The day I met Jad Fair was almost eight years ago, invited to his house with Vincent Moon, Chryde Abric and the Take-Away Shows crew. Red Hunter of Peter and the Wolf and Jared Van Fleet of Sparrow House were along for the ride and whatever else might ensue. No one knew what was going to happen. The guesses were bad, but we kept driving, deeper and deeper into hill country, outside of Austin, feeling like we really must not be going the right way. The roads turned to gravel and we began traveling down thin country roads, seeing no cars. We drove until we passed an oddly placed -- as if it were dropped from the sky -- abandoned mansion, the kind with majestic, while pillars in front. Tucked off to the side of this strange old home was a geodesic dome-like home, circular and space-age like, plopped down in the middle of a horse pasture. It was modern and bizarre, just as you'd imagine the place that Fair would call home. The insides were orderly and neat, with interesting books and mementos everywhere, the walls covered with some of his artwork, the shelves filled with old robots from the 50s. The front door was lined with a dozen or more pairs of Crocs. There were no other kinds of shoes. We headed for the horse barn and he went ahead and splattered my mind all over that wood-chipped floor. This living legend's songs are wonderful fragments of pure innocence and bewitching craziness. They speak to the child in us all that only wants love and sweet things, practically refusing to believe that there are bad people and hard consequences out there looking to find us.