I have to say that this is perhaps my least favorite letter thus far that I’ve published on this blog.  It’s so blah-blah-blah, exposition, brag brag brag about shows and Seattle and the Smiths (the very band she name-checks in her screen name).  Gag.  Like I needed to point out who Andy Rourke was.  Condescending much?  I don’t blame her for not responding to the boring asshole who wrote this.  The only bright spots in it are  my trashing of Animal Collective (although, thanks to Mike Longo, I’ve finally heard a recording of theirs that contained an actual song and not just tuneless and rhythmless bleating and banging) and the word tricycle.  Also, I am disappointed that I didn’t include an ellipsis before the words “and your tricycle.”  I will now kick myself in the head.

In fact, because I am so disappointed in myself for having penned this drivel (without a pen, no less), I will give you a bonus entry this week to cleanse your eye-palettes from the bland offerings given here. I suppose that I wouldn’t even post this letter on the blog if it didn’t give me yet another opportunity to knock myself down a couple pegs.  What a smug jerk that me guy is.  This will show him.  “Hey, you suck…me!”  [note – as of this going live, the author has made up with himself — ed.]

and your tricycle.

So, which day do you have Pavement tickets for? I’m going on the Thursday.

You have some pretty cool tastes, but I have to say, I still haven’t heard anything from Animal Collective that I’ve liked.

So, did you do anything fun Saturday night? I went to see Murder City Devils with a bunch of my friends. It was one of those awesome, life-affirming moments. I hadn’t seen them since 1999 when I saw them at the Breakroom in Seattle right before I moved to Buffalo.

Today, my brother’s band is playing a show that Andy Rourke from the Smiths is DJing. I’m pretty excited.

I don’t know how to end this letter,