The Boss has been really busy, making cool stuff:



I'm a big help, because I'm constantly babbling inane bullshit, gibbering and capering around like a self-medicating chimp, and ignoring me for hours at a time has given The Boss amazing powers of concentration. She exhibits a truly admirable work ethic, even when I'm working on my latest project:



...which is admittedly terrible, just horrible noises and juvenile reference points collaged together in a big stupid murky sloppy pile. And while I'm quite the fan of what The Boss is doing — the hard work, the craftsmanship, the careful and muted palette, the melancholy streaks that add a real complexity, the time she spends searching out unusual and high-quality materials, the way she gives her characters subtle but tangible personality with an understated and concise aesthetic — she does not reciprocate and of course really really really hates hates hates my dumb crap and who could blame her.

"You'd like it if the Butthole Surfers did it," I say. "You love the Butthole Surfers."

"I do love the Butthole Surfers, but their noise eventually turns into a song," she says.

"Yeah, I guess... The ones that turn into songs are the ones that suck."

"Anyway, I listened to the Butthole Surfers when I was 15."

It's funny, my friends Todd and Scott were just having a conversation about the ol' "I grew out of that" snob thing longtime friends drop into conversations about music. They had two keen observations:

"When you ask them what they like now, the answer is Wilco. Always Wilco."

"When it's not Radiohead..."

"Those bands are fine, but do they have to replace the stuff you grew up on? I mean, I liked pizza when I was 13. Did they grow out of pizza too?"

So I like noise, and The Boss likes Wilco, and Radiohead, a lot, but we both still like pizza. Which is good. Because you have to base a relationship on something. Also, we both dig this, at least:

happy ending