Every night Jon-Benet talks dirty to me from Beyond the Grave (and we discuss New Year's Resolutions, the Broncos, etc..)

Such are the song lyrics that run through my mind. "Police!" you shout, "This man! Now!"To this chorus of dissent, I can only say: Hear me out. You see, Jon-Benet and I go way back. Before living in this corner of the Lower California, I did, for a five year period of my life, live in Boulder, Colorado.

After she was murdered, if you must know. But for anyone who has spent any time in Boulder, and become familiar with the sensationalistic ubergasm that was THE JON BENET RAMSEY CASE, I thee acknowledge and can only respond, in kind, "I know you've heard the voices, too."

You see, Patsy did it. I've read the books. I lived in the town. Not to rehash it, since you all are doubtlessly familiar with the main points, but you make your child a beauty queen, Beware of Darkness. And it's ridiculously obvious to all involved who the guilty parties are: Everyone in that entire fucking family. Don't fucking breed if you're that fucked up. Granted, Jon Benet had to die: The karmic forces created by forcing a child into beauty pageantry are peerless amongst even the icy winds of ultimate transgression; nature has little precedent for comparison. I fear for a parallel dimension wherein young Miss Ramsey lives on - what could teenage and young adulthood hold, save a delirious, darkened destiny?

Moving on. The frequency of my posting has slowed recently, yes, due to a terrible clarity which hath pervaded mine own consciousness : Sobriety! Three weeks without Weed or Dairy Products, the end result of New Year's latest resolution. This all ended horribly, however, when my beloved Denver Broncos shat not only their bed, but the beds of millions of Bronco fans across Colorado and the surrounding areas. About the game, I can only say I do not blame Jake. If the fucking Bronco defense could have made ONE FUCKING STOP the entire 1st half, we could have pulled some shit out. But NO. Every third and ten, fucking Big Ben gets a twenty five yard completion. Wide fucking open. FUCK. Regardless, Papa needed his medicine after that one, and medicine he did get. In spades. And tonight's dinner of Pizza with Klondike Bar dessert ensures that the dairy portion of said resolution hath also went the way of the dodo. But so be it; I knew that you, Dear Reader, were in need of some of mine own oratory homeopathy, and who am I to deny a friend in need?

Since we're talking about Colorado, and specifically Boulder, I will tell you that the greatest live music venue in the nation, Bar FUCKING none, is the Fox Theater. Now, I'm no musical slouch; I been to dive bars, I been to M.S.G. on New Years Eve, I've been to inbetweeners, I done seen big and small, loud and quiet, and I done been round that block. Bottom Line: Holds about 700 people, Loudest yet CLEAREST music sound system, from everywhere you feel a part of the music. Now I admit; I was a bit of a hippie back in the day, and I done liked to do experimentin' with them hallucinogens. But I also done been there sober on many occasions, and it's all good.

And since we're talking about music, I shalt confess: I do enjoy reading the "Celebrity Playlists" over at the ITunes website. Having recently acquired the Pod of I, I hath learned that digital music be the bomb. In fact, as I composed this entire letter of love to YOU, Dear Reader, I was listening to it THE. ENTIRE. TIME. And now, since I am your own Private Celebrity (a Celebrity for money, do what you want me to do), I thee present my Private Celebrity PlayList, composed of the songs I was listening to (or currently am still listening to) whilst composing this very amalgamation of letters.

Song One: "My Sweet Lord," George Harrison Concert for Bangladesh.

I was watching Access Hollywood tonight on the TV at the gym, and lo and behold, they show clips of George Harrison and start talking about "Celebrity Wills" and how his last will and testament has no provision for the trust should both his wife and son die as well. Fuck you, Pat O'Brien. I will always have a special place in my heart for George Harrison, so I listen to the six songs after this one, but get especially "happy" when I hear the next song on my list..

Song Two: "Beware of Darkness," George Harrison Concert for Bangladesh

.. specifically the part on the third verse when Leon Russell comes in and moans, "Watch out now, take care beware.."

Song Three: "Dean's Dream," The Dead Milkmen, Big Lizard in my Backyard

Perennial favorite on the "Get Psyched for High School Athletic Events" mix, along with "Missippi Queen," "Battle of Evermore,""The Song Remains the Same," and many others.

Song Four: "Peace, Love, and Understanding," Elvis Costello

After the Milkmen, I had to get serious, because I knew Jon Benet awaited, awaiting to be written, nay, blogged about the place. And when she beckons, I become indignant, and become compelled to right wrongs, much like Elvis in this song, calling out the so-called "strong" and "trusted," and asking, plaintitively, "Where is the harmony? Sweet harmony?"

Song Five:"Pass the Gat," Brand Nubian In God We Trust

I think Jon Benet requested this one. I was powerless to stop her. "Pass me the Gat," she begged, lifting her small hand to mine, "And just like that, I squeeze like a man possessed from the old West."

Song Six:"One Brown Mouse," Jethro Tull Bursting Out Live

Because I like middle aged Englishmen dressed like minstrels from the dark ages leaping aroud the stage in tights, and playing highly organized, acoustic electric hybrids of morbid, nonsensical delight.

Song Seven: "Say It Ain't So," Weezer Weezer

(... feedback ...) wooooooooaaaahhh.. "SAY IT AIN'T SO!! MY LOVE IS A LIFE TAKER!"

Song Eight: "I Bleed," Pixies Doolittle

Since listening to most Weezer tunes (and Radiohead's "Creep" alike) bring me back to the Masters of the slow- verse-slowly-building-to-the-guitar frenzied-chorus, The Pixies.

Song Nine: "Mockingbirds," Grant Lee Buffalo Mighty Joe Moon

Because I'm sensitive, damnit, and the rocking out is burning out my adrenal glands, and it's time to bring this post to a close. But no IPod/Blogging binge would be complete without the resolution provided by...

Song Ten: "Bridge over Troubled Waters," Elvis Presley (The Kang)

Since grade school, I have been forever troubled by any literary bridges spanning any bodies of water due to one horrifying childhood incident, in which I watched the movie Bridge to Terabithia. I believe that any child of the Massachusetts public school system shares this archetypal memory of darkness, a film wherein a poor girl drowns in a rain storm raging river, crossing a bridge she built out of a log which led to a secret hiding spot, dubbed "Terabithia." There she escaped her abusive family, and she frequented this locale with her friend, a neighboring boy. Whenever I hear The King belt out his (far superior than the original) version, I think of the little boy, walking down to the waters edge, thinking of his lost friend.

Sail on, Silver Girl. He thinks.
Sail On By.
Your time has come to shine. All your dreams are on their way.

And he finds comfort in those words, that vision, Serenity sailing on into the setting sun, solace and hope anew.

It's what I think of when I think about an innocent young child, murdered in her own basement, and no one arrested or imprisoned. In the eyes of Socrates, the unimprisioned suffer greater by their own self torture, and hopefully that is the case for whomever did in young J.B.R.

Sailing Right Behind.
Like a Bridge to Terabithia.