Pearl Jam ripping the roof off the joint

This is Pearl Jam at the VH1 show honoring The Who. They did Love Reign O'er Me and The Real Me. Check out bassist Jeff Ament on The Real Me (6:50), he's definitely channeling John Entwistle. And check out guitarist Mike McCready jumping around/windmilling/smashing his guitar in homage to Pete Townsend.

Cubicle Global Warming

There was a flood in my office the fourth of July weekend. So last week, my co-workers and I spent a soggy, smelly four days in the office trying to work, and trying not to inhale too much of the mold spores that were surely growing under the soaked carpet and behind the wet drywall. Facilities brought in heavy duty fans to try and dry things out, but basically all they did was circulate the moldy basement smell.

So the heavy guns were brought in. We were given the day off on Friday and a crew was hired to set up huge tubes piping in hot air, along with heaters, fans, dehumidifiers, and something called an air scrubber. This is what we came in to Monday morning:





It is hot in here now, but it is also dry. Very dry. All the moisture has been sucked out of the air. By the end of the day Monday, my eyes were dry, my throat was dry, and my colon was dry. Well, maybe not my colon, but who knows? Whatever, at least I get to wear shorts to work for a while.

Back when gas was $3...

No, not for a gallon, for half a tank!!

Good old P.I. Jim Rockford gassing up his gold Firebird while working a case. His fee? $200 a day plus expenses. Nowadays, the expenses would kill you. I'd insist my P.I. drive a Prius.

This must have been around 1976, when gas was 59 cents a gallon. So old Jimbo got 5.08 gallons of petrol in return, roughly what $22 would get you today.

The little book that could

If you're a reader who likes to discover new authors, here is a gem for you: The Understory, by Pamela Erens (Ironweed Press). The novel has just been shortlisted for the 2008 William Saroyan International Prize for Writing (winners to be announced September 5), and back in April it was a finalist for the 2007 LA Times Book Prize for first fiction.

Congratulations and good luck, Pamela!

Lost Marathon

So, until two weeks ago, I was probably the last person left to have never seen an episode of Lost. And now, somehow, I've watched half of the series, having just finished Season 2 on DVD (yes, I know you can watch it on ABC.com for free, but I don't like the sound of that little message that says I agree to give ABC "total access" to my computer while downloading their stupid little viewer).

Watching 48 episodes in two weeks is an impressive feat, but because I'm still two seasons behind the rest of the world, it would be pointless to offer up any of my own pathetic little theories. What I want to do instead is mention the eerie resemblance between Henry Ian Cusick, the actor who plays Desmond, and a young Eric Clapton:

It's distracting. When Cusick is on screen, all I'm thinking about is how much he looks like Clapton, and how someone should get on the ball and make a biopic about Clapton right now (are you out there, Martin Scorsese?). The timing is right, too, with the recent publications of both Clapton's and Pattie Boyd's autobiographies. Just work from those two books, hire actors to play Pattie and George Harrison, and by all means acquire the rights to the songs, and you've got a hit biopic on your hands which would include a hot soundtrack.

Okay, I need to get working on Season 3 now...