The Good Shit

No one should die before they're 30

2010-03-01T16:40:00.002-06:00

I don't know what to do with this essay. So I'm putting it here. It's a bummer.

When Robby called me today to tell me that Matt Chance was killed in a skiing accident over the weekend, I had nothing intelligent to say. I’m pretty sure I said “that’s terrible” at least a half a dozen times, “wow,” half as many again, and one “Jesus Christ.” Beyond the shock of finding out one of my best friends from elementary school had died, and in his twenties, there was the simple fact that I hadn’t talked to Matt in ages, and so there was no trite rejoinder to anything Robby said such as, “But I just talked to him last week,” or “We had plans to out drinking on Friday.” Matt moved to Switzerland a couple years back, but, really, the fact that we went to different middle schools and high schools because his family moved a town over meant we weren’t seeing much of each other past the age of 15 or so.

During the third and fourth grade, Matt, Robby, and I considered ourselves “the three amigos,” mostly because we were nine and couldn’t think of anything smarter. I doubt, too, that that name was in any great prevalence beyond our trio, but we took quite a bit of pride in being three best friends. And when fifth grade was coming up, and it was announced that they would be splitting our class into two, we were well aware that they would split up the three amigos. And even though Robby may have landed himself in the room with the “cooler” teacher, Matt and I were paired together, and considered ourselves in charge of that class. We sat in the back, feet on our desks, spitting sunflower seeds into a trash can. Coolest fucking ten-year olds ever.

But then, after the fifth grade, Matt’s family moved to Danville, about ten miles and an eternity away when you’re in middle school. Hanging out became a bit less frequent, but we tried to make it count all the more, and we’d switch off houses for sleepovers for maximum time per visit. When we were at my house, that usually meant, in the late evenings, trying to watch scrambled softcore movies to see if we could catch a glimpse of a nipple, with one eye on the kitchen where my dad was doing dishes, to see if we were about to get caught. I’m still not sure, to this day, if we actually ever saw a nipple, but we definitely convinced ourselves we did, and we definitely convinced ourselves it was awesome.

That’s also when Matt got a Sega Genesis, which I wasn’t allowed to have, and he knew the Sonic start code, and, more importantly, the Mortal Kombat blood code. With his little brother Greg squealing “I wanna play!” behind us, Matt and I weren’t particularly good at many of these games, but we knew the codes. That made us the best at these games.

Because playing Sega and horse in the driveway only lasted for so long, the big adventure during our hanging out was the trip to the 7-11 and baseball card shop if we were at my house, and the grocery store and the other baseball card shop if we were at Matt’s. The destination of these trips was mostly arbitrary: we only knew a limited number of places existed at that age, and most of them centered around baseball cards and candy. The real joy of these excursions was the walk to and from: it was the time Matt and I were away from the prying ears of parents or siblings, and could say whatever we wanted. The topics of conversation were quite varied on the walk to—we would talk about girls, mostly in the abstract, as we were too young to actually talk to them, we would talk about what we were going to do and be in the future, we would talk about, sometimes, death and what happened after. It also was our chance to try out any new swear words or dirty phrases we had picked up, never actually really knowing what they meant, but knowing that we weren’t supposed to use them. The walk from was usually far more mundane—I would wonder how one single Nerd from the left side of the box got intermingled with the other flavor on the other side of the box, Matt might see how fast he could eat his fun dip, and we’d go over who got what baseball cards, and if we got any inserts or cool players. The day one of us landed an Ozzie Canseco was epic.

The walk was easily the best part of any sleepover trip, and they were always better at Matt’s house. The walk was a little longer, and was primarily through residential areas, unlike at my house, where we’d cut behind a hospital to get to downtown quicker. We felt like real adults that could take care of ourselves, merely because we were holding a conversation and had a place to go. We had the option of walking as quickly or as slowly as we wanted (we always chose slowly; why rush good conversation?), and got to choose our own route to and from the store. The world is a wonderful place when you’re 11, and your best friend and you are Getting Things Done.

Over time, Matt and I saw each other less and less—I got most of my updates through Robby, who played on a baseball team with him and then went to college with him, as well. But fairly regularly, even weekly, I think about when we would have sleepovers, and the walks that we took. Those conversations, if you can even call them that, were sometimes meaningful, oftentimes ridiculous, most times sophomoric, and always the best part of my day.

One night when we were about 12, as I was lying on Matt’s bedroom floor in my sleeping bag, he and I had a talk about whether or not God exists. He was raised Catholic, I wasn’t raised in any religion, and neither of us were sure one way or another if there was a God. So he and I gave God a chance: we said that He had something like a minute to give us a sign that He existed. The minute came and went without the earth moving or a voice commanding, but, unfortunately, that didn’t help us figure anything out. We concluded, that night at least, that maybe there was a God, and He didn’t want to give us a sign, because that would be cheating, or he did give us a sign and we didn’t catch it. The matter was left unresolved.

I still don’t know if there’s a God or not, but at times like this, I hope as hard as I can that God does exist, and that Matt’s life is continuing. And I hope as hard as I can that someday down the line, I can meet up with him again and we can take another walk. Or play horse. Or Sonic. I don’t care what we do, really. I just want to see my friend again.

Why it's better not to dream (literally)

2009-11-29T11:16:00.006-06:00

I do not often dream (or at least I don't notice somehow), which I generally find to be a good thing. When I dream, I find that I wake up more often in the middle of the night, I find the sleep itself to be more restless, and generally, I'll only finally groggily get out of bed while still not rested after one dream is particularly disturbing and makes me not want to go back to bed. So, yeah, that's fun.

Perhaps more importantly, for our present purposes, it should be known I very rarely dream of anything, you know, sexual. I'm not entirely sure why that's the case, but my subconscious just doesn't seem to go that route with dreams. Sure, when I was a kid, I could have the same dream twice where I had to chase the Red Baron through labyrinthine trials and mind games, but does my dream self ever get freak nasty with some hot ladyfolk? Never. Also, "freak nasty with some hot ladyfolk" may or may not be the correct contemporary nomenclature. I didn't go to the Urban Dictionary for this one. Anyhow, usually, I don't feel like I'm missing out on anything, and it's been pretty sweet to never have to deal with the dreaded "nocturnal emission," but sometimes, you know, having a dream like that might be cool?

But, BUT, I dreamed last night, and the set-up for my dream is one that is entirely sexy. In this dream, this super-attractive girl and I were friends...with benefits! Come on, guys, you know this to be objectively sexy. I mean, this dream is literally, "Meet up with a hot girl for touching." So this girl and I are going to meet up, and my dream is basically taking the next left turn possible into Sexytown. So, as you can tell, the dream is going well. But just as I put on the blinker to make that left turn...

Dream sexy friend wants to talk about emotions and feelings. She would like to discuss how it's obvious she wants something more than just "friends with benefits," and how I've been messing with her head for a long time now, because why don't I just get it? And the worst part is, as she was saying this, I saw her point. I thought to myself, "Oh, man, the signs have been obvious. I am a dick, even if unintentionally!" I felt pretty bad about my dream self. In my dream, I actually felt remorse, and that pang you get in your stomach when you realize you've done something pretty terribly that's not exactly fixable. You know that feeling? You know that feeling you get at work, when you realize that you've been doing something terribly wrong the whole day, and then you think about whether you can fix it or not, and then realize you can't, and have that thirty seconds of sitting there staring ahead before you tell your boss, and it feels awful? I physically felt that, times ten, while sleeping, and even once I woke up, while being berated by a friend that doesn't even exist.

So, obviously, there was not antiquing in Sexytown in this dream.

My subconscious, basically, set up the ideal sexy dream scenario, only to then pull the rug out from under me and make me feel guilty about a friend that I literally made up. Nice work, brain. Thanks. Just, whose side are you on, anyway? Oh, and then my next dream was one in which I met up with an (actual) ex-girlfriend. And then I helped bring groceries in from her car to her house. No joke. That was the very next dream. The one after that was the disturbing one that made me get up. We don't have to discuss it.

This is why I'd rather just not dream.

I discover Rihanna's "Umbrella," only slightly late

2009-08-22T11:11:00.004-05:00

If you've read any posts on this blog about music, you've probably figured out I am not a pop music connoisseur. I have nothing against the genre or anything, it's just much of what I've heard in the past hasn't really fallen on appreciative ears. But, I'm always willing to give it a shot. For example, it took literally years, but about a month ago, it finally clicked why Kylie Minogue's song "Can't Get You Out of My Head" is brilliant.

But that's not what we're here to talk about. Yesterday, which, for those of you keeping count at home, was August 21, 2009, I was browsing the increasingly-ungood Pitchfork, and came across the top 500 tracks of this decade, and specifically, the 50-21 list, page 3. Which is where, at number 25, is Rihanna's "Umbrella." I liked her track "Please Don't Stop the Music," so I decided to give "Umbrella" a listen.

Listening to the song, I know I had heard maybe a line of the chorus at one point, but I had never heard the song, ever. For those of you doing the math at home, the song was released March 29, 2007. That's you know, two and a half years ago. And, according to Wikipedia,

The song has also achieved commercial success by topping charts in the United States, Sweden, Australia, Switzerland, Canada, Germany, France, the Republic of Ireland and the United Kingdom, as well as reaching the top ten in many other countries. Following a successful chart performance worldwide and a positive reception from critics, the song is listed number three on the 100 Best Songs of 2007 published by Rolling Stone magazine.

In 2008, "Umbrella" earned Rihanna and Jay-Z a Grammy Award for Best Rap/Sung Collaboration in addition to receiving nominations for Record of the Year and Song of the Year. It managed to stay at number one in the United Kingdom for 10 weeks, the longest time spent by a female and in the 21st century, on this chart.

And I had completely and totally missed its existence. The video on YouTube has scores of millions of views. I don't understand how even someone that isn't really paying attention to pop music could miss this song. And, holy hell, is it awesome. Just so, so awesome. In case you need proof:

If that video no longer works, I bet you can figure out how to go to YouTube and search "Umbrella." Anyhow, that's one of the more catchy choruses that has ever existed. I want that song to be the soundtrack to my life.

I'm unsure how I managed to completely miss this song. I feel like somewhere, at some point between late March of 2007 and yesterday, I probably should have heard that song. The people I've told that I just found this song have unequivocally responded with, "Really? How did you not hear that? It was huge." I'm such a failure.

There's no real point to this post other than these 1) "Umbrella" is awesome. 2) I wasted two full years of my life not hearing it. 3) Never, ever write off an entire genre of music. Except for country. Country blows.

Recapping the Summer: Kentucky Derby

2009-08-15T09:46:00.004-05:00

As mentioned quite recently, I had quite the summer of stuff and things and other stuff, and I thought it might be fun to share some of the highlights. First up, the Kentucky Derby!

Getting to Churchill Downs in Louisville, Kentucky from Chicago, if not flying, necessitates driving through the entirety of Indiana. From the Northwest corner, which includes scenic Gary, to the Southeast corner, which includes nothing, the three members of our car experienced all that Indiana has to offer. And, all three of us came to the same conclusion. Namely, that Indiana is awful. Indiana may be the worst state in the union, and that's including bullshit states like Delaware and North Dakota. Indiana is a desolate wasteland of crushed hopes and dreams, and sadness wafts off the roadways like heat in the August desert. The roadways, it should be mentioned, more often than not get siphoned into one lane in each direction, even on major freeways around Indianapolis. Ostensibly, this is for construction occurring. That we never did see occur.

All these opinions of Indiana had solidified in our brains before we ate at the Taco Bell in Lebanon, or went to the Walmart in the middle of Bumfuck, some hour or two south of Indianapolis. Now, this may seem like hyperbole, but I might rather spend the rest of my life in the actual Lebanon than the one we stopped in for lunch. Bet you don't think about how white trash Indiana can be. But oh, man, can it be. I think that's enough description for that one. But the Walmart. My lord. The Walmart.

Before this trip, I had actually never stepped foot inside a Walmart. I'm sure part of that is the remnants of the "Walmart is evil" stuff that has been pounded into every liberal's head, but now, I have an entirely new reason not to go back to one. The stifling sadness. And not even from the customers, though once you're that far South in Indiana there is something you're going to get a special breed of Walmart customers. No, it's from the people that work at a Walmart in nowhere, Indiana. The checkout girl, pregnant and still a teenager, was staring off into space the whole time I was there, helping no one, and I just got the feeling her single thought was something like, "There had to have been a way to escape this." The older employees seemed more resigned to their fate of living and working at the Walmart in Southern Indiana, but you could tell they weren't particularly happy with it, or perhaps even with the life decisions that had brought them to this juncture.

On the other hand, I bought a really awesome Cookie Monster hat for half what they're charging online.

But finally - FINALLY - we leave Indiana, and get to Kentucky. KenTUCKY!!! We'll skip the uneventful Friday night in the motel, and go straight to Saturday, the big day of the Derby. I had packed my finest white linen pants, pink linen shirt, and horse racing hat, ready for the awesomeness. And then the forecast was rain. Soooo, I realized I wasn't going to be comfortable in my special Churchill Downs gear, put on my jeans and track jacket, and piled in the cab from the motel with my friends. I had also brought a change of clothes in my backpack, in case the rain did get particularly intense, and I needed dry stuff.

The entrance to the infield at Churchill Downs on Derby Day is a clusterfuck of people, many already drunk, bottlenecking through the gates. There are no tickets - it's forty bucks for admission, and they never stop letting people in. After getting in, they have Military Police checking bags for any booze, and, well, really, that's about it. You can bring in coolers, you can bring in bags, women can bring in huge purses, you can bring in rolling suitcases.

You can't bring in backpacks.

The MP checking everyone's stuff looks at my backpack and says, "You can't bring that in here." I look ahead at people already admitted, and see, for example, a woman with a bag bigger than my backpack slung over her shoulder, and ask, "Um, why not?" MP says, "I have no idea. Maybe someone last year tried to strangle someone with a backpack. But you can't bring it in." I ask what I can do with it, he says take it back to the car or throw it away. Seeing as I don't have a car, I have to opt for the latter. Of course, the only things in my backpack were other bags, but those were fine to bring in. Naturally. Makes perfect sense.

But, we get in, and we've brought chairs, so we set up as close to the track as we can, and go get our mint juleps and place our bets. Derby day, by the by, is about 13 races in total, with the Derby itself being something like 11th. We've arrived after four races, so I bet ten bucks a race on races five through eleven. My friends do the same, though bet in substantially higher dollar amounts. And then, we sit back, drink a ton of beer, and wait for the races.

Now, here's the thing. There are a lot of people in the infield during this day. And, there are police on risers between you and the track. And the horses run by really, really fast. All this is to say, you can't really actually see any of the races. You get maybe a blur of the horses as they go by, and then you check the screen to see if you've won or lost. So, really, there's not much to do but sit and drink. And then some people might decide to run across the tops of the porta-potties, but they're mainly idiots.

So basically, being in the infield at the Kentucky Derby is the exact same thing as if someone had said, "Hey, I have an idea? Why don't we all pay forty bucks to sit in a field for eight hours and get plastered? Oh, and as you leave, be sure to throw about two hundred bucks on the ground for all the beer you drank and all the bets you lost. Oh, because you will be betting on a sporting event you can't witness." And, yes, in our entire group of seven people, not a single person won a single bet.

And then, the Sunday after it's all done, we had to drive back through Indiana. And guess which state doesn't sell alcohol on Sundays? Mutherfucker.

It's been a hazy summer

2009-08-14T19:32:00.004-05:00

Hooooly fuck I haven't written in something like five months. Oops. In my defense, it's been a long summer - Kentucky Derby, Indy 500, New York for a week, Boston (twice), California for two and half weeks, Maine, Las Vegas, and probably another place or two I'm forgetting. Not that I'm complaining, mind you; it's a pretty douchey first-world gripe to say, "oh, man, traveling all over the country while I'm on break from grad school is so rough, you know?" That being said, traveling all over the country while I'm on break from grad school is so rough, you know?

What's not exhausting is getting on a plane almost weekly and going somewhere. It's that when I get where I'm going, I'm either going for a) some sort of big event like a wedding or sporting event or what-have-you, or b) seeing people I haven't seen for a while for a very short period of time. That means that either a) the event is alcohol-centric, or b) my friends see me for only two days, and really want to make it count. Which, of course, means going out drinking and carousing. This has led my body to, basically, hate me. I'd be surprised if my liver didn't sneak out in the middle of the night back in July sometime, leaving a note that says, simply, "You're on your own, asshole." And I couldn't really blame it.

All this leads me to actually be excited for school to start up again. One of the other reasons I haven't written anything for so many months is that, when I do have free time, it's usually spent staring off into the middle distance while I play last night's Conan on Hulu. Unless I'm busy, I'm not doing shit. That is to say, when I have a lot to do, I find I get a lot more of the ancillary stuff done. My get-up-and-go gets up and goes when I lack a structure. In fact, aside from a two-week class in June, I'm not entirely sure I've used by brain since the end of April. Here's where you put your own joke in about me not using my brain since much longer than that. Har har.

So in just about a week, school starts again. Counter-intuitively, this means that I'll also be blogging more, reading books more, playing more music, and generally being better at life. Until then, though, you're still more likely to find me at the bottom of a bottle of whiskey than making progress on David Copperfield. Fucker's 900 pages, did you know that? Christ.

I fail Talking Heads

2009-04-24T00:34:00.003-05:00

I was taking the train to Trader Joe's the other day (what do you expect from a white middle class guy (also, apparently, for those of you that live outside Chicago: people here do not call the train here the El...it goes underground, you know)), and put on some music for the ride. I chose Talking Heads' Speaking in Tongues, because it is just an amazing record. I mean, so many good songs. It starts with "Burning Down the House," and doesn't go downhill from there. That's a good album.

Anyhow, I put on the album in my headphones, and start listening. I arrive at my stop with the album mostly over, and that's okay. But as I get off the train, walk up the multiple flights of stairs, through the turnstiles, into the open air, and start walking...I realize, all of a sudden, the album's over.

That the album ended is fine. These things happen. That I was met with silence in my ears is fine. These things happen. But that "This Must Be the Place (Naive Melody)" came and went with only a single mental notice is not fine. This should not happen. "Naive Melody" is a beautiful song - in fact, it's more than that. I wouldn't call it an anthem or anything, but it's "Naive Melody," for Christ's sake. It's a song that makes you take notice, makes you think to yourself, "This is what a perfect song should be." And, last week, I became inured to it. It didn't even register to me. And I hadn't even listened to the record for months.

A few years back, I decided I needed to give The Beatles a rest. Not because I listen to them all the time - I think they're absolutely brilliant, but I never was a Beatles defender, so to speak - but because we hear them so much, we tend to forget how innovative and wonderful their music is. So I intentionally stopped listening to The Beatles. For about a year. And then dusted off my copies of Revolver, Sgt. Pepper, and Rubber Soul, my three favorite albums of theirs. And, goddamn, were they more amazing than ever. Anyone younger than about 55, myself absolutely included, can't really understand the impact The Beatles had when they made music. And the way they literally transformed music, and held the hands (no pun intended or wanted) of listeners as they went from catchy songs about innocent love to extremely well orchestrated songs and studio manipulation to get a feeling across, as opposed to just releasing a song, made music what it is today.

Talking Heads did that in the 1980s, the same way Radiohead did that towards the end of the 1990s, and continue to do so today. And though I certainly wasn't around when Talking Heads released Speaking in Tongues, I've always listened intently, knowing I was listening to something special. It's an album you can listen to alone with the lights out and your eyes closed, and be completely satisfied. And "Naive Melody" is the perfect capstone to that record. And, last week, it went past my ears - with headphones on, no less - with only a single passing thought, which was "I should turn this song up," which I did. But I didn't listen to it. And that troubles me. I want Talking Heads to always stir emotions in me, and I don't want to put them on the shelf for a year to make that happen again.

As soon as the album ended, and silence came over me, I literally was saddened that I had failed in appreciating the beauty of "Naive Melody." I don't know when or how to listen to it again.

If you thought you didn't care about Jimmy Fallon, just wait for this post on the Oakland A's

2009-03-03T21:57:00.004-06:00

Sometime around 2am tonight (tomorrow morning?), I'll get myself to the airport and be whisked, ever so gently, to Phoenix, Arizona, home of your Oakland Athletics spring training facility. This is the second year in a row I'll be going to the A's spring training, but there's something very different about this year.

I've heard of many of the players.

Nomar Garciaparra. Orlando Cabrera. Jason Giambi. Matt Holliday (who still hasn't touched the plate against the Padres from the playoff game in 2007, but that boat has sailed). To be honest, I am incredibly confused. We're signing actual players? Usually, Billy Beane does the exact opposite of this and, halfway through the year, right before the trade deadline, trades off everyone good for half a year of a veteran. But, this year, we're overloading on tenuous offense early in the season. If Eric Chavez stays healthy, it's almost like a real lineup.

Usually, the mantra for the A's in the beginning of the season is, "If people can stay healthy, we have a shot at winning." But it seems like this year, the mantra is, "If enough people can stay healthy, we have a shot at winning." And I like that a lot better.

But I'm still confused. I don't get you Billy Beane...I don't get you at all. Just get us into the playoffs.

All that being said, Bobby Crosby was the starting shortstop for the A's until about two days ago, when Oakland signed both Orlando Cabrera and Nomar Garciaparra. A former Rookie of the Year, Crosby's got to be pretty unhappy he quickly he went from starter to third string. He's made it clear that he'd rather play everyday somewhere else, but man. What a slap in the face. Maybe if he played more than 50 games a year it wouldn't be such an issue.

So, to sum up: what the fuck is going on in the Oakland front offices? Only time will tell, but I'm a lot more excited about spring training than I was when I booked the tickets in December. We're in it to win it this year. Or, at least contend. Let's start small.

The critique nobody wanted of the first Late Night with Jimmy Fallon

2009-03-03T00:28:00.002-06:00

I just watched the premiere episode of Late Night with Jimmy Fallon, because, well, what the fuck else am I supposed to while not getting drunk, and I have a few thoughts. I'll bet you can go to Hulu by the time you read this and catch yourself up if you didn't watch, yet still feel like it's VERY important to know what I thought about the show (you don't).

The monologue was very Leno-esque. I don't mean that in a "not funny" way, as some of it was somewhat amusing. I mean that, though all the hosts short of Ferguson can't merely allow laughter to follow their punchlines but instead have to add a few words of "banter," Fallon copies Leno in that the comment following the (somewhat stilted) joke tended to dumb down the joke by explaining it in a laughing manner. If Fallon (or Leno) asks why firemen wear suspenders, and finishes with, "To keep their pants up," you can be guaranteed that during the applause, Fallon (assuming we've removed the previous parenthetical) will look over at his band leader (?uestlove, of course), and say, "Well, something's gotta hold them up!" And people will stop laughing.

The slow-jamming the news could become good. The awkwardness of that was more on the Roots than Fallon.

The game played with the audience, "Lick It For Ten," could almost be a Letterman game. The game had three audience members come on stage and lick a lawn mower, a printer/copier, and a goldfish bowl, respectively. However, what Fallon and Co. don't seem to realize is that Letterman's games either 1) don't involve the audience and thus can be relied upon to be good because they're ridiculing Rupert Gee or playing the utterly absurd "Will It Float," or 2) are actually comedy routines or rejected monologue jokes that don't actually need audience participation. Unless you're The Price is Right!, don't rely on your audience to provide humor. They can only be fodder.

Dangerous choice having Robert De Niro as the first guest ever. I was worried at first that Fallon was going to slide into what I would do if I had a talk show and got to meet De Niro, and fall right into fanboy mode and just say, "Oh my God...you're Robert De Niro," over and over again. But Fallon calmed down pretty quickly.

As Fallon stated outright, De Niro is notorious for not giving particularly great interviews (side note: "notorious" actually has no negative connotation, according to the OED), and he didn't disappoint here. Fallon handled the anti-interview pretty well, almost Conan in style, in that he announced he would be asking De Niro questions that could be answered with only one word, and was calm enough later in the interview to bring the joke back when De Niro answered a very leading question with only one word.

When Justin Timberlake came out, Late Night turned very quickly into the Late Late Show when Craig Ferguson has a friend on as a guest, where they share inside jokes and leave the audience out. Fallon had Timberlake do a few impressions that I'm sure were hilarious in the green room of SNL, and were pretty funny here, but it seemed a lot like they were at a party, and Fallon was saying to Timberlake, "Oh, oh, do the one where you're John Mayer! Guys, guys, you'll love it!" And everyone else at the party just doesn't care. As well, they did their ne'er-requested Gibb brothers talk show song from SNL.

So, to recap: in his first show, Fallon had moments of Leno, Letterman, O'Brien, and Ferguson. Also, he shares the same first name and structure of last name as Jimmy Kimmel (consonant-vowel-double consonant-vowel-consonant, in case you didn't want to do the math yourself). That being said, I liked Jimmy Fallon better tonight than I ever did on SNL, and think he could ultimately be on to something. And at least he didn't also copy Chelsea Lately. That being said, I don't have DVR, and if I'm ever up this late again, I'm reading a book.

You know what the best part about this whole post is? If you're reading this, you literally couldn't care less what I think about the Jimmy Fallon show. But, hey. We're just trying to keep limber here with the writing. They can't all be gems.

Newspapers for dummies

2009-03-01T10:39:00.000-06:00

This morning, I'm reading my favorite anti-American neo-communist fishwrap, the New York Times, and I come across a story that gives me pause. And I'm not talking about the story that merely had the headline "Michelle Obama Goes Sleeveless, Again," which might be okay in the Style section, but certainly not The Caucus, where it appeared. However asinine I think that is, there are other articles that demand our attention today.

I'm talking about an article entitled, "Germany Rejects Bailout Plan for Eastern Europe." Now, I haven't even read the whole article yet. In fact, I haven't gotten past the first sentence. That's because the first sentence is this little beauty that blew my mind:

BRUSSELS (AP) -- Germany rejected appeals Sunday for a single multibillion euro (dollar) bailout of eastern Europe, even after Hungary begged EU leaders not to let a new ''Iron Curtain'' divide the continent into rich and poor.

What the fuck, New York Times and Associated Press? Let's start small. First off, do we really need a parenthetical legend to explain what a euro is? I understand that newspapers, even ones as esteemed as our Gray Lady, write to target like a fourth grade reading level, but that's just ridiculous. If a reader has to stop in the first sentence of reading a piece on the economic structure of Europe because he or she doesn't know what a euro is, it's probably a good wake-up call that he or she ought to do some background research.

But almost more importantly, while technically accurate in that a multibillion euro bailout will, in this economy, always equal a multibillion dollar bailout, implying that the euro can be described as "a dollar" is incredibly lazy and poorly researched. Actually, researched isn't even the right word. Because if you're on the international beat for the AP, you already know that a euro is not a dollar. So, it's just poorly done. Very poorly done.

In the spirit of terrible journalism, I have decided to cull some back issues (back issues can't be the correct phrase) of the Times in order to see if I can't update them to be more in the new style of the Times. Pun kind of intended. So, here we go!

1. President Obama (James K. Polk) on Saturday described his expansive budget proposal as “a threat to the status quo in Washington (Cambodia)” and cast himself as a populist crusader willing to do battle with special interests to expand health care, curb pollution (dogs) and improve education.

2. CHICAGO — Paul Harvey, the news commentator and talk-radio pioneer whose staccato style made him one of the nation’s most familiar voices, died Saturday (Tuesday) in Arizona, according to ABC Radio Networks. He was 90 (107). (Notice also the Chicago dateline for an event that happened in Arizona.)

3. Despite huge enforcement actions on both (three) sides of the Southwest border, the Mexican (Chinese) marijuana (black tar heroin) trade is more robust — and brazen — than ever, law enforcement officials say.

If I had readers I'd say, hey, make your own in the comments! But, really, I wrote this whole things so I could replace the word "Mexican" with the word "Chinese," and really that even failed because I couldn't find "Mexican" as a noun, because then I could have done what I really wanted, and and replaced it with "Chinamen." But, life goes on.

Why would anyone give up anything alcohol related for Lent?

2009-02-27T21:12:00.001-06:00

First off, a couple weeks ago, I wrote a scathing rant against something Joe Biden said about Russian foreign policy, but as I clicked "publish post," Blogger, and thus Google, decided it would be better if I didn't publish such things. And blew up my internets. I decided not to rewrite it, and Google Help is actually anything but, so the short of it is, we're all out an interesting post, and I'm probably on a Federal no-fly list now. But, we move on to new topics.

I'm not Catholic, but having gone to a Catholic college and being surrounded by a lot of Them, I usually do the whole Lenten sacrifice thing, basically just to see how long I could go on whatever it was I gave up. Usually, about a week, max. Well, except last year, where giving up Taco Bell actually lasted me about two or three months. Before I fell back down to Earth. Hard.

This year, though, I decided I really go for the gusto, especially considering I'm back in grad school, where it's very easy to fall into debauchery, so we might as well swing the other way as far as possible. And, seeing as it's another Catholic school, it seems only fair that I test myself.

I've given up drunkenness within the state I reside. Now, let's get one thing straight before I go any further. Not once did it cross my mind that I'd actually give up alcohol, as a whole. Why set yourself up for something at which you're destined to fail? Seems less than rational. And besides, this is self-sacrifice, not suicide. After 40 days of Lent, it's Jesus that's dead, not me.

As well, the conditional "within the state I reside" is crucial, as I have a trip to Spring Training planned for less than a week from now, and I'll be damned if I leave the snow, go to Arizona, watch baseball with a good friend in the sun for three days, and don't get plastered at least once. I mean, come on!

So, let's do the math. Obviously, this all started on Ash Wednesday, which means we're about...60 hours into Lent. And though, obviously, my Lenten sacrifice allows me to drink some alcohol, I have not done so since Tuesday night. And in those sixty hours, I have been more productive than usual. I've finally, after it being on my shelf for at least a year and a half, gotten 75 pages a night done of One Hundred Years of Solitude. I've been much more on the ball when it comes to writing for the blog site that actually pays me. As far as school work is concerned, I started a paper today that's due the first week of May. Basically, I've been better at life.

And it sucks. I know this is the part where I'm supposed to say, and I'm sooo much happier, and more alert, and get things done, and all that bullshit, but that's not really the case. It's Friday night, the night my Spring Break starts, and instead of wanting to go out and meet friends and watch them get drunk, or even just have a drink and watch TV by myself, I'm just angry with my healthy life choices. There's even an interesting show tonight - one of the dudes from LCD Soundsystem and Hercules and Love Affair are both doing DJ sets three blocks from my apartment, but I'm pretty sure DJ sets blow unless you're drunk. I'm pretty sure that's science.

Did I bring this upon myself? Yes. Are you supposed to feel sorry for me because I haven't been drinking for three whole days? No. Should I even be complaining because I'm getting shit done that I usually put off? No. Will I continue doing so until Lent is over, or give in to getting hammered some night for no good reason? Yes. Will it annoy you more than a string of rhetorical questions? Absolutely. And, unfortunately for you, will it mean I spend more time writing on this site? Definitely.

So enjoy. You're in this with me now.

Change and hope should be prepositional

2009-01-14T09:10:00.000-06:00

I have bad news for all of us. Barack Obama is going to be sworn in as president one week from today (that's not the bad news), and guess what - there's a good chance he won't change the world. Even with a Democratic congress and a victory in November current presidents would most likely call a "mandate," there's a good chance we're so far fucked that to extricate our country from all the issues facing us might not take only four, or eight, years.

Here's my main concern: for all the excitement Obama garnered, for all the amazing speeches, for all the policy he and his team have been leaking over the past few weeks (I don't know that any president-elect has gone this far in revealing plans prior to inaguration, but not the point), Obama still ran on the rather vague dual platform of "hope" and "change."

Why does this bother me? Because "hope" and "change" are not complete thoughts. This minor disobedience in grammar functions doesn't necessarily bother me from a syntax standpoint, but more so in the lack of actual content. We have to have hope in or for something, and we need change to be from one thing to another. Hope in. Hope for. Change to. As much as we all love and are happy with Obama, I need the blanks filled in a little better than we got during the campaign.

So, over the next week, as nearly-president Obama keeps on trucking, keeps on appointing Clintons to Positions of Influence, keeps on tempering previously made statements, I'll keep on waiting to know exactly how Obama actually is going to unfuck us. Of course, he does have four years. Which is a long time. My exact words when Bush was sworn in in 2001: "It's only four years. How bad could it be?"

I have higher hopes for Barack Obama.

See what I did there?

Oh, Illinois politics, you are awesome

2009-01-13T01:07:00.001-06:00

Oh, look, I didn't write at all in December. It was a long month. No time for much of anything. So, let's jump back into it, shall we?

Being in Illinois while Rod Blagojevich is still governor of the state is kind of the most fun thing ever. Every single thing he does seems 112% calculated to be a huge "fuck off" to everyone, ever. Oh, I'm under investigation by the FBI and I know my phones are tapped? Watch me try and auction off a Senate seat. Oh, everyone wants me to cede all power and resign? Watch me actually appoint someone to the Senate seat I was just trying to sell. Oh, I just got impeached by a 114-1 vote? Watch me hold a press conference and deny any wrongdoing, and state that I'm going to fight this. Yeah, that's right. Me and my awesome hair will make it through this just fine.

You'd have to think that at some point Blagojevich would have looked at the track record of the governers in this state, and then realized you can't get away with being a corrupt politician out here anymore unless your last name is Daley. Those guys, by the way, can still get away with murder. But, no, Blagojevich decided that he'd tempt all sorts of fate and go ahead and outcorrupt even the previous governer, George Ryan, who's sitting in prison right now for...let's see...sale of government licenses. That shit's JV compared to selling a Senate seat. I'm pretty impressed.

I can't wait to see what Blagojevich does next. Eats a baby at a presser just to see if he can get away with it? Appoint himself president? I actually half-expect him to appoint me to something, because why not at this point? I'm about as qualified as Burris, except I don't yet have a mausoleum built for myself. I'm donating my body to science anyway. At least let some med students have some fun.

A post involving Monday Night Football and Common, but not about sports or music

2008-11-24T20:37:00.000-06:00

I was just watching a commercial during Monday Night Football (no, I will not discuss Tony Kornheiser in this post: you're welcome), and a Zune commercial comes on in which the rapper Common is talking. He is wearing a shirt that says, simply, "COMMON."

Now, I like Common. I think he is a great rapper. But that long-sleeved shirt that so boldly announces his name...not too sure. It's a pretty tremendous combination of pretentious and douchey, which, though slightly impressive, might not be okay. It reminds me a lot of anyone who wears this shirt:

Let's get a closer look at that detail, shall we, guys?

Yep. The saddle point of pretension and douche, as exemplified by Ralph Lauren, with this shirt, as well as Common wearing a shirt that boldly proclaims his name. Let's try and put a stop to these things, shall we?

Detox

2008-11-10T21:09:00.000-06:00

So this weekend I destroyed my liver, again. The real issue, though, is that because I'm in school again, and nearing the end of the semester, this weekend would have been much better served studying, and not, you know, breaking my brain.

I have a Macallan tasting this Friday. Other than that, we're going to try a fun experiment. It's called "Not Drinking Until Thanksgiving Break." That's over two weeks away. Ready...GO!

Mountain Goats live turns into poorly-constructed rant

2008-10-15T23:00:00.000-05:00

I went and saw the Mountain Goats on Monday night in Chicago, and I could do a little review, but reviews don't really help, do they? If you like the band, you like the band and you'll probably want to see them live. If you don't like the band, you don't like the band and you'll probably not care to see them live. But I will say this. There are a lot of people out there (most of them write for Pitchfork, I'm sure) that will tell you that the Mountain Goats got a lot worse once John Darnielle (1) stopped recording on a boombox, or (2) signed to a big label (as much as 4AD is a major label), or (3) got a band. And I have a response to that: shut up.

You can like the old stuff better; that's fine, I don't care. Personally, my favorite album is one of the "major label" ones that has a full band (The Sunset Tree), but do prefer the lo-finess of albums like All Hail West Texas. I'll be honest with you. When the Mountain Goats came out on stage on Monday, which usually consists of John Darnielle and Peter Hughes on bass, I almost cringed when I saw there was a drummer that came out with them. I don't know why - maybe it makes it more intimate the fewer people on stage?

And the music with the drummer was really fucking good. It rocked really fucking hard. I guess my point is this. The music snobs (let's hope I'm not always one) resist change because they knew this band or that band before it changed, which makes them cooler than people that knew them after. Darnielle actually said that, jokingly, last night at the show when he said, "This next song is so old, it's on my second tape. If you have this song on tape, I thank you fore being a true fan. If you have it on mp3, you're a poser." The problem is, people take that mindset to heart.

But get over yourselves. If you like the music, why wouldn't you be okay with it changing a little bit, so more people can enjoy it with you? Stop being selfish. Dicks.

Anyway, that rambled AND didn't stay on target, so here's the setlist from the show:

With Full Band
Have to Explode
Heretic Pride
Moon Over Goldsboro
New Zion
Wizard Buys A Hat
The Mess Inside

John Solo Set
Unreleased Song
Going to Kansas
So Desperate

With Kaki King
Mosquito Repellent

With Full Band and Kaki King
New Song Off the EP I Don't Have

With Full Band
San Bernadino
No Children
Sept. 15, 1983
Michael Myers Resplendant
This Year

Playoffs equal vacation for A's players

2008-10-01T21:52:00.000-05:00

So another regular baseball season has come and gone, and the playoffs have begun. Now, don't get me wrong, I fucking love the playoffs. As a semi-good Dodgers fan, I found myself clapping every time they made a defensive out, or got a hit, while I was watching the game tonight alone in my apartment. Because even teams you just "really like," as opposed to "are obsessed with," the playoffs ratchet up that excitement tenfold. Also, I am two blocks from Wrigley Field, where the game was played, and that adds to the fun.

This year was good to me for baseball. I went to Spring Training, and during the season went to seven stadiums. I went to opening day in San Diego, and saw one of the last games of the season for the Cubs. I saw the A's (my true team) play in three stadiums, and I saw a two-hitter. I could have done a lot worse.

However, all that pales in comparison to the fact that my A's were out of it by, oh, say, week two. And that's all that really matters, when it comes down to it. I consider myself a true fan of baseball, in that I will go to any game to watch any two teams play. I just love the sport. But the A's, well, that's all I really care about. Last days of the season, when they were 22 games out of first place, I was getting my text message alerts from ESPN after the third, sixth, and ninth inning, and I was invested. Because GOD FORBID the A's lost a worthless game to the Mariners the second to last game of the season!

Even worse, the A's had a game canceled this season because it was so unimportant. The Orioles chose not to make up a rain-out, thus shortening the A's schedule by a game. And no one minded, cause fuck it if the A's don't play a whole schedule. Doesn't matter.

Again. Playoffs are fucking awesome, and I'll watch all the games. However, when you root for a team that hasn't been good in years, there's a lot of pain that comes with "waiting til next year," when you know next year won't be any better.

And I'll be at Spring Training again, next year, too. Because hope springs eternal, even for the Oakland A's.

Social contracts in reference to my naptime

2008-09-08T23:37:00.001-05:00

Back in school, I've been studying, to some extent, the history of culture in humanity. Mostly to figure out how religion came about/is useful to human beings as a whole. However, in doing so, I began to think of Rousseau and Hobbes (and Locke, yes, but who wants to talk about Locke), who both discussed why we decided to give up autonomy to live in civil society. The main reason, to reduce large philosophical texts to sound bites, was for safety. We say, okay, I don't need to have total control over my life, so that my life may be extended, and lived in relative safety.

The other day, I realized that, to be completely honest in determining how these social contracts best pertain to me, the greatest advantage I have in giving up some basic freedoms to stay secure is that I can sleep during the day. Yes, that's right. One of the best reasons I have for appreciating social constraints is the nap.

The state of nature is dangerous. Were we still the "noble savage" in the case of Rousseau, there would be feral animals out there to harm me. My cave would not be adequate in protecting me from creatures that could maim or kill me while I slept during the day. Were we still in the state of nature as describes by Hobbes, other humans would will me harm so that they could possess what is mine. But now, in my apartment - whose locks cannot actually protect me from other people - society has all but deemed me secure. Which means I can lie dormant on the couch during daylight hours literally oblivious to the world around me. I'll be clear: this could not be the case were it not that I had given up my natural state. And that, sadly, is the best reason I can find for appreciating the fact that we have given up some freedoms and have decided to be governed by law. So I can pass out during the afternoon.

Apparently school is forever

2008-08-20T20:13:00.000-05:00

I went to my graduate school orientation yesterday - or, I should say, part of it. Although professional studenting is now my job, even I can only sit through so much talk about Information Technology and whatnot. But the thing that caught my attention was something the Dean of Graduate Studies said. That, on average, a PhD student in the humanities finishes his or her program in eight to ten years. Eight. To ten. Years.

That seems like a lot of years. My goal was to tell everyone I was shooting for seven years and be done in five. You know, be done in the early 30s to start making money again so I can buy expensive shirts and sunglasses. Of course, it's not like I'd rather be working for the next eight to ten, as opposed to schooling. But, so much for vacations, or nice dinners, or new clothes, or eating every day or leaving my apartment, ever.

Chicago

2008-08-16T18:35:00.000-05:00

So I'm settled/settling in to Chicago, and aside from it being the Air and Water Show, or whatever it is that sends fighter jets over my fucking head a few times a day (or dozens of times a day, were it still yesterday), things seem to be going relatively okay. Okay in that for the last few days, I have literally spoken to approximately half a dozen people, total (mostly in the process of business transactions), and spent the rest of my time to myself. Which, you might think, would lead to extraordinary thoughts that I could write down and wow the world.

Unfortunately, that is not the case. Apparently I don't work on the Rene Descartes principle, in which I can lock myself in a room and figure out the world. No, instead I have spent my days mainly waiting on hold so I could explain to comcast they have no idea what they're doing when it comes to internet, followed by resigning myself to the fact that I have no idea what I'm doing when it comes to wireless internet. I bought a used router and it took, oh, three days to figure out the goddamn thing.

Being in a new city is supposed to be exciting stuff. However, being in a new city and being 1) broke and 2) antisocial makes the excitement slightly less so. I don't particularly feel like calling the friends of friends that live here, nor do I have the money to go meet up with them were that I wanted. This leads to a lot of sitting and not exercising my vocal chords for all but 10 to 30 minutes a day.

So, that's where we're at. Unimpressed? Yeah, me too.

How the Democrats will lose this election, which is theirs to win

2008-08-07T00:40:00.001-05:00

I've been trying to figure out, for a while, how the Democrats were going to lose this election. I mean, it's been handed to them. Just to prove my point - I was about to write a list here of all the reasons Obama ought to crush McCain, but then realized it would be useless, as 1) there are too many reasons to enumerate and 2) everybody knows them all already anyway. So I've just been waiting to figure out how, by being such awful campaigners, the Democratic party would start seeing the easy win slip away.

And now we have two answers. One external, one internal. Externally, McCain's camp has gone on the attack with the new round of ads and talking points, and explicitly inserting racial fears into the campaign. Now, this ought not to be an issue, if only the Democrats weren't so braindead as to let these attacks slide off them like water off a duck. The problem is, these attacks aren't made of water, and they stick to Obama. Wait, huh? That analogy worked prior to a few beers, and now I'm just not going to worry about it.

Remember the Swift Boat Veterans for Truth? You know, the group that somehow managed to challenge Kerry's decorated Vietnam record while not mentioning Bush's complete failure to serve during the war? That would have gone away, if Kerry's camp hadn't waited three days - which in media cycles go by even quicker than dog years - to respond. By that time, the attacks were out there, and the damage done. Can't recork that shit. And Obama's doing the same now. Not rebutting the ads that compare him to Paris Hilton and Britney Spears. Not rebutting the Republican talking points that state - explicitly - that Obama is playing the race card the exact same way O.J. Simpson did. Democrats take these issues and think, "No right-minded person would actually believe this!" And then they turn to talking about baby seals in the uninhabited Arctic. While the rest of America, which is full of not right-minded people, couldn't care less than seals they'll never meet, and instead are focused on the pseudo-issues the Republicans (very masterfully) told them to care about. It's the Democratic pretension mixed with deviously adept Republican campaigning that equals ruin.

And then there's the internal issue - the pandering to the center. The reason Obama's so popular, the reason he got the nod over the clear front-runner, is that he had new, fresh, exciting ideas. Things that leftist Democrats have been waiting to hear for years. The base was not this emphatic for Kerry - in fact, there barely even was a base for Kerry. So Obama gets all these people amped for politics, gets people excited to be a part of the system, because he's bringing change to the system.

And then Obama says he's willing to tap our petroleum reserves, and maybe he'll be okay with offshore drilling.

And now, all the leftists that voted for Nader in 2000 stay home, because what's the fucking point. Obama's business as usual.

And so we get idiots that are sucked in by Republican strategy coming out in droves to vote against Obama, and idiots that think Obama's no different than McCain staying home, and lo and behold, all of a sudden McCain has won the election that was literally Obama's to lose.

Good work, Democrats. I am hard-pressed, at this moment, to think of a party that is better at being worse for itself than you have been for the past, oh...fifteen years?

Fake Memphis blues and awkward Chicago blues

2008-08-05T23:19:00.000-05:00

On this same trip in which I arrived at the Mormon Chili's and died a little inside, I went to Memphis the next night. First we (again, my mother and me) went to Graceland, which is an experience unto itself. Though I'm sure the experience was meant to invoke exactly such feelings, I came away really thinking Elvis was a genuine, down-to-earth guy. A genuine, down-to-earth, very very weird, dead guy.

But anyway, later that evening we went to B.B. King's restaurant (thank God for spellcheck, cause I can never, ever spell that word right. Anyhow.) for some food and blues. Now, just as one would not got to Chili's for sober eating, one ought not go to B.B. King's place for actual southern blues. I kind of figured that out when the house band broke into a rousing rendition of Bonnie Raitt's "Let's Give 'Em Something To Talk About." Yeah. That happened. I somehow feel like that's not what Mr. King had in mind when he opened a blues venue in Memphis.

So, the waitress apparently didn't know the difference between a beer costing a buck fifty and a beer costing eight bucks, which caused us some consternation once we got the bill. The people next to us also were having trouble with the service, and the gentleman and I get to talking about the not-so-great service, and it turns out he plays the blues, and will be playing a mile from my new apartment in Chicago three days hence. So my dad I and I go (he had flown into Chicago to meet my mother and me). This, now, was Sunday.

My dad and I get to the bar early and at catch Charlie Love and the Silky Smooth band, which involved a lot of fancy hats. And then Linsey Alexander, the man I had met in Memphis, takes the stage. Old black man with pants above his belly button starts the show by saying, "I just took seventy-five Viagra, four Cialis, a fifth of Jack, and smoked a bag of weed. Let's start." This was not I expected from the older gentleman who complained to me about poor service just a few nights before.

Most of his set was him walking around the crowd, with a microphone and guitar, playing to the ladies, making faces at them, and being somewhat lewd. Which was pretty damn enjoyable for a good long while. When he sang the song about fucking, though, it got a little uncomfortable. Especially when he came out into the audience and asked people about their "making love" habits. Of course, as he put it, "I've never made love in my life. Not once. I fuck." Cute.

Anyhow, he goes around the audience, and asks people about their love making habits. "When' the last time you made love?" Or, "What's your favorite room in the house to make love in?" And, then, he gets to my dad. And I'm not looking forward to the conversation, though I don't know what is going to be said. Mr. Alexander looks right at my dad and says, "What about you? Do you know how to make love?"

To which my dad replies, "I remember."

That's my dad.

A Chili's without alcohol is more useless than, oh, anything ever

2008-07-30T23:47:00.000-05:00

I'm in Van Buren, Arkansas at the moment, and went to Chili's for dinner. Well, that's not quite true. I went to Chili's to get some drinks and maybe order an appetizer. No one goes to Chili's to eat and not to drink. Why? Because Chili's is Chili's, and you don't go there unless you plan on drinking through it.

So we get there (the "we" is my mom and me, which is another reason to drink), and my mom says, "Are you going to have a beer?" Before I can finish replying with the obvious choice, the waitress chimes, "Oh, we don't have alcohol here." Almost as if we should have known better.

What. The. Fuck. Why would anyone, ever, EVER go to a Chili's that doesn't serve alcohol? A Chili's without alcohol is like a male porn star without a dick. It's like an episode of Baywatch without bouncing breasts. It's literally absolutely, completely useless. I just did some quick research (aka a Google search of "van buren arkansas dry"), and it looks like all of ONE PLACE in the county here has a liquor license. Really, Arkansas? You're really so holy that when you're not, you know, burning crosses and/or insisting the Confederate flag is totally cool to put everywhere, you won't let me have a goddamn beer with my sizzlin' fajitas or whatever the fuck it is I'm ordering?

Fuck you, the South. The truth of the matter is, I honestly can't imagine that you guys aren't drunk all the time by the way you act down here.

I'm sorry. That was rude. But seriously. If you can't sell me a beer, you don't even deserve a Chili's, and that's just sad.

Three songs in a row on one album that are amazing

2008-06-11T00:39:00.000-05:00

So I was listening to Thriller by Michael Jackson a little while back, because it's awesome, and I realized that, in succession, are the songs "Thriller," "Beat It," and "Billie Jean." Now, those are three fucking awesome songs in a row. Really, really great, amazing songs. So I got to thinking about other three song sets, on one album, that really kill. Here's what I came up with:

Thriller/Beat It/Billie Jean (Michael Jackson’s Thriller)

Without MSG I Am Nothing/That Man Will Not Hang/She Will Only Bring You Happiness (mclusky’s The Difference Between You & Me is That I’m Not On Fire)

Exit Music (For A Film)/Let Down/Karma Police (Radiohead’s OK Computer)

Cashout/Full Disclosure/Epic Problem (Fugazi’s The Argument)

Straight American Slave/Carne Voodoo/White Belt (Rocket From the Crypt’s Group Sounds)

I Am the Walrus/Hello Goodbye/Strawberry Fields (The Beatles’ Magical Mystery Tour (This one was hard, because after "Strawberry Fields" was "Penny Lane," and I had to pick three of the four. Could have gone either way.))

North American Scum/Someone Great/All My Friends (LCD Soundsystem’s Sounds of Silver)

Shine a Light/Sons and Daughters of Hungry Ghosts/I’ll Believe in Anything (Wolf Parade’s Apologies to the Queen Mary)

Synchronicity II/Every Breath You Take/King of Pain (The Police’s Synchronicity)

Begin the Begin/These Days/Fall on Me (R.E.M.’s Life’s Rich Pageant)

Interestingly enough, only a few of these are the first three tracks on the album. If you count the Fugazi one (the first track on that record is 30 seconds of noise; "Cashout" is track 2), four of the sequences on this list start the album. Out of ten. I'd have guessed more. Of course, following Elvis Costello's advice of skipping to track four when in doubt, I suppose the 1-2-3 thing wouldn't work so well. For the record, not counting the Fugazi one, three of these sequences involve track four of the album.

So that's what I got so far. I'm sure I'm missing something - a LOT of things - but I tried to keep it tight. You could probably drop the Rocket songs, maybe the R.E.M. songs (but probably would keep those), possibly the Fugazi songs, too. Who am I to say? I'm just an idiot with too much free time. Anything you know I'm missing?

A blogging widget tells me what I didn't know about myself

2008-05-19T22:46:00.001-05:00

So I just downloaded Zemanta, to use for the blog that actually pays me to write. It's a little weird; upon opening this to write I get a 3x3 grid of pictures on the side of the page to use as inspiration, and it SWEARS it's going to give me suggestions soon on what pictures and links and little tags I might want to use in this post, based on what I've already written in the post, or something meta like that. So far, it has not provided any wry and sardonic observations about sports or music or drinking.

Update 1. I have been given a picture of, I believe, Everclear, and some ideas for tags to use in this blog, one of which is "Second Life." Isn't that what the Paultards use to pretend they still have some sort of social relevance?

New pictures. Still of mutherfucking Everclear, and now they're thinking it should be a tag of mine. What, exactly, is about that band from my first paragraph? Did I say that I would buy you a new house, where your roses can bloom?

Next update. Apparently I'm interested in fighting Paragraph 175, which I just looked up and was a German law banning homosexuality between men. Because between women? WAY hot. I've seen videos. Also, the tag suggestions believe I'm into shopping.

So what have we learned with this Zemanta preview? I love Everclear and gay sex (those two, really, though - hand in hand). Also, my blogs pertain to shopping and Second Life. So, I guess, so much for the sports and politics and music. Except, of course, for Everclear. Goddamn I love Everclear.

It's in my brain!

Barry Zito and the Velvet Underground

2008-05-18T19:19:00.000-05:00

Yesterday, Barry Zito lost again. He is now oh and eight on the year, and the Giants have lost all nine games he has started. Now, to be fair, this game and (I believe) the last, he allowed only a couple runs, and the Giants scored only one in each. However, specifics such as those don't really matter when you're being paid $126 million over seven years to be this awfully awfully bad. And the bitch about baseball is, even if the Giants fired him, he works in one of the few professions in California where he is not an at-will employee. The Giants will have to pay him all that money.

And, as an A's fan, I'm absolutely delighted by that. Seeing the Giants be stuck with this monstrosity really does make me smile. As a friend put it, Zito's "a miserable player on a miserable team." Growing up actively rooting against the Giants, and seeing them build a stadium with a fucking 309 foot right field wall so Bonds could (literally) juice balls into the goddamn water, and then having Zito jump ship to the rival...to some of us, this was deserved punishment all around. Fuck the Giants.

I'm listening right now to the acetate versions of Velvet Underground's demos that became the Velvet Underground and Nico album. That album was originally released in 1967, and there are more than one song on that record specifically and obviously about heroin (you know, like the song "Heroin"). Listening to it now, I'm trying to imagine the jolt I'd get out of a band singing so bluntly about such a taboo subject. We're so inured to shit like that these days, we don't even get up in arms about a song where Eminem kills his ex-wife or whatever she is. I can only imagine the response a band would get in 1967 singing about putting a spike in. I mean, this is when Johnson was in the White House, we hadn't gone to the moon, we were still in Vietnam, so forth and so on.

I think what's so shocking about the music, however, is that it's not loud, it's not abrasive; it's simple music with a very candid Lou Reed describing drugs with a sort of monotony usually reserved for laundry lists. Sometimes we forgot that loud doesn't equal shocking. And maybe I'm listening to the wrong stuff - I haven't delved into G.G. Allen or anything - but I can't think of a way to be shocked by something a band actually sings about these days. Acts can be vile, but who since Velvet Underground has been so forthrightly jarring (Amy Winehouse doesn't count, because it's no different). I think it might be nice to be shocked now and again.

No one reads this anyway

2008-05-07T12:21:00.001-05:00

Whaaa? No posts in a month? I know, I can't believe it either. However, YOU try going through the death throes of a relationship, work full-time, get paid to blog elsewhere, and do this. Give it time. It'll all come back.

Best day ever

2008-03-31T17:26:00.000-05:00

IT’S MUTHERFUCKING OPENING DAY!!! If you can’t tell, I’m a little bit excited about the start of the baseball season. Yes, technically, my team opened the season last week against the Red Sox in Japan, but that doesn’t count because I don’t like Asians. This is the real opening day. Already the Giants are getting killed and the Yankees were rained out, so things are going well. I myself paid $40 for an upper-deck ticket to go see (alone, mind you) Roy Oswalt and Jake Peavy face off to start the season. I bought my scorebook Saturday. I am excited.

I like sports. A lot. I’ll watch most of them, and March Madness, though overall pretty predictable, has had its moments this year (thanks to West Kentucky, Davidson, and Duke (fuck you, Duke)). But I didn’t even write about the NCAA tournament, because I’ve been so excited for baseball to start. Baseball, regardless of any loss in popularity or steroid scandals or what have you, is truly our nation’s game. It’s steeped in tradition and lore, and it’s impossible not to speak of Babe Ruth or Ted Williams or Sandy Koufax without a certain reverence in your voice. Baseball is our history, and these players are our national heroes.

Baseball, for all the problems inherent to today’s game (beginning with, but not limited to, the designated hitter, interleague play, Bud Selig, no salary caps, the Players’ Union, the owners, and prices), is that which can bind a nation through nostalgia and good, clean fun. When taken at its most elementary level, it is still a game. It’s meant to be enjoyed, no strings attached. And as the season starts up again, and we make our predictions and talk serious shop about who’s got a shot at what, we’re reconnected with the times our dads took us to see our favorite player and the times that guy hit that home run when we were six and it was awesome. And that’s just not something you get out of football.

So get amped. Get pumped. Cheer loud. It’ll be gone way too soon.

80k seems like a lot of money for poon

2008-03-12T16:56:00.000-05:00

So we all know about (now former) New York Governor Eliot Spitzer's resignation for (allegedly!) spending eighty thousand dollars on hookers. Awesome. Totally awesome. Wonkette has a link to show you what eighty g's will get you in (I'm assuming golden) vagina. Also the specific girl from the specific rendezvous that broke the whole story. To be honest, after studying and studying and studying the pictures, as well as all the research into the sex trade I must undertake to truly call myself a semi-monthly blogger, I'm just not sure it's worth the money. Of course, I have never visited a prostitute, so maybe there's some big secret I don't know about how paying for sex is totally a good idea. And I certainly have never visited a $4,300 prostitute, so I can only imagine what luxury awaits inside those assumed-majestic halls, to use a vaguely sexual metaphor (assumed-majestic = expensive; halls = pootietang). I feel like, to someone like me, a really really expensive hooker holds a lot of the mystery and intrigue that the women's restroom has. Seriously, ladies. We imagine gold toilets, paper made of the finest silk linens, big-screen televisions, the works. At least less urine on the floor than we have. I'm sorry. We were talking about hookers.

But I was wondering what I might spend $80,000 on, if I weren't inclined to sample the finest whores the East Coast has to offer. I made a list. I also had help from a friend.

3,750 copies of Fugazi’s Instrument DVD with 2,000 copies of the soundtrack online
65,128 boxes of Annie’s mac and cheese at Target, not on sale
A MacBook Air, 50 of the 160GB iPods (enough to store 2 million songs), 50 dock stations that plug each iPod into a speaker/alarm clock setup, a Louis Vuitton luggage set to carry it all in, and enough money to buy 67,129 songs off of iTunes to fill up all that stuff
400 autographed “Bo Knows” posters
A subscription to Newsweek for the next 4,102 and a half years
Just a whole bunch of blow
Full season ticket package (all games) for a field level seat for the Oakland A’s for the next 33 year
A 3 bedroom, 1 bath, 1088 Sq. Ft. home in Shelby, Indiana
150,000 Oh Boy! Oberto spicy beef jerky sticks
A hit out on Bono
3200 hair cuts
A hysterectomy
533,333 "American Idol" votes (standard text messaging rates apply)
8000 hand jobs at Penn Station
53 Miada M’s from 1994 in Valencia off craigslist
612,000 gallons of Tang (the drink, perverts)

Join in on the fun! What else would you spend $80,000 on instead of getting your knob polished?

Thom Yorke gets too specific

2008-03-04T13:38:00.000-06:00

I like Radiohead quite a bit. I have at least one Radiohead bootleg, and at least one import EP. I bought that new album, In Rainbows, in that online download deal, as well as the hard copy. I know there are plenty of detractors out there (scroll down to The Arts), but I find their music gorgeous. Especially as the albums kept getting slightly more experimental, I found myself more and more drawn to the band.

I like Radiohead either in spite of, or because of, the fact I have no idea what Thom Yorke is ever talking about. In fact, I heard a rumor that the lyrics for at least one of the songs off Kid A (I want to say "Morning Bell" after doing some quick Wikipedia research) was written by pulling phrases out of a hat. There's something about chickens in "Paranoid Android," and I don't have a fucking clue what it has to do with anything. But Yorke's vocals are often more important when viewed as wonderfully beautiful accompaniments to the music, almost as if used as another instrument (cf: "Let Down" and "How to Disappear Completely").

When In Rainbows came out, I wasn't drawn to it immediately. Everyone, or at least the three people I heard talk about it, said that the album was a return to the more "rocking" Radiohead. Which I have very little use for. I rarely listen to the earlier albums, and I actually don't care for "Just." Sorry. But after a half dozen or so listens, the album finally clicked for me, and I realized its awesomeness. I didn't even mind that the lyrics are less vague and more immediately accessible than the more recent albums, thus placing more emphasis on the words spoken as opposed to the melody produced.

Except for one song. "House of Cards." Big Problems with "House of Cards." From listening to the lyrics, the song's about Yorke trying to sleep with his friend's wife at a key party. You know, like they had in the 70's. Good times. Anyway, the lyrics are a little unsettling for a few reasons. Here's a snippet:

I don't want to be your friend
I just want to be your lover
No matter how it ends
No matter how it starts
...
Throw your keys in the bowl
Kiss your husband goodnight
Forget about your house of cards
And I'll do mine

I don't care for songs that that are quite so blatant. Lyrics such as "I wanna lube you up and sex you down," or something to that effect, always make me feel uncomfortable when I hear them, regardless of the source. And coming from someone who often has lyrics as esoteric as, "Ice age coming, Let me hear both sides, Ice age coming, Throw them in the fire," the intimacy he forces on us is all the more jarring.

And let's not forget this is Thom Yorke. In case you have no idea, here he is:

That's right. The man singing about how he wants to fuck you, even though you're married, is the retarded man's Clay Aiken. The imagery alone we all just experienced made you jealous of Helen Keller, didn't it. So please, Thom, let's go back to the lyrics where we're creeped out by you because you're singing in a way that makes us existentially scared, and not because you're singing about what would most likely be the most awkward sex ever. Kthxbye!

My own blood in my mouth

2008-02-22T12:46:00.000-06:00

Almost a year ago, I had this great idea for a new mix CD. Now, it should be noted that I do, indeed, take a great deal of time crafting mix CDs. Sometimes they become double-disc albums, due to sequencing and format issues. This is dorky. I admit this. Not the point.

I was compiling data (code for “list of songs”) for my newest mix. It was going to be awesome. It was going to be themed. But not themed as in, “songs about love” or “bands with numbers in their name.” Not that there’s anything wrong with that; my mix that was geographically themed and sequenced by smallest to largest populations worked quite well. Began with “Destination Moon” by They Might Be Giants and ended with “Across the Universe” by The Beatles. Pretty solid. But this mix was going to be different.

It was going to be all songs in the time signature of 8:8. That’s the time signature you can tap out as 1-2-3-1-2-3-1-2. Basically a bar of 6:8 (which is two bars of waltz tempo put together) with two more beats tacked on at the end. Make sense? Good. This mix was going to be full of 8:8 songs, all very different as to highlight the versatility of the time signature. There was to be “Kissing the Lipless” by The Shins, “Icarus Schmicarus” by McLusky, “I Hold the Sound” by The Thermals, “Let’s Talk About Spaceships” by Say Hi To Your Mom, “Draw Us Lines” by The Constantines, “Party Pit” by the Hold Steady, and more. It was to be a veritable menagerie to show the multitude of ways to use 8:8.

And then the fucking Mountain Goats beat me to it. I bought their new album yesterday, and upon listening to it, I noticed that John Darnielle sure is using a lot of 8:8 these days. Like, a lot a lot. As in, he decided to make his own mix CD of 8:8 songs, but only put his own music on it.

First things first. I am a huge Mountain Goats apologist. I drove from San Diego to Los Angeles last year and paid fifty bucks to see them as part of a benefit where they played five songs. Totally worth it. I try to get everyone I know to listen to the band. In fact, you should listen to the Mountain Goats. Now.

But back to this new album, Heratic Pride. It’s thirteen tracks long. Five of which (tracks 1, 3, 7, 10, and 11 if you’d like to know) are in 8:8 through and through. Four more of them (tracks 2, 4, 6, and 9) are played on the guitar in 8:8, though the drums keep steady 4:4 time. Aside – that’s another good thing about 8:8. One bar of 8:8 maintains the same song structure as two bars of 4:4, thus being a less confusing time signature to hear, and easier to keep time with. How do you not dangle that preposition? Easier with which to keep time?

So that’s nine songs of thirteen that either are, or seem to attempt to be, in 8:8. This does not bother me a great deal from a songwriting standpoint; though I think the album is a little over-reliant on the pattern, I’m sure it will all sound more normal with a few more listens. It bothers me from a music geek with a (admittedly probably incorrect) thought that he was going to make a great mix standpoint. It makes me feel as if this mix CD I wanted to make, that I’ve spent literally months compiling (okay, months of writing down a song when I notice it’s in 8:8 – I hadn’t gotten to vetting yet), pretty much moot. Because anything I put together, the Mountain Goats have just done better. Of course, I could still make the mix, and I’m sure it would be fine. Yet, for some reason, I’ve lost the want to do so.

This is the curse of being way too into music. Or anything else, I suppose, for that matter. Something as seemingly positive as this, the simple act of listening to a new album by an artist I love, has ruined a different part of my day. I still will love the new album, no doubt, but every time I listen to it, there might be a part of me resenting that it's made me arbitrarily decide I'm unable to make the mix CD that no one other than me would probably listen to anyway. I suppose I’ll just have to wait for inspiration to strike again, and I’ll have my next mix ready by 2010.

G2: Electrolytes that taste (bitter)sweet

2008-02-06T15:47:00.000-06:00

Have you tried G2? No, not the world leader summit where nothing gets accomplished. That's G8. No, not the processors Apple used in their adorable first-generation iMacs (so many colors!). Those are G3s. No, not the pitcher with over 300 career saves. That's Goose Gossage. I'm talking about the new low calorie Gatorade.

I could tie this in to sports, but I won't. I drink it because I'm a firm believer in electrolytes, and if I'm going to drink Gatorade, which tastes like nothing, I might as well drink G2, which tastes like nothing and is less bad for me.

Except G2 doesn't taste like nothing. In fact, G2 tastes almost exactly like the bottom of the Otter Pop, where it gets slushy and syrupy, and you can actually feel the sugar disassociating with the melting ice. It truly tastes like getting home from swim practice in the summer.

So as long as I'm going to drink a sports drink, I might as well drink one that tastes like nostalgia.

Kucinich!

2008-02-05T15:26:00.000-06:00

So it's Super Tuesday. Huzzah! In honor of that, I'm going to post something I wrote almost TWO months ago! Lucky you. I originally wrote this for HuffPo, but they seemed to decide it was irrelevant or something, which is why it is now being posted on a blog that no one reads.

I mentioned before that I had planned to vote for Kucinich. I wrote a full article on that. Now that I can't vote for him, and will be voting for someone else, as well as whether or not we should be better funding Native American alcohol addictions. Among other things.

My, have I gone link crazy today! Probably to make up for the lack of content. Anyway, here it is, my essay on supporting Kucinich. I called it: In Which I Give Money to a Candidate Who Very Well May Never Win a National Election, Ever. Enjoy. Or, don't.

Former good movie maker and current good author Steve Martin is also, we should recall, a former amazing stand-up comedian. On one track of his how-can-it-be-so-funny Let’s Get Small, Martin mentions a few of the things he’s purchased since he started raking in the money. “I got me a $300 pair of socks. I got a fur sink. Oh…let’s see…electric dog polisher, that was a good one. Gasoline-powered turtleneck sweater. And, of course, I’ve bought some dumb stuff, too.”

I, aside from also being genius in many formats (start looking forward to my lite rock album), have bought some stuff that others might be inclined to call “dumb”. Usually, I’m aware that I’m spending more money than I ought to in order to purchase something I ought not to. There’s the couple hundred I dropped on a button maker – buttons that you might wear to tout bands or presidential candidates – so that I can cut and paste words out of the New York Times and The Economist to say dirty things. There’s the two full Puma tracksuits I own, one larger than the other, so that I may wear one for lounging and one for formal occasions. People tend to think the fact that I still pay for the music I listen to, and buy all my albums in actual CD format, is not so bright in the age of The Napster and The Limewire and whatever the kids are using these days (darn kids with their rocking and rolling), especially considering I own near 500 CDs now. I own, and I am not exaggerating, four (count ‘em 1-2-3-4) copies of Buckaroo Banzai Across the Eighth Dimension. Yes, the one starring Peter Weller. One copy on DVD, two (count ‘em 1-2) VHS copies, and, naturally, a copy on BetaMax. The shipping cost more than the actual tape on that one.

And, yesterday, I added to that list of “dumb stuff” by dropping another fifty bucks down a black hole.

I donated to Dennis Kucinich’s campaign.

Yes. That Dennis Kucinich. Yes, yes, he has an attractive wife. I know. Yes, yes, he’s a vegan. I know this, too. Yes, yes, I feel like I could put him in my pocket and feed him M&Ms all day (oops…vegan) or bring him to work in my jacket a la Indian in the Cupboard. Well, I don’t know if I actually could do that last one—that’s more speculative on my part. Anyway, none of these things played into my decision to donate, for the first time in my life, to a political campaign. If I had wanted any of those things specifically, I could have supported Fred Thompson, Weird Al Yankovich, or an Oompa Loompa, respectively. Although, a point for Kucinich: with a British First Lady we could have the import tax lowered on Daniel Craig. I mean, Casino Royale was pretty rad. And I hear Golden Compass has talking bears in it and stuff.

So, why, then, have I decided to spend my hard-earned (okay, maybe not so hard-earned. To be fair, I am writing this while at work.) money on this exercise in futility? Well, first of all, I don’t subscribe to this I-Don’t-Recycle-Because-One-Can-Doesn’t-Make-A-Difference-Because-Other-People-Don’t-Recycle mentality. Kucinich most likely won’t win the election because we have been told he can’t win the election. He doesn’t win because you all (yes, YOU, Dear Reader) don’t want to “waste” your vote. However, I tend to think I’m only wasting my vote if I spend it on someone I don’t truly want to win, only because they’re the most “electable”. Let’s not do the whole cart-horse thing. You know. Putting one in front of the other or whatever.

Okay, that’s definitely enough preaching. I’m not Mike Huckabee (Zing! (But really. Talk about sneakily crazy with that guy.)).

More important, though, is that the longer Kucinich can stay in the race, the longer he gets a platform from which to voice his incredibly cogent views. And that means the other candidates might, just might, have to address those issues themselves. The more pointed, the more candid, the more direct Kucinich is in his criticisms and solutions, the less other candidates can respond to everything in glib sound bites. Also, every single sentence Kucinich says doesn’t start with, “My daddy worked in a mill.” We get it, John. We really, really get it. We got it four years ago; we get it now.

And that’s the story of Why I Decided to Give Money to Kucinich.

Besides, what else was I gonna spend the money on? Inflatable mittens?

I know, right? How could that have not been published? Another scathing mill insult to a candidate that's not even in the race anymore in a column about a candidate that never even really was in the race! A travesty, indeed.

Burying my last post

2008-02-03T03:16:00.000-06:00

I told you I was that guy when it comes to R.E.M. I was so excited just to write about them, I forgot to make it interesting. For fuck's sake, the best I had was a section eight discharge joke. Weak.

In other news, a "friend" of mine woke me up with a text early this Saturday morning to ask me to bring him a Gatorade because he was hung over. Great start to the weekend. But I did get a Blackberry today, thus insuring that I will never need to speak to another human ever again. Also proving to the world what a big shot I am. Cause I can totally look at how badly Boston College basketball got beat while on the go now. Great.

It's okay to be a dork about music

2008-02-02T12:02:00.000-06:00

So, obviously, I like to count music as one of my "things." Not a tangible thing, obviously, like my sweatshirt or watch. (A note from six days after this was written: what an awful, awful first two sentences. I used "obviously" twice, and feel the need to clarify common vernacular by referencing clothing to prove what a "thing" might be. Jesus. Just Bush League stuff right there.) But in the way that I always like to be in a band, and I always like to be on top of the new stuff that's really good (subjective, yes, I know. I tried to make a mix once of transcendental music that could reach out to anyone. No one liked it). I try not to be a snob about music, I try never to say, "Oh, their earlier stuff was way better," or, "They totally started sucking once they sold out." I was saying things like that once about Jimmy Eat World, about how, "Man, after Clarity they really started sucking," when my friend replied, "Yeah, I like their earlier stuff better, too, but I'm really happy they're getting the recognition they deserve, even if it's for the music I don't like as much." I stopped and thought about that, and realized I didn't even know who they were until years after Clarity came out, and had only be introduced to the early stuff because I had been intrigued by the music I had heard once they "started sucking."

That being said, I still get really excited when I hear something new and fresh that I can share with people; when I first heard The Hold Steady when Separation Sunday came out, I was forcing it on everyone (and, again, I wasn't even on board from the beginning. That was their second album). Old Crow Medicine Show and The Mountain Goats (who I only started listening to a dozen years into their career), I will make you listen to. Overall, I get most excited for the things most of us haven't heard, and then I like to share it.

With one major exception. The most excited I've been for a show in a long, long time is this news. I fucking love R.E.M. I love the stuff they put out on I.R.S. (Perfect Circle? Begin the Begin? Maps and Legends? Fuck and yes), and I love the popular stuff they put out on Warner Brothers (Man on the Moon? Find the River? Country Feedback? You know you love it), and I love the stuff they put out later on Warner Brothers that everyone said blew (Let Me In? Falls to Climb? Me and You? Those AREN'T amazing? Fuck you). I'm that asshole that you're talking about later on, and you say, "Yeah, but what's his deal with R.E.M.? They were cool like fifteen years ago, and even then, no one should have been that adamant about them." That's me.

Last time R.E.M. toured, I was a junior in college. I bought two tickets for the show, one for me and one for my then-girlfriend. Which I proceeded to lose prior to the show. Just, gone. Cause if there's one thing that's smart, it's to lose two $60 tickets. Just brilliant. Did I mention I've applied for PhD programs in Philosophy? It's true.

So I lost the tickets, and my then-girlfriend had something come up anyway, so she couldn't go. I borrowed a car the night of the show, intent on going to an amphitheater show by myself to scalp a ticket. I'm pathetic. Anyway, I get there, and some woman says, "Hey, I got a ticket in Section Eight I'll sell you for $40." Way below face value. Sweet deal. Then another woman comes up and says, "Well, I've got Section One for $50." The Section Eight woman says something along the lines of -- I'm going to stop me here and point out I resisted TWO opportunities to make a Section Eight/crazy joke -- , "Well, I guess you'll want the good seat then," and starts to leave.

Here's where my PhD-caliber mind kicks in. "Hey," I think to myself. "You've already blown over $100 on tickets for this show. You should really take the cheaper one." Not the correct thought process. Not, "Hey, you've already blown over $100 on tickets for the show. You should really just cough up the extra $10 to make it awesome." So I say to them, "I'll take the Section Eight." And it could have been meant in more ways than one!

Fuck. I was so close to getting through that.

As I stood in Section Eight, watching what was admittedly an awesome show that I thoroughly enjoyed, I looked over at Section One, where Michael Stipe was leaning into the crowd and shaking hands with people. I decided then and there that next tour, I was going to ensure that I got the best possible R.E.M. viewing experience, to make up for my stupidity. Hence this tour, where instead of driving up to L.A. from San Diego to see them at the Hollywood Bowl, I will be flying up to Berkeley to see them at the Greek Theatre. Kind of like watching the World Series in a stadium, or on a minor league field. It's just going to be worth it.

It fucking better be, at least.

Oh, the Democrats are awful at politics!

2008-01-30T00:26:00.000-06:00

I mentioned in my last little post there that the Democrats (I'm putting the "d" in caps because the fourth member of the Axis of Evil, the New York Times, does it) have probably found a way to lose the presidential election. That, of course, assumes it was theirs to lose. Which it very, very, very much was. House and Senate swung that way (and you know how the Democrats love to swing that way!) last time around, and I don't know if you've been paying attention, but it turns out a shitload of people aren't too thrilled about the war-lies-death whatnot. It was pretty much at the point where the Democrats could have run a Nazi eggplant and it would have beaten any Republican candidate (I didn't check if the New York Times put the "r" in caps; I assume not, because I'm pretty sure that newspaper is printed with ink made from the blood of the Vietnamese that were killed after we cut and ran).

And then Hillary Clinton started winning primaries. Now, a few things on that, first. I like Hillary Clinton. I have no problem with her, mostly because she seems intelligent and, you know, is a Democrat. So I'm not someone who is saying ANYONE BUT. Turns out I didn't even get to vote for my guy. I so wish we could have a President Kucinich. We could probably annex Narnia if that happened.

Also, two of Hillary's primary wins, Michigan and Florida, don't even have delegates. They don't count. But people are sheep (no offense, people), and will vote for whomever everyone else is voting for because, hell, they seem to be doing okay for themselves. So even though they literally mean nothing to the nomination, (very) convincing wins in Michigan and Florida can snowball into more victories on Super-Duper-Tuesday. I almost called it Super-Duper-Pooper-Scooper Tuesday, but then I realized I didn't write Meet the Spartans.

And so we've come down to this: Mittens and John and Hillary and Barry. And, to some extent, the Other John, but he's a populist, and there hasn't been one of those popular since Frank Baum wrote Wizard of Oz and no one realized it was propaganda anyway. It turns out, with Barry's rhetorical style (rhetorical like, way of speaking, and not "Why do you make me hurt you?"), he can beat any Republican that is running right now. He can elevate, he can get those Independents and retards that don't write in Ron Paul after Paul concedes and returns back to the moon of Endor where he belongs. Hillary can beat Mittens, because he's a retard, and if God actually blesses the Huckabee campaign with the nomination as He should because Huckabee hates the gays, Hillary can beat him (and Him), too.

But Hillary can't beat McCain. She's running on "experience" (total bullshit, FYI), and he's like 112 years old and has been in the Senate since before Henry Clay. She's running on Washington know-how, he's sponsored EVERY bill you've liked, EVER. She's running on It's Tough To Be In a Campaign Day In And Day Out, he's running on I Was Gang-Raped In The Hanoi Hilton. McCain wins every time.

And then we're in Iraq until Huckabee's God gives the earth back to Israel. Good work America. Because McCain hates hates hates the ay-rahbs, you've made certain for another 9/11, and then Rudy can try and be president again. This is your fault.

UPDATE: The Other John is dropping out because no one likes him, and is immediately returning to the mill whence he came. You do know he invented mills, right?

Still alive, promise

2008-01-25T16:12:00.001-06:00

HOLY shit a lot has happened since I wrote last, in many of the fields I purport to care about. We know who's going to be in the Super Bowl (the wrong Manning and the hot Brady (he is hot, right ladies? Or am I not good at judging the attractiveness of my own gender (also, Harry Connick, Jr. is dee are ee ay em why))), we have had all sorts of primaries (we've figured out how the Democrats will lose the election - run Hillary against McCain, and we will be in the Middle East until half past forever), I've bought all sorts of music (the new(ish) Panda Bear album is so so good...it's like Brian Wilson on crack), and I've been drunk all sorts of times (the fact that you can get a handle of vodka at any grocery store for only ten bucks still is one of God's little miracles). Also, I've slept a lot. Though not last night, which is another story for another day for another blog (such a gross word) that deals with relationships falling apart. So onward.

I've not been writing because my work, my tie-wearing, desk-sitting, Excel-using, multi phoneline-having work, has reached the level of Utter Ridiculousness. That point where you're working so hard, for so many hours, for something so useless, and for so little money, you kinda wonder why you're still there, and then you remember rent's due by the fourth.

But when one of the directors of the company questions why you keep coming in every day, maybe you ought to jump ship.

(Every "you" in that last little rant was actually "me." I don't know where you work. Or who any of the directors are. Or their thoughts on your position. I'm not that presumptuous.)

In other news, hey, have you tried that mozzarella they're selling at that Costco near my office yet? Fucking delicious. I suggest it with tomatoes, basil, finely ground salt, coarse pepper, and olive oil. Yes, I know that's just a caprese salad. But I figured you could use a little culture today.

See what I did there? It was a really subtle dairy joke (what with the culture), AND a really subtle callback to me not being presumptuous by presuming your cultural knowledge! Fuck. I should write for Steven Wright or something.

I would hate to be a Steelers fan

2008-01-05T21:49:00.000-06:00

I would hate, hate, hate to be a Steelers fan. I'm watching them play Jax right now in the playoffs, and they've just come within five, and had the two-point conversion called back due to holding on the center. But they're bringing it close again. But even if they win, it has to be somewhat hollow. Steelers fans, sadly, live and die by Big Ben Roethlisberger. Who, this game alone, thus far (10:25 left in the 4th), is 27-38 with 325 yards and two TDs. Pretty fucking good. And three interceptions. Oh. And five sacks. Thus the reason the Steelers are down five points.

Big Ben can throw the ball a mile and a half, like a bullet. He can also toss the ball the nearest guy in the other uniform just as easily. Or get the ball tipped to no one in particular. And he's REAL good at losing way too many yards on sacks. He's amazingly talented and has amazingly little football sense. So even though the Steelers won the Super Bowl a few years back, I can guarantee at no point did the fans feel safe, like Ben had it covered. Even Colts fans in all those years before making it to the bowl had to feel like they had a better shot. Fuck, even Chargers fans last year with Rivers and Schottenheimer must have felt safer. Cubs fans feel more confident.

Let's hope he fucks up a few more times. I've got 20-1 the Jags win the Super Bowl.

UPDATE: Big Ben was sacked and fumbled at the end of the 4th quarter to lose the game. Check and mate.

OMG!!! 2008!!! It's, like, a new year and shit!!!

2008-01-01T16:38:00.000-06:00

Is it obvious I don't care? All it means is I'm going to have to update a lot of stuff at work when people forget it's 2008 for about the first two months. BUT, because people do this, my music for 2007:

Albums (no order)
LCD Soundsystem (Sounds of Silver) –– Holy balls "Someone Great" is amazing. Oh, and the rest of it, too.
Battles (Mirrored) – Sexyness in really tall cymbol form.
Iron and Wine (The Shepherd's Dog) - Sam Beam goes full-band and it doesn't sound totally lame.
Future of the Left (Curses) – Though not out stateside yet, 2/3 of McLusky rock your face.
Les Savy Fav (Let's Stay Friends) – The coolest thing about this album is how understated it is.
Spoon (Ga x5) – Either "Finer Feelings" or the LCD Soundsystem song gets my vote for year's best.
Tom Waits (Orphans) – Technically, 2006. But three new discs from Waits is so sexy.
CYHSY (Some Loud Thunder) – Except for "Satan Said Dance", I think this lives up to the hype of the sophomore album
Daft Punk* (Alive 2007) - *Don't have the album, but saw it. Goddamn it was good.

Albums I listened to most this year
Wolf Parade – Apologies to the Queen Mary
Hold Steady – Boys and Girls in America
Thermals – The Blood, The Body, The Machine
Peter Bjorn John – Writer's Block. Fuck you. It's catchy.
Girl Talk – Night Ripper
Decemberists – The Crane Wife
Kinks – Village Green Preservation Society
Beach Boys – Pet Sounds
Daniel Johnston –– Welcome to my World
Atom and his Package – Redefining Music
Wilco – Yankee Hotel Foxtrot
Fugazi – The Argument
Jets to Brazil– – Orange Rhyming Dictionary
Man Man– – Six Demon Bag
The Streets – A Grand Doesn't Come for Free

Haven't Heard so Can't Be On The List
Dinosaur Jr.
Panda Bear
Okkervil River
Jay-Z

So there's that. I actually failed to see most every movie that came out in 2007, so not so much one of those lists. Turns out it takes a lot of effort to get off your ass, pay ten bucks, and sit in a theater. So I didn't. Enjoy the new year. Or something.

David Bowie = Awesome

2007-12-24T01:50:00.001-06:00

I was just watching on the internets here this classic clip of Bing Crosby singing "Little Drummer Boy" with David Bowie. It's Christmas time and all, and though I don't go in for Holiday Gatherings and Celebrating, I do go in for David Bowieing. Watch that clip I linked to, and try and think of anyone else from his (or any more recent) generation that might look as at ease as Bowie does, being forced to give canned lines and pretend to break out in song with an old crooner way past his prime.

This, of course, is the same Bowie that made Zoolander twenty times better than it already was. This is the same Bowie that we'll go to the mat for when someone says "China Girl" isn't actually that good, even though we know it's true. This is the David Bowie that is one of two people, along with Eddie Izzard, that can cross-dress yet not make that the thing - the talent actually eclipses the weird.

I used to have a list of the three most awesome people in the world. It went David Bowie, Snoop Dogg, and #3 was TBD. But last week, apropos of another conversation, I promoted David Bowie to his own class. David Bowie is awesome. Not "is awesome" in the way that soup "is hot" or a frog "is green"; Bowie actually instantiates awesomeness. Go ahead. Name me someone cooler. I didn't think so.

As this is the Christmas season, I do have one wish. I wish Bowie had died for my sins instead. I'd much rather pray to him.

(Insert your own blood/body of Bowie joke here.)

Dear American Express

2007-12-18T14:43:00.000-06:00

To Whom it May Concern,

I was looking over my billing statement, and in the fine print, you tell me that if I am unhappy with a purchase made, and have tried "in good faith" to rectify the problem, you can take it off my bill. Well, it just so happens that I made a purchase in the last billing cycle that I am very dissatisfied with, and I would like it to be taken off my statement.

I am kindly requesting that you remove the $50 contribution I made to Dennis Kucinich's campaign.

I have seen nothing result from my purchase. The war in Iraq has not ended. Congress has not dislodged its head from its ass long enough to pass a FISA bill. New housing starts are down 3.7% last month. Mike Huckabee still exists. Hell, my house is still dirty and my wang isn't any longer. And my $50 seems not to have changed any of this.

Now, you may quibble with whether or not I have, "in good faith," tried to rectify the problem. To my mind, the contribution itself was supposed to rectify the problem. It has not. Kucinich is no closer to the White House than he was prior to my purchase of $50 worth of campaign units. So, I suppose you, good people at Amex, have a choice. Either ensure me a Kucinich victory, or please refund my $50. Or, at least, stop Dick Cheney from being.

All the best,
[redacted]

The Mitchell Report, aka Hal Morris? Really?

2007-12-13T18:50:00.000-06:00

So the Mitchell Report, in which we have been given the names of many different baseball players who took performance enhancing substances (to use the euphemism for "steroids"), came out today. I won't say too much, because ESPN is doing, like, ninety consecutive hours on the issue, but a couple thoughts.

1. During the press conference, Senator Mitchell pretty much said, "This is the list. Please ignore it and go about your business." Now, I understand why it's hard to penalize these people, and let those that were just better at cheating off the hook, but really? Just, here's the report, please don't go and do anything about it? Good work.

2. Larry Bagbie actually wrote, in the memo field of a check used to pay for steroids, "Supplements". Not really a great way to cover your tracks there, Bags. Maybe a little more discreet next time, eh? Even if you're way into it, your check memo should never read, "Hookers and blow".

3. F.P. Santangelo was on the list? Adam Piatt? Jesus, think of how bad they would have been without steroids. It boggles the mind.

We get it, Russia. You're fucking nuts.

2007-12-11T10:12:00.000-06:00

I've mentioned a few times how this (American) administration loves to give its populace "Are you fucking kidding me?" moments every so often (okay, every very often), in which the only reasonable response to what they've done is say, you guessed it, "Are you fucking kidding me?" It's down to a science, almost, and I have to admit I was afraid that, geopolitically speaking, we were the best (worst?) at this "Gotcha again!" mentality.

But then I remembered Russia exists. Now, to be fair, Russia's had it's share of problems throughout the last century. And my fair share of problems. And your fair share of problems. And Canada's fair share of problems. And all of Oceania. Basically, the history of 20th Century Russia went a little like this (I'm paraphrasing from my 20th Century Russian History class I took in college): Famine, Civil War, famine, World War, famine, World War, Stalin/famine/gulags/Great Purges, economic collapse, famine, Perestroika, economic collapse. They're not really building on a tremendous track record.

So they elect Putin a few years back, and it appears that the Russians have managed to get past Yeltsin, and elect someone who might actually have his shit together enough to run a country. Except they didn't count on the crazy. Putin's, you know, totalitarianist tendency to not want to abdicate once his second (and final) term as President expires next year. But the Russians, and the global community, are having none of this "Fuck the constitution" mentality Putin seems to champion. Ironic the United States is against that. But I digress.

So what does Putin do? If you've been reading the news, you see he held elections last week (I think) that his party swept. Surprisingly, there have been claims of Russia's favorite "F" word, fraud. Not the point. Two days ago, Putin said, "Okay, well, if I can't be president again next year, and I can't keel moose and squirrel, I want this guy you've never heard of to be president." This guy we've never heard of, Dmitri Medvedev, aside from being one M or V away from being a palindrome, has almost no record of high-level service. It kinda seems like, I dunno, Putin is telling Russia to elect someone that he could have total control over. But would he really be so brazen as to do something that obvious?

The New York Times, a publication that most certainly believes that abortion should not only be legal, but mandatory, printed the story today that, OMG, Medvedev thinks that maybe when he's president, would it be all right if Putin comes over and is Prime Minister? One day after someone Russians haven't even heard of is recommended as the next president by the current one, said potential successor mentions casually, "Oh, and the guy that wants me in might, you know, stay in power." There's even the possibility Medvedev could step down, and Putin could regain the presidency.

You know, for a country that's criticized for lack of transparency in governmental operations, this one's pretty obvious. Well played, Russia. Well played.

Do The Grammys not have iTunes?

2007-12-06T15:36:00.000-06:00

The 50th Grammy Awards nominations were announced today. And, my God, the people that decide what's the best in the world for the entire year must really splurge on the Down's Syndrome. It seems that they've officially taken the stance that "I heard that song on the radio a few months back and it wasn't any good but I guess it was all right" is good enough to get a nod.

Before we go any further: Full disclosure of what I own that was nominated. Six things. Five albums and one DVD. The albums are Arcade Fire, LCD Soundsystem, Tom Waits, Kanye West, and Lupe Fiasco. The DVD is R. Kelly's second installment of Trapped in the Closet. I own the first half, too. I am not ashamed of this. They are the best unintentional comedies since, well, ever. But if you think that list I presented is crap, then you might not like what I have to say about the grammy nominations.

Kanye West led the pack with something like eight nominations. People seemed to ignore that most the album is pretty okay, but not like the first two. So there, like with mutherfucking Bon Jovi's nomination, we're going with, "Well, you did some cool shit once." Minus any cool shit for Bon Jovi. Amy Winehouse has a shitload of nominations. I don't care about her personal life, but simply writing about drug abuse is no cause for a Grammy. Why doesn't John Darnielle, then, have twelve shelves full of the awards for The Mountain Goats? Talking about doing lines over Norah Jones music doesn't qualify as awesome.

The list goes on with the usual suspects. Paul McCartney? Yeah, the Beatles were pretty good. Foo Fighters? Remember when that album with "Monkey Wrench" came out? Let's KEEP nominating them!

But why am I bitching so much? Why am I surprised. This is the group of people that told us Steely Goddamn Dan's Two Against Nature was better than Kid A. I guess I should be more worried if I start to agree with the nominations.

Except for the best songwriting nod to "Hey There Delilah." It's like he's singing only for me! Sigh.

We don't believe you, Iran

2007-12-05T13:06:00.000-06:00

So now, today, the president is telling Iran they MUST come clean concerning their nuclear programs and ambitions.

Ummm...didn't our own NIE do that? Like, just yesterday? Welp, see ya later!

Can I has my Iran boom plz?

2007-12-04T17:01:00.000-06:00

Good news! I mentioned yesterday that the NIE (National Intelligence Estimate) said that maybe Iran isn't quite so deadly and maybe they're not plotting to rape you in your sleep tonight. Bush? He stills worries for your cherry. The New York Times, well-known for it's desire to see Jesus re-crucified, has Bush saying this:

"[T]he N.I.E. doesn’t do anything to change my opinion about the danger Iran poses to the world — quite the contrary.”

And from the tea-sniffers at the BBC (notice the addition of the word "me" to the word "program". Fucking selfish wrong-side-driving-lift-riding fops.):

"I view this report as a warning signal that they had the programme, they halted the programme," Mr Bush told a news conference. "The reason why it's a warning signal is they could restart it."

So. Let's see. The report that Iran isn't very dangerous makes Bush think Iran is more dangerous. The fact that Iran stopped its attempt to make nuclear weapons is a warning that they are trying to make nuclear weapons.

This administration, I truly believe, isn't going to quit until it has every American saying every day, at least once, "Are you fucking kidding me?" Or until our collective heads explode simultaneously when we are unable to comprehend what the administration just did. Hopefully, we'll all be vacationing in Tehran when that happens. Take that, Islam!

Whoopsy!

2007-12-03T17:00:00.000-06:00

Iran with the nuclear weapons? Not so much. Sorry...no hard feelings? BFF Iran? Kthxbye!

Where have all the good racists gone?

2007-11-26T12:33:00.000-06:00

Well, Trent Lott up and resigned. I haven't actually read any coverage of said resignation, but I'm sure his speech went something like, "I have decided to leave the Senate to concentrate all my efforts on hanging me some more negros." And like that (or, over the course of a few years), the gang of 100 has lost Strom Thurmond, George Allen, Rick Santorum, and Trent Lott. All dedicated, strong-willed racists. Thurmond obviously wins in the group; he ran for president in 1948 (!) on a segregationist platform, filibustered to stop a civil rights law vote, and had a mulatto child out of wedlock. George Allen lost his incumbency after referring to an indian man as "macaca", loves him some n-word, and became irate when "accused" of being Jewish, only to announce the next day his mother was, in fact, Jewish. Trent Lott said, in public, that the country would have been much better off if Thurmond has won the presidency because of what "they" had done to society, "they" being the darkies. And Rick Santorum? Well, he's just a huge, huge douchebag. And, to be honest, not really out-and-out a racist as much as a major gay-basher that dabbles in minority-hating on the side.

So where does that leave us, the American People? Where can we find us some good, old-fashioned, black hating? I'm pretty sure David Duke is dead or in prison or already in office in the South, and even though South Carolina would vote him back in, I'm almost positive the law does not allow for Strom Thurmond to be re-elected. So, that leaves us with a very big void.

Though, if I had to guess, I'd bet Joe Leiberman HATES black people.

Dos and Don'ts of Heavy Drinking

2007-11-09T13:13:00.000-06:00

Allow me to walk you through my last night's evening as a series of what to do, and now not to do, when engaging in what we in the industry like to call "getting really really drunk".

DO: Think of something fun to do while drinking. While, yes, it is incredibly entertaining to sit on your couch and drink until pass-out while watching whatever shit Fox thinks you should watch (I don't have cable), sometimes it's also fun to actually go out and experience something while hammered. Last night was the Art Brut/Hold Steady show.

DO: Get a designated driver. A good choice is your girlfriend's co-worker, Chris. Thanks, Chris!

DO: Buy drinks for your friends. It's just nice.

DON'T: Buy way too many drinks for your friends. Your tab will end up being over $100, and that's just not necessary.

DON'T: Think it's a good idea to order a beer and a mixed drink at the same time, and then chug the beer and sip the mixed drink. It probably should go the other way around, even if you do really impress the bartender with your retardedness.

DO: Congratulate the band on a great show, if you happen to see one of the members after the set.

DON'T: Buy a shot of Jaeger for you and who you assume is the drummer for Art Brut after many, many drinks. Though it probably is the drummer from Art Brut, you've had enough to drink, mister.

DO: Enjoy the ocean view after the show, if the venue is right on the beach. It's a nice way to relax after some rock and roll.

DON'T: Decide to actually go in the ocean, fully clothed, at midnight for no particular reason. The water is cold and you're an idiot for thinking that's a good idea.

DO: Give your wallet and electronic devices to someone smart enough not to go into the water so they are not ruined.

DON'T: Leave your wallet and electronic devices with said smart person after he drops you off at your apartment. You probably were going to need those things the next day.

DO: Thank your driver again. He was very nice to stay sober and drive your ridiculous ass around.

DON'T: Keep trying to insist that the driver sleep over at your place. He's not drunk and can drive home just fine. Besides, that's really really awkward.

DON'T: Try to have sex with your girlfriend if you've had over half a bottle of wine, slammed three beers, and had somewhere in the vicinity of a half dozen hard drinks. It's just not gonna work that well.

Hopefully this gives you some guidelines to work with. Basically, have fun, be safe out there, and don't do what I like to call "be a complete dipshit". As you can see, I followed most of those rules last night. Most.

Don't You Evah

2007-11-07T15:26:00.001-06:00

I would be hard-pressed to find someone that couldn't find something to like about the band Spoon. There's something instantly familiar about every song in their catalogue - the first time I hear a new Spoon song, half of me is amazed at how great it is, and the other half is convinced I heard that song on an AM radio twelve years ago in a dark car on Interstate 5. The music is both incredibly fresh, and somehow atemporal. There's something to be said for a band that can release four individual, cohesive albums in a row without succumbing to the tricks that made the record prior successful, yet maintain a signature "sound", for lack of a better word, throughout its variations.

The other side of this dichotomy, however, is that for no actual reason I always assumed Britt Daniel, the lead singer, is a major asshole. I have, it should be noted, absolutely no basis for this mindset. Up until very recently - around the time Ga Ga Ga Ga Ga was released - I had not read anything slightly incendiary about him, nor had I heard, read, or seen an interview with him or anyone else that would lead me to think he's a dick. In fact, seeing Spoon live in the Fall of 2005, not only was Daniel not an asshole, he seemed pretty normal on stage. Minimal banter, and all positive. I suppose I just thought he looked too cool, and sang with too much attitude, or some other reason that sounds like a 70-year old grandmother saying, "I don't like the way the kids these days move their hips when they walk!" Maybe I heard there was a lot of band turnover (which I'm not even sure is true), and immediately got this Tweedy vibe of him being a control freak and driving people insane. Regardless, the ultimate feeling I've had is that I dig the band, but not the dude.

I read an interview at the Onion AV Club a while back with Daniel, who had this to say (among other things):

I think we're one of the best bands making records today, and do I think we should be selling more records than Maroon 5? Yeah, because I think we're better.

This statement, simple as it is, turned out to be the Rosetta Stone for unraveling my ambivalence. Spoon is, plainly said, an incredible band, and for some reason I was faulting Daniel for knowing that. Though I had never heard him discuss his music, he maintains an air of, "Yeah, this is really fucking good, innit?" And, goddammit, it is. His attitude is that of someone that knows what is going on is great, and more importantly, fun, and wants other people to share that. Instead of him holding the music and his band over his audience, he's inviting us to get in on it with him. And, let's be honest. If you don't think you're making great music, you probably shouldn't really be in the game anyway. It just so happens Daniel thinks that, and can actually back it up with his records.

Or, maybe I'm just saying that so I can sleep better at night when I drift off thinking about Finer Feelings. Which I do. Seriously. Best song ever.

Bill Belichick hates you and beats your mother

2007-11-05T16:02:00.000-06:00

I am not from Boston. Nor was I raised to be a fan of any sport other than baseball. That being said, I always liked the Red Sox because they weren't the Yankees and they had a big wall in left field. The Celtics and Patriots, I couldn't have cared less about. I'm unsure whether or not the Bruins are even still a hockey team. When I got accepted to school in Boston, I was asked multiple times, "Oh, are you going to become a big Red Sox fan now?" I said no; I was unaware one could switch allegiances simply because one was going to go to school in a new city. I was born and raised an A's fan, and I wasn't going to turn my back on Lance Blankenship now. It SEEMS that many of the kids I met in college didn't follow that rule. All of a sudden, people from Maryland and California were lifelong Sox fans, living and dying by Vinatieri's field goals, and storming Fenway when the Sox took game seven from the Yankees in 2004. I, however, came and went the same way: like the Sox, know Larry Bird was on the Celtics, know Tom Brady's way sexy.

This year, that's all changed. I am absolutely loving the Patriots' dominance over the entire league. I'm not going to try to wax intellectual about this too much, because ESPN can do it with better insight, and deadspin can do it funnier, but the simple fact of the matter is that the Patriots hate everyone, and to me, that's tremendous. That they're so unapologetic, and so insistent on everyone getting pissed at them is the best story in the NFL. Bill Simmons, a few weeks back, talked about the eff-you touchdown the Pats have been tacking on to all the games recently. Those extra points that just aren't needed, but 52-6 is obviously much better than 45-6, and Brady's gotta stay in just in case. Up until yesterday, playing the Colts, the Pats had beat the spread every single game this year. The only people outside of New England that actually wanted the Pats to win at this point in the season were gamblers, knowing to bet on a sure thing.

And then came yesterday. Spread's 5.5, Patriots up by 4, and can kick a field goal with about 1:12 left to add the eff-you score. But instead, Belichick takes a knee four times. Why? Why not really drive it home to the team that stole the trip to the Super Bowl last year? Simple. This was Belichick's FUCK YOU to the only people that were still rooting for the Patriots - the gamblers. There's a very real possibility that he's such an asshole, Belichick actually thought it'd be more worthwhile to say fuck off to the few people left on his side than to the team he was beating. And there's a special place reserved for people as dick as that. It's called Awesometown, and Belichick just elected himself mayor.

And just like that, I have turned into THAT Boston sports fan. Just wait until I can't stop talking about KG and Pierce together.

Joe Torre + Dodgers = Who Give a Shit?

2007-11-02T10:31:00.000-05:00

If you go here, you will see an article on espn.com (THE sports leader!) lamenting the fact that while the news that Joe Torre is leaving the Evil Empire is HUGE, the news that he's replacing Grady Little's sorry ass in Los Angeles (the real Los Angeles - Chavez Ravine. Not this "The Los Angeles Angels of Anaheim" bullshit. Which, if you actually do the translation on, does, in fact, read "The The Angels Angels of Anaheim. Assholes) is barely making a plop out here on the Left Coast.

Let me tell you why. Yes, sure, out here in Southern California we're all too busy making sex tapes and then aborting the fetuses created in said sex tapes, and having dinner with famous people and then surfing, but there's more to it than that. First off, we don't get our sensationalism out of the world of sports. Unless the sports figure is caught railing some crazy 20-year old in Colorado, or murdering an ex-wife and a waiter. Because we have Hollywood right here (NIMBY!), we don't need ornery 60-year old baseball managers on our front pages (looking in your direction, Post).

But, more important than that, and I say this as a moderate Dodgers fan, is that no one cares if Joe Torre is coming to the Dodgers because no one cares what happens to the Dodgers. The Dodgers, yes, used to be cool. They had Tommy Lasorda. They had multiple rookies of the year in a row. They even had Kirk Gibson. Now, all the Dodgers have is the almost-preternatural ability to rise to first place in the NL West for one day in July, and then slowly start the decline into third place by the end of the season (or, like this year, fourth). Not even the fact that Jeff Kent is the coolest mutherfucker ever can make up for the apathy the Dodgers have forced on their fans. But, for the record, Jeff Kent is definitely the coolest mutherfucker ever.

So there you have it. No one cares because it won't matter. The only thing the Dodgers aren't mediocre at is mediocrity, at which they excel. No fancy-pants New York manager is gonna change that.

FUN FACT TO TIE THIS WHOLE THING TOGETHER: You know who was hired as the baseball trainer for Bull Durham, the tremendous Hollywood film about baseball? Grady Little. Boo-yah fuckers. That's called dove-tailing.

Ahoy ahoy

2007-11-02T01:13:00.000-05:00

So. Blogging and all that. Wave of the future and whatnot. Rad.

I took my url, keepwalkingblue, from one of my favorite drinks, Johnnie Walker Blue Label (don't go thinking I'm too elitist - I'll drink fucking Pine-Sol if the proof is high enough). Though, I suppose if I were authentic, it would be one of my favourite drinks. Luckily, I'm not a filthy, filthy Brit. Along with Scotch, I quite enjoy music, politics, other forms of fermentation, sleep, and other unrelated things. This post comes from one of those specifically aforementioned realms; namely, politics.

If you didn't know, our Fearless Leader in Pottsylvania has nominated a certain Judge Mukasey to replace former Attorney General Alberto Gonzalez (A.G.A.G. to his posse), and Mukasey's nomination has stalled due to his refusal to definitively say whether or not waterboarding, a method where we (America - fuck yeah!) torture people, is torture. Read from the esteemed pinko hack zine the New York Times:

Mr. Mukasey, 66, a retired federal judge from New York, referred to the criminal liability issue several times in nearly 180 pages of written answers delivered to the Senate on Tuesday. He said that while he personally found waterboarding and similar interrogation methods “repugnant,” he could not call them illegal. One reason, he said, was to avoid any implication that intelligence officers and their bosses had broken the law.

So. There we have it. The nominee for the top law enforcement position in the land refuses to aver a position as to whether or not something might be illegal because it might be illegal. Tremendous. This, I believe, only further provides evidence to my theory that this entire administration is based solely on making people say, "Are you fucking serious?" as many times as possible. Sure, sure, it started with going to war under false pretenses, and shooting hunting buddies in the face, and so forth and so on same old song and dance, but it's gotten to the point where Cheney will actually say, "Oh, no, the Veep office isn't part of the executive branch!" He's got to have balls bigger than EPCOT, man.

It's almost - almost- impressive how much bullshit is flung at the wall by these guys. Even more impressive is how much it sticks. To paraphrase David Byrne: We all say we want the truth. What we really want is better fiction.