"And you may say to yourself/ 'My God! What have I done?'"--Talking Heads

On July 10, I wrote that, among the many things I would rather do than explain writing to those who don't write was "endure a Candlebox revival". (Please note re the original premise: I said "explain", not "discuss".)

At the time, I had no idea Candlebox had a new disc forthcoming. On any given day, a third of my inbox consists of music press releases, so I was alarmed last week when I discovered via their flack that the least interesting band ever associated with this city has decided to give things another go. I felt like I'd tempted fate and now all carbon-based life forms with auditory perception would suffer for my recklessness.

As it turns out, I was right. Today I received a follow-up press release announcing that the aforementioned record has debuted at #32 on Billboard's Top 200. Jesus fucking Christ, what is going on? Is a segment of the population really that starved for factory-stamped pseudo-grunge? Couldn't it meet the same need by watching a "Who's the Boss?" marathon? It would stir the same degree of imagination and cost less in cash and brain cells.

To make amends for the torrent of stupidity I inadvertently prompted, here is footage of the LWs' new album taking shape. Because JR playing the cowbell for three minutes is still more interesting than Candlebox could ever be:

"There's a story in the book in which I wound up in a waiting room, in France, in my underpants. And everybody else...

...had their clothes on. It took me six years to write about it."

The Stranger's Steven Blum interviews David Sedaris:

http://www.thestranger.com/seattle/Content?oid=621684&hp

You are so fucked, dude:

It's been widely reported that Alexander Rodriguez told a friend regarding Madonna, "She's my fucking soul mate, dude."

This morning I read that A-Rod's soon-to-be ex-wife, Cynthia, is Greek.

Things I Would Rather Do Than Explain Writing to Those Who Don't Write:

• Forego spring rolls and shrimp phad thai for a year

• Have a Viagra-fueled three-way with John and Cindy McCain whilst Sean Hannity lurks by the nightstand and jerks off
  

• Listen to a well-educated person in their 30s act surprised that having children is, in fact, a singular and transformative experience

• Hang out with a baby boomer who launches into an anecdote with, "Back when I was on campus..."

• Endure a Candlebox revival

• Discuss "one's journey" with Madonna

• Make out with a life coach

• Eat a bag of dog crap
  

The Bill Walton headbands, too:

Indie kids, you know I love you, but if we could stop with the bolero hats, I'd really appreciate it.

When you ape Gene Loves Jezebel, that story ends badly.

Or their ass cracks:

The past week has been pretty great, so I didn't write about the Sonics' upcoming exodus because I didn't feel like it.

But the Sonics were a big part of my youth and I'm sad the region's young-uns won't get to cheer them on the way all of us on the block did when we were kids. Basically, Clay Bennett and his cohorts ooze a smugness that makes me hope fire ants crawl up their dicks upon arrival in the Sooner State.

Don't rule it out: the part of Greece I'm descended from has put curses on the deserving for centuries.

It's all right, Seattle. I'm on it.

A few couples close to me are trying to conceive...

...and they each report being bombarded with questions: Are you pregnant yet? Why'd you wait so long? Are you considering in vitro? Are you thinking of adopting? Are you pregnant yet? Are you? ARE YOU?

On their behalf, let me reply emphatically and without reserve: Shut the fuck up.

I don't understand how anyone besides the individuals in question (and maybe their folks) concludes that this is their business. As someone who doesn't want kids, I can relay that certain types of people are ceaselessly fascinated with others' procreative choices. I don't get it and never will. If you want kids, have them. If you don't, don't. (As Wanda Sykes and I discussed in the Believer interview: unwanted children become the biggest assholes.) But for god's sake, don't harass friends or family regarding their decisions.

Because eventually, they'll wish you were never born.

When I was in high school, I had a zoology teacher...

...who taught with patience and gusto. Several kids--wankers, all--made fun of her because she was fat, and looking back, it seems unfathomable that she didn't know their whispered jibes were directed at her. Still, she remained unflappable in class and took extra time to work with me so that I'd stay abreast while my family and I traversed Greece for three weeks. Even at that age, I was fairly certain my future lay in the arts and that most of our curriculum would have little practical application in my adult life. But I enjoyed her class each day because she made the fundamentals of zoology tangible and fun. And now when I frequently read the science sections of the New York Times and CNN.com--I have a layperson's appreciation--in an indirect way, it's because of her.

So I thought of Mrs. ____ last night when I watched this Time Magazine interview with Neil deGrasse Tyson, astrophysicist, director of the Hayden Planetarium at the American Museum of Natural History and host of NOVA scienceNOW. The erudition and passion with which he discusses life's atomic origins and Issac Newton's discoveries make me wish that when I was at the museum in 2006, I'd knocked on his door, offered him a mocha, and asked, "Can I listen to you think?"

It is my fondest hope that I one day interview Dr. deGrasse Tyson:

http://www.time.com/time/video/?bcpid=1214055407&bclid=1342094282&bctid=1628434334