How to Cure a Head Cold

In a big mug, pour hot water over

1-2 oz whiskey
chamomile tea
honey
1 lemon slice
1-2 cloves
1 cinnamon stick

Best when served with a big, fluffy duvet, a box of Kleenex, and Vanity Fair.

Who Knew, Hoodoo Guru?

Australia's Hoodoo Gurus are back and back it, according to today's Toronto Star:

Twenty-three years after the Hoodoo Gurus broke into the Australian rock arena with the garage/alt.country-grunge/pop masterpiece Stoneage Romeos and not heard together since the 1996 release of their unofficial "final statement," the album Blue Cave, the Gurus are among us again, determined to rock on as if they'd never been gone.

"We weren't really gone ... we just didn't play together as the Gurus after Blue Cave," the Gurus' front man and songwriter Dave Faulkner said in a phone interview last week from Austin, Tex., where the band performed four times in two days at the giant SXSW fest.

They play at the Legendary Horseshoe Tavern tomorrow, Friday, March 23 at 11:30. Advance tickets are $20 at Ticketmaster, the club, Rotate This, and Soundscapes. At the door, they're $25.

Are You or Were You Ever a Member?

The Communist Party USA today announced that it was donating its history to New York University. According to the New York Times:

By offering such an inside view, the archives have the potential to revise assumptions on both the left and the right about one of the most contentious subjects in American history, in addition to filling out the story of progressive politics, the labor movement and the civil rights struggles.

“It is one of the most exciting collecting opportunities that has ever presented itself here,” said Michael Nash, the director of New York University’s Tamiment Library, which will announce the donation on Friday.

Liberal and conservative historians, told by The New York Times about the archives, were enthusiastic about the addition of so many original documents to the historical record. No one yet knows whether they can resolve the die-hard disputes about the extent of the links between American subversives and Moscow since, as Mr. Nash said, “it will take us years to catalog.” But what is most exciting, said Mr. Nash and other scholars, is the new areas it opens up for research beyond the homegrown threat to security during the cold war.

Among the various correspondence, newsletters, buttons, and so on are Pete Seeger's lyrics to "Turn, Turn, Turn" and songwriter/poet/activist Joe Hill's handwritten will.

Fashion Weak

Any dictionary will concur: a book launch at a Fashion Week event is ironic. Sex and the City aside, fashionistas are not lit freaks. If it ain’t glossy, it ain’t. That rule holds for people as much as it does for books.

And so I found myself at such a gathering this week. Last Friday, my invitation arrived in my work email. Being a glutton for “material,” I figured I’d go and channel my inner Carrie Bradshaw. Naturally, I spent the weekend agonizing over what to wear. I’m not a clothes horse. I could be. I’d like to be, but working in the arts, particularly in publishing, is not conducive to such equine aspirations.

I settled on a wardrobe, planned on transportation, worked the day, met a friend, and then at 10 p.m., set off with a coworker to the event. Easy peasy.

Not so much. Once through the door, I was made abundantly aware that I was underdressed, under-heeled, under-augmented, and over-aged. Mere glances. That was all that was needed.

I’ve been to film, music, and publishing events. Each has its own pretenses, and while I feel like a bit of an outsider, I’m always able to navigate my way through. At Fashion Week, I felt completely alien, as though I was walking through an air-kissing, lip-glossed, acid-rain cloud about to float away.

When we arrived at our particular section of cloud, things got easier. They always do when you can commiserate with cultural kin. Together, us bookish types could gush, drink, and make quiet fun of our surroundings. We may have been outnumbered, but none of us got off the fucking boat, so we were safe.

Nevertheless, it was weird. I think I met my match. And if the opportunity arose again, and I decided to enter the ring, I’d definitely go shopping first. For the Fashion Weak, clothes will make or break the woman.

Wizard Rock

Ok, I'm all about kids reading. And I absolutely do not begrudge a single mom making a gazillion dollars if she turns reluctant readers into book worms. Turning Harry Potter into a music genre. Well, that goes beyond geek. That's like thinking Dungeons & Dragons will get you girls. And, God willing, you will NEVER be admitted into the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame.

Sigh. Dear readers, I give you...Wizard Rock. Fuck, man, that sounds like a Jethro Tull--Dantalian's Chariot love child. But it ain't. It's more like emo meets Elmo:

There are more than 100 bands like it in North America, but Harry and the Potters is considered the original wizard rock group. Paul DeGeorge recalls how he began the movement.

He had just finished reading one of the books in J.K. Rowling's Harry Potter series in 2002 and began fiddling with his acoustic guitar. He incorporated what he had just read into a song.

There was a makeshift show in his backyard in Norwood, Mass., to an audience of six. More performances followed, MySpace promotion helped to build their fan base and triggered a following of 100 other character-driven bands like Draco and the Malfoys (that riff on Potter's nemesis) and Ginny and the Heartbreakers (based on Potter's crush).

Shudder.

Book As Throw Pillow

Philip Hensher's piece "Great Books and Stupid Readers" from the Independent made the rounds on various lit sites this week. Nothing new or startling, but I'm always amazed by these kinds of findings:

55 per cent, interestingly, admitted to buying books only as decoration, or to look intelligent to their guests - Ulysses was the top choice here.

You scoff, but I can tell you from working in book retail it's true. And publishers bend to this trend. I believe it was Anne-Marie MacDonald's book As the Crow Flies that was available in different coloured jackets. I had a woman buy a specific colour to better match her sofa.

Sex, Drugs, and Recycling

According to the New York Times, there's a movement afoot among more socially concious bands to put on environmentally friendly tours. And there are consultants for hire to help artists do this. From recycling batteries to providing biodegradable cups and plates to biofuelled buses. This is all good, I guess. Chalk it up to "every little bit helps," but I wonder if a couple of tour buses running on fast-food effluent is gonna make as much of a dent as it would if the Rolling Stones would deflate their expectations and run a more fuel efficient tour. I mean, it's all very well and good setting up tents housing Greenpeace to sing to the chior at the latest WhateverPalooza mudfest. It another story altogether to get suburbanites to leave their SUVs at home and take public transit into the city to see a $200 show. Indeed, how will Sting reconcile his rainforest conservation work with the Police megatour? Admittedly, he's an easy target. Pearl Jam are touring this year. They're pretty aware guys. And how about Genesis? It's guys like these that need to run enviromentally friendly tours. Forget about donating proceeds. Too easy. Make an effort. Be an example. That takes more integrity than signing a cheque.

Getting Chilly Again?

Who said the Cold War was over? First, Alexander Litvinenko, now this. From the Independent:

A military correspondent for Russia's top business daily died after falling out of a window and some media alleged yesterday that he might have been killed for his critical reporting.

Ivan Safronov, the military affairs writer for Kommersant, died Friday after falling from a fifth-story window in the stairwell of his apartment building in Moscow, according to officials; his body was found by neighbors shortly after the fall....

...Safronov, who had served as a colonel in the Russian Space Forces before joining Kommersant in 1997, frequently angered authorities with his critical reporting and was repeatedly questioned by the Federal Security Service, the main KGB successor, which suspected him of divulging state secrets.

No charges were filed because Safronov was able to prove his reports were based on open sources, Kommersant said.

Last December, Safronov angered the authorities when he was the first to report the third consecutive launch failure of the new Bulava intercontinental ballistic missile, which President Vladimir Putin hailed as a basis of the nation's nuclear might for years to come. The authorities never acknowledged the launch failure.

For the full story, please click the link in the heading.

Alexei Sayle Alive and Well

Ran across a blast from the past while reading the Independent. Apparently, British comedian Alexei Sayle does an occasional Motoring column for the UK paper. Today, we learn that "Only the mad go carless in LA":

So, in a town where car status is everything, walking throws everybody into confusion because you can't easily rank somebody who's walking. I remember on our first night at the Chateau Marmont we went out for a walk along a deserted Sunset Boulevard and up ahead of us was a single pedestrian. "I bet they're British," I said and when we got up to them, they turned out not only to be British but also to be Billy Bragg.

Not sidesplitting, granted, but it's good to know that he's still kicking around. Sadly, I never got to see him live, but I do remember the video for "Didn't You Kick My Brother":

Want to sing along?

Hey, you. Hey, you. Hey, you, come here. Come here, you. Come here, you. Hey, you, come here. You. I said you. I said you. I said you. I said you. I said you, with the tail. You come here. You. Yes, you. Come here. Go away. Come here. Hey, you, come here. Come here. Come here. Go away. Come here. Go away. Stop. Come here. Come here. Come here. Go away. Go. Come here. Hey, you. I said you. I said you. I said you, mate. I said you. I'm looking at you, mate. I said you, mate. I said, you come here. I said, go away. Didn't you kill my brother?

My sister-in-law was an oak tree, or do I mean a manhole cover?

I've got a brain like a jukebox.

Here, didn't you kill my brother?

I got a job as a petrol pump for the government, undercover.

Come here. I want to talk to you.

Here, didn't you kill my brother?

Didn't ya kill, didn't ya kill, didn't ya kill my brother?

Didn't ya kill, didn't ya kill, didn't ya kill my brother?

(I like a laugh!)

(I like a laugh!)

You're the best pal a girl ever had.

I wouldn't drop you for another.

Give us a pound or I'll kick your teeth in!

Here, didn't you kill my brother?

I like strangling budgies.

(I'm what you'd call an animal lover.)

I like North Korean Sherry.

Here, didn't you kill my brother?

You know, I've only known you for ten minutes. I've only known you for ten minutes, but you're the best pal I've ever had! You're the bestest pal I've ever had! You're my mate! You and me, mate! You're my Here, didn't you kill my brother?

Didn't ya kill, didn't ya kill, didn't ya kill my brother?

Didn't ya kill, didn't ya kill, didn't ya kill my brother?

Didn't ya kill, didn't ya kill, didn't ya kill my brother?

Didn't ya kill, didn't ya kill, didn't ya kill my brother?

(I like a laugh)

(It's a funny old world)

Hello, mate. How you keeping?

Hello, mate. How you keeping?

Hello, mate. How you keeping?

Here, didn't you kill my brother?

I saw ya.

I saw ya.

Didn't you kill my brother?

You bought him a pint of lager, and then you killed him.

You killed my brother.

I saw ya.

I saw ya.

Didn't you kill my brother?

You did a very nice job.

I really must congratulate ya.

Didn't ya kill, didn't ya kill, didn't ya kill my brother?

Didn't ya kill, didn't ya kill, didn't ya kill my brother?

Didn't ya kill, didn't ya kill, didn't ya kill my brother?

Didn't ya kill, didn't ya kill, didn't ya kill my brother?

Didn't ya kill, didn't ya kill, didn't ya kill my brother?

Didn't ya kill, didn't ya kill, didn't ya kill my brother?

(I like a laugh.)

(I like a laugh.)

(I like like like like like a laugh.)

Ah, good stuff, that.