She grew up tall and she grew up right

I would like to submit that it is impossible to have been in high school in Indiana in the 1990s and not be a huge Tom Petty fan.  Absolutely, utterly impossible.

Reports are confused; he may still be with us and he may be gone.  All I know is I drove home tonight blasting this song, and then Wildflowers, at top volume, and I had to stop singing along partway through the chorus because I was crying.

 

Mi dinero es su dinero

An insight into my personality:  if I happen to pop open the iTunes store, mostly because I’m curious as to whether a new episode of The Orville is available or not (the first one performed well above expectations, don’t @ me) and I happen to see this:

poralbumv1-510x510

…and, upon investigating further, I discover that Prophets of Rage is the self-titled debut album of a group composed of Chuck D from Public Enemy, B-Real from Cypress Hill, and the motherfucking entirety of Rage Against the Machine, I will enter a fugue state, as follows:

Unknown

…and upon recovering from said fugue state I will discover that I have bought not one but two albums on iTunes, with no conscious decision-making process of any kind evident at all– that I somehow managed to not only download the debut full-length album which launched this week but also the EP (which I also didn’t know existed) which came out last year sometime, but I won’t even remember looking for it– my money will just be gone and I will have new music on my various music-producing devices.

I will listen to them during my various trips back and forth to work this week, and I may or may not report back with a review.  But yeah.  That combination?  Shortcuts every mental defense I have against spending money and the shit just happens automatically.


Speaking of spending money: my new book, Tales: The Benevolence Archives, Vol. 3 is now available for pre-order on Amazon!  It’s just $2.99 and I think you should buy it right now so that I can afford more music.

A good indicator of my current mental state

I listened to “Fuck Dying” by Ice Cube four times on the way home from work tonight.  This is actually a good thing and indicates a certain amount of nah, world, you can’t touch me tonight.  

It’s been a week of short-ass posts, I know, but there’s a lot going on tomorrow, assuming I’m able to keep my momentum up.

In the meantime, and not for the first time: