Harry Fries

You wouldn’t think it’d be such a chore to keep one of these things up to date, especially when the date-up-to-thing-keeper is as self-absorbed and power mad as I usually am this time of year, but, well, you’d be wrong. It’s hard. Internet doesn’t exactly grow on trees ’round these parts, although the great irony here is that Misha and I have spent the better part of this past week sprawled out on neighboring couches, reading shitty entertainment magazines and playing “Push Push” on our cell phones when we could have been writing The Great American Blog.

But these are the choices we make, and in the end they enrich us all. Chellam’s on spring break, I’ve taken a bit of a hiatus from the road, and we’re holed up in one of our favorite East Coast haunts for some quality band time. Had dinner with the irrepressible Adam Richman, whose new album just got back from the plant this afternoon and is phenomenal. We all had chicken.

Beyond that, it’s snowing a lot and we’re all running out of fresh clothes. Wish you were here.



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