Freedom of '76.

I've been entirely hooked by the new album from one of my all-time favorite bands - Ween. La Cucaracha is catchy as all hell and easily is the sweetest listen since White Pepper. But I'm not here to do a music review; I'm here to take a walk down memory lane. I want to talk about two interconnected things that have been in my life a very long time, two subjects I cannot think of separately without remembering the other. Ween, and my friend Lyndsy.

Lyndsy the week I met her, NYC, August 1996

I discovered Ween at 15 and Lyndsy three years later. They both had and continue to have a huge, enormous, positive presence. Meeting Lynds was the greatest bomb to ever go off in my life. I was not the same person once we started hanging out; she became my soul mate. Our first year together in New York and Providence was a mad ride of hilarity and adventures, but when we parted, our friendship didn't fade or take a back burner like so many often do. Even when I moved across the country we kept in close contact, seeing one another more often than we saw our own families.

Lyndsy with "missing" brownie teeth, 1996

Now Lynds' family needs her, and I realize once again how much she has given me, year after year. Lynds, I fuckin' love you and I want to give you an enormous and public SHOUT OUT for being a strong, amazing, gorgeous woman who rises above the clouds of shitstorms again and again. YOU. ARE. INCREDIBLE.

Maybe you have to have been a 19-year-old girl to understand this, but Ween is so integrally tied into our friendship that I cannot separate my association with them and her. Ween WAS our soundtrack for years. I've seen them live more than any band (though never lately, when they only play huge outdoor venues and their crowd drifted over once Phish stopped touring).

Sophomore year. What a year!

I was in tenth grade when I picked up the Pure Guava cassette, hooked by the vanity of seeing my own name on the track list and of hearing "Big Jilm" on WMPG college radio. I'm twice as old now as I was then and I still have new Ween albums to pick up. Like my friendship with Lyndsy, drawing comics, and my affection for the weed, some things will always be. And now, I urge you to watch an amazing clip from 1993: Gene and Dean high out of their minds on the Jane Pratt show. Well done, fellows. Don't miss the final 10 seconds for the scream.

The Saga of Lester Beans.

My obligatory "haul shot" from SPX.

I've been busy, yadda yadda. So here's some neat things going on I can share. First, congratulations to Petr and Rose, and to their beautiful and weird wedding ceremony - it was gorgeous. Second, hi to anyone I haven't written back to post-SPX; I'm trying to amend my ways about correspondence replies. I had a great time at SPX - there won't be another wrapup, but my photos are here (I bought a Flickr pro account just for them) and videos here.

Photo by Dylan Williams.

Since I've been back in town I've spoken to Bernadette and Gretchen, the lovely women behind Baker's Mark Literary Agency, and realizing that they can't sell my book until it's close to done has lit a fire under my ass like you can't believe. I've been bustin' out pages left and right. Boom! Pow! Also, if you've been wondering why my website hasn't been updated, my old computer died and I lost the site password. Hopefully this will be remedied soon.

So here's a good tale. About a month ago we started getting visits from a gray and white cat. I figured he lived on the block; he had a collar and was obviously someone's pet. He seemed fed and was the friendliest little guy; I'd find him asleep in the sun on one of the backyard chairs and he'd hop off and come over to my lap without being asked. He started showing up more and more often, until I realized he was just living in our backyard, eating the food my neighbor leaves out for his outdoor cats. He was so goofy and retarded, climbing on my shoulders and drooling, so I named him Beans. But later I noticed his dignified walk and style, so he became Mr. Lester Beans (this name evolved in the course of only a few days).


He was breaking my heart, so I took the leap and made a vet appointment, planning to clear up any flea or earmite problems before inviting him into the house. My FOUR other cats were not amused by this newcomer, so my plan was to keep him inside long enough to rehome him amongst my friends or, failing that, Craigslist. I brought him to the vet strapped to my bike, and lo and behold, he had a microchip implanted in his back. I pedaled him home, called the chip company, called the vet's office they directed me to, then called the owner. Turns out Beans, aka "Dapper Dan," was missing for over a month and his mom thought he was gone forever. My guess is that he just took a long walk one day and forgot how to get back. (Goofy, as I said.). It felt great to send him home, but I've already looked out the bathroom window twice this afternoon at his chair, checking on him.