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.