Nonalignment Pact (or, How I Learned to Stop Worrying and Get Out of Bed)

Jesusland
Originally uploaded by the management.

Thanks to Robbb for the new map of North America (well, the parts that count anyway... Lo ciento mucho, Mexico!!). Also, thanks to Pere Ubu for the title inspiration.

In the wake of America's decision to replace the Constitution with the New Testament, many of us have been heard to remark--half-seriously--that it's time to move to a more enlightened neck of the woods. Scandinavia comes up a lot, as does our hockey-loving neighbor in the Great White North. Not that the Quebequois would even let us in, but Vancouver could work. Anyway, the management would like to propose a slightly more... um, offbeat approach.

Instead of moving away, I propose a kind of mental and spiritual secession from the mainstream. (Here in New York that's relatively easy. For Manhattanites, the rest of the country is a slow, boring wasteland populated by toothless yokels. And, judging by the vote distribution on Monday, we're not far off.) For those of us with a brain in our heads and anything other than the love of Christ in our hearts, it's time to drop off the grid, militia-style. Of course, instead of stockpiling weapons we'll need to hoard other threatened contraband: Henry Miller novels, beer with alcohol content higher than 3.2%, the Bill of Rights, J.S. Mill's On Liberty, porn, some albums with naughty lyrics, George Carlin, and some ministers willing to perform same-sex marriages. Who's with me?

So Wednesday night was the long-awaited Futureheads show. It was one of the best things I've seen in a long while, but they didn't go on until midnight, by which time LK and I were utterly fucking plastered. For a cogent recap of the show, check out The Modern Age. Also, three new albums I must pick up in order to bask in the hottness: the three-disc DFA Compilation Vol. 2, The Soft Pink Truth's Do You Want New Wave or Do You Want the Soft Pink Truth?, and Death from Above 1979's You're a Woman, I'm a Machine. You heard it here first, pizzarty pizzeeple.

Tonight is the staff reception at the new, improved Mueum of Modern Art, home of the management's day job. We's fit to git effed up, art-history-major steez. I'ma pour one out for my dead homiez from da Italian Futurist movement. Peace!