(I wrote this on the train, which seems to be my habit lately. I've got a book in my bag but it's way too historical fiction-y for me to read while I'm listening to my dozens of new albums. Alas, alack.

There is a woman in her mid-20s sitting near me that has tweezed her eyebrows completely away on the outside of her face and then pencilled them in to resemble Vulcan brows. And they are at least as thick as Nimoy's, which is just plain strange.)

So I went to see Knocked Up over the holiday weekend. It was freaking awesome! I laughed and giggled and snickered my way through the entire movie. I think it was the first time my neighbour C has accompanied me to that kind of movie, as I usually take my lower-brow friends to the movies that have a 2:1 "fuck" to any other word in the English language ratio. But she seemed to enjoy it, so now she'll have to come with me to Superbad.

It turns out that a bunch of my colleagues saw it over the weekend too, so that meant that we were able to put the office-favourite "that's what she said" on hold for a day or two to recite quotes to one another.

(Okay, Honest Again from the Aliens just came on my iPod and I'm totally digging it! How Boston of them!)

On Friday C and I went to see Ocean's Thirteen. I never expect to like the Ocean's movies, and every time a new one comes out and I see it and like it. I didn't remember any of the characters—I know Vincent Cassel from his role as the duc d'Anjou in Elizabeth, not from this franchise, tho he was apparently in the last movie. Eddie Izzard was in the last one too? Huh. Who knew?—but enjoy the movie, mostly because I can see that the actors are enjoying themselves so much.

(Okay, now Peter, Bjorn and John's The Chills is playing. Great stuff.)

That said, I think it was the preview for The Bourne Ultimatum that excited me the most. And Ellen Barkin should a) kill the plastic surgeon that made her boob job so noticeable, and b) kill the dressmaker that allowed the top of her fake boobs to be so noticeable in the seduction scene. It killed the romance faster than Linus's fake nose.

One of the the things about going out for drinks with friends you've known for years is sometimes the conversations veer into unexpected areas. I never thought I'd have to try to explain my theory of life, the universe and everything on three pints of cider, but I did. It wasn't very successful. Greg Graffin can explain better than me, so here goes:

Random blobs of power expressed as that which we all disregard.
Ordered states of nature on a scale which no one things about.

Don't speak to me of anarchy or peace or calm revolt, man.
We're in a play of slow decay orchestrated by Boltzmann.

It's entropy, it's not a human issue,
Entropy, it's matter of course,
Entropy, energy at all levels,
Entropy, from it you cannot divorce.
And your pathetic moans of suffrage tend to lose all significance.

Extinction, degradation: the natural outcome of our ordered lives.
Power, motivation: temporary fixtures for which we strive.

Something in our synapses assures us were OK,
But in our disequilibrium we simply cannot stay.

It's entropy, it's not a human issue,
Entropy, it's matter of course,
Entropy, energy at all levels,
Entropy, from it you cannot divorce.

A stolid proposition from a man unkempt as I.
My affectatious nature I cannot rectify.
But we are out of equilibrium unnaturally,
A pang of consciousness at death and then you will agree.

It's entropy . . .
Entropy, its matter of course,
Entropy, energy at all levels,
Entropy, from it you cannot divorce.

Sadly, this theory was expressed to defend my belief in astrology.

(Entropy is from one of my top 5 albums of all time, Against the Grain (1990), which I am listening to for the first time in months. Aah Greg, I've missed you. . . .)

Why does not one of my friends listen to Rasputina? Why do I have to rely on Amazon.ca sending me an e-mail to tell me their new album, Oh Perilous World, came out today? What am I paying you people for?

The following is a public service announcement to all my friends and music-swappers: All music sharing and sampling is suspended until further notice. I got the new Tori Amos album.

I need time to absorb American Doll Posse in all it Tori-ness. And since I could listen to Big Wheel all day without getting bored, getting through all 23 tracks may take a while.

That is all. Thank you for your time.

A couple weeks ago, Lal, Alan, various and sundry spouses and I went to see Great Lake Swimmers at the Church of the Redeemer. It was my second concert in 10 years, so I was psyched.

We saw the early show, which began around 6:50 with the lead track off their new album, Onigara, called Your Rocky Spine. It was exactly what I'd hoped they would start with. It was banjo-riffic and instrument-laden and the female harmony and echoing made it feel rather holy (the buzzing speaker and patchy jack in singer Tony Dekker's guitar only distracted me only slightly and sporadically).

As it turns out, I like my live music much like I like my opera—loud and full. My favourite songs were the ones with heavy support, which at times included a bass, a violin, the aforementioned banjo, something I like to call an accordion in a box, and some sort of sitty-organ-looking-thing that had pedals at the knees. My least favourite were when it was Tony and his guitar. That said, his voice is so lovely and the pews so comfy that my only real complaint is that I could have fallen asleep had he done more than two solos in a row. 

It was certainly my favourite concert in the last 10 years, and we all left the church wishing we'd bought tickets to the 9 p.m. show as well. GLS plays Toronto and area quite frequently, so I'll have to watch their site to see when they'll be back.

Don't want to take my word for it? Check out these live recordings from the concert, and stay tuned to CBC radio, cuz they were taping it.

I have three albums on my current playlist, and I have to say I'm loving every one of them.

First, there's Gomez, a band from Alan's Best Of 2006 album. I liked the single he chose (See the World), but kept forgetting to ask him to lend me the album. I finally remembered, and How We Operate has been on repeat ever since.

Then there's The Fratellis, a band on Alan's mate Scott's Best Of 2006. I've had Costello Music for couple weeks, but I didn't realize that the song I've been digging on the iTunes video was on it. I learned that yesterday morning on the train, and anyone watching me that morning would have been shocked at the change my expression went through when I heard the song.

And finally, there's Midlake. Lal went to see them last week at Lee's Palace. I wish she'd actually brought in Van Occupanther instead of just talking about it, because I had no idea how much fun it is! I love Roscoe.

I feel so hip now that I'm no longer listening to folk all the time.

Alan says: Hey—I picked up a couple albums by The Wailin' Jennys
Alan says: thought you might appreciate the name
Jen says: I've heard of them. They're pretty big in country circles.
Alan says: yeah—and now that you like country music you might like them!
Jen says: I don't like country music, I like bluegrass music.
Alan says: please
Alan says: the Dixie Chicks
Jen says: Are not country!
Alan says: i just can't see why you can't admit it
Jen says: They're pop.
Alan says: Alison Krauss
Jen says: Bluegrass!
Alan says: hmmm
Alan says: ok
Jen says: I've said it before and I'll say it again. Dwight Yokum and Garth Brooks are country. Clint Black is country. Shania Twain is country. The rest is folk.
Alan says: Johnny Cash and Willie Nelson
Alan says: are country
Jen says: No. Folk.
Alan says: Shania is some sort of odd pop-country hybrid.
Jen says: That's the Evil Country, or "New Country" as it is dubbed by the radios.
Jen says: You're right; JC and WN are country. But they're more Country Western than plain country.
Alan says: i can't believe you won't accept the Dixie Chicks are country.
Jen says: They are, but they (as EE just put it) rise above country.
Alan says: EE likes the Dixie Chicks?
Jen says: Of course.
Jen says: Everyone does. That's how I know they're not country.

I have been such a terrible correspondent lately. It’s not that I love my entertainment any less, it’s just been a busy time for me, both personally and creatively. Family sorrow marked the holidays (read my Robert Altman tribute and you’ll probably get the gist of it). That was followed by my annual Major Work Project during the day, and my Brand New Love of Acrylic Paint/Awesome Rebel SLR Digital Experimentation at night. I’ve been so busy that I haven’t even had a chance to play with my new pen-as-mouse pad I got so I can start animating things in Flash.

I’m feeling very artistic right now, which I haven’t in years. I can directly correlate my downturn in creative art to my increased involvement in writing, so it makes sense that my writing is suffering as I rediscover how to hold a paint brush. I will endeavour to keep up a bit more, though, as I have seen and heard a great many things in the last couple months that are worth writing about.

Let’s start with Babel. My neighbour C and I went to see it New Year's Eve, and by the end of the movie I wanted to kill myself. What a downer! I thought the editing and acting were fantastic, but the story was just one giant buzzkill. I am willing to accept that (spoilers ahoy!) a couple could lose a child to SIDS, then decide to go to Morocco to get over that loss (even though the wife hates germs and filth of any kind. Maybe all the flights to Paris were booked?), then get shot by some kids playing a prank. It doesn’t happen all the time, but at least it’s not inconceivable. But that that same couple’s young children would be taken to Mexico, then driven home by a drunk who hates authority, and abandoned in the desert to fend for themselves? Come on. That’s a lot to swallow—too much to make the story believable.

Of course, I saw The Holiday a couple of weeks ago and really liked it. So perhaps my opinions shouldn’t weigh all that strongly.

I’m watching: Deadwood. Hoo, doggy, am I in love with this show! History Television has been running this series uncut since the fall, and I PVR’d it this last go-round. Why did nobody tell me that Timothy Olypant was in this series? I love Timothy Olypant! Also, Trixie and Sol rock my world.

I’m listening to: Good lordy, what aren’t I listening to? I’ve been on a bit of a folk run lately, as I gear up for my trip to Scotland in the spring. So, a little kilt-and-bonnet action (I finally know the tune to Johnny Cope), mixed in with some bluegrassy-folk like Gillian Welch and Abigail Washburn, and some UK folk like Cara Dillon. I also picked up the new Arcade Fire album this morning (shhh! . . .) Maybe with this album, I’ll finally understand what all the hype is about.

I was right. It was a sobber. I had to stop reading on the train when my chin started wobbling and I started sniffling and my eyes blurred up. I had to take several deep breaths and stop reading and think of other things.

I don't think it helped that I was listening to Richard Hawley's Coles Corner (which I will point out is an album Alan gave me months ago and that I hadn't listened to even once before yesterday) as I read. When I hit the climax of the book, this was the song playing:

Don't look for me in fields of clover; I won't be there I won't get older. I must wait here holed up in my time. Don't search for me in fields of green; I'm not there, I won't be seen. I'm wading through the waters of my time Don't look for me in lands of gold; I won't be there, I won't get old. I'll hover like a frozen bird in time. Don't reach for me, the stars are cold; My race is run, my stories told. I'm wading through the waters of my time Don't search for me in lands of gold; I won't be there, I can't get old. Don't hope for me, the stars have died; I've slipped into the past. 'Cause I'm wading through the waters of my time.

Read the book. Trust me, this album plays like a soundtrack.

So, I went to see a concert for the first time in eight years this week. It was Mark Kozelek, of Sun Kil Moon fame, at it was at Lee's Palace on Thursday night. The frigging thing started at 10:50 p.m. What the fuck? Alan says that Lee's always waits until nearly midnight to start its concerts. I don't get it. Mark's music is anything but rocking, so even those people who love him to death were starting to droop by the end of the two hours.

During the first 45 minutes of the concert, I have to say that I wasn't impressed. After every song, he and his backup guitarist (who Sh tells me was one of his bandmates in Red House Painters, but who could have been some kid he pulled off the street for the amount of coaching he had to give him) discussed the next song for what felt like 10 minutes and tuned their guitars for another five. I was pretty tired to begin with (I'd donated blood that evening; and besides, my bedtime is normally 10 a.m. to compensate for the 6 a.m. I have to get up at for the commute into the city each day), so these moments seemed to just make me more tired. At about the 45-minute mark, however, he lost the accompaniment and did about five songs in a row—several of which I actually recognized—and the audience really started digging on it. But then the accompanier came back and we finished up with more stalling and hesitating.

I'd had no idea coming into this concert that Mark was so into the guitar aspect of his music. One song he played the opening, er, bar? riff?, about 10 times before he started singing, and in another song he jammed for a long time after he stopped singing. That was either the last song before the encore of the one before that, and I think that was the moment that stood out the most for me afterward. Mark, focussed on that guitar, playing a lovely, simple set of strings and holding the attention of 250 people while the bartenders cashed out and the club upstairs blared out its dance music. It was really a lovely moment, and well worth the late night, and the hour and a half of stumbling, to get to it.

Of course, it didn't help my mood much the next day that when I got home at 1:30, I had to read 30 pages of Sarah Dunant's The Birth of Venus. What a great book.

I have to say, this is going to go down as one of the worst months for updating my blog.

While I'm rocking on the weather, which has managed to get my condo above 20 degrees for the first time since September 2005, I am not happy with how much I've worked this month. I have been in at least one day every weekend, and this coming weekend I will be working both days from 9 to 5. Yummy. At least I have a week-long vacation starting in nine days. Then I can get reacquainted with my old friend MediaHoard.

I'm listening to: A whole bunch of new stuff; most notably Camera Obscura's Let's Get Out of This Country and Gotan Project's Lunático.

I had a party the weekend before last. A couple friends came into town and ran an evening 5k race, and then I made them dinner. I put together quite an extensive soundtrack for the evening. I love introducing people to new music, and it was such a subtle way to do it, over drinks and dinner. I didn't have to go all fan-girl on anyone.

I'm reading: I finished reading MaryJanice Davidson's latest Undead book, Undead and Unpopular. It was cute, as usual. I read it in an evening, as usual, and I spent way too much money on the hardcover, as usual.

I'm watching: E at work lent me the first two seasons of Scrubs on DVD, so pretty much just that. When I haven't been at work, I've been watching JD and the gang. It's probably why I haven't updated my blog in more than two weeks.

Hmm. . . .

So I saw two movies over the weekend: X-Men: The Last Stand and The Break-Up. One was much better than the critics said it would be, and the other was just as terrible as they claimed.

Like any geek, I enjoy a good comic-based movie. As a kid I never read any comics beyond Archie (man, I miss those stories!), so I didn't know all that much about X-Men that I didn't pick up from exes who watched the cartoon on Saturday mornings. I loved the first movie and enjoyed the second, but each of them seemed to drag and delve into mythology I wasn't familiar with. But this one just went for it. The action sequences were awesome, and the pacing was much better than the last two movies. I was shocked at the body count and flabbergasted at who all got hit with the "cure." And the ending left me with much to talk about with Elena on the short drive home. I understand that xmenophiles may be turned off by the lack of continuity between the movie and the comics, but I didn't mind it one bit. In fact, I dug it a lot.

The Break-Up, on the other hand, was very, very, very, horribly, very, fan-fucking-tastically bad. It was like an episode of Friends, except way less funny. I can't decide if Vincent D'Onofrio, who was cast rather brilliantly as Vince Vaughan's older brother, was playing his character as affected, or is just affected himself these days. Either way, he made me cringe every time he stumbled and stuttered through his lines.

The entire movie felt like the filmmakers only took one take. If Judy Davis flubs her line, just work around it. If Vince's timing is off, too bad. If the chemistry isn't there, get them to date in real life. If the story makes no sense, just slap it together and throw it onto the big screen. It was very unimpressive.

I'm listening to: I picked up two new albums this week: The Avett Brothers's Four Thieves Gone: The Robbinsville Sessions, which is kind of (ahem) country, but in a fun, Spirit of the West kind of way. There's a song called "Pretend Love" that I'm going to try my best to get my friend Jalapeno to play for the first dance at her wedding. I also finally picked up Amy Millan's Honey from the Tombs, which, somewhat coincidentally, is also a little bit country.

I swear, I don't like country!

Since the TV season is over, I've been looking for new shows to keep me occupied this summer. E at work told me that Extras was starting on CH tonight, so I was able to start recording that. Also, I discovered that they're playing Married . . . With Children on CMT.

Good God, I love Married . . . With Children. It was the first adult sitcom I watched as a kid. I remember listening to it on the radio on Global (we got Global on the radio at my house) on Sunday nights at 9, after I was supposed to be asleep. Then I got old enough to watch it on television (woah!), and so I did. For years. And then when it came on CFMT at 6 p.m., I watched it before dinner.

And then The Simpsons took over its timeslot, and the show was cancelled.

It's been 10 years since I'd seen an episode, and I'd forgotten how much I love it. So now it's Al and Peggy and Bud and especially Kelly, once a day until I've seen every episode all over again.

I'm listening to: The Raconteurs' Broken Boy Soldiers. It's pretty cool. I guess my love for Brendan Benson outweighs my disdain for Jack White.

I'm watching: My neighbour C brought over Transamerica. Felicity Huffman was amazing, and the story was very compelling. And Kevin Zegers was all kinds of naked. He's from Woodstock, of all places. I've known a few guys from Woodstock, and they're all hot. I must visit more often. . . .

The month is slipping away from me. I've been on vacation since Wednesday, and have been keeping blissfully away from my computer. But since it's 10 degrees out there today (on Victoria Day, natch), I suppose I have time to get back online and tell y'all what I've been up to.

Flash back two weeks to Saturday the 6th. I told you I was going to watch Akeelah and the Bee with Elena. We did not. Instead, we got Dairy Queen and rented Derailed. It was terrible. We turned it off after about an hour, and in doing so, missed the shocking twist. I was okay with that.

I haven't watched the entire Gilmore Girls season finale yet. I was so unimpressed with the 20 minutes I did see that I can't bring myself to watch the rest. I can't wait to see what the new regime does to this show, because the last two years haven't really been worth watching.

I am thrilled that Veronica Mars made it to the CW Network. Hopefuly Gilmore Girls hasn't alienated too many of its fans, so that Veronica and Company will pickup on some of its lead-in audience.

I finished reading Charlaine Harris's latest two Southern Vampire books. They were good reads, but quick, quick, quick. Only one complaint about the last book, Definitely Dead. Did I miss a novella where Sookie's cousin Hadley died? Because I can't believe that Harris wouldn't write the scenes where Sookie met the Queen of Louisiana for the first time, especially if they took place in the manner described in this book. Very strange.

I've been listening to The Leaves's Angela Test a tonne lately. They sound like the Icelandic version of Coldplay, but that really hasn't stopped me from digging on them a bunch.

And that, pretty much, is that.

"Put Sufjan Stevens on, And we'll play your favourite song. Chicago bursts to life, And your sweet smile remembers you."

So now Snow Patrol is referencing Sufjan? Sheesh!

(I still contend John Wayne Gacy Jr. was the best song from that album, regardless of what Lal and Alan's Best Of CDs—and apparently, Gary Lightbody—say.)

Just a quick post today before I head out for the weekend. I finished Marian Keyes' Anybody Out There? and Kelley Armstrong's Broken. Both good reads and both worth shelving Possession for. I think I'm done with that one for the time being.

A couple weeks ago, I watched Happy Endings. I loved it. It made me cry and gave me such a headache that I had to go to bed at 8 p.m. that night. Tonight, Elena and I are going to see Akeelah and the Bee. I'm hoping for good things, even though it's rated G. At least there shouldn't be any teenagers in the theatre to talk through the movie. I hate those meddling kids!

I have decided that I really like The Rosebuds' Birds Make Good Neighbours. I picked up the album a couple months ago, but only recently put it into full rotation. I think "Boxcar" may make my Best Of CD this year.

Wow. I really did have nothing to say. Have a good weekend!

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!

I'm reading, I'm watching movies, I'm listening to music and watching TV. Oh, there are so many things I am doing that I don't even have time to stop and blog, so I must do it at midnight on a Saturday night. It's a crying shame, really it is. To summarize:

I'm watching: I just finished watching the Freaks and Geeks DVD that Elena got me for Christmas. It was just as awesome as I'd hoped. I'd watched two episodes while the show was on the air (or should I say that I watched the last two episodes to make the air), and was pretty sure I'd dig the rest. Now I know why I love Jason Segel's character on How I Met Your Mother. (I'd always assumed it was because Marshall was schtupping Willow.)

I'm also getting ready to start watching Bodies on BBC Canada. I'd heard this was one of the best shows of 2004 (also, Max Beesley), and have been waiting for it to return to BBC so I could check it out. I have it set to tape next Tuesday. Here's hoping it's the first episode, or that I won't be too confused. And season three of Little Britain starts May 18. How fab is that? Only a month and a half until I can again hear middle-aged Welsh mothers say "minge." Dreamy!

Oh! And also South Park. Lots and lots of South Park.

I watched: I went to see Inside Man the other weekend, and I crazy loved it. I love just about anything Clive Owen is in, and I think it was a daring choice to have him playing that role. He's got such a distinctive voice and look, I wondered almost from the beginning how he was going to get out of the bank without anyone noticing him. And then he did, and it was awesome. Jodie did a great job, and so did Denzel. But it was all abut Clive. And he was dreamy. Oh! Spike too, I guess. The direction was groovy and I loved the little slices of humanity thrown in there.

I'm reading: Well, nothing at the moment. But I did finish The Virgin Blue. Very disappointing. Every plot twist was very deliberate. It was like I could hear the author, Tracy Chevalier, sitting in her office, musing aloud, saying, "Now how will I get Ella to Switzerland? Oh! She can boink her French lover, and flee in shame and confusion. Nobody likes that husband of hers. They won't mind." Not so much, Tracy.

I also read Rogue's Wedding, by Terry Griggs. I picked this up as a bargain hardcover at Chapters, and was pretty entertained. Basically, it's about a young man who runs out on his bride on their wedding night in London, Ont. in 1898, and hits nearly every town between there and the northern shores of Lake Huron during his flight. Given that spent my childhood summers in Sauble Beach, reading the book brought back lovely memories. I'm thinking of lending it to my grandfather. I lend books to my grandma all the time, but never to him. He used to own a motel in the Bruce Penninsula, so he might dig the local flavour.

I'm listening to: It's pretty much been nothing but Eisley for a month. Which sucks big time, because now I see on their website that they were in Toronto last week. Dammit, Alan, you're supposed to be getting me to go to concerts this spring! And, no, the Blue Jays don't count.

Hey, y'all! It's Friday of March Break so I'm taking a chance and commuting into the city late this morning. This should give me time to blog, blow-dry my hair straight and still have time to stop for tea on my way in. (I'm obviously deluded.)

I went to Buffalo for some shopping earlier this week, and got reacquainted with a little thing called live television. (Did you know that American TV shows Buffy and Angel are on at 7 a.m.? Wicked!) As we are deeply in March rerunville, I ended up watching lots of TLC. Among the highlights from this once-proud network: The 750 Pound Man, Half-Ton Man and Sixteen Children and Moving In (which, eew).

How the mighty have fallen.

I'm listening to: Oh, Alan would be so proud. I brought Josh Rouse with me to Buffalo this weekend, and I'm really, really digging him. I'm also on Month Two of loving Sun Kil Moon's Tiny Cities, which, as Alan pointed out last week at Music Club, is an entire album full of Modest Mouse covers. ("But I don't like Modest Mouse!" I replied.)

I'm reading: The Virgin Blue, by Tracy Chevalier. I'm less than 50 pages into it, but so far I'm liking it.

All right, I suppose it's work time!

All right, enough with these long, analyzing posts. Let's get funk-ay!

I gave Jana at work Guy Gavriel Kay's The Fionavar Tapestry, the series that made me love books. So far she's not saying much, but I have faith in her that she's going to love it. (She saw Mr. Kay's acknowledgements and realized she's neighbours with one of the editors of the book, so she'd better at least try to like it!)

Speaking of Fionavar, the first book of the series, The Summer Tree made the Indigo's list of iRewards Reader's Favourite Books of All Time. It came in at #76 (my lucky number!), while Diana Gabaldon's Outlander came in ninth. I had no idea either of the books were that popular!

On to music: I'm still loving the Decemberists, and have found an appreciation for Alan's beloved Okkervil River. I'm crazy about the Devics, who I must have heard on Morning Becomes Eclectic. I'm also really digging B.C. Camplight, who has a delightful beaver on his album cover and a fab song called Blood and Peanut Butter.

I listened to a couple tracks from Caroline's new album, Murmurs, and Fink's latest, Biscuits for Breakfast, and I can't wait to pick them up. Last but not least I grabbed Serena-Maneesh's self-titled, and Sh lent me Reindeer Section's Son of Evil Reindeer—which Alan tells me is good—and Goldspot's Tally of the Yes Men—which I listened to and think is good.

Whew! It's great to have new music to listen to!