I always feel lame doing fundraising. I've always hated asking for things — money, help, favors, you name it. I just don't like to impose. But sometimes it becomes necessary, and we've been doing a push to save Common Sense, which is in very real danger of cancellation. The powers that be seem to think the benefits of the show don't outweigh the costs, and we're trying to prove them wrong by, among other things, asking subscribers for money. It'll take time to find out how well the push is working, but if any of you very, very, very few Shrubbloggers readers feel like pitching in, every little bit really does help.

And be sure to subscribe to the email edition of Common Sense, while you're at it. It's good stuff.

See you in St. Louis!

OK, I won't. At least not until you move there and I visit, or something. In the meantime, I'm trying to figure out what I should get first for my new apartment — a bigger TV, or a recliner? Since I'm paying for two apartments simultaneously this month, I should really only spring for one of these right now. Which item will contribute more toward my sedentary lifestyle? This will require a delicate weighing of priorities . . .

Adrian made it to tonight's King Crimson show with a heavy dose of antibiotics, and gave a solid, powerful performance. I had more ribs and dropped off more stuff at my new apartment. I also picked up Crimson's new CD, The Power to Believe, at Union Station on my lunch break — it was just released in the States today. Excellent, excellent stuff. Pick it up if you get the chance.

I have to get some work done before heading to bed, so you'll just have to wait a little longer for more of my compelling personal narrative . . .

I am vast, I contain multitudes. At least, that's how I feel at rock clubs these days. I saw They Might Be Giants at the 9:30 Club on Saturday night. Excellent show; I think the stuff the Johns are doing with the Band of Dans these days is among the best work of their career. But going to the 9:30 Club is increasingly an ordeal — standing in cramped confines for hours on end, straining to see over all the people who seem to be at least a foot taller than me (who always seem to stand directly in front of me, and when I try to crane my head right to see around them, they simultaneously bob to the right; no better luck to the left). Not to mention all the smoking and beer drinking that detract from the experience in subtle and not-so-subtle ways . . . The great music sustains me, but it's a trade-off that's not always worthwhile these days.

I much prefer seeing shows at places like the Birchmere now, where I can sit down, order some ribs and hear some amazing live music all in one nice opportunity set with only a few drawbacks (like waiters constantly wandering the aisles). And it's only a few blocks away from my new apartment. Adrian Belew was sick tonight, so they chopped $20 off the price of the ticket and ProjeKct Three played instead — Robert Fripp on guitar, Trey Gunn on Warr guitar, and Pat Mastelotto on percussion. I didn't get to see ProjeKct Three when they "toured," so this was worth the price of the original ticket, discount aside. Mostly improv, a couple of familiar pieces, and a long Q&A session after the show — it's the first time I've seen these guys in a venue intimate enough to make spoken interaction with the audience feasible.

I hope Adrian feels better tomorrow, because I'll be back again and I'd love to hear the new Krimson repertoire live. But if he's still sick, I'll be digging the show anyway.

I grow old . . . but I've been wearing the bottoms of my trousers rolled since high school.

I dozed off and ended up waking up after midnight — I missed my March 2nd posting. And I'm still sleepy. Oh well . . . I'll post a couple more times later today to make up for it. And I'm psyched for the King Crimson show at the Birchmere, very much.