I caught up with 2002 and got an iPod today. If you don't have one of these things, and you're not my parents, drop everything you're doing right now and get one. Or kill yourself, because life's not worth living.
And if anyone at Apple wants to send me a check for saying that, you can find me at The Macon Telegraph, in Macon, Georgia.
In a related piece of "news," I'm headed to Colorado Friday to see Widespread Panic at Red Rocks and visit a buddy of mine. All reports point to the band being as dirty as ever. In fact, if this setlist is any indication, I'm pretty sure they destroyed a small piece of Tennessee at Bonnaroo last night, leaving dead, smelly, dread-locked hippies burning in their wake.
Talk about your win-win situations. There are even unconfirmed reports that Dave Schools went backstage before the encores and stabbed Sting in the lung.
All this means that several posts this week are liable to be little more than song lyrics.
Suck in your gut, clench your fist
You just finished scaling a big black fish
On a bench out behind the tool shack
In a patch of poison sumac
Mama ordered us some catalogue jeans
She made the cuffs on the sewing machine