september has been a sad month. now we lost our cool-as-a-cucumber man of letters, george plimpton. he's played pro football, tamed lions, befriended muhammad ali, and launched maybe the best-regarded literary journal of the century. i wonder if he's strumming a guitar with johnny cash right now? i'd like to hear "folsom prison blues" in that well-bred, patrician accent. in other news, i saw evan dando and rhett miller at avalon last night. what can i say, i'm a sucker for stringbean pop singers. late...............jj