Tim Blair

I wonder how many terminally ill people get really pissed at being talked about as if they're already dead? Don't get me wrong: I love Zevon & have no doubt Olsen's admiration is sincere (if rather overwrought), but this really got up my nose:
QUOTE
I mumbled something about “I’ll Sleep When I’m Dead” being my theme song and modus operandi for about 10 years in my 20s and early-30s, then excused myself to pursue less emotionally charged conversation with people no more famous than I.
ENDQUOTE

Thank God Warren's going out with the low-key class that marked so much of his music.

Yeah -- 'cos when you think about it, aren't we all terminally ill? It's not like we'd live forever if it weren't for cancer. [/END GLOOMY DESCENT INTO PHILOSOPHICAL INTROSPECTION]

Bet your arse, Andrea. And I intend to go out with a rousing medley of 'Roland The Headless Thompson Gunner'. 'Exciteable Boy' & 'Poor, Poor Pitiful Me'.

I'm so dull. I was just going to have them play the Sid Viscious version of "My Way."

I knew there was a reason I love this blogging shit. Thanks for patching me through to Eric's review.

"Thanks for patching me through to Eric's review."

Ditto. I think that the next (I. Will. NOT. Say. Last.) Warren Zevon album will make for excellent birthday/wedding/Christmas gifts for my friends.

This is my humble Warren story: Last November, I was driving with a mate through the streets of KL, it was about lunch time and we had been to a recovery curry breakfast after the Selangor St Andrews Society Ball (we are members of a bagpipe band who had been flown in from Perth). My mate is in his twenties and I had just turned forty. We had tied one on big time, a couple of hours sleep and off to the breakfast recovery party. The difference between 25 and 40 is not the performance on the night, it is the recovery time. I felt like shit on so many different levels. Mate had woken up feeling the same but had slowly got it together and the beer had started flowing with the breakfast. Curry I could do, beer I could not. Neither the flesh nor the spirit could even think about it. Anyway, this preamble, is way longer than the actual annecdote is entitled to. We are stopped at the lights and mate born sometime in mid sevenites looks at a restaurant and says to me "Lee Ho Fook? What idiot would call a chinese restaurant Lee Ho Fook??"

"Are you serious?" I asked him.

"Yeah. Why? Have I missed something?"

I leaned back in my seat, was it my imagination or was I feeling better? A beer with lunch, I thought to myself.

You had to be there and I'm glad I was. Thank you, Warren.