Robert Palmer is dead.

Heart attack, Paris, age 54. 2003 has been a rough year to be a celebrity.

Fantasies of the powerless and insignificant.

From WSJ's Best of the Web:

"Actor Tony Randall has a fantasy: when he dies President Bush and Vice President Cheney show up to pay their respects but they're turned away--because his family knows he didn't like them," the Associated Press reports.

My fantasy is that when I die, George Clooney will show up to pay his respects, and my family will ask him what the fuck he was thinking when he did Solaris.

Bleah.

I was going to make extended reference to Martin Sheen paying Canada left-handed compliments ("You don't shoot each other."), but I decided I just don't care. [From Drudge, via Tim Blair.]

Why, oh why, oh why, oh --
Why did I ever leave Ohio?
Why did I wander to find what lies yonder
When life was so cozy at home?

Wond'ring while I wander,
Why did I fly?
Why did I roam?
Oh, why oh, why oh,
Did I leave Ohio?
Maybe I'd better go home.

--Bernstein, Comden & Green, Wonderful Town.

Good luck with that rock banjo thing.

Courtesy of the Angela the Coffee Muse, this item: Chicks to break with country scene.

The Dixie Chicks say they don't want to be a country music band any more.

Violinist

Fiddle player.

Martie Maguire told Spiegel

The catalog people? Or is this, as I suspect, a German publication?

magazine: "We don't feel part of the country scene any longer, it can't be our home any more."

Am I to infer the quivering lip and the misty eye, or should I rather assume the pout of an urchin whose hand has been smacked for reaching into the cookie jar five minutes before dinnertime?

She said she was disappointed other country singers didn't back up the Dixie Chicks in their criticism of George W Bush's politics on Iraq.

"A few weeks ago, Merle Haggard said a couple of nice words about us, but that was it," Maguire complained.

Probably because the rest of the country music scene recognized that you couldn't have pulled a bigger faux pas if you had started lighting farts during a papal audience. You slipped the turd into the punchbowl; don't act so surprised nobody wanted a drink after that.

"The support we got came from others, like Bruce Springsteen."

Yeah, Bruce is also eternally in search of his own authenticity. He apparently believes New Jersey borders Nebraska. The four of you should get on like gangbusters.

Going home empty-handed from the Country Awards ceremony also made them decide to break with the scene, Maguire said.

Dingdingdingdingdingdingding!! "If you don't reward our brave dissent we're going to pack our toys and go home."

"Instead, we won three Grammys against much stronger competition.

"We don't want your stinky awards anyway." Way to burn that bridge, fiddlechick.

"So we now consider ourselves part of the big Rock 'n' Roll family."

I'll alert Ozzy. Just remember not to invite Ted Nugent to your housewarming; I don't think he's quite ready to adopt you yet.

Well, this one's just wrong.


Which Colossal Death Robot Are You?

Holy Prime Directive, you're Robocop!

The hell you say.

Well, you're neither colossal, nor technically a robot, but your arthritic lurching and dubious morals

Well, that part's true.

have found their way into the hearts of futuristic rebels and children everywhere. You walk through fire, catch bullets from the air, and you never, ever smile. Combine this with an abstract, almost random concept of duty and honour, and you have a police officer one cannot fail to adore.

Thank you, Robocop.

Whatever.

(Brought to you because I refuse to foreswear silly tests. Unlike some people.)

[Via Emily Jones, in a roundabout way.]