The Brooklyn presale sold out in 15 seconds. I had no chance of getting into Hammerstein. They’re playing the sunset slot at Austin City Limits again this year, but it’s the week before my wedding and I can’t seem to get anyone excited to just go anyway, because hey it’s only vacation days and we can only spend money once. It never lines up for me and Wilco. They promised us this album was going to be filled with twelve-minute long Fela Kuti-ripped off dance tracks. Lies. But I’m not mad at them. They can do no wrong.


They’re playing Prairie Home Companion this weekend:

Wilco–>Prairie–>Altman–>Elliot Gould–>Kicking and Screaming (Grover’s dad)–>Squid and Whale–>Park Slope–>Buscemi–>Lebowski–>Tara Reid–>Eugene Levy (American Pie)–>National Lampoon’s Vacation–>Harold Ramis–>Animal House–>Kevin Bacon.

Bam. That’s like 14 degrees. Where is my inefficiency?

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