Medicated Bucky's Quickies

My brain feels like there's a big, wooly rug being dragged across it, so a list is the best thing you'll get out of me tonight. Well, unless you're a fan of 7-Up belches.

• Did you know that if you go to Japan, it's actually Las Vegas? And that you have to watch hockey at Red Lobster? And that Lou Ann Barton knows more about me than she knows about Sue Foley? At least, that's what my dream said this afternoon, and are you gonna argue with my dreams?
  
  
• The mailbox was gracious enough today to contain my pre-ordered copy of Tom Waits' Orphans, a three-disk set of rarities. Most are his own songs that he's never released, many that others have recorded (such as 2:19, which was covered by John Hammond on his Waits tribute album Wicked Grin), and covers of songs that Waits has either never released or that have appeared on anthology albums. Orphans is split up into three disks: Brawlers, the more raucous tunes; Bawlers, his thoughtful and morose ballads; and Bastards, many of them covers, such as his scary-as-hell take on Heigh Ho from Disney's Snow White. I'm currently loading the disks onto iTunes; standouts that I've been able to hear so far are 2:19 and Fish in the Jailhouse.
  
  
• I wrote a song today about smashing someone in the face with a crowbar. Not sure if that's at all healthy, but damn - it sure felt good! Feel free to be afraid of me now.
  
  
• Non-fact of the day: The word "goulash," when literally translated, means "vomit." Don't go look it up - just take my word for it. (Shit, with that attitude, I could be a politician or a preacher!)
  
  
• True fact: When given the chance, kittens will fart in your mouth with extreme glee.
  
  
• Do you guys find the main text on my new masthead annoyingly off-center? I never notice that shit until I've posted it and looked at it about ten times.
  
  
• I'm spending an inordinate amount of time on Flickr lately. I'm in a group called "365 Days" where members post a self-portrait of some kind every day for a whole year. Trying to think up something different every day has already led me, not even a month into the project, to post pictures like this:
  
  
  
  Lord help us all in another month or two.
  
  
• There's an urge building up, deep inside of me, and I don't mean the urge to void my bowels on the steps of the White House. That urge isn't very deeply repressed at all. No, the urge of which I speak here is the itch, the hunger, the craving to sing in front of an audience again, after three years off the stage. But there is no way in this fucking universe that I feel like getting involved with a band again. I've said it before, and I'll say it again: being in a band is like being married to three or four other people from whom you can't even withhold sex to get your way. So, if I don't want a band, my only alternative is to become a Karaoke Turd. A sober Karaoke Turd at that, as I don't like to booze it up when I sing. And for my next act of humilation, I shall run down the street clad only in a diaper, with Little Mermaid stickers on my nipples, screaming dialogue from Gilligan's Island in a fakey German accent. Achtung, little buddy!
  
  
• If I ever wanted to adopt children, I think this post ensures that this will never, ever be a possibility.