In my last blog I showcased some of the awful/wonderful synthpop I’ve been enjoying on the advent of this Spring season. Due to the thousands of letters I’ve gotten from my tremendous fan base, I’ve decided to include more.

Bon voyage, bitches.

For the boyfriend and myself, going on a second cruise was like a couple of World War II veterans returning to Truk Lagoon – we knew in our hearts we were headed for a piece of paradise, but past experience kept us on edge, worried for the worst. (It’s hard to come back from a cruise where you order 1 bowl of chicken soup and, instead, are brought 14 bowls of rice and 26 hard boiled eggs.) At least this time, we had company: his mother, Chris, and his father, Fred – two people with lots of cruise experience.

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Vince Clarke, worshiping in his own way.

Oh! Something I meant to tell you: The other day I was talking on the phone to Vince Clarke about Yazoo (or Yaz, for those few of you who live in the quaint li’l province of The United States of America). He’s on tour right now with the indomitable Alison Moyet. For those of us who discovered the two, flawless Yaz albums in youth and remained loyal to the duo long after they weren’t to each other, this reunion tour is nothing short of a miracle.

Corey and I saw them perform recently and I’m telling you now, kids – find out when they’re playing near you, buy your tickets fast and GO! I can’t remember the last time I enjoyed a concert more.



Because I signed away all legal rights (I wasn’t using them anyhow) I can’t post my chat with Mr. Clarke on the Amoeblog, but you can read it by clicking on the sentence below:

This sentence serves no purpose other than providing a convenient link upon which you may click with your (rather dirty and in need of cleaning) mouse.

In other news, a bunch of we Amoebites went to the Hollywood Bowl Sunday night to see Sharon Jones & The Dap-Kings and Feist, but I’m not going to report on it until Logan sends me the [insert cuss word here] pictures.

So, what does this blog entry have to offer you besides promises of reports elsewhere available?

I’ve been ill again. Ever since I moved to LA, I get sick all the time. Oh, well. That’s the price I pay for getting to nosh with Posh and Becks every Tuesday.

…Okay, technically, only Becks and I do any actual “noshing” – you get the idea.


Yesterday was my boyfriend’s birthday. I got him a rad gift. (I know what you’re thinking – “Job, what better gift could you give him beyond your hacking, disease-ridden body?”) An AMOEBA GIFT CERTIFICATE, that’s what I gave him. Who doesn’t want one? Even I want one for my birthday, and I don’t even need one! Because, as many of you know, all Amoeba employees are allowed as many free albums and DVD’s as they want. In fact, we’re PAID to take them home! We drive them home in the cars our bosses buy us, which we park in our gold-plated garages with matching tiara encrusted, truffle-flavored diamond mines.

I’m delirious. I have no idea what I’m writing. We’ve been through this before, dear reader. This is how my sick day blogs read. If you feel inspired to pray for me by the end of it, please do. It’ll give you something to do while you’re waiting for Limewire to finish downloading a crappy copy of that Rockwell single.

Is it wrong to have Coors Light for breakfast?

This is the question I’m struggling with right now. It’s so cuss-word hot in Hollywood today. It makes it hard to think. I need to write a blog!

I wish Amoeba Music sold Coors Light, then I could just blog about that. I could be drinking it and telling you how I “recommend it” and stuff like that. That would rock.

Oh hey – I saw a great concert the other night. It was the final performance of the True Colors Tour, which started a month ago in Las Vegas and ended at the Greek Theatre in LA, as opposed to the Greek Theatre in San Francisco, where they played the night before.

(The Greek thing is a tip off.)

I got to see Debbie Harry and Cyndi Lauper in the same line-up. Added to that was Erasure; between these three acts I felt as though I was 14 again and had escaped to the city for a concert. Except I was sober and the car wasn’t stolen, so I guess it wasn’t too much like being 14…

The Dresden Dolls also performed, but my sweetheart and I missed it; we were cuddled on a grassy knoll eating the most expensive and, ironically, most horrid cheeseburgers I’ve ever had in my life.

I had never seen so many homos in my life. I’ve never been to Pride or Bed, Bath & Beyond, so this event was the gayest I’ve attended. Of course, Margaret Cho was the host, and as a particularly surreal touch, Cyndi Lauper’s encore was backed-up on drums played by… Rosie O’Donnell?