No leaves

Another full day of interviews, so you’ll forgive me if I REALLY don’t have much to say today. At least I didn’t start at 6 AM with a hard-rockin’ Morning Zoo-type show – as far as I can remember, today began with a nice mild morning couple on a station that played soft non-threatening overproduced ballads, interspersed with chat as light and mild as warm Velveeta. I’ve gotten used to the way these things end, too – I get dumped. I’m used to shows whose producer comes on and thanks you for appearing, wishes you well, and so long. But at the end of every interview: click. Goodbye actually means just that.

The NPR appearance was rescheduled, and that was fine with me; I woke tired and creaky, and needed the 2 PM nap. I am not made to wake in the dark. I am not made to get up at 5:56. I experienced a special horror this morning when I discovered that I had indeed set the coffee pot to brew 15 minutes before I got up, but had neglected to fill the tank. No! NO! MENNNNNDOZZZZAAAA! I stood over the pot wishing I had a whip: brew faster you bastard. Brew! Brew! I did the first interview on one cup, and my tongue felt like a square yard of wet chamois. But the boilerplate came easily, and off we went. Only six interviews tomorrow. I hope the questions remain easy to answer; sometimes I’m tempted to say “I didn’t read the book. I just wrote it. You tell me.” But that would be wrong.

Picked Gnat up from school; since Wife was busy with a business supper, we went to Southdale for supper. First to “Storables,” a store that sells storage items for storing all your storables. Absolutely indistinguishable from the previous tenant of the spot, Organized Living. That chain went bankrupt; Storables – which has no connection to OL – stepped nimbly into the void. The same merchandise, too. Here’s the website. I like to pronounce it “sto-RAH-blays.” Makes it sound like some exotic destination, instead of a place that marks up translucent petrochemical products by 1500%. I mean, I can see charging 14 dollars for a small plastic box made in China, but only if the container ship burned ambergris to get across the ocean.

An idea for a movie: kidnap a famous person, drug him, shoot him full of Botox to change his appearance, change his clothes to look like something from 1972, then drop him here.

Can you imagine the riches, so to speak, that reside in these abandoned buildings? Can you imagine what it would be like to perform cultural anthropology on the remains of this city? Most people wouldn’t like to be the last person on earth, but I think many wouldn’t mind being one of the last. You, a group of friends – including a doctor and a dentist – and the vast riches of an empty city to explore at your leisure. If you didn’t have to deal with pasty plague victims, it could be quite interesting. I mean, it would take me a year just to plunder the houses around the lakes to the north.

The President has nothing in his pockets. I’m sure this, for some, is a metaphor, for something. For me it sounds horrible. I don’t know why anyone would want to be President. Power without freedom. You could never again just walk around, go shopping, wander through the grocery store, take your kid to the rides at the Mall. The wallet, the keys, the comforting heft of a Zippo – these are the items that let you know you’re free. The only people with nothing in their pockets are Presidents and prisoners.

Britney’s husband Cletus has a new rap record coming out, and a sample has been leaked. And I mean “leaked” in the sense of “the Port-A-Potty holding tank has sustained a breach.” According to some message boards the beats are cold mad hella hard dope stone bad, but the rapping does not appear to be meeting with much love. People do not seem to feel it. JFY.

Here’s a blog for a book I’m looking forward to buying: 50s animation. I blow hot and cold on the UPA stuff, but this looks nifty as hell.

Art news: “She does not believe the picture is offensive. ‘How can it be?’ she asked. ‘It is 17th-century art.’ Sigh. You’d think, wouldn’t you?

Some background on the French riots, from Dr. Dalyrimple.

And I’m off. I know, it’s been a lame week. That’s because I’m on tour, don’t you know. Now if you’ll excuse me I’m going to throw a TV out the window into the pool. Or rather place the iPod gently in the Water Feature.

Oh, don’t worry. It’s bone dry. Did I mention they finished it? Installed a new liner, put new stone around the pit, glued everything in place, caulked it up: done!

It leaks in three places. At least. It drained dry in 45 minutes. They were supposed to come by today to dig it up and start again.

Altogether now: sigh.

Oh: Minneapolitans may like this. It’s a frame grab from the Mary Tyler Moore show opening credits. It was edited out of most syndicated versions, but I found it while digitizing some old VHS tapes. It’s Gray’s Drug in Dinkytown as 70s Dinkytownians remember it. I do.

I can still feel the sheepskin collar on my coat as I walked in to buy a People’s Pen and a pack of Barclays.

Nutball wingnut sweet neocon nonsense