I find that housework is easier to accomplish if I put on headphones and listen to my walkman, I mean i-Pod. (I'm not going to fix that, bc come on an honest mistake like that is art.) This way you don't get distracted, because you are only half in the world. It's like you are a ghost who can walk around, do the dishes, put away the laundry, but whose head is in the divine realm, unconcerned with the body.


My nose is crooked because I was two and jumping up and down on the bed, fell, and hit it. That's my story.

I decided to arrange our record collection, which means I am having a mid-life crisis or something of the sort. (Alphabetical, not autobiographical, thank you for your concern.) Mostly I wanted to see what it would look like.

Statistics jumped out at me that I never knew before. Like, what performers do we have the most records from? You couple people out there--raise your hands--you know what a joint record collection is like--you might not have it fully in your brain what's in there. The autobiographical details that go with your records are completely absent for some things--there's a big bunch of stuff that you think, "That came with Mia" (insert appropriate name).

If you're between the ages of 25 and 40, you have two copies of Mermaid Avenue, two copies of the Pulp Fiction Soundtrack, and two copies of Bob Marley Legend, don't you? You do, right?


Winners of the CD contest, Lambchop, Sarah McLachlan, and Dar Williams

When I stacked them all up to alphabetize them, some stacks were enormous. M caved in and had to be split in two sections, thanks mostly to Sarah McLachlan. I never realized how many of those we had. Eight. Dar Williams also has eight records in there, giving them a tie. The winner of the most goes to Lampchop, though, with ten.

(It should be noted that if Dar Williams and Lucinda Williams could combine like Voltron, they would kick everyone's ass.)

Mia and I met in the 90s, when Wilco was my favorite band, and anything else alt-country was a close second. She didn't know Wilco, but she asked me one day if I'd like to see her bootlegs. Sure enough, she had a full double-sided case of folk singer bootlegs, passed around on mid-90s email listservs. (Holy shit, I said, a girl with a bootleg collection.)

Our record collection is a mix of the two of us, then, with almost all the records by Lambchop, the greatest band in Nashville history (that's me), and nearly-full collections from Sarah McLachlan and Dar Williams (that's Mia). I had to go through it all before that occurred to me in that explicit manner, though.

Happy Record Collection Day.

Today, February 13th, is my mom's birthday. If you're so inclined, and if you like moms (and apple pie with cheese on top, and freedom), go over to her new flickr account and leave her a note.

A sample note would be like this: Dear Sandy, Happy Birthday! I especially like your photo of the tigers in the kiddie pool. That's awesome!

Another could go like this: Happy Birthday, Sandy! We all tell Josh to get a haircut!

The sky is liquid blue in New York. It's 58 degrees. Come on, two more, you can do it, you can DO it.

My dad and his dad, from my mom's flickr page

Stop being so negative

Sometimes Gmail tells me stuff, and I wonder if everyone gets it, or if I spiraled down into a statistical data-mining bin that actually means something. Just now Gmail reminded me to stop being so negative. It's not bad advice. Thanks, mom. Thanks, guy. Yes yes, I know you're right.

My friend Teddy once came over to my house when I was about 15 or 16 years old. I was doing what I was always doing then: eating McDonalds, sitting at my drawing board, making a comic book. (I vividly remember this one was to be all pencil art, in black and white. "It's going to be dark," I would say.)

Teddy was a couple years older than me, and he lived way out in the middle of nowhere on a dirt road. For this reason, he drove a big, huge Pontiac Phoenix that went like 10,000 MPH, was always filthy, and would likely withstand any direct assault. Teddy would often show up unannounced because our town was 30 miles from his house, so he would make the rounds before starting his long journey home each day.

"Whatcha drawing?" Teddy asked.

"It's gonna be dark," I said, pushing aside my McDonalds.

Teddy and I were both on the science team, meaning that we were not popular. This also meant that we might have sometimes spent more time talking to the science teachers than our fellow students.

"Jason and I were talking about you with Ms. Rye," Teddy said, meaning the chemistry teacher, incidentally one of the greatest teachers I have ever known in my long association with education. "She said you seemed like a real up-and-coming asset to the science team, but she wanted us to try and talk to you."

"God, why," I said.

"She said, 'The thing about Josh is he doesn't care about anything. He really doesn't care even a little bit about anything at all. This kid's gotta snap out of it.' Isn't that funny?"

"Fuckin' A."

"Fuck yeah," Teddy said laughing. "Very little reason to give a fuck about anything, but Josh maybe you do manage to find the very lowest ground imaginable, over everybody else. Have to hand it to you."

Google, Mia, Teddy, Ms. Rye, mom... everyone, I have been cognizant of your suggestions along the way, I have noted all of it, it has made an impact on my thoughts, I have appreciated it, and I love you all. Thank you for your concern.

What this leaves me thinking is two things: Boy I would love to take a drive in that Phoenix these days. Cars used to be better than they are now. Also, I would much prefer being on the science team over being an actual scientist, which is far less fun.

I've finally given up on ever going outside again. I'm staying inside all day, and I wouldn't even leave if the building caught on fire. I have a persistent cold, am always stopped up, always have a headache, and am always chilly.

It's the weather that's done this. It's been 15 degrees for a week, and I'm tired of it. I always think I feel better, then I go outside and it's back to what I'm used to: Oh you felt better?? Well, here's your damn cold back, and wouldn't you like to have a kleenex about now? Better luck next time, why don't you just sit there and sniff through this train ride.

Last night we were coming back from seeing Nick in Jersey, and it was maybe less than 15 ... 10 on the train platform, with a nice cutting wind, and I was like, "Lord, when I get home, I will never go outside again."

Now I'm sitting here and the widget on my computer says it's 48 outside. Bullshit, I don't believe it. Even so, that's worse than 15, because that just means I'll warm up, it'll get cold again, and I'll get even sicker. There is no way to win, I firmly believe.

That's it. I'm inside till summer. Never going outside again. See you then. I'm going to go juice an orange and blow my nose and take my temperature and count my vitamins again. Check in on me in March, to make sure I'm ok.