there is no-one what will take care of you
Have not yet read the stories for today's workshop. Also meeting an agent who will apparently laugh at me unless I have a novel to give her, which I don't. Thesis due tomorrow. Apartment a mess & kitchen smells bad. Peculiar hollow feeling in the chest.
The Donnas, the Donnas. We were supposed to open for them once, because one of their mothers was Chris's writing professor at the expensive university. It didn't happen.
I am impressed as hell that Johnny Cash covers a song by Will Oldham on American III: Solitary Man. I would have thought the whole Palace thing was several notches too indie to show up on Cash's radar, but apparently his surveillance equipment isn't so antiquated as I imagined. (According to his autobiography, he was the first American to learn of Josef Stalin's death, as he was in the Army transcribing Russian Morse Code at the time.) Or maybe Palace isn't actually that obscure and I just thought so because they were introduced to me by a DJ at KZSU, which played all kinds of genres I knew nothing about, like skronk and gabber.
Also, the All Music Guide just spat this "factoid" at me:
Alice Cooper and Iggy Pop swear one of the strangest experiences of their lives occurred when they were invited back to Brian Wilson's house after a party. Wilson led the three in a half-hour repetition of the nursery rhyme "Shortnin' Bread." The song was also included on the Beach Boys' L.A. (Light Album).
Job tip from Peyton:
The police force in Humberside, England, has hired a special officer—the department's first "poet in residence." Police Constable Ian McMillan will work regular patrol duties, but will also be the force's official poet. "We are on the edge of a cultural renaissance," McMillan claims. A sample of his work: "Here's PC McMillan on the beat / Policeman's boots on his poet's feet / PC stands for Poetic Chap / And on his poet's curls there's a copper's cap." (Reuters)
