He's the prettiest hot mess I've ever seen

His publicist blamed jet lag for his behavior. All I have to say is, I'll have what he's having. In addition, I would sit next to him on a couch any day of the week no matter how "jet lagged" he was; even if that meant I'd have to listen to him reminisce about wearing that pink tank top in the Kokomo video. I would even take one for the team and lick his scruffy face. That's just me, though. I'm a giver like that.

Wooing original singer back into group could be as easy as substituting his last name in lyrics to classic, "Oh Sherrie"

This news story is a couple of weeks old, but continues to be relevant because everyone and your mother (yes, Chelsea Clinton, I'm talking to you) has been buzzing about Journey since the finale of The Sopranos.

Click here to read the story on classic band, Journey.

To that, I say: Don't Stop Believin', indeed!

If they actually get back together with Steve Perry for Journey's 30th Anniversary next year (the only reason I know THAT fun fact is because I heard it on the radio today!), you will never see someone try so hard to get good seats for a concert. Normally I'm a lover, not a fighter; but consider this a warning to all of your moms who will be attempting to get tickets faster than me. I will show no mercy and throw some elbows if I have to. Maybe even sweep their leg, Cobra Kai style.


If anyone gets in my way, they'll find out where Journey's "Open Arms" meet Cobra Kai's "Closed Fist".

Mind you, that output of energy will not be because I'm hot for Steve Perry and his tight jeans. It would just be a change of pace to have an updated mental image whenever I hear them randomly coming out of my speakers as an adult; instead of the same, old visceral reaction I have had since the days of Journey cassettes playing in the background as my high school boyfriend & I made out in his car, which he parked at the airport. You know, that place off to the side that faces the runway. I'm sure every airport has a designated area where people "watch the submarine races".


Because either you're there to actually see the planes take off and land (like Wayne & Garth, for instance)...Or. You're. Not.

Plane Spotting at Mitchell International Airport
The city of Milwaukee maintains a public park on the north side of the airfield. It is called "Airport Park", and it overlooks most of the field. The park is located north of Layton Avenue, one mile or so east of Howard Avenue. This park is especially ideal deal for viewing flights that land from the north. The aircraft are very low when viewed from this vantage point.

The above description was clearly written by someone over the age of 18. I never even knew there was an official name for the place, and I'm willing to bet that none of my high school friends did, either.

I mean, fond memories all; but as I said, a current frame of reference for Journey songs would be good. It might just cancel out the terrifying memory of the time a policeman used his nightstick to knock on the car window and threatened to call each of our fathers to report on his busting of our "Lovin', Touchin', Squeezin'" (I am not making this up!), even though he failed in the attempt to stifle his laughter or hide the self-satisfaction he felt at his own play-on-song titles.

Then he told us we could keep "watching the planes take off" if we'd just turn down the music a bit so nobody else in the lot was bothered by it. Mind you, the entire place was full of cars with fogged-up windows. Nobody there was bothered by music of any kind, OR THE LANDING PLANES, FOR THAT MATTER.

It's Thursday, so "Business Hours are over, baby"

If you don't know what the title of this post means, please scroll down to the previous post from Sunday, and watch the Youtube video at the end called Business Time.

Hope everyone had their business socks on last night. I had plans to do the same but as I am posting this from the MacSpecialists store (emphasis on the Special) this morning, plans change. Instead, I was in a fiery rage last night, and that was the only "business" at hand.

I am almost finished designing my sister's fantastic children's book on pet loss. Before sending it to the printer, I had to upgrade my software to Adobe Creative Suites 3. Today, almost a week after spending just over "one-large" on CS3, I took my iMac in to double the RAM, a necessary evil because CS3 wasn't having the RAM I was running on. I had to wait a week to max out the RAM on my computer because I had to sell my ovaries to pay for everything and have you ever tried to heal properly after having your ovaries removed and sold on the black market? It takes longer to recover from the trauma than you'd think.

I brought it home last night after the upgrade and was ready to get down to "business" but the machine only spit out an insulting 3 beeps, and didn't bother to actually go through the usual start-up process, nor did the monitor come on. Only the fan, and those 3 beeps. I called MacSpecialists (for the record, they're usually modern day miracle-makers) and the sales guy said since it was 7:10 pm, the techs had all left already (presumably they had their "business socks" on and had people to get home to) but I could bring it back in the morning; which brings us to now.

I'm currently "banging the keyboard" (is it too early in the day for double-entendres?) on the sexiest MacBook Pro I've ever seen. This baby is smooth, and slick, and titanium and FAST (in a good way). Too bad it has to stay in the showroom. I'm a non-smoker but may just have to light one up on the way out of here anyway. I think they hand them out at the door with iMatches.

Luckily for you, I've decided to skip over all the ugliness that went on in between my phone call to MacSpecialists last night and the "morning delight" I'm experiencing right now. Poor Charissa called in the middle of my rage to discuss an episode of Sex & the City that she had just seen on DVD, the one where Smith shaves his head in solidarity with Samantha's chemotherapy-induced hair loss; probably the hottest move on earth, a man standing by his woman so steadfastly--is that even a word?--that he knows his actions will speak louder than anything he could ever say in that entirely (for her) vulnerable moment; and I couldn't even enjoy talking about it over the phone with her. A fiery rage will do that to you. Imagine, not even being able to get into a discussion on the hotness of Sex & the City's Smith Jerrod!?

Since I couldn't find that scene online anywhere, I give you the following ridiculous commercial someone in the UK was kind enough to upload to YouTube.

I don't know about you, but all I hear is what sounds like the adults in every Charlie Brown movie saying, "Waah wah waah body temperature waah waah starts to melt... uncontrollably waah wahh waah even faster in your mouth wah waaah and that, ladies, makes the pleasure even more intense." This commercial should be for a product called, 'AMEN', or 'BREAK ME OFF SOME OF THAT', don't you think?


So, the work on the book will continue a few days longer than I had anticipated, which is utterly frustrating at the end of such a long-term project. Good thing my sister has been so great about it. I hasten to say most clients would not handle it with as much grace and patience as she has. She always takes lemons & makes lemonade. For instance, last night after finding out that I'd have to take my computer back in-- pushing the book deadline back a few days-- I called to ask her if she had the number for Suicide Hotline. She didn't have the number but said that if I actually went through with it, she'd have a great subject for her next book.

Humor, people. It's in our DNA. Genetically, we CAN'T HELP IT.


It should go without saying that suicide is not funny at all.

If merely singing the song counts, I've been on "Business Time" since last Tuesday--with no signs of stopping--even without the socks

In the tradition of Stephen Lynch, Zach Galifianakis, Demetri Martin and Tenacious D; I'd like to present the latest musical comedy act to steal my quirky humor-guy loving heart:

New Zealand's Flight of the The Conchords!

Jemaine Clement and Bret McKenzie, aka the folk-parody band Flight of the Conchords, hail from New Zealand and were named best alternative-comedy act at the 2005 U.S. Comedy Arts Festival. Now they're starring in an HBO series called, yes, Flight of the Conchords — which is about two transplanted New Zealanders living in New York City's Lower East side. It launches Sunday.

I saw them for the first time on Letterman last week:

"The Most Beautiful Girl"

Lookin' round the room,
I can tell that you are the most beautiful girl in the...room
In the whole wide room, yeah.
and when you're on the street, depending on the street
I bet you are definitely in the top three
good looking girls on the...street. Depending on the street.

When I saw you at my mate's place
I thought, "What is she doing at my mate's place?
How did Dave get a hottie like that to a party like his?
Good one Dave. Oooh, you're a legend, Dave"

I asked Dave if he was gonna make a move on you
He's not sure. I said, Dave do you mind if I do?
He says he doesn't mind, but I can tell he kinda minds
but I'm gonna do it anyway

I see you standing all alone by the stereo
I dim the lights down to very low. Here we go:

You're so beautiful, you could be a...waitress
or you could be an air hostess in the 60's
You're so beautiful you could be a...part-time model.
and then I seal the deal, I do my move
I do the robot

It's 12:02, just me & you
and 7 other dudes around you on the dance floor
I draw you near, let's get out of here.
Let's get in a cab, I'll buy you a kabab
and I can't believe that I'm sharing a kabab
with the most beautiful girl I have ever seen...
with a kabab

Why don't we leave, let's go to my house
so we can feel each other up on the couch
oh no, I don't mind taking it slow

Cause you're so beautiful
Like a tree
you're so beautiful
like some ceramics or something
you're so beautiful
like one of those girls I've definitely,
definitely been chatting to
in the chat rooms
WildSlutAngel22@yahoo hoo hooo
you're so beautiful
you could be a high-class prostitute, seriously

You're so beautiful
you could be a part-time model
well, you'd probably have to keep your normal job
part-time model, spending part of your time modeling
and part of your time next to me
and the rest of your time
you'd be doing your normal job

The following day they were on Fresh Air. I laughed throughout the entire interview, especially when they start talking about their musical influences: Barry White, Darryl Hall (but not Oates), and Prince. Personally, I also hear a lot of Bee Gees influence when they sing, but that's just me.

You can listen to their Fresh Air interview and live performances of "The Most Beautiful Girl", "I'm Not Crying" (best line: "These aren't tears of sadness because you're leaving me. I've just been cutting onions. I'm making a lasagna... for one. I'm not crying") and "What is Wrong with the World Today" (best line: "They're turning kids into slaves just to make cheaper sneakers, but what's the real cost cause the sneakers don't seem that much cheaper") by clicking here. I have no idea how they perform without cracking up. They are so absurdly hilarious, I will be shocked if you don't laugh out loud.

For more info on their new HBO show (which airs tonight!) and to watch the pilot episode, click here.

If like me, you can't get enough; here's their gem, "Business Time". After hearing this one, I actually had tears coming down my cheeks from laughing so hard.

"When it's with me you only need two minutes because I'm so intense. Two minutes in heaven is better than one minute in heaven. You tell me you want some more. Well, I'm not surprised, but I am quite sleepy."

On that note, I need to buy some business socks before Wednesday night, when "there's nothing good on TV and conditions are perfect".

Morning: 5, Me: 0. Congrats, Morning. You win!

Being a night person has plenty of benefits. These benefits do not, unfortunately, include BEING ALERT first thing in the morning. I've always been a person who functions well anytime after 10 a.m. You might see me up and around before that time of day, but don't hold me accountable for performing any tasks you have asked of me or assume that I'll have anything more than a vague, detached memory of anything you've talked about--especially if I was actually asleep and you have decided to wake me up to have a conversation. Trust that it's in your best interest to wait until I'm actually "with it" or "of this earth" or "not snarling at the daylight".

My sister Missy, who I lovingly refer to as "Chipperface", is perfectly delightful first thing in the morning and has a tendency to wake up singing. In the past, she even tried to wake me up with the "GOOD MORNING TO YOU" song (Some free advice? Don't try to sing me awake). She got all the morning genes between the 2 of us, and would never do any of the things that I've done to myself in the morning. She's probably thinking up a song right now about my a.m. calamities that she'll sing to herself as soon as her adorable, chipper face pops off her pillow in the morning, naturally 5 minutes before her alarm goes off.

Want to see what daybreak was like around our house growing up? Check out this Folgers commercial. The people in yellow represent my sister and mom. My dad & I are everyone else, but nobody more than that growling dog. Perfection.

It's nothing personal, it's just all that daylight and happiness.

What happened this morning will illustrate the kind of week I'm having, and it's 5th in a life-long series of a.m. mishaps that a morning person would never, ever do as they get ready for work. It started as a typical weekday:

6:30: Alarm, specifically placed across the room so I have to get up to shut it off, comes on at full blast. It's a rude awakening because, well, it's always a rude awakening.

6:31: Get up, smack snooze, back to bed for just a few minutes.

6:45: Cell phone alarm (specifically placed on desk so I have to at least lean out of bed to shut it off) comes on at full blast.

6:46: Shut off cell phone alarm, stretch. Blink rapidly, squint at the daylight, tally up how many hours of sleep I actually got--which happens to be the most amount of brain power I use until later in the day when I get to work, where I get paid for using brain power (makes sense, right?).

6:50: Hit the shower. Begin usual bathing process involving soap, Origins Ginger body scrub (or some kind of good-smelling scrub to help wake me up), facial cleanser, shampoo & conditioner. While conditioner is conditioning, I shave. After that, rinse out conditioner.

Any other day, my shower time would end there. Any other day, that would be the case. Not today, though. Nope. Today, after I rinsed conditioner out of my hair, I actually (without thinking, of course) applied facial cleanser to my hair. You'd assume that my first thought was "Oh MAN! I just put face wash in my hair! Why would I do that? That makes no sense at all". Wrong! Instead, I thought: "Oh MAN! Why would you put that on your hair AFTER the conditioner instead of beforehand?". I guess because the shampoo and cleanser bottles are similar in size and shape, my brain was trying to justify that typical-for-me morning short circuit.

I'm a pro at that kind of thing happening when I wake up. Here are 4 other notable things I've done that a morning person would never do:
1) I had cereal for breakfast one morning in college--a rare occasion during those years of off-campus living because it was too much to ask me to get to 8 a.m. classes on time AND eat something before getting there. About a week after said breakfast, my roommates and I noticed a smell that we couldn't quite place until we opened up one of the kitchen cabinets nobody used. I had inadvertently put the carton of milk in that dark, empty little cabinet instead of back into the refrigerator.

In my college advertising class, our project group actually conceptualized this EXACT thing before Kellogg came up with it: cereal & milk to go. It could have helped me avoid that whole milk-in-cabinet thing. Sidenote & fun fact: My good friend Jason's grandfather actually came up with the old Kellogg's Frosted Flakes slogan, "The Taste Adults have Grown to Love"! Remember those commercials with the adults sitting in the dark, confessing that they had not only eaten, but enjoyed the cereal they bought for their kids?

2) Wisconsin winters made for nights of going to bed with wool socks on. There were countless high school mornings when I stepped into the shower with those things still on my feet, and there's nothing less comfortable, or harder to get out of, than a soaking wet 100% wool sock.

If you get these bad boys wet, you might as well call the Jaws of Life to cut you out of them.

3) A couple of years ago I upgraded from driving an '88 Integra to a 2003 (pre-owned, but new to me!) dream machine. It was the first car I've ever had that came with modern-day miracles such as power windows, air conditioning, a rear-view mirror not held up with fishing line--and, OH!-- not only a radio that works but a CD player! Total score. After about a month of getting used to such luxuries, I was leaving my apartment earlier than usual one morning because I had a client meeting downtown. It was barely light out and needless to say, I was in full-on GROG mode.

I turned to close & lock my door but instead of sticking the key in, I actually depressed the lock button on my car remote key fob. When I didn't hear the door beep (like my car does when I press that button), I realized that maybe it's time to start my days with coffee, tea or even pixie sticks (could I re-use the pixie straws to hold my eyes open?); anything to give me some kind of a.m. brain jolt.

This will not work on the door of your house.

4) By far, the most initially alarming one to this day: When I was living out east I had to catch a certain train to work, and if I missed it, I was up a creek because they only came once an hour. I woke up late one morning and was running around trying to get ready. The night before I had a hot dinner & movie date that consisted of bad chinese food and then seeing the horrendous movie FACE/OFF. Oh, did I say it was a hot date? I meant terrible. Anyway, I've never forgotten it because of what I'm about to describe. That next morning, as I was running late, I washed my face before heading out and then I loaded it up a cotton ball with facial toner; quickly rubbing it all over my forehead and cheeks. Just as I was swiping over my chin I realized that the toner smelled really foul.

I looked down and realized what I had just done. Before I knew it, I was yelling, "OH MY GOD, I JUST USED NAIL POLISH REMOVER ON MY FACE!" which was followed by total panic. For a moment, I thought my skin would surely melt from whatever it is they put in that stuff, ohmigawd what DO they put in that stuff? It removes paint!, and then I remembered that nail polish remover gets on the skin of my fingers whenever I use it, so there really was no need to call poison control or Sally Hansen. I could simply wash my face again without needing a face transplant like the John Travolta/Nick Cage characters in the movie from the night before.


Morning might have scored another point on me today, but you'll never see anyone better at applying nail polish remover to her NAILS or facial cleanser to her FACE in the middle of the night than I am. My finest, most capable hours are 9 p.m. through 3 a.m.; to be sure. Feel free to serenade me during that time.

An outraged Hilton feels misled by attorney suggesting jail sentence as 'Time for Reflection'; had nothing to do with actual mirrors.

From People.com:

Paris Hilton Released to Her Home
THURSDAY JUNE 07, 2007 09:45 AM EDT
Due to an undisclosed "medical condition," Paris Hilton has been reassigned from jail to her home, where she will wear an electronic monitoring device.

I'm absolutely certain her "medical condition" is something along the lines of allergic reactions, in order of severity, to:

1) Orange jumpsuits




2) Low thread-count bedding




3) Lock-down




4) Restricted access to lip-gloss




5) No mirrors! Oh the humanity! How is she supposed to "reflect" under these conditions? Especially if her greatest fear is that she ceases to exist if she can't see herself staring back into her own eyes, watching her very-own lip-glossed mouth say, "That's Hot".




If the judicial system hasn't completely lost it's mind, I expect that she'll get sent back to the clink and hopefully by the end of the month, Nicole Ritchie will be joining her there as punishment for her own DUI incident; and you know what that'll mean...


This is just some magic I made in photoshop, but it's probably already in development from the creators of The Simple Life


JUNE 8th UPDATE:
Turns out that she WAS just remanded. Back to jail for Paris. First, though, she's at the hospital getting checked out by the county jail medical team. The news reports have been throwing around "nervous breakdown" as speculation, but I just think it's a temper tantrum.


That kind of behavior (from my sister & I) was good for about 30 seconds once when we were little, but our dad wouldn't have any of it after that. Example of how "tight the ship" was around our house: I was grounded in the 4th grade for 6 weeks --until the next report card came out--because I got a bad grade in handwriting. That is no joke. The irony is that he was frequently asked if he was a doctor based on the fact that his own penmanship is off the chicken-scratch charts. I'm thankful for his being strict on us, though. Otherwise I might be just like Paris Hilton, and THAT'S NOT HOT.

...and so, that's bad, right?

Straight from my e-mail inbox:


Maybe it's time for CC to cut back on the java. Either that or all those methamphetamines*.

Heart rate chart

*Just kidding about that whole meth thing. I actually had to look it up on dictionary.com to make sure I spelled it correctly.

You had me at "Goodbye"

This is our last goodbye
I hate to feel the love between us die
But it's over
Just hear this and then I'll go
You gave me more to live for
More than you'll ever know

This is our last embrace
Must I dream and always see your face
Why can't we overcome this wall
Well, maybe it's just because I didn't know you at all

Kiss me, please kiss me
But kiss me out of desire, babe, and not consolation
You know it makes me so angry 'cause I know that in time
I'll only make you cry, this is our last goodbye

Did you say 'no, this can't happen to me,'
And did you rush to the phone to call
Was there a voice unkind in the back of your mind
Saying maybe you didn't know him at all
You didn't know him at all, oh, you didn't know

Well, the bells out in the church tower chime
Burning clues into this heart of mine
Thinking so hard of her soft eyes and the memories
Offer signs that it's over... it's over

-Jeff Buckley, Last Goodbye

We were coming up on winter break during my junior year at University Wisconsin-Platteville, but I still had the dreaded "Finals Week" to tackle. In a semester filled with enjoyable classes that fell under the umbrella of my graphic design/photography major such as Advertising Design, Art History, Product Photography, in addition to 2 other photography independent studies; I was also taking one of the last remaining "required-for-graduation" classes. In that particular semester, Macro-Economics was the bane of my existence. I was feverishly studying (cramming?) at our little house on Southwest Road for what would turn out to be the hardest exam ever taken. I'm pretty sure some of the study questions were in Cantonese. To say it was going to be "a difficult final exam" is merely putting it in terms that human beings can understand. As was my way of hitting the books, I needed background noise.

It was December 1, 1994, World Aids Day; and one of the cable movie channels was airing the Tom Hanks/Denzel Washington/Antonio Banderas film Philadelphia. Although I had seen it in the theater when it came out the year before, I decided to keep it on anyway because I didn't think it would distract me.

I was right about that, until this beautiful scene began, and just as I remembered being in the movie theater a year earlier, I was completely transfixed by it:

"La Mamma Morta" aria by Maria Callas, with passionate explanation by Tom Hanks' HIV+ character Andrew to Denzel Washington's character Joe, who played his lawyer.

The following commercial break was actually a 10-minute AIDS fundraising infomercial for the Beat AIDS! campaign, which I promptly donated to. A few weeks after my donation came a Beat AIDS! hat & T-shirt, along with 4 CDs by artists I never heard of. I no longer have the hat or shirt, nor do I even remember 3 of the CDs came in the package from that day, but the 4th CD has remained in my constant rotation and is always the answer to the "if you were stranded on a desert island, what ONE album would you bring?" question.

It was, and is, Jeff Buckley's Grace. It had only been released by Columbia Records a few months prior (August 1994), and at that time was still unknown to anyone who wasn't waiting in lines to overcrowd NYC's Lower East Side dive bars to hear him sing. The first time (and many times after) I listened to that CD I actually cried.

If I had Grace playing when we had gatherings at our house, people would literally stop in mid-conversation when they heard his initial lament on track 3, Last Goodbye.

"This is our Last Goodbye. I hate to feel the love between us die. But it's over. Just hear this and then I'll go: You gave me more to live for, more than you'll ever know. Well, this is our last embrace, must I dream and always see your face? Why can't we overcome this wall? Baby, maybe it's just because I didn't know you at all."

At the very end of the song, as the last 4 torturous and lingering notes on the piano were struck--inducing imagery of fingers that had once been interlaced, coming apart-- my friends demanded to know what song it was and who was singing it. Nobody in the vicinity was making a sound when "So Real" was playing, 2 tracks later. By the time "Lover, You Should've Come Over" (track 7) came on, they were as voice-matized as I had been the first time I heard Grace. You could hear the proverbial pin drop, just like you can in this concert footage.

I was friends with 2 of the DJs from our student-run campus radio station, WSUP (as in "W'sup, Wisconsin State University Platteville?"!), so one night I played it for them. By the following week it was on WSUP's heavy rotation list, (I had to ask WSUP buy their own damn copy so I could get mine back!) and it wasn't long before the only music store in town, Downtown Discs, was trying to stock the CD faster than it was selling. As the months went by I heard songs from Grace more often, not only on campus radio, but on regular commercial stations as well.

Listening to his CD at home was one thing, and having done that many, many times, I was an absolute goner when it came to his voice. When I moved to New York 2 years later, my first order of business was to find my way to one of his shows at the tiny spaces the Lower East Side is known for. The first time I saw him was at his Arlene's Grocery show, in February of 97.

Arlene's Grocery is a club on the Lower East Side of New York City, owned by former Sin-é owner, Shane Doyle. Parker Kindred debuted as Jeff's new drummer and made his only public performance with the band there on February 9th, 1997. Arlene's Grocery is also significant because a bootlegged recording exists of this show. Some of the songs that are featured on Sketches, such as "Witches' Rave" and "The Sky is a Landfill," were performed at this show.

I thought I knew what to expect during his show, but I was not prepared for the emotional intensity of it. Seeing him perform was in a way, life-changing. He just had that kind of effect on everyone. If you're lucky, you have a friend that makes you feel, no matter what is going on around you, that you're the only other person in the room with them; that, for your time spent together, it is if the sun shines only on you and you bask in their glow. That is how Jeff Buckley was; in all ways unabashedly cracking open and baring his soul in public to share with packed crowds of strangers, yet to each person it felt like a completely natural, and totally intimate, one-on-one exchange. To this day when I listen to his music, it still feels like he wrote and sang every song not only to me, but FOR me.

Lover, You Should've Come Over:

So I'll wait for you, and I'll burn. Will I ever see your sweet return? Oh, will I ever learn? Lover you should have come over because it's not too late...

In 1997, he moved to Memphis to begin work on his follow-up, My Sweetheart The Drunk. His band would be flying to Memphis so they could hit the studio and record it. I'll leave the rest of this part of his story to Wikipedia :

On May 29, 1997, as the band's plane touched down on the runway to join him in his Memphis studio, Buckley went swimming in Wolf River Harbor, a tributary of the Mississippi River, while wearing steel-toed boots, all of his clothing, and singing along to a radio playing Led Zeppelin's "Whole Lotta Love". A roadie of Buckley's band, Keith Foti, remained ashore. After moving the radio and a guitar out of reach of the wake from a passing tugboat, Foti looked up to see that Buckley was gone. Despite a determined rescue effort that night, Buckley remained missing, and the search was called off the following day due to heavy rain. One week later his body was spotted by a tourist on a riverboat marina and was brought ashore.
The biography Dream Brother, written about him and his father, the singer Tim Buckley, reveals that the night before his death Buckley reportedly admitted to several loved ones that he suffered from bipolar disorder. The autopsy confirmed that Buckley had taken no illegal drugs before his swim and a drug overdose was ruled out as the cause of death. He was 30 years old.
A recent statement from the Buckley estate insists:
Jeff Buckley's death was not "mysterious," related to drugs, alcohol, or suicide. We have a police report, a medical examiner's report, and an eye witness to prove that it was an accidental drowning, and that Mr. Buckley was in a good frame of mind prior to the accident.
After Buckley's death, a collection of demo recordings and a full length album he had been reworking for his second album were released as Sketches for My Sweetheart the Drunk - the compilation being overseen by Chris Cornell. Three other albums composed of live recordings have also been released, along with a live DVD of a performance in Chicago. A previously unreleased 1992 recording of "I Shall Be Released", sung by Buckley over the phone on live radio, was released on the album For New Orleans.
Director Brian Jun has announced plans to make a film biography of Buckley, in cooperation with his mother. It is to be called Mystery White Boy, and is scheduled for release in 2008. As of yet, no one has been cast in the role of Buckley.

For the past 13 years, I have been transfixed by Jeff Buckley & his music--just as I was during that scene in the movie Philadelphia.

Ultimately, what specifically did he want us to get from his music? In an interview clip from his Live in Chicago DVD, Jeff answered in the way only he could; with that signature open-hearted charm, humble sincerity and absolute directness that he was not only known for but that still comes through to anyone who puts on one of his CDs. He looked directly at the camera and softly said, "What do I want you to get from my music? Whatever you like... whatever you like".

This past Tuesday marked the 10-year anniversary of his death. An entire decade, gone... but he lives on through that beautiful music he left behind. I encourage you to give him a listen, if you haven't already.

It's never over, my kingdom for a kiss upon her shoulder
It's never over, all my riches for her smiles when I slept so soft against her
It's never over, all my blood for the sweetness of her laughter
It's never over, she's the tear that hangs inside my soul forever

Well I feel too young to hold on
And I'm much too old to break free and run
Too deaf, dumb, and blind to see the damage I've done
Sweet lover, you should've come over
It's not too late.

-Jeff Buckley, Lover, You Should've Come Over

My JB Discography commentary
I have every JB CD they've ever released, including most of the international imports and as many bootlegs as I've been able to get my hands on, but I'll just give you the short list.

1) Grace: Last Goodbye brought us together, but my favorites are So Real and Lover You Should Have Come Over.

I must have played this entire cd a gazillion times over the years, and it never, ever gets old. It's on The Rolling Stone Greatest Albums of ALL TIME list for a reason.

2) Sketches for My Sweetheart the Drunk: Released posthumously, this 22-track, double CD set is much grittier than Grace, as many of the songs were still rough cuts and demos.

If there is an album that you break the Kleenex out for, this is it; for the music found within but mostly because this is the last music he ever recorded. Stunningly beautiful stand-outs include: (Disc 1) Everybody Here Wants You, New Year's Prayer, You and I. (Disc 2) I Knew We Could Be So Happy, Baby, Satisfied Mind, and the song perfectly suited to the unfinished, rough sound of Disc 2, the one that always puts a devilish grin on my face, Your Flesh is so Nice.

3) Mystery White Boy, Live: This compilation of his 95-96 post-Grace tour was released in 2000 by his mother, Mary Guibert, after years of begging from fans.

His guitar-laden send-up of Nina Simone's That's all I ask is the stand-out track (available on the Aussie import) out of the songs not previously on any of his other CDs.

4) Live at Sin-é: Recorded live over 2 days at the East Village cafe Sin-é and released in 1993 as a 4-track EP, this one was re-released as a "Legacy Edition" double-cd set in 2003.

You'll either really love this or you won't. I enjoy the randomness of some of the songs and many-varied artists he covers (Bob Dylan! Van Morrison! Led Zeppelin! Nusrat Fateh Ali Kahn! Nina Simone! etc). The tone of the entire set, when listened to at one sitting, makes it seem as if you're sitting in his living room as he plays songs for his very-best friends-- you being one of them.

The last song of this 2-CD set and of that evening, was his 9+ minute version of Leonard Cohen's Hallelujah. It is, how you say...? Well, it's just excruciatingly great. It is pure, clean, white, weightless, puffy-clouded heaven, and will envelope you in an undeniable warmth. This is the song that will have you fighting the urge to crawl through your speakers, just to get closer and closer--never stopping until you're close enough to be enveloped by--that beautiful voice.


If you can't track me down, you might just find me here at my desk, trying to get inside my Mac's 4" round Harmon Kardon speakers in a sad attempt to get closer to that voice. Must...get...closer...


Amazon album links:
Grace (original version)
Grace (LEGACY Edition)
Sketches for My Sweetheart the Drunk
Live at Sin-é
Mystery White Boy: Live '95-'96

various sources: JB lyrics, JB Wikipedia entry, JB official web site