Well, it's one of those days. I started with the Swans' Public Castration Is A Good Idea, a great record if, like me, you have a secret masochistic love for epic-length industrial monotones with an occasional shouted lyric like "FLESH!" or "MONEY!" or "DIE!" The Swans, of course, are best known for their classic "Cop," immortalized on one of Henry Rollins' best spoken-word albums, whose name currently escapes me (Was it Human Butt?). The lyrics: "Nothing beats you...like a cop...in jail!" Hell, yeah. That was followed by a sojourn through the careful blooz of Jimmy Reed. If I'm feeling a little better this afternoon, maybe I'll whip out the new Ween live album.

Tony Randall is gone! Jack Lemmon...Walter Matthau...Jack Klugman...The Odd Couple will have its Heavenly run forever. Wait 'til Neil Simon gets up there and writes a new script. But Tony--man, was he not the most likeable guy in show business? To be a beloved face for five generations of fans, not to mention a new father at 77, is quite an accomplishment. Bravo, Tony. We loved you.

Last night I rewatched The War Room. It was like watching life on a distant planet. God, were we ever that hopeful for the future? Also, can we please have a charismatic Democratic frontrunner at least one more time before the world ends? As much as I'm going to vote for him with all my heart, John Kerry's pulse lies somewhere between Chuck Robb (watch A Perfect Candidate, and if you're not asleep by the time his mouth drops open to harrumph his stentorian gobbledegook, you must be heavily caffeinated) and Helen Hayes--and he doesn't even have the hot-daughter factor working in his favor, like Al Gore. Oh, sweet Karenna! Sue! Don't be jealous! Karenna! Don't go!

Sigh. I'll never be in love again.