Perhaps I'm in denial. Yesterday while hearing "Stormy Weather" on Marketplace (yet again), I actually stuck my fingers in my ears and sang, "La La La La La Laahhhhhhhh! There's plenty of money and plenty of people who want to give it to ME!" Yep. I really did. Oh, I'm not completely delusional. I've got a 401(k is for KILLJOY). But just think. NO ONE ever hits a home run thinking "I suck" [...]

A Triple-A radio programming veteran, Kate has served as Music Director of the Loft at XM, Midday Host at WYEP, Evening Host at both WNCS and WUIN, as well as Content Supervisor for Pump Audio. Currently, she's the CEO of Outlandos Music, a new-music discovery service for grown-ups. Kate has been nationally recognized for her ardent presentation of music and her ability to champion talented, compelling artists.

Chuck Eddy dusts off his old vinyl and scratches his head. We all win.

Greetings, BLURT readers. This column's theme is fairly simple: Basically, I sort alphabetic ally through my shelves for dusty old 7-inch vinyl indie singles from acts that aren't household names, and try to figure out why I wound up keeping them in the first place. This is the 8^th installment (first two appeared at Idolator.)

***

INDIAN JEWELRY "In Love With Loving"/"Lost My Sight" (On/On Switch, 2005)

The modestly plain-brown-paper-colored cardboard picture sleeve depicts two apparent humans with ichthyosaurus skulls where their heads should be, but joined Siamese-twin-like at the heart. Notes typed on a 6 1/2" x 5 1/2" piece of paper inside follow screwed-up 16^th Century French theories about conjoined twins ("too tight a womb, tight clothes, and the manner in which a woman sat while pregnant") with by more up-to-date screwed-up Italian theories about demonic possession. There are Latin words as well. The music, from three mysterious Houston, Texans also known to call themselves NTX + Electric and Swarm of Angels among other weird names, has vocals coiling through what sounds like a long vacuum-cleaner hose filled with psychedelic guitar noise wobbling as if from Mesopotamia (the A-side) and a barely audible woman's voice approximating Grace Slick/Kim Gordon/Exene mode way-in-hell-back behind a repetitive guitar figure given a disconcertingly nervousness (the B-side). Dub blackouts figure heavily, if not necessarily intentionally, in both songs, and the band knows how to get beauty out of an ill-defined blur as it gets louder and louder. Think Chrome, or maybe the Butthole Surfers of the mid ‘80s. "These songs," the liner note insert warns, "were recorded as quickly as possible."

(www.myspace.com/indianjewelry)

I-SOUND "Sweating In The Ages"/"Dog Years" (Broklyn Beats, 2002)

In "Sweating In The Ages," a broken computer keyboard dances a skittery soft shoe, turns into a cash register spewing pennies all over the room, which turns into a Martian typewriter, which gets mellow and forlorn and then turns into a tick-tocking metronome. In "Dog Years," an unhurried, fuzzy clank suffused with crud somehow forms itself into an identifiable albeit highly distorted groove. Nice pockets of space -- albeit conveying less personality, somehow, than Indian Jewelry's. Though based in Brooklyn, I-Sound once split an CD with Berlin's To Rococo Rot, whose name is spelled the same forwards and backwards. (http://broklynbeats.net/artist.html )

ROSS JOHNSON "It Never Happened"/"Nudist Camp"  (Sugar Ditch, 1993)

Shaggy dog stories, almost as hilarious as this Memphis roots-punk utility player clearly thinks they are judging by how he keeps laughing uncontrollably at himself - first, over a beat stolen from Dylan's "Rainy Day Women # 12 & 35", a yarn about naughty stuff Ross did in his youth. One time, for instance, he saw a woman in culottes and a halter top, and ("this is in a non-sexist context," he swears), he "felt funny" (see also: Beavis and Butthead), which is to say "objectifying glare took over." He's having a conversation with himself, reaching for the craziness of Hasil Adkins or Harmonica Frank; he stops to pray, hopes it's all just a bad dream, assures himself it'll all be over soon. Flipside starts with more chuckling, but the music gives deep chugga-chugga horn-funk a Latin bugalu bent then puts Hendrix guitars on top, à la the Jimmy Castor Bunch. Again, Ross is reminiscing. "When I was younger I had ambitions" -- many of which were inspired by looking at "nudie magazines" and involved living at a nudist camp. But one day a kid from down the block tried to pimp his strip-poker-playing twin sisters, bad girl Donna and good girl Dora. Which scheme went badly. There's also a hidden, untitled third track - a rinky-dink instrumental not distantly related to the theme from "The Dating Game." On the Sun Records homage of a record label, both sides are classified as "Delta Music Hot Vocal."  (www.myspace.com/thebaronoflove)

JOHN WILKES BOOZE "Whiskey And Pills"/"Marc Bolan Makes Me Want To Fuck" (Family Vineyard, 2002)

I count about 13 words in the lyrics of the first song; maybe five words in the lyrics of the second (yeah, fewer than in its title). "Whiskey and Pills" is a call-and-response between a preposterous Jon Spencer-style huckster and somebody (or maybe the same guy) with a higher voice - basically, pigfuck punks ineptly pretending to be a ‘60s garage band who were in turn pretending to be the Isley Brothers. Plenty of energy; not enough music. The "Marc Bolan" song, mainly just some geek swishily repeating the line "children, sweet children of the revolution," is slower and has some remnant of Southern-not-glam rock in its opening guitar cascade. Marc Bolan was one of "five pillars of soul" these guys later dedicated CD-R EPs too; the others were Melvin Van Peebles, Patty Hearst, Yoko Ono, and Albert Ayler. Which is to say they defined "soul" their own way. On the single, a sticker stuck to the outside says "debut 45 from Southern Indiana's premier R&B band." Guess they forgot about John Cougar's group. Also says "recorded live to 2" tape" -- but I bet Indian Jewelry still recorded theirs faster. (www.myspace.com/johnwilkesbooze)

KILL ME TOMORROW "I Require Chocolate"/"Rats For Sale" (Gold Standard Laboratories, 2002) 

Like Indian Jewelry, these San Diegans are a co-ed trio who insist on having their rock and dubbing it too - at least during the introduction of "I Require Chocolate," all zooms and zips and secret passageways. When unconventionally tuned guitars enter, it sounds a lot like real early Sonic Youth, back when their drums did a tribal goth rumble under foreboding Wagnerian feedback mini-symphonies. But the nasally voiced sarcasm upfront comes closer to mid ‘80s British indie post-punks like the Membranes or Nightingales. The words aren't remotely comprehensible, but it's clear their consonants and diphthongs don't match the insert card (see also: Indian Jewelry again) that substitutes for a lyric sheet. Turns out, when you read closer, that the words on paper are plot summaries: "A famous but over the hill superhero is found guilty in a case concerning a series of bizarre sex crimes..." And then, for the B-side, "Since the beginning of civilization a strange vendor has walked the Earth selling his variety of plagues to mankind..."  "Rats For Sale" - recited in a flat Thurston Moore deadpan - is both more deliberate and more decipherable, at least to the extent that its untrustworthy narrator hopes to convince you that rodent ownership would be "beautiful." Maybe not as beautiful as the water-blue vinyl the songs are pressed on, though, or the color scheme of the 45 cover they're packaged in - obviously designed (like Kill Me Tomorrow's CDs) by a painter with a fondness for filling in all available space with fluorescent hues. Which is sort of what the music does, too: For indie-rock artfucks, they've got a real full sound.

(www.myspace.com/killmetomorrow)   

Chuck Eddy is the former music editor of the Village Voice and the author of several books, including the greatest book on heavy metal ever written, Stairway To Hell. He won't admit it, but he knows more about rock ‘n' roll than the entire accumulated BLURT brain trust.

Episode Drei

KING KHAN and KING LOUIE let decadence reign!

Berlin bad boy, MTV darling and consummate crowd-pleaser King Khan recently ripped through the US on the maiden American voyage of his explosive soul revue, King Khan & The Shrines. After 10 years completely destroying the European continent, The Shrines are now being dutifully delivered to an American audience via Vice Records. The 10-piece band played clubs from east to west coast, the Pitchfork Festival in Chicago, and McCarren Pool, Southstreet Seaport and Andrew WK’s new nightclub in New York—early high caliber exposure due to the muscle behind the Vice machine. Like a hypnotist conjuring the sexual electricity slumbering deep within, King Khan can bring a crowd collectively to its knees. Think Stax and Specialty records, Volt and Veejay, Wilson Pickett, Sam Cooke, James Brown, and even Jon Spencer—King Khan has got the predatory magnetism to bend an audience to his will and will soon be seen globally hosting his own show on MTV World. A fine gentleman indeed, the King of Berlin opened his arms to the King of New Orleans—living Louisiana legend Louie Bankston, who was touring and tearing it up on this side of the pond with the dirty swamp stompers, The Royal Pendletons. 

But first, here’s a little Q&A with King Khan...


JY: There’s King Curtis, King Coleman, King Louie, The King of Rock and Soul—Solomon Burke—and then, of course, there’s the King himself—Elvis. And you call yourself King Khan. I’ve seen you live several times and will heartily admit you rip it down. But what gives you the right to carry that crown? 

KK: Well ask my wife...she's been smiling blissfully since 1999!

JY: Over a decade playing in the garage rock realm, you have full-length records out on Voodoo Rhythm, Hazelwood, Sympathy, Goner, Crypt, Norton, In The Red, and Vice, and dozens of singles on smaller labels. It goes without saying that you’re one of the most in-demand artists of your generation. Do you feel that signing now with Vice is going to open up The Shrines and your other popular favorite band, The King Khan & BBQ Show, to a wider audience, bigger tours, more money, better riders? 

KK: It isn’t really the label that decides whether or not we should be considered the new rock ‘n roll royalty. Vice is nice with its promotion, but we bled for 10 years on our own without any videos or “tour support.” We earned our gold through lots of blood, sweat, tears and cum. If anything, what got us better tours, riders, and such is the evolution and sophistication of our God-given musical talent and the simple fact that you can't stop rock ‘n roll!

JY: Yeah! Having personally witnessed onstage fellatio and anal audience firebreathing at one of your shows, I assume massive partying was in full effect on this Shrines’ tour. Can you give us any highlights? Are the audiences in the states taking to the soul spectacle like their European brethren?

KK: Someone from the Shrines—and I am not naming names—fucked a girl next to a dumpster and almost got tons of garbage emptied on them. I got to sing duets with Kid Congo, Ian Svenonius, Jello Biafra, the Gris Gris, Jay Reatard, Cole Alexander, Mark Sultan, Bradford Cox, Jon Spencer and the Mighty Hannibal. This was the first of many Shrine US Invasions. God Bless America and the American soul music that we play. We are finally getting a chance to bring it all home to Jerome!!!!! About time something like this took place. Move over Amy Winehouse...the freak brothers are rollin’ in and THEY HAVE VISAS!!!!!!!!!!!!

JY: What’s next for The Shrines?

KK: $$$$$$$ Bling! $$$$$$$ Maybe backing up Beyonce, Trina... I wanna venture into hip hop, do a country album, and move to New York right away!

Guest post this week from Irish singer-songwriter and one of the nicest musicians I know, Colin Devlin of the Devlins. Look for his solo project A Democracy of One out 2009 (yay!).

Dear Kate,

i'm really not sure what to write in this guest blog, there seems to be too many people writing so much crap on the internet i'm not sure if anything i have to say is going to improve this situation! the election, the war in Iraq, the economy [...]

A Triple-A radio programming veteran, Kate has served as Music Director of the Loft at XM, Midday Host at WYEP, Evening Host at both WNCS and WUIN, as well as Content Supervisor for Pump Audio. Currently, she's the CEO of Outlandos Music, a new-music discovery service for grown-ups. Kate has been nationally recognized for her ardent presentation of music and her ability to champion talented, compelling artists.

Sonic Reducer: The Fertile Crescent of the 90s.

Sonic Reducer returns to the fertile crescent of the late 80s - early 00s, probing for sonic caviar. Again, the disclaimer: I had a small thing to do w/the Whirlees record and did some work about 100 years ago with with The Oblivion Seekers. What can I say? Good is good.

Morning 40 Federation, Trick Nasty (2002, self-released): if there's a better drunk-funk band anywhere in the world, I want to know about it. These New Orleans gutter snipes drag R&B, funk, blues and Crescent City music hall booze-alongs into the garage, dose them with near-fatal amounts of liquor, and let them stumble back into the streets. A 365 day a year drunk-punk rent party, the 40s really do put most other garage bands out to pasture with the utter purity of their trash. Their almost militant indifference to the norms of society (work, food, clothes, other people) pretty much puts them on their own little island in the Mississippi River: the island of revels, where everyone is smashed before noon, of willful irresponsibility; a humid Saturnalia, forever showered with cheap whiskey and beer.

Sugar Plant, After After Hours (1997, World Domination): a perfectly titled release. Dreamy nocturnal ambient pop from a Japanese duo to while away the hours before dawn to. They occasionally break through the placid surface with waves of humming electric guitars and effects, and finish strong with a rumbling, feedback heavy "Brazil." This World Domination was Dave Allen's (from Gang of Four, Shriekback, etc.) label in the late 90s and early 00s-I don't believe they are affiliated with the current World Domination Records. 

The Whirlees, self-titled (1993, Schizophonic): I'm paraphrasing here, but a reviewer once described the only full release by the Salem, OR combo thusly: "If The Whirlees were a car, they would be a '73 'Cuda with a Hemi dropped under the hood and humongous side-pipes." This is true-in a paraphrased sense, of course. Thick, rumbling gobs of mid-tempo hard rock cruise through the CD like Dazed & Confused teenage traffic driving in circles on a Friday night. That's hard rock; not metal, not glam, not punk. Remove the blues from the first three ZZ Top records and fill the gap with stacks of Marshall Amps, wah-wah pedals and fuzz boxes; place under the hood of an El Camino, drop a Quaalude and add Rainier Ale; presto! The Whirlees. They buzz and lumber, they growl and howl, they occasionally pick up speed to approach take-off, they toss in a bit of "Train Kept a Rolling." They make Salem proud.

The Oblivion Seekers, self-titled (1992, T/K-Tim/Kerr): The Oblivion Seekers are Mark Sten and whoever he says is an Oblivion Seeker. This debut CD is the first in a long line of thoroughly fine records, a criminally underrated body of work that is (as far as I know) still on-going. Most Oblivion Seekers CDs morph back and forth between twin poles of  snarly, electrified rockabilly and super-charged rock & roll and more pensive, even tender material - ballads, mid-tempo numbers and the like. The first record offers that but also something different: a collection of attitude-heavy, gospel influenced material, split into collections of "Saved" and "Damned." Covers of the Carter Family, Mack Self and others sit next to Sten originals. The sound is trebly and jacked-up, with odd separations in the mix, and a hot/cold feel; it sounds both dry and drenched at the same time. Duality at work: "Roadhouse" is vintage rockabilly, while "Fine, Fine, Fine" sounds like it was mixed by David Lynch. 1993's Spirit of America is every bit as good or better, a 20 song-cycle opus that goes gold from A to Z.

Steve Fisk, 448 Deathless Days (1987, SST): for the sake of being conveniently reductive, Steve Fisk has at least three musical personas; band member (Pell Mell, Pigeonhed, etc.), the crafty producer of bands like Mudhoney, Nirvana, Beat Happening, Geraldine Fibbers and many more, and the sonically schizo auteur of solo records like 448 Deathless Days. Loaded with samples and tape manipulations, shifting syncopations and backwards beats and a dark, somewhat foreboding vibe, 448 Deathless Days is the sound of someone cutting up in the studio, indulging his darkly surreal whims. Unfettered indulgence can, of course, be a colossal wank; thankfully, Fisk has a well balanced sense of the weird, knows his way around the musty back-rooms of his gear and can make a racket and be tuneful simultaneously. Members of Screaming Trees and other pals from Seattle and Ellensburg keep it coming.

Steven Jesse Bernstein, Prison (1992, Sub Pop): Steve Fisk also had the unprecedented task of finishing the music and production on Prison by Seattle's poet-provocateur Steven Jesse Bernstein after he took his own life in 1991. With only one track completed, Fisk was left to intuit his way thru Bernstein's thorny mob of words, a white-knuckle life story poured out with breath-taking venom, cryptic word collage, sweet humor and bared-soul vulnerability. Summing up all the multiple shards of  Bernstein's complex persona and fucked-up life and death is pointless and impossible. He was street-wise and wise-wise and crazy and damaged/sweet and had an astounding ability to tell stories and create complex knots of images and ideas that never felt anything less than 110% genuine - there wasn't an ounce of guile in the man. The fantastic flights of fancy in "This Clouded Heart" and "Party Balloon" never wear thin, while the brutal honesty of "Face" can be hard to take; apparently it got to be to much for him, as well. 

Life Garden, Pry Open My Mouth With The Red Knife Of Heaven (1992, We Never Sleep): One of several infinitely deep, mind-altering Life Garden CDs (including Seed, Caught Between The Tapestry Of Silence & Beauty and The Hungry Void),Pry Open My Mouth... is ritual, start to finish. David Oliphant, Su Ling-Oliphant, Peter Ragan and Bil Yanok were Life Garden. Their metier was acoustic instruments, largely percussion, stringed or blown into/through, manipulated electronically, but with no synths or (on this release) samples. Bells, bowls, flutes, gongs, PVC pipe and multi-tracked voices all get the digital effects treatment to create ghostly, hypnotic soundscapes that range from unsettling to profoundly peaceful. Life Garden's mission was transformative, not entertaining; the exact opposite of emotionally neutered new age muzak, they shared a little piece of common ground with Art Ensemble of Chicago, Current 93, the tribal-industrial underground and a few top-shelf dark ambient acts. They had more in common with pre-historic cave painting and pagan, pantheistic ritual than popular music; their music seems to emanate from the very earth itself. This is the real stuff: sound as emotion, the fusing of past and present, the melting point of mind and matter in the infinite flux of the cosmos. I am, absolutely, serious.

First things first. THANK YOU for your feedback regarding The Daily Dose. Please do keep it coming because we can only achieve world domination together. I'm totally serious. That said, our winner is (through random selection) [...]

A Triple-A radio programming veteran, Kate has served as Music Director of the Loft at XM, Midday Host at WYEP, Evening Host at both WNCS and WUIN, as well as Content Supervisor for Pump Audio. Currently, she's the CEO of Outlandos Music, a new-music discovery service for grown-ups. Kate has been nationally recognized for her ardent presentation of music and her ability to champion talented, compelling artists.

Who knew that when I moved to Saugerties, New York (think Big Pink) a few years ago that my next-door neighbor would be founding psychedelic art legend Isaac Abrams? Far out. And miraculously, close by. Just in the converted antique auction house loft adjacent to ours. Yes, I’ve borrowed sugar[...]

A Triple-A radio programming veteran, Kate has served as Music Director of the Loft at XM, Midday Host at WYEP, Evening Host at both WNCS and WUIN, as well as Content Supervisor for Pump Audio. Currently, she's the CEO of Outlandos Music, a new-music discovery service for grown-ups. Kate has been nationally recognized for her ardent presentation of music and her ability to champion talented, compelling artists.

It’s just another day for you and me and hope and change in Burnout Paradise—but who invited Obama into that fantasy?

By Randy Harward

Perhaps by now you’ve seen GigaOm.com’s report that the Barack Obama campaign purchased in-game advertising on the Xbox 360 racing game Burnout Paradise (Electronic Arts). The billboard says, “Early Voting Has Begun” which, as GigaOm points out, is possibly “his subtle way of trying to get [gamers] off the couch.”

Hey, with Somebody’s efforts to disenfranchise voters and flat-out steal elections, and the Rovian motivation of fearful bigoted evangelical voters, it’s worth a shot. Gamers are an increasingly substantial portion of the population. And to speak generally—and risk sounding like Bill O’Reilly when he called The Daily Show with Jon Stewart’s viewers “stoned slackers”—many of them probably prefer their banana chair or beanbag time to more significant pursuits and concerns, like presidential elections.

Gamers aren’t all single-minded burnouts. Many have jobs and families, to say nothing of minds and opinions. It’s possible, though, that their leisure activities leave little time for, or passively take priority over, researching candidates and issues. Gamers probably don’t debate their opponents while during a marathon online World of Warcraft session, or engage the drummer in political tête-à-tête while Guided by Joyces holds forth on the Rock Band virtual stage. And chances are very few of them tune into CNN or MSNBC after powering down their systems. So why not reach out to them in their world?

That is, if we/they can stomach more product placement and ubiquitous-verging-on-ridiculous advertising. It’s bad enough to have in-show advertisements on The Office or in films. Like moviegoers and boob-tubers, gamers probably bristle at real-world advertisements in the fantasy worlds that function as an escape from their day-to-day. Especially when those ads don’t necessarily reflect their views or tastes—hell, even when they do.

I support Obama, but I’d nonetheless be taken aback by a campaign ad in a game I for which I shelled out forty to sixty bucks. Sorry, Mr. Almost Maybe President—I just don’t want to be pitched when I’m pretending to be a street racer instead of keyboard monkey. I want to see fire, explosions, gore and girls—and some far-out recreations of exotic locales both extant and extraterrestrial. I want, for the hour or two I can devote to my hobby, to be unmolested by advertising, whether it’s from you, McCain or McDonald’s. And I for damn sure don’t want to see my fictional band on the cover of Paste when I pass a level on Guitar Hero III. Talkin’ to you, Neversoft. That rag wouldn’t know a rippin’ solo if Hendrix pissed one down on them from the Coca-Cola skybox in Jet Blue Heaven.

Likely, you've occasionally wondered what exactly it is we do here at Outlandos Music (other than blog). The easy answer is that we've been plotting and scheming to remedy a lot of the stuff you hear me bitching and moaning about each week. Actually, the plotting and scheming was over ages ago [...]

A Triple-A radio programming veteran, Kate has served as Music Director of the Loft at XM, Midday Host at WYEP, Evening Host at both WNCS and WUIN, as well as Content Supervisor for Pump Audio. Currently, she's the CEO of Outlandos Music, a new-music discovery service for grown-ups. Kate has been nationally recognized for her ardent presentati on of music and her ability to champion talented, compelling artists.

On Friday, September 19th, 2008, there was no gasoline to be found in most parts of Nashville Tennessee. The gas pumps sat eerily abandoned, their nozzles shrouded with plastic bags. The few stations that did have gas, including the Exxon across the street from our hotel, were surrounded by lines of panicked motorists that stretched for blocks. Home of the Brave. I walked over to the station. There was a news van out front. Police and station staff were directing traffic to and from the pumps and explaining to people that they couldn't just turn in because the line started three blocks to the south.

I was a bit uneasy, because we were to play in Harrodsburg Kentucky the following night and I wasn't sure how widespread the gas shortage had become. I had noticed in the preceding days that some stations in both Athens Georgia and Chattanooga were out of regular. Was the whole South out of gas? I called an acquaintance in Bowling Green who said that if I could make it that far I would have no problem. There was plenty of gas in Kentucky. We had nearly a quarter tank, just about enough to make Bowling Green.

The next night, from the safety of Kentucky, I googled "Nashville gas shortage". Not much came up, mostly blogs from Nashvillians. I didn't see any sign of national coverage. The only TV news clip I found was from the Nashville Fox affiliate. The clip reported some violence including a drive by shooting in East Nashville, and widespread hoarding. People were topping off their tanks like okies in the dust bowl. There was a shot of a woman filling a gallon plastic milk jug with gas and putting it in her car. Real smart. She didn't even bother to duct tape the cap. At least she knew to set the jug on the ground when she filled it so a static charge on the plastic wouldn't blow the whole place to Jesus.

Then came a clip of Republican Congresswoman Marsha Blackburn repeating McCain's shrill mantra "Drill here, drill now" and blathering on about how we need to find more oil "under American soil". I guess she hasn't noticed that we are drilling here now, and have been drilling here for some time. I have cousins who work in the oil field in North Texas and they're quite busy these days. They can't keep up with demand though.  Blackburn also called for increased refining capacity. She's right on that one. We do need more refineries, and we need refineries that can handle the low grade "sour" oils  that we're mostly finding these days. It seems that, while we're still finding plenty of oil, the "light sweet crude",  that's easy and inexpensive to refine, is growing scarce. The lower grade oils have sulphur that must be removed and long molecules that must be "cracked" into shorter pieces to make gasoline.  There have recently been some promising natural gas discoveries in North Texas and North Louisiana. Why is no one advocating that we convert cars to run on natural gas? Some public transportation companies run their buses on natural gas, so the conversion shouldn't be that hard. Natural Gas burns clean and requires minimal refining. Or, of course, we could limit our driving, conserve gas? Un-American, I guess.

I noticed in one article I read that Knoxville Tennessee had had a similar shortage the weekend before the Nashville shortage. Interesting, two major shortages in two Tennessee cities on two consecutive weekends, with minimal news coverage. No one seemed to know what exactly caused the shortages. Some theorized that the hurricanes had taken Gulf state refineries off line and that evacuees had burned up a lot of gas. I know what caused those shortages, someone at the back end of the pipeline cut off the flow. Maybe the reason for the shut off was indeed that they had no more gas, but, whatever the reason, someone had to make a decision to push a button, turn a valve, or key in a command. Someone decided which town wasn't going to get their gasoline that weekend. The result was an interesting social experiment that exposed our vulnerability. I'm not referring to the vulnerability of our infrastructure, but rather, the vulnerability of our collective psyche, a much more dangerous vulnerability. Our hysterical fear of not being able to go where we want when we want renders us powerless to any force, natural or human, that would attack the physical infrastructure, and some very unscrupulous politicians are itching to exploit that fear. You can bet they were taking notes on Nashville.

We think we'll die if we can't drive. Some of us might, but most of us won't. Pipes can be fixed, rides can be hitched. We'd better learn to relax. There will be more shortages in the future and we'll have to help each other get through them.We'll have to learn not to fight over a place in a gas line. We'll have to quit hoarding and just take what we need. It's really the only way.

P.S. In my last blog, in my fumbling attempt to channel H.L. Mencken, I referred to Chuck's Fish in Tuscaloosa as a world class restaurant. It isn't world class, the flat screen TV's and SYSCO seasoned fries disqualify it from that category. And the waiter, when listing the desserts, pronounced Creme Brulee, "Cream Brulay". However, the grilled Mahi Mahi was excellent. So was the Malbec.}