In and Out

Going in again today to ultrasound the right side since the MRI picked up suspicious "fibrous" areas over there. Whatever. Anyway, for those keeping score that's Oregon Imaging 5 Oncologist 0. I meet the cancer doctor next Thursday, but up until then I'm sure I'll have 4 new scans of something fibrous somewhere. I have been assured that it will not involve a needle this time, which is nice since I cry n' stuff around needles.

But this all pales when compared to the number of indie rock stars dropping off the face of the earf. Vic Chestnutt, the guy from Sparklehorse (both a favorite of the cousin/roommate and the cousin-in-law) and now Alex Chilton. Although, note: Alex died of a heart attack, but it probably came from watching everyone else kill themselves.

Who's next? Michael Stipe? Gaz from Supergrass? I can't get my head around it all.

So, rather than analyze, I tributize. Here is my best Alex Chilton memory:

D.W. Sechler and I went to see what we thought was the most inspired small bar music lineup ever created: Alex, on what appeared to be a kind-of comeback tour, was the opener followed by Robin Hitchcock. Being hipsters, we stood at the back and played it cool. Before the show went on we were passed by the man himself, probably going to the men's room. D.W. instinctively remarks in his wake:

"Kiss me, son of God."

We left after Alex's opening act, before Robin Hitchcock even came on stage. Alex was that good. In fact, we never went to another Robin Hitchcock show after that. We did, however, go see Alex again, including once with a re-formed version of Big Star. It was awesome every time.