She Is Good to Me and I Am Good to Her

Moses Martin? Gwyneth and Chris named their new baby Moses Martin? Are you kidding me? Oh my, that is just too fucking delightful. What's with their baby names' Old Testament theme? First Apple, then Moses. Ooh, if the next one isn't a minor prophet, I'll eat my hat. (Sing it with me, Benji.)

Speaking of which, how's about that Gospel of Judas that's just recently been verified as being authentic? (The announcement was ever so nicely timed for Holy Week. I guess the Church can't be begrudged their version of sweeps. Stay tuned for sexy guest stars, dangerous stunts, and never-before-seen ancient Coptic manuscripts!) I think the more we know about the early days of Christianity and the formation of the canon, the better off everyone's going to be. I mean, yeah, I'm a big religious studies nerd, but when it comes to uncovering the shady dealings and fractious infighting and marginal belief systems that were considered so dangerous they had to be repressed at all costs, I can hardly stand how exciting it is! (And now it's time for a commercial break plugging Elaine Pagels's fantastic book on the Gospel of Thomas, Beyond Belief. I would loan it to you if I hadn't given my copy out to someone else already.)

Malcolm Gladwell-watch! "My mandate is to convince people that [psychological science] is exciting and to use the discipline in making us think in different ways about social problems or political issues, and that requires taking some liberties — not liberties, that's too strong a word — that requires having fun with it." A wonderful, lengthy article about him in the Association for Psychological Science's journal, Observer (via).

"You'll hear a little bit of auto tune and you're like, 'You're too fucking good for that. Why would you let them do that to you? Don't you know what that means?' It's not an effect like people try to say, it's for people like Shania Twain who can't sing. Yet there they are, all over the radio, jizzing saccharine all over you": Neko Case talks to Pitchfork about songwriting, singing, and Celine Dion's horrifying Anne Geddes baby photo book.

Girls Don't Poop.

Oh man, seeing a show like the one Gogol Bordello put on Saturday is pretty much the whole reason I go to rock concerts. To have experiences like that, plain and simple. Every time I buy a ticket to anything, I'm always chasing down that ideal, secretly hoping I'm going to come out at the end of the night feeling like I just went through a major catharsis. Hoping there will be deafening noise and sweating and jumping and screaming and fist-pumping and emotional electricity and pure fucking joy. To stand in a surging crowd that feels so wild and yet so happy and so safe. Eugene Hutz and his band of merrymakers bring all that and some goddamn wicked facial hair to boot. Not to be missed. Thanks for being there with me, Nora Rocket and JZ. Hoptza!