For the prosecution: Mojo Flucke, Ph.D. Ladies and gentlemen of the jury, the prosecution will prove that Eric Clapton has committed numerous crimes against rock, namely: • Making music way more derivative than legally permissible for a rock god • Exploiting fans by releasing milquetoast pap • Squandering monstrous talent Clapton is not God, contrary to the Islington graffito proclaiming it during his tenure in John Mayall’s Bluesbreakers. He is, however, an excellent blues mimic, tak
Reading was my first love. In the interim between my fifth birthday and the day I discovered alcohol and boys (discoveries that, as I remember it, both occurred on the same thrilling day) I was a bona fide bookworm. I was the sort of child who jumped feet first into a book, much like those chirpy souls leaping into that street painting in Mary Poppins . Reading wasn’t just a cerebral activity: on opening a novel I experienced the sort of adrenaline rush and stomach butterflies that others might
I feel like I haven't sat down and really blogged in forever. I've posted bits of this and that, but the closer we get to go-live of our new system at work, the more discombobulated my worklife gets and the fewer hours I have to think. Heck, the fewer hours I have to sleep, eat, breathe ... so it makes sense that my blog mojo has sucked. Now that I do have a moment to relax, my brain doesn't even know where to begin. So here's a bit of randomosity. 1. I am in coffee creamer heaven with the
