You know, I have to admit that since I moved out of Columbus, I really haven't missed much about it. Oh, don't get me wrong; I miss our dear Columbus readers. But the city itself? Nah. Not really. Why would I?
Well, I'll tell you why I would. Because The Wexner Center has two kick-ass shows coming up. Two kick-ass shows that, as far as I know, my current hometown is NOT getting.

You’re driving down the long, flat, winding roads late at night-– the only car in sight. Your headlights dance off the branches of the trees that line the road. It’s a melancholy peacefulness. The soundtrack to this drive is Matthew Ryan’s Regret Over The Wires. The thumping of the tires keep time with the pace of the songs, like a needle in a record's groove. Ryan’s gravelly voice lulls you into thinking about the past again. An ache fills your heart, but also acknowledges that this is one of those rare moments when a new chapter in your life is being written.

Roorback is a strange new beast from the sick minds of Sepultura. I must admit that since the departure of Max Cavalera, I haven’t kept up with the band the way I should have. This disc makes me want to go back and check out what I’ve been missing.

I done got passes for this show because I’ve become Mr. stellastarr* here at tastes like chicken HQ, what with my review of their first full-length album and interview with their topless drummer, Arthur Kremer. For this September 22nd show, I had the sassy and powerful Night Watchman as my +1. But I digress.

Warning: This book may fill you with the urge to punch stupid people in the head.

The Lone Ranger and Tonto Fistfight in Heaven is an incredible ride through a depressing land, and a genuine pleasure to read. The 20 short stories involve a cast of characters who live and die on an Indian reservation, surrounded by poverty and alcoholism. Subtle like a time bomb, it is guaranteed to beat you profusely about the head and shoulders with its calm wit, everlasting dignity, and shuddering despair. I'm not fucking kidding,.. it's that good.

Typically, I’d be thrilled about writing a book review. But this one isn’t so easy. , said the shotgun to the head. might be one of the most beautiful things I’ve read in years. But if you asked me why, I don’t know that I could do the book justice.
It is the offspring of a man’s love affair with words-- written and spoken. It’s his tapestry, woven with nouns and verbs, and you wear it around your subconscious, page by page.