The ear-worms have been bad of late. Maybe it's this intense, possibly Supervillan-induced freeze that has NYC in its evil and debilitating grip. The verbal centers of the brain have short-circuited, possibly from being asked to continuously produce slight variations on "Oh my god I'm cold." In their retreat from functioning they left a huge void in the central processing unit that's been eagerly filled by multiplying song-threads, playing and replaying on their various memory loops in this frozen echo chamber of a cabeza.

A viewing of Scotland, PA, with it's scene of the youngest Duncan child, Donalbain-renamed-Donald, hanging around the piano with the rest of his drama-club buddies, sent me scurrying out in the frost to acquire this. Fine and dandy, but repeated listenings of "We Beseech Thee" haven't done a thing for my other afflictions, to wit, at least three competing Chicago tunes, two perfectly acceptable brassy white pop-soul ("Feelin' Stronger Every Day" and "Make Me Smile"), one the hideous progeny of all that sucketh ("You're the Inspiration") -- all of which grow intolerable on internally sampled repetition; brief teasing spells of a line or two of synth from Game Theory's "Waltz the Halls Always"; and then there's the chorus from Heads East's "Save My Life/White Line Woman."

I'd ask if this kind of thing were normal, but I'm afraid that I already know the answer.

For this, for the cold, and for long, shallow, maddening think-pieces on George Bush (he must be smart, capable and principled-- because he's enjoying political success!) I blame my recent laxity in producing hi-quality content for the site. Those subscribers who purchased the Premium Wombat Membership should contact customer service for the appropriate credit.