A little chin music.

Why don't I write about The Paul F. Tompkins Show as much as I used to? I'm lazy and a jerk. Those are the only acceptable explanations. But tonight, I attended the show, as I nearly always do, and I feel the (tipsy) impetus to remark on how great the show always is and how disappointed in it I never am. Maybe I write less because I've run out of synonyms for extolling Paul F. Tompkins' genius. That's just embarrassing. I own a thesaurus. Surely I can find ways to praise Paul without constantly repeating myself. Or not. If history is any witness, I've taken all manner of notes at show after show, but I've just seldom managed to retype them into a journal entry. Obviously rendering my note-taking worthless.

For the record, I have looked up the chin music issue, and it turns out that Dave "Gruber" Allen has nothing for which to answer to me. I guess "chin music" -- while it does also mean punching someone in the face or pitching a baseball a little too close to the batter's face -- made its debut in The Red Badge of Courage and meant an excess of jibber jabber. When I'm wrong, I say so. And then I move to another state and pretend we never met.

Kristin Herman is my favorite thing in the world. Samm Levine is my hero of aerial acrobatics. And AC/DC is good no matter who sings it.