TED, changing the world one robot at a time. Also, Big Brother, camping, Comic-Con, the Rolling Stones, the south pole, smallpox, selfies, throwing shade and ice cream on my nose.
I love autobiographies and I love rock and roll in all its many hairy permutations, so what could be better than reviewing a stack of autobiographies written by musicians? That’s a rhetorical question, I’m going to do it anyway. By chance I may also speak of Rachel Dolezal (again), Compton’s Most Wanted, White Indians, survivalist cults, Saturday Night Live, jumping off a cliff after work and prophesies foretold.
Thrill to the new sound of me talking about Rachel Dolezal, dreadlocks, our old friend the Internet, Bob Marley and the Wailers, the Vocoder, the tinny clang of the 80s, electric guitars, triggers, metal kids, mistakes, Gramophones, fuzzy noisemakers, the Mellotron, Guitar Center, Louis Armstrong, transcendence, cocked wahs, bagpipes and momentum.
Well, I have a little chest congestion, so forgive the slight wheezing as I talk about President Obama, the Los Angeles Clippers, fast forwarding, neighbors, construction, This Old House as porn, people who are good at what they do, working on Sunday, the history of sticking windows into walls, the ceiling of the Sistine chapel, chatty Cathy, the Los Angeles Philharmonic, corrugated fiberglass, Styrofoam heads, evidence of a grow house, Ben Franklin, Mark Twain, Gandhi, bus stop ads, Adam Sandler's idiotic baby talk characters, Eddie Murphy, Chris Rock, Tracy Morgan, Marc Maron, racism, Bob Dylan and Joe Dirt.