Who is Cheddi Jagan?

Recently returned from a walk with the dog, in which she performed admirably when confronted by larger more imposing and smaller insignificant yappie dogs. Neither worried her. Like a regent, she lifted up her muzzle and strode along. But I got to thinking about the old "stop and smell the roses" bit, because Bailey like any dog with a working nose loves to make olfactory maps of her surroundings. Envision a dog's thought process the next time it's just smelling something: it can be pretty comical. The related notion of course would be that similar mental maps take shape whenever we stop walking around and use the five (or six? No, just kidding) senses we have.

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THANKS

for all the birthday wishes yesterday. Did you know that March 22nd birthdays include Reese Witherspoon, Bob Costas, William, Shatner - extra comma there on purpose - and Cheddi Jagan, chief minister and president of Guyana? It's all right here on Wikipedia's guide to March 22nd. There was a time when learning Billy Collins and I share a birthday would have made me faint dead away. That time has passed.

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FATHER ZOSSIMA'S JUST DIED

I haven't been religious officially in a while, but I feel religious more personally when I read Dostoyevsky. The Brothers Karamazov, that is. I imagine I approach it in a similar state of mind as those who are religious approach Sunday morning: with a quiet excitement and a sense of impending learning. Not only because the book is masterfully written from a craft and characterization POV, but also due to the sheer weight and depth of its moral analysis. This book is all about morality and how one might proceed with a moral life, but it never lectures or holds forth. It is perhaps the canniest summation of the contradictions in human behavior and psychology that I've yet had the pleasure to read. What's the last book that made you tear up? Has one ever?

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RECENTLY ACQUIRED:

Todd Rundgren, Something / Anything? It's hard to imagine how lo-fi twee pop bands like those of the Elephant 6 collective (especially Of Montreal) would sound if it hadn't been for 70s wunderdude Todd Rundgren. He's a crucial musical magpie. He's like a filter through which Tin Pan Alley ditties and every Beatles song ever had to pass. Todd Rundgren helped keep pop music informed about where it'd been and what it'd do next.

Isaac Hayes, Hot Buttered Soul.

Curtis Mayfield, Curtis. I dunno. I liked this album better when it was called What's Going On by Marvin Gaye.

Friday Night Lights Soundtrack. Friday Night Lights isn't an awesome film, but if you like football and have shied from movies about football because they're all the same, try FNL. Someone might try and strip me of poet-status if I say so, but the film achieves a lyrical quality at moments. Not in a "focus in on the trophy the team has to win before the film's over" sort of way, but in a quiet consideration of small words and things that's actually intelligent. The soundtrack helps out on this score: post-rock outfit Explosions in the Sky create shimmering guitar soundscapes that sound how Echo & the Bunnymen would sound if they were tired and very sad. But stripped of the film's context, the music is a tad barren. What lends scope and muted gravity in the film tends to bore coming out of your car's speakers. Even if you're speeding. Which I never do. SPEEDING IS WRONG!

Superchunk, Come Pick Me Up. Now here's a record you can really speed to! I think Here's to Shutting Up is superior - the songs are just better - but then there's a whole lot of Superchunk out there to be heard. If you like upbeat guitar pop indie rock at all, try chewing on some Superchunk.