From CNN.com:

HURLEY, New York (AP) -- Art Garfunkel, part of the folk music duo Simon and Garfunkel, was charged with marijuana possession after police pulled his limousine over for speeding in upstate New York.

Garfunkel, 62, had a small amount of marijuana in his jacket pocket when a state trooper stopped the limo Saturday afternoon in Hurley, 55 miles southwest of Albany, the Daily Freeman of Kingston reported.

The trooper smelled marijuana after approaching the vehicle, in which Garfunkel was the lone passenger.

Garfunkel, of Manhattan, was scheduled to appear in court on January 28 on the charge, which carries a possible $100 fine, or he could respond by mail.

And, from the Daily Freeman of Kingston, N.Y.:

Garfunkel, half of the folk music duo Simon and Garfunkel, was charged with unlawful possession of marijuana, a violation, on Jan. 17 after his limousine was pulled over for speeding on state Route 28 in Hurley. Police said the trooper who stopped the limo smelled marijuana upon approaching the car and found 6 grams of marijuana in Garfunkel's jacket pocket.

The maximum penalty Garfunkel faces is a $100 fine, unless he has had a criminal conviction in the past three years. Authorities have declined to say whether the singer has a prior record.

Federoff declined to discuss the case on Wednesday, and he wouldn't even identify himself.

"I'm not authorized to make any statements," he said twice, once upon entering the courthouse and again as he left.

The lawyer's name was obtained from the court.

Garfunkel, 62, lives in Manhattan and was en route to Woodstock when his limo was stopped, police have said. The driver, Ousmane Toure of the Bronx, was ticketed for speeding.

From "America", by Simon & Garfunkel:

I've got some real estate here in my bag

And:

When I talked to local revenue agents, though, I got a very different story. There may be more moonshine in circulation today than thirty years ago, they said; the feds simply ignore it in favor of the war on drugs and terrorists. Gone are the Eliot Nesses, busting up stills with religious zeal; in their place are working-class detectives on tight budgets, squeezing in a few moonshine raids now and then between shipments of cocaine. Even so, between 1985 and 1998 agents in six Viginia counties alone seized 538 stills. "People keep saying that the moonshiners have gone, but we keep finding more stills," one agent told me. "I guess if no one prosecuted murderers, they wouldn't exist, either--there'd just be a bunch of dead people lying around."

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

Finally:

The bazaars of Peshawar's Old City are the history of mankind as K mart. Everything ever made is on sale in a dirty puzzle of streets too narrow for a 1970's necktie and more crowded than a hockey-game fight. There's the Street of Tinsmiths, Street of the Gold Sellers, Street of the Bird Sellers, Street of the Storytellers and a whole street lined with huge images of false teeth. You can buy a new car here, antibiotics, opium, a Russian refrigerator, a fax machine, a wife. The money changers, squatting in a row on a stone shelf along the filthy Chowk Yadgar Square, keep telephones behind their rolled-up prayer mats so they can call Hong Kong for the latest exchange prices. If you go forty kilometers south to the bazaar at Darra in the so-called tribal areas (tribal areas are what the Pakistanis call the parts of Pakistan that Pakistan has no control over), you can buy a brand-new Moscow-issue AK-47 still in its shipping grease, an entire ack-ack gun, a shoulder-fired anti-tank missile or landing wheels off a shot-down MIG--useful, the locals say, for making a smooth-riding ox cart. At the tobacco stalls in the Saddar Bazaar in the British colonial section of Peshawar I held up a box of fancy Cuban cigarillos I'd bought in Europe. "Two days," said a tobacco seller, and two days later the cigars were there costing less than they cost in London.

From Parliament of Whores: A Lone Humorist Attempts to Explain the Entire U.S. Government, by P.J. O'Rourke

I love to get off on tangents. You'd think with a President that's an ex-cokehead boozehound, some of the silliness of the drug laws might get ironed out by a team of simpatico lawyer types from the classrooms of Boalt and Sterling. "Hey, we all inhaled, and we snorted, too." But that simply hasn't happened.

Your average Joe without a law degree doesn't spend much time dwelling on the philosophies of criminal law in America. If you were to ask, he could tell you that drugs are illegal, the cops can't search your house without a warrant, you get one phone call, and you are innocent until proven guilty.

But, if you step back and give it the bird's eye peep, you can see the goofiness of it all. Take Mr. Garfunkel for instance. "The maximum penalty Garfunkel faces is a $100 fine, unless he has had a criminal conviction in the past three years." So, a judge, making no less than $48.08 per hour, will listen to two attorneys who aggregately make no less than $200 per hour, argue about when Garfunkel (who probably still cashes elephant checks on royalties) and a cop who makes about $24 an hour, can all show up to discuss whether the singer should be fined $100.

Ahhh, the economics of freedom...can you smell it?

I threw in the Bilger and O'Rourke quotes to try and paint a portrait of selective prosecution. There are baseline crimes in this world that are simply "crimes." You don't kill another human being unless in self-defense. Without examining war just yet, murder is murder, most societies can agree on that, and the exceptions are weirder and fewer than sometimes portrayed.

But what about drugs and booze and various other forms of contraband? What has been lost in all of this is the Golden Rule: he who has the gold, makes the rules. Last week, I talked about how the recording industry had pressured some knuckleheaded prosecutors into going after some flea market owners because some of the merchants in their markets were selling bootleg CD's. That was a prime example of the institutionalization of criminal law, where, the penalties are paid by the people who seemingly can afford them, and, prosecution is advanced to discourage the illegal behaviour on a macro level, rather than arresting the exact offenders.

So what did that hillbilly just say?

Well, what I'm getting at is that so much of our legal system is driven by perceptions. As the federal agent in Bilger's book said, if no one prosecuted murder, it wouldn't officially exist, there'd just be a lot of dead bodies lying around. Drugs cause a great deal of distress in our society, I'm not some quasi-libertarian who's about to argue for their legalization. But, you could survey every state in our Union, and you will find a case of Stoney the Stoner, who's in the state's Federal pen for 40 or 50 years because he got busted with a pound of his own shit, and didn't have his father's crackerjack legal SWAT team to cover the whole thing up. Additionally, in each of those states, you will find the story of 1 or 10 officers who were gunned down in a raging battle with a bunch of scumbag street hustlers who were more well-armed than the Fedayeen. None of these people own a single Cessna or an acre of land in South America, the Far Middle East, or Southeast Asia.

The last 4 or 10 self-righteous bastards who have been President, have all talked about America's "drug problem." They have all also entered and exited various wars for various political and economic reasons that have often been vague, strange, and downright fraudulent. There's no secret society producing street drugs and filtering them into America. If asked, your typical ops level DEA agent could probably give you names, longitudes, and latitudes of where the stuff is being grown.

But that kind of seek and destroy mission is frowned upon. I mean, if some petty jackass in some foreign country was supposedly in possession or production of some thing that was an immediate threat to the welfare of the American people, we wouldn't just barge in there, blow up all his shit and take him captive, would we?

A great deal of adminstrative money, on both the State and Federal level, is going to be spent processing Mr. Garfunkel's $100 crime. And, if it is truly a crime, not one minute of prevention or prohibition will be realized from the man-hours spent on it. So, another washed up rock star from the 60's and 70's was stopped, smoking dope in the back of his limo? Duh! A handful of political demagogues who make big contributions to Representatives, Senators, and Presidents who create and enforce these rules, actually live for this shit. Rock stars getting busted for dope is something we export to communist countries, overzealous theocracies, and anyone else who isn't buying enough Nike Shoes and blue jeans.

Understand, I'm not advocating to scrap the whole thing. But, like the tax code, the drug laws in this country are a hopeless mess that has been created by a never-ending stream special interest nonsense, and the resulting morass has exactly the opposite effect of creating a larger and more prevalent drug culture in America. And, it will surprise some of my friends and colleagues when I tell you that, if anyone is in a position to create real, lasting, and effective change in American drug policy, it's a former cokehead, prep school, frat boy, President, who probably had access to the best shit from some rather high volume dealers. That is exactly the kind of real world experience that should come to bare, but is instead going up in a ball of green and white smoke.

Jack's 420 Top Ten

1. Post to Wire, by Richmond Fontaine
Fined $100 for smoking dope in the rain.
2. Famous Anonymous Wilderness, by Graham Lindsey
Fined $100 for smoking dope from a bong made out of a vintage Old Milwaukee can.
3. Warmth & Beauty, by Thad Cockrell
Fined $100 for smoking dope in a hollowed out cigarette.
4. Live at Billy Bob's, by Jack Ingram
Fined $100 for smoking dope after a breakfast burrito.
5. Oh the Stories We Hold, by Anna Fermin's Trigger Gospel
Fined $100 for smoking dope in the centerfield bleachers at Wrigley.
6. Fought Down, by Ken Layne & the Corvids
Just sent straight to Carson City, no fines, dope isn't allowed in Nevada, period.
7. Just For The Record, by Bobby Flores
Fined $100 for smoking dope out of a tiny, violin-shaped bong.
8. Railings, by Frog Holler
Fined $100 for baking a half pound of dope into a batch of scrapple...it still didn't taste any better.
9. Chinatown, by The Be Good Tanyas
Fined $100 for smoking dope in the back of a Subaru station wagon.
10. Chicago Country Legends by The Sundowners
There really isn't an off-color dope remark you can make about the Sundowners.

Photo in spite of CMT.com. I don't know who it is, but supposedly they're a "country" band

When stuck for something to write about, log onto CMT.com, and look for one of their lists to shred. It's great fun for the whole family. Here's their list, which they broke into 3 parts for 3 shows, of the 40 Greatest Men in Country Music:

40. Travis Tritt
39. Dwight Yoakam
38. Gene Autry
37. Ricky Skaggs
36. Toby Keith
35. Mel Tillis
34. The Eagles
33. Jimmie Rodgers
32. Charlie Daniels
31. Lefty Frizzell
30. Ronnie Milsap
29. Glen Campbell
28. Chet Atkins
27. Bob Wills
26. Tim McGraw
25. Brooks & Dunn
24. Flatt & Scruggs
23. Roger Miller
22. Eddy Arnold
21. Ernest Tubb
20. Hank Williams Jr.
19. Kenny Rogers
18. Charley Pride
17. Vince Gill
16. Bill Monroe
15. Elvis Presley
14. Roy Acuff
13. Randy Travis
12. Buck Owens
11. Alabama
10. Alan Jackson
9. George Strait
8. Conway Twitty
7. Garth Brooks
6. Merle Haggard
5. Waylon Jennings
4. Willie Nelson
3. George Jones
2. Hank Williams
1. Johnny Cash

Putting Garth Brooks ahead of Buck Owens, Bill Monroe, and Jimmie Rodgers is like putting someone who writes a computer virus ahead of Bill Gates, Steve Jobs and Linus Torvalds. That being said, outside the people who are obviously on this list because of record sales, the thing as a whole has its moments. Watching the episodes themselves can be very painful, though. There's just too much makeup and meaningless blurbs, and a good deal of the commentary is from people who I think suck, so it's hard for me to respect their opinions. Hey, I never said I wasn't a very small man about this stuff.

Jack's Top Twenty Greatest Men of Country Music:

20. Gram Parsons
His drive and energy put Country rock on the map, invented the Cosmic Cowboy, died stoned, cremated in a secret ceremony in the desert.
19. Ricky Skaggs
Carrying the torch for crazy ass hillbilly pickers today.
18. Vince Gill
One of the few modern Nashville guys who can do it all, without the wardrobe, 6-pack abs, and stylist.
17. Buddy Holly
The Godfather of everything that came out of West Texas.
16. Bob Dylan
Blah blah blah, blah blah blah, yada yada yada, Bob Dylan this, Bob Dylan that.
15. Mick Jagger & Keith Richards (with help from Ry Cooder)
In the early 70's, reminded everyone what "honky" meant.
14. Emmitt Miller
The original crazy ass yelping cracker.
13. Ernest Tubb
The eternal host of the big Country music party.
12. Bob Wills
Made Country respectable with all the radio squares and jazz hipsters.
11. Charley Pride
Had 3 or 4 hit singles before his record company admitted he was black. I'm ashamed I haven't paid more respect to what he did.
10. Jimmie Rodgers
The Singing Brakeman, the first famous cracker.
9. Bill Monroe
Invented Blue Grass, res ipsa loquitur.
8. Jeff Tweedy and Jay Farrar
The best Country songwriting and performing team of the 90's
7. Buck Owens (and Don Rich)
The great fuser of musical styles, if Tubb is the eternal host of the big Country music party, Buck Owens is the lead performer. Don't forget his musical genius prodigy, Don Rich, the inspiration of the operation.
6. Merle Haggard
A Country music performer's performer. A lot of people love Merle, but if you ask singer-songwriters who their influences are, Merle's on more lists than most.
5. Waylon Jennings
The original Outlaw.
4. George Jones
The biggest cracker of them all.
3. Willie Nelson
My favorite of all time. The great deconstructor of the art form.
2. Johnny Cash
The very spirit of Country music.
1. Hank Williams
The vortex of Country music...it all came together in a flash in him, and it all subsequently flowed from him. End of sentence, period, end quotes, end of paragraph.

Perfesser Al's "Jack Fucked up the top 2" Top 20 Men of Country Music List

20. Garth Brooks
I don't have an issue with Garth, at least earlier in his career. My issue is with all the music execs who then thought everyone should be Garth. "Much Too Young (To Feel This Damn Old)" ranks as one of the best country songs of the '80s. One any songwriter would be proud of. (I call this my confound Jack or "don't argue with success" pick).
19. Steve Earle
If I have to have an alt-country-ish pick here (and I do) then this is the one.
18. Jimmie Rodgers
At least CMT put him higher than Toby Keith.
17. Chet Akins
Re-invented Nashville the first time besides playin' a mean guitar.
16. Charley Pride
Ask me sometime about running out of gas in Charlie's hometown of Sledge, MS.
15. Bob Wills
Still the king.
14. Lefty Frizzell
The definitive honky-tonker.
13. Vince Gill
If my ex-wife ever saw this list she'd never believe it was mine. She was right, I was wrong.
12. Alan Jackson
The George Jones of his generation. He'll still be making hits when I'm wearing Depends ®.
11. George Strait
See #13. But I doubt she'd believe the Rolling Stones were once a country band either, so she ain't right all the time.
10. Bill Monroe
I don't speak Latin. Does "res ipsa loquitur" mean "Father of Bluegrass."
9. Buck Owens
And Don Rich. Bread and Butter. Jagger and Richards. Chocolate and Peanut Butter. You can't separate them. This does make me wonder about CMT's choice of Brooks and Dunn though. If they're listed at #25 does this mean they're half a man each? For those who like their country flavored by '70s era Stones (see Jack's #15) their latest release, Red Dirt Road, is pretty damn good. But in the top 40 of all time? I don't think so.
8. Roger Miller
Anyone who thinks Miller is just a novelty singer needs to pay closer attention. Lurking beneath the surface novelty is a message that at times may be downright subversive. Plus he wrote "Husbands and Wives," one of the best country waltzes ever.
7. Elvis Presley
Of course he's country.
The CMT got it right and I'll stand on Jack Sparks' coffee table and scream it section.
6. Merle Haggard
5. Waylon Jennings
4. Willie Nelson
3. George Jones
2. Hank Williams
1. Johnny Cash

Photo courtesty of StarTribune.com

From Bemidji.ORG:

Bemidji is taken from the Ojibwe name Bay-may-ji-ga-maug, means "a lake with crossing waters." Settled in the late 1800's, Bemidji became an important commercial center by the turn of the century. The judicial seat of Beltrami County, Bemidji is also home to State & Federal area offices.

It's tragic to see the sun begin to crack the horizon of a frozen lake at 6 (six) AM on a Saturday morning, knowing that in more than 4, but less than 6 hours, one of your "friends" is going to come shake you out of your 100th dream about Jennifer Garner and tell you, "it's time to go." Having beaten the night--yes, one more time--you realize you have either made a fatal mistake or taken a calculated risk in your preparations to drill 24 inch holes through solid ice, over 25 feet of water, on the off chance some half dormant fish are going to swim by and take a shot at your frost bitten bait.

However, if you have the proper attire, and the sun is shining, 10 below is patty cake, as long as there's no wind. It's important, at these times, to charge up your tapioca-in-a-can, handcrank radio, and tune it to an AM classic country station, or something with 24 hours of dry news. Coaxing perch, walleye, and pike out of a cold dark hole is a monumental task sometimes, and a fine mixture of the harsh realities of George and Tammy with cold hard news--high school hockey scores and massively incorrect weather reports--is typically the first order of business.

If you're smart, you'll be sure to bring along a group "scout master." When it comes to ice fishing, I can't find my ass with two hands and a flashlight, unless I have a little help. Everybody needs at least one guy in the group who figures out that if you hook a crappie minnow through the tail with a jigging spoon, then pinch off its head, and lightly jig it between 6 inches and 2 feet off the bottom of 20-25 foot deep water, the fish will start biting. This knowledge usually erupts from the furthest hole, downwind from the truck where all the gear is. No one questions the "scout master," because if they do, then they're rewarded with a skunking as the sun sets and the wind picks up. Getting skunked at ice fishing is like being the only 17 year old boy at a high school slumber party and leaving the next morning after getting a good night's sleep. All you are is cold and alone, and usually, whoever is with you is pointing and laughing.

One last point about ice fishing: if it's past 3 (three) AM, and you have buddies who aren't bluffing, but all the same staying on non-suited cards like 3-9, and still making two pair, 3 of a kind, or full houses, just go all in on the next hand and get out of there. Over the long run, this "gutsy" play will catch up with them; take solace in your 8 lunch size perch and one walleye, and leave the cards to the warm and overconfident.

Almost forgot...no ice fishing trip would be complete without retelling the best joke told all weekend:

Q. How many Michael Jacksons does it take to screw in a light bulb?

A. Just one, but it takes 3 Pediatricians to get it out.

From RIAA.com:

RIAA Hails First Ever Civil Prosecution of Swap Meet Owner For Turning Blind Eye To Pirated Music Sold On Premises

�San Bernardino (Cal.) District Attorney Prosecutes Local Swap Meet Owners

The Recording Industry Association of America (RIAA) hailed the civil prosecution Monday of two owners of a San Bernardino, California swap meet/flea market -- the first-ever instance of a local, state or federal law enforcement agency filing civil charges for repeatedly turning a blind eye to pirated music sold on swap meet/flea market premises. The owners of the Waterman Discount Mall and Indoor Swap, Ho Suh Jin and Gustavo Zarate, were repeatedly advised that vendors on their premises were blatantly hawking pirated CDs and failed to take any proactive steps to address the illegal activity. For more detailed information, contact R. Glenn Yabuno with the San Bernardino District Attorney's office @ (909) 891-3330.

While the RIAA, on behalf of its member companies, has filed civil lawsuits against swap meet/flea market owners and operators in Houston, Sacramento and Columbus, New Jersey, Monday's action by the San Bernardino District Attorney represents the first ever civil charges brought by government prosecutors. The RIAA's civil enforcement actions are part of a larger campaign to target piracy at flea markets, with major efforts in St. Louis, New England and New Jersey just in the last couple of weeks. Below is the comment of Cary Sherman, President, RIAA, on the civil charges against the San Bernardino swap meet/flea market owners.

"We are grateful for the efforts of district attorney Michael A. Ramos and his team. This action represents an important milestone - for swap meet owners who think they can profit from piracy, civil charges are a reality. This strong deterrent should further up the ante for those who think they can flout the law and rob artists, songwriters, music publishers and record companies by illegally selling copyrighted music."

During my formative years, the Greater Kansas City Metro landscape was dotted with living, breathing, Drive-In picture shows. During the warmer months, these havens of Americana were populated with swap meets and flea markets during daylight, on the weekends. My old man liked to cruise these things for cheap knock-offs of newly engineered tools; if he liked the way the knock-off handled, he might go buy a copy of the warrantied national brand (i.e., Snap-On, Mac, Craftsman, etc.).

Needless to say, it was pretty common knowledge that anywhere from 25 to 50% of the stuff at places like the Heart Drive-In and the Boulevard swap meets was first or second-hand stolen. After a few visits, you could get a greasy feel for who was middling their wares on the 5-finger discount, and who was just taking advantage of a unique outlet for legitimate business.

This whole story sucks though. I'm all for protecting artists' rights and everything, but this strikes me as a type of malicious prosecution. Swap meet folks tend be from the fringes of life, dealing in cash and free corn dogs from the concession stand. Prosecuting the guys who provide the space for these oddballs is just the kind of abuse of power that we're taught to be vigilant about from the minute we can say "Thomas Jefferson." No, friends, Ho Suh Jin and Gustavo Zarate are supposedly the "deep pockets" in this whole scenario. What a pissant turn of events.

Not to put too fine of a point on it, but the bootleg record industry isn't run out of a basement in Joplin, Missouri. Assuming things are similar to the way they've always been, there are planes, trains, and automobiles involved, and ol' Ho and Gustavo are simply standing by the wrong stalls at the wrong time. There's only one real defensible position for the vicious San Bernardino District Attorney: if Jin and Zarate were making real, direct profits off the sale of these bootlegs; as in, anyone selling them was giving the two men direct percentages. If Willie the Hobo was merely ponying up his $10 entrance fee to the flea market for the day, then the San Bernardino District Attorney is one of the biggest assholes ever.

Finally, let's get back to the Boulevard Drive-In in the lovely Rosedale neighborhood of Kansas City, Kansas. If the biggest problem the District Attorney has is the bootleg CD's going in and out of there, well then, where can I get me some San Bernardino property for cheap? Even my relatively innocent childhood eyes knew 1, 2, or 12 felonies when I saw them back then, and I doubt flea markets and swap meets have changed much. This sort of thing happens when special interests with too much money laying around co-opt government agencies. No one is claiming that the prosecuted actions here aren't illegal; rather, the question is, aren't there bigger fish to fry, both on this crime and others?

Chinatown, by the Be Good Tanyas

When I was a sophomore English Major at Stanford, I took the 50 cent tour of American Literature from a man named Arturo Islas. He was considered a brilliant lecturer and important Mexican-American author. I watched him get mugged after class one day because he said Gone With the Wind was a racist, chauvinist piece of garbage, and, that Jim was the true hero of The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn. He was upbraided by a cross-section of students, but what surprised me were the number of women jumping on him about the struggles of Scarlet O'Hara. It became evident to my 19 year old mind that very moment that, regardless of whether men actually believe we understand, or merely think we understand women, they know and live as if we don't. And we don't.

My junior year, I was out stumbling around the dorms one weekend night at about 2am, and I had a young lady show me her big Georgia O'Keefe picture book. I didn't have the heart to tell her that I was such a thickheaded male of the species that they all just looked like different colored vaginas on a different background by page 10. Even the mountains looked like vaginas.

So what does all this have to do with The Be Good Tanyas?

Well, I'd like to see them live because I need to know if they can, or ever do, air it out on-stage. Chinatown is a great record, but there's a whispering goddess of ambivalence quality to it that goes over my head, and I'm sure that has to do with me being a boy and them all being girls. They cover a couple of old chestnuts with "House of the Rising Sun" and "I Wish My Baby Was Born," but, the tone and voice are foreign to me for some reason. There just seems to be a feminine depth to this album that I can't penetrate, and I guess I'd have a better idea of where they're coming from and where they want to go, if I could see them singing the stuff live.

That being said, I'm willing to keep peeling the onion and playing the disk on the show. The ladies are great singers, good musicians, and this is a very beautiful record.

Jack's X-Chromosome Top Ten

1. Post to Wire, by Richmond Fontaine
Even the Starbucks look like vaginas.
2. Famous Anonymous Wilderness, by Graham Lindsey
Even the Badgers look like vaginas.
3. Warmth & Beauty, by Thad Cockrell
Even the tobacco looks like vaginas.
4. Live at Billy Bob's, by Jack Ingram
Even the tequila looks like vaginas.
5. Oh the Stories We Hold, by Anna Fermin's Trigger Gospel
Even the White Sox look like vaginas.
6. Fought Down, by Ken Layne & the Corvids
Even Rodeo Drive and the Santa Monica Freeway look like vaginas.
7. Just For The Record, by Bobby Flores
Even the Riverwalk looks like vaginas.
8. Railings, by Frog Holler
You think the Liberty Bell doesn't look like a vagina?
9. Chinatown, by The Be Good Tanyas
10. Chicago Country Legends by The Sundowners
There really isn't an off-color vagina remark you can make about the Sundowners.

The comedian, Steven Wright, once said in a performance something like, "I stayed up all night playing poker with Tarot cards; I got a full house and four people died."

From CNN.com:

KASSEL, Germany (AP) -- A German computer expert being tried for murder after he confessed to killing and eating a man shows no signs of mental illness, a court-appointed expert has testified at his trial.

Klaus Beier, a psychotherapist and sexologist based at Berlin's Charite hospital, told the Kassel state court Monday that defendant Armin Meiwes' fascination with cannibalism had developed from an early age and Meiwes, a loner, had seen it as a way of "being close" to men.

Also from CNN.com:

ATLANTA, Georgia (AP) -- A 6-year-old girl was found dead in a motel room with a broken back Monday after what police said may have been an exorcism.

Two adults were arrested after they and two children were spotted on the street naked in the freezing cold.

The adults, who had been staying in the motel room, were charged with cruelty to children, public indecency and obstruction of police and were taken to a psychiatric ward.

You think I'm done quoting CNN.com?

DES MOINES, Iowa (CNN) -- Rep. Dick Gephardt, a distant fourth-place finisher in Monday's Iowa caucuses, where he once had been considered the man to beat, has decided to drop out of the Democratic presidential race, CNN has learned.

A Gephardt aide said the candidate would speak to supporters Monday night and then planned to return to St. Louis, Missouri, where he is expected to withdraw from the race Tuesday.

Not surprisingly, cannibalism isn't illegal in either Germany or the Democratic Party. Once thought a haven for organized labor, the donkeys have all but ditched their forefathers, and left them wandering naked in the true freezing cold of Iowa, wondering why they backed a prune-faced square from Missouri. Dick Gephardt is exactly the kind of union toady ward healer that should have been exorcised from the Party years ago, but has hung around like the anonymous Humphrey in Minnesota, who springs from some St. Paul wood-paneled office every year to run for lieutenant solicitor general or some other made-up office created by the thieves during his ancestor's original tenure.

There have been numerous articles written on Clinton's legacy to the Demo party, but everyone is afraid to just come out and say what it is. Karl Rove and the Republicans were smart enough to realize that if Americans are going to elect a Republican, they want a Reagan clone: tell it like it is, never admit you were wrong, and if accused or indicted, sacrifice an underling. Towns like Des Moines, Mason City, and Ames are overrun with people right now, fresh from door-knocking and message delivering, but it's all a bunch of substantive nonsense. If Americans are going to elect a Democrat, they want sex and Rock n' Roll. Clinton stayed up all night playing poker and practicing his saxophone. THAT is an everyman, a normal Joe, the guy you warn to stay the hell away from your daughter. People who marry ketchup widows, captain their debate teams, and crank up internet based campaigns based on the bold motto "I'm not Bush," simply miss the point.

Edwards may have guaranteed himself the leverage he needs to be the ticket VP come November. In the next two weeks, expect Lieberman to learn the same lesson taught to Gephardt today: no thank you. Kerry has all the momentum now, and the only thing that can derail him are the squirrely little campaigns being run by Dean and Clark. He has to out-sex these guys over the next few weeks, because the freakish nature of their gigs already has the tease built-in.

And throughout all of this, regardless of how you intend to vote in November, keep in the back of your mind what is spinning in the evil little head of Karl Rove. Teresa Heinz Kerry is a walking time bomb of sorts for this campaign. As the fiery daughter of a wealthy Portuguese family from Mozambique, and brilliant graduate of the University of the Witwatersrand in South Africa, she's never been beholden to anyone, least of all, her shaky husband. She knows she'll be worth a half a bill come 11-2, regardless of whether the war hero gets the fancy 1600 Pennsylvania address. Her penchant for the quotable quote will be priority one for the striped red tie operatives following the Kerry's from town-to-town, should he emerge the candidate of choice. No matter who says it, under what context, "let them eat cake," always sounds bad, and typically portends the sharpening of the blade.

On Saturday, I made what turns out to have been a really half-assed attempt at sprinkling my playlist with some songs that were relevant to MLK Day, chiefly by playing 3 Charley Pride songs. As always, my wanderings, tangential musings, and borderline idiocy are quickly corrected and/or shorn up by my listening and/or reading audience. A big shout out to Dave Leach (and, in the future, to his kid, Andy) for giving me the assignment of obtaining more music by "The Chocolate Cowboy."

From the MusicWeb Encyclopaedia of Popular Music:

McCLINTON, O. B.
(b Obie Burnett McClinton, 25 April '40, Senatobia MS; d 23 Sep. '87, Nashville) Singer, songwriter, guitarist with hits in country chart '70s. Wrote a song early '70s called 'The Other One' (Charley Pride being a much better-known black country singer); he also called himself 'The Chocolate Cowboy'. Father was clergyman and a farmer (owned his own spread, unusual in Mississippi then). Infl. by Hank Williams as a child; disliked farm work, ran away from home, got as far as Memphis, spent all his money on a guitar. Won scholarship to college to sing in choir; worked as disc jockey in Memphis where he met Al Bell; began writing songs while in US Air Force; wrote R&B for Fame Publishing in Muscle Shoals (songs recorded by Clarence Carter, Otis Redding, others); signed by Bell (then a Stax executive) to new Enterprise subsidiary as country singer: first country chart single was 'Don't Let The Green Grass Fool You'. Dis- satisfied with debut LP O. B. McClinton Country '72, prod. his own Live At Randy's Rodeo '73, also prod. other artists. Hits incl. 'Six Pack Of Trouble' '72, 'Yours And Mine' '75; switched to Epic for 'Hello, This Is Anna' and 'Natural Love' '78; on Sunbird early '80s with 'Not Exactly Free'. Died of cancer.

From Century of Country:

When African-American Country star O.B. McClinton was sick with abdominal cancer, the Country music community rallied around and put on a star-studded benefit concert to help to defray his medical expenses. "The Chocolate Cowboy," as he styled himself, was on an upward swing and he had just released a new TV marketed album called The Only One, which O.B considered his best album yet. His father, Rev. G.A. McClinton, had three sons and four daughters and the family grew up on his 700-acre ranch near Memphis. O.B., the second youngest, was around the age of 9 or 10, when he began to dream of being in show business while doing his mundane chores around the farm. Listening to Hank Williams sparked his initial interest in Country music and subconsciously shaped his singing style. After high school, he ran away from home and headed for San Francisco. However, he only reached Memphis and there, in a Beale Street shop, he bought his first guitar. With his travel money gone, O.B. returned home. He won a choir scholarship to Rust College in Holly Springs, Mississippi, where he sang in the a cappella choir. He graduated in 1966 after four years� study. Soon, he was drafted into the Army, but as this didn�t please him, he volunteered for the Air Force during December 1966. While in the Armed Forces, he began winning service talent shows, and as a result, he spent a lot of time entertaining and writing R & B songs. This led to a writing contract from Fame Publishing Company in Muscle Shoals, Alabama. He remained in the services for four years and after discharge, his original R & B songs became popular. James Carr recorded Baby You Got Your Mind Messed Up and A Man Needs A Woman, Clarence Carter released Why You Can�t Measure and the great Otis Reading cut Keep Your Arms Around Me. Although O.B. tried to be an R & B singer, he was not successful. When he was in the Air Force, a friend had introduced him to a Charley Pride album and this encouraged him to further his career. He wrote some Country songs and then made a demo tape. One day in a hotel, he met an ex-deejay friend of his named Al Bell, who had since become a top executive for Stax Records and O.B. played him his Country demo tape. Bell was impressed and asked who the singer was. When McClinton told him who it was, Al refused to believe him and the only way he could convince him was to sing along with the tapes. The result of this chance meeting was a recording contract signed on January 12, 1971, and O.B. became the first Country artist on the Stax Country label, Enterprise. In all, he had seven chart hits on the label, from 1972-1975, of which the most successful were, Don�t Let the Green Grass Fool You (Top 40, 1972) and My Whole World Is Falling Down (Top 40, 1973). After Stax went out of business in 1975, O.B. moved over to Mercury the following year and had a basement level chart single with It�s So Good Lovin� You. For a couple of years, O.B. relied on his live work and in 1978 Epic signed him and released Hello, This is Anna, which featured Peggy Jo Adams and Natural Love, both of which charted at the lower levels. The following year, Soap reached the Top 60. In 1980, he moved to Sunbird and had a moderate hit with Not Exactly Free, on which he was credited as "The Chocolate Cowboy." This was his last chart record until 1984, when he had a Top 70 single, on the Moon Shine label, entitled Honky Tonk Tan, which seemed almost autobiographical. In 1987, O.B. was once more back on Epic Records with a hit single, Turn The Music On, when he succumbed to cancer after a year-long battle. His death was announced on TNN�s Nashville Now by Ralph Emery.

Authenticity.

There was a lot of authenticity swirling in the mud and the blood and the beer at the Cabooze Friday and Saturday night. The two night stand was the fourth annual Cash Only tribute to The Man in Black, and it featured a lot of familiar friends, and surprise guests, that really upped the electricity in the room. Certainly the highlight of both shows on a very symbolic scale was the appearance of Bob Wootton, Cash's longtime guitar player and successor to Luther Perkins in the Tennessee Three. Even though Johnny is gone, it's still pretty chilling to hear the guitar licks played by someone who shared the stage with him. He seemed a little surprised at the raucous crowd, but he owned the stage like a pro.

Another highlight was Janis Figure's set on Friday night. Nothing quite honors Cash's memory like a hard rock band with a lead singer fresh off a near death experience, scaring the shit out of his girlfriend and doctors as he climbs on the amps and howls into the mic at ear-splitting, temple-exploding volumes. Welcome Back Billie.

Best costume goes to two-night crowd favorites, Ol' Yeller, and their tan jumpsuits with prison numbers on the breasts. As usual, they put on a really kickass set, made even better by the addition of Baby Grant Johnson on lead axe. It sounded so good, many of us clubheads began scratching our chins wondering aloud if there weren't a place for Grant in Yeller. Hmmmmmm...

Straight A's to Professor Sherwin Linton, and his very historical sets. I feel like I can hold forth on Cash now like never before. I gotta get me one of them hats too.

Needless to say, with the addition of the Monorail (after the Simpsons' episode, I'm just waiting for Leonard Nimoy to show up and save us all), there wasn't any place to park because about a bajillion people showed up both nights. Authenticity rocks. Thumbs up Taco.

photo courtesy of Old97s.com

The Old97's took the stage of the mainroom at First Avenue last night like they were stomped out of a packet of ketchup. A few months back, the Bottle Rockets opened for Lucinda Williams on the main stage and were very tight. It was like they were sober and worried about making mistakes. In contrast, the 97's bass player, Murry, told the crowd that they ciphered it was the first time the band had played outside of Texas in 2 1/2 years. There was such eagerness and energy in the set, with bobbing heads and tapping feet in the crowd, that it more than smoothed over some of the rough harmonies and broken guitars. Overall, the set was very tight and professional, and the balls out attitude made the kinks more like salt and pepper on a good dinner, rather than bad medicine before bed. It's good to get a contender for best gig of the year so early in 2004.

And, if you're in another town down their road, go get your tickets now. The Rhett Miller Show got exactly 2 (two) songs at the beginning of the encores, the rest was pure Austin, Texas, hillbilly punktry. They even threw in 3 (three) new songs that could be on their next album, slated to be released by New West Records, all real burners, with wild west guitars and girls getting left at the bar and/or murdered. New West is going to make a dumbass out of yet another big label on this one, just like they did with the Drive By Truckers.

P.S.--in case you haven't lavished love upon me and/or caustically criticized me in a while, I finally got off my lazy butt and fixed the Guest Book on the radio show's web site. Fire at will.

From John Gerome of the Associated Press:

NASHVILLE, Tenn. -- Country music sales fell nearly 10 percent last year, outpacing a decline of less than 1 percent weathered by the industry overall, officials said.

The 2003 showing reverses a trend from 2002, when country sales spiked and were the lone bright spot in an otherwise dismal year for the music industry.

Ed Benson, executive director of the Country Music Association, blames the slump on a dearth of new releases by blockbuster artists.

"We face the same challenges as all musical formats, but in 2003 we didn't have the same number of superstar releases that we had in 2002 when Kenny Chesney, the Dixie Chicks, Faith Hill, Tim McGraw and Shania Twain all had new releases," Benson said.

Country album sales fell from 76.9 million to 69.3 million units - a 9.8 percent drop, according to figures released Monday by Nielsen SoundScan, a group that monitors music sales.

Total album sales declined 3.6 percent in the same period, but the figures do not include Internet and digital sales. When those are included in total sales, the decrease from 2002 to 2003 is less than 1 percent, the CMA reported.

In 2002, country sales grew 12.2 percent while the overall recording industry fell 10.7 percent.

Joe Galante, chairman of RCA Label Group/Nashville, said fallout from the Dixie Chicks' comments about President Bush was another blow.

The life of a delusional, obsessed, jock sniffer is never dull. Out all night, sleep all day, using the blood of innocent suburban children named Tray and Rachel to oil the chassis of our hybrid cars, as we drive to the co-op to buy organic cigarettes and coffee from Belize.

We know that independent labels enjoyed a spike in sales in 2002, when the mainstream music industry was slumping, and blaming internet downloading for it. It'll be interesting to see how 2003 went for them. Maybe I'll send a few emails around and see.

As wizards like Ed Benson and Joe Galante scratch their heads, it's a good time to reprint one of my favorite quotations from the novel, Fight Club, by Chuck Palahniuk:

To warm her up, to make her laugh, I tell Marla about the woman in Dear Abby who married a handsome successful mortician and on their wedding night, he made her soak in a tub of ice water until her skin was freezing to the touch, and then he made her lie in bed completely still while he had intercourse with her cold inert body.

The funny thing is this woman had done this as a newlywed, and gone on to do it for the next ten years of marriage and now she was writing to Dear Abby to ask if Abby thought it meant something.

Jack's Specious Ad Hoc Top Ten

1. Post to Wire, by Richmond Fontaine
If you live in Portand, Oregon, call your local Country station and request either "Through" or "Post to Wire."
2. Famous Anonymous Wilderness, by Graham Lindsey
If you live in Madison, Wisconsin, call your local Country station and request either "My Museum Blues" or "Emma Rumble."
3. Warmth & Beauty, by Thad Cockrell
If you live in Charlotte, North Carolina, call your local Country station and request either "Warmth & Beauty" or "Taking the View."
4. Live at Billy Bob's, by Jack Ingram
If you live in Austin, Texas, call your local Country station and request "Flutter."
5. My Baby Don't Tolerate, by Lyle Lovett
If you live in Houston, Texas, call your local Country station and request "On Saturday Night."
6. Oh the Stories We Hold, by Anna Fermin's Trigger Gospel
If you live in Chicago, Illinois, call your local Country station and request "My Town."
7. Fought Down, by Ken Layne & the Corvids
If you live in Los Angeles, California or Reno, Nevada, call your local Country station and request "Sun Don't Shine."
8. Just For The Record, by Bobby Flores
If you live in San Antonio, Texas, call your local Country station and request "Bubbles in My Beer."
9. Railings, by Frog Holler
If you live in Philadelphia, Pennsylvania, call your local Country station and request "Virginia."
10. ring, by Big Ditch Road
If you live in Minneapolis, Minnesota, call your local Country station (even though there aren't any) and request "City Girls" or "Father's Son."