Somewhat humorous short story about buying TRC in YaleHerald.com:

http://www.yaleherald.com...rince.html

Here's the text, for all you lazy bastards...

"Does anyone wanna hear how I came across the new Prince album? Okay, so there I am in the middle of Best Buy, of all places, in Merrillville, Ind., of all places, standing between the racks of shiny, erratically-placed new CDs. My friend Tom had to pick up some rewriteable CDs or something like that, so I'm hovering over the racks upon racks of Britney Spears and *NSYNC and Nickelback (you gotta be kiddin' me) and, yes, this is Indiana, John Mellencamp country (the new Mellencamp buzz, if you must know, consists of the following: "So what do think of John Mellencamp using the n-word in that new song?" To which I swiftly respond, "Who gives a shit?" and walk away).

So as I'm using all my strength not to claw out my eyes, I find myself amid the P's, somewhere between Elvis and Pure Prairie League. I'm quietly singing "Amie, what you wanna do?" and I spot, bathed in divine light, a plastic white divider with purple labelmaker lettering that bears the majestic name of Primus. Remember Primus? Pork Soda, anyone? Come on, "My Name is Mud?" No? Well, now that guy's jamming with Trey Anastasio in Oysterhead—how much must that suck live? Just to be sure, I look over a few partitions to the end of the O's, and sure enough, there's some patchouli-wearing neohippie turning the CD over and over in his hands, obviously looking for the other Phish members.

But anyway, right underneath Primus was Prince. As I took the standard 10 seconds to think "Man, I used to love Prince—I guess he's Prince again...that's good," I look down and see an unfamiliar cover—The Rainbow Children? Hmm. I check the back, and sure enough, it dated 2001. So I grab it tentatively, and not three seconds later, a woman comes up and checks the Prince bin, looks at the last copy in my hand, and asks, "Are you gonna buy that?" I hadn't really thought that far ahead, but since I'm a selfish bastard I thought, "I am now," and nodded defiantly. The disappointed look on her face told me I'd made the right decision.

I put it on immediately once we got inside my 1993 Ford, and started grooving to the jazz-inflected utopian funk of The Rainbow Children. The only thing I could think as I drove between the Friday's and Chili's was, "He's Prince again...that's good." -—Rick Cortazar