The JVC Jazz Festival is in New York City (a bit of an absurdity: New York City <I>is</I> a jazz festival, all the time). A crazy schedule prevents me from seeing much this year (less and less of this festival is actually jazz, in any case), but I’m definitely catching the Keith Jarrett-Gary Peacock-Jack DeJohnette trio, Thursday night at Carnegie Hall, and Lee Konitz playing with a few bands, in honor of his 80th birthday (!), Monday night at Carnegie’s Zankel Hall.

With increasing frequency, a litany of strange packages began arriving in my mail recently. Inside were, and continue to be, a series of very strange discs, entitled, Rockabye Baby!, that purport to be rock tunes made into lullabies. My first reaction? Smoking crack, as well all well saw in the 90's, can be a terrible, terrible thing.

Book collector Jeff Wong thinks the coolest collector's edition of <I>OTR</I> would be a limited reproduction of the scroll. Me too, although I'm sure I couldn't afford one.

"Congratulations," the comment began.

These don't sound fantastic, but it's not like washing test-tubes is all that hunky-dory.

I have a full-length commute. It lasts just about as long as an album. For instance, if I plug in the iPod and press play on Dinosaur Jr.'s <i>Beyond</i> just as I leave my apartment, the album comes to a glorious end exactly as I enter our office's elevators. This was a great discovery.