« New from Burberry: Wiffle Ball. | Main | Body by Fischer, Tits by Hollywood 90210 »

January 25, 2006

Alito, Whoa-oh-oH-OH-Oh-oh...

FT freelance, the new day-to-day. I roll into the coffee place around 9:20 on a monday morning. I'm up early enough not to feel like an asshole for sleeping late, but it's also late enough that I'm obviously not working 9 to 5. I'm wearing a woolen zip-up sweater and jeans; I have a beard. The veiny lawyer with the square glasses who sits in the picture window across from where I park the 240 frowns at me as I walk by. "Get a job," his tired eyes say, and he longs for a Carlton. But I have a job, man. I have a job.

Inside the coffee place I recognize two record store clerks from two different local places. They're killing time before their shifts, sipping espressos or generally fronting. I order a triple grandé mocha like you read about, and catch the eye of a girl in sleek J.Crew crepe. A flip of the hair like Kelly O'Donnell, a light brush of freckles underneath the grey eyes. She's out the door in a swish of black fabric, and the screen of her Treo 700w glints in mid morning sunlight.

Now, I'm not setting up shop at a booth in back of the coffee place, unfolding the laptop and stroking the chin and all that. That's too clichéd. Besides, I'm a freelance music writer, not a freelance shitty poet. So I grab my mocha, climb back in the Volvo, and listen to an advance of the new Ghostigital record as I drive downtown. I loved the old record, and this one is just as cool. Einar is psycho; I love it. A few minutes later I stop by the Metro Times offices, then head home to write a few reviews. Later I listen to Dusty in Memphis just because I can, then get ahold of the guy from that one band that I have to interview later. The shower doors need cleaning, so I do that. Lite FM's on the radio, and it plays a Meredith Brooks song I've never heard called "Shout." It sounds like the soundtrack to a yogurt ad, or maybe the next chick lit adaptation. ("You've got something to SHOUT about!") I finish another review, and then return to reading this guy's book, because I'm going to write a review of it next week.

It's been another day in this new life, and I don't miss the commute at all.



Chill Out
Ten Words for Snow find their inner nice, just this side of the cringe point.

"Ten Words For Snow don't see themselves as hip, and don't really care if they aren't perceived as such. "None of us look like 'rock' people," drummer Dave Melkonian says, relaxing in the basement practice space and recording studio of his polite Madison Heights ranch."

Life beyond Michigan in a flurry of yeses, personal discoveries and odes to love and hate

" 'Will you give me my last kiss in Detroit?' she sings, and there’s no imagery there, just an ultimatum."


The Elected, Sun Sun Sun (Sup Pop)

Cyril Lords, Motherland (No Fun)

Jamie Foxx, Unpredictable (J)

Opeth, Ghost Reveries (Roadrunner)


Buy the Flamin' Groovies' "Shake Some Action" right now. Go.


Posted by Johnny Loftus at January 25, 2006 3:11 PM

Comments (4)

Congrats to you for kicking the daily grind to the proverbial curb. I respect that a lot, but not as much as I respect the beardage. For real.


It's good to keep a schedule. But even better not to commute. Enjoy it.

you have a beard?
your schedule sounds like heaven...


one day i'm giving you the almighty power pop disc i made that you will cherish.