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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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!

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

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

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!

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

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

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!!!

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.