(no subject)
Johnny Cash is dead. The voices in my head have been singing "Folsom Prison Blues" ever since I heard the news at work (I've been singing along, from time to time). Now I'm listening to his collaboration with U2, because as far as I know it's the only recording of him we've got. It's more than time to correct that condition, I think.
I went out searching
Looking for one good man...
I went out walking
With a Bible and a gun.
The word of God lay heavy on my heart
I was sure I was the one.
Big goosebumps. He was only 71. I would've sworn he was at least a hundred, but more like older than God. I dunno. I want to say something about agelessness and immortality and suchforth, but I'm striking out. Also I want to say something about yay for defying easily-defined musical genres and artistic categorization in general. Woo. (That was a very solemn, thoughtful, almost reverent "Woo" --- could you tell?)
In other, but much more minor, news of the "Well, dang" persuasion, today at work I managed to give myself a huge nasty splinter --- with a toothpick. Go figure.
Update, 17:46: This just in! The New York Times obituary for Johnny Cash includes a link to a multimedia retrospective that includes a snippet of the man's cover of "Hurt" by Nine Inch Nails. Holy shit. It's brilliant. I think I'm still processing just how cool it is.