The Seventies. That ancient lost era, that musical wasteland, the decade everyone (who doesn't know music) likes to rag on, continues to supply Madison Avenue with new and exciting fodder.

Walking to the train this morning I saw a woman who was a dead ringer for Sara Carter, wife of A.P. Carter, whose leaving to marry A.P.'s cousin Coy torpedoed the famous Carter Family.

The fax machine is singing its song. Beep bloop beep bloop bleep beep beep. And bloop. It goes on and on. Kristina feeds the machine and the machine eats, requests for verification on pricing and availability of amps and speakers, tonearms and cartridges, accessories and racks and so much more. "Recommended Components" is singing its song. Swoosh and whir.

An exhibit organized around the schtick of making the paintings about the atmospheric conditions portrayed within them. Works anyway.

I've been checking out the Creative Commons&ndash;licensed MP3s at <I>Musikethos</I>. If you dig classical music, you'll find a lot to admire there.

As anyone who has talked me me even briefly over the last month knows, I loved reading <I>King Dork</I>. It's a young adult novel that's one-half rant against <I>Catcher In the Rye</I>, one-half spoof of <I>The Da Vinci Code</I>, and one-half Encyclopedia Brown in the 21<SUP>st</SUP> Century. Yeah, I know that adds up to more than one, but that's how good it is. It's also very knowing about rock trivia and absolutely spot-on about what it feels like to be an "uncool" teen.

"Don't stay too late," JA says, on his way out of the office.