what does it say about me when i'm more upset about the death of former ratt guitarist robbin crosby than i am about the death of dee dee ramone.
ok, upset is a strong word. affected might be better.
last night i felt like i was in a bret easton ellis novel.
this week has been fucking crazy, crazy, crazy.
i met esti from tel aviv, israel, after spinning at lingba on thursday night..that following a healthy conversation exchange with that fellow who used to work with ted, who was a music editor.
tuesday was the interview, frenzied that it was, along with me deciding to hit david cross show after all, and talking my fucking way into the show.
wednesday, seems like i didn't rock it....hmmmm, and monday....it's been so warm all week.
there were those cool birds chilling in the sun at the park on our lunch.
there was the healthy cranky exchange with jerome at the other park after the B's hittation stop on columbus.
specs yeap. grandma chicken.
i'm so annoyed with this headline in usa today: eventually eminem must overcome self-absorption...
or here's another one....reporters must overcome celebrity-absorption....get over it...why are you so obsessed about what these artists do and how they operate? isn't that part of the joy? the mystery? the weird darkness that most of us don't dare confront?
it's a "live through you" kinda vibe with that.
so what, you've got to feed on that, and to say it so matter of factly, like "this is the way" seems once again to be a "lockstep" point of view.
and i say fuck that shit.
oh yeah, and the forgetfullness of the cat litter.
i can never remember what is the favorable brand of kitty litter to get.
maybe it's the too long of amount of time between purchases. dammit.!
shorsighted bullshit ass.