Say, where the hell is David Lynch these days? He seemed to be back in the swing for a while there, then - zippo. Doesn't even call The Passenger to ask if I'd like to yap over a pair of frosty Bob Big Boy Extra-Thick Silver Goblet Milkshakes, Chocolate. Davy, if you're out there, give me a call. Okey-dokey, smokey?
 

Rammstein? Julee Cruise? Angelo Badalamenti? Also-rans: forget 'em. Many have tried to suck the life marrow from the worm over the long haul, but none have come closer or been more flat-out eccentric than the Residents. The famed eyeball-heads are touring behind their sublime new record of offbeat biblical ditties, "Wormwood"; this official site will bring you in their line of sight, if you think you can handle it. You can also explore the storied, two-decade career of Earth's premier unknown musical and performance artists, ever since the "alleged musicians allegedly from Shreveport, Louisiana ... allegedly met in high school in the '60s." (The adverb gets a lot of play here, by the site's own admission.) There isn't a thing I could say that would make you understand the Residents - but I will tell you that I like them a great deal, and I like this site. Perhaps that helps; probably not.
 

The Passenger feels the swift, swift passing of time. Like the dancing dwarf in the Black Lodge, he looks to that which would validate his life, and in this plane of existence, that thing is his death. Raymond Camden's Death Clock uses your birthday to time your day of reckoning to the second, and pins the close of business on some of your favorite celebrities, too. (Work faster, Bill Gates. Work faster.) It's creepy, but Camden softens the blow by being as cruelly blunt as he possibly can. "I believe in God, very strongly," he claims, "but I don't believe that talking about Death would offend the big cheese." To reiterate, just like the dancing dwarf, Death Clock is for entertainment purposes only. Lotsa laffs!
 

Dammit, I love Paul Lukas. It's not a mushy, I-Wanna-Take-You-To-See-A-Kyle-MacLachlan-Flick kind of love, but it's pretty strong nevertheless. I've followed his column, Inconspicuous Consumption to three different websites and now that I've got its location pinned, I'm gonna encourage you to buy as much of Lukas as you can. Put simply, Lukas celebrates consumer products in a manner that would shame the Gods. The sharp prose he accords such dubious products as "Men's Pocky Chocolate" and "Kleenex for Men" transcends all wit: where a lesser scribe would be tempted to get pithy or dismissive, Lukas proceeds from an innate respect of the product and works he way up or down. Hence: his legendary rant on M&M's discontinuing of tan in favor of blue candies, a wary look at "Dr. J.H. McLeans Volcanic Oil Liniment" ("I have problems equating the word volcanic with soothing pain relief, but that's why I'm sitting here at a computer keyboard while the McLean clan, according to the package, has been selling this stuff since 1841") and his love letter to the Shur-Grip Ratchet Press all ring true. If Lukas doesn't change your buying habits forever, there's no hope for you. Read the hell out of him.
 

Just imagine how much greater an impact "Blue Velvet" would have had if Dennis Hopper - just before he strapped on the old oxygen mask and put the screws to Isabella Rosselini - had cast his eyes heavenward and exclaimed bitterly to the heavens, "Förbannade fitta!" Screams, I guarantee ya. Dear old Frank Booth would be the first to tell you that you should learn to swear in at least one foreign tongue, and that tongue should be Swedish. Anne and Johan's Course in Swedish Cursing will provide you all the basics to be offensive in Stockholm, complete with audio samples to demonstrate exactly how these off-color oaths should sound in practice. If you've always wanted to chew off Abba's collective ear, save that Americanized slander and do as the natives.

Truth to tell, I've never cared much for Julee Cruise. Too chirpy. But if that's what you want to work on, Davy, I'll understand. Just put Everett McGill on backing vox and I'll be happy. See you soon, Mr. Lynch!