Regrets.

I just finished watching Westway to the World- the documentary about The Clash- again. It is a really fantastic movie, but the end is really sad. It's clear that both Joe Strummer and Mick Jones had a huge mutual respect, and that they wished things had gone differently, etc. I had heard rumors for years about a possible reunion, but I learned not to get my hopes up. I was eleven when they played their last show together here in the States. What I wouldn't have given to see them live. I remember the day Joe Strummer died. It felt awful then, and watching the movie makes it even worse. The world (and especially my world) needs bands like The Clash now more than ever. Punk rock has become a cartoon. But then, so has politics. The unfunniest, Nancy-esque (allthough Family Circus may have been worse) comic strip of all time. I'm still pissed that they never made up.

We got a phone call the other day from one of the b.h.'s old friends. It seems an old friend has killed herself. They hadn't talked in awhile. That didn't make it easier. It may have made it harder.

Tomorrow we leave on a flight to Chicago, after which we will drive eight and a half hours to attend the funeral of a woman I have never met, who he hasn't seen in years, but who knew the b.h. for longer than I did. We will be there for about twenty four hours, then we will drive back to Chicago and fly back home. I have to work that night. Things will have to go on.

Also, RIP Steve Irwin. At least you died doing what you were supposed to do.