Don't leave a voicemail, seriously.

This morning I had a dream that I adopted a pet chinchilla. This is just the start of the dream. I was also on tour and the chinchilla was a sort of group pet. I'm not sure who all was in the dream, but definitely Bob and Frank because I called the chinchilla No Name because I'm very indecisive (word to your mother on that, folks) but Jenn and Frank both found that name unacceptible and decided they would find a better name for him. I didn't really care as I mostly called the chinchilla Chinchilla. He slept on my shoulder with his tail wrapped around the back of my neck and sort of just kicked it like that, so eventually, Frank named him Bunnicula. I objected as my pet was a chinchilla not a bunneh, but no one cared. This was one of those domestic dreams where nothing important really happens. I believe that this dream was influenced by watching Nashville star last night. One of the contestants on there is, as Jenn put it, Bubba Iero. They had this kid dressed up in My Chemical Ho-down replete with a hair cut I think Frank really had at one point.

Why was I watching Nashville Star? Nay, I say, why *aren't* you? That show is everything soul-destroying about the Nashville machine rolled up in one television show: Billy Ray Cyrus as the seasoned buffoon, JEWEL trotted out as a country act, a representative of the MuzikMafia and a hack Music Row songwriter as judges. Hallelujah, the apocalypse must be upon us because that's an epic clusterfuck of Industry back-patting, self-congratulatory, ass-exploration! I particularly loved the judges discussing with the talent how there are "singers" and "artists," like any of those blow-dried, D&G-wearing, soulless, pablum-purveyors would know art if it...and all that ass biting cliche vitriol. I maintain that most of the acts on these contest shows sound so bad to most people's ears because they aren't autotuned, unlike the pro acts that go on to highlight "taking it to the next level." Yes, if by next level you mean plastic surgery and autotuning, then excellent!

That one got away from me a little. I think because I found out Jeffery Steele (Jenn already made the porn joke, you're too late) writes for Rascal Flatts. That got up my nose, because now his sagely advice from last night just annoys me even more. Go suck a dick, Jeff! Who knew the day would come where I could honestly say "Billy Ray Cyrus is the most tolerable part of that show!"? Christ.

Hello, everyone, it's Tuesday. Rec me something, music, fic, a website, whatever.

A random fact about me: I've decided my next tattoo is going to be a dive-bombing robin done in the stylized sailor art (like the sparrows you see around) with a banner in its mouth reading "but we have the music" for "Chelsea Hotel No. 2."