It's meet the parents weekend here in Rhode Island. I mean, I've met them before, but. Y'know. Seems to be going okay.
Rhode Island is a very nice state. I forget sometimes just how industrial and ugly Newark is. Last night we ate Indian food in a restaurant featuring both quality jazz and really inexcusably overweight belly dancers. The waitress complained that they were "too Western." And I think we all know what that means.
Nice detective work there, Travis. I don't remember anything about that mix... my best guess was that it was one of a series that I made to keep myself awake on late Wednesday nights at the Mast, but who knows. I've found a few of those since, and they're always a little strange. Litle aural snapshots of a day in some former life. I can't identify the mystery tracks, but I can assure you that the next to last artist is not "Corona" (?). I'm surprised that there's no Organized Konfusion or Lo-Fidelity Allstars on it, however--that would have been around the right time. That's all.
I had a dream last night that I was running a variety show featuring monkeys of various sizes. Except that we scheduled the show for a time when the monkeys were very sleepy, so they all decided to fling themselves into the audience instead of working. It was an unmitigated disaster.