It's true. Just when I thought I was going to be alone on Valentine's Day, I found the most perfect female in the universe. She's artistic, she's clever, she's prolific (not many of you girls out there can claim that one, unless it's in some gross way), she's got a nice dark side to her (which is requisite for me), and she's a total freaking success.
I'm talking about Lucinda Williams, of course. The best singer-songwriter in the everlovin' world. For reasons still being explored by the nation's top scientists, it took me a solid three years to listen to Lucinda's Grammy-winning tour de force Car Wheels on a Gravel Road after copying it from the illustrious Henderson County Public Library during a particularly uneventful summer break. And now I'm hooked, probably worse than I was to Dr. Mario in 2003, which was pretty bad, and also pretty belated seeing that there plenty of other more timely games to get addicted to in that fine year.
Anyhow, I kid you not: Lucinda Williams is the best songwriter ever. And you need to go buy all of her albums now. Yes, yes, yes. I know you have college loans and subway passes to take care of, and you were hoping to adopt an underpriveleged child in Zimbabwe. Well, cancel those plans -- all of them. I can't express how good her lyrics are and how good her music is and how earth-implodingly beautiful they are in tandem, but if you like things that are good, then you'll like it.
Yep. Who needs "real life" ladies? You all suck. I'll take a lovely country folk poet who doesn't know me from Adam Ant anyday over stupid girls whose brains function like Rubic's cubes in a house of mirrors or a better example of logic-barren craziness.
Also, I haven't been busking in a while, so please accept this post as a quasi-legit substitute.
