You can tell a lot about your lover by how they eat their pancakes. do they stack 'em? spread 'em around? use butter? syrup? a fork? or maybe their fingers?

And now somebody thinks their choice of chocolate has lots to tell as well. For the record, I prefer dark chocolate. the 70% cacao is about my threshold for that. when you get into the 90th percentile, I'm out dude. just a little too bitter. I have to wonder how this one eats her pancakes, and what kind of chocolate she prefers?

I learned something today, something about this record label called Elephant 6.

See, sometime about four years ago, Rich Engel introduced me to a band called the Neutral Milk Hotel. They are a little quirky, trippy, maybe even moments of beautiful dissonance (it is possible). Then last January or February, Josh Seybert introduced me to the band Of Montreal. They are a little quirky, trippy, maybe even moments of beautiful dissonance (it is possible). Their main songwriter, Kevin Barnes, strings together some very different sounding chord progressions, and the contributors make a sound like . . . nobody else. so last week, I dropped off Coquelicot Among the Poppies to Gabriel, a guy I work with. I told him it was maybe the strangest album I own. Today, he beckoned me off the elevator, and said, "Here, give these guys a listen. They're called The Olivia Tremor Control. They're another Elephant 6 group," he said to his girl Kim. And they're all apparently part of this Elephant 6 label. Pretty cool, eh?

Has anyone seen one of these ads yet (courtesy of Exit Stage Left) ? The first three of these refer to 9/11, and Mr. Bush, this is in poor taste. The fourth one makes you look like a beter candidate.

Hey Dr. Seuss is getting his own Stamp!

A page from the Guardian, about Mel Gibson's film . . . and it's a fun read. Trust me. And this one is silly silly silly

She Called it Torture

"Do you ever have a dream where you're with a dream-hottie, they're maybe not even a real person, but someone from the cast of your dream characters. You're hanging out with them, laughing, having fun, and so on. Maybe you are both sitting on a blanket in the park, or maybe on the couch in their living room. They have you lay down on your back; they're beside you or above you. And you know you want to kiss them and they want to kiss you, but for some reason they wait . . . and they hover . . . just above you . . . you may even feel their breath softly brushing over your lips. But no kiss, not yet. They move closer to your mouth, lips parted ever so slightly, eyes closing into smiling slits as their gaze moves from your eyes to your mouth and . . . BLINK!
You are in your bed, and you are alone.
It's Tuesday morning, moments before your alarm clock goes off.
Your dream-hottie, real or not, is certainly not there, just about to plant one on you. And as you drift back into dreamland after hitting the snoozebar, you may be in the same park, in the same room, or wherever you were moments before waking, but that person is simply nowhere to be found."

"That's torture . . . " she sighed, pulling me closer and then she kissed me.