at the end of the set). the show was great (kelly hogan was on tour, so the harmonies were rocking my face off) and it was 5000 degrees in the place, which is why i look sticky and icky. i also look like a giant next to neko case and her 2-ft frame. anyway, so i met her, she signed my stuff and we took a picture. then we ran off into the night and got married in a fever and had lots of redheaded babies.

and then i ran away from the paparazzi. i hate having to ALWAYS travel incognito.



and all of that is true.
or not.
maybe not those last few parts.

anyway, so ends my obsessi...erm, story of neko case.

(in that picture i was actually on my way to Graceland II in holly springs. now THAT'S a story)

so then! i went to subway (the actual eat fresh!, not the infested hole) on state st. the next week about 8ish and ran into my buddy with the rings. he proceeded to recite to me on the way to my car. his recitation included his jesus proclamation, that all the rings are from "dead people" (omg did he kill them? does he want my non-rings, too? does he have the FINGERS, too?!?), and that "they're trying to get frank melton on child molestation. that's like trying to catch michael jackson." hm. frank melton=michael jackson.

that's a funny comparison. funny because it's TRUE. just kidding. bahrain'd never let mr. crazy pants happen in.

and then he fake cried about his momma running away new orleans and the hurricane. and when he suddenly finished his stories, he asked me to buy cigarettes. and saluted me.

man...i love the jackson crazies.

last thought: have you seen the austin city limits festival lineup? i can now profess my fascination and undying adoration to carl newman.