And here's the man himself ...

Gram Parsons and Emmylou Harris live at Liberty Hall, Texas in 1973 doing Big Mouth Blues

A song from youtube ... Whiskeytown does Gram

Whiskeytown doing Gram Parsons A Song For You

T-Bones @the Retreat Sat 14/1

Yep , it's on again - The T-Bones at their most rockin' at the Retreat Hotel, in the front bar at 7pm. This week we'll have CD's for sale, that's what I'm sayin' ...if Charlie brings 'em. I might even have two guitars that work properly, instead of none; Pip'll get there on time, Miles will be in a good mood, and Alex our outstanding stand-in bassplayer will make us all look like has beens. Come and get it.

Stewie

Retreat Hotel Saturday 10 Dec

... being what it's been (shit, is that possible?) December is a mixture of things. It's a great time to push the button and act without further consideration on a looming catastrophe such as your obsession with the girl from the office who'll be at the Christmas party for instance. You could tell everybody that after covertly converting to Islam last year you have decided to announce it and thus you won't be involved in present giving on the "big day". You could take yours or your sisters kids to some huge shopping centre to stand in line for ages so they can sit on Santa's lap, at the last minute you think you recognize Santa and you say "Hi Bob" and all the kids laugh at you, like, what an Idiot, "HIS NAME'S SANTA!!!"

Or you could fill your front lawn with cut out reindeer, dancing Santas and Christmas tree shapes and then get electrocuted and fall off your roof while trying to attach a half broken set of fairy lights to the TV antenna .

ORRRRRRR you could of course go to the Retreat Hotel in Sydney Rd Brunswick this Saturday at 7pm to see the T-Bones , Ian Kitney late of Overnight Jones and now of Tim Rogers and the Temperance Union will be playing drums with us ...

Oroonie.

ps.We'll also be there next Saturday the 17th ......

Retreat Hotel, Brunswick October 1

You notice it on the ground beside your car as you’re about to get in and drive home. Driving home is one of the real rewards in your life right now, the delicious forty minutes between the quarter-witted grasping creeps you work with and the woman, nominated as your life-long soulmate who increasingly looks at you like you’ve stranged out and everyone who ever thought you were shit had special insight.

Notice is probably too strong a word. You didn’t really notice it … more you remembered that it was there when something else jogged your memory half way through the trip. "Installed as oposition leader in his early thirties ... the apparent suicide attempt …” AHHH!!! You say, “There! See! I knew he was a leg man.” A personal victory in political forecasting. Take that Anthony Green.

Afford yourself a little smug laugh as a master of the universe cops a whack … gonna be hard ‘round home for him for a while … Uh Uh. Wouldn’t catch me being that stupid … last time I pinched some arse I got a look that hinted politely that my personal opinion of my sex appeal and reality were separated only by the universe and everything in it. Great wedding night that was.

The radio says there’s an accident on your normal route home so you take a turn off, with everybody else. The accident has been cleared and you’re still negotiating the traffic around the North Balwyn Calisthenics club, going out of your brain.

WHO CARES if they sell Telstra, you find yourself saying … Having a Telstra account is like having a Moray eel attached to your side. And giving the wheel to that Yank is the best thing Howard could’ve done to make the friggin’ thing unpopular so they can ditch it. The Bush? Fuck them. Those farmers haven’t paid tax for years and now they want free broadband. And as for Barnaby Joyce he didn’t even come from the bush in the first place. Of course he wants tax incentive zones, he’s a bloody accountant. More rules, more tax returns. See?

Back on the freeway. Thousands, they reckon might have died in New Orleans and there’s some woman on the radio saying her daughter probably won’t go overseas ever again. The loss of innocence. Now Abbott's on the radio and saying that if people thought he should say sorry for something he apparently hadn’t thought much about then he thought that was the right thing to do, and so he would. Tony was once in the seminary you remember. Hmmm, the devil must have been offering a hell of a transfer fee …

Teetling around in your mind as you nearly rear-end a Prado at the Hoddle street end is the thought that they probably got Brendan Nelson in the same deal Turnbull? despite his ARM involvement it turns out he was begging (well gagging actually) for a game.

Basking in your own comedic glory you realise moments too late that you’ve just spent more time thinking about them in the last minute than they will ever spend thinking about YOU.

Ten minutes to go and you remember what it was. The SHITLIST! The dear old SHITLIST. That’s what it was. It must have fallen out of your case onto the ground when you got out the keys for the Magna. What’ll you do now? They’ve been thin on the ground and that one was the best of them. It was the infamous Cornish Arms edition and you’ve lost it.

Eventually she comes out of the house after hearing the car in the drive ten minutes earlier and asks "So, are you coming inside?”

"Yeah"

Gee, when an irregular opinionated bored rant from an unhinged sociopath is one of your treasured posessions you’ll know that genuine fulfillment is going to be hard to find.

Look for it at the Retreat Hotel on Saturday the 1st of October.

Stewie