Dr. Sour Puss

Dear Tea-Bagger, It's going to be alright. I know you are scared. The Cold War was very frightening and we thought Communists were going to kill us all, or at least destroy our freedom-loving way of life. I remember it too. And I know you don't understand the health care bill. To be fair, it is very confusing and complicated. And the only information your side has given you amounts to "your money is going to kill unborn babies" "the government is going to unplug grandma from life support" and "we can't afford it." It's a shame that in an information-laden society, ignorance is so fashionable, but try to consider who has the most to gain by your ignorance? I have spent the last 12 years on the front lines of the failing American health care system. Shit, I have seen dozens of people literally die from it. I spend my free time reading medical economics journals and watch lectures by health policy experts. I consider myself fairly well info...

First show April 3. I don't think anyone in the band got into this with the intention to do anything other than play or have fun in the basement and maybe record, no plans for playing live ever. Hopefully no one expects much, but we always do have fun playing and it will be good to see all our friends come out. We have about 10 original songs at this point and 5 potential covers but will pare that down somewhat. This band is strictly influenced by the indie pop we grew up with: Pavement, Weezer, Pixies, etc. with a healthy butt rock seasoning.

So much great stuff in this video. Comparing to the retarded We Are The World remake, it's like what (Ain't Gonna Play) Sun City was to, well, We Are the World. Nick Cave scarier than ever, Shane Macgowan actually emoting and not stumbling or slurring. And Johnny Depp's passable guitar solo (I love it, compared to Vince Vaughn standing around like a fat dumb shit in the World video). And of course, the choice of song is awesome, playing right into Pat Robertson's horrific condemnation of the people of Haiti as voodoo-practicing Satan worshipers. Check out this one of Screamin' Jay Hawkins' early versions:

Letter to the editor in the Minneapolis Star Tribune, January 14, 2010 Dear Pat Robertson, I know that you know that all press is good press, so I appreciate the shout-out. And you make God look like a big mean bully who kicks people when they are down, so I'm all over that action. But when you say that Haiti has made a pact with me, it is totally humiliating. I may be evil incarnate, but I'm no welcher. The way you put it, making a deal with me leaves folks desperate and impoverished. Sure, in the afterlife, but when I strike bargains with people, they first get something here on earth -- glamour, beauty, talent, wealth, fame, glory, a golden fiddle. Those Haitians have nothing, and I mean nothing. And that was before the earthquake. Haven't you seen "Crossroads"? Or "Damn Yankees"? If I had a thing going with Haiti, there'd be lots of banks, skyscrapers, SUVs, exclusive night clubs, Botox -- that kind of thing. An 80 percent poverty rate is so not ...

Neither of us ever discuss it, with each other, or with others. It seems so improbable to me that there's really nothing to say about it. 20 years ago I met this Australian foreign exchange student at Berkeley. We had an instant connection, an affinity that seemed like we were destined to play a major role in each others lives. We even shared a birthday. We spent the winter after we'd met driving across the US together. Over the years, despite being in the pre-internet era, we stayed in touch, writing letters, sending care packages, the occasional phone call. He even came back to the states for a visit. Flash forward 10 years. I move thousands of miles for school and residency and eventually end up in Seattle. Tony, living in Paris, meets a wonderful American woman, they fall in love and decided to get married and move to her home town: that's right, Seattle. Our wives become best of friends and now, 20 years later, we both have sons that were born three months apart. As I ...

How on Earth did I miss this? 1972 recording by Italian pop star Adriano Celentano with the unwieldy title Prisencolinensinainciusol .

7/2/03-11/30/09 Shireesha and I both commented that we'd never lost anyone as close to us as her. Leela Lou. Little Lou. The littlest little. Little Scoop. Leela-pants. Little Fluff. She played the foil to Kali's straight man. She was the playful one, carrying her favorite ribbons up and down the stairs all day long. No twist tie or string was safe with her around, and no empty box left unsat in. Little tufts of fur could be found all over our house, left over from some sudden pounce on something, often on her sister Kali. There was just no end to the fur. I'd said before that you could construct a new Leela from what we would vacuum up on a weekly basis. Sometimes we'd catch her munching on giant ball of it after cleaning herself. I could be traveling in some far off place and pull out a sweatshirt and find it covered in traces of her hair. Now there are bits of her everywhere in places like India. She was the most interactive, personality-filled, friendliest little ki...