Next week: Real posts!
But for a lazy Friday night, you get this instead.
Next week: Real posts!
But for a lazy Friday night, you get this instead.
I had a dream the other night where I was late for my boxing debut.
The boxing arena seemed to be on the edge of a large shopping mall, and I had to ask directions to find it. I heard my name announced as the next fighter as I was entering the building, but I couldn’t seem to find my way down to what was presumably the ring (which I never came in sight of). It was less like Spinal Tap being lost backstage than the building being larger, older and more Gothic than I expected. At one point I saw some sort of rickety, extensible cherry picker/dunking stool/extending bridge contraption, which looked like it might deposit me over a wall where I needed to go, but looked too dangerous to try. Also, I noticed I wasn’t wearing shoes, which I was pretty sure was a breach of boxing rules.
I woke up before I ever got to the ring.
Blind Mr. Jones was a UK Shoegazer band from the early 1990s. “Mesa” is from their second and last album, Tatooine. Since they broke up right after it’s release, presumably they were not the shoegaze droids the public was looking for…
The Seattle Times has various documents up about her life, to see if anyone out there can figure out who she actually was.
Here’s the fascinating mystery behind Lori Ruff’s life. For starters, Lori Ruff wasn’t Lori Ruff: she had changed her name from Becky Sue Turner.
The problem is, she wasn’t Becky Sue Turner either, since the real Becky Sue died in 1971.
Her story “traces a path through California and Nevada, Idaho and Arizona and finally Texas.”
As of now, they still don’t know her real name.
The High Violets hail from Portland, Oregon. Here’s “X-Tasy Monopoly,” where the lead sunger sounds a bit like a Red Dirt Girl-era Emmylou Harris, which is no bad thing.
…there’s only one possible musical choice.
Actual discussion with female co-worker:
Her: It’s so cold!
Me: (Looking at handy digital thermostat above my desk) It’s a balmy 73.4 degrees.
Her: I keep my apartment at 79.
Me: There’s just no pleasing those of you who hail from the realms of Tartarus.