A+E

I arrived at Lonn Friend's yard sale just as it ended, but I managed to buy some books and a table anyway. Couldn't afford any of the platinum records or signed memorabilia he'd collected during his career as a rock writer. Friend had lived here for two years, contributing some memorable pieces to the Weekly and other pubs; now he's moving back to LA—thus the yard sale—but not before he finished his book, Life on Planet Rock: From Guns N' Roses to Nirvana, a Backstage Journey through Rock's Most Debauched Decade, out this summer. "I did a lot of editing on this table," he said as we lugged it to my van. "Now you'll have some of my indomitable spirit in your house!"

I sold a round, glass-top table with a wrought-iron base that I've had since moving away from home to attend UCLA in the fall of 1976. My childhood pal, Mark, archetype Dead Head since American Beauty, had the table in the living room of the Sherman Oaks, California, house he grew up in. We watched a lot of Twilight Zones and Ozzie and Harriets after school in that place. But I've been letting go of "things" for some time now. The 10 bucks I got for the table was irrelevant. It now resides in the home of a middle-aged woman from Henderson. I'd like to think that the glass top might reflect some images off the Sci Fi channel when it runs the next Zone marathon.

Once on the path, you never leave it. Last year, I wrote an essay for Las Vegas Life articulating my symbolic adventure of coming to the Devil's Playground to find God. In the 29 months I've been here, I've encountered some dark demons, usually stumbling snow-blind through Tao or Light at 1 a.m. Isn't it fascinating that Sin City uses spiritual symbols to name its most decadent night spots? My visitations to the high-end clubs were infrequent. The silicon sisters and their manager misters don't blind me no more, if they ever did. Yet I have also broken unleavened bread with some truly elevated souls who are helping contribute to the metaphysical "balance" of this brazen, beautiful valley.

Giving the speech honoring Queen at the opening of We Will Rock You at Paris [above]. The ceremony, the all-star poolside jam and hanging out with Brian May, Roger Taylor, Meat Loaf and my rock brothers from the LA 'hood, Steve Lukather and Nuno Bettencourt, was musical and magical. I guess a part of me will always be in luv—LUV—with Vegas. And I'll be back frequently to see friends and family, not to mention a savory stop at Pop's on Decatur, still the best hoagie on Planet Rock.

Walk the Line: 2-Disc Collector's Edition (R) aaaa $39.99

In several heartbreaking ways, country troubadours Townes Van Zandt and Johnny Cash led sadly similar lives. In addition to being idolized by fans and musicians, they took to illegal substances like ducks to water, often felt more comfortable on the road than at home and were haunted by childhood ghosts. Cash finally outdistanced most of his demons, but Van Zandt succumbed to his on New Year's Day 1997, two months short of his 53 birthday. Tens of millions bought tickets to see Joaquin Phoenix's snarling portrayal of Cash in Walk the Line, while only a few thousand caught Margaret Brown's deeply moving documentary, Be Here to Love Me. Anyone who's found themselves mesmerized by such haunting songs as "Pancho and Lefty," "Tecumseh Valley" and "If I Needed You" is advised to rush out and pick up a copy of this terrific DVD, which is loaded with fresh interviews, music and background information. The "Collector's Edition" of Walk the Line expands on John and June Carter Cash's now-legendary romance, and adds Folsom, Cash and the Comeback, Ring of Fire: The Passion of Johnny and June and a making-of documentary.

1. That the bleak, totalitarian future of V for Vendetta would be 5 percent more bleak and totalitarian if it featured a sheriff who wanted to ban rap.

2. That, speaking of the future, historians will trace the decline of American letters to this sentence in Macaulay Culkin's new novel, Junior: "Masturbation is the sincerest form of flattery." Picture us screaming.