For the plane back, I picked up a Spin Magazine and a Premiere Magazine. Spin, which I rarely read these days, was fun in the way that it used to be--that sense of "yeah, we have to cater to all these big label names and advertisers, but we don't take ourselves too seriously, and you shouldn't, either, plus, dude, we'll try to mention an indie band or two if we can fit it in the small type, so we must be cool, right man?". They had all these absurd "best of" and "worst of" lists, something so sophomoric it was worthy of early Creem or Trouser Press. I was glad to see it so delightfully irrelevant again. I easily by-passed, by the way, the Charisma Carpenter issue of Playboy, because I don't read that magazine. Even without seeing her pictures, I note that I do not think she will have a Sharon Stone style blooming of her career for the experience, but she might revive herself as a google search term this way.
Meanwhile, the local Dallas Observer music critic did a "big" story about going to 20 bands in 7 days; i.e., every band that invited her to watch them. Her point was that unsung bands can have gems and rough, useless rocks. She almost said something, but then she wrote a clunker line like "How do you get coverage from us? Be good". Memo to Dallas Observer: I love to read you, but you are not the arbiter of good, and very rarely, and even then only in your paid advertising, do you even serve as an arbiter of evil. But I will probably still write a nice note, because what could be wrong with not covering the same four band over and over?
I thought to myself, not for the first time, that I wish I lived in a world in which Jay Leno interviewed Melissa Van dur Maur about her music, instead of having Courtney Love on as a spectacle. I listened to an NPR spot about the jazz trio that covers heavy metal songs, and had a flashback to old Gentle Giant. For a man who never sampled LSD, I sure time travel a lot.
Meanwhile, over at Premiere magazine, they had the "100 Power Brokers" list, featuring many "real" power brokers, and many folks who are just performers on a very temporary roll. The film business enchants and repels me. It's such a high octane industry. Yet, it can be so oddly petty. I wonder why anyone would write so many paragraphs about "exotic" midriff film shots of an up and coming teen actress. I wonder if any midriff shot can really be exotic anymore. The issue did have a great "making of Ghostbusters" article, as well as a nice cameo piece about Jarmusch.
I landed at 7:20. The peanuts on the plane were honey roasted. I hate honey roasted peanuts. I hope that if there's a good afterlife, they have good salted peanuts.
I am so glad it's light so much later. When I arrived home, the San Diego County woman who survived the mountain lion was on Larry King. I thought of all the dusk and dawn hikes I took, and was thankful I never ran across any cat bigger than a bobcat. I am glad she lived, and told the tale. But I feel sorry for the lion.