I hadn't slept well. Not last night, the one before, or any in recent memory. In search of a solution, I'd been to the doctor's, a walk in clinic at the local Wal-Mart, a bastion of Hippocrates ingloriously shoehorned in besides the crooked arrays of shopping carts.


There's something to be said for mystery-bands, groups so obscure that they share a profile on last.fm with three other ensembles with the same name, (I'm looking at you, Rogues) or others that release a bang-up EP or debut, then immediately announce a hiatus, and six years later they're all but vanished.

For a Few Kronor More

It's been more than two weeks since the US election by now, and I'm going to acknowledge this event best by not acknowledging it much at all. Apart from the occasional nightmarish dream like the one I had this morning, where my egomaniacal father had somehow merged with the meglomaniacal president elect and the two were one person, I'm doing just "fine."