At precisely 11:55 in the A.M. today, I’ll be hopping a big jet plane over to Atlanta, then up to Richmond, Virginia for the weekend. I’m going to the Richmond Ad Club for their annual advertising competition. I’m a judge for the deal, which is fun as hell. I look forward to meeting my fellow judges and hearing their stories. Fun stuff.

I’ll be bringing my loose credentials and some tall tales. I need to figure out a title for myself. “Grand Supreme Desktop Publisher” or “Coordinator of Dale Services” or “Director of Graphical Artistry” for when I introduce myself. I need something.

I’ll prob’ly just use the tried and true, “I’m in the graphic arts.”

Plus, I’m gonna hang with Virginia Gentleman Cabell Harris from Work Labs and a guy called, “Puck.” You bet. Might even be able to squeeze a little junkin’ in on Sunday, if it’s in the cards.

I’m a little leary to jump on the plane, after the 14 flights (count ‘em) I took over the last three weeks with Denver, ISPO, Berlin, Rome and back and forth and all. Lots of take offs and touchdowns. Nervous DDC.

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WAY ORANGE, MAN: A sweet orange Lambo frame thingie. I found this one on the web.

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DAMN, I WAS SO EXCITED FOR THIS ONE: I’ve been waiting to see Crazy Heart for some time now. You know, a little bit of buzz here and there and it sticks to yer ribs and you get excited. The whole “hardened honkytonker who turns his shit around” story is so predictable. But maybe they’d hit on something new with it? A twist. Something memorable?

Leigh and I went and saw it late last night on 82nd Avenue, and man, what a trite piece of crap. It just hurts to even write that. I just had such high hopes. How would they handle the “lonesome rambler” cliché? The answer: As predictable as ever. Yawn.

And man, fuck Colin Farrell. Painful. They’ll hire anybody for this stuff.

In all fairness, Mr. Bridges was pretty good overall, as is he is all his movies, but, in my half-ass estimation, a bit confined in the painful caricature of the “aging-countrified-honkytonk-hard-drinking-don’t-know-my-kids-kind-of-rambler” thing. Does that shit even exist? Just a cartoon, more or less.

There was no twist to this one, and I want my money back.

And I swear I heard Chip from the Backslider’s voice in a song. I guess it was actually Bridges’ voice, which, is pretty impressive. Goddamn “Abe Lincoln.” Now there’s a song. Ryno, I’ll learn it, I’ll learn it. I’ll be ready for ya.

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I’M A DICK FOR WRITING WHAT I WROTE UP ABOVE, SO HERE’S SOMETHING TO TAKE YER MIND OFF ALL THAT VITRIOL: Here’s a calm, cool collection that Chicago’s very own Derek Schille was nice enough to send in to us: “The Most Beautiful Pulp Magazine Cover Art We’ve Ever Seen.” Just like it says. Leigh, my sweet little honeysuckle rose, you’ll dig this one.

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ON THE PLAYER:

01. Backsliders - Southern Lines
02. Midlake - Courage of Others
03. Hüsker Dü - Zen Arcade