Went out for drinks with Tyson; hadn't seen him in years, years (and wasn't certain if I'd recognise him, even). He asked what I'm listening to, and I must confess that there isn't too much in the way of new music that I've found compelling. Telling him about Modest Mouse and Death Cab for Cutie was like taking coals to Newcastle, and sort of old news anyway, and then I thought about what's been playing a lot in the ol' iTunes: Bowie (and Mott the Hoople, T. Rex, Eno); Zappa, Beefheart; Sonic Youth (and Wilco). Tortoise, of course. Some Neutral Milk Hotel.
Oh, and a lot of Shellac.
Left the casa this afternoon to walk down to the Mission with Jonathan: saw Leda and Yasmin down by the coffee shop; Erica at the burger joint; Tom driving slowly near the Pilsener looking for a parking spot; Chris (with hair! and a girl!) near Cama, the new bar on 16th; and the waiter at the Sunshine, where we ultimately ate, who asked where'd I'd been lately ("we haven't seen you in so long!"). On the return trip, saw Eric (who always circulates in that neighbourhood) and his translucent hip-top; while we were chatting, Greg rolled past on a blue blue bicycle.
Words Without Borders is the online magazine for international literature; supported by the US National Endowment for the Arts, its editorial board includes Chinua Achebe, Edith Grossman, and William Weaver.