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Jimmy fuckin' Page.

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Oh, man! I dreamed that I was in the French Quarter and saw Rick James signing autographs. I was about to take his picture, but he looked at me and said, "You really do NOT want to snap that picture." So I said yeah, I guess not! But then he asked me if I wanted a free magazine, and I said sure. It was just some music magazine with him on the cover, but he put it in a plain brown wrapper and asked my name so he could sign it. And it had some form letter on it that he'd already written out. I told him my name was Chris, and he wrote and said, "OK, cool . . . K . . . R . . . I . . . S, . . . C . . . H . . . R . . . I . . . S . . . T." Yep. Kris Christ. He gave it to me and I blended back into the crowd. And then I took a bunch of photos anyway as his adoring female fans crawled all over him.

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Dammit! First I missed Bonnaroo, and now Mom says right around the corner from where it was held is today's RC/Moon Pie Festival. That's culture, man.