Dust off cobwebs.

The big news is that Rebecca came down from Baltimore for a playdate. As usual, a playdate with Jason included a trip to Polly’s Cafe for lunch and then a trip to DCCD to stock up on supplies — and when I say supplies, I mean rock n’ roll. We had old-skool day at the record store; I picked up the first Palace album, Black Flag’s Damaged, and Minor Threat The Complete Discography. Drag City has re-released the first Palace (Brothers) album under the title Days In The Wake which I guess was its working title or something. You know the one I’m talking about, with (Thou Without) Partner and Whither Thou Goest. It’s real good, and I think about Matthew Staton every time I listen to it.

Rebecca bought Ear-Bleeding Country: The Best of Dinosaur Jr. and the new Sonic Youth. That makes 3 people who have bought the new Sonic Youth on my recommendation. I am a tastemaker. Anyway, Rebecca and I spent the night listening to music, screaming Dinosaur Jr lyrics, drinking Maker’s Mark and looking at her wedding pictures. Part of me wanted to say, “Hey! I was there!”, but I learned along time ago that you don’t sass anyone who brings you whiskey. It’s just poor form.

You can file this next bit under: You Can’t Call It This One Thing if It Does This Other Thing.In the record store, this guy starts talking to me who was in town from Illinois for the International Poets Sympusium (sure, what the hell) with his friend. That’s one thing I love about living in DC — people come into town for shit like the International Poets Symposium. That kinda stuff doesn’t happen in Twin Falls, Idaho.

Anyway, this cat is standing there with this other guy (his friend I guess) and some alterna-hippie chick. Other Guy takes great pains to explain to me how they really didn’t know Alterna-hippie chick, but had picked her up in Wisconsin and she seemed pretty cool. Or something, to tell you the truth I really wasn’t listening — the store was almost bursting with the me not caring. That is why I don’t talk to people in record stores — I always end up talking to some scruffy nerfherder who wants to tell me about the anti-relationship he doesn’t have with some random girl he picked up hitchhiking on Route 19 in Ohio or some other stupidity. If you are in a record store with me, your job is to busy yourself with “shutting the hell up” while I go through the Used section. Unless of course you find a copy of Jawbreaker’s Dear You, in which case you are supposed to purchase it immediately and hand it over. This is all spelled out clearly in the handbook.

Anyway, I’m talking to Guy Number One about punk rock and we trade cards. So, I’m, checking out this guy’s website — precornerstone.tk for those of you who are interested — and it seems pretty cool. But at the same time it seems a little off. It felt kinda like how you feel when you are in a hotel in a strange city watching TV, and Jeopardy! comes on at 7:00 instead of 7:30. It was weird like that. Anyway, I was reading it (its all about these Illinois hardcore bands) and it finally hits me as I notice that he is quoting Bible verses.

This cat is totally about Christian Hardcore! You can’t have Christian Hardcore!. It’s a perfect example of You Can’t Call It This One Thing if It Does This Other Thing. It’s the exact opposite of Two Things At Once.

Let me explain. . no, it’s too much, let me summarize.

I’m not a big hardcore fan, but I understand it’s basic forms . . . you need blood and guts and crunchy guitars and New-Agey occult undertones and really nasty indecipherable lyrics. Christianity has none of that stuff, except for one guy getting nailed to a tree, but even that is supposed to have a happy ending. It’s so NOT hardcore! Christian Hardcore! It’s heresy. It’s worse than heresy, it’s blasphemy! It’s worse than blasphemy, it’s lying!

I’m winded.