We had a good time cold-calling people at Pandora yesterday!

I’ve been reading Facing the Other Way, the Story of 4AD (thank you, MN) and not only is it one of the best-written music histories I’ve read since Willie Nelson’s biography, it is making me dig way deeper into the legendary label’s catalog. I’ve already got a 100+ song playlist building on Spotify but so far I can’t quite get past this song. So effing beautiful.

Reason 71

As a kid, I’d always thought I would be the guitarist in a metal or hard rock band. But when I started writing songs, what came out was anything but metal. And so, life went on. Many records were made. Back in the day. But it’s been a while.

After the long and rewarding summer tour with Matt & Gavin, I pledged a couple things to myself: 1) I wouldn’t make many plans in September; 2) I’d clean up the cat poop in the yard; and 3) that I would complete basic tracking for what will ultimately be the debut album from my new band (or “band”) Frank Shirts. I’m really f*&king close but the last couple songs are proving reluctant to achieve completion. I keep tweaking the melodies and, thus, the lyrics. I never used to do this, but that wasn’t necessarily a good thing. I don’t wanna be lazy when I can afford not to be, and it’s a good exercise - one that began with the Matt MacKelcan co-write sessions - in not settling.

Plus, one of the nonsense lyrics that I sang when dicta-phoning the song idea was “you’re the greatest thing since sliced pee”, so clearly I needed to put in some effort. Not that Don Dokken ever revised his scat-singing. But I’m no Don Dokken. I’ll just have to live with that.

Inside the first Muy Bueno newsletter.

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Yep.

(Source: divinepk)

Today is release day for Matt MacKelcan’s #fromwhereistand and he’s climbing the iTunes charts! Order yours now! https://itunes.apple.com/us/album/from-where-i-stand/id911101453

Hi!

To Tame a Puma

Bob Barker wasn’t kidding. I didn’t fully appreciate his “spay and neuter your pets” appeals until we moved to Los Angeles. There are cats everywhere. Seriously. Everywhere.

When we moved to our place in the Valley, we inherited a colony of four female cats, all spayed, three of whom lived in the the back yard and one who made her home in and around our front patio. Two of them were socialized. And adorable.

Males periodically wandered in and out of the yard and most of them were disagreeable bruisers. But a little over a year ago, we discovered a beat-up black tom nesting in the bushes in the back yard and we had a different feeling about him. It seemed to us that he wanted to join our colony, and we endeavored to welcome him.

Once we got to know him a bit, though, we realized that he didn’t seem entirely well. He had a notably infected cut on his nose that wasn’t healing, the usual swollen tom-face, and he seemed to have some trouble with his intestines. I made it my mission to catch him and get him to the vet.

He had let me pick him up a couple times but getting the guy - who we named Poomaboy - into a carrier was not something he was into. At all.

Finally trapped him and got him to the vet, had him neutered, and ran some tests. Unfortunately, we learned that he suffered from FIV (like HIV for cats). But after some research, we learned that it’s not necessarily as severe a diagnosis as the human equivalent. We gave him steroids, changed his diet, and very soon he showed marked signs of improvement. His sociability rather shockingly increased (he loves head and chin pets) and his coat and nose improved dramatically. 

Now that we have lost our alpha female to cancer, Poomaboy is stepping up as our new alpha, hanging around more, seeking more physical attention, and keeping the other cats in line. We miss our girl but we welcome this lovely rehabilitated beast to his new position. Check out all his majesty:

divinepk:

aarontap

Well, yeah! I’d much rather wear the same pants every day than listen to the same record.

The wind blinded them with dust that stung like salt, it beat on the kettledrums of roofs, screamed in the organ pipes of downspouts, and broke the strings of telegraph zithers, driving the score of dread chaos to a desperate [D sharp]; a little longer, it seemed, and torn-off heads would go flying after their torn-off hats; longer still, and the Earth, blown out of orbit like a leaf that has lost its branch, would go gliding from sun to sun.

-

Sigizmund Krzhizhanovsky, Memories of the Future

Translated from the Russian by Joanne Turnbull