On The 70th Anniversary Of A Beatle's Birth

Yesterday would have been John Lennon's 70th birthday.

70th. Hard to believe, isn't it.

The Beatles were together only a short time and Lennon churned out a mere handful of solo efforts, but he and his band mates left an indelible mark on the music scene. I'm always amazed by the lasting impact of those four mop-topped lads from Liverpool.

Being a pre-teen during their hey day, my musical tastes leaned toward the lighter, pop fare of Paul McCartney. It was only with the passing of time and life experience did I come to appreciate and prefer the collective works of John Lennon. His wit, pain, and longing for a better world have stayed with me throughout the years.

The messages in his solo works like Whatever Gets You Thru The Night, Give Peace a Chance and especially Imagine are still relevant today. Whenever I see people doing questionable things, I find myself singing Lennon's Instant Karma!. It's gonna get you...

In addition to being a legendary lyricist, Lennon was also a terrific humorist. His collection of absurd short stories, "In His Own Write" kept my college roommates and I in tears many a night...with or without the help of Mary Jane.

Lennon struggled with his own personal demons for much of his life. It wasn't until Sean was born and he took on the role of primary care giver did he flourish and step into the lightness of being. Finally, at age 40 he had stared his demons down and came through more centered than he had been his entire life. He even put to rest his long standing conflict with Paul. He seemed full of hope. The promise of this new upward direction in both his life and music was echoed in his most positive work, Double Fantasy.

And then he was gone.

I remember so vividly the day he was shot. An incredibly sad day. Yet I find his death very poetic, romantic even. He spent so much of his adult life in inner turmoil. It had taken him almost 40 years, but he was finally at peace with his past and happy for the first time in his life.

When you think about it, isn't that the best way to leave this mortal coil... when you're content and fulfilled instead of angry and bitter.

Making a Grand Entrance 
or my favorite band boys usher in their new CD, The Grand Theatre, Volume 1 


(get it..Usher...Theater...Grand...groan)


Okay, so two things you know about me already: 
1. I'm just a schlub, not an experienced music reviewer 
2. I absolutely adore the Old 97's and speak of them ad naseum. 


If they were a cult, I'd don the purple robe (even though it clashes horribly with my "naturally" red locks) and drink the funky Kool Aid. 


Okay, I wouldn't drink the nasty elixir unless it had vodka in it, and I'd probably strong-arm them into going with a cult-friendly red or a lovely french blue robe because, you know, everybody looks fetching in blue. But I do evangelize to anyone and everyone about their greatness. So prepare for the great fan-girl gush.


You've been warned.


The new Old 97's CD, The Grand Theatre arrives on doorsteps next Tuesday, but the nice folks at Public Radio KXT in Dallas are streaming it live for all to hear here. 


Triple Yay!!


Brevity is not in my vocabulary when it comes to discussing all things Old 97's and Rhett so you may want to get comfortable and grab a cocktail. This is going to be long and verbose, much like the start of this post.

Well, I've had a few days to listen repeatedly to The Grand Theatre and all I can say is this...

OMG!!! I LOVE this record! 

It has so much muscle. I'm not kidding. It is so strong its bulging biceps are tearing up the paper packaging! 


Some online folks have called this collection indie, raw, powerful. Whatever. It's full of life. Bold and tasty and filled to the brim with Rhett's signature smart, witty, heartbreaking lyrical genius accompanied by driving drum beats, guitar licks and baselines to die for. 


It's so different in the very best of ways. I get a strong sense of urgency about it. It has a passion and energy, even in the quieter songs, that most studio productions lack. Kudos to producer Salim Nourallah for successfully capturing that which makes seeing the Old 97's play live so intoxicating.


It's criminal how underrated and overlooked this band is. They deserve so much more attention than they get. Perhaps this offering will change that. Anywho, on to the main event...


Okay, you ready? Are you comfy? Got enough to eat and drink for the long haul of this track-by-track review? Good. Here goes...

The Grand Theatre has a great Clash sound and feel to it. It comes at you full force then quiets to a hum before surging on to the end. Great start to get the blood flowing.

Every Night Is Friday Night (without you) is so much fun! Its driving power punk beat gets in your head and propels you to the dance floor. And Murry's baseline is a thing of beauty. It kicks! I confess I don't really have a clue what the lyrics mean outside of the chorus, but who cares. I can't sit still or stay quiet for this one.

The Magician is another fantastic mover originally intended for Katy Perry. The lyrics are brilliantly uncomplicated in their desire and have a compelling rhythm, especially the chorus making it impossible not to sing along. "You ask what I want and I say you.." *sigh* Major swoon worthy. Ken's guitar work is full-on impressive. I love the speed. A great rocking trifecta to start off the album and get you amped up and moving. Miss Katy's loss is definitely our collective gain.

You Were Born to Be In a Battle - Usually it takes me a longer while to warm up to Murry's songs, mainly because they're a little more country than I like, but I'm okay with this homage to Johnny Cash. I like its steady rhythm. A good breather
after the amped up start.

The Dance Class - Agoraphobics in love. A familiar theme of unattainable love cleverly cast out in a very different net. It's manic and panicked and full of doubt. The line "I'm here on edge. Trying to make it with a beautiful girl that I got no chance with in the dance class" makes me laugh out loud considering the universal appeal of its author.

Let The Whiskey Take The Reins - I am so IN LOVE with this song! Rhett told us at one of his shows that he made a flippant remark one night on stage that he was just going to let the whiskey take the reins. His good friend thought that would make a great title and bugged him until he wrote this. We should all thank her for keeping at him. It's smoky voiced, liquor-ladden lament is irresistible, especially accompanied by Ken's soulful guitar wail. Throw in Philip's steady cymbal-less cadence, Murry's baseline and Rhett's quiet, sultry vocal... this song smolders. It is perfection!

Champaign, Illinois - In leaner years long ago, driving their van on a dark road in the middle of the night, Rhett wrote his own lyrics to Bob Dylan's Desolation Row in an attempt to keep himself awake while his band mates slept. It may be Bob Dylan's tune, but it's all Old 97's charm. I don't miss the harmonica one bit. Although it might be fun to see if he could play one. Ha Ha!
(side note: unlike other Old 97's offerings, this is the only song on the CD that mentions death)

You Smoke Too Much - I like this Murry tune... a lot. It shows hints of his pop influences. It bounces. 

The State of Texas is just a great Old 97's song and a guaranteed crowd pleaser in the largest state of the lower 48. The energy makes it appealing to the rest of us. It's a rollicking good time.

Love Is What You Are is just lovely. There's a beautiful underlying sadness in his devotion. "Love is what you are, not what you do. I know what you are, and I love you."

Please Hold On While the Train Is Moving - Again so different for them. I love how it's rocking full-throttle (like zipping on a bullet train) then derails into this trippy little pop song (the layover between flights perhaps) before jumping on the next crazy, head-spinning mode of transport (a Boeing 747). It really conveys the hectic pace of one whose life is constantly on the move, racing through one terminal after another to get back home just to turn around and do it all over again. The big breath at the very end says it all. That's a very nice touch. Sounds like Rhett's life. I suspect this is the most autobiographical song on the album. 

The Beauty Marks - At first I wasn't so keen about this one, but it's growing on me. Mr. Miller sure knows how to set an atmosphere! When I listen to this, I feel like I'm sitting at the bar in a smoky pub, sipping a cocktail to stave off a chill from the rainy night, watching these two flirt and dance around their desire. It's an interesting choice for the last track. This song is the complete opposite of the start of the album in style and pace, which was probably the goal.
Ken summed it up well...The Grand Theatre begins with a roar and ends in a whisper.

I'm not just saying this because I'm a huge fan, but this is a brilliant collection of work. If you don't believe me you can read a real critic's review here and I pinky swear I wrote this before I read his.


Unlike most bands who've been together for 15 years, my boys get better with age. They are hitting their stride, big time and this is only half of their effort. Volume 2 comes out in May! I can only imagine what awesomeness awaits us all then. 


2011 is going to be HUGE for them...and us. We're lucky to have a ticket for the ride.


Please hold on because this Old 97's train is moving!! 
 

A Boob In The Hand...
or man's best friend

Okay, so Friday my work gal pal, Beets finally joined me in the land of the big 5-0. (Cue the big wave) In celebration we headed West to this ginormous outdoor flea market nearby in Ohio. There are all kinds of vendors unloading new and used merchandise, farmers peddling their freshly picked wares and food booths where you can buy turkey legs the size of your head to satisfy your inner Flintstone. No shit. The size of your f*cking HEAD!

Right Said, Fred!

WTF?! Who the hell says "Oriental" anymore?

There is no way this abomination is going anywhere near my zip code
and neither is that hideous dummy
I kid. I kid because I love

Anywho, several years ago a group of Chinese nationals started setting up shop throughout the venue in the form of countless boxes filled with worthy and worthless $1 items. Most of it is just shit, but still strangely compelling. Naturally their sections are always swarmed with gobs of Goobers in search of that perfect piece of lead-paint laden plastic whatzit that will change the course of their pathetic life... or at least a decent lighter for a buck. (btw, they sell ladies gutchies out of cardboard boxes. major ewwwwwwww!)

Being a Goober myself, I scanned around the unwashed masses, and there it was. The Holy Grail of useless flea market finds... the pot of gold-plated garbage at the end of the rainbow... the arc of the kitsch covenant...

Ladies and Gentlemen I give you ...

The Squeezy Rubber Boobie!!

(boobies, YAY!!!)

A must have for any red-blooded American male who prefers breast over leg in both chicken and women. The consummate straight male pacifier. This malleable mammary is now the property of my ever-lovin' Geo... to keep him company when I'm away.

You know this thing might hold societal merit. I believe it has therapeutic powers. For instance, it could be a perfect way to stem road rage. Think about it. Instead of flipping the bird over the lunacy played out before him, a man could just reach out and squeeze his way to a clearer thought and gentler action. Because honestly, what Cat isn't calmer copping a feel?

Squeezy Rubber Boobies. Road tested, Doctor approved.

In Which I Weigh In On A Couple Of New TV Offerings

Okay, so it's September again which means it's time to weed through the barrage of new Network offerings designed to keep my already expanding bottom firmly planted in the permanent butt indent on our couch.

I make it a general rule not to get involved in new hour-long programs unless it is the absolute-coolest-thing-ever-created-and-if-you-miss-it-you-will-be-out-of-the-social-loop-and-mercilessly-persecuted-for-your-entire-miserable-life kind of good. Ergo I lean toward half hour pablum. It's just easier to squeeze into the framework of my pathetic existence.

That verbosely said, Geo and I watched two new Fox offerings, Raising Hope starring Martha Plimpton and the ever incredible Cloris Leachman as the passive/aggressive nightmarish Maw Maw and Running Wilde featuring Will Arnet, David Cross and a grown up Felicity, Keri Russell minus the curly-cue locks. I always loved her and her corkscrew mane.

Let me just say off the top that we liked both of these shows... a lot. We laughed out loud enough to warrant an old school, long-form spelling out of this phrase instead of the usual mod abbreviation. I know. Crazy, right? OMG

Raising Hope the white trash way

Raising Hope centers around the trials and travails of Jimmy who becomes a 25-year-old single parent to an infant whose mother he had a one-night stand with after she ends up on death row. Okay, that description is completely ripped off from the IMDB synopsis. It says it all succinctly and frankly I'm too lazy to attempt a summation of my own. 

Don't judge me.

Anywho, Jimmy (who bares a striking resemblance to local musician, Bill Deasy) 

Lucas Neff from Raising Hope

Pittsburgh's own Bill Deasey

is the progeny of two feckless and reckless white trash parents who were teenagers at his hatching. Little Hope gives them all a chance at a cosmic Mulligan. Then there's crazy-ass Maw Maw who slips in and out of absurdity and awareness played brilliantly by Cloris Leachman. See. Wasn't IMDB's critique much more elegant?

The story is filled with witty dialog, craftily blending the ridiculous with heartwarming. The episode centered around a day care center owner with a dead tooth (referred to at one point as dente muerta) who dated Jimmy once two years prior and is, let's say, a little over enthusiastic about their relationship. One of the best lines was from the checkout girl to Jimmy trying to play down chicklet's affections. 

"You okay? You look like a kidnap victim. I feel I should ask you to hold up a newspaper with the date showing."

Did I mention how adorable the baby is? 

Seriously ADORABLE!!

OMG!! This baby is so beautiful she brings tears to my eyes. 

Is she not the most precious thing? 

I know. Tres sappy, but seriously! I just want to eat her up every time they show her. I have baby fever.

Look at those cheeks! Totally muchable!

Bottom line: Highly recommend. Set your DVR, bee-yatch! You can watch the first two episodes here.

According to IMDB, Running Wilde is about a Beverly Hills goof (Will Arnet) who falls for an environmental activist (Keri Russell). They were high school sweethearts before she ran off to the jungle to make the world a better place. She's back with a daughter and a fiance played by Arrested Development alum, David Cross. 

Steve (Will) isn't arrogant or evil, just really clueless, but sweet in his own sheltered way. Trying to convey the depth of his need for his man servant, Steve tearfully tells him 

"I will always need you. The last thing you'll see is my tear-stained face as I shovel dirt on yours."

Man Servant: "I'll see this?!?"

Fa'ad & Steve

Ha Ha! The humor is quick and subtle. You have to pay attention. Much like the dearly departed Arrested Development, Running Wilde has a couple great running gags. There's a huge, outfitted tree house in which Emmy (Keri) and her daughter live. The gag is conversation gets muddled and misconstrued when anyone stands underneath it, which leads to some funny bits. Another running guffaw centers around Steve's Persian friend, Fa'ad who sports this thick pile carpet like chest hair, exaggerated dulcet movie star voice and the inability to say the letter "V". He's hilarious.

You can watch the first episodes here. 

Again, Geo and I found ourselves laughing out loud during the 23:40 of fun. Best part...no laugh track on either show. 

Bottom line: Highly recommend. You're DVR is going to be working overtime. 

Another great hour of comedy from the illustrious boob tube. Yay! More sitting on the couch stuffing my face. I can already feel my arse growing...

Mother Nature 1, Modern Family 0 
or getting spanked during premiere week

Okay, so yesterday afternoon we had a Mother of storm blow through these parts. It was huge. It was loud. It was destructive. We were one flying cow away from Munchkin land, and I'm not talking about Dunkin's delectable dipping treats either. I don't think it was a twister, but it certainly had its own crazy, cataclysmic charm.

NOT!

Anywho, I was at my Kawfee Klatch friend, Heidi's when Armageddon struck. When it was all said and done thirty minutes later, the sky was clear, the sun was out and so was that modern marvel, electricity. That's right... no power, no air conditioning, no ICE for my COCKTAIL!?!??!!

How much hardship can one woman endure?

And just like that...the sky was calm 

Trees were downed everywhere, blocking roads, severing power lines... stopping by for dinner.

Can you imagine strolling home and finding you now have a family of squirrels chilling in your living room smoking your Cohibas and downing your Scotch. How bad does it suck to be this guy?

How does a 30 foot tree topple at the roots anyway? I know where there will be lots of firewood this winter.

The beauty of being human is the ability to find the humor in harsh events. Stepping out of her front door, Heidi and I came upon this tableau.

please make the spinning stop

This reminded me of many a morning-after in college when the imbibing took on a life of its own, resulting in a huge technicolor yawn into the porcelain God. In this case the storm was so dizzying, even the motel chair fell ill, praying to the plastic chair God. Ha Ha!!

Besides copious amounts of debris strewn in the lawn, the only casualty at our place was this. Thankfully someone had the decency to respectfully pull a cover over the lifeless body.

RIP my loyal Pee Wee Herman bike.

You know you never realize how much you take electricity for granted until you're literally left in the dark, futilely flipping light switches, checking for the time on a silenced cable box and reaching for the microwave door to make popcorn. I mean, come on! Heidi and I had to open the garage door manually!?! What are we, Pilgrims?!?

Have you ever tried to eat dinner by very dim candlelight? Um...it's WEIRD! I mean I knew what was in my bowl, but I couldn't shake the Fear Factor feeling that at any moment I would bite into some slithering, slimy garden dweller.

*SHUDDER*

Thank Bacchus we had a tasty Merlot to wash it down and soothe the soul.

Then to top it off, it's season premiere week and we were missing Modern Family AND Cougar Town. I LOVE those shows. Geo and I were forced to actually *gasp* talk to each other without the usual distractions of newspapers, computers, iPods or the blessed boob tube.

I know. Crazy right?

Okay, so the talking part was pretty sweet. But yeah, that only lasted until about 9:30 when, in keeping with our new Quaker life style, we packed it in for the evening because --news flash-- living in "simpler times" is fucking BORING, Dawg!!

Goodie Proctor I ain't. Who can live at that negative speed? Not me. So don't think I'll be putting on that stupid bonnet or churning butter anytime soon.

Now if you'll excuse me, I'm going to go hug my electronics one by one.

On The Rocks With A Splash of Water
or Rhett Miller gets Yorkie (part two)

Photo of The Strand from the stage courtesy of the lovely blue-eyed one

Okay, so Friday found Geo and I in downtown York, PA at the Strand Capital Theater, which should be pronounced the-A-ter because it looks similar to the promotion photo for Old 97's new CD, The Grand Theatre from their website.

Anywho, York is in the middlest of middle Pennsylvania. We've never been there before because honestly there was nothing to draw us there, and it seemed a little too right-winged, Bible thumping, scary conservative for us. And yet it had a terrific Irish pub as well as a kick-ass sushi restaurant.

Sushi. In York. Who knew?

We sat with our friend Tracey and her sister who are a lot of fun. We also met up with Stephanie from our girls' New York City outing in August. I really enjoy Stephanie. She is so sweet and ADORABLE!! We get along well, or at least I think so. Hopefully she does, too. Being the last of five kids, she's like the little sister I never had.

Geo surrounded by babes--just the way he likes it
Heather, Tracey, Geo, Moi

Geo, Adam, Steph, Katie, Me

Steph brought her cousin Dave and his wife, Kelly along for the Rhett ride. Dave had asked Steph to request Come Around for Kelly. He was floored when Rhett not only played it, but dedicated the song to them. In a self-professed act of intuition, Steph captured the entire moment on tape for her cousin.

Rhett with Steph's happy cousins

She tells the story much more eloquently than I, so treat yourself by reading her account here. Plus there's this hilarious bit about a suggestive eggplant, buxom buns and 12 year old boy humor. When you read it, you'll understand why we get along so well. And yes, she really did propel herself on stage in one brilliantly graceful move, as if she had jumped on one of those mini trampolines. It was a thing of beauty to witness. Ha Ha!!

That evening my fantasy husband was completely on and fabuloso. The crowd loved every minute of him. He rocked them Yorkies!! He played old favorites and threw three new tunes into the mix, including A State of Texas-- a guaranteed crowd pleaser to those living in the biggest state in the lower 48, but rollicking enough for the rest of us to enjoy. Besides he sings it with such unbridled passion, how could you not get into it?

Can you spot the sexual innuendo within this song?


I decided not to spend so much time recording the evening so I could freely sing along. Bad news for my neighbors. I enjoy taping songs from the shows to revisit the fun later, but I hate the sound of my voice and frankly some songs are just too much fun not to sing along with. By shutting off my camera, I was free to join Tracey bellow the long-discarded "you got the teeth of the hydra upon you" chorus from Singular Girl, La-La-La along with 4 Eyed Girl and holla a great big "YEAH" at the apex of Big Brown Eyes.

Sweet!

However, I just had to tape Won't Be Home, the first song we heard them play live. It's one of my favorites. Okay, who am I kidding... they're ALL my favorites. But really this song perfectly conveys an I'm-sick-of-your-shit-and-want-you-out-of-my-zip-code break-up. I love the phrasings, and the chorus is packed with great imagery. It's like you're sitting in the backseat watching this train wreck of a relationship dissolve before your eyes.

"...and you're getting smaller in my rearview mirror. And you're getting smaller in my rearview mirror. Yeah you're getting smaller..."

LOVE that! Who hasn't dated someone you wanted to unceremoniously dump at the side of the road and watch him disappear in the rear view mirror, shedding his bad relationship stank as you speed away?

Afterwards Rhett made his way to the merch table to meet members of his fold, take photos and sign whatever. I'm always amazed by how approachable he is with his fans. I've met performers who didn't want you to look them in the eye let alone shake your hand. I'm talking about you, Tim Finn. Rhett's always so gracious and patient.

Doofus with Blue-Eyed Beauty

Take this night, for instance. After we walked Cynthia (a lovely woman from Pittsburgh whom we've seen at three venues) to her car, Rhett came around the corner with his gear. There was a gaggle of young people through which he walked. He chatted a bit with them, and as he headed to his hotel, the group trailed behind him--single file--like children following the Pied Piper. Someone else might have been openly annoyed and acted like an asshole (Tim Finn-ok I don't hate Tim, but he had some weird ass, paranoid parameters going on), but he was never mean or rude with them because he is that sweet. The perfect gentleman. Clearly, his Momma taught him well.

Again, do you see why I love him?

The last evening of our current run ended way too early. Of course if he played for an entire five hours and sang everything in his repertoire, it still wouldn't be long enough.

I'll just have to be content obsessing over... er, I mean learning the lyrics to the new CD until December when the hardest working man in the music world and his buddies roll into Manhattan on a big black tour bus.

Make Mine A Double
or closing out the week with a double shot of Rhett Miller (part one)

Okay, so here at the Special K we have to pick our vacation weeks an entire year in advance. There are 22 of us in our department and unlike most work environments, we can't just leave our "desk" empty for a week. It's critical to our operations that someone cover our jobs in our absence. Otherwise all the unhappy horseshit news we generate won't make it to the airwaves.

Maybe that's not a bad thing.

Anywho, Geo and I have a standard practice each year of heading to the Jersey shore the week of Labor Day to chill and recharge. This year Providence stepped in to bestow the added bonus of back-to-back Rhett Miller solo shows not only at the end of our week, but on our drive home. We had to go, otherwise the terrorists would have won.

Thanks Provy! We owe you one.

The first stop was a theater north of Philadelphia in the quaint little town of Sellersville. The cool thing about following the Old 97's and Rhett is befriending other like-minded enthusiasts to hang with at concerts. We've met a lot of really great fans over the last couple months, and Sellersville added one more face to the growing list of family.

We were supposed to meet Sheila at the City Winery in New York, but she had to leave right after the show. This time I recognized her and her family at dinner from photos she had posted online. I know. Weird, right? That's the way things are now.

Sheila and me 

It was great to finally meet her. She was really lovely and has this sweet little voice. Although I think I freaked her son out a bit when I told him I recognized him in particular. Ha Ha!

Our friends Marcy and Tracey were there as well. We had a great ole time! It's so much fun knowing there are familiar faces in the crowd with whom to enjoy the show.

After show glow
Geo, Marcy, Tracey & me 

For both nights the opening act was Adam Taylor and Kate Seifarth.

Katie and Adam

He's seriously only 19.
Although he can grow a better beard than Sid Crosby

Adam hails from Central Pennsylvania. His brother is Chad Taylor from the 90s band Live. He's a talented musician and songwriter...and he's only nineteen! Kate is absolutely adorable!! She has a great set of pipes, too. You can listen to songs from the bands EP on their MySpace page here.

Rhett took the stage and busted through a 24-song set list to the delight of all attending. In addition to the touring and the writing and the recording and the interviews and the various media promotion, the lovely blue-eyed one has been recording a video diary for the Old 97's website.

Pffft! What a slacker.

While he was in the dressing room before his turn at the musical bat, he recorded this little glimpse of what he does backstage during the warm-up act.


Here's that evening's performance of that same song. He nailed it.


And of course it wouldn't be a Rhett Miller show without a bit of witty banter...

And now you know how to say "I just pissed in your bidet". A public service announcement from Mr. Miller. The more you know...

"I get by with a little help from my friends..."

Sometimes he forgets a few of the lyrics to his songs. So what. I find it charming. Makes him more human. I mean, come on! He's got hundreds of song lyrics bouncing around his brain, not to mention the melodies and chord progressions. Hell, I'm amazed by his ability to churn out 24 songs per show night after night, including the audibles he fields from audience members. Besides they're his songs. He can interpret them however he wants.

That said, I always feel like an asshole shouting out lyrics. I don't want to be that arrogant chick who thinks she knows everything, but I can't bare to watch him struggle either.

I swear to God he looked my way for help. That's my story, and I'm sticking with it.

Here's a beautiful song inspired by his daughter's morning chatter, Sometimes. The reason we're chuckling is a guy in the crowd kept yelling for the Old 97's song, Stoned. It was two songs down on the setlist. Rhett was going to bump it up, but the dude kept calling for it. I think the statement made was "Why am I pandering to you? F*ck it. Now you're going to have to wait for it."

Sometimes, sometimes, sometimes...Rhett will make you wait, especially if you're being kinda dicky. Ha Ha!

And because he's a great guy, he honored Sheila's request for her birthday.

It's funny, another married woman requested this same song the next night in York. It is a little effed up, but hey, if you can't have a little fantasy that a hawtie Rock God has designs on you on your birthday, then what's the point, right?

Of course if my gag-inducing, gush-fest hasn't sent you fleeing your machine in search of a needle with which to stab yourself in the face and you still want to see more, then you're in luck. There are more videos on The YouTube, as old peoples like to call it. It cracks me up when old folks put "the" in front of nouns like The Facebook, The Twitter, The diarrhea. Wha?!?

Anywho, a good time was had by all. We got to pick on Young Master Taylor...

Sold Rhett's remaining glass of whiskey on Ebay. I'm kidding. I like to kid. I'm a kidder...

is that a big enough glass or what?

and spent another amazing evening in the company of our (okay, my) favorite songwriter.

On to that bustling Metropolis, York, Pennsylvania!