the leonard bernstein bears
From kidchamp: the magic of the Internet has allowed Steven McDonald to become the White Stripes' uninvited bassist. Yes! Now I will take the "Little Tykes" toy xylophone/piano that Eric found the other day at the swap meet, and I will digitally splice myself into OK Computer. Too bad it only plays in C.
All my local friends have gone to school and here I am in my shorts, in my bedroom, with my view of the jagged mountains. Everything is so new out here—and I don't mean the comparatively recent settlement of the American West, I mean the land itself. The cliffs are so sharp you could cut your finger on them. It seems that the upheaval and landslide that birthed them occurred only yesterday. Land farther east is soft with eons of erosion, rich and moist from a million disintegrated generations of life. Out here it's God's tabula rasa. You could imagine that fifty years ago he wiped the land bare to sharp rock, then seeded it sparsely, with spiny plants, and let it start up again: minimalist Eden. The desert doesn't promise much, but it never lies to you.
