'Sylvia Plath... what a cunt.'

Satellite Of Love may be lost to me, but I am not giving up Sweet Jane without a fight.

There are certain songs that will be laced with a specific period in my life, whether it be until the end of it or until a future season warrants more nostalgia. I'm sure that most people can relate to this dilemma. I can already predict which tracks will queue the feeling of this Logan Echolls-esque Spring of my 2007:

Babe - Glassjaw
Rocking Horse Road - Elvis Costello
Only The Noble - Debracadabra
Lawyers Guns & Money - Warren Zevon
Whispering Reef - The Rondo Brothers feat. Daryl Palumbo

I am trying to add Sweet Jane to that list, thus removing it from the dreadful Winter of early 2007 set (alongside the lost Satellite Of Love). The journey began by listening to it six straight times while driving this morning.

The above songs will carry a strand of this Spring that'll cause a feeling of sickness every time I hear them for a very long time. But right now, they're relaxing. It's worth the trade.

Tonight is the night I rejoin the group of friends I lost last Christmas. We will all be meeting to celebrate my birthday, giving us a reason to drink and reminisce and slap that martini glass down as we argue over Daryl Palumbo's voice. I almost verbed these bouts a 'debate', but 'argue' is much more accurate.

I will hopefully have a number of pictures tomorrow, along with a helluva headache and an ugly woman sleeping in my bed.



In devastating news- Veronica Mars is gone. The last good show left on the CW (after Gilmores announced their exit) is canceled.
The final few episodes were some of the best, the characters were at their peak.
The show had such an original style to it, with varying shades of green in every scene.
A lot of the actors outside of the main cast were awful, and I think that only highlighted the humor of the show. Part of the fun of watching it was awaiting the next Big Lebowski reference.

It was incredible while it lasted. You don't get good mystery on television- at all. It's "whose going to suffer a voting off this week?" or some other punishment that an identical reality show character had suffered the week before. The Lilly Cain mystery of season one is unparalleled, and was executed perfectly. Season two's bus crash proved that the show was no fluke. Compared to the brilliance of these first 44 episodes, season three could be considered unfocused. But, once again, the last few hours could have been the best of all.

Good writing is even rarer, and a character like Logan Echolls comes once every four hundred seasons in television.

What's left? Wrestling, I guess.
One things for sure- Tuesdays are lost forever.