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.

I stumbled across both of these in Patricia Bosworth's engaging biography of Diane Arbus:

I'm not sure if I agree with the former--I know I want to--but the latter resonates:

"Every form seen correctly is beautiful."--Goethe

"Love involves a peculiar unfathomable combination of understanding and misunderstanding."--Diane Arbus

If I have to walk, crawl, or hitch hike, I'll be there. From today's New York Times:

Vanessa Redgrave and Joan Didion, Working on a Merger

By CAMPBELL ROBERTSON
Published: May 26, 2006

SOON after the announcement was made last December that Joan Didion would be writing a one-woman play based on her autobiographical book, "The Year of Magical Thinking," Ms. Didion had a meeting with Scott Rudin, the Broadway producer who first proposed the idea, and David Hare, the British playwright who will be directing the production.

One of the topics was casting. It was not a long conversation.

Vanessa Redgrave, said Mr. Rudin, "was the only person we ever talked about. There was no one else ever discussed."

More:

Joan Didion - Vanessa Redgrave - Theater - New York Times

Vanderslicer!

My Paste review of John Vanderslice's recent Seattle show is finally up. My editor cut the final paragraph, but I like it, so I've included it after the link:

Paste Magazine :: Review :: John Vanderslice :: Neumo's, Seattle, Wash. 4/7/06 (Page 1)

"Sub Pop's Kelley Stoltz and Suicide Squeeze's Crystal Skulls kicked off the evening with sets that were antic and fresh. The latter celebrated the official release of their new disc, Outgoing Behavior and drew a sizeable portion of the crowd. The night's only snafu came after the house lights went up and Vanderslice suggested playing Ghostface Killah's Fishscales over the sound system. These, the indiest of kids, called bullshit on that."

Because we were running low on beav talk:

Eric Spitznagel, my Believer editor and the only writer (so far) to thank me alongside Ron Jeremy, is touring with his book, "Fast Forward: Confessions of a Porn Screenwriter". You can hear Der Spitznagel read at Seattle's Elliot Bay Book Company on Saturday, May 13 at 7:30 pm. And you can read Playboy's "Fast Forward" excerpt here:

Fast Forward: Confessions of a Porn Screenwriter

Worth noting:

"Still and all, why bother? Here's my answer: Many people need desperately to receive this message: 'I feel and think much as you do, care about many of the things you care about, although most people don't care about them. You are not alone.'" --Kurt Vonnegut

"More obscene than anything is inertia."--Henry Miller

The word "shank" springs to mind, too:

Today I spoke with two Island Records employees who had never heard of Elvis Costello. I explained to one, then the other, that Mr. Costello is, in fact, an artist on their label. Neither believed me until I insisted that each look it up on Island's web site. One actually tried to convince me that Island didn't know "who Elvis Costiello [sic] has for a publis [sic]."

I don't have a larger point. I just want to cock-punch them.

From yesterday's Washington Post: Chronic Fatigue's Genetic Component

Chronic Fatigue's Genetic Component

Chronic Fatigue's Genetic Component
Study Clarifies Predisposition to Syndrome

By Rick Weiss
Washington Post Staff Writer
Friday, April 21, 2006; Page A08


An intense battery of medical and psychological tests of people with chronic fatigue syndrome has strengthened the idea that the mysterious ailment is actually a collection of five or more conditions with varying genetic and environmental causes, scientists reported yesterday.

But though the syndrome comes in many flavors, these experts said, the new work also points to an important common feature: The brains and immune systems of affected people do not respond normally to physical and psychological stresses.

The researchers predicted that continued clarification of the precise genes and hormones involved will lead to better diagnostic tests and therapies for the ailment, which may affect close to 1 million Americans.

"This is a very important step forward in the field of chronic fatigue syndrome research," said Julie L. Gerberding, director of the federal Centers for Disease Control and Prevention in Atlanta, which sponsored the project.

The new findings come from the largest clinical trial ever to focus on people with the syndrome, a debilitating condition accompanied by unexplained extreme fatigue, memory and concentration problems, sleep disorders and chronic pain.

Taking a multidisciplinary approach that agency officials said represents the future of public health, the CDC recruited 20 physicians, molecular biologists, epidemiologists, computational biologists -- even physicists and mathematicians -- to collaborate in an effort to tease apart the syndrome.

The results, published in more than a dozen reports and commentaries in the April issue of the journal Pharmacogenomics, released yesterday, suggest that many cases of chronic fatigue have links to a handful of brain- and immune system-related genes that either harbor small mutations or are working abnormally for other reasons.

That finding strengthens the case that some people are born with a predisposition to the condition. But those genetic links remain weak and incomplete, researchers conceded, leaving most of the syndrome's roots hidden in a fog of poorly understood physiological, neurological, psychological and behavioral factors.

"Chronic fatigue syndrome is very heterogeneous. It's not just one thing," said William C. Reeves, who oversaw the project with CDC co-worker Suzanne D. Vernon. It will take time to identify all the biological pathways involved, Reeves said, but the growing evidence of genetic links should put to rest the idea that the syndrome is a made-up diagnosis for "a bunch of hysterical, upper-class white women."

The new study involved 227 residents of Wichita, Kan., who spent two full days in a hospital undergoing a series of blood tests, hormone studies, psychological exams and sleep studies.

About one-quarter of them met the formal definition of chronic fatigue syndrome. A similar number proportion had chronic fatigue but did not rank as having the full-blown syndrome -- in many cases because their fatigue was not severe enough. A third group met all of the requirements of the syndrome but also had melancholic depression, which does not fit the current diagnostic guidelines for chronic fatigue syndrome. And a fourth group, for comparison purposes, was healthy.

The CDC, which invested about $2 million in the testing, then made blood-test results and other data available to researchers, who performed a wide variety of analyses.

In one set of studies, scientists looked at the activity levels of 20,000 genes known to be involved in the body's response to such stresses as infections, injuries or emotional trauma. Several hundred were found to be over- or under-active in various subgroups of fatigued patients.

Most of those correlations were weak -- that is, the gene expression patterns alone could not accurately distinguish those whose symptoms had been diagnosed as the syndrome from those whose symptoms had not. But in one analysis, the activity of just 26 genes did accurately predict which of six categories of chronic fatigue a patient had on the basis of symptoms and other clinical tests. That is a powerful hint that those genes -- many of them involved in immune system regulation, the adrenal gland and the brain's hypothalamus and pituitary gland, which are involved in the body's response to stress -- may hold clues to the disease variants.

In other analyses, involving 50 genes that some people inherit with seemingly minor "misspellings," five of the 500 genetic glitches that were tracked repeatedly correlated with an apparent susceptibility to chronic fatigue. Those five include genes that affect levels of serotonin -- the neurotransmitter whose levels are tweaked by many antidepressant drugs -- and glutamate, a chemical that excites certain brain pathways in response to stress.

The specific implications remain uncertain for now, said Vernon, a CDC molecular biologist. "But everybody's finding the same five genes to be involved, which is pretty cool."

Several other studies on the Wichita samples found abnormal levels of various hormones relating to stress and mood -- additional evidence that chronic fatigue syndrome patients are genetically and neurologically "wired" to respond to stress abnormally.

It is already known, Vernon said, that the brain can literally rewire itself -- breaking old connections between neurons while building new ones -- in response to various physical or emotional events. Chronic fatigue syndrome may be the result of a bad rewiring job, she said, in people genetically predisposed to handle stress poorly.

And this is fucked up, too:

CNN.com - Mumps outbreak worst in 20 years - Apr 20, 2006

Okay, this is fucked up:

CNN.com - Case of bubonic plague confirmed in L.A. - Apr 19, 2006

Various and sundry:

Thanks, everyone, who celebrated my deliberately-belated birthday with me on Saturday. While the annual soiree no longer involves "S & M Office Boy", blow up dolls, or white Russians spilled on and imbibed directly from tables in the back of the Frontier Room, it does, however, include some mighty fine steaks. Much love to all.

Also, for the second consecutive year, The Believer is a finalist for a National Magazine Award in the category of General Excellence. I've joked that I will be eighty and accosting strangers in Tompkins Square Park with "I was in the Music Issue!", but the Music Issue (June/July) was one of the three issues singled out, so take that, bitches:

Winners and Finalists

When I rule the world:

An El Diablo iced single tall soy mocha will be delivered to my door every morning at 11 am.

Publicists will know when to back the hell off.

Stupidity will preclude breeding.

Real estate will be allocated based on merit.

Writers who espouse astrology will have their laptops confiscated.

Passive agression: punishable by death.

If you ask, "What did you do to yourself?" when you see me on crutches, I get to kick your mom and slash your tires.

Paperwhites and lilacs for everyone.

Part 3:

--Birdnests: functional, artful, optimistic. Evidence that some things in life work as they should.

--"Sittin' on a Fence", the last track from the Rolling Stones' disc, Flowers: wry, apt.

--Those who have grown up without settling, and who pursue what they love with passion, focus and tenacity: yea!

--The barrista who told me, "Your name is a poem": Aw.

Because apparently, a morphine drip is out of the question, Part 2:

--Bunnies: as cute as babies, but smarter and less needy.

--Jumbo fresh-roasted cashews from the stand in Pike Place Market: warm, large and bursting with flavor. Phallic, but with niacin. Once, the proprietor of said stand asked if he could touch my leather pants. (If you knew me then, you know that I did, in fact, rock these pants.) As a rule, I decline thigh-touching offers from unknown men, but the guy I was dating at the time was driving me insane--I was actually walking through the Market to clear my head and figure out what the hell we were doing--and I thought, "Why not? What's one more random man-touch at this point?" As I walked away, the guy at the donut stand across the corridor yelled to me, "I'll be here all day tomorrow!" No, I'm not making this up.

Because apparently, a morphine drip is out of the question:

The fever hasn't broken and I feel like I'm losing my fucking mind. I'm undergoing tests, continuing to employ the best of Western and Eastern medicines, and adhering to a nutritionally sound diet. I drink eight glasses of water a day, routinely stretch, and go for daily short walks. Please don't offer advice unless you're well-versed in the particulars of CFIDS. At this point, unprompted and uninformed counsel is almost as grating as the symptoms.

That said, I've been concentrating on what makes me happy, the persons and things that bring joy to my life. It's with profound gratefulness that I'm going to write about some of them over the next week.

First up: my best friend for the past twenty years, Christy N. Wickedly intelligent, deeply kind, and totally *bad-ass* (she ran her first marathon at the age of 38), C.N. is an awesome mom and one of the most focused individuals I know. If she says she's going to do something, you'd be a fucking ass-clown to bet against her. If I had a million dollars in cash and had to depart for a year, I'd leave it with her and not bother to count it when I returned. She gives good chocolate, has an understated and elegant style, and shuns reality TV. She's 100% German to my 100% Greek and I'm lucky our paths crossed at an otherwise tepid barbeque in September 1985.

You heard it here first:

If at all possible, don't get a fever that lasts for six months and counting.

I'm just saying.