no, not getting linked by the instapundit.

getting a phone call from mr. bruce springsteen.

collect.

i tried to tell him that nothing on here was true, but he knew it was true.

he knew he had lost it, hit the wall, become stale and unimportant.

when he looked at himself he didn’t see the man he wanted to be.

and he wanted to know from me if i was just a guy who kicked another guy when he was down, or did i have a solution for his lost ass.

62. o. lawless

63. shannon

and i told him that i was a guy who would kick another guy when he was down, but only to wake him up and remind him that he didn’t need to stay down, unless he wanted to stay down.

with the dust.

and yesterdays news.

i told him that if he wanted to know how to get out of it he would have to do a little something from the past and do a little something from the present.

but he would have to trust it and believe in it and just let it happen and not be afraid, but ultimately do what he has been doing since he was just a scrawny little guy from nowhere.

he would have to pretend he was elvis.

everyone thinks that young bruce springsteen was super into bob dylan, but no little kids are into dylan, bruce and his mom were super into elvis, the king.

bruce even tells a story about hopping the fence at graceland in the middle of the night and knocking on the door in hopes to meet his idol.

this was the same week in ’78 when bruce graced both time and newsweek.

elvis isn’t home, he was told, he’s in lake tahoe.

bruce needs to go to nevada too, but not tahoe, vegas.

las vegas.

and that’s where he will regain his mojo.

laugh all you want and bring up celine dion but you know what, fuck celine dion.

bruce needs to remember that what was good for sammy, dean, frank, and the king of rock and roll is definitely good enough for the boss. might even be perfect.

best thing he does is perform live. that’s taking nothing away from his songwriting. he has a gift.

there’s no doubting his onstage charisma, his instant connection to a crowd.

he stood in the middle of a baseball park last night for three and a half hours. no opening band. no hit record. 30k fans paying a total of more than $2.2 million for tickets and no one is complaining.

even though he played 9 songs off the new record

that nobody really bought.

bruce needs to go to vegas to regain his soul, to hold court and tell stories, and rock the roof off the mother every night like he still can.

and he should take his time writing his next record called nevada

and he should dress up in the second encore

in an elvis suit that lights up

and after hes done singing burning love and all shook up and viva las vegas he needs to sing cant help falling in love with you.

lights dim.

applause applause

and then bruce springsteen emerges in the all black leather comeback special outfit

cuz it is a comeback

and he rocks us all harder and better than ever and ever.

then the curtain falls,

then he needs to take about a half hour of requests

and after about six months of that if he doesn’t have a record that kicks way more ass than fucking lucky town

then nothing in this shit is true.

shellen + sutter + the best article about the biggest u.s. blackout was written by a brit

of mr. tom waits in a comment today.

he said that the song “franks wild years” from the 1983 classic “swordfishtrombones” was sexist or… i don’t remember. i don’t want to fight today. i don’t want to argue with ernie the attorney today.

i just want to make it through this manic monday and forget the fact that im (almost) three-times older than the 35 yr old standard by which we made our completely unscientific study of yesterday.

im just stoked that i have a date tonight.

im also stoked that i didn’t go to the xgames this weekend because i would have felt like a complete loser.

those guys are flipping their motorcycles across football fields, skateboarding while on fire, riding bikes while standing on their banana seats.

it makes me wonder how one could do the same in the blog world and i see that there’s very little that we can do in creative writing that hasn’t been done before.

i can tell you about the dull work i do here flying thousands of feet above this great city, i can tell you about the lovely ladies who roll up in their mercedes, who tick tock don’t stop, arriving in all ages.

but that’s all been done. everythings been done.

the xgames showed me that pretty much nothings been done before in the world of hurling ones body around and i like that. no fear. no worry. no doubt. rock out.

my buddy steve noticed something at the busblog friday that he had never seen before.

he saw a caption this please picture that i took down after it got no comments.

that will happen.

what he didn’t mention was the fact that someone actually won the auction to sponsor the busblog for a year and that person hasn’t paid or revealed him/herself.

very interesting.

high bidder, reveal yourself and pay up.

else suffer the curse of the unpaid bidder.

mwhwhahahahahahaha

i should kid, i feel like im paying the price of something bad ive done.

i had terrible heartburn earlier today and now my legs are ridiculously sore.

how on earth can i entertain a fair damsel in this condition!

ernie the attorney

Swordfishtrombones

Island Records

“Franks Wild Years”

(Waits, 1983)

Well Frank settled down in the Valley

and hung his wild years

on a nail that he drove through

his wife’s forehead.

He sold used office furniture

out there on San Fernando Road

and assumed a $30,000 loan

at 15 1/4 % and put down payment

on a little two bedroom place.

His wife was a spent piece of used jet trash,

made good bloody marys,

kept her mouth shut most of the time.

Had a little Chihuahua named Carlos

that had some kind of skin disease

and was totally blind.

They had a thoroughly modern kitchen,

self-cleaning oven (the whole bit).

Frank drove a little sedan.

They were so happy

One night Frank was on his way home from work,

stopped at the liquor store,

picked up a couple Mickey’s Big Mouths,

drank ’em in the car on his way

to the Shell station.

He got a gallon of gas in a can,

drove home, doused everything in the house,

torched it.

Parked across the street, laughing,

watching it burn, all Halloween orange

and chimney red

then Frank put on a top forty station

got on the Hollywood Freeway,

headed north.

Never could stand that dog.

have made it through the recall impeachment photo essay which is pretty good numbers for a sunday, but considering its probably monday in stockholm maybe this is what one can expect when one is linked on Buzz.

how ever you say thank you and welcome and thanks for checking it out in Swedish here’s me saying it: _________, Swedes.

a few weeks after turning 21 i found myself in sweeden and i had a marvelous time. the people were warm hearted and generous, beautiful and friendly. most american travelers head south to Greece, i chose the northern route of Sweeden and Denmark and i think i made the better choice.

danke, amigos. je t’aime.

last night in glendale, the best band in america played a top secret undercover friends and family-only show in the quaint and empty bar called The Scene on colorado blvd.

it was a show booked earlier in the week by local faves Psoma, who apparently kept it a secret show too as maybe a dozen of the bands’ closest friends were in attendence to hear psoma rock harder than this blogger has ever heard them rock.

it was pretty impressive.

“yeah, i like to play guitar,” blue eyed front man Justin admitted, visably beaming, sweaty, and proud after his bands performance.

then tsar climbed on stage and carved rock a new a-hole blazing through a dozen new songs that made it impossible to ignore.

these are your new princeses, sweden. these are the vikings youve left behind. theyve grown up strong and mighty and have a message from another time.

the energy was so good that my old girlfriend wanted to start a fight with an armenian man who was playing pool. he looked at her like she was crazy. she is crazy. fortunately when i extended my hand she furiously took it and sat on my lap and then realized who i was, her sweetheart, and sat on my lap and told me how happy she was to be watching tsar with me, and i told her that i was happy to be watching tsar with her.

then we kissed several times.

then we stood outside with the kids as we should on a hot summer night in southern california as the stars became jealous as has become normal for them on nights when tsar plays indoors.

i didnt see my old hero springsteen last night.

and today i dont regret a damn thing.

instapundit + splink is swedish for warm fuzzy + dumb monkey