Steve Rector first heard about it in the coffee room at work. He was putting some squirrel heads into the microwave for lunch, he remembers, when one of the guys mentioned the mad cow disease story in the Owensboro paper. "I figured that if it was really bad, like the bubonic plague, it would be on TV," Rector says. So he started to watch the evening news, scan the local obituaries, and look for signs of strange behavior in local squirrels. Though he never saw or heard anything more, he was spooked enough to lay off brains for the first time in thirty years. But that was last year. Like most of the squirrel hunters I interviewed, he couldn't stay away for long. "I just thought, You gotta die of somethin'," he says. "First it was cigarettes cause cancer, then pesticides, and then the water you drink. But I been eatin' squirrel brains since I was six years old, and I ain't dead yet."

--From Noodling for Flatheads: Moonshine, Monster Catfish and Other Southern Comforts, by Burkhard Bilger

---

Apparently the final chapter to Desperados, by John Einarson and Are You Ready for the Country, by Peter Doggett is "Rainy Day Music", by our own beloved Jayhawks. If you're willing to indulge the author in a flight of fancy, dig deep into your record collection; when I first read the above books, like any hillbilly who was alive but still soiling himself, giggling to Bert and Ernie, when the music was originally recorded, I went out and through means both legal and otherwise, augmented my music collection so I could listen along to the authors' theories, stories, and anecdotes. So I got caught in a shit storm of Cosmic Cowboy LA rock, with Bernie Leadon banjo Linda Rondstadt whine Sneaky Pete bent string pedal wah wah madness. You know what I'm talking about; the Byrds, Buffalo Springfield, and Flying Burrito Brothers started this weird hippie doper Cowboy music which David Geffen somehow managed to trade in for a sumptuous estate, more money than God, and a band full of terminal headcases, that all the original members of the scene wanted to kill, called the Eagles.

So anyway, if you imagine the whole thing as a great big layer cake, the top two layers being the hired bullshit and the shallow VH1 "Behind the Scenes" pap, you can lift those off and be left with the music; which, from about 1968 to 1973 was pretty damned good. If you haven't ever done it, I highly encourage you to downl...er, I mean go out and buy the complete early albums of bands like Poco, Pure Prairie League, The Eagles, Dillard & Clark, etc. Just be careful of Timothy B. Schmidt; that fucker ruined everything. But that's another blog.

So anyway, if you're me, Ethan Johns, or Steve Graffunder, you can open your copy of MusicMatch Jukebox and load these songs into your player:
Falling in And Out of Love, Pure Prairie League
Madman, The Jayhawks
Bitter Creek, The Eagles
Tampa to Tulsa, The Jayhawks
A Child's Claim to Fame, Buffalo Springfield
Tailspin, The Jayhawks
You might just shit your pants, or, if you've got more Brittney Spears CD's than you do fishing poles, the whole thing might go right over your head.

So anyway, if you live in Minnesota, you have your own personal suitcase of issues created by any combination of your older brothers' abuse, the long winters, and the lakefront home you don't own yet, that you project onto just about every Jayhawk album you own. On this effort though, in addition to all of that fine Northern kharma, Johns seems to have channeled the old man into an addendum that is both anachronistic and geographically misplaced, yet stunningly effective and sonically beautiful. Bernie Leadon doesn't just play banjo on "Tailspin," his spirit and those of his peers haunts this entire record. Funny, too, it almost all seems completely fortuitous, like Glyn through Ethan plus Gary & Tim, and about 30 years of roots insurgence and State Fair sweet corn, with ghosts like Leadon floating around like Nearly-Headless Nick, converged to make this record.

So anyway, I'm an alt country DJ that's been listening to the Eagles since I was 8 years old and I ain't dead yet.

From the July 23, 2003 Mobile (AL) Register:
By David Rainer
Joseph DeGeer of Irvington failed a polygraph test and has been stripped of the title of master angler from last weekend's Alabama Deep Sea Fishing Rodeo.

"Joseph DeGeer was disqualified because of unfavorable results on the polygraph test," said Andy Cook, president of the Alabama Deep Sea Fishing Rodeo, which attracted more than 3,200 fishermen.

Rodeo policy requires that all first-place jackpot winners and competitors in the winning boats pass a polygraph test. The disqualification will cost DeGeer about $3,000 in prizes.

"I can't figure out what went wrong," DeGeer said. "I don't know why (the poly graph) did it. There was thunder and lightning outside, and I was nervous. That's the first time I've ever had to do something like that.

"I caught my fish legal. But I know that it says on the rodeo ticket that we're subject to the polygraph. That's the reason I'm not going to get a lawyer."

The Alabama Deep Sea Fishing Rodeo began using polygraphs in 1991, Cook said.

The rodeo policy does not provide for a second test to be taken if the first is not passed.

"Also, anyone on the leaderboard is subject to being asked to take a polygraph prior to receiving awards," Cook said. "Charles DeGeer, Joseph DeGeer's nephew, was also disqualified for a rules violation."

Rodeo officials would not elaborate on Charles DeGeer's disqualification, which led to him forfeiting second place in the competition for gafftopsail catfish and third in jack crevalle. Charles DeGeer could not be reached for comment.

---

There are parts of this country where lying about your stringer is a far worse crime than scraping #3 stickers off of rusty Firebirds or fabricating African uranium exports to Middle East dictators. It's important at these times for officials to trump any challenges with statements of blanket familial guilt, too, just to let the suspect know that there are always people watching, even in the choppy hurricane waters of the Gulf, just South of Alabama. This is Bubba Gump Shrimp country. Jenny's 1 through 12 are equipped with high-end Coast Guard surveillance cameras and Lieutenant Dan is omnipresent.

Luckily, when I catch the state record Dogfish, none of these concerns will occupy me. No one will administer a polygraph to a man claiming to have caught the state record of a species known to drink the 40-weight leaking out of a ten year old outboard like it's soda pop; if they do, the questions will center around topics such as lines of sanguinity and the whereabouts of Jimmy Hoffa.

All of this could be relevant to the fact that Pat Green was forced to use studio musicians on his latest release, "Wave on Wave," instead of his normal road band from Texas. The first 5 songs on the disk are just too slick for me after 6 or 10 listens. However, songs 6 thru 13 really bring out the sweat and guts of the Pat we all know and love. I'm really looking forward to his September 7th Show at the Fine Line now. Song 11 on the disk, "Elvis" is a real gem. Kind of a light-hearted look at "The King," which in and of itself can be as lethal as lying about your stringer, drinking your iced tea without sugar, or leaving your hat on anytime someone mentions Bear Bryant.

July has also been "New Chick" month at The Other Side of Country. Always a day late and a dollar short, I got my copy of Eleni Mandell's new disk, "Country for True Lovers" the other day. It's hard to measure the absolute gorgeous quality of sound that's contained in "It's Raining" and "Don't Touch Me." Different songs about different things, but both evoke just a similar wall of color and scenery in me for some reason. I think it's really easy to get lost in her voice and presentation on the good songs. I'd rather see her in an old fashioned Country dancehall, but her August 21st show at The Seventh Street Entry should be very interesting.

So the bar conversation always goes like this...You're on the radio? Yes. What kind of music do you play? Alt Country. What's that? It's the country music influenced by edgy rock like punk. My friend/cousin/girlfriend has an Uncle Tupleo disk, are they alt country? Yes.

So...what of Uncle Tupelo? Shall we bury them or create paperback college readers in praise of them? I mean really, what the fuck? They were probably four years too early or 15 years too late, depending on who you ask. So, what's the point?

Well, here's the point: the striking and meaningful art that can only come from the respect and love of two good friends.

I've been asked before to hold forth on Uncle Tupelo more than once, probably a thousand times more than once. So here goes. I always had a sneaky suspicion where my opinion lay, but it didn't take root until a few months ago. A buddy of mine sent me a boot of a little show that went down on May 1st, 1994. For those of you not in the know, May 1st 1994 was the last official Uncle Tupelo show ever. After 5/1/94, Jay and Jeff said, "Fuck this, I'm outta here." And, that was that. Game over.

Since then, a coupla hundred people have said shit like, "I was there," "I know them both," and "Damn man." All, VERY informative indeed. But, here's the thing. Music is poetry, and friends are friends, and, from everything I've read, everyone knew that was it, so let's examine the "Record."

The last 6 songs Uncle Tupelo ever played together were:
We've been had
Give Back the Key to My Heart
Everybody Knows This is Nowhere
Whiskey Bottle
Looking for a Way Out
Gimme Three Steps

Just throw out "Gimme Three Steps." As near as I can tell, that was Brian Henneman singing and playing anyway. It might as well be classified as a Bottle Rockets song (I might be way off there, shit, I don't know shit about shit). But, examine the last five songs minus "3 Steps."

We've Been Had
flashin their badges
just like the law of averages
nobody likes them
or where they're from
and every star that hides on the back of the bus
is just waitin
for his cover
to be blown

The last four lines of the stanza above are a well documented Jeff Tweedy dig at Jay. But, when you listen to this particular night, there's a kind of emphasis that doesn't appear on the studio record. True, everyone might just be looking for the dig, but, if you give it one, two, or six listens, there's no denying that Jeff is really laying on here.

Give Back the Key to My Heart
well you say i was the one
to blame, for the wrong that's been done
but you've got a friend name cocaine
and to me, he is to blame
he is taken life from your face
he has taken my place

In the studio recording, Jay sings alternate verses with the late Dough Sahm. But on May 1st, Jeff fills in for Doug, and on this particular verse, a strange kind of truthful moment erupts out of the open A's and E's. Jeff's "response" builds, and it has a kind of singular quality. You can imagine Jay either looking right at him, or, just chording it out, staring down at the monitor. Either way, the 2nd voice in this song is one of distance from the accusatory tone of the protagonist. You say it's my fault, but you're no gem either. The danger in imagining something like this is projecting what you think happened onto what really happened; but, if you assume they wanted to cut each others' hearts out at this point, when you hear them sing the chorus of this song together, it's pretty damned sad. Two old friends going opposite directions.

Everybody Knows This is Nowhere
everybody knows
this is nowhere

May 1st, 1994, St. Louis, Missouri, one last show in the hometown. Everybody knows this is nowhere.

Whiskey Bottle
in between the dirt and disgust there must be
some air to breathe
and something to believe
...
not forever
but just
for now

Jay has sung a lot of songs about booze during his career. But it's amazing how booze and destructive relationships can be interchanged. Jay can't see forever, and he doesn't care. Right NOW, 5/1/94, he's looking for a little room.

Looking For a Way Out
There was a time when nothing seemed to make much sense
Now that's turned more intense
And all the crutches you've kept around
Now we're nowhere...

Remember when you didn't have
To look ahead or behind you
There was always something right there to do
But now it's life in some kind of trap
Looking for a way out
We keep moving on that's what it's all about

There was a time
You could put it out of your mind
And leave it all behind
There was a time
And that time...

It would be REALLY interesting to know if Jeff was even playing on this song that night. There are elipses in the lyrics above at points where Jay doesn't finish the words. The romantic in me likes to think he was all choked up, or even better, white hot pissed off and couldn't believe the irony that this was the last song. "...life in some kind of trap/Looking for a way out..."

I know some people who know Jay and Jeff, grew up with them. In moments of wearing rose colored glasses, like any music fan, I've said, "What if?" And those folks have told me, "No way, not now, not ever." The point is, if you're new to alt country, Uncle Tupelo was seminal to the genre. Two best friends from St. Louis took all that roots history and added, melded, and alchemized the Clash, the Scorchers, Springsteen, X, The Smiths, and countless others into a beautiful fusion that was both vital and comfortable, like an old pair of shoes. I've often mused at about 3am on a weekend night that I probably could put together $250 or $500K for Jay and Jeff if they'd just do one more show, or, even better, kicked off the Tupelo reunion tour right here in Minneapolis. But, the thing is, Tupelo belongs where it was; the only way it would be worth two shits is if two old friends woke up one day and realized that while their solo accomplishments were real and meaningful, their collaborations were magical as well, and, they sat down and wrote 10 new songs together.

And what a damned shame that's never gonna happen. Because Jay Farrar and Jeff Tweedy are both talented enough to stick a giant goddamned knife in the back of the bullshit artists who are ruining American roots music right now. But, like Paul and John, Roger and Nick, Lucy and Desi, Abbott and Costello, Jerry and Dean, and Bill and Hillary, they're a little mad at each other right now. In closing, I'll just throw one more supposition at you that has come up with respect to this topic. A fresh faced listener asked me, "how many people do you think would go to an Uncle Tupelo reunion show if there was one?" Well, the first answer is, there will never be one. The second answer is, for shits and giggles, the St. Paul Police last year estimated that 4,000 people would show up for the one-night-only Gear Daddies show on West 7th outside the Xcel Energy Center. Weren't they surprised when 20,000 people just sort of "showed up?"

A coupla folks have been asking me what my "hot" CD's are right now. That's always kind of a loaded question, because it's so subjective, but I definitely fall in and out of love with CD's over time, and probably get caught playing things to death on the show; but hey, it's my show, so gitcherownshow if you don't like it. Also, I'm gonna be a little prejudiced by things I see locally and national acts that actually take the time to come thru God's Country. Anywho, here's what I would call Dumbass Jack's Top Twenty Alt Country CD's right now:

---

1. Decoration Day, Drive By Truckers
2. American IV: The Man Comes Around, Johnny Cash
3. Terroir Blues, Jay Farrar
4. Rainy Day Music, The Jayhawks
5. Balin, Fred Eaglesmith & the Flathead Noodlers
6. Live, Alison Krauss & Union Station
7. Blacklisted, Neko Case
8. Under the Table & Above the Sun, Reckless Kelly
9. ring, Big Ditch Road
10. ...the size of planets, Haley Bonar
11. Freedom's Child, Billy Joe Shaver
12. Live at the Charleston Music Hall, Ricky Skaggs & Kentucky Thunder
13. Bona Fide, The Gibson Brothers
14. The Lawless, Kevin Deal
15. Wallace '48, The Hangdogs
16. Cow Fish Fowl or Pig, The Gourds
17. Hollerin' At a Woodpecker, Ben Weaver
18. Crazy: The Demo Sessions, Willie Nelson
19. One Step Ahead, Rhonda Vincent
20. Cockledoodledon't, The Legendary Shack Shakers

---

The thing is, ask me two days from now, and I won't probably be able to do this again in the same order. I think, however, that there are probably 12 to 15 core albums in this list that will consistently be there from week to week. So, maybe what you oughta do is just look at it as 20 CD's that are good right now, and current, and not look at the rankings so much. Or maybe, you just want to jump all over me in an email about what an idiot I am. I accept those as well. Res ipsa loquitur.

Oh and, fuck you Shania.

From Salon.com:
Interviewer: ...But now that I'm older, art can no longer change my life. Every movie or new rock 'n' roll group seems derivative of what I've already experienced...
Coulter: Right. That's why I love the Grateful Dead. You could listen to the same songs at a hundred different Dead shows and it would sound different.
Interviewer: You're a Deadhead!
Coulter: Oh yes.
Interviewer: You've been to different shows?
Coulter: Lots.

---

Someone full of wisdom once said that politics makes strange bedfellows. At first blush, you would think that meant that politicians are willing to hop into bed with anyone as long as it advances them politically. But, what it really means is that politicians and people involved in politics are stupid. Beyond hopping into bed with anyone, they'll also say anything, because there is such a disconnect between them and reality that they simply do not grasp what fools they are.

Case in point, Ann Coulter in this interview with Salon.com published today. A woman who professes virulent conservative opinions, spackled heartily with fundamentalist christian beliefs, and a touch of ol' Joe McCarthy, seems to think it okay to "follow" The Dead. I really can't work myself into a good ol' hillbilly rant on this one because it's so comical, I might die of laughter first. I think if Jerry, and thus the real Dead, were alive today, his first response to that would be, "Get off my side."

As the 2004 elections seem to be kicking off in July of 2003, I think what you should learn from this is that we've reached a point in America when ALL of our elected leaders, pundits, and insiders are the absolute bottom of the barrel. People like Coulter, and her counterparts on the liberal side as well, serve no purpose. Our national debate has become a circus of idiots discussing losers, and our elections are won by the candidates who AREN'T caught embezzling money from strawman corporations to pay for loveshacks for their college age intern-mistresses. I have voted in every election since I turned 18 in October of 1986; but these days I know that regardless of how I vote, I'm going to be the loser.

...that's when I found the bottle
and started smokin cigarettes
hey I started talkin' meaner
and then I, hiked up my dress
oh bless this mess
oh bless this mess

so don't tell me about the good world
about the finer things in life
don't tell me about your picket fence
and dog and lovely wife
please just give me a glass of red wine
and a six steel string guitar
if you want to preach the good life
then i'll meet you at the bar
at the barrrrrrrrrrrrrr....

Listen to "Bless This Mess" by Haley Bonar at midnight some night, or even better, at 10am on a Sunday morning. She sounds like she's about to break, and, she's trying to make you break too. I'm not sure where she fits as far as genres, but to make a comparison, she kind of sounds like a cross between Alison Moorer and Aimee Mann to me. As many of you know, I'm full of shit, so take that for what it's worth. But, "Bless This Mess" is one of my favorite songs right now. The above stanzas are the "lashing out" portion of the song, which is overall about growing up a good girl for yer mamma, then rebelling when you become an adult. I've seen her once at Seventh Street Entry, and now that I have the album in my grubby little paws, I would love to hear her with a full band to compliment her powerful, yet ghostly voice. Call me a convert to the cult of Haley.

Perfesser Al Kunz sent me an email about Rockzilla World going hard copy. I think this is a fabulous development if for no other reason than they will give some competition to No Depression, and keep them honest, hopefully. The writers for Rockzilla are all top notch characters who really dig the music and what they're doing, so if you've got a few extra bucks lying around you might want to sign up. And maybe, just maybe, this proliferation means that a magazine called "Real Country" ain't too far around the corner, subtitled "Country Music for People Who Know Nashville Sucks."

From Joe Posnanski, columnist for my beloved Kansas City Royals in the KCStar:

"Here's a little trivia question for you: Do you know how many teams in the last 50 years have blown a seven-game lead at the All-Star break? Go ahead. Take a guess. Twenty? Ten? Five? You have your guess?

The answer is two. San Francisco lost a nine-game lead in 1993 (actually, Atlanta took it away on the last day of the season after going an astounding 54-19 in the second half. The Giants won 103 games and lost the division).

And the Boston Red Sox famously blew a nine-game lead in 1978, a nightmare finished off by Yankees shortstop Bucky Dent, who hit the decisive home run in the one-game playoff.

That's it. Two teams in 50 years. Every other team with this big a lead at the All-Star break -- 31 of them in all -- finished the job. Few even had to put up much of a fight. Those 31 teams won their divisions by an average of an overwhelming 12 games.

So, it's time for everyone to stop tiptoeing around this thing. This is no longer a long shot. This is no longer a crazy dream. The Royals are the favorites now. They are the team to beat. Sure, it's possible that the Twins or White Sox will put it together and make an Atlanta Braves-like run at the Royals in the second half. But it's much, much more likely that they won't. The Twins are a mess right now -- they seem to have lost the spirit and chemistry that made them so special the last two years.

And the White Sox have Carl Everett."

A certain Las Vegas Casino is going to owe me $1,000 when the Royals when the World Series this year. I can't wait to fly out and collect.

The reaction to the Toby Keith blog has been about 50-50, which is cool. Better to have an opinion on things than no opinion at all. I'd like to clarify one thing, touching on something both he and I wrote. If you look at the commentary before the lyrics, he said he wrote that song BEFORE 9/11. So, he was of the "Lynch 'em" mentality before our widespread terrorist troubles started. Unfortunately, I went to Law School and passed the bar back in the early 90's. Three years I wish I could have back. At any rate, one of the first things that becomes abundantly clear when you study criminal law is A) a lot of hardened crooks get off with next to nothing as punishment for what you and I would consider heinous crimes. What you also learn is that B) in the history of the world, where there have been "hang 'em high" and "put 'em in the ground to meet their maker" justice systems, a few of these crooks get the noose, and only the wealthy have any kind of fair and meaningful representation when it comes to the courts. That is to say, your mother the accountant, my father the firefighter, and Joe's father the teacher, would have all had to live in fear of an arbitrary and capricious legal system. There are religious zealot knuckleheads in the Middle East right now who want to kill me, my friends, and my family, and to that I say, let the bombs fall where they may. They started this war and we're going to finish it. I hope and pray everyday that it ends quicker than it looks like it's going to, because I'm tired of all the killing, but that's another matter. But make no mistake, here at home, I will scream until my dying breath about the erosion of our liberties, freedoms, and legal guarantees. The advocacy of lynching, whether in song, literature, art, or politics, is shortsighted and wrong. While the stories of Butch, Sundance, Aces n' Eights, Frank and Jesse, et al, are all romantic visions of what seemed like a freer time, when right was right and wrong was wrong, that version couldn't be further from the truth. There was no "justice" in Wild West justice, and that's that. For every scoundrel that was run down and hanged in a tree, at least one and maybe more were hung innocently, and without the due process that YOU YOURSELF would demand for any crime for which you were accused. It was just the kind of "answer for the wicked that he done" party that Willie's singing about in this sophomoric song, that Patrick Henry ran into and was facing when he said, "Give me liberty or give me death." Tell me, who's side are you on in that one? I'm all for puttin' "a boot in [the] ass" of anyone who flies two planes into skyscrapers full of people in the name of whatever. But turning the historical legal clock in this country back 150 to 200 years in the name of freedom and safety is a little thin.

From TobyKeith.com:
I had this title forever, and when Scott Emerick came up with a neat little melody lick, the two just went hand-in-hand. The song was written prior to September 11th. It�s about justice, but more so about the law of the Old West. It truly depicts how I feel about our justice system today. I had the privilege of having an American icon and hero of mine sing on here with me: Willie Nelson. Awesome.

Beer For My Horses (written by Keith and Scott Emerick)
Well a man come on the 6 o'clock news
Said somebody's been shot, somebody's been abused
Somebody blew up a building
Somebody stole a car
Somebody got away
Somebody didn't get too far yeah
They didn't get too far

Grandpappy told my pappy, back in my day, son
A man had to answer for the wicked that he done
Take all the rope in Texas
Find a tall oak tree, round up all of them bad boys
Hang them high in the street for all the people to see that

(Chorus)
Justice is the one thing you should always find
You got to saddle up your boys
You got to draw a hard line
When the gun smoke settles we'll sing a victory tune
We'll all meet back at the local saloon
We'll raise up our glasses against evil forces
Singing whiskey for my men, beer for my horses

We got too many gangsters doing dirty deeds
We've got too much corruption, too much crime in the streets
It's time the long arm of the law put a few more in the ground
Send 'em all to their maker and he'll settle 'em down
You can bet he'll set 'em down 'cause

---

Main Entry: lynch
Pronunciation: 'linch
Function: transitive verb
Etymology: lynch law
Date: 1836
: to put to death (as by hanging) by mob action without legal sanction
- lynch·er noun

---

Justice without force is powerless; force without justice is tyrannical.

---

Sigh..."Find a tall oak tree, round up all of them bad boys/Hang them high in the street for all the people to see..." I am growing increasingly tired of this fucking yayhoo. The fact that he got Willie to sing the line about lynching troubles me to no end. Wild West summary execution by hanging, in fact lynching, is EXACTLY the behavior more readily associated with regimes like Saddam Hussein's and others that we as Americans have been so vigilant in exposing, opposing, and deposing. There was NO justice in Wild West justice, period. It's a romantic fallacy, perpetuated by many, but most notably these jingoistic knuckleheads on Music Row who have taken over the airwaves of "America's Music." Giving every man and woman access to a fair and impartial court system is THE bedrock of American liberty, the liberty this fucking dumbass Toby Keith so cavalierly sings about all the time. ADDITIONALLY, giving the men and women of Iraq, Afghanistan, and the other feudal, theocratic, and autocratic governments over there, access to a fair and impartial system of justice and government is the VERY reason we're there, if there is one shred of an altruistic and noble motive to it at all.

Not to put too fine a point on this fucking moron's concept of the Wild West, but Allen Barra makes a nice point about Wyatt Earp in his wonderful book, Inventing Wyatt Earp: His Life and Many Legends. The very kind of arbiter of "justice" that dumbass sings about, the truth about Earp is that what really scared his adversaries was that he was just crooked enough to back up his legal authority by whatever means possible. Contrary to movie portrayals, he was constantly in and out of the "law business," always looking to take advantage of opportunities to get rich quick, regardless of all the legal ramifications. Sometimes, he would take a legal job just to give the color of law to some of the things he was attempting.

Make no mistake, if you make the heavy decision to go to war, then the object of the game is to kill your enemy before he kills you. However, the thing that ALWAYS gets lost in this situation that we're in is that these people are coming after us BECAUSE we have a secular justice system, and a constitution, that allows every man, woman and child regardless of race, color, creed, or religion, equal access to a pursuit of happiness. There ARE a lot of crooks out there who get off "scott-free" because of the social bargain we've made with our Criminal laws. Regardless of how you feel about terrorists and the Middle East, it is the absolute depth of stupidity to think that we should return to some six-gun, judge, jury AND executioner system of doing things. Our justice system MUST remain blind until sentencing; thousands of years of history are filled with the ABSOLUTE FAILURE of "hang 'em high," "put 'em in the ground to meet their maker" legal processes. For this reason, this is without a doubt, one of the most fundamentally misinformed songs I've ever had the displeasure of hearing, typical of someone with so much money, that he has a hard time believing there are folks who really rely on the system as it stands.

Finally, let me make it abundantly clear that I am not doing the most Un-American thing of all, and calling Keith, Un-American. It's my right to say his song is a short-sighted, jingoistic piece of shit, just as it's his right to sing it.

Oh, and listen to my show. I drive a pickup, am pretty well known for my barbecued ribs, support the right to trial by jury of your peers, believe in doing unto others as I would have them do unto me, and have never coveted my neighbor's ass.

...getting used to my copy of "...the size of planets," by Haley Bonar. I'm pretty usre I'm going to gush all over it on the show Sunday.

They are still burning the taxpayers for thousands of dollars to make films about "the dangers of LSD," at a time when acid is widely known--to everybody but cops--to be the Studebaker of the drug market; the popularity of psychedelics has fallen off so drastically that most volume dealers no longer even handle quality acid or mescaline except as a favor to special customers: Mainly jaded, over-thirty drug dilettantes--like me, and my attorney.

The big market, these days, is in Downers. Reds and smack--Seconal and heroin--and a hellbroth of bad domestic grass sprayed with everything from arsenic to horse tranquilizers. What sells, today, is whatever Fucks you up--whatever short-circuits your brain and grounds it out for the longest possible time...Uppers are no longer stylish..."Consciousness Expansion" went out with LBJ...and it is worth noting, historically, that downers came in with Nixon.

---

NEW YORK July 15, 2003 (Reuters) - Forest Laboratories Inc. (NYSE:FRX) said on Tuesday its quarterly profit jumped, driven by strong sales of its two drugs to treat depression.

The New York company said it earned $180 million, or 48 cents a share, for its fiscal first quarter ended in June, compared with $123.8 million, or 33 cents per share a year ago.

Analysts had on average forecast earnings of 48 cents per share, according to Reuters Research, a unit of Reuters Group Plc.

Forest sells the widely used antidepressant Celexa and last year launched a newer version of the drug called Lexapro. However, the company has suffered some setbacks to its pipeline of experimental drugs in the past year.

---

ST. LOUIS, May 14, 2003 (BUSINESS WIRE) -- Anheuser-Busch's mug looks to runneth over - with cash -- this year as the company raised an already robust earnings expectations another notch on Wednesday.

Anheuser-Busch (BUD) said that "the outlook for continued strong growth is very favorable" as it boosted its 2003 earnings per share growth target this year to 12 percent to 13 percent.

The current consensus estimate of analysts polled by Thomson First Call is for the company to earn $2.48 per share this year, up from $2.20. In 2004, the street hopes for earnings per share of $2.74.

The optimistic view reflecting higher revenue per-barrel expectations, the company said.

According to company president August Busch IV, "the pricing environment in the U.S. beer industry remains very favorable. Beer drinkers continue to trade up, and market activity has become much more focused on building brand equity."

The company is by far the 800-lb gorilla of its sector, with roughly half of the U.S. market and has been hitting double-digit earnings growth in every quarter for more than four years.

Shares of Anheuser-Busch gained 0.6 percent to $51.16 by the close; rival Coors (RKY) lost 1.2 percent to $52.56.

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Without making grand sweeping statements, I think what's really worth noting is that increased sales of drugs that short circuit your ability to process bad news, and beverages that short circuit your ability to stay out of fist fights at family reunions coincided with massive radio consolidation, ridiculous pigeonholing of musical genres, and worldwide assaults by and against terrorists, at least the ones sitting on giant pools of oil, convenient to get us to Wal-Mart in our SUV's to pick up our uppers and replace our copies of "Up!" (pun intended), which we threw out the window the last time we listened at 1:15am, driving home from the bar after drinking too much Budweiser, because "It Only Hurts When I'm Breathing" made us cry so much we almost took the rest of the Lexapro in the bottle.

Not to make light of genuine physically rooted mental issues, but doctors are prescribing these things at astonishing rates, hence the increased sales. And, I defy you to find a generation that has boozed LESS than the generation before it. You can really catch the direction of the political breeze in your boxer shorts at 10am during the Price is Right when you examine a generation's or culture's "habits." Right now, our happiness, courage, and art all come in one can or another, and brother, the store just ain't runnin out of any of it. Don't get me wrong, there are people in this country who genuinely need Garth Brooks, every season of Survivor on DVD, copious amounts of booze and fistfulls of Valium to stay even; and to those people I say, "go with it."

But, you only have to stand around with a few thousand of your closest friends in a sweaty First Avenue, waiting for X to take the stage, watching Johnny Cash's video for "Hurt," while the Rebeccas and Heathers are spilling out of the Target Center after the Bon Jovi concert, full of happy pills and Diet Coke to help them concentrate on Algebra and the I-394 & 169 interchange, to realize that there are many realities in this world, the only difference being which crutch you choose. Some people buy shiny new titanium crutches, while others lean on Grandpa's old cane, pulled out of the closet, solid as an oak trunk. At first blush, the titanium crutches seem like overkill, and, Grandpa's old cane has a quaint authenticity to it. But then you realize that your mom or dad flinches every time you raise the cane above your shoulders.

Honesty is like raw chicken sitting out on the counter: there's a definite shelf life to it, then it gets made into a spinach chicken salad with raspberry vinaigrette, or chicken fried rice, or fettucine chicken alfredo. No matter what the hell you do to it, it still tastes like chicken, so why not just fucking fry it up and serve it with mashed potatoes? It might be a little worse for ya, but at least you're not trying to dress it up and sell it in pink lycra, fresh off the plane from Switzerland, harmonizer mic in hand, with dated receipts of terrorist purchases of weapons grade plutonium.

I stopped watching the weather forecasts when I moved to Minnesota. In the summer it's humid, in the Winter it's cold, and anything else, well, it's just a matter of degree. Next, I stopped listening to the radio, because there weren't any Country Music stations left, and there still aren't any today. Now, it seems, I have to stop watching the news and reading the paper too.