On this site I will rant incoherently about songs that have utterly consumed me for extended periods of time. There will be an embedded Youtube video at the bottom of each post where you can easily check out the song. This is not a review site, and I am not a musician, so let's set the bar really low, shall we? If you would like to weather the extended rationale for this wholly irrational site, it’s in the first post.
I need a room to write in. Living in a studio apartment means that I only write in places that are usually used for relaxing. I have a desk in the kitchen, but my kitchen is small and drab, with white walls, a white refrigerator, white countertops, and white cupboards. If the KKK ate marshmallows while having a cotton ball fight in there, it'd go perfectly with the decor.
I either write on my couch or in bed. I try to sit up, but inevitably I'm leaning back against the wall or couch in a semi-prone position. Certainly this can't be good for my writerly work ethic! What I need is a small desk to put in my bedroom/living room. Or a smaller couch. My sectional, in all its blue leather glory, monopolizes the space in my apartment. Needless to say, I have some serious interior decorating conundrums to tackle.
Writing in a cafe is okay, but there's too many distractions. One of my favorite cafes has one major drawback. The door is large and wood, and apparently the hinges are constantly hosed down with WD-40. Whenever anyone comes in, it slams shut loudly enough to wake Abraham Lincoln from the dead in time to watch the premier of his new movie. I try to brace myself, but, inevitably, every time it slams I am jolted out of whatever tenuous concentration zone I have managed to wriggle myself into.
Another local cafe is a viable option, but it also has a couple serious drawbacks. It gets busy, and sometimes the only seats are by the window. These seats are pulverized by the sun, and within minutes I'm sweating like I'm picking oranges in the Florida sun. The cappuccino machine is also impossibly loud, with a sudden loud sucking sound that seems like it could yank my brains out through my ear. That leaves about four seats, perfectly positioned far enough away from both the windows and the kitchen, that are safe for me to sit in and write.
Stephen King said in On Writing that a comfortable writing space is essential for a writer. Hopefully, once I get that, I can circumvent certain other "necessities" such as attention span, consistent work ethic, and significant talent.
We both have exams tomorrow. We've reached that point of stress where we can't even comprehend the stress anymore. We're numb to it. All those days sitting in the back of a 400 person lecture hall, squinting our eyes to make out the professor droning on in the front of the class. European History 1680-1820. Exactly how do they decide how to demarcate these years? Maybe I'd know if I'd studied harder. All I know is nothing interests me until about 1880, and even that's a stretch.
I stare fiercely at my notes, trying to instantaneously set to memory approximately 73,000 facts. I feel like the blockhead villain from Superman II trying to set a branch on fire with his eyes. If I just concentrate hard enough, focus enough energy straight down at the page, all this information I should have been slowly committing to memory over the past four weeks will be sucked into my brain like errant pennies into a vacuum cleaner.
I look over at Jimmy, and he looks as clueless and burnt out as I do.
"Man, we're screwed," I say, leaning over and punching him on the shoulder.
"No, YOU'RE SCREWED. I'm merely on the verge of being put on academic probation if I fail this dumb*ss class."
"That sucks. Guess it's Five Star Pizza, a two liter of Mountain Dew, and Napoleon's bloated corpse to keep us company tonight."
"Awesome..."
Five hours later, we have both consumed approximately six greasy slices of Five Star Pizza, and our triumphant belches indicate that the Mountain Dew supply has been depleted. Our greatest accomplishment, however, is not becoming experts on the Napoleonic Wars. Instead, the early morning sun shines in on an 8 X 10 foot wall of our apartment newly wallpapered with rave flyers.
Florescent planets orbit around a bubble font, announcing DJ Stylus, one of our favorites, spinning from 12-2 am at Firestone. A hippie flower font celebrates a set by Superstar DJ Keoki, sure to produce enough cacophonous house music to precipitate a migraine headache. Fisher-Price men represent breakbeat DJs, set against a kindergarten binder paper background for a reunion flyer. A picture of a kid chewing on a record proclaims a big night at Simon's with all the residents. Twenty-five flyers, meticulously taped to the wall for no other reason than to continue our epic procrastination session.
"Man, that looks pretty dope."
"Yeah."
"How many hours we got left?"
"Well, it's 6:!5 now. Class is at 10:40. I'm gonna sleep for an hour, study for two, then see what the hell happens."
"Eh. If I go to sleep I'll never wake up. I'll be out here..."
I can't for the life of me remember what we got on that test, but we tore down the wallpaper within about two weeks.
My grandmother just kept repeating my last name over and over. We didn't have a language in common, so I guess that's all she could think of to say. She was in her late eighties, and as a nineteen-year-old I was meeting her for the first time since I was an infant. The hotel she lived in in Lucern was very glamorous, with impossibly high ceilings and gold stairway railings. My grandmother, though hunched-over with withered skin, was made up like a thirty-year-old. Her lipstick was a vibrant red, and her expensive-looking jewelry dangled loosely on her tiny arms.
When I walked into her room, all I saw were pictures and paintings of my mother. A Warhol-type painting of my mother's face, mostly black with outlines of pink and bright green. A soft-looking photograph where she gazed contentedly into the camera. A picture of her in a bright orange sun dress, walking a Yorkie through the streets of Paris. An abstract painting of my mother's profile, but with the distinctively soft features and short bob of red hair.
I didn't know what to make of this room. Was it a moving tribute to her deceased daughter, or a sad indication of a woman that had never been able to move on? It seemed like the room was haunted by a beautiful ghost, and although I couldn't communicate with my grandmother, I felt like I could feel her sadness permeating the air. All I could do was hug her and smile.
My grandmother passed away soon after I visited, and I can't say I felt much sadness. I didn't really know her at all, and she had seemed so old already. The sadness I felt was thinking that she might have looked at those beautiful pictures every day and not rejoiced in the memory of her daughter, but instead questioned what she could have done differently.
I'm finishing up a weekend at Asilomar, an English teacher conference in Pacific Grove. The majority of my time has been spent in a Creative Nonfiction breakout group, and it's been really amazing. I've read incredible pieces, talked to and heard from inspiring people, and had the opportunity to do my own writing and share it with others. It's really been great, and I just hope I can come back next year and do it again.
In the midst of a busy school year, it can seem difficult to justify a weekend without a lot of time set aside for grading essays, writing letters of recommendation, etc. However, I feel so pumped up to bring these lessons back to my students, and so excited to just have the opportunity to be an English teacher and a writer (d****eb*g alert, I know, but I'm using the definition of writer simply as "one who writes").
There were "fireside chats" as well, about "Memoir as History" (totally up my alley) and "Technology in the Classroom" (needs to be up my alley). The two sessions were completely different, but the people I heard speak were so passionate, and had such strong views-it really sparked some great conversations and food for thought.
I'm sure I sound like I've drank some serious teacher Kool-Aid, but I don't care. F*ck cynicism. This weekend ruled, and teaching rules. And Television rules! And Tennis' cover version rules, though to a slightly lesser extent than the original, like a movie made out of a great book! BAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHH!!!!!!!
I'm definitely still a fan of electronic music after all these years, but at this point there are only two genres I can listen to on a regular basis: drum and bass and breaks. Dubstep, unless it's chilled out like this mix, is just too atonal and annoying, and I've never been a fan of house and trance. I just can't hang with straight beat. But although drum and bass especially scrambles my brain after a bit, I still love it. The best djs (usually people from the UK like Andy C, Friction, and Culture Shock) spin really dark sh*t with great beats.
Breaks will always be in my heart, since it was the first electronic music genre I ever got into. Unfortunately, there's not that many "modern" breaks djs I'm that into. It's basically Stanton Warriors and... Stanton Warriors. I'm sure there's more out there, but the majority of the breaks djs I love had their heyday at least ten years ago.
But Stanton Warriors are still killing it ten years in, as evidenced by this Mixmag mix. The Culture Shock mix also destroys, with no record wearing out its welcome for even a second. Dark and always rolling.
I think I'll be seventy years old and still bugging out to this stuff. I'm alright with it. :)
What's in a band name? Well, everything and nothing. A bad band name can be a huge turnoff, but if the band itself is great, it can usually overcome the handicap. Conversely, while a great band name is definitely a plus, it never compensates for sh*tty music. On the surface, Third Eye Blind is kinda a cool band name. But their music is boring, thus practically negating any goodwill gained by the name. Here are some personal favorites, least favorites, and a few brilliant band name ideas:
Best: Talking Heads: It just works. Fits the vibe of the band without going overboard. Little tongue in cheek, slightly nerdy. Tame Impala: It just sounds good, flows off the tongue, and borrows some of the badass rep of the Impala. Perfect name for a pretty kick-ass rock band. Built To Spill: Almost dumb, but for some reason it works. Great band, with a name that kinda makes you scratch your head. The xx: Perfectly fits their stark, minimalistic sound. Wouldn't be that great a name if it didn't totally jive with the music. As it is, it's a winner. Sudden Infant Dance Syndrome: Totally inappropriate, but kinda one of the best puns ever. Talk about a mental picture!
Worst: The Fiery Furnaces: it's just awkward, and brings to mind nasty things. Peaking Lights: a perfect description of their sound, thus preempting any growth of the band in the future! And You Will Know Us By The Trail Of Dead...: Yeah... awful. Sounds like something a bunch of twelve-year-olds would come up with in a dank basement in upstate New York. "YEAH, THIS SOUNDS BADASS." Just no. Odd Future Wolfgang Kill Them All: Stupid. This one almost gets a pass cause if they (and they often do) just go by Odd Future, then it's a really good name. But the entire name? Just dumb. Ford & Lopatin: Not their fault, because they were sued over their first name, Games, which is unremarkable but fine. Now they sound like a law firm. The name totally flies in the face of their laid-back, goofy, retro 80s sound. Come on guys! You can try a little harder the second time around! You're too awesome for this name! A Place To Bury Strangers: More like A Place To Bury Stupid Prospective Band Names, amirite?
Fully Copywrighted, Incredible Band Names I've Come Up With: Commapocalypse: Nobody cares about grammar in rock n' roll! Highway to LOL: No. No. No. Just no. Yes? Maybe an album title more than a band name. Doesn't really have legs, but might work for a Teletubbies cover album or something. Finding Emo: Hmmm. That one's just an album title, too. Maybe I'm not as good at this as I thought. Related Artists: Meh, I suck! This is much easier when the name just pops into my head randomly. Brainstorming bandnames is like trying to catch a fish with your hands. IT JUST DOESN'T WORK. I'll jot down all the ones I come up with and put them in a post or two. This is just embarassing!!!
The War on Drugs is a borderline stupid band name, but I kinda like it! And I really like them. Kurt Vile used to be in the band, and they sound like a fuller-sounding version of his stuff. Digging it.
I saw "The Master" last night. It's the new Paul Thomas Anderson movie, and stars two of the best actors around, Philip Seymour Hoffman and Joaquin Phoenix. Joaquin Phoenix is just completely unhinged in this film. It's almost hard to watch at times, but he's brilliant. Hoffman is as great as he always is.
I loved watching the movie, but it kinda just made me want to go see a play. Nowadays I compare almost every film or movie I see to Jerusalem, because it was just the greatest thing ever. If I'm watching amazing performances on screen, I'm kinda wishing I was seeing it live. Phoenix's performance was so physical- (he was constantly hunched over, almost fighting with his own body, and at one point he completely loses it) it would be amazing to see it live. The scenes with just Hoffman and Phoenix were also amazing. They should just suck it up and make a play together.
One thing films have over plays is the ability to supplement the visual with a score, and Jonny Greenwood fame did an amazing score for "The Master." I've included a youtube of some of the slow-paced yet intense score below.
I had a bit of a health scare recently, but it all turned out fine. Now one would think that this would be a wake-up call, a reminder that I'm not gonna live forever, that I need to start taking better care of myself. Weeeeeeeell, not really. I exercise frequently, but I still have the diet of a sixteen year old boy. Why? I'll list some reasons below:
- Cooking is time-consuming, and I'm single. Spending forty-five minutes cooking a meal for one is boring, and could precipitate a mini-existential crisis.
- When I want food, I WANT FOOD. So if I'm driving forty-five minutes home from school and I want food, well ***dammit I'm gonna stop and get food.
- I have yet to be swept away by the organic food craze. I have absolutely no reservations about eating something that has been shot up with a bunch of chemicals containing all consonants and no vowels. My favorite color is Yellow # 5.
- Bad food tastes good. Period.
- Did I mention that I have a short attention span and I want food now? NOW. Hold on a sec.................... BURP! That was good.
- I'm only thirty-five. I figure I won't reeeeeeeally be a candidate for a heart attack for another ten years or so, so until then I'll exercise and continue to subsist on string cheese and Boston Market.
I really wanted to hate Twin Shadow. Just the album cover makes me retch a bit. Looks like a total hipster d*****. But it's good! I'm really into retro eighties sounding stuff lately, and he totally pulls it off. Below are three sweet jams off his new album.
I used to be a bad driver. Like, uhhh... really bad. What can I say? I was young, and I was probably driving cars I shouldn't have been driving. But nowadays, I try to be fairly aware and respectful of other people on the road. And, seeing as I just passed my ten year mark of living in San Francisco, I think I have a large enough sample size from which to draw the conclusion that CALIFORNIA DRIVERS ARE AWFUL.
Now the only other two places I've had extended exposure to other people's driving were in New York and Florida, and in NY I wasn't even driving myself. But, man, while there might be a lot of old people in Florida, people out here are just worse than anything I've ever seen. There's even a really meticulous website a guy made about all the crap that California drivers pull. It's surprisingly well done. Here are some of the things that reeeeeallly annoy me:
- Hi! I'm Completely-Unaware-And-Not-Giving-A-****-About-Anyone-Else-On-The-Road Driver #1! I'm seventy-three years old, and all I've got going on today is a game of bridge and an appointment at the urologist. And let me tell you, I'm in no hurry to get to the urologist! So I'm gonna go twenty-eight in a forty in the left lane of a two lane road, just for kicks! There's no turning lane, and I have no frikkin' idea where my left-hand turn signal is, but oh well! Surely no one behind me is in any sort of rush either. I'll just let them all screech their brakes as I suddenly realize that Dr. Rosenblatt's office is... RIGHT HERE! Quit hitting me, Erma! I know I gotta turn!
- Hi! I'm Completely-Unaware-And-Not-Giving-A-****-About-Anyone-Else-On-The-Road Driver #2! I'm making a left turn, and someone opposite me is waiting to go straight. If I go straight, everything will be hunky dory! Instead, I'm gonna change my mind right as I hit the gas, and think that turning my signal on mid-turn is gonna somehow prevent the other driver from plowing straight into me! I rule!
- Hi! I'm Twenty-Two-Year-Old Aggro Dude In A Souped-Up Tercel! I lose at pretty much everything in life, so I'm gonna win on the road by going 25 miles over the speed limit, weaving in and out of traffic, and not even doing it well! (New York drivers sometimes do this, but at least they kind of know how to drive!) Sure, I'm endangering the lives of everyone around me, but I feel like a total bad *ss blaring Nickelback and pwning 19th Avenue. Check me out!
- Hi! I'm Gonna-Put-The-Aggressive-In-Passive-Agressive-Suburban-Soccer-Mom-Driving-A-Honda-Odyssey-Like-It's-A-Testarossa! I like to tailgate people and gesticulate wildly for no real reason. If you DARE get in my way, you'll be sorry. Timmy'sgottabeatkarateat4:30andKaitlyn'sgottabeatsoccerat5:30andomgdidIleavethericekrispietreatsathomewhatwilltheothermomsthinkARRRRRGHHHHGetoutofmywaaaaaaaaaaaaaayyyyy!!!!!!!!!
So The xx have a new album! It's an interesting one, in that it took a lot of listens to kinda worm its way into my head. At this point it's really starting to grow on me. It's slow-paced, but definitely not boring. For one thing, I really think the dude's vocals have improved since the first album. Below are three of my favorites so far, including a great live version of "Sunset."
I've been waking up really early lately. At 7:30 today I had already finished my laundry. I kind of like that I often only need five hours of sleep. Hell, it's not like I'm growing anymore. What do I need sleep for? Here are some other "perks" to waking up crazy early:
- Captivating conversations with those guys that hose down the sidewalks in front of their place of business.
- Easier access to copy machines at school (or having the privilege of being the first to discover that they're not working)
- Blogging without feeling I'm truly wasting any hours in the day.
- Being forced to get coffee at Starbucks because there are no really good places open yet.
- No traffic!!!!!!!!!!!! !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! !
- Bounding time with custodial staff at school.
- Alone time with my white board.
- Cool sunrises on 280.
- Exercising before school instead of attempting to do so after (doesn't always work out [omg no pun intended]).
- Feeling like I actually do have enough hours in the day.
- Getting essays out of the way.
- FOG!
- Did I mention no traffic?
- Feeling zen for first period.
- Crashing a random tai chi group.
- Some music sounds better in the dark. Liiiiiiike...
SBTRKT. I have zero idea how to say this dude's name, but he's a good producer. Jessie Ware (last post) sings on two of his tracks, and Little Dragon is on a great song called "Wildfire." Check it out!
Now I'm not sexist, but I do know of one trait that is more predominant among males: obsessively memorizing movie quotes. My college friends and I seriously dork out on this, and my female friends look at me like I have three heads if I say even the most obvious line in front of them. Personally, I think they're missing out on one of the great joys of life. So now, I present to you the top three lines of each of my top five favorite movies to quote.
5. Bevery Hills Cop I & II: Eddie Murphy is a prominent presence on this countdown, as he should be. Caddyshack could be here, but you know how it goes!
3. I have a wife and two kids, and I'd like to see my twin daughters, Monique and Unique, again. (BHC II)
2. Axel Foley: Tell Victor that Ramon - -the fella he met about a week ago? - -tell him that Ramon went to the clinic today, and I found out that I have, um, herpes simplex 10, and I think Victor should go check himself out with his physician to make sure everything is fine before things start falling off on the man. (BHC)
1. Axel Foley: What? Y'all the second team?
Detective McCabe: We're the first team.
Detective Foster: Yeah, and we're not gonna fall for a banana in the tailpipe.
Axel Foley: [mocking him] You're not gonna fall for the banana in the tailpipe? It should be more natural, brother. It should flow out, like this - "Look, man, I ain't fallin' for no banana in my tailpipe!" See, that's more natural for us. You been hanging out with this dude too long. (BHC)
4. A Fish Called Wanda: The casting is so perfect in this film. Monty Python + Kevin Klein + Jamie Lee Curtis = comedy gold.
3. Ken: Rev-enge!
Otto: [laughing] It's K-K-K-Ken! C-c-c-coming to k-k-k-kill me! How you gonna c-c-c-catch me, K-K-K-Ken?
2. Otto: Don't call me stupid.
Wendy: Why on earth not?
Otto: Oh, you English are *so* superior, aren't you? Well, would you like to know what you'd be without us, the good ol' U.S. of A. to protect you? I'll tell you. The smallest f*cking province in the Russian Empire, that's what! So don't call me stupid, lady. Just thank me.
Wendy: Well, *thank* you for popping in and protecting us.
Otto: If it wasn't for us, you'd all be speaking *German!* Singing "Deutschland, Deutschland über alles..."
1. [Otto dangles Archie out a window]
Archie: All right, all right, I apologise.
Otto: You're really sorry.
Archie: I'm really really sorry, I apologise unreservedly.
Otto: You take it back.
Archie: I do, I offer a complete and utter retraction. The imputation was totally without basis in fact, and was in no way fair comment, and was motivated purely by malice, and I deeply regret any distress that my comments may have caused you, or your family, and I hereby undertake not to repeat any such slander at any time in the future.
Otto: OK.
3. Coming to America: Total classic. Impersonating Eddie Murphy and Arsenio Hall impersonating characters is the best.
3. Prince Akeem: Sir, did you happen to catch the professional football contest on television last night?
Cleo McDowell: No, I didn't.
Prince Akeem: Oh sir, the Giants of New York took on the Packers of Green Bay. And in the end, the Giants triumphed by kicking an oblong ball made of pigskin through a big "H". It was a most ripping victory.
Cleo McDowell: Son.
Prince Akeem: Yes?
Cleo McDowell: If you want to keep working here, stay off the drugs.
Prince Akeem: Yes.
2. Rev. Brown: He helped Joshua fight the battle of Jericho, he helped Daniel get out the lion's den, he helped Giiiiiiiilliiiiiiiigan get off the island.
1. Saul: A man has the right to change his name to vatever he vants to change it to. And if a man vants to be called Muhammad Ali, godammit this is a free country, you should respect his vishes, and call the man Muhammad Ali!
Morris: His mamma call him Clay, imma call him Clay.
Saul: Then you're a putz. All of you are putzes. They should change the sign outside from My-T-Sharp to 'ze Three Putzes.
2. Steel Magnolias: Some people say, "No way, bro! This is a chick flick!" No way. This movie rules. It's funny as hell, has insane over-acting by Sally Field that only adds to the humor, and saying the lines in a thick Southern drawl only adds to the fun.
3. Truvy: Oh, Sammy's so confused he don't know whether to scratch his watch or wind his butt.
2. Clairee: Ouiser, you sound almost chipper. What happened today - you run over a small child or something?
1. Clairee Belcher: [trying to do "color commentary" by discussing the color of the football uniforms] ... But I love the top - such a vibrant purple. Bob, would you call this color "grape" or "aubergine'?
Ouiser Boudreaux: SHUT UP!
Clairee Belcher: What?
Ouiser Boudreaux: You're makin' a fool outta yourself, Clairee.
Clairee Belcher: I am not.
Ouiser Boudreaux: This is football. All the people wanna hear about are touchdowns and injuries. They don't give a damn 'bout that grape shit.
1. The Naked Gun: Duh. Funniest movie ever. This one gets five.
5. Frank: Wilma, I promise you; whatever scum did this, not one man on this force will rest one minute until he's behind bars. Now, let's grab a bite to eat.
4. Frank: A good cop - needlessly cut down by some cowardly hoodlums.
Ed: That's no way for a man to die.
Frank: No... you're right, Ed. A parachute not opening... that's a way to die. Getting caught in the gears of a combine... having your nuts bit off by a Laplander, that's the way I wanna go!
Wilma Nordberg: [cries] Oh... Frank. This is terrible!
Ed: Don't you worry, Wilma. Your husband is going to be alright. Don't you worry about anything. Just think positive. Never let a doubt enter your mind.
Frank: He's right, Wilma. But I wouldn't wait until the last minute to fill out those organ donor cards.
[Wilma cries again]
Ed: What I'm trying to say is that, Wilma, as soon as Nordberg is better, he's welcome back at Police Squad.
Frank: ...Unless he's a drooling vegetable. But I think that's only common sense.
[Wilma cries again]
3. Ed: Doctors say that Nordberg has a 50/50 chance of living, though there's only a 10 percent chance of that.
2. [Jane climbs a ladder]
Frank: Nice beaver!
Jane: [producing a stuffed beaver] Thank you. I just had it stuffed.
1. Frank: It's the same old story. Boy finds girl, boy loses girl, girl finds boy, boy forgets girl, boy remembers girl, girls dies in a tragic blimp accident over the Orange Bowl on New Year's Day.
Jane: Goodyear?
Frank: No, the worst.
Jessie Ware kinda rules. Reminds me of Feist's earlier stuff, with a cool 80s vibe to it.
Old is the sterilized smell of a hospital, where behind every curtain lies people reduced to afflictions. Avert your eyes! There's sickness in there. Old is reliance: on people, on medication, on everything but yourself. Old is a back that barks with the alarm clock in the morning. Old is jumping two stairs at a time and losing your breath after eight.
Old is a nursing home. Blank stares and bingo during the day; zombies and zealots at night. 1945 is yesterday, and today never happened. Old is all doubles and no singles. Creak up to the net for a flimsy forehand volley. Best out of five becomes one set and a tall glass of Lipton.
Old is the muscle-bound spray-tanned guy on television casually mentioning that his sex drive is better than it was at twenty. Leather-faced blonde in one arm, bottle of pills in the other.
Old is, "Things were so much better in my day!" Who would say a thing like that? Don't you want it to still be your day?
The rhythm section in this song is most certainly the greatest thing ever. NEVER gets old.
"It doesn't mean that much to me to mean that much to you." OUCH.
Massively underrated Beatles tune. Good god that bass.
I was driving into Oregon towards the end of the summer, and I had listened to enough Fresh Air podcasts to want to gauge my ears out. I love that show, and I like Newsroom, but every podcast was about Jeff Daniels and Aaron Sorkin and blahblahblahEmmyblahblahWalterCronkiteblahblahfindanothertopicplease. I also felt like I'd played out every single band I've ever heard on Spotify. Except for Spin Doctors. Except they're kind of awful, so does that even count? I don't know! I was in a rut, and I still had an hour and a half long drive to go. And then I saw it.
In the distance, a single, solitary deer standing by the side of the road. So poised, so noble, and so completely irrelevant to my existence. OR WAS IT? I immediately spun through my mental Rolodex of deer bands. Deerhunter, Deer Tick, Matthew Dear (close enough), Deerhoof! !!!!!!
Sometimes I'll just forget about a band for a period of time, and then I'll come back to them and realize how awesome they are all over again. Well, this was one of those times. I drove through the mountains of Oregon BLARING Deerhoof albums, and needless to say it ruled. They're so gloriously weird, with the lead singer's squeaky little voice, the kick ass guitars and even more kick ass drums. I saw them live once, and my head almost fell off my shoulders. Just the best. So take a drive and blare some Deerhoof. You won't regret it.
Weird, pointless song, you say? Listen to how it's just falls apart every thirty seconds or so. And the tempo changes. And the drumming. And the tongue in cheek vibe. And the... AHHHHHH I LOVE THIS BAND.
Such a unique song for them, and so flipping good. IT'S ALMOST TOO MUCH.
This song is one of the first songs I ever posted to this blog ( over three years ago :o ), but this is a studio version that sounds way better. Song rocks.
Flying is always an educational experience, and after a decade of multiple cross-country flights per year, I think I'm finally learning the dos and don'ts.
DO: Choose your seat on the flight when given the opportunity. I used to not care, but on one of my last flights I got stuck in the last row right in front of where all the stewardesses hang out. Not only did they slam cabinets like they were trying to give me a permanent nervous tic, the entire time they were having a discussion about how awful their own airline was! By the end of the flight I was convinced that I had a better chance of survival just flinging myself out of a window than relying on the crew to actually land the plane safely.
DON'T: Book a flight with multiple legs just to save thirty bucks. I used to always do this, thinking I was some sort of hero by saving the equivalent of a quarter-chicken dark combo meal at Boston Market by stopping somewhere in the middle of the country. But know this: the more stops your flight makes, the better chance your bags get lost, one of your flight gets delayed, and various other catastrophes take place that will surely ruin your life forever. Plus it takes longer.
DO: Bring activities that appeal to multiple intelligences to entertain you on the flight. For instance, on my most recent flight, I had essays to grade, a book to read, music to listen to, the US Open tennis tournament to watch, and the internet to jump on if necessary. Now this might be overdoing it, but it's a six-hour flight, and sometimes it's hard to fall asleep. DESPERATE TIMES.
DON'T: Rely on the airline to get you through food-wise. Bring some snacks of your own. Cause unless you want to subsist for seven hours on a ten dollar "protein box" consisting of salami and crackers, then you might want to bring something. I mean, it's definitely doable, but there's a certain degree of self-loathing that comes with a purchase that silly.
DO: Be nice to the other passengers sitting around you. Even if they're total psychos. Nothing positive will come out of having to sit next to a grumpy psycho for six hours. Especially if they're sick and sneezing all over the place. Or borderline shaking their baby right next to you. It can get kind of awkward.
Peaking Lights are a husband and wife duo that make pretty music. This song, called Beautiful Son, is a nice song to just chiiiiiill to. I bet they don't shake their baby!
There's three categories of music for me, and all three serve a specific purpose. They are as follows:
The Crap: Yeah, I tried to get around this category, but it's like driving past that huge slaughterhouse where there's about 3,000 cows farting at the same time. YOU JUST GOTTA ROLL DOWN THE WINDOWS AND SMELL FOR A SECOND. You regret it every time, but it simply has to be done. Examples: Toby Kieth, Nickelback, Tom Jones, etc.
The Great Stuff: This is music that can be listened to at any time, for any occasion, and unless its completely played out, a good time will be had. Examples: Radiohead, Pixies, Notorious BIG, Sly & the Family Stone.
The Good to Great Stuff that also has Nostalgia Going for it: This category has the most variation with regards to personal experience. For me, old school rap, skating rink freestyle music, 90s girl groups, and old school Florida beakbeats all figure prominently in this category, as well as bands like Led Zeppelin, Pink Floyd, etc. Any music frequently enjoyed during childhood or the college years is capable of knocking me over with overwhelming feelings of nostalgia and melancholy-tinged excitement.
So I'm getting ready for a reunion with some old friends, both in human and record form. Needless to say, I am excited about the music. I'm also very excited about seeing my friends: the friends that know me like no one else knows me, and that sadly live so far away these days. It's gonna be a great time. :)
(NOTE: Firestone Live used to be The Club at Firestone, one of the best places to see breaks djs. I couldn't find a picture of their old logo, though)
This is a post about Nas, and my excitement about hearing exciting new music from him for the first time in a bit. I'm seeing a (primarily) old school hip hop festival this weekend, and while it is AWESOME to listen to old songs, hear great beats and feel nostalgic, it's also really cool to anticipate hearing new songs that could someday also be worthy of being added to the list of Nas classics. "Cherry Wine" is definitely a candidate.
Amy Winehouse sang a great hook on the new Nas song right before she passed, so this is also a post about her. Was she living the life of a total hot mess rock star cliche? Yup. Was her voice amazing? YUP. Seeing how her "management" allowed her to be propped up on stage towards the end when she was in really awful shape was pretty disheartening, but not all that surprising. It's probably better to remember that voice than the way the world gawked at a sick young kid as her life sadly slid down the drain.
I unfortunately had to miss school the day I was planning to give a fun assignment last week, so I think I'll do it here. In the assignment the student pretends that he is going to write his memoir. He brainstorms what would be the ten chapter titles, and then chooses one of the chapters to write out as a full chapter. I'll write my ten chapter titles:
1. Paris, Je T'aime: I lived in Paris for the first two years of my life. Of course I don't remember anything from that time, but the pictures look pretty sweet! I went back and visited it years later and... it's great but I think I prefer Rome.
2. "Oh, Who Owns New York?": When we first moved to Manhattan, my sister, my father and I would walk down the streets of the city and sing songs. This was a favorite of ours.
3. Chewbacca Ate the Salt Shaker: We lived in Easthampton for a year in a type of house called a "salt shaker," but when our house in Southampton was done we moved there for seven years. We had a huge weeping willow in our front yard that we called Chewbacca.
4. M.I.A.: It's like I never knew ya!
5. A Trip To Disney World and Three Weeks Off School: When I was ten, we took our boat from New York to Florida. Eventually we moved there.
6. Medusa Turns To Stone: Everything changes with sis.
7. In the Gifted Program, Misbehaving Is Just Expressing Yourself Creatively!: Six years in the gifted program provided plenty of great friends and ridiculous situations that we were never held accountable for putting ourselves in.
8. Thank God For the Rain: The fall.
9. Give My Regards To The General: Dad gets Alzheimer's.
10. Hello, I Googled You, Won't You Tell Me Your Name?: Family finds me on the internet.
I've been feeling kind of blaaaaaaaaah about rock music lately. Recently, I mostly just want to listen to electronic-based music of some sort. Well, there's no better way to reconnect with rock than to see some great live music. These are some from the first two days of Outside Lands:
Tame Impala- Damn. I never really gave them a chance a couple years ago when they first came out, but they're so good. Some of their songs sound like "Piper At The Gates of Dawn"-era Pink Floyd, and some just sound like a kick-ass '70s hard rock band. They have a new album coming out, but here's a great one from their first:
Thee Oh Sees are from SF, and they kick *ss. Lots of *ss. They combine garage rock and surf rock and kicking *ss.
The Walkmen: This was the third time I've seen The Walkmen, and they're just so damn good. Their drummer is godly, and though they've transitioned from a harder rock sound to a slower, country-tinged sound, they're still just as good. Here's a great song from their new album:
Grandaddy reunited for a few shows (and maybe more?), and wow am I glad. They were really great. My favorite album of theirs is "Under The Western Freeway," and they played three or four of my favorite songs from it. They're from Modesto, and the album perfectly captures that overwhelming feeling of ennui that some people get from that place (or any other dreary suburb).
Metallica closed Saturday night. Say what you want about Metallica sucking now, and being d-bags that whine about Napster all the time, you can never take away the greatness of Ride The Lightning and Master of Puppets. Period. They rocked. Hard.
Cockroach paranoia is a bad, bad thing. First there is one: belly up and seemingly dead, staring with blank eyes and tiny frozen legs. It can be written off as an isolated incident, almost an amusement. "Hey, I'm visiting a tropical area! This kind of reminds me of Florida! Come here, ya little bugger. Let's get you out of here." I slide a piece of paper under it, and it starts furiously twitching its legs. It's alive! I don't want to crush it, because not only does that seem inhumane, but that multilayered crunching sound always seems to get inside me. So I try to breezily slide it out the door with my sandals while maintaining its belly up position. I manage to accomplish this, and everything seems fine.
But they keep coming. Underneath the bed, in the corner of the shower, crawling out from under the refrigerator. Paranoia sets in. Every time I get into bed, I lift up the covers expecting to find creatures scurrying up my leg. When I'm shampooing my hair, I sneak a glance down to make sure there aren't cockroaches soaping themselves at my feet. Lying in bed, I look to my left and expect to see a massive roach coming out of the bathroom. So big that it moves mechanically, making a massive creaking sound like an old dump truck. It looks at me with a sly, mocking smile, as if to say, "You'll never get me. Keep trying, but you'll never get me. I'll just keep coming, and coming, and coming."
I get pissed. F*ck humane. It's Raid time. I get a bottle and turn into Rambo with bug spray. I'm picking off these things left and right. When I start to spray one they immediately launch into furious death throes. My empathy is gone, and I douse it until every last talon has stopped flailing. I'm proactive with this sh*t, spraying corners, nooks, and favorite hiding spots. I feel an absurd sense of pride as the roaches come back less and less often, convincing myself that I have triumphed over the beasts.
But then they come back again.
Fever Ray is the sister from The Knife. The Knife are incredible, and so is Fever Ray. Yay.
A new McDonald's ad strongly suggests that one can meet a beautiful woman by buying a 20 piece Chicken McNugget, going up to an attractive female and offering to share them with her. Ummm... best idea EVER! I decided to put this seemingly fool-proof plan into action yesterday. I will recount my experiences in this, my 200th post of all time.
I bought my 20-piece Chicken McNugget with a mixture of excitement and self-loathing, rationalizing the purchase with dreams of the beautiful woman I was sure to score with the patented McDate technique. I then walked to nearby Golden Gate park to scope out the perfect target. It had to, first of all, be the kind of girl who wouldn't immediately retch at the sight of a twenty-piece Chicken McNugget. That immediately eliminated 93% of the female population of San Francisco. The remaining 7% primarily consisted of real homeless people, poseur homeless kids, and easy-going East Coast transplants that grew up eating the occasional fast food meal.
There isn't a specific look to an East Coast girl, so I decided that I simply had to take my chances with someone that could possibly fit the bill. I saw a brunette sitting on a park bench reading a magazine, and I decided that she looked kinda hungry. I put on my best "I'm Lovin' It, and So Will You" smile and walked over.
ME: Is someone sitting here?
HER: Oh, no. Feel free.
ME: Nice day, huh? Never thought this weather would last.
HER: Oh, yeah. It's great.
ME (surreptitiously taking out McNuggets): You know what two things I love?
HER (scrunching her face at this apparently strange question): What?
ME: VALUE. And SHARING.
HER (nervous laughter): Well, those certainly are two great things.
ME: You look hungry. Have you eaten yet?
HER: Well, just a spinach salad and some Kombucha.
ME (not really knowing what she just said): Well, sounds like an appetizer! How would you like some McNuggets to round out that meal?
HER (sudden look of disgust): Are you kidding me? Is this some weird candid camera show? I wouldn't eat that crap if you paid me to!
ME: Uhhhhh...
HER: Do you know what they make that with? Pink slime! It's the inedible parts of a cow mixed with drano or something. It's vile!
ME: But, but... I got a Spiderman figurine with it, and if you drown the nuggets in honey they're pretty good. I'll even let you keep the figurine if you eat with me.
HER: Uhhhh... sorry. I gotta go. I suggest you worry less about collecting figurines, and more about dying before you hit forty!
Suffice it to say that I feel McDonald's has led me astray. Maybe they don't understand how powerful their advertising messages are. When I was a child, I believed that the only authority figure that really had my best interests in mind was a tall clown that hawked burgers, and now they spread propaganda telling America that the only way to find romance is through McNuggets. Well, I'm all grown now, and Ronald McDonald is nowhere to be found. And McNuggets? Well, far from being attractive to the opposite sex, they peg you as a pariah, a freak, an outcast. THANKS A LOT, MCDONALD'S!
Fiona Apple has a new album! Here's a good song from it. She has an octopus on her head in the video. It's not a great look, if you ask me.
I've written before about how rare it is for me to go grocery shopping, but the mood struck me the other night at about 10:30 pm, as I noticed a Safeway on the drive back home from a friend's house. The conditions were perfect: I didn't need a lot of items, there was no access to hot bar, and some of the items I was purchasing were for a weekend party I was pretty excited about. I purchased the products within the allotted eight-minute window (think Supermarket Sweep without the free money), and made my way to the check-out line.
I bought around ten items, and had only one middle-aged woman in front of me in line. She had scraggly gray hair and those large glasses that kids used to wear for their school pictures in 1984. Behind the glasses her brown eyes darted about like there were snipers hidden behind every bag of Chex mix and jug of Tropicana. She had approximately twenty-five items with her-but she was only one person-how long could it possibly take? Well, as the cashier started to run her items, the lady slowly reached into her pockets. My mind flew in a dozen different directions. She's already got her purse out. What could she possibly need? Maybe she has some change in there. Surely she can't be reaching for... NOOOOOOOOOOOOO.
Coupons. She was reaching for coupons. At 10:30 at night, in an otherwise abandoned Safeway where I thought I was going to escape with a twelve to fifteen minute shop, I got stuck behind coupon lady. And I was starting to fear that this was a rare breed of coupon lady: batsh*t crazy coupon lady. She fumbled around with the coupons and asked the groggy-eyed cashier question after question. Did you run the coupons for the Yoplait? Does this Lean Cuisine coupon apply to all items, or just the Culinary Collection? What do you mean this Brawny paper towel coupon expired in 2010?
I felt kind of bad for her at first, cause she did seem bewildered and generally overwhelmed. A lady that came up behind me in line, though, had much less patience. While she wouldn't directly say anything, she sighed heavily, shifted her weight from side to side with dramatic flair, and rolled her eyes at me as if to say, "Can you believe this wack job?" I smiled thinly but quickly looked away, not wanting to form too intimate a bond with a lady wearing what seemed to be a discarded 1970s bridesmaid's dress, with eyebrows that looked like they were painted on with brown whiteboard markers.
It got really weird after the Brawny rejection. Crazy coupon lady argued for a bit-like she could win an argument about 2012 coming before 2010-then she started frantically swapping out items to try to get the total where she wanted it. She couldn't make up her mind, though, and her eyes blinked more uncontrollably the more confused she got. I really did feel bad, but after fifteen minutes, as the clock drew to eleven o'clock, I finally said something. "Ummm... there's people behind you," I offered as politely as possibly. She snapped her head at me and said, "IT'S MY TURN." Having the full force of those eyes focused on me is something I will never forget, but my words empowered Batty Bridesmaid behind me to let loose. "WE'VE BEEN WAITING HERE FOR TWENTY MINUTES. FIGURE OUT YOUR COUPONS LATER. IT'S ELEVEN O'CLOCK AT NIGHT. HAVE SOME RESPECT." I immediately let her have the stage, as I didn't know if this was going to quickly escalate into some sort of feral cat-fight. Thankfully, a cashier ran over and opened the next aisle, and I finally got out of there. Lesson: shopping at off hours might result in a shorter line, but the clientele is also more likely to be purchasing bath salts than the sodium kind.
I've posted about Burial before, but I can't help but do it again. He is just so damn great. If you have a short attention span like me, just put this song on in the background (on good speakers) and let it play all the way through. It's amazing.
So my pathetic, depressing, laughable, second-class citizen New York Mets are actually playing pretty well! Of course this could be fleeting, but darnit, my love for them is permanent, etched in stone from the earliest days of childhood, so I'm going to enjoy every minute. And was there ever a moment on Friday! Johan Santana, the Mets ace pitcher who missed all of last year due to shoulder surgery, pitched the Mets' first ever no-hitter. I've heard for years about the Mets being one of only two organizations in MLB never to have pitched a no-hitter, and how they obviously should have had one by now because of all of the great pitchers they've had, and blah blah blah Yankees rule, Mets suck Victor Zambrano Oliver Perez September collapses Ponzi scheme SHUT UP OH MY GOD I CAN'T TAKE IT ANYMORE.
Whew. Deep breath. Some people aren't into baseball. They don't understand how the struggles of a franchise can affect a person. That's ok. I don't expect them to understand. But let me tell you something. IT HURTS. It hurts when everyone says, "Yankee this," and "Yankee that" all the time. What about our feelings? What about our needs? We're special, too! We've won two World Series, and participated in two others. Sure, that's nothing compared to your eighty-three or whatever, but you've been around since the Stone Age, and... uh... you suck! Remember the 80s?! We were awesome, and you guys blew! You were Don Mattingly and twenty-four guys named Kevin Maas. The most interesting thing you guys did for fifteen years was when Chuck Knoblauch had a schizoid break and couldn't throw to first base for about six months. Meanwhile, we were partying our asses off, winning a World Series, and partying our asses off some more. I know I've been using the word "we" when I have no real affiliation with the team. Screw you. Don't EVER forget that decade.
Ummm... so, this was supposed to be a happy post. I'm going to listen to some peaceful music to calm me down. Beach House has a new album out called Bloom. It has a cool cover, and though it's not a huge stylistic step forward from their last album, I really liked their last album, so it's all good. Not every band has to reinvent themselves every album. Beach House certainly wears its influences on its sleeves. In fact, they should probably paint their faces with Cochteau Twins album covers when they perform live. But, hey, I freaking love The Cochteau Twins, so once again, I'm fine with it. ARE YOU?! Man, you really need to chill out. I'm just listening to some Beach House over here. Sheesh.
"Myth" is a very Cocteau-influenced track, so I will post the incredible Cocteau Twins track "Lorelei" along with it. Listen to it incredibly loud in a small enclosed space, and the meaning of life will suddenly appear to you in the form of a periwinkle dove with satin wings. "The Hours" intro is incredibly reminiscent of the Beatles classic "Because," which is part of the second half of Abbey Road, the most unf*ckwithable thirty minutes or so of rock music ever committed to tape (or eight track, or stone tablet, or whatever they used back then).
Today is the first day of summer, and I'm giddy. The sun is out, the air is brisk, and there is nary an essay taunting me from the corner of my classroom. My mind is filled with books I want to read, things I want to write about, places I want to go, and concerts I want to see.
I feel like I lost a bit of the school-life balance this year, and as a result I haven't been exercising as much as I'd like to. I'd been thinking that I would just go back to jogging and playing tennis this summer to get back into shape, but as the fog of school lifts I'm realizing that, as a San Francisco resident, I have a plethora of exercising options available to choose from. I'll brainstorm here, and perhaps you can get some ideas as well:
-Jogging: Gotta have good music to listen to, or this is boring. And make the playlist at least somewhat upbeat, or the second an Elliot Smith song comes on it's all over.
-Tennis: Duh. Best sport ever.
-Swimming: Kind of tough to find a public pool in SF that isn't either half-filled with urine, or completely overrun with families (children are awesome, but I don't want to swim with them). If you can find the right pool, though, swimming is fun and great exercise!
-Hipster toss for distance: Hipsters usually only weigh about 83 pounds, and skinny jeans are easy to grip for maximum toss length. Tell them there's a free Neon Indian download in it for them and they'll be totally down.
-Rock climbing: A teacher friend, who's over forty yet could end me with two arms tied behind her back, does this a lot, so I'm intrigued. I'm also kinda scared of heights, though, so I'm slightly hesitant to try it out. Looks fun, though.
-Bicycling: I've been doing this a bit lately. My friends and I did a winery tour on bikes a few weeks ago, and that was fun, and today we also had a good time biking around Angel Island. If you live in a homely-looking place with brutal weather (like Florida [sorry]), then it's kinda awful, but if you live in a beautiful place with temperate weather (like SF) then it's pretty groovy.
-Bicep curls with a hardcover copy of James Joyce's Ulysses: This book should be read in a hip cafe, and the cover should be clearly visible at all times. This way people will know that you're an interesting person that reads challenging literature while simultaneously maintaining an impressive physique.
-Sailing: Umm... yeah. I don't know anything about this.
-Urban Hikes: Sounds kinda weird, but it's actually fun! Walking and exercise, without all that annoying nature stuff. Explore a great city, and enjoy some brutal hills at the same time!
- Frisbee Golf: Is this exercise? Whatever, it's outside, and you throw stuff. I've only done it once, but it was kinda fun. I drank beer, though, so I probably gained more calories than I burnt.
Any other options I left out? And please don't say the gym, cause that's already off the list. SO BORING.
The Weeknd is better at singing than he is spelling. "What You Need" has great, Burial-like production and a dark mood. I really dig his voice, and his woe-is-me-life-is-awful-being-super-hip-and-partying-with-beautiful-women lyrics remind me of some old Roxy Music songs.
I've learned so many fun words through playing Words With Friends! In fact, I've started integrating these new terms into everyday conversations, and it's been a blast thus far. The other day, a police officer pulled me over and asked me why I'd been driving thirty-five miles per hour over the speed limit. My Words With Friends terms came in extremely handy.
"I'm so sorry, officer. I was doing the dishes, and all of a sudden my qi got stuck in the garbage disposal. In a frantic attempt to remove my qi, I accidentally bashed my head against the kitchen cabinet and dislodged my xu. I jumped in the car and rushed to the hospital, but a ki ran into the street and got stuck to the grill of my car. At this point, I was hoping that the poor ki's life could be saved if I got to the hospital before it fell off. I'm sure you understand?"
I was surprised to find that the officer was also a Words with Friends enthusiast. "Za za za. All you pathetic pi drivers think you can bs (not a WWF word) your way out of tickets. I own three kis, and I'll be damned if I'm gonna let some reckless oy-pe-nu driver ka ka all over our roadways. The ticket is two hundred and seventy dollars, but I landed on a triple word score, so you owe me eight hundred and ten."
J Dilla is a god. He was an incredible producer for artists such as De La Soul, Busta Rhymes, and Pharcyde, and he also made his own records. Unfortunately, he passed away right after finishing his album Donuts. Below are "Lightworks," from Donuts, the Raymond Scott song he cleverly sampled to make it, two other Donuts tracks, and the great Dilla-produced Pharcyde song "Runnin'."
There's a famous Smiths song that says, "I am the son and heir of nothing in particular." It's an amazing line-as are many Smiths lines-but when it comes down to it there are many things that can be passed down from parents to children. One thing I definitely got from my father is a love for words. I used to roll my eyes until they practically fell out of the sockets when he would launch into a lecture about cubist sculptures, or chide me for not wearing a sweatshirt on a day with such an intense "wind chill factor." But as I get older I realize that one of the main things I "inherited" from him is a love of words. Granted, I had to learn that an appreciation for ornate language can be an impediment rather than an asset in Words With Friends, but other than that it's fun.
While I've always loved language, it's sometimes been a hard thing to both fit into the curriculum and effectively teach my students. We've been teaching more Greek and Latin roots, prefixes, and suffixes lately, and the results have been promising. We did a little practice test with the kids a couple of weeks ago, and some of them seemed to be getting pretty into it. Hopefully it will continue to go well, and next year's modified block schedule will allow for more in-depth vocabulary work.
I can't think about it too much or I'll start obsessing, but I'll say off the top of my head that my five favorite words are:
For the most part I love them for the sound, and for the way the syllables dance around inside my mouth when I say them. Some of them, though, also have great definitions. The prefix circum- means around and alludes to a circle, and locution means style of speech. Circumlocution means "evasion in speech," or almost literally "talking in circles." I don't know, something about the way the word comes together both phonetically and in terms of meaning makes me freak out a little bit. Thankfully, I'm very comfortable owning my nerdiness at this point in my life.
It's fairly well established that the British are just better than most people at a lot of stuff. I mean, why do you think car companies always hire some British dude to do the voice-over for their only-borderline luxury cars? Well, because the tastefully refined British accent imbues any hunk of junk with a certain je ne sais quois (dash of francophilia thrown in for fun). Beyond that fetishistic sort of British admiration that is probably pretty annoying to Brits themselves, many people also admire them for the musicianship, acting, and other artistic contributions that come from the region. I will refrain from discussing Mark Rylance again (GO READ AND/OR SEE THE PLAY JERUSALEM IF YOU EVER HAVE THE CHANCE), but here are some of my favorite British things:
Some of the best drum and bass DJs in the world hail from the UK. Andy C, Friction, Goldie, Roni Size, etc. Friction just took over the BBC Radio 1 drum and bass show, and below are two great new tracks he played. The first, "Self Control," is grimy as hell, with a great bassline and groove, and the second one, "I Used to Have it All (Delta Heavy Remix)," has beautiful vocals, dark production, and ridiculous beats. Friction is an amazing mixer with great taste. I look forward to following his show.
The Kinks, though obviously famous, are a criminally underrated band. Everyone always discusses the Stones, Beatles, The Smiths and The Who as the greatest British bands-and they're brilliant-but the Kinks have their place in the pantheon as well. "Waterloo Sunset" is one of the most beautiful, calming songs ever written. I'd say it's evocative of a British countryside, but I've never been, so what the hell do I know?!?!?!?!
The Smiths are perhaps THE quintessential British band for people between the ages of approximately thirty and forty-five. Morissey's lyrics are melodramatic and biting, and Johnny Marr's guitar playing is incredibly melodic. "Headmaster Ritual" is a pretty scathing song about teachers, and every time I hear it I think to myself, "GOD I HOPE I'M NOT LIKE THAT!" James is decidedly less famous than The Smiths, but "Laid" was perhaps the first "non-classic" British song I became completely obsessed with. I fell in love with it way back in high school, and it sounds just as catchy today.
Downton Abbey is a very popular Masterpiece Theatre show about an earl and his family living on a manor in the early 1900s. I actually wrote about it a couple of posts ago, so I won't belabor the point of its greatness too much here. Suffice it to say, Maggie Smith alone makes this show well worth watching. Below is a hilarious clip of Maggie in all her snooty glory. And finally we come to Cate. Oh Cate. I always thought you were beautiful and talented, and then you said on "Inside the Actor's Studio" that circumnavigate was your favorite word (30:49) and I just didn't know what to do. You're now my second favorite British female behind Kate Bush, who I'm not going to post anything of because I've already discussed her. I don't want to overdo it, because that would just be in poor taste. DO GET AHOLD OF YOURSELF, SHANE!
The Catcher in the Rye is a very polarizing book, and it's mostly because the narrator Holden Caulfield complains a lot, and generally comes off as annoying by repeating words and phrases like "g*ddamn," "depressing," and "he really did" all the time. I've always loved the book, and I tend to excuse his admittedly grating-at-times personality due to the fact that he's obviously still traumatized by his brother's death, and doesn't communicate with his parents at any point in the story.
But that's not why I love the book. The most touching parts are when Holden talks about kids. Sure, his reverence for children is at least partially tied to his rejection of adult society, but his description of and appreciation for the benevolence and imagination of children has always resonated with me. The way people feel about kids (and animals) sometimes says a lot about them. For instance, have you ever met a person who really didn't like dogs and wasn't a bit of a negative person in general? I mean for a more significant reason than excessive slobbering or the fact that a St. Bernard is too big to fit in a NYC studio apartment. "Man, the way dogs unconditionally love and support their owners is SO ANNOYING!" It's the same thing with certain people's views on children. "Ugggh. The way children have a sense of wonder about the most seemingly simple aspects of life really makes me appreciate how jaded and ruthless practical I've become!"
Anyway, it's not that I think adults are awful, reject the materialistic nature of modern society, or want to go live as a mute in a secluded barn somewhere, but I really appreciate the description of children that Salinger gives in Catcher. Here are a couple good examples:
"The kid was swell. He was walking in the street, instead of on the sidewalk, but right next to the curb. He was making out like he was walking a very straight line, the way kids do, and the whole time he kept singing and humming... The cars zoomed by, brakes screech all over the place, his parents paid no attention to him, and he kept on walking next to the curb and singing 'If a body catch a body coming through the rye.' It made me feel better. It made me feel not so depressed any more"
"But you ought to see old Phoebe. She has this sort of red hair, a little bit like Allie’s was, that’s very short in the summer-time. In the summer-time, she sticks it behind her ears. She has nice, pretty little ears. In the winter-time, it’s pretty long, though. Sometimes my brother braids it, and sometimes she doesn’t. It’s really nice, though. She’s only ten. She’s quite skinny, like me, but nice skinny. Roller-skate skinny. I watched her once from the window when she was crossing over Fifth Avenue to go to the park, and that’s what she is, roller-skate skinny. You’d like her."
Salinger's description of Phoebe as "roller-skate skinny" symbolizes the innocence and benevolence he views his little sister Phoebe as embodying. And her dialogue and actions throughout the story bear that out, such as when she shows up with the suitcase at the end of the story because she doesn't want Holden to move away alone.
There are some songs that are "roller-skate skinny" too: songs that do nothing but radiate benevolence, purity, and good vibes. There does not appear to be any cynicism attached to these songs, and they simply make me happy when I listen to them.
"Eye Know" is just the best. The Otis Redding whistle sample, the vocal sample, the horns sample, the lyrics, everything. It's all good, and De La is the best.
I love "You Got It All." It's just a perfect slow jam, and even the video perpetuates the sweetness. I simply cannot be cynical when I hear this song. I'm like Priscilla Presley repeating, "I MUST KILL FRANK DREBEN" in Naked Gun, but eventually faltering and dropping the gun when he starts talking about noticing stop lights since he fell in love with her. And I have no idea how the guy in the video disappears in an explosion of pastel lightning at 1:13, but that's some fine 80s video special effects if I've ever seen them.
"Thirteen" by Big Star is one of those perfect songs. Not one note is out of place. The understated acoustic guitar perfectly accompanies the "young love" theme in the lyrics. A classic song on a classic album.
If there ever was an artist who embodied the "roller-skate skinny" ethos, it might be Carole King. So good, and she's going off on the piano in this great old BBC clip.
There are so many reasons for me to be completely disenchanted with sports right now:
-My favorite baseball team, the New York Mets, are being run into the ground by an owner who has been sued for (unknowingly?) profiting from the Bernie Madoff ponzi scheme. They lost their best player this offseason and do not appear to even be seriously attempting to put the best possible team on the field.
-The best basketball player, Dwight Howard, on my favorite basketball team, the Orlando Magic, finally accepted the option for the final year of his contract after an approximately three month period of time during which he threw the entire team under the bus by openly discussing other teams he wanted to be traded to, complaining about his situation on the Magic, and generally acting like a self-centered child who couldn't care less about his current teammates or acting like a professional.
- My favorite NFL team, the Miami Dolphins, has had the worst offseason in the league thus far, bungling the opportunity to get Peyton Manning or even Matt Flynn, and instead signing David Garrard to compete with Matt Moore for the starting job (looks weird to even write it out). They also traded their best player, Brandon Marshall, away for a 75th round draft pick and a Winter Music Conference VIP badge.
-Although the Gators made a great run in the NCAA tournament (despite choking in the Elite Eight for the second year in a row), this article is depressing and spot on about the state of college sports.
BUT. This is not meant to be a negative post, because it is not the time of year for negativity! It is the time of the year for Spring Break, the time of the year for the sun to beat back the rain and snow, and the time of the year for baseball! No matter how juiced up and economically imbalanced baseball gets, and how awful the Mets become (I take some solace in being a tier 2 Giants fan these days), I will always love baseball. Some things I am looking forward to this baseball season are:
-watching Tim Lincecum mow down opposing batters while sporting an embarrassing haircut that, combined with a pasty complexion, makes him look like Jabba the Hut's translator from Return of the Jedi.
-watching the Giants' "new-look lineup" churn out approximately 1.4 runs per game, while Matt Cain pretends not to be pissed off about having a 2.31 ERA and a 13-12 record.
-sitting in the worst seats at A T & T park and still having a great view of the game, especially when watching the outfielders track balls in the cavernous outfield.
-watching sailboats float lazily in the bay from said crappy seats.
-taking joy from the small victories of the Mets season, such as:
*a healthy (?) David Wright, Ike Davis, and Johan Santana having strong years and not getting traded at the deadline to teams that actually give a sh*t about contending (see, I can't write about the Mets and stay even-tempered!)
*young quasi-prospects like Lucas Duda and Daniel Murphy having solid seasons with the Mets, and younger, actual prospects like Zach Wheeler (haha, Giants. suckers!), Matt Harvey, and Jenrry Mejia coming along and not blowing out their elbows lifting a Hello Kittie backpack onto the team bus during a spring training rookie hazing ritual
*the moved-in fences at Citi Field bumping Jason Bay's home run total from twelve to fifteen! Totally worth the contract!
*Mike Pelfrey only having complete psychological meltdowns on the mound every third start or so
*the season not being over by the end of May
- Forgetting all of the extraneous BS for a second: baseball is still baseball, and baseball rules. If they end up implementing the designated hitter in the NL, however, I am gonna be PISSED!
Gang Gang Dance are an experimental but fun group. "Mind Killa" is an upbeat tune with off-kilter percussion, and "Glass Jar" is a really cool, slow-building track with a nice payoff at the end.
