Lower Dens-Brains

There are 130 Crayola crayon colors listed on Wikipedia, and frankly, I feel like that's too much. You can tell that they're stretching it by the names of the colors. Some of them sound more like Garbage Pail Kids than crayon colors. In fact, I'm going to see how many Garbage Pail Kids I can match with Crayola colors. Why? I HAVE NO IDEA.


Crayola color: Screamin' Green
Garbage Pail Kid: Screaming Mimi


"Screamin'Green" is a flourescent-ish version of green, and thus has a positive connotation of fun and excitement.
"Screaming Mimi" is a young girl fleeing in agony from a colony/pack/herd/flock (wah?) of bees. Let the record show that this ingenious card was released before My Girl, the Macaluay Culkin film where pretty much the exact same thing happens to him (the bees catch up). There's probably a lawsuit there.


Crayola color: Blizzard Blue
Garbage Pail Kid: Blizzard Blake


"Blizzard Blue" is basically sky blue. So kick that color to the curb.
"Blizzard Blake" is a poor little skier kid trapped inside a snow cone. A claustrophobic's hypothermic nightmare! This one's pretty powerful.


Crayola color: Laser Lemon
Garbage Pail Kid: Laser Ray


"Laser Lemon" is yellow. Killing me, Crayola.
"Laser Ray" isn't a cool sounding name. I mean I get the link between laser and ray, but it just falls flat. In terms of the visual, Ray obviously just lost a friendly (or not so friendly, judging by the background) game of laser guns backyard fun-time. Meh.

Crayola color: Hot Magenta
Garbage Pail Kid: Hot Rod


Yeah, I don't even know what "Hot Magenta" is, though it seems like it's just magenta with a marketing plan.
"Hot Rod" is riding backwards in a souped up baby carriage at a rate of speed that's making his eyeballs plunge out of the sockets. Plus his tongue is hot magenta. Nice bit of synchronicity there. Surely this is a metaphorical plea for the minimum driving age to be raised.


Crayola color: Electric Lime
Garbage Pail Kid: Electric Bill


"Electric Lime" is a pretty cool color. I'd have probably made some sick dinosaurs with this crayon when I was a kid.
"Electric Bill" is rather disturbing. Once again, Garbage Pail Kids tackling the weighty issues. Should juveniles be tried as adults for serious crimes? WE KNOW WHERE GARBAGE PAIL KIDS STANDS.


Lower Dens has a really great song called "Brains." Sounds very influenced by Neu!, an awesome krautrock band. Somebody tell that lead singer to crack a smile, though. Give her some crayons or something.

My Bloody Valentine-Soft as Snow (But Warm Inside); Only Shallow; In Another Way

It was a normal Friday morning. As I slept peacefully in my bed, my dreams were colored by the pleasant notion of the oncoming weekend. I slept the sleep of the content, subconsciously looking forward to one last productive day before a weekend of fun and relaxation. But this was to be no ordinary morning.

I do not often remember my dreams. But in this one I began to feel pain, a sharp pain that I couldn't exactly place. As the dream receded and the pain increased, I woke up with a start. Out of the corner of my eye I saw that this pain was no figment of an overactive imagination. It was real. There was a mangy cat gnawing on the side of my right ear! Half asleep, I instinctively grabbed it by the tail and flung it off my ear. The feral feline let out a gargled, "MMMMMMMEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEOOOOOOOOOWWWWWWWWWW" as it flew across my room, and it hit the wall of my apartment with a sickening thud. I jumped to my feet and grabbed the side of my ear. Blood dripped down the side of my head, slowly saturating the side of my shirt.

I ran to the bathroom and washed off my ear. Visions of bad Steven King novels began to race through my head. Would I get rabies? Would I start foaming at the mouth and eventually begin chewing off the ears of unsuspecting passersby? All I knew was that I had to get to a hospital before I found out. I didn't want to be the beginning of the zombie apocalypse. Not here. Not now.

The cat. What was the cat doing? I crept back into my bedroom, unsure of what to expect. The cat lay huddled in a heap in the corner, whining softly. It had to be feral, for it had no resemblance to a normal household cat. It was gaunt, with two large black eyes set too deep in their sockets. The cat didn't seem to be too hurt, except for a leg that lay curled under its stomach. Now that I was awake and alert, my fear and anger subsided. Sure, it was by no means a fluffy cat, or even a domesticated, halfway civilized one, but a cat it was. As long as it wasn't going to transform me into a flesh-eating zombie, I bore it no ill will. Suddenly my morning was transformed from a peaceful day of work and Friday afternoon relaxation to a trip to the emergency room and animal control.

Nibbles the Feral Cat and I obviously had a rocky start to our relationship. But the moment he sunk his teeth into my unsuspecting cartilage, an unbreakable bond was forged. Once I learned that he was not a danger to himself or society, he stopped being a threat. And he seemed to develop a kind of Feline Stockholm Syndrome, and as I prepared to leave him behind at animal control, he gazed at me with the saddest, most beseeching eyes I have ever seen in a feral cat in all my days. So I kept him. And day by day, steroid-infused bowl of Sheba by steroid-infused bowl of Sheba, Nibbles is becoming less feral and more fiery. Now I know that the only ears that Nibbles is gonna be gnawing on are that of intruders and enemies to his master.

Out of nowhere, My Bloody Valentine has a new album out! The follow-up to their 1991 (!) masterpiece Loveless. I've just started listening to it, but so far it's very intriguing. I'll post great songs from their three albums below.

Love-Alone Again Or

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.

Miguel-Adorn

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.

Ty Segall Band-I Bought My Eyes

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.

Television-Guiding Light; Tennis-Guiding Light

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!!!!!!!

Stanton Warriors Mixmag MOTW/Culture Shock BBC 1 Xtra Mix

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. :)

War on Drugs-Brother/Come to the City

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.

Jonny Greenwood-Score from The Master

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.

Twin Shadow-Beg For the Night/Golden Light/Patient

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.

The xx-Sunset (live [amazing version!])/Angels/Chained

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."

SBTRKT-Wildfire (featuring Little Dragon)/Right Thing To Do (featuring Jessie Ware)

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!

Jessie Ware-Wildest Moments/Devotion (live)/Running

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.

Walkmen-My Old Man; Neil Young-Old Man; Beatles-Old Brown Shoe

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.

Deerhoof- L'Amour Stories; Panda, Panda, Panda; Milk Man; Desapareceré; Spirit Ditties of No Tone

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.

Peaking Lights-Beautiful Son

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!

Noel Sanger-All We Are; Rhythm Section-Feel The Rhythm; Friction and Spice-Groove Me

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)

Nas featuring Amy Winehouse-Cherry Wine; Amy Winehouse-You Know I'm No Good; Back To Black

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.

Frank Ocean-Super Rich Kids; Tennis-Origins; Frankie Rose-Gospel/Grace

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.

Here's three songs I've been digging on lately.

Outside Lands: Walkmen-Love is Luck; Tame Impala-It Is Not Meant To Be; Grandaddy-Summer Here Kids; Thee Oh Sees-Bloody Water; Metallica-Battery

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.