The notorious lost Beach Boys track

It appears as though the gentleman who did the Seattle shooting mentioned below was invited to the fatal afterparty because he seemed like the sort of person who would go insane at 7 AM and walk around the house with a pistol grip shotgun, not in spite of that fact.

We all make poor decisions from time to time. I decided to get coffee at the Starbucks at the airport instead of my only other option, mixing the dirt from behind the newsstand into tap water. Poor decision.

This is what I did in Seattle:

Correlation is always causation

I show up in town and this happens, likely a karmic result of my tireless campaigning against raves, which I manage to campaign against in between campaigns against "punk" "rock" hairstyles, "indie" "pendant" bookstores, godless tampons, the scientific method, and cars that are too blue. But I've changed my mind, and I plan on dancing by myself in the dark in a corner for hours, wearing sunglasses, gnawing a pacifier and swinging rope lights, in memoriam and honor. They will most probably eventually kick me out of this University District coffee shop, but I shall persevere.

Meanwhile, Louis Menand writes in The New Yorker about Francis Fukuyama's new book, and it's good.