I spent much of New Year’s Eve listening to Tom Waits’ epically weird opus, Bone Machine (soon to appear on our list of recommended Amazon purchases). “The German dwarf dances with the butcher’s son” is far and away the most traditional sentiment reflected by the CD.

I had the opportunity and desire to indulge in Mr. Waits because, respectively, my kid spent the night elsewhere and I blew up the new blog site (the very one you see now) and needed a little something to get me through the hasty reconstruction effort. What better solitary way to usher in whatever’s knocking?
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