There's great stuff in the world, isn't there? Here's some:
- The Sex Pistols Refuse To Be The Monkey Of The Rock & Roll Hall Of Fame ...via an incoherent letter posted on a fanzine. I tip my hat to Gstieger on this one, and she put it about as well as it can be put: God bless 'em.
- Other Voices, Other Rooms by Truman Capote. Especially chapter three, in which Joel Knox attends Jesus and Zoo Fever's worship service, and Joel sees the scar from when Keg Brown tried to cut Zoo's throat. I love the end when, under the threat of a gathering storm, Zoo exhorts Joel to prayer, and Mr. Capote delivers himself of this paragraph:
But there was no prayer in Joel's mind; rather, nothing a net of words could capture, for, with one exception, all his prayers of the past had been simple, concrete requests: God, give me a bicycle, a knife with seven blades, a box of oil paints. Only, how, how, could you say something so indefinite, so meaningless as this: God, let me be loved.
- Ghana by The Mountain Goats. I realized, a long time ago, when I had consumed every word ever published by Thomas Hardy and Jane Austen, that I was going to have to slow down a bit, and save some of the good stuff for later. As a result, I have a kind of a savings program that means that there are entire delicious novels by Henry James, Dostoyevski, Tolstoy and John Irving that I have not read. Similarly, there is a stash of tantalizingly titled songs by The Mountain Goats that I have yet to either hear at all, or give my full, undivided attention to. This week, I broke into that stash to listen to Ghana, and I already feel like my spirit is spending eternity in happiness, munching on a Golden Boy peanut.
- Early Mornings In Mala Strana. Prague has two heavily touristed areas: Staro Metska (Old Town), in which you can see the world famous medieval astronomical clock, the magnificent Tyn Church, and the momument to Jan Hus, and on the other side of the Charles Bridge, Mala Strana (Little Town), winds through narrow cobbled streets under Pragus castle and along the river. It's all ludicrously beautiful, but usually so choked with tourists that you can barely walk... except on cold winter mornings, where everything is quiet and gorgeous in the mist that rises off the river.
- Tenacious D. Good lord, how I love Jack Black's delivery of every single line of vocals. I love that he is hilariously cognizant of exactly why Rock is ridiculous, and that his love, and desire to rock as hard a Dio ever did, are totally real. "Tribute", "Wonderboy", and "Fuck Her Gently" are all masterpieces of pure comedy gold, but with just enough sincerity to taint every cliche and irony with sweetness.
- The Tour of Califorina. I love it that freaking FABIAN CANCELLARA and JENS VOIGT are in California riding bikes with all my favorite American Sweethearts of Cycling. Chris Horner? Tim Johnson? I'm talking to you! And, I love that big, uber charming George Hincapie keeps winning stages. Go, George! I love it that The Tour of California has been on ESPN at night, and that the promoters want to make it bigger, and as long as the Tour de France. I love those bike racing guys for more reasons that I can go into now, but here's what I hate: I AM MISSING IT. That just cracks me. I am totally cracked.
- Drooly, Comatose Naps, Taken In The Afternoon. Yeah. That's right. I have time for that kind of thing about two or three times a week, and it is DELICIOUS.
- The Way This Guy I've Been Seeing Dances Like The World's Biggest Dork. I hope he never reads this, because he might quit dancing if he does. "Dork" may not bear the same affectionate overtone for him that it does for me, but seriously, it's pretty much the most charming thing ever... and it would have to be, after all the fun I sometimes have waiting for him to get back to me on the cell phone. Yeah, I decided that it would be better to regret forgiving him for that business last Friday night than it would be to regret being a cold-hearted, unforgiving harpy. So, later, when I totally bellyache, just remind me that I climbed back up onto the rack of my own volition, ok?
- My Monkey. Which goes without saying. I love you, Monkey.