Touching From A Distance by Deborah Curtis
Reviewed by Kristin Pelinka

In a time when new music stars generate instant notoriety; and it seems as of late that a television audience can take a peek "behind the music" before the second album hits the airwaves, its nice to know that some things are still sacred and untouched by mass media's manipulation of reality.
Enter Deborah Curtis, the widow of Ian Curtis, former singer of Joy Division. In exchange for thirteen greenbacks, she offers up an intimate portrait into the life and times of the seventies English music scene. While interlacing first time JD gigs that included double billing with the likes of the Fall and the Buzzcocks, readers are invited to reminisce about this truly awesome time in music provided by someone within that inner circle. Trouble emerges, however, when readers realize that the shows and musical anecdotes are few and far between. In fact, much of the paperback reads like a desperate journal of a bitter widow.
The question that remains in my mind is why is she offering up this book to the public under the auspices of revealing JD info if there's little reference made to the music directly? Perhaps a better title for this book would be "The Money That I Can Make From Marrying a Rock Musician."
Althought my adoration for JD shall never wane, this book does little to offer any insight of their music. In the end, the former Mrs. Curtis' only saving grace is the inclusion of unpublished songs from her late husband's personal letters.

Rita's Taqueria
review by Aimee Hennessy, w/ special guest star Josh Clark

It is about 3 in the afternoon on a sunday, and Rita's is filled almost to capacity. Josh and I manage to snag the last table just as a couple comes in behind us, looking despondently about. Upon sitting, we are immediately given menus and chips with two kinds of salsa. Josh informs me that the chips used to be better, more like homemade. As for the salsa, we mix the hot and the mild together to make a near perfect blend. It is brisk and windy outside, but the atmosphere in the restaurant is near sweltering. I notice that everyone has a sheen of glistening sweat on their foreheads and upper lips. Our waiter keeps giving me mysterious amused looks as if he saw me singing Stryper karaoke the night before at a bar. I can't recall doing so... At Josh's suggestion, I order the "Junior, Enchilada style" burrito ($4.25), without meat and substituting salsa verde for the enchilada sauce. I'm not entirely sure how the word "junior" fits in, because the thing is gigantic, like trying to consume Henry Rollins's forearm. I suppose it's more of an overgrown manchild sort of Junior, the kind who spends years in his front yard fixing the same pitifully useless car. Both of our burritos are composed so that there is guacamole on one end and sour cream on the other, as if a meeting between the two might cause an explosion. There is only a hint of beans, and we both agree that the salsa verde is altogether too limey (not the cockney "limey," rather too much lime). But jumpin' J.Lo's, is it filling! Somehow we both manage to finish our gigantic junior burritoes (plus 2 baskets of chips and 4 glasses of ice water), and Josh is so full that he declares he is ready to go back to bed (although at this point we had only been awake for 2 hours). Anyways, there was unfortunately no restroom to review (I'm sure there is an employee restroom, but I would have had to squeeze my way through the cramped, crowded kitchen, past the enigmatically amused waiter, to get to it). So, to recap: mix the salsas, make sure to skip breakfast, and leave your woolen coat at home.