I still can’t get that fucking Steve Perry song out of my head. It’s. Driving. Me. Bananas.

Just got in from a lovely dinner at a local Vietnamese place. My friend ordered pink snapper, only to discover, much to her surprise, that it is fried and served in toto. The waitress graciously de-boned it for her while we watched on in plebeian awe. I made my friend kiss the fish’s head before she could eat it. I giggled. The fish won that battle, but most decidedly lost the war. Note to self: No matter how reasonable an idea it may seem first thing in the morning, under no circumstances are you to walk again to work without a jacket until it is unarguably summer time.

As was alluded last week, my current streak of TCB* has rekindled a desire to create some noise. I’m starting work tonight on a new collection of tracks that shall ultimately be released under the title Mitten Foot and the Noise Scout. Full credit will be given at the appropriate time.

If you’ve been living under a rock, you might not get THIS. But if you aren’t, then you should. And it is pretty damned entertaining.

Until then, etc. etc.

Author: john ingram

This iteration of John Ingram was created in response to increased demand in global John Ingramness. Previous incarnations were less suited to fulfill this need.

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