John Bockhorst

Interesting story: I dutifully awoke at 5 AM on Saturday morning to stroll down to the Sip & Bite, a pretty lousy diner a few blocks from here. I was scribbling away at my Nanowrimo project when a young woman sat down opposite me an started asking me questions about where I was from. Then she started making fun of my damn accent, certian that I was from Canada or Minnesota because of the way I said, "though." And then she starts making ham-fisted sex jokes based on my astrological sign. And then it's pretty clear that she is, in fact, at work, initiating lines of commerce that start at my wallet and end in her pants. Propositioned at a greasy spoon. My life in Baltimore has become so damn peachy.

That sucks: I was actually planning to try to amend some of my recent reclusionist tendencies and get some people together to go see the Decemberists at the 9:30 Club in DC next weekend, but alas they've cancelled their tour. That makes an even umpteen concerts I've missed in the last year due to cancellations (Decemberists in DC, Innocence Mission in Philly), outrage at ticket prices (Morrissey here, on Halloween, for $65 a head), or sheer forgetfulness (Feist here, on 9/11, Peter, Bjorn, and John at the 9:30 earlier this year). Might actually have to spring for the delux reminder system at Pollstar.com to rip my attention away from this damn house.

Work is hell, especially driving 2 hours a day for the priviledge of obsessing about hyper-specific triviliaties. Luckily, I've got the mornings, which I'm alternating between the gym and Nanowrimo (again, for what, the fifth time?). This year is proving maybe a little more encouraging, though, with as much hand-wringing as I've been doing over the years about getitng back on the writing horse, I actually seem to have a storyline with some legs. I'll be devoting some time to it, at least, although I don't think I actually habor the delusion that I'll be piling up 50,000 words this month. I believe 5000 would be a personal record, so the bar's appropriately low. At this point, low is wonderful.

You know it's true, how nice.

Yes, it's true: Indiana Jones and the Kingdom of the Crystal Skull. May 2008.

We are simply passing through history. This: this is history...

So, so, so pissed.

My first letter to a Representaive:

Dear Representative Sarbanes,

With the outrageous commutation of Scooter Libby's prison sentence by Mr. Bush, this administration has essentially admitted that the rule of law does not apply to its inner circle. I had thought impeachment an inappropriate avenue until now. Now I must insist that you support the movement to rid the country of this cancer. It has finally become very clear that impeachment is crucial to preserve the very idea of President. To see the office sullied in this manner is unbearable.

Thank you,
Andrew Bockhorst

Now you.

Lovecraft is Rock and Roll

I'm going to try to get it together to scribble more, but I couldn't help but share this.

Fillet of Soul Underground: Loquat

Unbelievable San Francisco quintet, floating heartfelt pop music with a wicked sense of humor (see "Serial Mess," about playing hide and seek with a serial killer).

It's Alive! Alive and Creamy!!!

Wow, hysterical AND terrifying! It's that special brand of mental assault that the Christian fundamentalist community wields so well. Prepare to laugh. And be scared.

Some Clear Joy is in the Record Store

The maestros of mother-me music have come again... God DAMN it, I love them! They're going to be playing in Philly next month, and I'll be there wallowing in it.

Oh yes, and Good Morning America is also coming again, but unlike the Innocence Mission, they're coming to my house. Tonight. I wonder if they'd deliver a message to Glen Beck for me.

Ya Ho!

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