A headache woke me up from a nightmare (crashing helicopter) around midnight. It was the worst headache I’ve ever had, including hangovers. So I stumbled around blind looking for a pain pill, found one, took it, went back to bed and waited for it to kick in. It eventually must have, because the alarm woke me up this morning from another nightmare (boy paralyzed in dirt bike accident).

The end.

So much for solemn pledges not to write about dead rock stars. They’ve been dropping like flies lately. Except for the Rolling Stones – that’s almost creepy.

But John Entwhistle. I’m really sorry. I used to want to be John. I was a big Who fan. The bass was my favorite instrument, the one I aspired to play. And John epitomized the bass player for me, and I wanted to be him. Not the mod Entwhistle in the picture at the top, the taciturn beardy one below. I came close. I grew the same beard, had the same hair. I just never learned to play the bass for shit. I mean, I was passably okay on my Fender Precision there for a while, and then Punk started and anyone could play in a band but my amplifier started giving me electrical shocks every time I turned it on and I gradually lost interest.

Still. Shit, John is dead.

We’re taking time out from Photoshopping URLs onto demonstrators’ asses to wish Adam a happy second anniversary of his wonderful blog Words Mean Things. Although Adam is kind, polite and thoughtful, he nevertheless has a lot in common with me. Like… eh… we both think the Olsen Twins are scary.

Go there now.

Feral Living fans at the recent BlogCon Europe 2002.

The Chaos Coefficient explained, part II.
[Or, what I did this morning.]