Forget Magazine. Remember, Remember, Remember.

Rather than just say something sophomoric and incoherent like Kick Out the Jams Motherfuckers, I have decided to dedicate this update to a number of things:

to the email I read describing Salon.com as the "Last of the Independents"; to words as weapons of mass destruction; to the Louis Riel Suite in the Hotel Senator on the corner of downtown Saskatoon; to my brother(s) and sister(s); to dirty realists; to pockets of resistance; to the fine people working the border between Canada and the United States; to Marlon Brando in Superman; to the cab drivers of the world, may they unite and take over; to birds, baseball, cows and actors; to The New York Times and Jayson Blair; to the dogs and cats still figuring it out; to Annika Sorenstam and all the other Anickas leveling things; to the brave and beautiful health care workers of Toronto and the world; and, finally, to the fact that God, or you know whoever, gave rock n' roll to us all.

Now, then, that stated, Kick Out the Jams Mother Fuckers,
This is Forget. Independent—KJB.