Monday, May 16, 2005

There's no way to put a happy face on getting swept, losing game four to a Shaq-less Heat at home, dying without making a sound. It's a terrible ending to a great season. But for once it doesn't feel embarrassing to be a Wizards fan, and there's hope for the future. Here's hoping that someone watches the last few games and realizes that they need to keep Juan Dixon around. And we need us a center; there's got to be some tall-ass Lithuanian we can get for cheap.

I didn't go to the HFStival, the annual concert that the dying alt-rock station WHFS threw at Ravens Stadium on Saturday. It's kind of shocking how lame the lineup was; it seems like they could've fostered more goodwill and gotten more people to show up if they went for a mini-Coachella thing with like Nine Inch Nails and Bright Eyes and the Roots instead of Good Charlotte and Garbage and the Foo Fighters. But I ran into Jackson from Grand Buffet at the farmers' market the next morning; he'd driven down from Pittsburgh and spent forty bucks just to see Billy Idol. Apparently Billy Idol played a 20-minute version of "Mony Mony", and lightning struck behind the stage just as he finished the last note. Awesome.

Did everyone on Saturday Night Live just give Will Ferrell a whole bunch of weed and let him do whatever he wanted? What a bizarre show. (Example: instead of saying, "ladies and gentlemen, once again, Queens of the Stone Age", he just stared at the camera all maniacally while stroking the back of some guy's head as the camera cut quickly to the band.) I wish stuff like that happened more often. Related: the guy who directed Kicking & Screaming (the Ferrell kid-soccer movie, not the Eric Stoltz/Parker Posey coming-of-age thing that needs to come out on DVD yesterday) also directed How High, and he's Bob Dylan's son. This blows my mind.