Doo Doo

OK, my listening laziness around the homefront is breeding an endless cycle of the twenty newest records stacked nearest the turntable. It's time to reacquaint myself with the collection, so here's the gambit- blindly pick a record from the dusty stacks, listen to it and then comment on it. Corny and unoriginal, but as that describes me perfectly in this haunted year, fuck you.

Richmond Sluts- S/t- my these boys are shagalicious, with doos Paul Weller would shank a man for. I remember some less than flattering chatter back in the day (from whom I can't recall, but memory is a tricky beast and I'm going with vague, general impressions), and I'm betting those Ian McCullough bobs might have had something to do with it. The music isn't terrible, but nothing really stands out. The production is muddy, as every tired riff and recycled bass line and every other old thing they threw in there got, well, thrown in there. This came out in 2001, but my memory places it mid-90s, which means seeing them at the Vegas Shakedown weeks after 9/11 seems a lot longer ago than I remember, which means time is moving more slowly in my conception of it, which flies in the face of all we know about ageing and our conception of time. I'm going to credit my rigid discipline of Omega-3 Triple Strength fish oil horse pills and a steady diet of FRS energy drinks for what looks clearly like an extended life span, all booze aside. In the illuminating song title department, "Junkie Queen" ought to do it, as smack fashion appears to be the aesthetic and driving force of this band. The New York Dolls and The Rolling Stones, bands whose posters must have graced the bathroom walls of several Sluts, wrote memorable songs, which is why we regularly pull their records out for pleasure and why this one only sees the light of day due to blind chance. I actually like my bands dressed up and peacocked out, and presentation goes a long way on a slow Wednesday night at The Stork. Sadly, for these one-offs, they forgot the tunes, so perhaps it's only fitting that they end their debut opus with the inspired title of "Yea, Allright." You can almost see them practicing cockney accents in broken Mission mirrors. Where are the birds? You know who was barking up this same Johnny Thunders tree? The Joneses, way back in the LA eighties, and a few questionable decisions aside, they made it move. Let's put it this way- ain't nothing from the Sluts approaches "Pillbox," so leave this in the dollar bin and save your wadded up bills for that Joneses collection on Sympathy.

Spitzer Insists He's Always Been a Stud

Kagan's Friends Say She's Not Gay

(the following comes from The Daily Beast) Whether you think it is appropriate or not, a debate is brewing over Elena Kagan's sexuality, in part due to blogger Andrew Sullivan who is arguing that she be interrogated over her sexual orientation. Ben Smith at Politico takes the time to speak to some of Kagan's friends, who say she is not gay. "I've known her for most of her adult life and I know she's straight," says Sarah Walzer, Kagan's roommate in law school and a close friend to this day. "She dated men when we were in law school, we talked about men—who in our class was cute, who she would like to date, all of those things. She definitely dated when she was in D.C. after law school, when she was in Chicago—and she just didn't find the right person." Former New York Governor Eliot Spitzer, who was friends with Kagan as a student at Princeton, also says she dated men: "I did not go out with her, but other guys did."

Is it just me, or is Spitzer desperately trying to make clear that he did not date "that dog"? Even bald, middle-aged disgraced former governors wrestle with vanity, apparently.

Cats and Dogs, Sleeping Together

Pick your narrative: the king is dead, the demons are purged, Thornton and Marleau are redeemed, the fans can breathe. I don't care. Maybe we can weave them all together into one of those Tarantino meets Crash intersections and let the threads blur and cross where they will. It doesn't matter, really. It just feels good to win. And now, the wait. Chicago gagged in last night's chance to bury the suddenly undisciplined Canucks, so scouring for playoff tickets is at least 48 hours away. No matter. The Sharks beat the Red Wings, and if you look at the above picture closely, you'll see how confusing that is for folks. Dead sharks on the ice- Wings' fans celebrating Shark victories. It's a world upside down. Finally.

Enjoy the rest, and then buck up for Round 3.

1840- 1910 New York filth

I am fascinated how a society's poor, depraved, and outcast evolve. Not in a fictional sense, but within the context of real names and places. What was it like to recently arrive and to live in Lower East Side tenement housing? What were the favorite illicit working class pastimes during the 1850s? Where did one score dope or a hooker in 1890? It's all here. Unfortunately, Sante just presents the facts and the reader gets little opportunity to know the miscreants of the era other than learning about their most noteworthy failures, misdeeds and peculiarities. Still, if you're the kind of sicko who gets off finding out how many Polish immigrants could be housed in one room, where to go in the Bowery to catch a good bear-baiting match, or how to play faro, this is the book.

Sharks 2 Red Wings 0

Some diehards threw a dead shark with an octopus in its mouth on the ice in last night's Sharks victory, but I missed it because I was too busy groaning. Old age and benders are a decidedly difficult mix. Heading into Detroit tomorrow night, the Sharks could ice the series with a victory, but it's hard to imagine them pulling out Game 3. The Wings have too much pride and too much talent, and the Sharks have been getting the bounces in the first two games. Yes, they've been carrying the play, but my defense mechanisms refuse to allow hope to slip through the transom. Still, if fans can manage what they did, maybe this is the year. See comments for a full-blown article on how they got the shark into the arena and on to the ice.

Cower Before the Big Pavelski

Sharks win Game 1, 4-3, and Mr. Pavelski scores two more goals to continue his assault on Sharks playoff scoring records. The biggest game of your life moves from tonight to Sunday, when Game 2 commences, right after the Giants beat the shit out of whoever they're playing, and the Tuna pukes all over the ghost of Frank Sinatra.

Bring on the Kings

Game 1 is tonight, 6:00.