All you chumps I know in the mudwest have been whining girl-style about the weather God's been dumping on you lately, but here in Seattle the weekend was beautiful, the first true spring feeling of the year and Lori and I took full advantage. Saturday we took a long, long walk to Ballard, where I cashed in a gift certificate at Sonic Boom (local CD/record outfit), courtesy the Resonance Corporation. I had planned on using the windfall to snap up something new, something modern, because even as I try to keep up with "what's happening," I rarely shell out for the latest great record. I figured I'd leaf through the stacks, pick up a couple fresh In The Red/Goner/Sympathy discs and see if any of them have any staying power. But as usual, I remain mired in the past ... I ended up with 13th Floor Elevator and Love records, plus a great comp of Black Power soul with selected moments of speeches from Malcolm X, Huey Newton and other righteous brothers.

To continue ...

At the recd store I ran into Eric Kohler, a guy I knew over a decade ago in East Lansing, a former backcook at El Azteco that some of you might remember. He's a carpenter here in Seattle now, has a fledgling garagerock band and he joined the old lady and me for a few drinks mid-afternoon. A nice surprise for sure.

Also got the amazing F FOR FAKE to review for Resonance, so I dug that for a while Saturday night. The last film Orson Welles finished, a wild, unpredictable documentary about an art forger ... as good as CITIZEN KANE sez I, more profound, anyway. Criterion is releasing it as a double DVD package, it's worth a weekend rental for sure.

Sunday we were up early and spent most of the day doing a spirited spring clean, swapping furniture from room to room and creating a lot more space for ourselves. Did some rare shopping for clothes at Red Light (which is right around the corner) and scored, finally. I nabbed a choice cowboy shirt, black with descending eagles as the lapel design, and it fits my sagging frame just right. Most always the good stuff is too tight, fit only for the tiniest twentysomething hipster ... this time the old man gets the prize.