Will we stay or will we go? I'm not nearly as panicky as when I last wrote and I'm rather enjoying the mystery--wondering how all this will play out. I might be writing to you from New England in a few months, or I may be here for another year. I'm fairly prepared for either outcome.

Anyway, I was supposed to be writing you an entry, generally updating you on how things are. Instead, I was distracted by a usenet conversation where I was detailing how I met Joe Strummer of the Clash. I've decided to save time and instead of writing two anecdotes this evening, I'll share my experience with you too.

THE DAY I MET AND HURT JOE STRUMMER

I was at Toad's Place in New Haven about ten years ago and Big Audio Dynamite (Mick Jones' post clash group) was playing. Who should I see at at the back of the crowd, just hanging out by himself, but Joe Strummer! Just standing there! I couldn't get over the "all by himself" part! Though Mick Jones was my real hero of the moment, I couldn't resist approaching Mr. Strummer and saying hello. Maybe ask if I could shake his hand. Being a little star-struck, I had to first summon up the courage before I walked on over towards him. And I did just that. Walked on over to him.

Huge mistake.

He was hammered out of his mind, his teeth were black and in pieces and his breath stank like a rotting corpse (not that I know what a rotting corpse smells like, but I imagine it's not dissimilar). Let me assure you, there is nothing worse than seeing someone you admire in this sort of condition. He sort of leaned in when I extended my hand for that shake I so retardly asked for and he heaved a breathy "Huuuuuuuhlloooo theah!" into my face. His sweaty and vise-like paw gripped me, locking me in position for more up close and personal conversation.

And he wouldn't let go of my hand. 

JOE S: 
We'ah 'avin' a pahty latah, sweets. Wannah come up to the 'otel room?

ME THE RETARD: 
Oh, um no thank you, Mr. Strummer, I don't want to bother you. Just wanted to say hello and all.

(Picture me tugging for my hand and moving my head from side to side as he speaks, avoiding his beery exhalations which were occurring about two inches from my face.)

JOE S:
It's no bothah! No ho! We've goht beah! It'll be a lottah fun!

ME THE RETARD:
Oh no, I can't. Really

JOE S:
You cahn't? Oh, I imagine a little gull like you would like a pahty! Come oooooooon!

ME THE RETARD:
I, I really can't. I, uh...

(I'm tugging much harder at this point. I'm about to be asphyxiated.)

JOE S:
Oh ho ho ho! You ah a playful one! Lemme buyya a beah!

(With a sharp yank I finally freed my hand. However, with the force of letting go, Joe stumbled back a bit and hit the wall.)

ME THE RETARD:
(Running away)
I'm sorry, Mr. Strummer! It was nice meeting you Mr. Strummer!

JOE S:
(Rubbing the back of his head)
Whatevah, doll.

The stars in her eyes