There really isn't anything like the sound of a snare taking a beating. The undeniable spak! of one is drifting through Arborvitae's floorboards and it makes me hungry. The falling snow makes me hungrier. If the winter band practice isn't a Michigan rite of passage for many young men, I don't know what is: freezing your ass off in a basement, trying not to slip in a parking lot while carrying an amp, still wearing a scarf when you do play live. It's total teenage brilliance -- ain't nothing in the world all that bad when you're playing. Not the cold, not people hating your band, not high school. O, the feeling of playing in a band, how I miss thee.
Anyway, Mike printed copies of the Mr. Wiltoncroft book and it's pretty beautiful. Some minor changes have to be made to the cover but I got so excited reading through it again. As well as art by yours truly, a new Wiltoncroft story is set to appear in the next issue of Minus Times (rumored to be a 72-page tome this around).
Man, I'd love to close shop and go for a walk in this weather. I dunno, it seems winter is growing into my favorite season. It's a relief, really, to be looking at the most grueling part of the year with anticipatory eyes. Hopefully that means my nascent cynicism is abating.
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