Yeah, so, apparently, Friday morning I was starting to hear a little bit, I could definitely hear Built To Spill in my left ear, ever so slightly. And then I went and blew my eardrum. Dumbass. I was getting antsy, and decided to "help" my hearing come back faster. So I blew my nose. Hard. Oh yeah, and a lot. Note to other village idiots like myself: blowing your nose like the shofar (that's the ram's horn that crazy Jews blow into to welcome the new year, for all you goyim out there) when you can't hear is NOT a good thing. Keep on yawning, is all I gotta say about that, I guess. It apparently takes like a week or ten days or more to grow back. So basically, i have to sit and wait...and not stick things in my ear...you know, like water, fingers, little children who sleep with Michael Jackson...that kind of thing.

So, yeah, now I'm sitting in a room with a broken eardrum. I thought I heard a lot of white noise all the time before... now that I can't hear anything at all in my good ear, it's like there is a symphony of locusts inside my head on a summer's night. And they never sleep. No, they never sleep. And when I'm not listening to the locusts and cicadas dueling it out over my eternal soul, "Big Shot" by Billy Joel keeps playing at random times on my mental jukebox, and I can't stop it. "You went uptown riding in your limousine with your fine Park Avenue clothes. You had the Dom Perignon in your hand and the spoon up your nose..." You know, when that album, 52nd Street, came out, I was pretty young. I didn't know about fancy champagne and cocaine. I was picturing this woman holding some Italian guy in her hand while there was a spoon sticking out of her nose. At the same time, I was convinced that the Doobie Brothers, who were only urging the world to "Woa oh, listen to the music," were actually telling me that "The whole world wants to abuse you..." I was one messed up five year old. Now I am a messed-up 29 year old, sitting in the computer room after work at 8 in the morning whining about breaking my eardrum and hearing locusts in my head. What's not to love?

So I've decided to shift the focus of my set Thursday night to more of the funny J-Ro than the sensitive singer-songwriter J-Ro, since I can't hear myself well enough to sing too good, as they say in the biz. But please be sure to make it down to Saints And Sinners at 9pm, because even if I suck, Desirae will be awesome, as will Nan Turner (of Schwervon, formerly of Bionic Finger), who has a new EP (yay!), and Major Matt Mason USA, also of Schwervon, as well as being an antifolkhero and Olive Juice Music label impressario (wow, that's a lot of hats to wear). Fun for all kids 18 and over, for only 5 bucks! And if you think I suck I'll buy you a drink. HA!

I just started reading End Zone by Don Delillo. His writing fascinates me. His characters always seem to have this darkness bubbling just beneath the surface, and his imagery is amazing. I wish I could write like that, but I don't know how. I will just continue to plunder the mines I've been digging at for as long as I can remember. I suppose the world needs my vision of skewed romanticism, although arguably perhaps not as much as I need my eardrum to rebuild itself. So, are there like Dozers inside your ear repairing it, while Fraggles play in the free spaces of the skull? Hmmm... now that would be fascinating... (fade out to a dream sequence in flashback form, but you gotta make it up yourself. I'm low-tech.)