"I was starting to get worn out, but after a few minutes lying on a picnic table I realized that it would be all too easy in the warm Tennessee...

...night to just doze off, and the last time I passed out around this many hippies I woke up two days later on the Green Tortoise outside of Redding, California carrying a briefcase full of blueberry pancakes. That was NOT going to happen again."

Part Three of JR's CMJ Bonnaroo report:

cmj.com | new music first

Disparate times call for disparate measures:

Aforementioned cancer was caught, basically, at the instant it developed. Said friend, who sports the immune system of an alpha male mountain goat, should be a-okay. Knock on wood.

Best line this week, from the barrista who accidentally undercharged me by fifty cents: "Go ahead and keep it. It's not like you're Joseph Stalin or anything."

And my friend, the oft-mentioned E, whose talent is matched only by his ability to vex, has launched a new blog, Vonnegut's Asshole. Show him the love he so richly deserves:

Vonnegut's Asshole

Off to the wedding!

Overload:

Yesterday I discovered someone I love has cancer and tonight I attended a rehearsal dinner for someone I also love very much.

There is too much I will never understand.

Write like this or don't write at all:

JR covers the Bonnaroo Festival for CMJ:

Part One:
cmj.com | new music first

Part Two:
cmj.com | new music first

We're doing this with Scotch tape and mirrors:

After a delightful seven day streak at 98.6, this morning the fever returned with a vengeance and by afternoon, I felt like I was walking underwater. The silver lining, if one must search for it, is that the pre-deadline cacaphony is momentarily silenced. I can only hear one voice, because I'm too out of sorts to hear the rest.

Sleep beckons.

From the deadline cave:

Can anything compare to the quiet mournful beauty of the 1:00 a.m. sky? The still and enveloping grace of the sweet nocturnal visage?

Sometimes this is so much fun:

1) My Seattle Sound cover story on Elvis Costello is out now:

Seattle Sound

2) And my friend, E, is writing his debut feature for Vanity Fair.

Awesomeosity with compound interest.

Do not go gentle into that good night:

For the past few days, the air has felt like a solid and Seattle has experienced alternating bouts of flypaper stickiness and alacritous showers.

My hair has responded accordingly.

When I'm in New York in the summer, I know the rules. My hair might resemble kudzu by 3pm, but there are beef franks at Green Papaya and beet salads at Babbo and long(ish) walks through Central Park. There are contemplative afternoons in St. Patrick's Cathedral and journeys through the Met and luggage-altering trips to the Strand. Shows at Park Slope's Southpaw (preceded by iced soy mochas at the nearby Gorilla Coffee), grasshoppers at the Algonquin, the candy shop at the Plaza, Piano's followed by Katz's, the jewelry counter at Barney's flagship store, 1am jaunts through Times Square, and so many boutiques in the West Village, SoHo and NoHo that my heart dances at the thought. (No, obviously, I don't live this way. I save to splurge when I'm over there.)

So my hair occasionally looks like Brillo. There are trade-offs and no one gets everything they want. But here's the thing: I've come to love Seattle in the past eighteen months or so in a way I didn't think was possible. It finally got interesting again and for the first time, I feel as much at home in my home as I do in New York.

That said, I'm unwilling to deal w/ this stuff on my head just so I can see one more show at Hugo House.

Elements, you've been warned: I call bullshit.