prologuing it

WHEREIN an accidental editing faux pas at a major alt-weekly has resulted in a description of Anthony Hamilton, under my byline, as
“MMM… complete man.”
I didn’t write it, but I was thinking it.
WHEREIN I have shed that unclean Jim Jones feeling (retarded, aggro, can’t get signed to the Roc) and have taken up an entirely more serene celebrity state-of-being: The Incredible Lightness of Britney.
WHEREIN the most pleasurable function of my employment, by far, demands I download back-catalogue, like Splack Pack & Kidd Money’s Big Booty Hits (lemme hear you say scrrruuub da ground!), Satoko Fujii Quartet’s Minerva (my entire piano-playing existence has been a feeble attempt to copy Satoko Fujii’s whirlybird tone blocks and trigonometrical rhythms), and Various Artists: A Tribute to the Cure: 1000 Tears (Cleopatra Records), which I actually purchased on CD when it came out, and from which Kill Switch Klick, Electric Hellfire Club, Bell Book & Candle, Wreckage or any number of its contributors would today be signed to a low five-figure deal with Astralwerks, or at least have been put on the bill with ARE Weapons and Bloc Party (who are binoculars*–but as Crunkcchanalia put it, “wrong band wrong place wrong time”).
* bazonkers + ridonculous = “binoculars.” Catchdubs, watch out; I’m right behind thee!