Is Tetris Really My Friend?

I've spent the better part of my internet life these last two weeks (which is a lot of time in itself) on tetrisfriends.com. It may have started as an effort to be more like Miles Fricker. Maybe it was compensation for lack of Miles in my life. The point is I've been playing a lot and progressing... I think. Trying to learn the "game." Trying to create strategies. At first it just seemed like Tetris was about calculated risks; you get the block you get, you put it in the space it belongs best (even if it means leaving a gap or three in yr wall,) you hope it knocks out a line or two and you move on. I played like this for a few days, happy with the results. The game appeared to move quickly and I felt like I was getting somewhere. However, after I consulted with Miles who, cos I didn't mention earlier, is the Resident Tetris Bull/Koolest Thang in my circle of friends, I found out I had it all wrong: the goal was to get tetrises. As many as you can.

Miles told me to get a tetris one has to clear four lines at once. One does this using the blue-stick. So I took his advice because "you get mad points for getting tetrises." Since then, my whole life is making tetrises. Or more accurately, my whole life is being invaded by thoughts of making tetrises. Anytime I let my mind wander, it turns to visions of what I've been calling "perfect Tetris," the Tetris I want to be playing. I'm perfectly set up to make a tetris: about half the playing screen is covered by my wall. There are lots of green blocks, few red, many yellow and orange. There is a slot to the right or left of this wall and then drops a blue tick. It rotates, finds its place to a side of the wall and then I snap-to.

Earlier, I took a nap and got my first Tetris dream. Tetrisfriends actually changed their interface today... the screen in my dream where the gameplay was taking place looked like the new Tetrisfriends but there were backgrounds like junkyards and the cover of Doggystyle. John Doe's voice was coming from somewhere. He was saying things in between plays of "We're Desperate," which was on repeat.

I'm not keeping up with the blogs I usually do, Marathonpacks and Fightwithknives. They've probably been updated at least four or five times over since Friday with really engaging music industry-related content but I don't know. The new routine is to open Facebook, Hipster Runoff and Pitchfork, Tetrisfriends... must downsize for TF, no time to read anything too stimulating. Must make tetrises.

I share my problem with D. who was the same way this summer except with Freecell. She dreamt of perfect Freecell, solitary cardplaying euphoria. Still, she says it's pathetic that I dream/daydream about this shit.

"Yr jst an entrylvl Tetris altbr0, youll prgrss to mastr Tetris altbr0 and thn lose the urge 2 tetris altgthr."
-Carles, HRO

Have you ever made a conscious effort to ensure someone never wants to try to be your friend ever again? Real life friends and/or video game friends, food friends etc.?

We Were Never In this Together

A good week:

Wednesday, I went to the Tom Gabel "Searching For a Former Sense of Integrity/I'm Still Legit, I Swear! Solo Acoustic Tour." I guess he sort of "restored my faith," but in what I'm not exactly sure. It's not like I'm itching for the next time I get to see Against Me! at some cavernous warehouse or that I'm 100% thrilled with Heart Burns, Gabel's solo E.P. Maybe I just had a lot of fun getting to scream along with "I Still Love You Julie," "What We Worked For," "Tonight We're Gonna Give It 35%," etc. as they were originally intended to be screamed along with: in a small space, led by an acoustic guitar and the proudest set of vocal cords Butch Vig ever produced. It was hard to deny that the newest song Tom played, "I Dreamed Bob Dylan Was a Friend of Mine," absolutely bled sincerity. It's a simple song, only three or four chords, wherein Gabel and Bob Dylan just hang out... It just harkened back to better days, I guess, When playing "Baby I'm An Anarchist" to a crowd of 200 in a sweaty grange hall didn't seem like a really good dream and long before Spin claimed New Wave deserved to join Nevermind in Rock's Pantheon, in the corner reserved for "Really Incendiary Rock and Roll Records." Then again, though, it was impossible for me not to yell "Eat your words, Tom Gabel!" during "What We Worked For" as soon as he sang "..and may the rights to this song never make one fucking dollar." Eat 'em up with those big label exec fat cats you fuck and some great red wine, good luck finding that integrity. Jk. Kinda.

"I Dreamed Bob Dylan Was a Friend of Mine:"

Thursday, D. down the hall and I went to see Slumdog Millionaire. Fox Searchlight emailed me those movie promo freebie passes, two, first come first served. We got to the Bourse. Some lady appeared to be waiting ahead of me, so I let her go, and then learned she grabbed the second to last spot. First come indeed. So I dragged D. to AKA Music and picked up a Television Personalities album. I really like it; it's like the missing link between the Vaselines and Brian Jonestown massacre. New episode of the Office, this season's best, and then Zack and Miri Make a Porno which was very, very funny but lacked a little of the depth you expect from most Kevin Smith movies. It was a little too Apatow, not that that's bad because I like that, but it just wasn't Kevin Smith. Maybe he should have stayed in Jersey. But I liked it, nonetheless.

Friday I got a call to interview Mischief Brew/Erik Petersen after the show at the Barbary. To be honest, I've never really dug too far into Mischief Brew's catalog, let alone the Orphans but it was nothing I didn't expect. The crowd smelled awful. Brian McGee and Hollowspeed were great roots rock and to me he sounds like a dead ringer for Jay Farrar. I wonder if that southern accent is fake? Isn't he from here? Lusts were just as good, angry and angular garage rock sung through a telephone receiver (a growing trend, I guess.) Mischief Brew often come off as really hoky sometimes but the feelings are unadulterated and they play with a lot of energy/lack of preachiness that most folk punk is missing. People told me over and over again Erik is the nicest of guys and will be really easy to talk to. This was true.

I hope theres a six pack of Pabst Blue Ribbon pounders in my future. If not, I have Waiting For Guffman, Bicycle Thieves, and a walk across the Ben Franklin Bridge early tomorrow afternoon.

The Walkmen-"French Vacation"

I went to AKA yesterday with the intention of buying the new Los Campesinos!. Apparently it doesn't come out til next week, so I was stuck racing to find another option that would cure my "need new album even if it's not necessarily new" fix before my bike, sitting outside unlocked because I fucking left my keys on my bed, got stolen. Since The Walkmen's You & Me has slowly become one of my favorite records of the year (also bought on a whim at Repo Records during Welcome Week) I decided to pick up their debut, Everyone Who Pretended to Like Me is Gone. Now if that title doesn't feel applicable to me at least 10% of the time, I don't know what was. Plus, the kids on the cover make me jealous. Anyway, "French Vacation" sticks out as one of the best songs on the album, especially at the 3:00 mark when the song as we knew it drops out and vocalist Hamilton Leithauser wails and whines over sparse drums: "Hey, where'd you go? I remember when all our plans were to meet at home. Where'd you go?"

This guy dreams of unified scenes... don't ya love him!!!!!!

Awrite, Geo...

...so you gave us the Lazy Student's guide to Exam 2. But what of the Lazier Student's guide to Exam 2?

Just joshing. Not that my journalism professor is reading this. Well he might be. But I'm really appreciative of these exam primers.

On another note. Mike Ford, you took a jab at me so now I'm just going to come forward and maybe take a jab at you. But, really, when it comes down to it we're just a couple of guys who don't care. Regardless, I'm sorry, but I just don't like Sky vs. Sea. I really appreciate you guys asking me to do this but it would have just been too much lying for no payoff except for my name on your Myspace. There's too much delay. Your singer is awful (but apparently everyone knows that? But why wallow in Peter Keating-esque vocal-mediocrity when you could do so much better...or just cut vocals altogether.) And I hate Circa Survive. And when I hear you guys, the only thing I can think of is the awful forty-five minutes I near-slept through the time I saw Circa open for Saves the Day. Your bass playing, though, is really really cool and I'm not just saying that. And Azar is a lot of fun to watch. Otherwise, whackness. Sry.

Instead of writing puff-bios for bands I don't like, I want to write the definitive piece about the actual Philadelphia music scene. Not Man Man/Capitol Years/Spinto Band/Dr. Dog, the bands that get all the coverage, that play maybe one or two hometown shows a year... the ones that the local press doesn't even touch. These are your, what some random blog described as, "post-Polothology" outfits like Street Smart Cyclist and Algernon Cadwallader and Boy Problems. How the fuck did this happen? Thirteen years after the fact, we have a glut of (great) bands taking major cues from the Kinsella brothers and the midwest as a whole. What did Philadelphia miss in the mid-90s? While everyone was fretting over girls, there was a burgeoning hardcore punk scene centered in West Philly... why didn't we get sensitive, too? These are questions I want answered! So I'm setting out to find them. I need to set myself apart from these clowns writing reviews for fun and getting their kicks and giggles from interviews with Sam Fogarino and Frightened Rabbit. Music is my LIFE, man. Let's get legit. Ultimate goal: to do lots of things like this by the end of sophomore year, get picked up by a couple mags and freelance my way out of college before junior year... graduate later, Marc Zumoff style.

Let's talk about hopes and dreams.

"Went to school for a degree in journalism and got sick of it/Wanted to write for music rags, all that Lester Bangs shit/Partied up in Philly basements with the post-emo poster boys/The guys had hair in their eyes like girls and the girls had hair short like little boys."

No Age/Titus Andronicus tonight. I will be up front, crying.

Certain Songs

My night was kind of like a Hold Steady song:
"He went to the show by himself which was alright! Biked back to the party on Bouvier later on that night! It was a real crazy time and in about two hours the kegs of Pabst got kicked! Ended up at McDonalds confessing his love for some Jersey chick!"

Which was fitting. I went to the Hold Steady/Drive-By Truckers show at the Factory kind of last minute. The Hold Steady are one of my favorite bands but I'm fucking broke and I don't like going to shows there anymore. But my Dad called yesterday morning and was like "Hey, there's a good show in town tonight you should check out: The Hold Steady are playing at the Factory..." So I called it a sign, wrote Steven K. a check for twenty bucks and got pumped. I was also obligated to work this party for this student-run webzine (which was supposed to launch today, but no longer) so that was in the cards as well... The show was amazing, energetic as usual, Craig Finn doing his St. Pauli swilling poet/messiah thing and everybody pumping fists and singing along. They didn't play "Killer Parties" but otherwise, it was a great set: "Stay Positive," "Cattle and the Creeping Things," "Your Little Hoodrat Friend," "Constructive Summer," "Ask Her For Adderal," "The Swish," "You Can Make Him Like You," "Hot Soft Light," "Don't Let Me Explode," "Party Pit," "Massive Nights," "Chips Ahoy!," "Slapped Actress..." there were a few more. I was psyched. I had to leave before the Drive-By's because of that party obligation... Biked backed, gave about 15 senseless kids directions to the party (which pleased me because I was expecting low turn out,) got there, drank even though I said I wouldn't, place was packed, my friend/host Chris Brown cleaned up moneywise... Came back and all Danielle had to say was "McChicken" before I got the drunk munchies, so yeah we went to ShitDonalds and the rest is history. I love weekends.

Best week ever?
No Age/Titus A, Tuesday
Lemuria/Everyone Everywhere, Wednesday
Diplo/Abe Vigoda, Friday
M83 or Pirouette, Saturday (decisions...)
Ceremony/Have Heart, Sunday

Yeah dude, of course we can.

I'm just thinking back to journalism junior year when everyone was saying how ridiculous it was that some guy whose middle name happened to be Hussein was going to run for president and I just stood there, shrugging my shoulders saying "It could happen, man."

It did and I'm sure we're better off. I haven't really cared about this election since before the primaries were over. I was just fucking tired of it. I didn't know who was right. I still don't. Until today, I was voting for Nader or saying "That shit don't matter..." When the time came, I did what everyone else did, felt good about it and watching that man speak (I had fallen asleep sometime around ten only to wake up two hours later with a new president,) I started to tear up. I'm really not that indifferent after all.

I'm Question Mark and I'm Wondering

Why did everyone dress like sluts for Halloween?

Oddly Inspiring Things...

...helping me get back on track:

Cold water (Wyatt and I procured a free refrigerator a while back, plugged it in and let it waste electricity until Saturday when my mom let me finish the orange juice back at school. I rinsed out the plastic jug and now it holds water fountain water and is totally convenient.)

28 Days Later (Watched it for free on Hulu last night. Made me want to do shit.)

No Age-Nouns (The best thing ever laid to tape.)

Train-like, I Must Get Back On Track

Last week was busy. Philadelphia mighta had the best week ever. I was drunk too much (but so was everyone else) and I missed too much class (a lot of em got canceled anyway!) and Monday night, after the miserable cold cold rain and the arguing couple, I literally shit my pants. Drunk, in the bushes on Liacouras walk... it was like a Blink-182 song. Friday, Scotty and I joined two-million other people at the parade. I was drunk by 12:30 which made for fun but also treacherous bike riding. We met up with my sister and some of her friends for pizza and soda before making our way down to the stadiums. Thankfully, it was a whole lot more organized than Wednesday must've been. They had corralled the drunk masses that couldn't score a free ticket to gain entry into Citizens Bank Park in one of the huge parking lots where there was a Jumbotron and other goodies. We didn't bother to go, instead biking up and down Phillies Drive, avoiding the broken glass and, get this, jeers of like "Bikers!" and "Hey Lance, the Tour de France is over!" At five, we headed home but I stopped to meet my friend Kurt on Oregon Avenue. We walked around South Philly until the subways started running again. South Philly is weird. It just feels so ethnic... I know it was at one time, but still, it's weird. Not West Philly weird where you feel like you're nowhere near a city until you look eastward, it's like you feel like you're on the very edge of something and there's nothing else outside it... um, I'm done trying to explain. While everything was happening Friday it was pretty hard to believe that it was Halloween. Halloween is my absolute favorite holiday to spend in Chester County. I spend the afternoon carving a pumpkin and walking around in the dead-leafy goodness, then trick or treat with some friends. Then we get pizza or sandwiches and watch "Halloweenie" the Adventures of Pete and Pete Halloween special. I wasn't at home though, so it wasn't Halloween... obviously. I didn't even bother dressing up for the Man Man show. I biked to the Starlight Ballroom alone, but then met up with a good bunch of people I often spend time with on the weekends: Matthew M., Diane, Julia, Crystal, Dave "The Good Shepherd" Shepherd, his buddy Curtis and this punkish kid whose name escapes me. Pit Er Pat made us sway, Tim Fite made us say WTF? (especially at the video of him fingering the bloody patch of grass during a song about falling in love with a dead girl) and Man Man got everyone to go insane for ninety minutes. They're incredible live. The songs by themselves are great but then they'll go into these mindbending parts where everyone is banging on shit and Honus Honus is doing this crazy circus/bandstand leader thing... and I don't think anyone looks happier than Chris Powell whilst playing drums. Biked back, watched "Halloweenie" with Diane, Jack and Maddie. For this, they are good people. I was indulged. The world, aka everyone on my floor began to filter back to the 11th floor too drunk. I don't think there's been that many girls vomiting in the bathroom ever. I judged people too much. It's something I've been doing a lot. The good people stayed up until six or so and I began this week's sleep catch-up weekend sesh thing. Slept til four on Saturday. Was reminded of the Evan Dando number: "You stayed awake fourteen days and then you slept a week/Why do you do this to yourself?" Used to make me think of CH but I'm glad it now merely conjures images of Wyatt laughing at me when I wake up alarmed to see the hour on the face of the clock. I spent the rest of daylight loafing in front of the computer until I got enough drive to go to the SAC for an egg sandwich. Then I rode most of the length of the Broad Street Line (what a thrilL!) to meet up with my mom and my sister at the Wachovia Center. Easily the highlight of my weekend. My mom bought me a Primo's hoagie and we just hung out before they saw Coldplay. Like, seriously, best shit ever. This couldn't be topped so I watched Slacker in the dark loneliness of my room. It was fucking great. I'm super curious about Texas now. The land of Britt Daniel. There were more alcohol-related episodes later that night but it's just the same old shit. People need to get smart about their drinking habits. Maybe play it like me: stay away from the parties, stick with the people you know, stick with forties of Hurricane (aka heaven.) I tried to make the most out of yesterday by going for a beautiful bike ride and buying Danielle a banana. The sun goes down too early. Woke up too late today, got financial shit straightened out and realized one thing: train-like, I must get back on track.

Celebratory

I watched the Phillies win in the vestibule of the First Unitarian Church on Sean Agnew's laptop. I got a bunch of confetti in my mouth and am pretty much out fourteen dollars considering I (along with mostly everyone else) rolled before Tokyo Police Club even started playing.

The Lemonheads-"Confetti"

(Evan Dando was born in Philadelphia and apparently still has family in Allentown.)

Phillies World Series

Only three games in World Series have been called a tie before the ninth inning: in 1907, 1912 and 1922... due to darkness. Holy shit.

Um, luckily Monday night wasn't called a tie in the midst of the shittiest fucking rain storm of my life. Things at 7th and Pattison were pretty hunky dory until it started. Just a lot of people drinking beer and watching analog television. But as soon as the rain (nearly horifuckingzontal) started, it was like the last few scenes of Children of Men when they're in the refugee camp; fights, people throwing bottles at cars, awful drunk girls. We rolled before the end of the fifth. I was soaked, hadn't been inside for hours and was incredibly nervous for whatever the conclusion would bring.

Lester Bangs-style coverage written for my grandkids coming later today...

Everyone is Everywhere

I think the best part of living in the city is being able to do things on a whim. For example, I heard about this house show in West Philadelphia yesterday, scheduled for earlier tonight. So it was last minute, but I didn't have any plans... so I could go. Just took the subway there with Scotty and Amanda like usual; was able to procure alcohol which is no big deal because there's no driving involved. It's just so easy. But yeah mostly I want to talk about the show.

Everyone Everywhere is this great bunch of dudes (3/4 Temple kids and I see them around all the time) that play just like, this really happy, Promise Ring-style pop-punk. Like (old) TPR, they sing about pretty mundane (or maybe just really specific?) things; partying because an old friend is back from a semester abroad, bike rides, um, houses with no basements. It's really simple stuff. Not really a retread but it's not breaking new ground either, but for some reason I can't get enough of them. They just make me really happy. I got to see them for the first time tonight at the brand new Breakfast and Dessert House (awesome space, but will probably grow into a really whack scene.) On stage they give off this really lovable vibe... like those really nice guys from back home. And they're back in town for like, Thanksgiving or something. And they're all really into it and like me, sometimes say too much (actually that's really just guitarist Tommy Manson but really, for some reason, this band can't do any wrong in my eyes. Why is this?!). The set was great. They have a seven-inch coming out sometime on Flightplan Records... it's been in the works for like, fucking ever. Should be available by the time they play with Lemuria (November 12, Circle of Hope. Cannot waiiiiit.)

Johnny Foreigner headlined. They're from England and are apparently pretty big (10/10 on Drowned in Sound for their debut) over there. I'd never heard them until I heard about the show and I checked them out. It's like, good spazzy pop but I didn't really delve that deep. Tonight, watching them play, all I could think was Los Campesinos!. I mean, their sound, for one, has the same restless, on-edg-and-still-kinda-twee feel to it. Their singers have the same haircuts. They both wear too-small, girl-cut shirts. This whole Campesinos/Foreigner thing was really bothering me for the first part of their set... I just couldn't get into it. LC! have released one of my favorite records of the year and I just kept wishing it was them I was seeing instead of Johnny Foreigner. But like, there was a tipping point somewhere and I really started to feel it. Johnny Foreigner are actually probably the better of the two bands. They're only a three-piece so there's a lot less bullshit and they're not as stylized as LC! can sometimes seem. What I'm saying is is this: they play the same kind of awesome, glitchy, Pavement-centric twee shit I love but it's only the essentials; no glock, no violins, no group-shouts etc. Also, Alexei (vocals) never called me out on Myspace.

Everyone Everywhere
Johnny Foreginer
Septa Green Line (West Philly trolleys=whackest shit ever. Why can't we have a transportation system fit for the 21st century?)

Much Like "New Wave..."

...the Tom Gabel E.P. (I know, right? Where the eff did this come from?) is merely half-good. Listen for yourself: http://www.purevolume.com/tomgabel. "Harsh Realm" and "Anna is a Stool Pigeon" are standouts. Just when I thought I was fucking done with this guy... I go buy tickets to his solo show at the Barbary (November 11 if yr counting) and decide to stream Heart Burns while reading about elevated trains.

I had a dream about elevated trains. I had a dream I was riding the Market-Frankford El all night with my extended family. Um. All this reading about public transportation on Wikipedia has got to stop.

Midterm in the Marnin'

They turned on central heat in my building a few hours ago. It makes this far-off drip/clank noise that's keeping me the fuck up. Someone, make it stop. It's rendering me completely unable to go to sleep!

Crooked Head

I hate it when people like a given band for their "talent." I avoid using talent to describe any band. The best bands lack any sort of talent. They just write good songs. But there's one thing I have to say about Fucked Up: they're a hardcore punk band with some legitimate talent. You know the deal: Canadian band fronted by a self-described 300 pound baby writes six minute punk epics with a situationist bent, satisfying bookish critics and upped-punx alike. Their new album, Chemistry Of Common Life, pushes the band forward in a way that makes a lot of sense. You get the punk rawk, but also piccolo solos, bongos... you know the deal, you've read the reviews. They brought the whole brutal-yet-philosophical-and-high-minded mess to the Barbary last night. It blew people's heads off.

Like any punk show, it's important to talk about the crowd, which, halfway through the first song, had a gaping hole ripped into it. That led to the usual bouncing off of other people business. It was a lot of fun because, this being a Fucked Up show as opposed to, say, a Champion show, one has to keep this up for more than just two minutes at a time. There were a few points where vocalist Pink Eye entered the audience, picked somebody up and used them as a sort of human battering ram to get through the motionless back-half of the room. He also donkey kicked some longhair in the face which was badass.

Fucked Up closed the often ascendant set with a cover of Wire's "12XU;" Fitting, seeing as my soundtrack for the last two weeks of weird frustration has been Wire and Fucked Up. At a time when punk is at a really strange crossroads, Fucked Up, justifiably, rise above both trendy bullshit and those trashy kids in G.B.H. shirts longing for a scene they were too late to ever be a part of.

Living Is All About This

I get two phone calls about a free Death Set show in Center City. All ages, free alcohol. I have to write a journalism paper. After an hour of contemplation/research, I decide to follow my heart and Josh's alcoholism; we go to the show. I drank a lot of Sparks. I don't remember much except Scotty and Josh both played drums for Ninja Sonik, I made a likely fatal mistake, Gabby took a fuck load of pictures, lots of people broke up with their boyfriends and Josh crowd surfed during the Death Set's set. I do definitely know it was a transient exceperience. Especially afterwards: thousands of people on the corner of Broad and Market; high fives, slow taxis, traffic as far as the eye can see... Phillies are in the world series, motherfucking Death Set.

CRUSADES! CRUSADES!

I fucking love this band. They're called Fucked Up and I probably should have gotten into them sooner. What could be better than a group of Canadians led by a schizophrenic, three-hundred pound situationist playing six-minute hardcore punk epics? It's like Black Flag but bigger, longer, uncut. Less neck muscle. They're coming to the Barbary Saturday with the recently-heralded and kinda sexy girl group Vivian Girls. I might break my neck. It'll be worth it. The time is ripe... I need to get my frustrations out at a really violently passionate punk show.

I'm feeling really light right now... I was planning to stay up all night cramming in the Tech Center for the history midterm I thought I had tomorrow. I got through a lot of reading before it dawned on me it's not tomorrow but Monday the 20th... Regardless, I'm staying up late.

Did you know that Magnolia is the best movie ever? Ever have that feeling at the end of a record or a movie or television show where you just want to cry for no reason other than that what you just witnessed was, like, for lack of a better and less general word, amazing? Magnolia gave me that feeling. I'm not sure if it's because one of the characters really hit close to home, John C. Reilly's utmost purity or just the shear bulk of the film I just watched but I got it. Please watch this movie. Every day for two weeks. The soundtrack is very good also. Tonight, I described Aimee Mann as a morose Sheryl Crowe...

Other things that made/make me feel this way:
The Hold Steady's Separation Sunday. Somewhere in the middle of "How a Resurrection Really Feels."
The Titus Andronicus show at Haverford, twice. When Patrick opened the set with a cover of "Going Away to College," and later when they played "Albert Camus" by my fucking request.
Toy Story 2.
Arcade Fire's "No Cars Go" and "My Body is a Cage" back to back.

Actually, I don't think I cried at the shear amazingness of these things but the feeling that overcame me was something akin to what I got from Magnolia...

Things that don't make me cry but feel amazing:
Two forties to the face on a Monday night.
My bed.

Divorce Song

And the license said
You had to stick around until I was dead
But if you're tired of looking at my face I guess I already am
But you've never been a waste of my time
It's never been a drag
So take a deep breath and count back from ten
And maybe you'll be alright

I'll Never Ask for the Truth but You Owe that to Me

"The two locomotives and eight of the twelve cars derailed, four of them falling 15 feet off a bridge into a dry river bed. Mitchell Bates, a sleeping car attendant was killed, and 78 people were injured, 12 of them seriously."
Read about the Palo Verde Derailment

I spent a lot of the time I was awake yesterday reading about train lines in the United States.

Lemuria
Their influences say Lemonheads and Sebadoh which rules but I hear more that dog. than anything else. Circle of Hope November 12, can't wait.




I'm afraid that the circumstances that led to this song (or any song like it) could only have existed between 1990-1999.


Too true: "I'll never ask for the truth but you owe that to me."


I'm really pissed at myself for not even trying to get into the Wire show Friday. Scotty's was excellent (Leitch House is a paradise) but this (U.S. Wire tour) only happens once every, like, five years,


Junior year of high school, this became one of my favorite songs ever written.