“As a writer, I need an enormous amount of time alone. Writing is 90 percent procrastination: reading magazines, eating cereal out of the box, watching infomercials. It’s a matter of doing everything you can to avoid writing, until it is about four in the morning and you reach the point where you have to write. Having anybody watching that or attempting to share it with me would be grisly.”
- Paul Rudnick
Technically this isn’t a twofer. It’s one concert in two parts. If you have a problem with that, you can kiss my big merry butt. (Just kidding, it’s early and I haven’t had my whiskey yet.)
Feel free to skip the first video and jump right to Jack White playing with an all female band. I know I did.
I’m back from vacation. I’d say I was back from surfing, but calling what I did on vacation surfing would violate one of the commandments–you know, the one that says, “Thou shalt not uncover thy fat 40-year-old belly and play the fool on that canoe thou callest a surfboard.” (I don’t think that makes any sense, but I don’t care.)
Anyway, I’m back, but don’t expect much (as if you ever did). I’m preoccupied with editing my book.
Here’s all I got for now–an hour with Pink Floyd on KQED in 1970 (via the Stoner Channel at Gizmodo.com). I’m listening to this while I’m editing and I decided to post on the blog because editing sucks and I wanted a break.
I’m heading to the beach. I’ll be back in a week or so.
“Late have I loved you, O Beauty ever ancient, ever new, late have I loved you! You were within me, but I was outside, and it was there that I searched for you. In my unloveliness I plunged into the lovely things which you created. You were with me, but I was not with you. Created things kept me from you; yet if they had not been in you they would have not been at all. You called, you shouted, and you broke through my deafness. You flashed, you shone, and you dispelled my blindness. You breathed your fragrance on me; I drew in breath and now I pant for you. I have tasted you, now I hunger and thirst for more. You touched me, and I burned for your peace.”
- St. Augustine
“O Lord, help me to be pure, but not yet.”
- St. Augustine