I have stolen $10k worth of music in the last week. What are you listening to?


Me:

Baby Shambles- Down in the Albion. Not very good, but the Pete Daugherty drug saga is a must read.
BBQ- Tie Your Noose. Good stuff, if quaint.
Black Randy- Pass the Dust. More drug madness.
Carbonas- Rock and Roll Romance. Solid.
Digger and The Pussycats- Watch Your Back. Aussie take on Jim Carrol at his best. Oh, and country bits, too.
Guilty Hearts-s/t. Even more solid.
Kris Kristofferson-Greatest Hits. Country soul sounds great on the 6 subway.
Mummies- Fuck The Mummies. So Bay Legends, mean stuff.
O.V. Wright- The Soul of O.V. Wright. Almost as good as Al Green. And thats pretty damn good.
Riverboat Gamblers- Something to Crow About. Ken, I was wrong. Forgive me?

An exchange between a Chronicle writer and me regarding the suckiness of his paper:

To: Nevius, CW
Subject: News isnt in trouble, only printed newspapers (and bad editors)

Everyone will get their newspaper on their cell phone in the future. However if you just have a bad editor like say Phil Bronstein, you're dead no matter what.So ask yourself....How many foreign correspondants does the Chron employ? Does it have a national affairs desk in DC, or an office in NY? Sacramento??? Has it taken anyone longer more than 20 minutes to read the Sunday edition? Does you editor consider the BALCO investigation a HUGE story and validation of the Chron's journalism? Is it a good sign when your best writer covers television? Was defeating the Fang's "competitive" newspaper an accomplishment?

see his responses below...

Boob Scotch

In Jonathan Franzen’s painfully public confessions about his approaches to the novel, he concludes that there are writers who are difficult-for-difficulty’s-sake and those who are generously reader-friendly. It’s a slightly new take on the old subject of art vs. commerce, but that’s not what got me thinking about Literary Self-Conscious Man #2. Jonathan Coe falls cleanly and easily into the generous writer category, and that can be both good and bad. His prose is easily accessible, his characters are instantly recognizable and his storylines are aggressively forward-moving. What he aims for, however, is something grander, and on that larger scale he fails, at least in his newest novel, The Closed Circle, which is the sequel to his successful look at Britain in the 1970’s, The Rotter’s Club.

Coe moves his characters ahead some 25 years, and who doesn’t want to see where they’ve ended up, especially when they’re around your age and you can root for lots of failure to make you feel better about yourself. Part of what made the Rotter’s Club so fun was the nostalgic touches, but bringing those characters up to date and trying to place their personal lives against the larger backdrop of 9/11 and the Iraq war is a challenge that Coe isn’t quite up to. He wants to show how politics affects individual lives by making characters victims, either directly or indirectly, of political choices. Tony Blair’s Labor Party moves to the right and cozies up to business interests, and we watch as characters’ jobs get downsized and communities are devastated. The IRA plants a bomb in a restaurant and a character we’ve grown to like gets blown up. Waves of National Front violence against immigrant populations lead to violence against an endearing minority character. And on it goes. It is all very contrived and very telegraphed, and if Coe wasn’t good at delivering people, it would read like nothing more than set pieces easily dismissed.

So the novel moves along easily and without any obvious annoyances, but things get wrapped up far too tidily with coincidence after coincidence that allows too many people to get what they want in a novel that wants to paint a very bleak picture of the modern world. It’s as if he bailed out at the end and disconnected the personal from the political to allow his characters to have happy endings in spite of the nuclear holocaust to come. Look, I’ve read four Coe books and enjoyed three of them, so let me recommend in this order: What a Carve Up! is hilarious satire, The Rotters Club is The Ice Storm UK Lite, The Closed Circle is the above, and The House of Sleep is horrible. He’s a good writer and not a great one, but he’s a comfortable companion to help you block out those voices.

Good morning, sunshine

Laugh now, monkey boy!

Sent to us from the Brainbombs. Not sure whether to buy them a drink or ban them.

Kuking wi Brainboms

Lieson

Takke a beetch.
Get onnion cut chunk
stik it DOIWn bietchs throt
chop cunt
DONAT STIK IN YR PUCKET FAGOAT!
aid blod mixx with spice MIXEddd wi blood
put it een a pot
sitir use WHoore foot
and boil it.
taiste..taaaiste swieeet tiiiight AIIIISHOL
share wi frend
she sa I VANT KOCK
yu say NO BIETCH
not tunite
i cuk for y aind all you sai i vant kcok
slap er h een face
sa luk at me bietch!
i fukc you! I fuck yu@!
clen stov. wash hand fist diekc

All hail the arm candy!

Big Hurts

Two items of questionable relation require discussion. One, Frank Thomas is wearing the green and gold of the best ball team north of Salinas. I am excited and nervous. If he bats, Chavy gets pitches to yard and becomes MVP. This makes me happy. I don't know why.

Another Chicagoan is in the news, one Ms. Oprah, who laid down the hammer on the poor hairline of one James Frey yesterday, calling him a liar to his fatty fatman face. Big Jim looked like a Tiny Peter in the exchange, and his two book deal with a new house (1 book to be a 'novel') is in jeopardy. I still don't know if this 'hurts' him. He is selling like mad and keeps all his millions. He will be shit on in all further reviews of his work, which is simply the fawning PC lunatic Wiegand-esque critics (term used loosely) doing their retributive duty. I have sympathy for Frey right now. I don't know why.

Who's prettier, Mickey Finn or Gisele?

Nme's top 100 British albums of all time

100: Derek And Clive - Live
99: Patrick Wolf - Lycanthropy
98: Roots Manuva - Run Com Save Me
97: Led Zeppelin - Led Zeppelin IV
96: Adam And The Ants - KingsOf The Wild Frontier
95: Julian Cope - Jehovakill
94: The Futureheads - The Futureheads
93: Brian Eno - Here Come The Warm Jets
92: Oasis - (What's The Story) Morning Glory?
91: The Fall - This Nation's Saving Grace
90: Supergrass - I Should Coco
89: Blur - Parklife
88: Underworld - Dubnobasswithmyheadman
87: Small Faces - Ogden's Nut Gone Flake
86: George Harrison - All Things Must Pass
85: ABC - The Lexicon Of Love
84: Redskins - Neither Washington Nor Moscow
83: Wire - Pink Flag
82: Happy Mondays - Pills 'N' Thrills And Bellyaches
81: Antony & The Johnsons - I Am A Brid Now
80: Black Sabbath - Paranoid
79: Teenage Fanclub - Bandwagonesque
78: Aphex Twin - Slected Ambient Works 85-92
77: The Beta Band - The Three Eps
76: Cornershop - When I Was Born For The 7th Time
75: Tricky - Maxinquaye
74: Prodigy - Music For The Jilted Generation
73: Kaiser Chiefs - Employment
72: Joy Division - Closer
71: Buzzcocks - Love Bites
70: Spacemen 3 - The Perfect Prescription
69: Roxy Music - For Your Pleasure
68: The Pretty Things - SF Sorrow
67: Coldlay - A Rush Of Blood To The Head
66: Elvis Costello - This Year's Model
65: Radiohead - Kid A
64: Gang Of Four - Entertainment!
63: David Bowie - The Rise And Fall Of Ziggy Stardust And The Spiders From Mars
62: Saint Etienne - Fox Base Alpha
61: Echo & The Bunnymen - Ocena Rain
60: The Human League - Dare!
59: The Clash - The Clash
58: Suede - Dog Man Star
57:The Cure - Head On The Door
56: Portishead - Portishead
55: Bloc Party - Bloc Party
54: Morrissey - Vauxhall & I
53: The Rolling Stones - Let It Bleed
52: Madness - One Step Beyond
51: Billy Bragg - Talking With The Taxman About Poetry
50: The La's - The La's
49: The Who - My Generation
48: Elastica - Elastica
47: The Libertines - The Libertines
46: Pulp - His 'n' Hers
45: The Streets - A Grand Don't Come For Free
44: Joy Division - Unknown Pleasures
43: The Rolling Stones - Exile On Main Street
42: The Jesus And Mary Chain - Psychocandy
41: Kate Bush - Hounds Of Love
40: Dizzee Rascal - Boy In Da Corner
39: Ride - Nowhere
38: Spiritualized - Ladies And Gentlemen We Are Floating In Space
37: Manic Street Preachers - The Holy Bible
36: The Beatles - The Beatles
35: Radiohead - OK Computer
34: The Jam - All Mod Cons
33: Coldplay - Parachutes
32: The Zombies - Odessy And Oracle
31: Massive Attack - Blue Lines
30: Suede - Suede
29: Led Zeppelin - Led Zeppelin II
28: Nick Drake - Bryter Later
27: PJ Harvey - Dry
26: The Smiths - Hatful Of Hollow
25: The Kinks - The Village Green Appreciation Society
24: Pet Shop Boys - Please
23: New Order - Technique
22: Super Furry Animals - Radiator
21: Muse - Absolution
20: The Beatles - Rubber Soul
19: The Smiths - Strangeways Here We Come
18: Franz Ferdinand - Franz Ferdinand
17: The Streets - Original Pirate Material
16: Dexy's Midnight Runners - Searching For The Young Soul Rebels
15: Primal Scream - Screamadelica
14: David Bowie - Hunky Dory
13: The Verve - A Northern Soul
12: The Specials - Specials
11: Radiohead - The Bends
10: The Libertines - Up The Bracket
9: The Beatles - Revolver
8: The Clash - London Calling
7: Pulp - Different Class
6: Blur - Modern Life Is Rubbish
5: Arctic Monkeys - Whatever People Say I Am, That's What I'm Not
4: Sex Pistols - Never Mind The Bollocks
3: Oasis - Definitely Maybe
2: The Smiths - The Queen Is Dead
1: The Stone Roses - The Stone Roses

Messing with the kid (or, timekilling thru a flu/cold)

BARTER: I CAN HELP GET YOUR BOOK PUBLISHED < sterryhead > 01/25 20:50:49
Bestselling author/publishing expert looking for personal assistant who can type. My wife is a big time book agent. Together we have written a book called “Putting Your Passion Into Print”, all about how to get a book successfully published. It is being published by Workman Press, and came out in September ’05. We just came off a 25-city tour of America and teach publishing at Stanford University. I can help you get your writing published, or get into the book business. www.passionintoprint.com

hmm... < iquestionyourveracity > 01/25 21:21:56
I've written a book about 4 children who wander into a laundry pile and find a magical world filled with chimeras and witches. It is set in Kirkuk and tentatively titled "The Camel, The Haj, and the Hamper". If you can give me a quote on my expected advance, let's talk!

your expected advance < sterryhead > 01/25 21:36:49
it would be impossible to know what your material is worth without evaluating it and you. i would need more information about the material, the quality of the writing, your experience as a writer, and your ability to promote the work. i do have a Young Adult book coming out in April, so i have experience in this area.

ahh... < iquestionyourveracity > 01/25 21:47:33
Many thanks for expounding. So you propose one work for you for perhaps nothing. If one works well and does not pass your evaluation, then not only is one without money one is without a published book. I'm not an expert on CA labor law, but this sounds like a raw deal. Perhaps you should pay cash for services required, and if the one you hire can write, offer to help him/her with a book. As the young child in my book, Akbar, would say, "He who works without compensation is like sand caught in a desert storm." Akbar is six years old, but very wise.

I arrived at work this morning on edge and in desperate need of release. I will not go into all the details as to why, but let's just say I required a tempering soundtrack to disquieting thoughts of murder. I put on The Reatards Grown Up, Fucked Up, and Jay's voice instantly blew out the internal pollution and churning, unspeakable emotions that threaten domestic tranquility. If there is a better therapeutic record than this one, it might only be what I put on next, Black Flag's The First Four Years, which not only played relief pitcher to the strong seven innings of hate Jay Reatard delivered, but struck out the side, held the shutout and bought beer for the post-game party. Weeks and even months go by and records go on and come off, and, well, nothing. White noise. Then an hour with the right records at the right time and all of a sudden you remember why you keep digging. God bless the hatefuckers who lay it down and keep us out of prison.

Robert Bingham's Lightning on the Sun is a third rate thriller, a failed homage to Robert Stone's Dog Soldiers, which is a vastly superior book. Bingham did take Stone one step further, though, by OD'ing before he could see this one published, but that's his only "victory." Let's see, we have our seedy East Asian (Cambodia) location, our drug and alcholic-addicted protagonist, our brainy, hot Stateside drug accomplice, our amoral drug trafficking thugs, and our plot that has it all go wrong. You don't need this one, but check out Dog Soldiers, or even the movie version of it, Who'll Stop the Rain, with a young Nick Nolte and a ravishing Tuesday Weld. Ooh, Tuesday Weld.

Death of a record store
Famed Rhino Records shop in L.A. has last gasp
By Chris MorrisThe Hollywood Reporter

LOS ANGELES, California (Hollywood Reporter) -- They're throwing a wake of sorts for the Rhino Records store Saturday and Sunday.
Founded in 1973, the venerable record shop officially closed its doors after the turn of the year, hard on the heels of the folding of crosstown competitor Aron's Records.
But, in a final gasp of Rhino tradition, old customers will gather at the Westwood Boulevard location to paw through boxes of CDs, LPs, DVDs and videocassettes at the store's final parking lot sale.
Rhino, a Westside institution for three decades, never recovered its footing after moving into a large new space about five years ago. The old shop, left open as an outlet for used and budget product, closed within a year. A partnership with the Golden Apple comics store failed, and an attempt to rebrand the shop as Duck Soup with the addition of high-priced collectibles never caught fire.
These stabs at instilling new life into Rhino coincided with a precipitous decline in the music business. Owner Richard Foos says: "As bad as it is for everybody, it's much worse for independents. I don't know all the reasons. It's so complicated. There's literally hundreds of reasons."
Foos adds dispiritedly: "There's too many other things to do and too many ways to get your music without paying $18 for a CD. ... I don't see a great future for physical product."
The demise of Rhino hits home on a very personal level for this writer. For years, it was my neighborhood record store, conveniently located between my Westwood Village apartment and the Santa Monica Boulevard office of the film exhibitor I worked for.
It was the hip shop on the Westside -- one of the few places you could buy that hot import album or that cool local punk 45. There, music obsessives gathered to buy their records, socialize and, frequently, argue with the store's highly opinionated clerks. In a gambit worthy of "High Fidelity," Rhino for many years maintained a "Worst Customers List," posted prominently behind the counter; the more obstreperous patrons -- including, on more than one occasion, myself -- were duly namechecked there.
As combative as things could get, the store also spawned its own tightly knit community. When Rhino's fledgling record label wanted to promote one of its early novelty acts, the Temple City Kazoo Orchestra, the store drafted some of its regulars to march through Westwood Village, where they serenaded passers-by with kazoo renditions of "Whole Lotta Love" and other classic-rock chestnuts.
The era when music lovers on both sides of the retail counter bonded is long gone. Foos notes with some astonishment that there are now no free-standing independent stores selling music between West Hollywood and Santa Monica. The options are Best Buy, Borders and Barnes & Noble.
"The days of going into a place like Rhino and saying, 'What's the cool new import?' -- forget it," Foos says.
Things aren't any better for the big mall music operators: Witness the bankruptcy filing last week of the 869-store Musicland chain.
Does this reflect a paradigm shift? Of course, but, if a new study from England's University of Leicester is to be believed, it also reflects a basic difference in the way consumers are looking at music. The school's psychologists noted last week that music had "lost its aura," and was now viewed as simply a commodity.
Says Foos with a sigh: "It's really sad and dangerous. Everybody's like a silo."
Ave atque vale, Rhino Records. For some, you were a way of life.

It's the new European immigrant experience, and it's exploding all over the pages of Euro fiction. You want to ship those Moroccans, those Turks, those Indians and Pakistanis and Jamaicans and Indonesians on over for cheap labor to build the Eden that is post-Marshall Plan mambo security net Western Europe, you best expect that those second-generationers, the ones who refuse to return to the fatherland, or who ain't hooked up with the West-hating fundamentalist gangs or who aren't bitterly running corner stores, are going to document their in-between experience, and it's gonna be a mishmash of failed multi-culti and cries of "They'll never accept us" and "Where the white women at?" and "Where's the Allah motive for getting me some dead whitey payback from this decadent society that won't love me?" Euros want the brown man to assimilate but to stay in his place, to speak the language but to deliver the curry. To do the jobs no self-respecting white Euro would lower himself to do, but to stop taking self-respecting white Euro jobs. Euros want freedom of expression and freedom of religion as long as women wear cleavage-bearing halters, crack-revealing jeans and pouty, ready-to-suck mouths. Veils are such a downer. God is to be taught only in the History Department, and conservatives are to be shipped back to Berlin for sensitivity training. Americans are to be publicly ridiculed, easily dismissed and aggressively obsessed over. Marriage is to be tolerated but winked at as quaint.

Well, our list could go on and on and perhaps you think I exaggerate, but you, dear lover of the museum of Europe, would be wrong. This is the cake-and-eat-it-too house of cards that is modern European society (excuse my mixed metaphors- I'm on a Heineken deadline- the hypocrisy extends in both directions), and it is on that canvas that Zadie Smith lays her first novel, delivered at the suicide-inducing-jealousy age of 24. What more can be said about the precocious one's first assault on the public domain? Let's try a few obvious questions for non-believers and disdainers of chick lit.

Is the hoopla just cuz she's young and hot? Only minorly, although indeed she is both of those things. She also has wit, craft, talent, knowledge and occasional wisdom. Not that those things necessarily mean a complete success, but to deny them is to call yourself a bitter, middle-aged, failed novelist, which may be good enough to get you in the back door of The Graduate, but you'll only be hanging with Zadie at all the best parties when you bend over to replace her butter knife.

If you threw out her age and sexy mouth, how would you rate the book? I'd applaud, with reservations. She has produced a work that tackles multiple time periods, cultures, subcultures, dialects, family relationships, BIG societal questions, and more. She is also very funny. She is also overly precious at times, and her insistence on providing the back history of every character (including one on page 398 of a 448 page book) bogs down the plot and suggests bravado on her part, or even formula. The end borders on miraculous magical realism, and she has no moral point of view. That vacuum leads one to believe that she's one of those Berkeley relativists, never condemning and always offering explanations and justifications for characters' behavior, however reprehensible.

Did you enjoy it? Yes, I did, but I would have taken out close to 100 pages, and it would have been a better book, because I am the undiscovered Max Perkins of my generation.

Will you read another book by Ms. Smith? Yes, but not until I drag several people down to the new Indian restaurant for another round of tandoori and pilsner. A man needs motivation, after all, which should come via your generous offer to pay for my insight. I'd prefer a table by the window.

Italian Whine
After listening to Tuna whine for months about his inability to post, all we've gotten is a dinghy. A dinghy. Stick your head between your knees and beg your ass for forgiveness. A fucking dinghy.

Cheers to Ken and Nicole! A Girl!! Amy!!!

Politics Betting and Political Bets at Bodog Sportsbook

These events are only available for wagering via the Internet
CompetitorOdds-In President George W Bush's 2006 State of the Union address, how many times will the President say the words: Patriot Act? Preview-Any wagers placed after outcome becomes public knowledge will be graded as No Action. No Refunds. No Over limit Wagers. All wagers have action.
0-2 times 2/1

3-5 times 3/2

6-9 times 3/1

10 or more times 6/1


In President George W Bush's 2006 State of the Union address, how many times will the President say the word: Evil? Preview-Any wagers placed after outcome becomes public knowledge will be graded as No Action. No Refunds. No Over limit Wagers. All wagers have action.
0-2 times 1/1

3-5 times 3/2

6-9 times 7/2

10 or more times 7/1


In President George W Bush's 2006 State of the Union address, how many times will the President say the words, "Space Terrorism"? Preview-Any wagers placed after outcome becomes public knowledge will be graded as No Action. No Refunds. No Over limit Wagers.
0 Times 1/2

1 Time 1/1

2 Times 7/5

3 Times 3/1

4 Times 5/2

5 Times 5/1

6 Times 6/1

7 Times 7/1

8 Times or more 17/2


How many standing ovations will President W. Bush receive during his State of the Union Address? PreviewAny wagers placed after outcome becomes public knowledge will be graded as No Action. No Refunds. No Over limit Wagers. The standing ovation will need to be recorded and reported by news outlets. Thespeech will take place on January 31, 06.
0-15 9/2

16-30 4/1

31-40 3/1

41-50 5/2

51-60 3/1

61-70 6/1

70 or more standing ovations 8/1


Will the US Patriot Act be renewed by February 3rd , 2006 ? Preview-Any wagers placed after outcome becomes public knowledge will be graded as No Action. The Patriot Act must be publicly renewed by February 3rd; 2006 for Yes wagers to be graded a win. An extension to the act is NOT considered a renewal, and will result in Yes wagers being graded a loss. No Refunds. No Over limit Wagers. Max $100
Yes -120

No -120


How many years will lobbyist Jack Abramoff be sentenced to prison on federal charges ? PreviewAny wagers placed after outcome becomes public knowledge will be graded as No Action. No Refunds. No Over limit Wagers. If there is a mistrial or case is dropped, all wagers will be graded as No Action. Wager will be settled once verdict is made public. No Parlays. Max $100 (ONLY)
Under 3 years 3/2

3 to under 5 years 5/2

5 to under 8 years 7/2

8 to under 15 years 5/2

15 years or more

Whoop that Trick!

The best movie I've seen in a decade is now on DVD. I realize why I like it so much; I look like Terrence Howard. It's a 70's type movie about people. If you don't dig it I'll refund your money.

One From the Archives
Let’s be honest- hangovers don’t really have cures. Distractions, maybe, but nothing is really gonna salve the pain except more hootch, and we all know where that leads. Just like you, ya dirty fucking lush, my eyes always go straight to those promises of salvation in magazines about Chinese herbs and Campbell soup mixed with cilantro, but in my humble experience, they just make matters worse. Greasy food, water, coffee, porn- these all take us away from our suffering, but they do absolutely nothing to fix the problem. Even King Edwards’ natural born chicken and ribs is not the anodyne for the big throb. Of course, this leads us to Plan B: distraction. If you’re lucky enough to live alone, you can watch bad movies in your underwear, dozing in and out of Meatballs and then humming along at the end. You can take a walk, but really, who the fuck wants to do that, unless it’s down to Eddie’s to pick up a twelve pack. My favorite strategy used to be a five-disc cd changer and a couple of fanzines. No needless movement. No thinking. 6 billion reviews and you might remember two. Hands full of newsprint. Smudgy pictures, and even the occasional nudity. These days, however, it’s getting harder and harder to find that mindless Saturday helper. The Internet has made most print zines, which are absurdly cost ineffective, a thing of the drunkard’s romantic past. Sure, a couple may be hanging on. Most, however, publish only occasionally, and certainly not enough to keep up with my drinking. The ezines (yea yea yea I know, my hypocrisy is running out every orifice, forming a Narcissisian pool at my feet) deliver what you need to know with sometimes terrific writing, but unless you have some new tech contraption that only Tech World can tell ya about, ya can’t read the fucking things while lying flat on your back. There’s also something about holding those fuckers in your hand. I don’t know what it is, and certainly you don’t come here for insight. It just feels right, in a way that sitting in front of a computer never will. This is not to besmirch the good people who pour in their thankless hours for online zines, but we need one of the print variety. My personal challenge to you, ya trust fund bastards hoarding your cash in case the terrorists win, is to get one off the ground. Hell, I volunteer as your resident asshole. God knows I have the experience. Do a service for fat, lazy rock lovers everywhere, and get a big, beautiful rock mag off the ground. Make new friends. Win power and influence. Most importantly, let me know that another night in the service of King Cobra will not be punished too severely tomorrow. Let’s put those Chinese herb fellas out of business for good.

The Cunt that Killed Silkworm...

0 for 5...

Hat's off to your 1.000 batting average. I'm having the opposite problem. Since the holiday I haven't been able to finish a book. Here's the breakdown:

Women In Love - I've read this 3 times, but this is the first time I've read Menand's introduction. It's made me angry and I've not been able to get rolling.

The Great Fire - read about a thrid of this in SC but can't get started. I hope I havent burned out on this.

The Year of Magical Thinking - I won't finish it. I know it's gonna end with Quintana's death and there's no f'ing way I'm gonna read on. I stopped right after she collapsed outside LAX.

Kornwolf - Rolling, but slowly. This is Lord of the Barnyard Egolf, and it rocks; hyped, overwrought with frantic adverbs, ripping off Pynchon left and right, and I love it. You prick; why'd you have to off yourself?

Molto Italiano - I'm expanding my fish cooking skills simply by reading sister's copy of Mario Batali's cookbook. This dago knows his shit, especially when it comes to the pesci. This is the year of the Italian - we'll win the Cup and have more than 20% representation on the US Supreme Court. Va fan culo, cazzi. Segui il tuo corso, e lascia dir le genti!

The odds of thorougly enjoying three Xmas books is about the same as Bradley getting the Bills to cover on the third game of a 28-1 parlay- not fucking good. Amazon delivered on time and with high quality. Here is the Trinity of My Reading Victory, covering the three major elements of life (and you can screw the spiritual).

The Personal- Joan Didion's The Year of Magical Thinking briefly appeared here in review form before being whisked away into the cyberether where more important opinions lie. What to do when the ones close to you drop dead and nearly dead? Will the platitudes hold? Will the mind allow the fragility of all things, or will it force you to wash away the polite truths and shove you face first into the void? The most moving account of grief I've read in ages.

The Political- George Packer's The Assassin's Gate is the first big book to bring the narrative of the pre-war buildup, the immediate aftermath of Shock and Awe and the beginning of Now What?, the view from various grounds and the lives bleeding and crying on them, and the scramble to deal with the contingencies of insurgency that Cheney and Rumsfeld never anticipated. It's powerfully compelling and ultimately demoralizing, but it will help you get your mind around the narrative, at least from one man's perspective.

The Social- Theodore Dalrymple's Our Culture, What's Left of It is a relentlessly erudite, thoughtful and eye-opening attack on all the things ye olde 60's have wrought- unbridled sexuality, rampant drug use, poor grooming, bad art and just about anything else that a lack of restraint and the diminishing of standards breeds. You don't have to agree with the man to admire his work, which forces you to confront your lazy ass assumptions about freedom and responsibility. His piece on not legalizing drugs is the first essay to shed new light on that subject for me in ten years, and it is very difficult to combat. If the neocons had Dalrymple on their domestic team, the Left would be playing for even fewer scraps than they are now.

Wal-Mart Stores Inc. is shutting down the system that creates movie recommendations on its shopping Web site after it linked a "Planet of the Apes" DVD to films about famous black Americans, including Martin Luther King Jr.

Blue State Blues

Richard Rodriguez has a great essay in Cal's alumni rag on the state of all things literature in California. Take a look, and try to remember he's the west's Naipaul, and recall that some of us spent our mispent youths as wards of Cal alumni at the Lair of the Bear, instilling a lifelong hatred of all things urban, suburban and comfortable.

"Mwa-AAAA-aaaaa-Yeaaaaaaaaaaaaaah! Yeahhhh!"

Rhino has just issued their 3rd T. Rex reissue (following EW and Slider). First one to download Zip Gun gets a hubcap diamond star halo, a knock down sabertooth dream, or a changeless angel.

Late in Martin Scorsese's fascinating 4-hour documentary on Dylan, there is a sequence of press conferences Dylan endures that tell you everything you want to know about why he was nearly destroyed before the motorcycle accident nearly killed him. The questions come from a variety of European reporters, and to describe them as inane would be generous. Dylan refuses to answer any of the questions seriously, delivering shoulder shrugs and eye rolls and one-liners instead. That footage is interwoven with Dylan today commenting on the events, and his exasperation remains pungent. Each reporter after the next, working from cribbed notes from other publications, demands that Dylan explain himself as spokesman of a generation, or what the hidden messages of his songs are, or why his earlier records are so much better than his latest ones (a French guy, naturellement). Some become outraged at his glib replies to their stupid queries and begin to attack him, and Dylan just lights up another smoke. One photographer asks him to suck on his sunglasses so he can capture that shot. Those twenty minutes of film turn fame into a Felliniesque circus in which the dancing elephants go misunderstood by the fat, cat-calling, drunken crowd. If you haven't seen it, look to fill your next rainy Saturday afternoon with this eye-opener. Oh, and poor Joan Baez. Poor Joan.

And if the band you're in starts playing a different tune...

Rejected by the Publishers

By LAWRENCE VAN GELDER
Published: January 4, 2006

Submitted to 20 publishers and agents, the typed manuscripts of the opening chapters of two books were assumed to be the work of aspiring novelists. Of 21 replies, all but one were rejections. Sent by The Sunday Times of London, the manuscripts were the opening chapters of novels that won Booker Prizes in the 1970's. One was "Holiday," by Stanley Middleton; the other was "In a Free State," by Sir V. S. Naipaul, winner of the 2001 Nobel Prize in Literature. Mr. Middleton said he wasn't surprised. "People don't seem to know what a good novel is nowadays," he said. Mr. Naipaul said: "To see something is well written and appetizingly written takes a lot of talent, and there is not a great deal of that around. With all the other forms of entertainment today, there are very few people around who would understand what a good paragraph is."

La la la la la la la la

Bereft of creative content, the clowns at the Chronicle's Datebook section picked their favorite road music in and around the city. I am deeply offended by the selections of Geary Boulevard, having driven, cabbed, and walked that stretch for 15 years in all states; shame, intoxication, anger, lust, and pride. Herewith is the essential road music to counter that beast and all its vile ethnics and 38 behemouths:

Iggy Pop, The Passenger -- For some reason after a dozen pops with warz we thought it was fine to drive home from edinburogh castle. Iggy came on and we sang like idiots. cops probably thought we were just in high spirits.

Nirvana, Smells like teen spirit -- I no longer abide Nirvana, but when the record first came out, my college roomy ditched his Rush records and became born again grunge. We had just made some wonderful girls at tim simon's 12th night house party, and we put the top down in his convertible, blasted this, and made it home in one piece.

the Jam, Going Underground -- warz called me one morning a couple years ago when i was on the drive of shame; ie, taking a girl out for breakfast after a wild night of pornography. i couldn't talk with the girl alongside, but he knew what was up and laughed like satan as i tried to be upstanding. kusf saved the morning and explained everything except the hickey i had to walk around with for a week.

mazzy star, look on down from the bridge -- last week of june 2005, angling out of the city with joss en route to WA. a picture perfect morning, maudlin, moving, and misty eyed.

bush, glycerine -- like nirvana, completely stupid song and band, but it set off the finnish girl like nothing else in the world. car sex near 3rd ave is not underrated.

the busted lives, dirty alcoholic -- a theme song for the dot com years. 6th ave and perhaps some ton kiang dim sum to assuage the dog. what a riot.

led zeppelin, that's the way -- for the early SF years, the theme song of morning beers at the Pig and Whistle, then a 10am bar (now 11am). Coupled with that english breakfast of theirs (including beans and toast) it worked its magic.

danny boy -- always ready for the rendition piped out of o'keefe's juke. hanging a right on 5th ave to retrieve whatever leave behinds from the night before; wallet, keys, a girl or two. annie would simply nod when we'd come in and say, 'aye, me boys are back. welcome!'

rod stewart, gasoline alley -- early morning/afternoon rod is always appreciated on the ocean bound stretch. it makes one wonder what the hell happened to him and to you.