Vertical Horizon, Blue October, and Polyesther rocked the house of love in no short order tonight. Though Vertical Horizon is not precisely my cup of tea, Justin from Blue October unleased a positively *unholy* performance tonight. This is not to detract from some really wicked digs by the violinist and some serious rage on behalf of the drummer, but sweet merciful Christ. I thought I was watching the man destroy himself on stage. It was simultaneously painful to watch and wicked hard. Their encore positively devastated the crowd mentally; I'm really not sure many of them knew how to deal with such raw pain. I seriously think some education majors began to go into a brain shutdown.

However, the real purpose of this post is to share something absolutely hilarious. A client who shall go unnamed gave his computer to my boss at Ye Olde Computer Shoppe for repair. So I come in to work today and Mel is quite nearly on the ground, dying of laughter. He is not the type that engages in such bellybusters, so the situation was unusual to say the least. Between chuckles he tried to spit it out, but just kept pointing to the screen. I checked out the tag and saw it was from a psychiatrist who came in with some mouse trouble a few days earlier, unaware of what was so goddamned funny I just stood and watched the screen. After a bit Mel says, "Wait for it... Wait for it..."
That instant a man walked out of the bottom right hand corner of the screen, removed his towel, and began to kneel so that he could masturbate. That's right, a high resolution animated gay guy hopping out for the fun of it. By the time I picked myself up off the ground, another man can on, soon to be joined by another for a full on french kiss and takedown.

Words really can't describe the singular type of fun available for a computer guy.

The full text can be found here.

Brokaw: Were you surprised by the degree of looting that occurred almost instantly?

President Bush: No, I wasn’t surprised at all.

Brokaw: You were not? Why?

President Bush: I mean, these were people that hated the regime under which they lived.

Brokaw: But they went after hospitals and museums and —

President Bush: I don’t like that part. And that was the — you know, the hospitals and museum were the absolute worst part. The good news is, is that the hospitals are now up and running, they’ve got enough medical supplies to take care of the people that need help. That museum was a terrible incident. I couldn’t agree more with people who say we’re sorry that happened. We are, by the way, helping find treasure, restore treasure and we’ll provide all the expertise and help they need to get that museum up and running again.

It seems Yale graduates fail to recognize the fundamental importance of the historical artifacts that were destroyed. And later in the interview...

President Bush: Well, the Bush doctrine is actually being defined by action, as opposed to by words. Although, I think if you compile a lot of the speeches I’ve given, you could come up with the Bush doctrine.

At least in this much the President and I agree.

Scott reminded me of a vital addendum to the recollection of the Richard Thompson show. Pete Zorn, the backup vocalist and multi-instrumentalist of the band, rocked with absolutely unbelievable hardness. The man looks to be perhaps a day younger than 70, huge thick glasses, skinny body, pure white hair... and yet he rocked harder than any two Norwegians combined (who are known for their propensity to rock). This dude totally laced into his mandolin like it was a fucking mortal enemy. We hypothesized that between songs requiring mandolin, the roadie took the mandolin behind stage to say some kind, nuturing things to give it the strength to play again.

Just in case you were were wondering if I was in fact a dork or not, I was among three Hastings College students who saw Richard Thompson last night by my own volition. Of course, the guy is just huge (REM has covered one of his songs) and the show was hyped as very, very important. The few students that did show up left quickly, leaving Scott, Colin, and I (along with former Shaftmate Drew) to watch the concert as likely the only people under 30 who were there without an assignment. A few people expressed some serious disdain about this, but to be honest, I really have a hard time blaming them.

Billed as "folk rock," I don't think that the act as it currently stands really has any claim to the genre. "Art rock" is a much more appropriate title, as the man as a rule stayed away from typical song construction. Sure, the rhythm was pretty straightforward, but the melodies were marked by a lot of dissonance and, honestly, if you don't know what you are listening for, it's just not that interesting. Though I am by no means a musical scholar, there were some subtle composition decisions that I did admire and, of course, technically they are all astounding musicians. The softest drum solo I have ever heard was given by his drummer with some masterful and mindblowing brush work.

This being said, I can't say that I'm going to pick up his CD. The man was good and there is an intellectual quality to the music that is absolutely undeniable... but Richard Thompson has lost any claim to cool long, long ago. I consider myself a pretty versatile listener and the pursuit of the obscure is one of my passions, however, even on my most experimental pop day I don't think I'd nod my head to a Thompson tune.

Somebody want to tell me who the hell this guy is? As if the image of American soldiers kicking back and sitting idly by while the fundamental artifacts of the early history of human civilization were destroyed was enough, our Great White Tyrant has installed a military leader for an indefinite interim term to rule Iraq.

Can anybody see me, indeed.

Word. I got *hooked up* tonight by Jill's parents. In a fit of sympathy, she was kind enough to invite me with Lando to her parents' Easter family meal; an occasion marked with a baked ham and accompanying glaze so tender, I wasn't sure if I was just eating some sort of futuristic ham flavored cotton candy. Macaroni salad, rolls, and, my personal favorite, some sort of combination of potatoes and cheese that had a flavor that bordered on mythic.

While you're idly enjoying the waning hours of Easter, head over to Salon, grab your daypass, and open your mind to some good op-eds on the war. As if looters grabbing most of *our* (as in American and Iraqi) history of early civilization, it seems that the US Military's idea of protection is actually a form of confiscation. Just remember, this is not the history of the Iraqi people. It is the history of mankind and it would only be the most dire of ironies if we lost that in this war.

Last night a few of the fellows and I gathered around a toasty DVD player for a marathon night of Cowboy Bebop and a drinking game for which we designed. Appropriately titled "You're Gonna Carry That Weight," the game features several subthemes, which we discovered were rather difficult to enforce when intoxicated. However, the main objective of each episode revolved around a shot of a bourbon the likes of which one shouldn't wish on his/her worst enemy. Nearly a liter of this hazardous liquid for well under ten dollars; yes, it seemed like quite an appropriate punishment. The objective is as follows:

In the center of the room, place one fewer spoon than there are people playing. Every time a new bounty is announced everyone must grab a spoon. Whoever loses out becomes the bounty head. They may either (A) turn themselves in immediately (take a shot of very cheap bourbon and then not drink for the rest of the episode); or (B) go on the run. If the bounty is captured by a member of the Bebop crew in the episode, the bounty head must take the shot and apologize to the group for his/her hubris. If the bounty is killed, the bounty head must take the shot, finish everyone else's drinks, *and* fetch them new ones. However, if the bounty escapes or is not captured by a Bebop crew member, the remaining folk must each take the shot.

Nedderman (Drew's little brother Chris) by far received the brunt of the burden clearing, however Lando and I certainly did *not* escape several punishing missteps. I'm just thankful I didn't need a prairie oyster this morning.

And I'm sorry Mr. Jones. It's time.

I wake up this morning to a throat quite nearly swollen shut, a clammy coldness about the entire surface area of my body, and a minor disconcerting headache. The other stuff I can handle, but this throat thing is driving me bonkers. It feels like I have a baseball-sized chunk of snot firmly lodged in front of my tonsils. To retaliate on this clear affront to the sovereignty of my esophoghus I am launching an interdictory strike employ a myriad of precision munitions such as throat drops, salt water, and copious amounts of orange juice.

You think by now disease would know better. But that's just me... that's how *I* roll.

A couple observations about Hastings life.

First, children are a real concern to drivers. One should exercise extreme caution around schools that are letting out and take care not to catch up little Jack and Jill in your wheel well. However, this does not mean you have to slow to a fucking crawl. I was behind a grandmother as St. Cecilia's was getting out and, really, I thought she was going so slow because she had to pick someone up. As it turns out, she pulled in the hospital parking lot four blocks later. It took me fifteen minutes to pass a half block school! We're not talking about some huge metropolitan campus, just a little Nebraska Catholic school. No big deal right? However, Aunt May was being so overly careful that she was actually *impeding* the students ability to walk across the street.

Second, why the hell do we have a "religious goods" store. Just opened up not too long ago, Pax Christi is a store specializing in the retail distribution of finer religious ware. Now, while I am perfectly okay with the idea of the store and don't have any major metaphysical objection, I'm just wondering *who* they are selling this stuff too. Does the afternoon service come around at First Presbyterian and they have to send an altar boy out with a $20 so he can grab some emergency communion wafers? Is there a large market for people who need a 20 oz. of holy water everyday?

Woo hoo! What a rocker at Grand Island's Glass Bar tonight! Completely new crowd hearing the Shaft for the very first time and I think we made the place the hoppin'-est place to be in Nebraska tonight. I think there is serious potential for rock coming up at that place; keep your eyes peeled for a rockioactive explosion.

Unfortunately, my post-show high was dashed once I read this. Quite dimly, Bush's forces walked into Baghdad expecting the citizens to quietly accept anarchy while we figured out whether to give the Iraqi government to Halliburton or Texaco. They, to the horror of historians everywhere, were dead fucking wrong. Iraq, being as it lies in the very cradle of civilization, has *the* oldest antiquities in the entire world. There are items in that collection that are, arguably, the oldest manmade things on the entire planet. And now, someone is sweeping them up with a broom. The loss to mankind's history is positively incalculable. One more reason among many.

This afternoon a sparse but dedicated set of peace advocates gathered for the first Hastings peace rally I've heard of yet. News coverage of the event is available for those of you who couldn't make it, but by and large the event was just a way to raise awareness and rally support to the cause. Judging by the number of supportive honks and thumbs up received by the Saturday afternoon traffic, I believe I can say with some credibility that the peace movement is alive and well in Hastings, Nebraska.
I have to admit I was a bit suspicious of how this would turn out, and initially was a little afraid. However, that fear was absolved and bolstered with confidence with every wave and shout of support.

Sadly, the number of actual activists numbered fewer than 30... but I wonder if this is the result of apathy or despair. The Bush Administration has made it clear since the appointment that it is not in the least bit concerned with the opinion of the majority and has systematically disabled even the Constitutional restrictions on war. I don't think our low numbers are any indication of the feverence of the cause; I really think it is an indication that we are largely helpless in the hands of a tyrant.

I just bit into a Ched R' Pepper from Sonic that is conspicuously absent of even the smallest amount of Ched R'. That's not to say that there a cheese-like substance in there that is clearly not actual cheese in there... It's like they made the Ched R' Pepper and fucking forgot the Ched R'.

I just returned from a Shaft recon mission in Grand Island with my associates Lando and Scott who, for covert purposes, I will refer to as Mr. Parker and Mr. Longbow. Infiltrating the Glass Bar was a simple enough task, one that battle-hardened clandestine agents like the three of us were able to complete by acting like total retards and drooling on patrons' shoulders. After this initial ruse succeeded, we had a drink and waited for the esteemed arrival of Glass Bar owner, Brent.
Brent is a fierce fellow, what with being an 8 foot wookiee and all, and introduced us to an apparently age-old Glass Bar tradition of "killing-the-first-mother-fucker-I-see." The neck snapping complete, the rest of us survivors continued about our business. Brent shortly showed up and gave me the opportunity to examine the infrastructure of the facility, as it pertains to rocking.
In short, you need to be at the Glass Bar on Saturday. The Shaft aside, the Guinness is on tap with wait staff trained in the fine art of the Pint Pour. The Bushmills is cheap and the locale cozy; yes, even though I am going to be playing there Saturday, the Glass Bar is now my favorite bar in Nebraska.

I've determined that I must live in a town with a college if I am ever going to remain musically keen.

Tonight I heard a remarkable concert given by the Hastings College jazz ensemble with some guest soloists of amazing caliber. As always, the HC faculty find excellent talent to bring in and help instruct our music majors. However, the night was not all stolen by their well-honed play... In fact, I daresay the treat of the evening was definitely sometimes Shaft drummer Colin Sandall kicking out some wickedly intricate rhythms on the kit. Always before with the HC jazz band, a certain spunk, a certain swing, a certain about of flava has always been lacking, and now I know the reason why. Percussion is a very integral part of any music, and Colin executed a superb performance tonight. It was a great show and I am going to miss having stuff like this constantly at my fingertips.

Jumpin' jeepers! Chandra has a new issue of Birkwell Street Diary up and Aaron Traffas has a live CD with his long-awaited original tracks. It's like it's Christmas in April or something.

If you would judge by the Nebraska weather, one might think it was Christmas with all the snow on the ground. However, upon closer examination one finds that the snow is not at all of the usual sort one sees during the holidays. Make no mistake, this snow is from Hell itself. Slushy, wet, and with an adhesive quality Spider-man would admire, this shit is right nasty. Not to mention the fact that is coming around in *April*. Someone needs to send Nebraska a memo that reads the following:

It's Spring. Get with the program.

Yes, this is an actual conversation I just had on MSN. Unbeknownst to me, Aaron's mom was using Aaron's computer under his MSN name.

Rob: word.
Aaron's Mom: what word
Rob: you missed the boat.
Rob: messed up.
Rob: *fucked* up.
Aaron's Mom: what
Rob: Man. I need to start a hardcore band that does songs in 11/8 like Blacklight Sunshine.
Aaron's Mom: what
Rob: A hardcore band I saw the other night... Howie has been nuts over them for some time...
Rob: I understand now why.
Aaron's Mom:Nuts?
Rob: Yeah.
Rob: *always* telling me about them.
Rob: And how much he wants the next h&s record to sound like it.
Rob: But, yeah. They are hella good.
Aaron's Mom: h&s?
Rob: First metal I've listened to in a long time that I've enjoyed thoroughly.
Aaron's Mom: metal?
Rob: .
Rob: Hey, you want to replace the current user of your computer with someone who is not a fucking retard?
Aaron's Mom: reatrd?
Rob: I was listening to the mp3 you sent me some more...
Aaron's Mom: this is not traffas
Rob: wtf?
Aaron's Mom: wtf?
Aaron's Mom: i am just borrowing his computer
Rob: Someone in the house gaining access to his extensive bestiality collection?
Aaron's Mom: this is his mother
Rob: .
Rob: *eats foot*
Rob: I'm sorry Marilyn.
Rob: That was intended for non-mother eyes.
Aaron's Mom: what does all that mean?
Rob: I'm sure your son doesn't have an extensive bestiality collection.
Rob: I was just talking about bands.
Aaron's Mom: OK
Aaron's Mom: have a nice night
Rob: later. Sorry again.
Aaron's Mom: I think it is OK

Alright, enough people have been requesting it... Here's the full story on the cancellation of the Nebraska Music Hall show. In February they had a band called Rosemary's Billygoat play about a week after the now infamous shit went down in Rhode Island and Chicago. After the Great White fire, Manny (the venue promoter's) insurance company started to become very anxious at the prospect of having a fireball tossing GWAR clone of a band play at the Hall, and raised premiums to unacceptable levels as a result. This caused Manny to bail out of the Nebraska Music Hall and, unfortunately, lost my phone number somewhere in the process to inform of the cancelled show. Sorry for the pain in the ass, guys... I sorely needed a good Shaft show to let loose all the angst of the past couple weeks. Have to wait until next weekend for the rock double block of Shaft shows in Hastings and GI.

After spending a week secluded from all media, I am very pleased to see Salon hasn't kicked the bucket. And March was a good month to be reading it, providing some interesting insights into Bush's war.

While the loyal opposition defends itself from the subtle but powerful GOP propaganda machine, while other liberals with national voices have to defend themselves against complete and total fabrications.

But, perhaps the most heartening news in the sea of modern day McCarthyism is this story about the plight of military families fundamentally opposed to the war. Even folks who are not pacifists agree that this conflict is not just. And it is precisely this lack of a just cause that is causing them, and all of us, to so vehemently speak out against this tyrannical war. I just hope we can bring them back before they walk into Baghdad. I've heard some buzz that the 101st Airborne was planning to paratroop in to "clear the way" for the rest of the fighting force. Just like Vietnam, the United States military is walking into a combat environment it knows little about with an enemy who has been fighting in it their entire lives.