Wednesday, August 31, 2005

The Next Big Thing

Get your ass over to Stetson's the evening of September 15! Why? Because your local -ist is celebrating their first birthday, that's why! Born from sheer willpower and guided by editors Mike Grass and Rob Goodspeed, DCist grew quickly in its first year, expanding to a twenty-strong posse of writers and blossoming into one of the top dogs in the -ist family. We love to show the people who live in the city we love a good time, and our birthday should be no different. Get all the deets right here, and come!

DCeptette: When the levee breaks version

1. I got no sympathy for the record industry. All their bitching and moaning about how album sales are off. Who's to blame for that? They're to blame for that. Plain and simple. In making file-sharing the tried-in-absentia culprit, they've done nothing more than shoot off their face to spite their face. I know this full well. I was in Charlottesville in the years leading up to Remember Two Things. Labels were vainly courting Dave Matthews with low-ball offer after low-ball offer. They should have known they didn't have a chance when their A&R drones starting reporting back to the home office from points afield--the Southwest, the Rockies--with

the news that the kids already knew all the words to "Ants Marching." How dat happen? Bootlegs. That's how. Widespread and commonplace. Yeah--bands should fight against bootlegs...unless they want their careers to skyrocket, that is.

The final year that Original Napster roamed wild and free over the interwebs was the last great year of sales for the record industry. After it got shut down, industry profits nosedived. This was no coincidence. On March 21, 2000, N*Sync's sophomore album No Strings Attached dropped
and pretty much immediately broke its foot off

the ass of every major sales record of the preceding decade--despite having been leaked and widely traded on Napster in the month before its release date. This was no coincidence. But what's really compelling is that on October 3rd of the same year, another album that had been leaked and widely traded on Napster in the month preceding shot to number one on the sales chart right out of the gate. That record: the hyper-poppy and super-mainstream-accessible Kid A from Radiohead. Raise your hand if you thought Kid A had a shot at topping the charts.

That's right. I didn't expect to see any hands.

Again, this was no coincidence. And it should only be surprising to a very stupid person to learn that a study reported on by NME, illegal downloaders still outspend consumers who stick to legal downloading by nearly a 5 to 1 margin. Napster's original contention was that their free service actually helped consumers make informed choices regarding their musical investments--that the majority of users sampled via download, and then poured their hard earned dollars back into the music industry.

So there's a new name for pirates of MP3 booty: valued customers.

At every turn, the recording industry have fucked themselves in their own ass over digital music, and like good capitalists, have passed on their pain and liability onto us. And they're doing it again--but I think it's important for everyone to bear witness to the fact that this time the industry is going to flat-out screw the very subset of consumers it has spent so much time courting and convincing--the consumers who

they have labored to bring in from the cold world of digital piracy--the consumers who they have told are the REAL valued customers--the consumers who have reciprocated their kindness to the tune of $350 million: habitual users of the legal, pay-to-use service known as iTunes. is on the case, and, as you'd expect, their indictment is meticulous, serrated and damning. Read what they have to say. This is more corporate calumny, and everyone out there who uses iTunes should beseech Steve Jobs to stand his ground and be the thin red line between stupid, dinosaur businessmen who belong in the tarpits of modern capitalism and consumers who are tired of getting cornholed.

2. The only thing truly transcendental about Sally Jenkins' recent musings on Intelligent Design and sports is Jenkins' own transcendental stupidity. Intelligent Design is This Year's Model of non-thought, and much in the same way fascism and Leninism consumed the minds of its trendy defenders in the cognoscenti, you witness an ordinarily smart writer become so tangled up in pure bullshit that the paucity of intellect on the page is almost inhuman. If this was the first article of Jenkins' you'd ever read, you'd never know she was a sportswriter--it seems to have been written by someone who's as alienated from the world of athletes and athletics as the Eskimos are from the microbes on Mars. But while the deep and wide and vast reach of unadulterated inanity on display is depressing, what's truly disturbing is how this article parallel parks the Intelligent Design jalopy right next to ideas seem like they're buttressing the idea of a Master Race. Really--at this point in time, do we really need to inject Superman theory into this inane debate? Intelligent Design is the new nihilism. (Washington Post)

3. I was worried about all the people in the Gulf states who have been savaged by Katrina. After all, the relief efforts and reconstruction is going to be a strain on a group of states that would not even break even without the generosity of people who are willing to pay taxes from places like New York and Maryland. But then I realized that Mississippi's governor is Haley Barbour, who was one of the visionaries behind boxing up the nation's surplus and remitting it to the wealthiest two percent of Americans. Surely, in his hour of need, Barbour will be rescued by the chivalric members of the "have-more" set that he served so well. The thought fills me with such patriotic pride that I wonder if we could use stem cells to reanimate Frank Capra and have him re-edit It's a Wonderful Life so that George Bailey dies in utero. (Wonkette)

4. The ACC Basketball Season isn't anywhere near beginning, but even at this early date, I couldn't be more pleased! (Post)

5. Band Camp Public Schools takes french fries off the menu, because they aren't going to take any fucking chances with that John Roberts. (WTOP)

Tuesday, August 30, 2005

New York City spends August in Acid Canyon

We'd been thinking of motoring off one weekend and spending some time in the 212. Many good reasons: it's been a while since we've seen our Man in Brooklyn, our partner in crimes Travis was flying in to teach the indie kids to pull pork again, and, as many around here know, we have something that comes to us by dint of living in DC that most New Yorkers in our tax bracket don't have: discretionary income.

Thus, it is usually true that visiting New York is this year's living in New York. But this past August, the shit in NYC started to inexplicably become bananas. It all seemed to start when a middle-aged junkie was murdered outside Teany. A terrible thing to have happen, only compounded by the inescapable sense that you just knew even this brush with brittle mortality wasn't going to successfully inspire Moby to make music that anyone wanted to listen to anymore.

Still, the bright side beckoned: one less user meant more horse for us, right? Wrong. You probably thought we defeated the opium hating Taliban, didn't you? Well, then you explain all the murder-tar masquerading as quality shit, why don't you?

Well, with no good drugs and the prospects of quality ambient techno built around ancient field recordings fading faster than Natasha Lyonne's immune system, you just know what was bound to happen: people fucking each other in places that people should never be fucking.

Which in turn, led to people who shouldn't be fucking in the first place fucking in places that even people who shouldn't be fucking in the first place shouldn't be fucking ever.

Culminating in this retina-scorching atrocity. Not even that dude from Hotel Rwanda can protect you.

Tell you what, New York. You guys are obviously going through some shit right now. Maybe you need to take some time off. Pour yourself into helping out your peeps down in New Orleans. Show Ann Coulter you're no cowards by taking her out on the Circle Line and fitting her with those cast-iron Jimmy Choos she richly deserves. We care. A lot. We'll see you in September. Get us Pillowman tickets, why don't you?

Monday, August 29, 2005

DCeptette: What's the worst that I can say version

  1. There is a hairdressing school in our office building, whose students have frolicked in the portico for the past couple of days. Based on what we have seen, the future of hairdressing will be in the hands of sullen My Chemical Romance fans. You have all been warned.
  2. Dweebieboppers cross paths in Adams Morgan, and before you know it, everybody was kung-fu fighting. Well almost, anyway. But like true men, they took their fight to Craigslist.
  3. The Anacostia Diaries blogger shot a video of some nude guy at the White House getting arrested by Secret Service and proceeded to go into toxic Xanax withdrawal after no one in the media offered to drop everything they were doing to cover this prosaic event, wondering, "What if my life depended on this tape getting to the public?" If the current world circumstances were such that getting Mr. Nudie Kazoodie covered by the news were a matter of life and death, I would be overjoyed, because that would mean that we wouldn't be losing a war, a deadly-ass hurricane wouldn't be bearing down on Biloxi, they would have finally found that Natalie Holloway girl, Nancy Grace would be getting blunted, Christopher Hitchens would be at about step seven of his sobriety program, and every single problem in the world would have dissolved into a chocolate bunny paradise of clogging, hugging, and free daquiris. They're just not that into you! (The Anacostia Diaries)
  4. Only four months of shopping until Christmas! What do you get the county that has everything? I know! Another tedious WaPo blog! Congratulations, Band Camp! Welcome to 2002! (DCist)
  5. What do I think about Columbia Heights? Hmmm. That's a really good question! I'll tell you what I think: the next person who refers to that neighborhood as "CoHi" is gonna get throatpunched. (Craigslist)

DCent Days and Nights

The Upstate Life has the news that Clap Your Hands Say Yeah will not be playing the College of William and Mary on October 18. Instead, they will perform at the pleasure of Washington, DC. See them at the Black Cat. I have no idea who the openers are at this point.

So if you're like me, you don't want to spend September 11th in the thrall of fake pathos or crass-tacky memorial bilge. If you like boning up on your Hopelandish, go check out Sigur Ros at the Strathmore. If you like lovely, mysterious music played through a top of the line sound system but don't fancy a bunch of nordic types keening gibberish at you, we recommend Feist at the Birchmere, with the Sketches. Feist has been really good to us, by the way...she returns yet again on November 18 with Bright Eyes and the Magic Numbers at DAR.

I have yet to grok the appeal of this band, but I don't want those of you who can't live without Architecture in Helsinki to miss them. They'll be playing the Black Cat on October 7, according to the bitches at Pitchfork.

Katrina 100: 002 So much for NewOrleanist

I can't help thinking of many months ago, after a Metroblogging* reporter squatted on the domain What ensued was the sissy-boy slapfight to end all sissy-boy slapfights in the blogocracy.

Ironic, because by this time tomorrow, running a New Orleans blog could require gills.

Let's hope not.

*Would someone please introduce some sort of web-based tool to transform Metroblog's use of the first-person singular to the less LiveJournally first-person plural? Thanks.

Sunday, August 28, 2005

Katrina 100: 001 Katrina and the Waves

Over at, Jason Samenow and his frankly amazing team of weather bloggers are covering the unfolding events in the Gulf Coast. It wasn't long ago that the DCeiver stood outside the Sanctuary Theatre talking with Shane Wallis, who's spent a lot of time in that area of the country. Shane warned then that one day, a hurricane was going to come and wipe low-laying New Orleans clean off the map. That time may be upon us.

CapitalWeather offers some pretty dire news, including this statement from the National Weather Service, w/r/t New Orleans:




And believe it or not, this could be just the tip of the iceberg. The petroleum industry stands to lose a lot of infrastructure during this storm. There are many chemical plants in the coastal area around New Orleans, adding a potential environmental catastrophe. Right now, thousands of people without any means to get out of the area are holing up at the Superdome, where officials expect that sometime tomorrow, the power will fail, the walls will breach and the field will flood. (UPDATE: CNN has reported that no engineering study has been done to verify whether the Superdome's roof can withstand Cat 5 conditions.)

This hurricane is likely to be catastrophic, and the relief efforts afterwards will likely be an all hands on deck affair. We'll keep track of the local effort and how DC residents can help. For immediate information, contact your local Red Cross office.

Friday, August 26, 2005

Hey! Death Cab Fans. It's go time!

Folks...swear to God we checked this last night. We didn't see any notice. We would have told you earlier. Death Cab tickets for the 9:30 club show, Sunday, October 23, are onsale RIGHT NOW. Go.

I said GO!

Stars are, I believe, the opener.

Thursday, August 25, 2005

The Taking of the Orange Line 1- 2-3

There's been some talk of late about the possibility of terrorists launching attacks on us here in Washington, DC on our beloved Metro system. DCeiver isn't worried--and not just because we'll never have to use the system during rush hour ever again. It's just that we don't think that a terrorist is going have an easy time exploiting WMATA for its nefarious gains. There are built in defenses that we don't even appreciate. It's the truth. And to demonstrate that truth, we offer our readers another one of our famous playlets. Behold the power of verisimilitude!

Early morning. A Wednesday. An al Qaeda safehouse in Band Camp. An older terrorist is visiting a younger member of a local sleeper cell. By weird coincidence, they are named Balthazar Getty and Leelee Sobieski, respectively.

Balthazar Getty: Leelee! Wake up! You're taking the author's use of the term "sleeper cell" far too literally.

Leelee Sobieski: Whaa--oh! As-Salaam-Alaikum, Balthazar.

BG: Enough of that. If this is to be my last day on this Earth, you can spare me all the mullah-tastic iambic pentameter bullshit.

LS: Sorry. I'm a little overexcited. This is the day, my friend. Years of planning and training, culminating in deserved martyrdom. Give me a second. I'm basically all ready to go.

BG: You are? I don't see any explosive strapped to you.

LS: Oh, I'm not strapping. Are you strapping?

BG: Yes. And I'm getting prickly rash in this heat.

LS: See? That's why I'm bagging. I have the bomb all set up. It's in my rucksack.

BG: Rucksack?

LS: bag...

BG: It's a fucking backpack Leelee. A backpack. What, are we British now?

LS: No...

BG: So it's a fucking backpack.

LS: Okay, okay. Geez, you're in a mood.

[They leave]

Balthazar and Leelee are in their car, on their way to the Vienna Metro Station.

LS: So, I've been doing a lot of thinking.

BG: What about?

LS: The afterlife, paradise. You know, sort of planning my day tomorrow.

BG: Yeah?

LS: Yeah.

BG: Well...okay.

LS: Yeah.

BG: (sighing) What's on your mind, Leelee?

LS: Well, I was just wondering if it's true--about, you know...what they say...about the virgins?

BG: Yeah, they always talk about the virgins.

LS: I feel like, you know, it sounds too good to be true, you know? Like, maybe you get gypped and get only sixty-five instead of seventy-two, and you're there--you know, first day in heaven--and you're supposed to be happy. You don't want to complain. You don't want to seem--

BG: Ungrateful.

LS: Right. Ungrateful. Because sixty-five virgins. I mean, that's sixty-five more than I have right now, right? They just hammer home that seventy-two. It's a selling point.

BG: I don't know how they arrived at that number.

LS: F'real. Anyway. You worry about getting shorted. And you worry how many of these virgins are like, you know, really good looking from behind, but then you get 'em turned around, and it's like, Qaddafi-city, you know?

BG: Gaaaa. Don't even put that image in my head, dude.

LS: That's what I'm saying! I don't wanna have to cross the line of death just to get some tail, right?

BG: Now I got that craggy fuck's face in my head.

LS: It's like fucking Edward bin Olmos!

BG: Nice. Yeah. I see what you're saying. Me? Personally? I hope that they aren't virgins.

LS: Seriously?

BG: Yeah! Think about it. I have a half a ton of explosives strapped to me. My life is about the culminate in the biggest way possible. I'm about to put my foot down in this bitch, you know? So why would I want to fuck a bunch of virgins?

LS: They're more fun to fuck?

BG: That's what everyone thinks, but follow me here. I'm going to blow my ass into a million pieces. Shit. I don't have to apologize for shit. I'm the cock of the walk. Why do I want to bed down with some giggly ass virgin. Fuck that. You ever fucked a virgin? Fucking awkward. They don't know where anything goes. They don't know how to move? How to get it flowing. You get little twitty questions, fumbling, apologies. That sound like paradise to you? I'm not going to heaven to walk some dead virgin through the paces. I'm thinking: don't I deserve some bitches with experience? Someone who can read me by looking at me, who's feeling me, who knows better to stand there and gawk? When I get to heaven, I"m telling you: I'm on the lookout for some superfly TNT poontang.

LS: That's an interesting point. But aren't virgins supposed to be, you know, funner?

BG: It's "more fun." And: who says that? Why should that be?

LS: Because, they' know...they're...

BG: Tighter? Who cares? I want some wildlife. I want the pussy safari. Not the pussy PetSmart.

LS: There's the lot. Pull in.

BG: ...I'm not saying I wanna have to strap a toboggan to my back...

LS: The lot! Pull in!

BG: What? Shit. I'm not paying to park today. Fuck that. Let's find a neighborhood and dump the car.

LS: It'll get towed.

BG: Yeah. Call it a value-added inconvenience.

Balthazar is procuring farecards as Leelee looks on.

LS: So, what station are we gonna hit?

BG: Heh. What station do you think we should hit?

LS: Aw, dude. Just tell me.

BG: No, I want to hear your opinion.

LS: Okay. Capitol South.

BG: No.

LS: Judy Square.

BG: Nope. No one there anyone'll miss.

LS: Smithsonian?

BG: Blow up art museums? Sounds kind of Talibany, don't it?

LS: They do some good work!

BG: They try too hard. They want to be liked too badly. Stink of desperation, if you ask me.

LS: Dupont Circle.

BG: No. I don't want to transfer. Plus, the Christians'll bomb that at some point, and I'd rather not piss them off.

LS: Good point. Those Christians will FUCK you up.

BG: Psychos. No. We're hitting Metro Center.

LS: (disappointed) Oh. Metro Center.

BG: You don't like Metro Center?

LS: No. It's a good target. It's's so obvious.

BG: Yeah. It's obvious because it's a good target. It's the crux of the system, center of everything. It'll cause a mass panic, take weeks to sort out, and make everything nice and FUBAR.

LS: I get it.

BG: But you don't want to do it.

LS: It's just...there are some cooler places. There are some edgier neighborhoods.

BG: Where do you go for strategic planning, dude? Fuckin' Zagats?

LS: No. Look. Metro Center is fine. Could you hurry up?

BG: Fuck. I hate working these things.

LS: The farecard machines are easy.

BG: Fuck that. This is confusing.

LS: It's easy. Look. It's got numbers and shit. Step by step. Just do what the thing tells you to do.

BG: Leelee, I'm a terrorist. I am on the wires of my fucking nerves. Constantly. If I go a little ADD sometimes, it's not because I'm some goofball. I'm under a lot of pressure.

LS: I'll do it.

BG: Oh, you'll do it?

LS: Move. I'll do it.

BG: Fine. (relents)

LS: Watch. Tell it you want multiple cards. Stick the minimum on. Bing bing. Now slide the card in. Wait.

BG: Yeah. Thanks for teaching me that. That'll come in handy the never times I do it again.

LS: Now you're just being pissy. (thoughtfully) I wonder if we should have gotten SmartTrip.

Leelee and Balthazar descend the escalator, standing on the right side.

LS: Georgetown.

BG: Huh?

LS: Georgetown. It's too bad the Metro doesn't go to Georgetown. It'd be fun to blow that shit up.

BG: Yeah, well. It doesn't go there.

LS: That's too bad.

BG: I don't think it'd be such a hot idea.

LS: I disagree. Rich fucking neighborhood. Historical fucking neighborhood.

BG: Nah. Georgetown is so over.

LS: Not true. There's always people there.

BG: Stuck up shop girls and pampered students. Low value targets.

LS: That's not true.

BG: Georgetown is so fucking yesterday. No one goes there anymore. It's played.

LS: Bush's daughters hang out there.

BG: Ha. Definition of played. I rest my case.

(There is a commotion behind them.)

Man: Ma'am! Would you please stap over and let us by?

(Leelee and Balthazar turn to see a tourist couple behind them, standing abreast on the escalator. A long line of irate passengers are stacked up behind them.)

Tourist Woman: Sir, don't you yell at me!

Man: We're trying to make the train!

Tourist Man: We're all trying to make the train!

LS: Ma'am. It's customary for people who want to ride down the escalator to stand on the right so that people who want to walk down can come down the left side.

Tourist Man: Customary? That's BS. It's an escalator.

Man: There are people who want to get by!

Tourist Woman: Fine! (steps aside, waggling her fat finger at the man as he tromps by) But there are no signs anywhere saying we have to! So you're wrong.

Tourist Man: God! People are so rude here!

BG: Look! Is it such a big fucking deal that you stand on the side for people who don't want to wait?

Tourist Woman: You all just think you're so important! Like you've just got to be on the next train!

BG: Is it such! A big fucking deal! To just stand on the side!

Tourist Man: Look, buddy. There's no sign posted saying that. How are we supposed to know?

Tourist Woman: We are NOT from around here.

BG: Obvs. But you are from the same fucking planet as the rest of us, right? I mean, you've got fucking eyes, right? You can look over at that escalator and SEE how people are doing that, right? You see how the people are standing to the right and walking on the left, can't you? I mean, you are capable of making an observation, right? You go to Minnesota and see snow on the god damned ground, you're smart enough to fucking INFER that you should put a coat on, right? You don't walk outside in a banana boat and bitch to the whole of St. Paul about how they're a bunch of dicks because they're town is freezing, do you?

Tourist Man: That's not the same thing and you--


(silence, BG turns back.)

LS: You need to calm down.

BS: Sorry.

LS: This escalator ride sure seems long.

BS: For Vienna? Yeah. Maybe the playwright was thinking Rosslyn when he dreamed this scene up.

Leelee and Balthazar board an inbound Orange line train.

(Leelee gets on the train)

LS: Finally!

(As Balthazar follows on, Leelee takes his bag and puts it on an inside seat, then flops down in the adjacent outside seat)

LS: All right. (stretches out) So, what next.

BG: I'll tell you what you're gonna do next. You're gonna pick that fucking backpack up and scoot the hell over.

LS: Oh, come on! I want to relax before the big event.

BG: Fuck you, and fuck you. Move that backpack or I'll move it for you, backwards up your alimentary canal.

LS: Jeez! Fine! I'll move it! (he moves it) I'll scoot over! (he scoots over, Balthazar sits beside him)

BG: That's right.

LS: What the hell is your problem?

BG: What's my problem? What's your problem? What are you thinking, taking up two seats like that?

LS: What was I thinking? I was thinking I was going to blow this train up.

BG: It's impolite. That's what I'm saying. It's impolite.

LS: Impolite. I'm al Qaeda, man. Okay? I'm hardcore. I don't work from the Little Miss Polly Priss Book of Social Niceties exactly.

BG: Oh, yeah. You're so fucking hardcore. You don't get it.

LS: Get what?

BG: People who take up two seats on a crowded train are just dicks, okay? That's not what we're about. How can you behave like that? Shit. If you're just going to lounge across two seats with your fucking "rucksack", then you haven't learned shit. You get me? You do shit like that, then for all intents and purposes, the infidels have already won.

LS: Oh, listen to you.

BG: Yeah. Listen to me. Have some self-respect. You know...carry yourself with some dignity.

LS: All right. I won't ever do it again.

BG: You better fucking not.


LS: Damn. I wonder why it is we can talk so openly about this shit on a train full of infidels and no one notices.

BG: I was wondering that myself.

(The Deus Ex Machina swoops in)

Deus Ex Machina: It's because we're observing Sit-Com Conversation Conventions in this play.

LS: Oh. Like everything we say to each other is an "aside" that no one but us and the audience hears, irregardless of proximity.

Deus Ex Machina: That's right.

LS: Neat. (The Deus Ex Machina swoops away)


BG: It's just "regardless."

LS: What?

BG: No such word as "irregardless." Just "regardless."

LS: Oh.


LS: Sorry.

The train is stopped at the platform at Clarendon.

VOICE: Stand clear of the closing doors. (ding dong)

LS: Sweet Allah! Who is standing in the doors?

BG: I have no idea.

VOICE: Stand clear of the closing doors. (ding dong)

BG: Why do all the doors have to do that?

LS: I have no idea.

VOICE: Stand clear of the closing doors. (ding dong)

BG: You'd think that if just the one door was bouncing open, it'd be easier to tell who was standing in the door.

LS: Yeah.

VOICE: Stand clear of the closing doors. (ding dong)

LS: I'm going to go crazy.

BG: We're suicide bombers. Some say we're already crazy.

LS: Shut up.

VOICE: Stand clear of the closing doors. (ding dong)

BG: You're right. I may just go crazy.

LS: Crazier, you mean.

BG: Shut up.

VOICE: Stand clear of the closing doors. (ding dong)

BG: This is ridiculous.

LS: Retarded.

BG: Insane.

LS: Warped.

BG: Ludicrous.

LS: Stupid.

VOICE: Stand clear of the closing doors. (ding dong)

Passenger 1: Oh, COME ON!

LS: I hear you!

Passenger 2: God. This, like, happens, every time!

BG: You'd think they'd fix this shit.

VOICE: Stand clear of the closing doors. (ding dong)

Passenger 1: Oh, please...

BG: I know! Who's doing this?

Passenger 1: And why don't they just get out of the door's way?

VOICE: Stand clear of the closing doors. (ding dong)

BG: Seriously. You'd think it would be obvious.

Passenger 2: It could be broken. That wouldn't be good.

LS: Why?

Train Operator: Ladies and gentlemen. We are experiencing a doorway malfunction. At this time, please detrain. Please detrain. This train is out of service.

Passenger 2: Oh for fuck's sake.

BG: What's going on?

Passenger 1: They're making us detrain.

LS: Yeah. This has happened to me before. They won't operate the train if they can't get all the doors closed.

BG: Why don't they just detrain the car with the malfunction?

Passenger 1: That's what I always say. I always want to know that.

Passenger 2: It's because, in their eyes, it's more fair. Instead of making one car get off as well move on, they make everyone get off.

BG: That's just retarded.

Passenger 1: I know. Everyone just ends of paying the price.

(Balthazar and Leelee find their way off the train.)

BG: Would you look how crowded it is out here?

LS: This is miserable.

BG: We're never going to all fit on the next train.

LS: And they're going to stuff it to the gills. We'll be so packed in that if we detonated the bombs, the impact would probably get aborbed by the surrounding tourist flab.

BG: Ha ha. Yeah. You're probably right.

LS: Some of these people scare even me.

BG: You're not kidding. And yet we're the scary ones.

LS: Yeah. The tourorists always win!

Balthazar and Leelee are back onboard, but they now find themselves on a train that is stopped dead on the tracks between Rosslyn and Foggy Bottom.

BG: How long has it been?


LS: You mean since we've moved?

BG: Yeah.


LS: I've lost track.

BG: I keep getting the sensation that we're inching along...

LS: I know.

BG: I can't keep staring out this window.

LS: You know, they never tell you about shit like this when you're training to do this crap.

BG: I know. No one would sign up for this.


LS: Dude. I sort of have a confession to make.

BG: You're feeling what I'm feeling.

LS: Am I?

BG: You're starting to feel like you just don't care about going through with this anymore.

LS: Holy shit. Exactly. Exactly. You know what that is, don't you? It's called Stockholm Syndrome. We've totally got the Stockholm Syndrome.

BG: That's not technically true. Stockholm Syndrome is when a hostage, over time, begins to sympathize with their captors. We're not sympathizing with our captors. Our captor is this fucking train.

LS: So it's not Stockholm Syndrome?

BG: No.

LS: It feels like something like that, though. know--all Scandinavian-like. Ikeapathy.

BG: That Helsinking feeling.

LS: Oslo Accords.

BG: Hey. Don't even joke about that shit. What you're feeling is empathy for the rest of these poor fucks on this train with us.

LS: That's it! I look around me and I just see people in pain. And they don't deserve it!

BG: Precisely. I'm looking around this train, thinking about everything I've seen today, and I'm asking myself, how on earth can I presume to be able to make life worse for these people?

LS: I know! I'm like all: Man, most of these people would cherish the sweet release of a bomb right now. We'd be helping them.

BG: These people are already terrorized in a million tiny ways. Long confusing lines and impersonal service around every corner. Out-of towners who show up spoiling for a fight with the locals because they've been led to believe by their idiot elected officials that DC is a cloistered network of smarmy elites when it's really just filled with people who want to serve the public.

LS: Yeah, and those same politicians are stroking it on the Beltway cocktail circuit, tut-tutting their war dead as abstractions while eating canapes and belittling the help.

BG: Broken down trains, passengers stuffed into cars like sardines, interminable delays in dark tunnels.

LS: I can't bring myself to hurt these people.

BG: I'm more inclined to want to beat the crap out of someone on their behalf.

LS: Me too.


LS: So.

BG: Yeah.

LS: We're not doing this. We're not going to set off these bombs and commit suicide.

BG: Well, we're not going to set off the bombs anyway. I'm still totally committing suicide.


LS: Yeah. Me too.

Cafe Saint-Ex. The DCist Staff is seated around a table.

(DCist Jason suddenly shudders and turns white.)

DCist Catherine: Jason, what's wrong?

DCist Jason: I just got the weirdest feeling...

DCist Rob: What was it?

DCist Kanishka: You look like someone walked over your grave, man.

DCist Jason: I just got the strangest sensation. It was as if we were all at the brink of some unseen disaster...all at once I was completely suffused with dread. Then, just as suddenly--and just as powerfully--I was seized with the feeling that just as disaster loomed, it was then narrowly averted by a force just as strange and powerful as the disaster.

DCist Becca: That's so weird.

DCist Jason: God. I wonder what it was.

DCist Kyle: (entering) Hey guys, I just read that Dead Meadow will be going out on tour, but won't be playing a date here in the city.

DCist Jason: Oh. That must have been it.

DCeptette: It's not hip-hop, it's electro version

  1. We were MOST unhappy with the National Zoo today, after they announced that the public would get to choose the name of the panda but that Butterstick would not be among the choices. That darling piece of Sino-American fauna is, was, and ever shall be Butterstick--not Chinese Wind or Kung Pao Dragon or whatever the fuck the Zoo thinks. Well...just when all seems lost, Tom over at Unrequited Narcissism came up with a way to game the system. Now...carry the news to the people, take to the streets, and someone--please page Holly Martins! (Unrequited Narcissism)
  2. Gross. Seriously. (Craigslist)
  3. I agree, Rock Creek Rambler--Going Out Googahs versus Daily Candy DC is the Maximus v. Commodus of the terminally insipid.
  4. So they're auctioning off the deed for the White House on eBay. Funny, but let's take a glance askance at this story: Commander Cuckoo Bananas is holed up at the Pussy Ranch in Crawford, Texas. Way back when he first decamped from the immense pressure of the job he's spent the past half-decade avoiding, CCB's peeps thought it would be the height of cleverness to take the Presidential Seal and affix it to the Pussy Ranch, naming it "The Western White House." I recall someone wondering out loud at the time: "Doesn't this mean that their ranch is now the property of the Federal Government and that future Chief Executives will be entitled to use it themselves?" Interesting. Anyone out there in the blogosphere know if this is true or not? (DCist)
  5. If you "preminisced there would be no return of the salad days" over at, well, guess again. Suckaz been suspended, pending an investigation into expense account improprieties. It's weird that AU only now has got around to sussing this out--their are awash in tuition monies, yet their joint looks downright tatty when compared to G-Dub (even accounting for GWU's barren field off Washington Circle). My favorite part of the coverage was in the Post: "[Ladner's] biography on the university Web site said his 'academic diplomacy' initiatives helped nurture understanding and trust between nations 'when political strategies have stalled or failed' and mentioned North Korea, Cuba, Iraq and Iran, among other countries." Crimony. He's the Gigli of understanding-nurturers. (Post)

Wednesday, August 24, 2005

Since U Been Tagged

The Upstate Life has demanded answers, tangling The DCeiver and some blogcolleagues (blogleagues?) up in a new meme: what ten songs are rocking my world right now?

Well before I get to that, I've had the De Novo Dahl double LP Cats and Kittens blaring all day long today. It's REALLY good. Get it.

Outside of that: here's the ten songs.

The Mountain Goats, "This Year"
Hot Hot Heat, "Island of the Honest Man"
Kelly Clarkson vs. Frank Black, "Since You're Not Me"
Sia, "Breathe Me"
The Decemberists, covering "Your Love" by the Outfield (hilarious)
Bravery, "Swollen Summer"
Athlete, "Half Light"
Nas, "Don't Body Ya Self"
Sigur Ros, "Hoppipolla"
Death Cab For Cutie, "Soul Meets Body"

Whew! I officially tag in Mr. Thrown For a Loop, Mr. Paul Kamran Hashemi, Mr. Here's a Hint, Ms. Harmany Music, and, of course, it's just not a party until someone phones up The Governess.

UPDATE: Well, it would appear that Mr. Loop and Ms. Harman are already hit up in this game of freeze tag. So, mayhap the talented Ms. Amy Argetsinger would like to play?

Tuesday, August 23, 2005

The Next Big Thing

They're tanned, rested, reformulated, and ready. They've got a new CD in the can. They've gotten a aces-up slate of acts on the bill. And they want you to come see them.

Yes, it's time for the Full Minute of Mercury CD release party. This Saturday at the Velvet Lounge, with Big Daddy Chrome, Rockbot, and Karmella's Game. Tickets are a mere $8, and the new FMHg jawn will be retailing for a super low price of $5 for this night only. Doors are at eight and earliness is considered a virtue, as Full Minute will go on second to better enjoy the evening.

Check these pages for a rundown of the new record before the gig.

In other release news, Park Police is done and the CD is out. Baltimoreans have already enjoyed it's debut last Thursday. We look forward to telling you all about their new release as well.

Also, Seeking Irony says that Ultragrrrl is up to something special with another fine DC band.

DCeptette: Red Ships of Spain Version

  1. So, Ted Leo and the Thievery Corporation are teaming up with others for Operation Ceasefire, protesting a war that's long since been launched and that we've more or less lost. Countering that will be our local September 11 festivities--and yes, it seems to me that I am doomed to spend the rest of my days with September 11 serving as some crass and half-assed Hallmark holiday. But I have to say, the Freedom March-culminating-in-Clint-Black-concert has a certain sinister brilliance. To wit: the armed forces continue to have a devil of a time signing up new recruits. Standards for consideration continue to plummet. So everyone who shows up at the Pentagon will have to REGISTER to participate in our Soviet-style march. Uncle Sam will have the names of a few thousand people on hand ever after, people who they at least know can and will WALK somewhere. That's gotta count for something. For those of us who'd like to bring back the draft so some privileged motherfuckers can go die for our permanent Sharia-law babysitting job, I'm afraid to say that we're out of luck again. Word around the campfire is that everyone in the upper tax bracket who shows up for the Freedom March will be escorted to the Clint Black gig in Swift Boat Veteran for Truth driven golfcarts, wherein they'll receive pure funnel cake through an IV drip and be given the opportunity to sign their sons and daughters up for free pilonoidal cyst implantations. Freedom: it's just another word for you common folk can go and suck it. (DCist)
  2. Memo to Big Yawn: Jenny Toomey of the Future of Music Coalition was the co-founder of SIMPLE MACHINES. Not SECRET MACHINES. SIMPLE MACHINES. First you fact check. Then you edit. Then you proofread. Then you post. (Big Yawn)
  3. Ouch. Everyone who pretended to like you is gone. (CPMC)
  4. So Bill Frist, needing some fundamentalist butter to go on the other side of his stem cell toast, endorsed the teaching of "intelligent design", saying: "I think today a pluralistic society should have access to a broad range of fact, of science, including faith." Guess what, Senator Inept Buffoon? This pluralistic society DOES permit access to broad range of crackpot gabble like intelligent design! Why, anyone who wants to learn about Creationism can seek out some addle-brained mystic to teach it to them! And you know what? I'd wager such teachers are EASY to find, and the lessons free of charge! So I don't think that one thin dime of my taxes needs to go to employ teachers to disseminate this knowledge. Why pay for the Jeebus juice when you can get it for nothing? (1115)
  5. So Gwendolyn Hemphill, the former executive assistant who helped bring utter disgrace upon the Washington Teacher's Union, is on trial, and her lawyer, Nancy Luque, has a novel defense strategy: painting her client as being too stupid to even participate in an embezzling conspiracy. But, shit, Hemphill makes me wish I was as stupid as she--who wouldn't, when the take-home swag--plasma TVs, free food, and $29,000 worth of free dental impants (that deserves a ?!?, doesn't it?). You know what, though? The defense might be onto something. Unfortunately, it would appear that Luque is every bit as dumb as she makes Hemphill out to be. Check out this quote from Luque: "Mrs. Hemphill's job was to do what Ms. Bullock told her to do. She used her authority and her intimidating behavior to get people to do everything she wanted them to do...I pity the fool who has the nerve to ask this woman about her spending." I pity the fool? You know, I haven't sat down with my beloved Lawyer-To-Be Shayna and officially codified the official DME Guide to 100 Sure Signs Your Lawyer is a Dipshit yet, but I assure you, in the Top Ten will be: "Do not hire a lawyer who peppers litigation with fucking quotes from Mr. T!" Also, avoid bad Cochran-esque rhymes: "What evidence did you hear that makes you think a well-respected member of the community would turn on a dime to a life of crime?" That shit doesn't even scan! (Post)

Thursday, August 18, 2005

UPDATED: She who must not be named...

A few months ago, the NYC Blogosphere was terrorized by someone named Kasey.

Flash forward to today, where a member of the DC Blogosphere has been terrorized by someone named Kacey.

Clearly, people named Kasey (or Kacey, as it were), are the Nemeses to all who blog.

So, be on your guard...

Holy shit!

I just realized--in both instances of Kac(s)ey vs. Blogger antipathy, the other party was named Sara(h).

So...maybe it's bloggers named Sara(h) who are locked in this dance of death with people named Kas(c)ey.

Okay. Gonna go drink absinthe now.

When the kids who live on the streets marked "Slow Children Playing" grow up.

Wife of DCeiver, who is required to spend a requisite amount of time each week decrying the awful, stupid, worthless, anti-intellectual, moronic sewage that is the No Child Left Behind Act, said today: "You know, there are actually parents out there that don't mind their kids' school missing the benchmark because they think that means their kids will get free tutoring."

Thus spake the DCeiver with the fury of a thousand white-hot suns:

People are fucking morons. People are just fucking idiots. You idiots. If your school is required by law to provide tutoring, as NCLB does, said tutoring is NOT FREE! Those tutors did not arrive from a far away land, bearing written prescriptions from their primary care physicians to engage in volunteer tutoring for their health. The government did not PROVIDE your children with FREE tutors! YOU PAID FOR THE TUTORS! THE TUTORS WERE PAID FOR WITH YOUR MONEY! AUUUUGGGGHHHH!

I would vastly prefer that the parents named in the above indictment go, right now, and lay down on the highway. Your children will thank you.

I guess my soul really, really can't wait for the new Death Cab album.

Calm down, people. If you've been checking the 9:30 Club links, you know I'm not making the Announcement You're All Waiting For.

No, What we're really interested in is that the Washington Post continued it's odd obsession over iPods Wednesday on the front page of the A-Section. Not since the caveman learned that fire was all burny has a group of people found themselves hostage to the blinking lights of technology. Well, we understand what it's like when the Sunday Source takes on blogging, but we really need another human interest post on iPods about as badly as we need another "Since U Been Gone" mashup. (Though, for those of you who are interested, this week, we bring you Kelly Clarkson vs. the American Analog Set, with thanks to Bradley's Almanac.)

Well, the highlight of today's paean to the iPod is a quote from Jason Berkowitz, who melodramatically refers to Apple's $300 piece of plastic as "the window to your soul."

Wow. That's a little extreme, I think.

But, I did some checking, and it turns out that Mr. Berkowitz is actually a serial quoter who the Post seeks out everytime they need a statement on some life-changing technological advent. To wit:

"It's like a satellite transmission of the song that's in my heart."
--Berkowitz, on his cellphone, from the Post article, "Officials move to ban cell phone use in automobiles." 8/23/2003

"It's like a teeming brain that can capture my ideas like a domesticated venus fly-trap."
--Berkowitz, on his Blackberry, from the Post article, "Omnipresence of PDA's at Lauriol Plaza Beginning to Sicken Diners." 4/20/2004

"It's like the supple flesh of a lover, the way a simple touch from my hand can stimulate a reaction that's immediate, surprising, and orgasmic."
--Berkowitz, on the new touch-screen voting machines, from the Post article, "Area voters mostly chose Kerry because they felt they had to." 11/2/2004

"It's like the door to the hidden crawlspace of my innermost depravities."
--Berkowitz, on his DVD player, from the Post article, "Most consumers find DVD technology to be anything but the door to the hidden crawlspace of their innermost depravities." 3/14/2002

"It's like a safe, warm womb for my Hot Pockets."
--Berkowitz, on his microwave oven, from the Post article, "Area man unnecessarily enthralled with his fucking microwave." 5/3/1997

DCeptette: Y Tu Mama Tambien Version.

  1. Checked out Al Gore's new venture, Current TV. How can it be best explained? Well, imagine what would happen if the students of H.B. Woodlawn had their own TV network...
  2. Oh, Richmond. So much to answer for. You're going to sell iBooks for $50. You've got 1,000 of those babies on hand. 5,000 people show up. Were you waiting for Emeril Fucking Lagasse to stop by and tell you how long you should let that recipe for disaster simmer? "It's rather strange that we would have such a tremendous response for the purchase of a laptop computer -- and laptop computers that probably have less-than- desirable attributes," said Paul Proto, director of general services for Henrico County. "But I think that people tend to get caught up in the excitement of the event -- it almost has an entertainment value." Wow. What kind of educational background do you have to have to be Henrico County's director of general services? As one who lived in Richmond for three years, I personally think that the average Richmonder more or less deserves to have iBooks hurled at them at great velocity. That would have entertainment value. Well, we hear that they've got about 7,000 more to sell at some point. Maybe desperate Virginians can finish the job the Union Army started. (CNN)
  3. Wahoowa! Amy Argetsinger tapped to be one-half of the New Reliable Source! She used to edit this. Goodbye, Richard Leiby. Hello, Poodah on the Potomac!
  4. Remember when Dr. Phil adopted the town of Elgin, Texas, which cause Diner Media Empire editor Travis to weep gently from the roof of his LES apartment because he owns land in Elgin and didn't want his future ranch to be surrounded by pussified people? You probably don't. Well, Dr. Phil's been one-upped by Rick Warren, the author of The Purpose-Driven Life, who--unbeluckingfievably--want's to adopt the entire nation of Rwanda. Ummm...that's all well and good, but if you go back and check, you'll find out that the last time some Rwandans got all driven with purpose, a few hundred thousand people got diced up with machetes inside a week's time. If I were a Tutsi right now, I'd be looking to swallow some chicken soup for the soul and skedaddle before Warren taps into the seven habits of highly effective genocidaires. (Wonkette)
  5. So out in Herndon, the town council voted down racist sack of slag Ann V. Null and her National Alliance cronies to allow a day laborer center to be built, so as to end the daily congregation of day laborers at a local 7-11. We say good, for Chrissakes. Nice and nicely done. Still, we read with fascination about Herndonites who complain that day-laborers congregating around a 7-11 lowers their property values. First: if your home is near a 7-11, then your property has no value. Obvs. Second: if the presence of day laborers is a sufficient force to lower property values, then the DCeiver would like to extend a warm welcome to area day laborers to stand around our neighborhood whenever they like! (Washington Post)

Saturday, August 13, 2005

Unnamed in the following indictment.

You know, there are some people out there in the blogosphere who decry Washington, DC for the minute, unconfirmable acts of racism that occur in the far-flung nethers of the orbiting suburbs. And when it's rationally pointed out that their hometown is a place with a vastly more recognized racist bent, you're told that said city has enormous cultural offerings that a) offset that city's redneckery and b) can't be found inside I495.

Umm. Cultural offerings like this?

Ha ha.

Tuesday, August 09, 2005

DCeptette: Different Names For The Same Thing Version

  1. Isn't Big Yawn just the most extraordinary music resource on the web? Verily, they are nothing less than extraordinary. Somehow, they miss yesterday's widely spread news about the Across the Narrows Festival this October in NYC, are unaware of the festival's name and label several scheduled bands as "rumored." Even better, they relate: "According to their website, Death Cab for Cutie will be playing DC in October, somewhere around the 23rd." Somewhere around the 23rd? Do we get a margin of error or something? What constitutes "somewhere around?" Well it doesn't fucking matter, because they are playing the 9:30 club right smack dab on exactly precisely October 23. Tickets go onsale somewhere around the year 2005.
  2. Off-topic: So, I'm sitting at home and a commercial comes on for something called Supercross: The Movie. It must be asked: what does it say about the filmmakers' overall confidence in their product that they are compelled to remind people that they have made, in fact, a movie?
  3. "The Biggest Missed Connection of All Time": didn't make the final cut for the new Death Cab album. (Craigslist)
  4. Shee-yit. Can't disagree with the beatdown James F. put on Dan Snyder. I predict that the NFL owner the sports world loves to hate is going to enjoy himself a full blown Dickhead Renaissance this year. (YI8DC)
  5. Pete Jennings, R.I.P.

Sunday, August 07, 2005

A million reasons.

Oh, goody. Washington DC welcomes stellastarr* this October 5 (also known as the WoD's birthday) to the 9:30 club. We'll let you know as soon as tickets go onsale. Their new record, Harmonies For The Haunted, drops on September 13. Go grab a DL of one of the new songs, "Sweet Troubled Soul", from the good people at Scenestars.

Friday, August 05, 2005

DCeptette: Special Pictures of Special Victims Version

If all goes according to Bonilla's plan, though, one day I will be able to stand on Reagan Street and tell him, "Congressman Bonilla? Why don't you go Reagan your Reagan and Reagan it right up your Reagan until you Reagan on it and Reagan." And he will have just been served, or, as we'll call it then, "Reaganed."

Are you kidding me? Pictured at left is Michelle Ledgister. She was unhappy with Florida State tax officials after her claim for tax relief on property she owned in Florida was rejected. So, what would any reasonable person holding down a job at the National Institutes of Health do to obtain some sort of remedy for this grievance? Call in an anthrax threat of course! Jesus, Ms. Ledgister. Take a victory lap for that decision.

You know what sucks about Bob Novak pussing out and walking out on CNN?

Not a god damned thing.

Walking out like a pussy crybaby is the 2005 definition of Republicanism, by the way.

"douche bag"

"n : a small syringe with detachable nozzles; used for vaginal lavage and enemas"

Well! That explains perfectly how the steroids got inside Raffy Palmeiro.

Believe it or not, I definitely think Florida Representative Katherine Harris is the best person to be working the point in the efforts to stop sex trafficking. Shit, a face like hers could stop a thundering herd of genetically-enhanced sex trafficking cyber-rhinos.

Thursday, August 04, 2005

Deecee Essobee:The End of an Era

As many of you may know, one of my esteemed colleagues, DCSOB, has recently left the city in search of a shiny new law degree. He shall be missed. We were of like mind, he and I, and it was always a distinct pleasure to show up somewhere and find him holding court or spinning tunes. But Northwestern University has called him hence to the City of Big Shoulders where carbonated beverages are called "pop", gaggles of rubberneckers are referred to as a "gaper's block," and every musician in town is pissed off at Billy Corgan for reasons great and small, all owing to the vicissitudes of Corgan's well chronicled dickery.

The good news is that DCSOB is transformed, like a non-suckass Wondertwin, to a semblance anew. Check out Thrown For A Loop premiering here and now, which we hope will rise to the occasion and earn the proud smiles of the ghost of Mike Royko. We'll catch our boy when we're out there and whenever he feels like visiting.

In the meantime, take a picture here, take a souvenir.

DCeptette: Big as the swing of Tiger Woods version

  1. All this talk about lesbians in the black community, their corresponding sistren in the white community, and what it means for the future of DC...aren't we forgetting the most important thing? They're all pink where it counts. (DCist)
  2. Panda cub Butterstick is thriving after its first encounter with the panda's most dangerous natural enemy--the staff of the National Zoo. (Washington Post)
  3. Headline fun: "Brain-Dead Va. Woman Gives Birth." So, cheer up, Michelle Malkin. There's hope for you yet! (Washington Post)
  4. More headline fun: Man, oh, man. Sitting enjoying coffee this evening, I initially saw this headline in my peripheral vision and thought momentarily that it said something that it didn't. The resulting double-take nearly gave me whiplash. (Washington Post)
  5. So President Bush says that children should be taught "intelligent design" should be taught so that "people can understand what the debate is about." Sheyit. Here's what the debate is about: a bunch of Booga Booga Foo Foo worshipping nimrods that think they're Christians and are actually paralyzingly stupid creating a debate where none need exist because they want their stultifying mumbo-jumbo taught as if it were actual fact. Nonsense elevated to an academic level. Do you not shudder at the thought of our top universities being forced to entertain this absolute claptrap? In the first place, an intelligent design class would simply be a guaranteed, grade inflating A-plus for anyone who took it, because the answer to every single question on every single exam is this: "Gooo-gahh. Duuuhhh. Witchy-witchy-woo. Bleeble-bleeble Jesus cakes." In the second place, can you imagine going to a doctor or an engineer or a surgeon who believes that crap and handing him or her your hard earned money to fix you or build you some shit? My mother went to a dental hygienist once, and the minute she told my mom that she employed the use of an "Oral Roberts University prayer rug" to fix her computer, my mom was OUT THE EVERLOVING DOOR before you could say "Ave, Maria." That said, I'd be all for schools cropping up to teach people this creationism nonsense, hell, I'd let them teach their students that believing in God can allow them to fly if they believe hard enough--after all, why not let these people dress their open wounds with fucking voodoo and keep their mind closed to the fact that God has provided his people with ample proof that we can't motherfucking fly--if it weren't for one thing: the Pattern. Think about the Pattern. Lysenkoism replacing scientific thought. Massive government tax subsidies to industries that are already more profitable then a thousand Croesuses with an unlimited amount of golden hens laying Faberge eggs on command. A foreign policy that exports the Glorious Revolution and the Great Step Forward by force on all the people who need to be trained like dogs by our state. If you don't recognize the pattern, maybe it's because you were lucky enough to grow up on the right side of the Berlin Wall, like I was. I can guarantee you that those who grew up on the wrong side of that wall have. Seen. This. All. Before.

Wednesday, August 03, 2005

DCent Days and Nights

We'll have a longer post next week, people. Very busy right now in advance of a weekend of richly deserved R&R. Go to the Washington Social Club show. Seriously, just go. Get some DCist swag and hear some great music.

Thursday morning, there are a lot of ticket onsales over at the 9:30 Club. The usual dickheads probably would prefer you didn't know, but I care about you too much. So here's the skinny.

Last Train Home, beloved roots rock act of all us IOTA barflies, play 930 on September 9, with the Hackensaw Boys.

Experience a flashback to your Central Virginia college dormitory and the non-objectionable music that formed the soundtrack to your life on successive days in September, as the BoDeans take the stage on September 16 and Eddie From Ohio (beloved of all Bad Habits barflies) takes the stage on the 17th.

On September 21, white-hot MC M.I.A. returns to 930 as a headliner to galang your fucking ass off with skitty-bip beats and pidginny goodness.

Sufjan Stevens carries his licence to Illinois into the club on the 27th of September. This is the perfect time to remind him, like we did with ESPN and the fucking guys who are making the state coins that DC is just not going to be ignored. I've liked everything I've heard off Illinoise, but truly, if the guy can't spin something good out of the phrase "bitch set me up" then he isn't worth a good god damn. Frealsies.

Check out the sidebar for the newest in the MP3 world. Information Leafblower is hot on the new stuff coming from Elbow, and "Mexican Standoff" is proof enough that he's right as always. New stuff from Death Cab and Amanset should be checked out, Stellastar's new tune is melodramatic throwback new wave at it's finest, the Calla and Girls Aloud tracks are teh hottness as well. But the coolest is what emo superstar Kelly Clarkson's ubiquitous "Since U Been Gone" sounds like with the original instrumentation stripped out and replaced with the always and ever-so fine riffage of Mr. Frank Black. Proof that the Pixies make everything better. Seeking Irony, you def need to get on that.

In the offing, DC music fans should gird their loins for a some upcoming visitors.

Bob Mould, 930 Club, October 7
Metric, 930 Club, October 8
The Fiery Furnaces, Black Cat, October 15
Portastatic, The Black Cat, October 17.

Okay, a greater heaping of the local next time.