Drink Scotch Whisky All Night Long

...And die behind the wheel.

Steely Dan moment. It's the weekend, people.

You Can All Just Kiss Off Into The Air

The routers, LANs, POPs, and T1s of the interweb are aflame these days with the rage of thousands of post-punk, pre-Beck music lovers. Two-kids-and-a-Subaru-Forester-in-Wauwatosa, WI thirtysomethings can agree with still-but-unadmittedly-clinging-to-hipsterhood-in-Ukrainian Village (or Buckhead, or Somerville, or Bay View, or, ugh, Brooklyn):

It sucks that Wendy's is using "Blister In The Sun" in a new commercial campaign to peddle its chili and baked potatoes. Complete with a smug, disaffected Gen X-sounding voiceover.

There's really nothing else to be said. Except that maybe the real estate market bottomed out in Connecticut just when Gordon was ditching the two-car, four-bedroom Colonial for a one-car, five-bedroom with a mud-room and sunken koi pond A-Frame, and when a man's gotta mortgage to pay, he's gotta mortgage to pay.

So, instead, let's remember our wee friend when he was fuzzy-headed and fey and frustrating and the sight of a man playing his drum kit standing up was cool, not two inches of eyeliner and a pierced something-or-other.




This clip, incidentally, is from 1984, exactly when I first heard the name "The Violent Femmes" (in homeroom in the Chem lab and I thought they were an all-female punk band, thereby presaging the Riot Grrrl movement by at least nine years) and the same year that the Wendy's "Where's the Beef" ad was rolled out and Clara Peller ruled cathode ray tubes across the nation.

Which all to say, I feel old.