Rotorglow

The Police just blew the roof off the Grammys. And that kind of blows my mind. Because there're a few things I thought I'd never see again; and the Police is one of them.

My new/again favorite thing is doing round-trip translations of websites and news articles with Google Language Tools. And now there's a good (or at least organized) outlet for these efforts. Earlier today, Tim announced Quasi-Press, and I'm pleased as punch to be part of the editorial staff.

We've covered some big stories in our first day alone, from the tortured, sadly glamorous life of Anna Nicole, to the unintended consequences of vasectomies, to the dangers of messy cars.

There's a lot of news out there. And there are a lot of languages. But we have a job to do, and we're going to do everything we can to cover it all.

We know you can choose where you get your news. And every step of the way, we hope and expect to be worthy of your trust.

Dad's '66 Charger
Originally uploaded by rotorglow at 15 Feb '07, 11.29pm EST.

I've mentioned some elusive pix of my dad with his 1966 Charger that I've been hoping my parents would find soon. Well, they showed up in the mail yesterday.

I have to find this car.

Couple things:

Doesn't everything look better from 22000 miles up?

Actually....fuck it. I'm tired. I'll write more later.

I went karting today (with Tim, Bru and Billy) , which was fucking awesome. I'm weirdly bruised on my right shoulderblade from (I guess) the time I overcooked Turn 1 and slid full-tilt into the wall. Bru saw the whole thing from behind and says there was air under the car, and under me when it threw me up into the air.

And then he went racing past me, because I was, like, stopped.

But that's racing. Had a couple of clean races where Bru and I were at the head of the field and lapping people, and one frankly annoying race where I never saw the green fly after a caution period, and I lost about 5 positions because I thought I was following the rules. Won't let that happen again.

After a visit to Atwood's I'm grooving to a PJ Harvey record I thought I could never listen to again (stupid iTunes...), but finding it perfect and disconcerting all at once.

It was the soundtrack for the shit I went through in 2000 and 2001, but it always rocked. And now, of course, it still rocks because PJ Harvey doesn't know how to make any other kind of record. But it's newly and anciently relevant all at the same time, and that seems weird (becuase how can anything keep repeating itself like that?), and makes me want to hop back in the car, and drop the hammer.

While PJ comes along for the ride. There's no such thing as escape.