1) Another guy goes on a shooting spree, and TV is on the scene, half-hearted alliteration at the ready: MAYHEM IN THE MIDWEST! HORROR IN THE HEARTLAND! NIGHTMARE IN NEBRASKA!
In this way, the media manages to reduce all the pain and horror of the world to insignificance. Thanks, folks.
2) The NIE report claims Iran dropped its nuclear weapons program years ago, which is even greater reason to remain vigilant against the nation because...oh hell, forget it. It's too depressing to even attempt deciphering the twisted logic of the Bushinistas anymore.
3) As I'm typing this, Delmar is curled up on my lap, his wheezy, squeaking purr vibrating his entire body, his legs wrapped around my right arm. He's allowing me some movement now, but when I first logged on the computer this morning, he'd furiously bite my arm anytime it reached for the keyboard.
Del could be the poster child for people who hate cats, but even as he rips my tender flesh, I adore him.
4) Did I mention this is another Random Thoughts post? These disconnected snippets will not add up to a coherent whole. I just woke up, and I'm emptying out the brain pan here.
5) All that worrying about the musical aspect of Tim Burton's Sweeney Todd movie, and it turns out Johnny Depp really can sing.
In fact, his voice is gorgeous--not the traditional Big Broadway voice, but man, it sounds great. And though it's silly to judge a movie by a fleeting clip, I admire Burton's elegant staging here, as well. I'd been expecting the worst from this, now I really want to see it. Right now, in fact.
6) Sitting in Taco Bell yesterday, plowing through chicken and steak burritos that remind me why it's best to avoid Taco Bell, I note the music playing is Regina Spektor, which seems odd but gratifying. I read my paper and think nothing more of it.
Then the next song comes on. That opening guitar riff sure sounds familiar, but it couldn't be...holy crap, it is! Marshall Crenshaw's Starless Summer Sky, a decade-old shoulda-been hit, from Miracle Of Science, his first album for an indie label. By this point in his career, Crenshaw was (and is) strictly a cult favorite, not the type of artist you're likely to hear as background music in fast food joints.
When the next song is a Nina Simone number, my mind is officially blown.
