Sometimes I wander around town and take unusual pictures of things. I used to think this was an old cottage until I had a closer look. One of the doors is now partially bricked up, and it seems to have been an electrical substation, containing nothing but massive transformers and switches with porcelain insulators. Now it is an informal meeting place for local bohemians. Songs and poetry echo from within. "Mort Sahl"—the crappy band, of course, not the man—is there every weekend, with their freaky tunings and their theme. No one got it at first, because it didn't sound like anything, and people stopped paying attention. But it was interesting: if you listened closely it was AADD, and we worked out that it stood for Adult Attention Deficit Disorder. Delicious.

Every so often they give me their latest CD. I hurl them back at them when they're on stage. It's dark, so they've no idea who keeps doing that.

I think they should change their name to something with a little more moxie. Maybe "Paul Anka".