no room at the inn

I think this may be the shortest column I have ever written—we ran outta room, so you’re getting a digested version of my epic struggles this month. What’s been going on you may ask? I have been debating internally as to whether I wanna go see the Raincoats, who are playing the same weekend as Teenage Jesus and the Jerks, somewhat randomly, at separate revival shows. Two opposing ideas of women in music that emerged outta the dank steam of the punk rock. Lydia Lunch and Gina Birch? Wimmin in musique. I have to give a talk at a local literary event about MRR, which is making me nervous. I am an awkward and obnoxious human—how am I gonna translate the aims, past, present and future of this rag you hold in yer hands to the type of crowd that attends such occurrences? What we do is secret!

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