Insent!

Thanks!

Grr. I am trying to sign into buffistarawk using the password you sent me. I know I am not getting the password wrong, since I cut and paste and tried it typing it from scratch as well.

What am I doing wrong?

That's not supposed to be an uppercase C, hec.

That's not supposed to be an uppercase C, hec.

You are right. I am sorry I gave you the agita.

well, you should be.

Okay, you can stop now

Very fun song, Theodosia. Thanks!

When the choir came in at the end, I very nearly did a spit-take.

From Xgau:

Dear Friends and Colleagues,

If this comes completely out of the blue, I apologize.

It is now official--Village Voice Media fired me today, "for taste," which means (among other things) slightly sweeter severance. This despite the support of new music editor Rob Harvilla, who I like as a person and a writer. We both believed I had won myself some kind of niche as gray eminence. So I was surprised Tuesday when I was among the eight Voice employees (five editorial, three art) who were instructed to bring their union reps to a meeting with upper management today. But I certainly wasn't shocked--my approach to music coverage has never been much like that of the New Times papers,

Bless the union, my severance is substantial enough to give me time to figure out what I'm doing next. In fact, having finished all my freelance reviews yesterday, I don't have a single assignment pending. So, since I have no intention of giving up rock criticism, all reasonable offers entertained; my phone number is in the book, as they used to say when there were books. What I don't need is a vacation--the three of us just had a great two and a half weeks, and Nina matriculated at BMCC yesterday.

No need to respond. Forward to whoever you will.

Love,

Bob Christgau

Man, Jon, that sucks. And is at the same time completely unsurprising.

Signed,

Lives in a city with one New Times alternate weekly and one independent alt weekly whose staff is bulging with NT refugees.

Oh, Theo, I love "Potato." She did it in a concert at the Great American Music Hall in San Francisco once, after a long monologue about how she tries really hard to write something musical every single day, even if it's just a rhymed couplet or a bar or two of something she can noodle around with on her guitar. She went on and on about wandering out in the fields by her house being all open-minded and drifty and receptive to whatever her muse has to send her that day, and then added that some days, like the "Potato" day, the muse comes by with an offering to which the only sane response is "You have GOT to be fucking shitting me."

Hee!