I paid 1.45 pence for my Radiohead download, which comes out to just over $3 bones.
Worth it, bitches. Download it for 99 cents if you want, I highly highly recommend it.
The revolution has begun, and I’m glad Radiohead is getting down with it. Within a week of announcing that they were releasing the new cd for free, Oasis and Jamiroquai both said they were doing the same. Both in my opinion are lesser bands, much lesser, but the fact remains that the music model is changing.
My boss the other day was arguing that without the current business model, there would be no music, because the artists wouldn’t be rewarded in full monetarily. I thought that was a fucking joke. A fucking savage musician is a savage musician, and demand for good music is definitely out there, and the two will connect. I will always be able to get new music, and I won’t have to spend my whole allowance on it every week, like I used to when I was a kid.
Today, I’m leaving work to go to court, for a ticket because I was driving with no insurance or registration. I have both now, and am heading to court at 1:30 PM. Apparently, I’m looking at anywhere from $500-1k for the ticket, and I have another one I have to go to before the year is out. Fucking worst.
It kind of reminds me of a Roughty story. Back in the good old days, Roughty was getting arrested like every other week, literally. I can remember, off the top of my head, 3 specific instances of Roughty getting picked up in jail and giving me a call in the middle of the night to come get him in the morning. On one occasion, he got into a fight with the cop while he was on the phone, and I could hear the cop threatening to hang up the call unless Roughty toned down his belligerence. Roughty told the cop to “Shut the fuck up, and stop being such an asshole.”
On second thought, 2 of the midnight calls were for jail, and 1 was for the hospital.
The two jails were simple enough. Roughty got too fucked up at the bar, and got arrested while walking home. Once was on his 21st birthday. I distinctly, distinctly remember being at the Greene Leafe bar, a black hole of foppery, homosexuality, sentimentality and NOVA, on R-dog’s big day. It was a Monday night if I recall, because it was mug night. I was like, “Roughty, please please please come home, you’re just going to get arrested.” Nope, the birthday boy wasn’t having it, and I had some D-rugs to inhale up my nose, so I was out. Roughty got picked up on the way home, as predicted by me a few hours earlier.
Don’t remember the other jail.
The hospital call was a good one too. First of all, we were both under 21, but I was working as a bartender anyway because the owner never checked my ID, and I would serve Roughty his gold delight, illegally and for free (double illegally). Anyway, one day, we were playing Golden Tee at the bar, drinking Boddington’s, a savage pale ale. Roughty was toast, and I was too. It was time to go, but once again, Roughty wouldn’t take no for an answer. I left, he stayed.
“Come pick me up from the hospital,” was the message on my machine from 3 AM.
Roughty got too fucked up at the bar. So he went out behind the bar, and puked it up to make himself feel better (like Suit on my roof). Then, as he was puking, the force of his own mandibles was too much for his pussy skull, and his jaw snapped straight open, and wouldn’t shut.
Reverse Lock Jaw. So there he was, with his jaw stuck straight open, straight off a good up-chuck, behind a bar he was drinking for free at, underage. What does a good lad do? Of course, he walked around behind the back of the strip mall the bar was out, jaw sticking wide open, and got in his car, and drove himself to the hospital. With his mouth open, puke in between his teeth. Ever held your mouth open for a long time? What happens, is that you start to drool. So there he was driving down the road, wasted, with his jaw stuck wide open, drooling all over himself, on the way to the hospital.
I missed the call at night, but got the message in the morning. He had gotten himself a ride home somehow in the morning. He had medical tape wrapped under his mouth, and then over his head, like a cartoon character. Classic.
Anyway, the point of my story, was that one day, Roughty had to go to court for being a fucking idiot and getting arrested for something. At 1 AM the day before he had court a 8 AM, he ate a mushroom chocolate bar, and subsequently skipped court on account of exhaustion and hallucinations.
Months later, Roughty was walking to work with his flagrant flight jacket, sheep wool deluxe on. One of his buddies, a cop, saw his jackass, knew he was a wanted fugitive, and arrested him on the spot for being a stupid, drunk Irish bastard.
Roughty, sorry about the jail stories. I’m not strapped for material, but in honor of my court appearance, I was in the mood for some legal antics, and you are the king in that department. I also feel like it’s inappropriate to tell your own arrest story about yourself, which is obviously why I didn’t get into my own checkered past.
In conclusion, download the new radiohead cd, and don’t get in a car that Roughty is driving, ever.