Oh first post, time to pop the blogger cherry! Let me do a little disclaimer here however, this one's going to be a bit...off. I don't know whether this happens to other NYC-fish-out-of-our-filthy-East-River-water but since I've been home here in upstate New York, I haven't been able to sleep. Like, at all. Nada. Oh, and by upstate New York, I'm not talking fucking Rockland County people, we're talking cow-manure-and-no-fire-hydrants-upstate. And seas upon seas of endless silence at night. Which I think is the problem. Either that or I've got another neurosis to add the list...

Anyways, my wishes to all of you reader(s) for a wonderful holiday season. If you're a mix a-la Judaism/Catholicism like I am, you're getting the full nine-yards treatment. There's nothing like potato latkes followed by the traditional seafood Christmas dinner to give your stomach a twirl. (Why it's a seafood dinner I've never really gathered, I'm going to go out on a limb and assume the Christ as a fisherman thing... feel free to correct me on that one, pagan that I am). Needless to say however, going on no sleep during the holiday season is a lot like taking a freshly-sharpened pencil and sticking it into your eye (I'm actually not a masochist for a note, just a Lewis Black fan). At one point I found myself curled up in bed blaring Is This It while lobster was consumed in the next room. Fittingly, we watched The Grinch Who Stole Christmas that same night. Balls....

And I guess to wrap it up, I'll do a little song and dance about the recent Rolling Stone article I read on Iggy Pop, nee James Newell Osterberger, as I'm sure many of you already know. He's a complex guy, no doubt about that. But there were several things that made me pause. Like his contention that he did the glam thing and Bowie was the one who made it commercial. And the fact that, for all his advances for the state of post-rock music (which are manifold, I'll be the first to admit, "I Wanna Be Your Dog" and "The Passenger" still give me darts of pleasure....shameless plug for Franz Ferdinand, buy the EP damnit), he still managed to contradict himself by collaborating with, of all the possible bands out there, Sum 41.

More musings on this later I suppose. For now, leftover squid is calling my name.

Chanson du jour: (Yes, I'm the schmuck who's going to post phrases in French, pardon moi) "Needles In My Eyes".