Update

As it turns out, Dad's okay. They did the diagnostic cardiac catheterization just to check it out, though. He probably pulled a muscle in his chest over the weekend, and was feeling the after-effects.

He needs to be on medicine for high cholesterol, but that's it!

Scared

There was stuff I was going to blog about regarding this past weekend's backpacking trip. (Lowlights: Stoner kids dropping office chairs off four-story observation tower; Negligent pet owners taking their dogs out in 80-degree heat without sufficient water.)

But at 8:30 tonight I got a call from my mom to tell me that my dad's in the hospital. He had tingly chest pains over the weekend and again this morning when he went out for a walk, and they admitted him so they can do some bloodwork and have the cardiologist (who won't be in until tomorrow) decide whether he should have a stress-test or a diagnostic cardiac catheterization.

So far test results are coming back okay. I'm still a bit shaken by the news.

With an 86-year-old grandmother and a 20-year-old family cat with kidney failure, I really didn't expect any emergency phone call to be about my dad.

I called him at the hospital and we talked for an hour. I feel a bit better.

Dear Jay,

Remember me? I was jostling to be in the front row at the Blue Note during the Trace days.

I came to see you open for ZZ Top in Milwaukee.

I thought the "Jay Farrar Ascetic Lifestyle" was the funniest thing ever. (So did this guy.)

I wore out my first Trace CD through overuse. I dutifully bought Straightaways and Wide Swing Tremolo, despite the fact that they didn't quite compare to Trace.

Then there was your solo thing. Which was okay. The lyrical work on Sebastopol was great — I mean, who else could possibly sing about "sanguinary vitamins." The politics of Terroir Blues were right on. But something was missing. Then there was Stone, Steel and Bright Lights, the only songs of which I could stomach the were the covers "Lucifer Sam" and "Like a Hurricane."

I have to admit, though, when Son Volt reformed, I skipped Okemah and the Melody of Riot. The samples I heard did absolutely nothing for me.

But now ... there's The Search. And it's so good. It's as un-selfconscious as Trace.

"Coltrane free" is one of my new favorite songs. I know you don't sing love songs, but you sure know how to sing about women. (And I don't even mind the sitar.)

You're back, singing about coffee and cigarettes and heresy and oh, my, I think I might love every song on this album. And that hasn't happened since Trace.

So thanks. And maybe I'll see you in Austin.

Abba

Deathly Hallows predictions

Red, red wine

I'm in a red wine rut.

So, kind readers, please help me out. I would greatly appreciate if you'd leave the name of the vineyard, varietal and (if possible) vintage of your favorite red wine in the "comments" section below.

If you want to play wine snob and describe the experience using references to "cat urine," "tobacco" and "licorice," go for it.

I'll take your list with me next time I'm at Trader Joe's or Binny's.

When I try the wine you suggest, I'll let you know what I think via this blog.

Truth in advertising

Tonight I was at the gym, using the very crowded weight machines.

As I was using the hip adductor machine, I noticed an older (maybe late 50s) guy using the shoulder press machine, which was directly to my left. He was grunting very obnoxiously, whether from physical exertion or simply to draw attention to himself, who knows?

But then I noticed his tee-shirt, which was bright red and read:

"I may not be very smart, but I can lift heavy things."