Fiona Apple-Every Single Night

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.

Burial-Kindred

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.

Beach House-Myth/Cocteau Twins-Lorelei/Beach House-The Hours/The Beatles-Because

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).

The Weeknd-What You Need

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.

J Dilla-Lightworks (w/ Raymond Scott sampled song)/Two Can Win/People; Pharcyde-Runnin'

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'."

Anglophilia: Dose-Self Control; Maverick Sabre-IUTHIA (Remix); Kinks-Waterloo Sunset; Smiths-Headmaster Ritual;James-Laid;Downton Abbey;Cate Blanchett

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:

-circumlocution
-mellifluous
-somnambulatory
-quizzical
-bamboozled

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!

"Roller-Skate Skinny" Songs: De La Soul-Eye Know; The Jets-You Got It All; Big Star-Thirteen; Carole King-I Feel The Earth Move

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.

Gang Gang Dance-Mind Killah/Glass Jar

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.

Grimes-Oblivion; Chairlift-I Belong in Your Arms

I recently read this article, and it made me stop and think about the way I use my spare time. First of all, the fact that I felt I had the spare time to stop and think about how I use my spare time was a feat in itself. February and March are the grisliest months of the school year, and only now that April and Spring Break are here do I feel I have the opportunity to ponder such weighty issues.

I often bemoan the fact that I only get to read multiple novels of my choosing during summer break. I often feel too tired from school, or too obligated to re-read the books I'm currently teaching to immerse myself in a lengthier book during the school year. For instance, I've been reading In the Garden of the Beast by Erik Larson for way too long. I like it, but during the school year there always seems to be something else more imminently pressing. For the record, I am slowly but surely working on tweaking this borderline obsessive point of view.

There's also the issue of TV. I will stand behind the notion that there is good TV out there that can be almost as rich and compelling as a novel. Here are my thoughts on a few shows I've seen fairly recently:

The Walking Dead: I really liked this show at first, but it lost me by the end of season one. Every time someone dies there has to be a long, drawn-out scene where EVERY character pays his respects, slobbering tears all over the body until the most closely related character finally closes the corpse's eyelids and throws the body into a wood chipper or something. I'm alright with being emotionally manipulated, but don't make it THAT obvious. Ugh.

Mad Men: So glad it's back. Even when there are slight dips in quality it's still great. Don's rapid courtship (that'll turn out well!) of Megan makes me happy, because I was really starting to hate Betty, and Jessica Pare is magnifique. I'm looking forward to seeing how Sterling Cooper's business is going to build itself back up, and if Pete Campbell is ever going to truly get his comeuppance for being the most awful character in the show.

Downton Abbey: Yeah, so I guess this is basically just a stylized period-piece soap opera, but I still love it. I've only seen season one, but I'm hooked. Anna May is definitely my favorite character. I hope she wins the Downton Abbey Mega Millions (adjusted for deflation, of course) and starts a manor of her own with Bates. SHE'D TREAT THE STAFF RIGHT! Mary is a flawed but three-dimensional character, Sybil is kind of annoying and pathetic, and Edith is juuuuust right. I feel like Robert Crawley is a solid earl. If you think about it, you could probably get away with being a total d*ck if you were an earl. He's pretty chill about it.

So this summer I intend to watch Downton Abbey and Mad Men, and the rest of my leisure (pronounced leh-szurrrr, as the Brits do) time will hopefully be devoted to reading, writing, traveling, and watching some baseball games. Not too many Mets games, though. I WANNA BE HAPPY, DAMMIT!

I've been really drawn to poppy-sounding music lately. Maybe it's because the more complicated my life gets, the less complicated I need my music to be? I dunno. These two songs are good.

Andy C-Nightlife Vol. 5 featuring Wilkinson-Moonwalker, Loadstar-Link to the Past, & Bladerunner-Spartan Law

A couple of weeks ago I had my students generate sensory details for a poem using abstract images and lyric-less electronic music as inspiration. My favorite electronic music conjures up strong images in my mind, and I think at least some of the students enjoyed the exercise and created some interesting images to base a poem on.

For the past year or so, I have been obsessed with the Nightlife Vol. 5 drum and bass mix by Andy C. He's probably the UK's biggest drum and bass dj, and not only is he an incredibly talented mixer, but the records he chooses have great beats and dark production. When I listen to the mix I think of:

- a recently beheaded serpent thrashing about uncontrollably while trying to order a Wendy's spicy chicken sandwich
- two creatures from James Cameron's classic film Aliens snapping at each other with poisonous talons, while a bemused UPS worker repeatedly asks if one of them can sign for their royalty checks.
- a meteor smashing through the roof of the last remaining Best Buy store.
- somebody locating a magic button in Target that instantly transforms every shopper into an anthropomorphized cat carrying a power drill that is turned to too powerful a setting for the cat-humans to control.
- The entire Jetson family accidentally consuming steroids in their space-cereal, and the scene morphing from a happy-go-lucky cartoon space utopia to a roided out, irrational battle royal of Jetson rage.
- a post-apocalyptic scene, with not even a small breeze to indicate signs of life. Suddenly, from out of nowhere, a yellow daisy sprouts from the wreckage. Hope! Within seconds, however, another blast of nuclear slime Chicken McNugget filling destroys everything in sight.

The best drum and bass swiftly switches in mood from dark to light and back again, and Andy C.'s mix does this masterfully. If you have ANY interest in drum and bass, get Nightlife Vol. 5 now. The three records below are seamlessly mixed together about seven minutes into the mix. So freaking great.

St. Vincent-Cruel

Some people have a problem with Valentine's Day. They say it's too commercial, and puts too much emphasis on materialism. Eh, whatever. If the two people in the couple really know each other, and their values are fairly similar, I don't see it being an issue.

HOWEVER. There is something rather insidious about the marketing of Valentine's Day. Something that has been subtly manipulating the minds of millions of consumers. That thing is Jared. The most prominent Jared of recent memory is the company name that is squealed in those slightly annoying, overenthusiastic jewelry commercials. But Jared goes much further back than that. Back to an ad campaign that began before most people had even heard of Jared Jewelers.

Jared Fogle has been Subway's pitch guy since 2000. He lost a bunch of weight while supposedly eating only Subway turkey sandwiches. Good for him. Awesome story. However, Subway has saturated U. S. consumers with Jared commercials like an inexperienced sandwich artist using oil and vinegar bottles with the tops too loosely screwed on.

Because both campaigns have been so incessantly hammered into the collective American psyche, I have a feeling that there might be some subconscious confusion. And on Valentine's Day, food doesn't always supplement love. Sometimes it fills the gaping void where love used to be.

Scenario 1 (internal monologue set off by **) :

Teresa: Somebody's at the door. OMG it's UPS. It's probably from Fred. Open it!!!!

Mary: *opens box* He went to Jared's!!!! Isn't he the greatest?!

Teresa: Yaaaaaay! I'm so happy for you! **Hmmm... Just a locket?! What a tightwad!**


Scenario 2

Teresa: How's Joe been doing since he broke up with Tina?

Mary: I don't know. He seems kinda down. I think he went to Jared's.

*cut to Joe at Jared's house*

Jared: Ummm... Hey Joe. You might want to switch to a turkey sub for this round. I think you're on your fourth meatball. Haven't you heard that all of our subs are just five dollars in February?

Joe (through a mouthful of meatballs and cheese) : Shut up, Jared. Why don't you go fetch a turkey sub for Michael Phelps? I hear Apollo Anton Ono just finished skating in circles and is absolutely jonesing for a cold cut combo. Go make yourself useful. As for me? I'm gonna bathe in a swimming pool filled with marina sauce and meatballs. After I get out, I'm gonna dry myself off with day-old slices of white American cheese. Then, when I'm good and full, I'm gonna lay my head down on a bed of stale sourdough bread. Happy m*t*e*f*c*i*g' Valentine's Day!

(Here's a great song from the new St. Vincent album)

Madonna-Borderline/Get Into the Groove/Live to Tell

Madonna owned the 80s, and thanks to a strong setlist, smart choices for guest artists, and M. I. A.'s naughty little middle finger, she owned the Super Bowl, too. Good for her, cause the only thing she's been owning lately is a rather expensive plastic surgery tab.

I enjoyed hearing all the old hits, and it's a testament to her ability to churn out great pop songs that there were at least five others I wished she had also played. Below I will put some of my favorites, along with a few comments about the videos. Note: The video embedding fascists won't allow me to post the Borderline video, so I'll post the audio and the link to the video under it.



http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=rSaC-YbSDpo&ob=av3e

In my humble, completely correct opinion, this is by far the best song Madonna has ever done. I feel like I can hear genuine emotion in her voice (CAN IT BE???!!!), and the backing vocals are soulful. This song has an innocence that Madonna kinda lost when she started putting gigantic yellow cones on her chest and starring in Basic Instinct ripoffs. As for the video, she does this awesome swiveling dance move with the spray paint can at 3:06. There's a much better chance that that can is filled with Aqua Net than actual paint, but it's a good prop-integrating dance move nonetheless. And of course there's the older rival for her affection in this video. She's big on those. In "Material Girl" there's this bearded creeper who keeps bringing her flowers, when it's obvious that she's gonna end up with the twenty-something guys who dangle-dance those diamonds in her face.



Ok, let's make one thing clear here. Madonna was the biggest thing on the planet at this point. She was a pop star, a movie star, and I think she could have been the head of the United Nations if she had bothered. Rosanna Arquette is actually good looking, and in this movie she looked like the Elephant Woman next to Madonna. Wait. I forgot. There's another old dude in this video! Apparently the only way to ward off a mid-life crisis in the 80s was to buy a Delorean or throw yourself at Madonna's feet. The plot of this film had more holes than Pebble Beach, but if every scene was simply Madonna flopping onto the bed with her pointless pyramid jacket and cultivated insouciance, that alone would bring half the American population into the theatres.



Madonna in an Amish dress! Introspective Madonna! Dating Sean Penn Madonna! Almost too many jarring transformations to handle at once. Almost. This is my favorite Madonna slow jam, and though I never saw the film, Christopher Walken looks super-scary in the clips. Like even scarier than he normally looks. Madonna looks fairly relaxed considering she's sitting in a darkened room with nothing but a rotating camera and a subtle wind machine. She was still milking the Marilyn look here, and if it works for Sean Penn, I'm certainly not going to argue. He looks pretty irritable.

Radiohead-Talk Show Host

My good friend told me over winter break that she lucked into a ticket to a Radiohead concert. She doesn't know that much about the band, but is very excited to go. The person she's going with, on the other hand, is a huge music dork like me. My friend joked that she needs a Radiohead primer to sound informed during the show.

Now she might have been joking to the extent that she wasn't hinting that she desperately wanted me to make her a chronological best of accompanied by a one to two page synopsis of the band's career arc. There's definitely that chance. But juuuuuuuust in case, I decided to do just that!

While putting together the best of was a bit of a challenge, I knew that the best way to avoid the potential psychological trauma created by cutting tracks was to put a time limit on the creation of the mix. I needed to just cut myself off at some point from vacillating between such life or death choices as whether to put two or three tracks from Amnesiac. In fact, I just remembered that I didn't put "Pyramid Song" on the mix, and I'm on the verge of some sort of mid-blog-post psychological breakdown. Surely there has to be a medical term for this by now.

The most troublesome part of this whole process is the one to two page synopsis of the band's career. I mean that's not to say I couldn't write it, because I've definitely read enough Radiohead fanboy books in my day to know which brand of paper towel was most popular in Thom Yorke's childhood home. But it's so boooring to write (and thus read) something like that. So since it's Superbowl Sunday, and 750 gazillion people will be gawking at ads costing up to 7.3 quadrillion dollars per second, I've decided to incorporate some advertising themes into my Radiohead discussion. My message aims to fall in line with Radiohead's sometimes borderline cliche anti-corporation, anti-politicians, anti-making-consistent-albums-anymore stance. Here goes:


Radiohead. A band you can believe in. A band at the forefront of cutting-edge technology, with a wealth of new songs utilizing the newest gadgets, gizmos, and sometimes even musical instruments. Feeling disenchanted with modern life? Tired of disingenuous politicians mudslinging and lying to your face? Tired of the the everyday grind of all work and no play? Well have I got a band for you!!! Radiohead sings about the monotony of the morning commute, conniving conservatives disseminating propaganda, as well as the necessity of bringing small snacks like a peanut butter and jelly sandwich to a potentially protracted gunfight.

Radiohead is a band for the people, by the people, that is deathly afraid of the people. You know. THOSE PEOPLE. The people that are out to get you. TURN AROUND!!!! See? Them. This healthy distrust of people with any sort of authority or muscular tone has helped the band connect with the special people of the world. Special people like you. If you want a band as unique, intelligent, and cripplingly insecure as you are, you need to try Radiohead today. In fact, we'll let you name your own price! We know that you've been manipulated through guilt your entire life, and will somehow rationalize paying more than what we were originally going to charge anyway. Enjoy!

Wild Beasts-Thankless Thing

There's a small movie theatre near my apartment that makes a bold claim on its marquee. In huge block letters it says, "WORLD'S BEST POPCORN." I'm sure I've had their popcorn at some point in time, but I don't even know if I'd recognize the world's best popcorn if I tasted it. Popcorn is popcorn. Amirite?

But that is not what is important about this marquee. The first time I noticed this pronouncement was when the movie Shame was playing there. So the marquee read, "WORLD'S BEST POPCORN" in huge letters, and centered underneath it, in equally bold type, it said "SHAME." For some reason I cracked up every time I saw it. I think I might be easily amused.

So last night I'm driving by the theatre, and for the first time in a while there's a different movie playing! This time, under "WORLD'S BEST POPCORN" it reads "CARNAGE." At this point I'm feeling like whoever books the movies at this place does so simply to play off the popcorn proclamation on the marquee. It's just too perfect. Below I will detail the scenarios these two movie marquees conjure up in my mind.

WORLD'S BEST POPCORN: SHAME

Oh man, I can't believe I actually came to this film alone. I never do this. Maybe if I slouch down in the seat nobody will notice. Or if I constantly look around expectantly until they dim the lights, people will just assume that I'm waiting for someone... Damn, that popcorn looks good. Do I get the large? No, I can't get the large. That's just weird. Walking to my seat alone with this gigantic tub of popcorn. And I know I'll get the butter topping. I always get the butter topping...

-in seat- Sh*t. Here I am. Just me, this potentially inappropriate NC-17 indie flick, and a fat*ss tub of popcorn. I have officially passed the point of no return. When are they gonna dim these g***amn lights?!

WORLD'S BEST POPCORN: CARNAGE

Ooooh, this movie looks good. A good old-fashioned drama. I'm ready to watch some people suffer. Not suffer suffer, you know. First-world problems suffer. Sprinkle in some passive aggressive, throw in a dash of long-held grudges and petty jealousies, and pretty soon you have a room of white people freaking out on each other! Good times. Hmmmm... I need something to snack on while I watch this prize fight. Sno Caps? A vastly underrated candy, but I'm just not in the mood. Haagen Dazs bar? I feel like that's kind of a loser snack at the movies. It'll probably fall off the stick halfway through, and it'll serve me right for extending my menu past the classic film fare. I'll just go with the old reliable: popcorn.

I love indie movie trailers. I get to get excited about films that will probably only be shown in New York and Los Angeles for the next six months. Mmmm... this one looks good. I can soooo handle subtitles. Wow, this popcorn is good. Even the unpopped kernels are tasty! Does Sony Pictures Classics make every one of these movies? Do they make any money? Do they just hit up the Playstation guys for loans all the time? Mmmmm... tasty. This popcorn rules. The butter sludge is so evenly distributed throughout the tub. Yuuuuummmm. Ooooh! It's a new Audrey Tatou film! Is she ever gonna age? Is she just gonna morph into Juliette Binoche in the middle of one of her movies? Damn! No more popcorn. The movie hasn't even started yet. Fail.


(This Wild Beasts song is beautiful. I haven't heard much of their stuff, but this is a gem. Wow.)

Games-Strawberry Skies/ Oneohtrix Point Never-Sleep Dealer

Here's a partial glimpse of my ever-expanding list of people that suck:

-The guy at the bar for the big game that is so incessantly loud that he makes me want to stop cheering. I'm into it, but when he starts a "DEE-FENSE!" chant during halftime I want to turn around and smack him. He's the one that you just know will start a fight with anyone wearing the opposing team's jersey. I would imagine that his life outside of the bar amounts to approximately sixty hours a week loading sacks of beef jerky onto an eighteen-wheeler. This is as good as it gets.

-The really slow driver that is completely unaware of anything that is going on around him. I'm driving behind him on a city street, and he brakes in front of seven consecutive driveways because he's just not sure where he's going. If you're not capable of counting by two and figuring out the approximate location of your destination, you are not allowed on my roads.

-This one is pretty standard, but the guy on the cell phone in a public place is a big one for me. Especially if it's a sit-down restaurant. The other night this middle-aged man was talking on his phone for twenty-five minutes while we were sitting approximately one foot away from him. Of course this conversation entailed lurid family details about Bethany finally getting up the nerve to leave Frank due to his performance issues in the bedroom. Now I've pretty much accepted that some of the "younger generation" doesn't consider privacy or tact to be a huge priority, but this guy was fifty. I actually said something. I never do that.

-The person who works in any sort of service job and is a total **** to people. For the record, I got a job waiting tables once. I quit after one day. Why, you ask? Because I realized that it wasn't the job for me. I realized that the first person to talk down to me was going to get a platter of beef stroganoff in their grill. It just wasn't my thing. Now if you choose to work in customer service, you make a conscious decision to put up with annoying people. Goes with the territory. If you don't like it, go get a job with the beef jerky loader.

I've already posted about Ford & Lopatin. I still love that album. Well, before these two fellows were called Ford & Lopatin they were called Games. I really love the song "Strawberry Skies." Great vocals and production. 2:17 is bliss. Now this Lopatin fellow also has another project called Oneohtrix Point Never. It's much darker sounding, but also very good. Tweaked video. The Games one is great, too.

Kurt Vile-Jesus Fever

So what do you do for a living?

I'm a high school English teacher.

Oooooh. Sorry. That must be rough. I could NEVER do that.

Ummmm... well... it's actually-

I REALLY respect you guys. I mean I could never do it, but God bless you guys!

Uhh... thanks? But it's actually a really fu-

I mean I would NEVER have the patience to deal with all those annoying teenagers. Ugh. I mean, just spending an hour with my niece is enough. Don't you ever get tired of dealing with them?

Well, actually they're a lot of-

And the pay?! How do you even live out here?

Well, surprisingly, the pay's actually pretty-

Do they have some sort of special teacher housing in the outskirts of South San Francisco or something? Wow, I really respect you guys. WOW.

Yeah, uh thanks! So what do you do?

I do IT for a bank.

HOT BAR: Eddie Money-Shakin'; Billy Squier-The Stroke; Michael Jackson-Dirty Diana; Tina Turner-Private Dancer (live, with multiple awkward solos)

I walk into Whole Foods thinking to myself, "Why am I in Whole Foods? I'm no California granola willing to pay exorbitant prices for grass-fed free-range left-leaning Stanford-educated goat cheese." But I know why I'm here. Because it's a block from my apartment. Because while I hate shopping, I also know that the three quarter-full half gallons of milk in my fridge resemble water samples from the Dagobah System. So I venture in, knowing I'm going to be assaulted by North Face jackets and people in better shape than I am. But I soldier on.

I'm really hungry. And I'm feeling especially edgy today. I don't know if I can brave a full twelve minute shop. F*CK IT, I'LL JUST GET HOT BAR. That's another problem with Whole Foods. As soon as I muster up the courage to do a food shop, I walk in and hot bar stares me in the face. The steam seems to coo at me, "Shaaaaane. You don't reeeeeeally want to boil that water for another meal of tortellini, do you? That's so boring! And frankly, we both know that that's the best case scenario. You'll probably end up throwing an over-priced frozen dinner into your sad little microwave oven, won't you? Wouldn't you rather have meeeee? There's a turkey leg the size of Turkey with your name on it over here. And a greasy pile of macaroni & cheese with that crusty topping you love so much. And look over there! Some vegetables you can throw in to convince yourself that your diet isn't the nutritional equivalent of a heroin addiction. Cooooooome to meeeeeeeeee."

I try to avert my gaze, knowing that one torrid night spent with hot bar is just that: one night. Nobody ever does hot bar leftovers. It just doesn't work. I got this far, I might as well set myself up for the week, right? RIGHT? WROOOOOOONG. There is no escaping hot bar. With a mixture of excitement and despair, I put back my cart and head over to hot bar.

Hot bar always costs at least five dollars more than I anticipate. I put what I think are normal portions into my recyclable container, and somehow my hot bar purchase still adds up to eighteen dollars. That's where the shame starts creeping in. Then I go home and eat, and I realize where that eighteen dollars came from. It's too much food. But I can't stop. It tastes good, and hot bar leftovers are a no no. By the time I'm done with hot bar I have no food for the rest of the week, and I feel so fat and disgusting that I have to take a cold shower to try to wash away the shame.

Every once in a while a song will come on that makes me feel hot bar. It's just slimy. If hot bar was a person, it'd be a smug, middle-aged, slightly rotund man named Fred that makes a good living selling insurance, and wants everyone to know about it. Fred drives a Thunderbird, and likes to fancy himself a ladies man. People kinda hate Fred. The following YouTubes are the songs Fred listens to in his Thunderbird.

Eddie Money is so hot bar. Kinda good hot bar, but still hot bar. He's probably in a dive bar in the Keys right now, hitting on some fifty-seven-year-old lady with leathery skin and a bad boob job.



Classic hot bar. This guy will still be wearing male-camel-toe pants when he's in a nursing home. So uncomfortable. He probably gets really drunk and obnoxious at Squier family reunions. "UH OH. UNCLE BILLY GOT INTO THE TEQUILLA AGAIN."



I was seriously traumatized when this video came out. Uh, Mike? Who's this "Dirty Diana" you speak of? Who have you been hanging out with lately? Come home, Mike. Please.



Tina has always been a trailblazer, and with "Private Dancer," she once again broke new ground for women. That new ground was hot bar. This song came out when I was seven, and I just didn't get it. Is Tina saying she's gonna be a stripper? Why would she write a song about it? Whaaaaa? Add to it a live performance featuring a steamy sax scene with our hero Tim Capello, and this song's got hot bar written all over it. I think the concert promoters gave out gift baskets with Viagra samples at this show.

Pink Floyd-Sheep/Led Zeppelin-Traveling Riverside Blues; How Many More Times/The Doors-Strange Days

I finished the last section of Let's Talk About Love: A Journey To The End of Taste, and I took some interesting points from it. One main one is this: musical discourse might be more open and "democratic" if we have conversations that are less about whether or not our musical taste is better or worse than other people's. If the conversation is framed more in terms of, "Wow, we have completely opposite musical taste. I wonder what in our backgrounds lead to that?" it might result in more engaging, and less dismissive and misguidedly pretentious dialogue. After all, one man's Meat(loaf) is another man's Poison. (groan?)

This all sounds so lovey-dovey, group therapy-ish that I could almost puke (say that last line in a Holden voice), and I don't expect to turn into some kind of weirdo music socialist ( ;) ), but it made me reflect back on the origins and shaping of my musical taste. A somewhat recent influence arose around the year 2000, when I started going (borderline living) on the internet and researching music through various methods, such as discussion boards, reading about bands or albums, and downloading all sorts of music. But if I really go back to the beginning, I'll probably find myself in a cluttered basement in Westhampton, New York.

Before the age of eight or so, my experiences with music were limited to Kasey Kasem's top 40 on the radio, and Solid Gold, the weekly top 40 program, on the television. My Dad gets about seventy-five gold stars for liking Prince, but other than that our music-related conversations were something along the lines of, "Dad, why is Crystal Gayle's hair so long? Does she trip on it? Is it used for Rapunzel purposes?" We watched whoever happened to be on that week, be it Kool & the Gang, Laura Branigan, or Hall & Oates.

My step-brothers were the ones that introduced me to the concept of obsessing about bands and listening to more than just the songs that happened to be playing on the radio at the time. When I would come over to their house, I would inevitably end up in the basement, a young boy's wonderland that consisted of a pool table, a dart board, and a foosball table. They were about eight years older than me, so of course I thought they were way cool. When Robert Plant started braying over the stereo about squeezing lemons (a pretty bizarre metaphor in retrospect), and Roger Waters started moaning about "one of [his] turns coming on," I was immediately hooked. Led Zeppelin, Pink Floyd, and The Doors were of course fm staples, but my brothers fostered in me a maniacal love in these bands that has since filtered over into other groups like Radiohead, The Beatles, and Brian Eno. The latter artists have more "music nerd" cache to them, but most people don't even know who the hell Brian Eno is, much less get to hear his music (which is kind of a bummer, cause it's not all as out there as some people assume).

I'll start with Pink Floyd. It's much "cooler" to be into Syd Barrett-era Pink Floyd. It's more artsy sounding, less bloated, and seems to take itself less seriously. And Barrett totally lost his sh*t on acid and went crazy, which is mega cool!!!! Don't get me wrong, I definitely enjoy Piper At the Gates of Dawn and some other Syd Barrett stuff, but i definitely have much more of a connection to Roger Waters-era Pink Floyd. Sure, some of the lyrics are insufferable, and some of David Gilmour's guitar solos are about as emotive as aluminum siding, but there are still a bunch of great songs. And the memories each of these songs conjure up are endless. Take the song "Sheep" from the album Animals (my favorite PF album). I love the plaintive intro, then the way Water's vocals are eaten alive at the end of each line by the synths and the raging guitars. The surprisingly unrestrained guitar solo at the end is also perfectly in line with the lyrics.

My step-brothers and I knew ever Zeppelin song by heart. Well, almost. I butchered some lines, and never heard the end of it. "IIIIIIIIII'm not trying to find it" from "Misty Mountain Hop" somehow turned into "llllllllaaaaaaaaaatrafayeeeeeeeeeh." Phonetically it almost worked. Needless to say, we loved Zeppelin, and when we heard that there were going to be two non-album tracks on the then-new box set, it was almost too exciting to handle. When those two songs turned out to be "Traveling Riverside Blues" and "Hey Hey What Can I Do," our seemingly unrealistic expectations were exceeded. Two great songs, one a rollicking blues rocker (I had to say that corny phrase once in my life), and the other a sad acoustic number about a guy that's... uh, dating a prostitute? The naivety of youth made me think they were just arguing over cereal preference or something. To this day I don't really look too deeply into Plant's lyrics (good thing-cause most of them, "TRB" for one, aren't even his.) I left out the "HHWCID" YouTube and threw in "How Many More Times," because it's my favorite Zeppelin song. It's just monstrous. I don't care if the section from 6:38 to the end of the song is the most c*ck-rock, over-the-top thing ever, it still rules. And John Paul Jones, ever the underrated Led Zeppelin member, anchors the whole song with his rolling bass line.

"Strange Days" is probably my favorite Doors song. I can't really escape the fact that Morrison's lyrics are really corny, but the bass playing in this song is awesome. At 2:04 it sounds like there's psychotic rubber bands flying all over the place. Not quite sure what's up with this video, though. MIDGETS AND JUGGLERS ARE STRANGE! And then there's Ray Manzarek walking behind them, who's about as strange as a public accountant shopping at Best Buy. Anyway, the imagery in this video is as bang-you-over-the-head as many of Morrison's lyrics. Oh, wait. Am I lapsing back into music snob mode? NO!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! Jim Morrison is a talented musician with many things to offer a diversified modern audience. Gosh darn it, I like him!

Celine Dion-You Shook Me All Night Long (live) ; The Cults-Go Outside/You Know What I Mean; The Ronettes-He Did It

I'm almost done with a great book from the 33 1/3 book series. This is a series for serious music nerds. Each book is written on a "classic" album; it's either an in-depth account of the record, or a creative piece inspired by it. The unique aspect of the book I'm reading is that it's the only entry in the series that is dedicated to an album that the author totally hates.

The book is called Let's Talk About Love: A Journey to the End of Taste, and the thing that makes it so great is that he puts his (and our) taste on trial. How much of taste is actually aesthetic taste, and how much of it is conforming to, or, at least in our minds, subverting the taste of "the herd"? He talks about philosophy, economics, Dion's place in Canada's psyche, and how taste often comes down to distinction: a way of distinguishing yourself from people that you consider to be beneath (or above) you.

If I'm honest with myself, I would say that I'm definitely a "snob" when it comes to music, books, film, etc. But what does that mean? I know that when I listen to certain music it moves me to a much greater extent than other music, but how much of my taste is at least to a certain extent dictated by my wanting to distinguish myself from others? For instance, why do I hate Train so much? The fact that they sound uninspired, premeditated, disingenuous, and capable of effectively substituting for Valium has to be part of it, but why is the feeling so visceral? I MUST BE GETTING SOMETHING OUT OF THAT HATE. I need some musical therapy, obviously.

This first video might be Celine at her worst. This performance wasn't even mentioned in the book, but it was branded in my mind like a mass slaughter of Teddy Ruxpin dolls witnessed by an overly sentimental five-year-old. It's. Just. SO BAD. I blame it more on the people who told her that this would be a cool thing to do than on her. But still! The dichotomy that is Dione is perfectly illustrated by the likes and dislikes: a very high number that is split almost perfectly down the middle. Even the top two comments are defensive reactions to the inevitable vitriol that is spewed in the comments below.

The Cults are viewed by some as a "guilty pleasure" (a concept which is also discussed in this book). I wouldn't go so far as to label them that. They actually do a really good job of emulating 60s girl groups. My only issue is that in the live clips I've seen, the lead singer uses effects on her vocals, instead of trying to approximate the studio versions with the creative use of background singers. Not a huge complaint, because her voice is still pretty good.

The "Go Outside" video is actually a bit creepy. Superimposing yourself into Jonestown footage is interesting, but almost a little uncomfortable. Good song, though. "You Know What I Mean" perfectly captures the 50s and 60s girl group sound and feel. Speaking of which, here is "He Did It," one of my favorite Ronettes songs. The band kicks so much ass, and has to in order to keep up with Ronnie Spector's absolute monster of a voice.

Casual Sax? (Tim Capello-I Still Believe/Eleanor Friedberger-My Mistakes/Curtis Mayfield-Little Child Runnin' Wild)

The saxophone. One of the most (unfairly?) maligned instruments in music. The root of its issues seems to be a lack of subtlety. While many other instruments lend themselves to fitting in with a group, the saxophone often comes across as a bit over the top-like an over-sized, gaudy ring. Granted, I'm not an expert on sax (baha, first of many too-easy-to-pass-up puns in this post), but the majority of times I hear the saxophone, it's about as subtle as twenty-two inch rims on a Toyota Celica. I'm just gonna keep going with these comparisons. AS SUBTLE AS RAIN ON YOUR WEDDING DAY. No, that's ironic. No, that just sucks. Never mind. Damn you, Alanis.

The first video I'll post is a classic, but mostly for the wrong reasons. This is an example of bad sax. Some people say that bad sax is better than no sax at all (I can't stop-what's wrong with me?), but I'm not sure with this one. Just eight seconds in, it sounds like someone's blowing their nose through the saxophone. Then if you freeze the video at exactly 1:15, you'll see everything that's wrong with this song. You should not be a shirtless, lathered up with body oil, gyrating professional wrestler look-alike while playing the saxophone. It just doesn't seem right. You can even see Jason Patric turn to Corey Haim right afterwards and give him a look like, "Can you believe this guy? Oh well, I'm just here to hit on Jami Gertz anyway!" Lost Boys is a great 80s movie, though. NOTE: TRAGICALLY, I CAN'T EMBED THE VISUAL PORTION OF THIS VIDEO. JUST GO TO http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=PdaaGlyu7EQ TO CHECK IT OUT. TRUST ME, IT'S WORTH IT.

Now on to what I consider to be good sax. The kind of sax you won't hear in Panera Bread. First up is the song "My Mistakes" by Eleanor Friedberger. This is Friedberger's first solo album-she's done a few albums with her brother as The Fiery Furnaces. The Fiery Furnaces are good, but a bit hit or miss. "My Mistakes" is a catchy song, with a great video. The song sounds almost desperately upbeat, and I think the lyrics and video reflect that. I really love the sax solo at the end, because it saves the song from getting monotonous, and is exuberant without crossing over into the d****erzone (that didn't say danger).

Curtis Mayfield was just amazing, and of course his music would have great saxophone in it. It does a "call and response" with many of the lines in "Little Child Runnin' Wild," and adds to the tension and feel of the song. Cool can be a corny word, but when the alternative for saxophone is so obtrusive and lame, it's actually the perfect word.