Tennessean is tennebelievin' or: look where my hand was. or: hang the blessed DJ

I went to a birthday party last night and had far too much tequila (but you'd like me when I have too much tequila), and then when the Petron ran out, a bottle of vodka came out. Ahem.

Remarkably, I feel pretty good this morning. Of course I woke up about, oh, incredibly early o'clock, but that is to be expected. We'll see if it sneaks up on me later. I'll try to preempt that with some tea and then breakfast. I'm thinking Flor Morena. I might even bring the old compy for a writin' time.

Where was I going with all of this?


Um...
Oh, I thought Aidin Vaziri's Best of 2005 was really funny. He's a music journo for the SF Chronicle. It's great stuff from interviews. Like this:


Duff McKagan of Velvet Revolver
Q: How weird is it to go through all this again?
A: Oh, there are times when Slash and I look at each other onstage and the crowd is going crazy and it's like, "F -- , dude. We did it again." It doesn't happen very often. But it's pretty great. People tell us we saved rock 'n' roll.
Q: I just wish your pancreas was here to enjoy it.


Duff, by the way, is morphing into some amalgamation of Bowie and Ichabod Crane.

That is all. Time to make the tea.

P.S. How the hell did I get raspberry filling in my hair? Guess that means I have to shower.