sometimes just what anymore to know I don't even think

there's still no joy in Auburnville (seriously. Mississippi State?)

last piece I ever published: a short little preview on Oakley Hall for Phoenix New Times (pay attention. something close to it will make another appearance soon enough).

last book I ever read: Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets (I liked the first one better)

last movie I ever saw: Woody Allen's Scoop (not good. and I'm a Woody Allen fan. further evidence that Scarlett Johansson was carried by Bill Murray in Lost in Translation)

the one before that: The X-Files (even worse. I could rant for longer than the movie ran about the all the stuff wrong with this one (what? people don't need gloves in Antarctica? (what? people go to Antarctica?)))

last concert I ever saw (and didn't take photos): Wild Carnation, Steve Wynn and the Miracle 3 and Glenn Mercer (here's a link to the Voice piece I wrote about Glenn last summer) at the Mercury Lounge last Thursday night (finally some redemption. and though I've been a fan for more years than I care to count, the set by Steve's group was so surprisingly strong I think it'd be safe to call it stunning. really wish someone had recorded)

and in other news, I was also in the audience for the preview of Joe Strummer: The Future Is Unwritten that Tom Breihan blogged about the following day (Thursday). and though I like both Tom and Tom's writing, I thought he was off base on this one.
personally I found much more than the final twenty minutes "heartwarming" (Mick and Joe reuniting for "White Riot," a song that had previously started arguments, at a benefit for striking firemen when they could've made beaucoup cash almost anywhere else? come on, give us a hug).
yeah, we've had enough of Bono testimonials and goatee-braided Johnny Depp and Courtney Love in any guise. and sure, Joe acted like an ass to his former hippie squatter friends, but we're trying to tell a truthful story here, not apply varnish to a saint.
and the whole comparison/contrast thing between Julien Temple (I thought the repetitive footage of belly dancers and camels to signify Strummer's time in Turkey was pretty damn funny) and Martin Scorsese is pretty much a stacked deck.
I mean, if all singer-songwriters were compared to Bob Dylan, then everybody but John Prine would pretty much suck belly dancers and camels, you know?
which I guess they do.
hm.

"and I thought, God he's sensitive."
- Topper Headon