My friend Alan and I have been arguing this week about whether bands like Neko Case and Jenny Lewis are "country." Alan argues that they are, while I vow that they aren't. He compares them to Patsy Cline and Johnny Cash, while I suggest that they're nothing like Garth Brooks and Faith Hill.

Being Scottish, Alan can't see what the big deal is about country music, and why I—and Sh, who brought the CDs in and started this whole debate—would be offended by labelling things we listen to as country. He doesn't get that to most Canadians, country equals redneck, and what he would refer to as country—sweet, twangy music that feels organic and earthy—is just plain folk music.

So folk it is, regardless of how their record label might categorize them.

I'm reading: I started A. S. Byatt's Possession for the first time a week or so ago. I got about 150 pages into it and discovered that Marian Keyes has a new book out, called Anybody Out There? I was finding Possession a dense read (Jana says to skip the poetry—who knew?), so I shelved it for now and read the new Keyes novel. It was lovely. The ending made me tear up on the train. How embarrassing. Now I'm on to Kelley Armstrong's Broken, and then after that, the newest Charlaine Harris paperback, Dead as a Doornail.

Damn, I'm craving frothy chicklit again. Must be the warm weather!