Random Review Day!

"I Would Be Your Slave", from David Bowie's Heathen

I never knew my place, I never know my place. Rarely, if ever, do I feel a sense of being invited. Not sure why it's even important that I feel that way. The facts are, lucky for me, what they are.

Who: me, you, Mod Girl

What: getting back in your car after another radio show of yours, handing the cd through the space of the seats, suggesting the track with Pete Townshend first. We got drinks? We got food?

When: 2001?

Where: in a parking garage the same color as your Ford Taurus. On campus. In Fayetteville. In the car where conversations gestated, lived and breathed, died. The full impunity of your car to shelter my insecurities, broadened to the point that I'm afraid to suggest a song on an album.

Why: I wanted to share, and I did, and then immediately felt like I overstepped some boundary.

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I'm a sucker for the drumming on this track; it's an understated shuffle that chugs along with nary a change (not like Charlie Watts' best moments where he's trying to do something interesting on another too-disco tune) until the "B" section of the song. But the second half of the section starts shuffling along again, this time with some added punctuation to close the song out.

Bowie's vocals are broad, nearly vunerable, with a vibrato just this side of controlled. Lyrics that start out as a longing for company turn slightly chastising for not opening up, slightly paranoid about the way others percieve the speaker.

The backing band? Some string sweeps, arpeggiated guitar, keyboard glistenings, and a slight undercurrent of techno-ish drum machine.

Ultimately there's a coldness to the music. Maybe it was cold when we heard it first.

Revelations After Having No Internet Access Day!

1. Only nine e-mails.

Which is fine, really. Only one of those was legitimate (note: if the others were legitimate, my apologies for all those slutty teens. I hope you are swallowing multivitamins, and nothing else. Please resend your e-mail with a title that will keep me from deleting your correspondence. Like, "Te3ns_Luv2 Swa**0 Centroo0Om Slvr NOT_SPAM_OK?)

I am disappointed that the Grand Wizard Glick did not respond. I knew he would not. I am still disappointed. This is the stupidest way people die, seriously.

But who did? . .

2. Grand Wizard Lonecub's oral surgery went terribly wrong.

There's nothing funny to say (but I'm gonna do it, for supportive reasons).

To find out how drugs are supposed to affect you, I asked a sweet girl we know, named B. How did I find her? Easy! I got into my car and unbuckled my seatbelt. Then I died (I tried to contact Keith Richards, but he was to busy openly masturbating to a Puffy Amiyumi cartoon. And he was twelve feet away and too high to contact).

Well, B told me a funny thing: drugs are supposed to make you not feel pain. Sometimes the pain is the sweet ache of having run out of drugs, true, but whatever your pain is, it gets fixed. The Wiz's pain was in full effect. The drug they gave to paralyze him, however, worked fine. Kids, don't do drugs. Doctors, please do drugs right. Keith Richards, please do drugs and rock me senseless and climb a palm tree (palm tree?) and then fall out of it and then STILL FREAKING LIVE. I think he did some group sex with Rasputin, Jason Voorhees, and Wolverine, and caught some weird disease.

3. Two Presidents Died on Independence Day.

I watched Headline News all day. No dice.

4. Now That I have High-Speed Internet Access, TV Is WORSE!

There is no joke there. I'd watch Food Network to see Good Eats and the cute "Ham on the Street" guy, and that's it. Look at the cherry tree I just cut down, television. And, you blow (that presedential reference was brought to you by freedom!).

5. Doing the Freedom Forth Dance Is The Greatest.

1- Drink a Rolling Rock.
2- Light up a snake pellet.
3- Get drunk watching your neighbor's fireworks.
4- Try to get the courage to call someone.
5- Fail.

Be sure "Ferdinan the Imposter" by The Band is playing!