Our house has been an infirmary the last week and a half or so... Gina's been stricken with some sort of virus that's given her everything from a fever to a harsh cough, and it's happened to coincide with the week she has exams at school.
So I've been running around, trying to nurse her back to health, and hoping that I don't catch said virus.
I also just finished reading Jim Derogatis' love letter to The Flaming Lips. It's a pretty good read. The nature of the book brings to mind Frank Zappa's quote about (I'm paraphrasing) music journalism being people who can't write, writing about people who can't talk, for people who can't read.
Actually, that's not completely true: singer Wayne Coyne can definitely talk. And the whole arc of The Lips' career is truly inspiring from the perspective that Mr. Coyne was over 40 before he got his first gold record, and along the way, he and the other Lips (!) never really compromised for anybody. They always (at least if the book is to be believed) pretty much operated the way they wanted to, and made music they wanted to.
And that's what's important.
And in the Department of Serendipity, I turned on the TV Sunday night to find that Austin City Limits was replaying a 2004 episode featuring a spirited performance by The Lips, complete with dancing animals, confetti, balloons, and fake blood.
So that's the "Lips" portion of this entry...
Now for some "Assholes": Tom Delay, Bill Frist, Dick Cheney, Donald Rumsfeld, Charles Krauthaumer (sick) (sic), Dennis Hastert.