11:51 p.m. // 26 November 2003

The show last night was great. Everything fell into place very neatly -- everyone was good, but different; no one's set was too long; no one had to spend a long time setting up. First, Wm. Elliott Whitmore was pickin' and sangin'. He's the real deal, folks. His voice is not the affected dialect of a hipster trying to be ironic. Even though he's got tattoos up and down, he grew up on the Mississippi and his music was like to break my heart.

Then: BOOKS!!! exploded with the fury for their third show in a week. Then: NTX + ELECTRIC busted out the kinda-dancy, kinda-artsy jams. Then: Some more banjo from Mr. Whitmore. Then: The SNEEZE went crazy with one rollerskate and the screaming and the writhing and the undies only.

Tonight D. Ray and I hung up posters for the Slow Poisoners show (the posters are neat and they were made by the awesome Hatch Show Print). As we pull over on Fry I start freaking out because there's an eight-track player sitting by the dumpster. Our new acquaintance Seth says: "It's the Jackson 5 in an eight-track machine!" So I say: "No, it's a Jackson 8 in a five-track machine!" I forget that he's new in town and doesn't know that there is a band named Jackson 8, so he looks confused and says, "Okay."

Anyway, so the eight-track player doesn't work but the radio in the machine does, and I can run my record player and Dwayne's functional eight-track player through the system.

I'm making pumpkin pie from scratch.

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