That's all right, Mama

Currently in Memphis. It's hot.

We'll be recording at Sun Records over the next few days. Should be interesting.

I need bbq, and I need it NOW.

Check the date on that lord

Today, I was accosted by more Jesus freaks than panhandlers. Go figure. I was NOT in the mood...

Jesus freak: Here...take a flyer...you can be saved.
Me: What?
Jesus freak: Have you found the Lord?
Me: I haven't really been looking, to be perfectly honest...
Jesus freak: He's here for you. He's here for all of us.
Me: What if I'm a child molester?
Jesus freak: (without missing a beat) You can still be saved.
Me: Umm....
Jesus freak: Just take a flyer...it could save your life.
Me (now getting impatient and perturbed): OK, so God is all knowing?
Jesus freak: Yes.
Me: And God is all powerful?
Jesus Freak (obviously pleased): Yes!
Me: Then didn't he have a moral obligation to prevent the Holocaust? I mean, doesn't that alone make him the worse entity EVER?
Exit Jesus Freak.

It wasn't a very nice thing to say. I didn't mean to insult him, but I grow tired of being told that I need to be "born again." In the words of Dennis Miller (BEFORE he jumped the shark), excuse me for getting it right the first time.

I actually believe in something. Not sure what...probably not God or Yaweh or George Burns...but certainly something. Like Art Bell says, there are no coincidences. I just didn't feel like dealing today.

Poor guy.

bandwagons

Naturally, with the Pistons back in the NBA Finals, lots of fair weather fans have begun to embrace the team. The self-proclaimed "real" Pistons fans are annoyed, insisting that these Johnnie-come-latelys have no real stake in the team.

I welcome the latecomers, the fickle fans. What are people upset about? Apparently, the expanding Piston fan base has tweaked a nerve with you die hards. I know, I know...it felt like you were part of something special, but now that your friend's mom has a Pistons flag on her minvan, it doesn't seem like that anymore.

Utter nonsense.

Bring it on. Everyone. The whole city. I want every last Detroiter to be a Pistons fan. Isn't it much more fun that way? I'd like to be a part of something big and meaningful, as opposed to being privy to some inbred secret that no one else knows about.

Music fans, this relates directly to YOU. Indie rock twerps are often upset when their favorite band gains mainstream acceptance. Suddenly they have to watch the band with thousands of people, instead of hundreds. Oh, the horror.

I understand how offensive and annoying it is when something very real to you is watered down and packaged for mass consumption. I empathize; I really do.

But perhaps the masses are not so bad. I am NOT the biggest fan of humanity as a whole, but by and large people are pretty goddamn decent. They may not own every obscure 7" of the Eskimo Leftists like you (you dork), but MOST of them probably like the band for the right reasons. Sure, some people probably just think the singer is hot, but honestly, who really cares? I wish Teenage Fanclub were as big as Oasis.

The only thing worse than bangwagon fans are the people who bitch about them.

Pistons

Wow.

The ability of this team to play well in the face of seemingly insurmountable odds is absolutely astounding...probably the most charismatic and gritty team ever to come out of the Motor City...color me thoroughly impressed.

Of course, now game 7 will occur during our show in Hamilton on Thursday. I will bring the rock to the best of my ability, but I may be a bit distracted.

Go Pistons.

Oh, and rock and/or roll. Really, it's not just an afterthought.

Speaking of the NBA Finals...

Must they play that godawful Rob Thomas song so incessantly? I never thought I would miss the Black Eyed Peas this much.

me

Today, I called my phone to get my messages. Calling one's self is always an odd experience. First, I forgot my own number. When I finally remembered it, it felt weird to be dialing it. As I let the phone ring, waiting for the answering machine, I couldn't shake this creepy feeling that someone would pick up.

It's my apartment. I live alone. But for an instant, I was convinced that someone was going to answer the phone.