geox

2003-10-27T21:10:00.000Z

Until further notice...

I have decided to suspend publication of this blog as well as NOTHAM. I am fatigued lately and I need to concentrate on parts of life that actually produce positive or productive outcomes for me, not just senseless bickering and ill-will. Life is too short. Very short.

I also think blogs have a place, but not necessarily in my life. I write because, as Rilke says, I must. However, I don't need to "publish" -- if you can call blogging that.

Thanks to everyone who has read this nonsense. I hope some of you enjoyed it or learned something, or at least had a laugh. I'll still read some of the blogs as well as weighing in at the Masslive Weblog forum from time to time (lucky you.) But I'm not posting a notice about this suspension of my blogs there. No drama needed or wanted.

Otherwise I'll stick to more conventional forms of publishing, until such time I'm paid for doing otherwise.

In the end, ham sandwiches will out. They always do, in every genre.

2003-10-27T15:52:00.000Z

Word down

It's funny how words on a computer screen that are written conversationally (say, in an online forum) can take a completely different tone than the one in which they are written.

I ascribe this mostly to the reader/reactor.

I am foreverlastingly getting in hot H2O because people don't understand that: 1) I may be sarcastic at times, but I'm not mean; 2) I usually am trying to promote positive change when I criticize something (and I never engage in ad hominem attacks -- unless I'm attacked first); 3) I'm actually pretty friendly, if you know me or talk to me in person.

For the record: I am easily as guilty as anyone for overreacting to some posts. I admit to having thin skin on some subjects.

Recently a few folks in a forum (no need for names here) got into a tiff over a post, and of course I jumped in and of course my comments were met with defensiveness.

So my point is this: If you read something that you interpret as slagging you, maybe you might check with the person who wrote it before engaging them publicly online. (Unless you don't like the person and just relish a reason to go after them, that is. That's always good sport, and no, I'm not kidding about that.) This goes for everyone: I'm not singling anyone out here: We all (or almost all, the boring people and shiny happy people don't have these problems) do this once in a while. That's fine: Passion is a good thing. (I'm just not a Zen kinda guy. I tried that route earlier in my life...bor-ing.)

Just keep it in perspective (and hey, I'm talking to me here as much as anyone else!)

2003-10-24T15:23:00.000Z

Word up

Over at the Masslive weblog forum, a word battle has broken out on several fronts. It was sparked by an observation that the term "Indian summer" is offensive, or politically incorrect...which led to a debate about whether PC is a pejorative and marginalizes people...which led to a debate about liberalism vs. progressivism vs. leftism etc.

So I decided to have some fun with it here (especially since Joe "Wonderstuff" M. of THIS IS REALLY HAPPENING thinks our thoughts are better placed in our blogs -- see the Weblog forum post # 292.)

Here are some solutions:

1) Instead of changing "Indian summer" to something non-threatening like "Second summer" as Henning suggested (nice idea but it won't work, and as I state below, I don't think Indian sumer is offensive) -- why not this: Use the same sounds but different words -- Indie on-Summer (meaning its independent of real summer but its still going on.) A stretch, but hey, I'm trying!

2) Marginalize. I always hated this word. It's like "empower" to me, Ugh.
A word I'd like to invent here, however, is "margarinalize." This word will mean being subjected to someone substituting a tastless imitation for the real thing. Like GW Bush for Al Gore. ("The American people were margarinalized when Bush took office after actually losing the election.")

3) Liberal: Despite the term being turned into a pejorative by talk radio and its minions, I still call myself one. I refuse to let the enemy define my terms or turf. But since many now shy away from the word, or use the word "progressive" (which can mean something different) how about something new: Maybe "Reasonables" or "Believables" or "Favorables"? My choice: "Loveables" cuz we liberals are so cuddly, ne c'est pas?

4) PC, etc. -- Since people now see PC (politically correct) as a pejorative, why not come up with a new category (but one that would have to would exclude the ill-considered PC ideas yet would steal the thunder from a right wing group's claim to moral superiority): I give you "MC," or "morally consistent."
No one should claim to be moral all the time; we try but fail. But by saying we are morally consistent, it just means we try to judge other equally and as we would judge ourselves (sound familiar?)

OK that's enough brilliance today. Have a good weekend.

2003-10-23T16:54:00.000Z

My interest in other word origins has been piqued this week, ever since I’ve been taking batting practice on some etymological softballs over in the MASSLIVE weblogs forum (about the origins and potential offensiveness of the term “Indian summer” –- for the record, I think it’s not offensive. Most early sources say it came from the fact that Native Americans hunted late into the fall, or later than colonials expected, anyway.)
One word that jumped out at me this week, in more than one way, is mortgage. This is partly because Dr. J (my wife Jeanne) and I are jumping into the great battle for a home in Northampton. Hey, prices are up, properties are scarce, what perfect timing!
What got my attention – and I never thought about it before – was the word’s root, mort. Anyone with a passing interest in Romance languages knows this means “death.” The -gage suffix, however, comes from Germanic roots, meaning “pledge.”

So basically a mortgage is a “death pledge.”
How nice.
Hmmm, based on that, maybe we should have made an offer on the house that sits in the middle of a cemetery. You think I kid? Look here. (Check the background closely. Also check out the price. That must be some one bedroom in there!)
At least the neighbors would be quiet. But as Dr. J said, we couldn’t have a dog: he’d always be digging up bones.

2003-10-21T16:57:00.000Z

Shave with the grain; write against it

I just bought me one of those Gillette Mach III razors (technically I bought the Mach III Turbo -- with aloe strips for extra lubrication) yesterday after hearing several recommendations from reliable sources over the past few months. Scott says he has yet to cut himself since making the Mach-over move, and Neil at the Iron Horse (who shaves his head, as do I) swears by it. Neil's pate always looks sleek, and he's a pretty fashionable guy overall.

My first shave with it this morning went extremely well: No nicks, cuts or razor burn. This is a rare event for me because I have that wonderful combination of sensitive skin and an extremely tough beard. Without going into horrific details, suffice it to say my shaving encounters have at times resembled botched suicide attempts or pagan blood sacrifices.
I'm not sure the Mach III gets as close a shave as I would like, but it wasn't bad. We'll see. But so far, it's the best razor I've ever used.

Now, some of you may be saying: "Gee, I thought this guy hated 'Had a Ham Sandwich' (HAHS)-type blog entries, and this certainly seems like one to me. Shaving? I'd rather read about eating a sandwich."

Ah, but the above story was just an opening gambit to today's topic: This supposed "metrosexual" trend.

Now I'm not the best-groomed guy on the planet, and I'm not about to spend $75 on a pedicure, but I do try to make an effort. The Fab Five from "Queer Eye for the Straight Guy" wouldn't have much fun with me, because I would only need a few rough edges taken off, and the whole premise of that show is watching them try to shape an unkempt troglodyte into a dandified fop.

But a few weeks ago, the New York Times ran an article about "metrosexuals." The term means, loosely, straight guys who may seem gay, due to their supposedly "unmanly" attention to grooming, fashion, skin care, etc. (i.e. based on a ridiculous set of stereotypes.)

Excuse me, but hasn't GQ has been around for quite a while preaching this gospel of grooming to both straights and gays alike? All of a sudden, however, this way of living has a trendy name and everyone is talking about it. (This even occurs on Soundboard, which is supposed to be a music forum. People wonder why I don't visit there anymore. A place for everything and everything in its place, I say.)

The trouble with a trend like this is that no one can agree on how to define it (see Soundboard post # 3824 and beyond for a silly and useless debate on this, by the way.)
There is at least one quiz from ESPN that is supposed to help you determine your "metrosexuality" but it's obviously just a joke.
So for those of you concerned with such things, I decided that I'd offer my own barometer for your use in determining whether you are "metro" or "retro" or "Jethro" (as in Bodine, on the "Beverly Hillbillies.")

Take it at your own risk, but be honest!

1) Skin care products: Give yourself one point for each you own (ones that are really your wife's or girlfriend's that you use do NOT count.) Do not include hair care products or shaving cream in this question.

2) Give yourself two points for owning any of the following: electric nasal groomer; electric flosser, cuticle stick; at least two emery boards for nail care; teeth whitening products.

3) Give yourself a point for each of these: Shave cream that comes in a tube not an aerosol can; hair gel that costs more than $10. Fragrance that costs more than $40 per ounce.

4) One point for: tweezing eyebrows regularly; shopping for clothes at least once a month; owning more than five pairs of shoes (athletic shoes don't count.)

5) Three points if you've ever been hit on by a gay guy who mistook you as gay yourself, or for going out dancing at gay-friendly club.

SCORING:

21-25 points: You are an uber-metro.
16-20 points: Not perfect, but you don't need to worry about the Fab Five visiting you.
11-15 points: No one is going to mistake you for Calvin Kelin, but you seem to care.
6-10 points: This score range makes me wonder which items got you the points, and which ones you missed on. But you're an average guy when it comes to this stuff, probably
0-5 points: Doesn't matter: no one who scores this low would even bother with this test.

Note: I don't think scoring low is bad, as I don't think being metrosexual is necessarily a "good" or "bad" thing. It's simply a choice, like whether to eat sushi or whether you sunbathe to get a tan or not. But mostly I find the whole concept silly. (And yes, I do moisturize.)

And it's certainly not anywhere nearly as important as, say, ettiquette is.

2003-10-18T07:42:00.000Z

Concluding Unscientific Postscript

"The realm of faith is thus not a class for numskulls in the sphere of the intellectual, or an asylum for the feeble-minded." -- Soren Kierkegaard.

You pretend it doesnt matter because in the end it doesn’t.
What matters is your health, your freedom, your friends and family, the safety of your children, and your job. And hope, faith and love, of course. If love is the greatest of these, then hope is the least.

No, baseball doesn’t really matter, and neither do the Red Sox.
But on a cold October morning, as the sun’s morning-orange hue creeps over the horizon, I still awoke with a hope hangover: After all, hope is just another type of “spirit” and too much of it can be as intoxicating as any whiskey.

But remember: Hope is not faith, and never should the two be confused.

I watched the game with my Mudpony bandmates. After poor Tim Wakefield’s Boone-doggle in the ninth, Scott went directly into denial, issuing statements such as “Well, it was a great series,” (to which I replied: “Shut up.”) and later, on the ride home, “I don’t feel that bad about it.” I was incredulous at his remarks, to the point of being silent, which if you know me, is a rare thing (just ask my wife.)

In Scott’s blog on Friday, however, we found out the truth. He wrote:

“As Aaron Boone's home run sailed into the night, I told myself this loss wouldn't be that bad. I would quickly move on to other things. I wouldn't let it bother me. Yet last night, I kept rolling over, replaying pitch after pitch of the Red Sox fourth inning and the Yankees eighth inning. Why do baseball postseasons always have to be painful?”

For my part, I vowed (a vow I kept, by the way) not to read any postmortems about the game (except accidentally, from what are usually non-sports-centered sources -- like on Scott’s blog, which I read daily.) I didn’t need to read some hack scribe’s scribblings about The Curse, Pedro, Roger, or Bucky Dent-Aaron Boone comparisons (I assume someone made one) -- or Cubs-Red Sox choke comparisons (I’m sure someone made one, even though I read no sports pages Friday.)

I just didn’t want to read that crap. (I also didn’t want to write it: Readers will note that I didn’t even write this until early Saturday. I just needed space.)
We in the media love a good story. But sometimes we love it the way I love pizza: we don’t know when to stop. There was drama, but the drama was mostly this: Grady Little, the Sox manager, made a tactical mistake or three concerning his pitching staff. The Yankees took advantage of those mistakes. This is how games, fights, battles and wars are won and lost.
But these other story lines (The Curse, etc.) are nonsense.

There is no curse. There is no Yankee mystique. There are coincidences and patterns and serendipitous occurences.

But although I was stunned by the game and incredulous at Scott’s initial denial, I only felt bad for about 12 hours after the loss. I think that’s a sufficient grieving period for a bunch of millionaires’ ineptitude that doesn’t really affect anything more than a fil character dying affects anything. Baseball is entertainment, make-believe. There is no (or at least there shouldn’t be) any actual loss when a team loses. Life has plenty of real pain already. If you don’t know that yet, you’ll find out soon enough.
And 12 hours is about the same recovery period as a hangover.

Friday wasn’t a day of mourning. It was a day of recovery...and rediscovery of my non-Red Sox fan self.
So now onto more important things: my new marriage, my work, my music, my friends and my eternal quest for truth, faith and meaning.
Oh yeah, and I almost forgot:
Go Giants!

2003-10-15T19:00:00.000Z

Serendipity-dos (and don'ts)

I once came up with a theory (that others have come up with in various forms as well) that stated "The amount of coffee you drink influences who becomes the next president."

While that is a ridiculous statement, what I meant was something that could be translated, loosely, as "Everything can affect everything else."
(Note: It doesn't say "does" affect, but "can" affect. That's why my theory using the coffee/president metaphor actually fails. But hey, I was a kid then, so I had to state things in the most in-your-face manner...Oh wait, I still do that!)

I see this theory playing out all the time, and it's fun to note how true it is. One prime example (and don't worry sports-haters, this isn't going to turn totally into a sports-centered blog entry) was the fan interfering with Cubs' outfielder Moises Alou catching a ball last night, which led to the Marlins getting an "extra" out in the inning, which led to a batter being walked, then an error and ultimately a huge inning which cost the Cubs the game.
One gut reaction decision by a fan in one brief moment altered the mood of big city.

A few moments ago, a colleague asked me "Is it raining in New York?" He was hoping today's Red Sox-Yankees game could be postponed so the Sox could bring back a better pitcher than today's starter. Again, it rained Biblically earlier today. If it could have held off until this afternoon, the whole series might be changed.

How many times have you been distracted while driving, only to look up, just in time, at the last second, and save yourself from some accident/traffic violation/animal killing? One more second and it would have been different.

I read a story somewhere, or saw it on TV (or maybe someone told me this) where some guy had something happen on 9-11-2001 that kept him from going to work (or at least getting to work on time) at the World Trade Center. I believe in a loosely organized universe. I believe in a God, (although to ask me about this is to invite not only trouble but a lot of florid philosophical flapdoodle that most would find annoying.) But mostly I believe in serendipity (and maybe synchronicity, Sting notwithstanding.)

It's one big dance. Step lively but carefully; there are lot of feet and feces out there.

So my points are:

1) You just never know how a split second decision or small shift will snowball into something you would never imagine. So don't think even your most quotidian actions won't have a large effect somewhere.

2) Pay attention. Sometimes the universe (and I don't mean to sound all New Agey here) gives you hints of what (and what not) to do. It's a huge, sprawling, interconnected world out there and if you think you're some sort of island, well, you'll probably end up being one, but it will like the Bikini Atoll in 1954.

If you don't get that reference, look it up, because I'm off to have some more coffee, in the hope it can affect who the next president is.

2003-10-08T20:09:00.000Z

Sox and the City

OK, I've pretty much avoided blogging about the Red Sox (except a few criticisms of Grady Little last week.)

But since it seems like it's now the only way to get Scott to link me I'll have to scrawl a few thoughts:

1) I've been a fan since 1966. So most of the rest of you can piss off with all the newbie suffering. I got scars, people... scars I tell you!! Never mind Bill Buckner or Bucky Dent...try Julian Javier!!! (Real fans will get that.)

2) I can't get all "I've got to see every pitch" like some folks. The old ticker can't take that level of involvement anymore.

3) That said, I am superstitious. If the Red Sox do well in a given inning, I will barely move. Jeanne came out during the last inning Monday and something bad happened for the Sox (I think it was one of Williamson's walks.) I almost dispatched her back to the bedroom. But then I remembered this was Scott Williamson after all...which lkeads us to:

4) Will Grady Little PLEASE leave Mike Timlin in to close for once?!?!?! He's their best bet for closing now. He's been lights out in the playoffs. He's been a closer before and looks like a closer. (Sorry, but I have a thing for the cold-eyed, shaved-head fireballing type.)

5) We'll know by the third inning if the Sox have a chance. if they get down by more than 4; if Wakefield stinks up the joint in the first few innings, I'm switching over to "The Desilu Story" on Bravo.

5) Go...Sox.... no strength...must watch..ughhhhh..

2003-10-08T19:28:00.000Z

The Squirminator

As much as Arnold's election in the altered state of California makes me squirm squeamishly, I can't agree with TheLife, who calls his election, the "most ridiculous thing I have ever seen." and adds: "The baseline of what idiocy I thought Americans were capable of just dropped below sea level."

I'm sorry, but the elections of Ronald Reagan (some people are just too young to remember how shockingly bad that was) and Jesse Ventura (I'll take an actor over a wrestler nine times out of 10) were far worse. Arnold seems somewhat sane and in touch and not a time bomb waiting to go off. And Maria may help keep him in line. As Republicans go, the guy is pretty moderate.

None of which is to say I supported him. Not at all. I just think there needs to be some perpective

More reasonable, but still nervous is comedian extraordinaire Jennifer Myszkowski who also nearly busts a mante while venomously addressing the people of the Golden State in her blog.

Look, We have Mitt Romney for governor. Is he really any better?

People in glass houses and all. Just some perspective.

2003-10-02T16:30:00.000Z

Grading Grady

We once again take time from the Ireland piece for other concerns. Today it's the Red Sox again.
I'm not going to rehash the game, because anyone who cares to read this already knows how the Sox lost. But I just want to point the boney finger of blame at someone and I'm aiming it at manager Grady Little.
He gets a "D" for his efforts last night.

There were so many heroes, or potential heroes: Pedro, for his gutsy performance despite not having his best stuff; Todd Walker, who mashed two homers and drove in three runs; Jason Varitek, who reached base four times and homered. Hell, I'll even give kudos to Mike Timlin for pitching a perfect set-up inning in the eighth, with two strikeouts.

But noooooooo, Grady had to play micro-manager. (Well, "micro" does mean "little" I guess, so it's in his name.)

Here's what Little did wrong:
1) He took out closer Byung-Hyun Kim in the ninth with two outs. OK, Kim can be scary, but he did convert 16 of 19 save chances for the Sox after coming over to the team. So what was the thinking behind bringing Alan Embree (who converted one out two save chances during the season and whose ERA was a full run more than Kim's) to replace him?
This move served two (bad) purposes: it probably shook up Kim by showing no confidence in him. Sure, Kim walked a guy and hit a guy, but he also got Ramon Hernadez to fly out easily and made Ellis look bad on a strike out -- right before Little came with the hook. What was he thinking? Kim just needed to focus and his pitches were working fine. So now Kim probably is shaken; Embree has made himself look less reliable, and they ended up having to use Derek Lowe...which brings us to:

2) Little brought in Derek Lowe, who is scheduled to start Game 3. Now Little said today that Lowe only threw 45 pitches and will be fine to pitch Saturday. They say a tired arm actually helps a sinker baller, but we'll see.
I know there is zero confidence in the Sox bullpen but the point is this: If Little hadn't taken out Kim, we probably would have won in the ninth, or at very least, we would have had Embree for later innings if Kim failed. if Little had such little confidence in Kim, he should have just stuck with Timlin, who looked great in the eighth.

3) Replacing Tood Walker with Damien Jackson for defense. I know the "Bill Buckner" theory -- that if they had replaced Bill Buckner defensively in ninth inning of Game 6 in the '86 Series, he wouldn't have been out there to make the error, blah blah blah. So now every Sox manager has to put out banjo hitters to replace real hitters in the ninth of any crucial game. Sheesh.

But the trouble is, the Buckner theory doesn work in this case. Walker is no aging, crippled Buckner, and if you look at this year's stats, Walker is actually a better bet, error-wise, than Jackson. At second base, Jackson made three errors in 75 chances -- or 4 percent of the time. Walker made 16 errors - admittedly a lot - but in 640 chances. This means he only made an error 2.5 percent of the time!
And if you factor in all of Jackson's infield defensive stats it gets worse: Jackson made nine total infield errors in 126 chances. This means he made an eroor SEVEN percent of the time! That may be unfair, as its harder to play shortstop, but still. You get my point: Jackson isn't Ozzie Smith at any position.
Since Walker was clearly on fire at the plate (two homers etc.) it made sense to keep him in, to me, anyway.

I sure hope Wakefield's knuckle ball is working today. Otherwise, it's "Go (NY football) Giants" for me!

2003-10-01T14:13:00.000Z

"I am of Ireland" (part IV)

Let's see, where were we? oh yeah: We were driving off to the Cliffs of Moher. (Not driving off the Cliffs, mind you, driving off to them.)

We left Dysert O'Dea under fair weather conditions but soon met up with clouds and some downpours. Uh-oh, we thought, here comes the renowned Irish rain -- would the rest of thet rip be marred by incessant sogginess?
Our fears proved unfounded, as within minutes the clouds parted and we were under sunny Irish skies again. This would be a pattern: it rained almost every day, but never for very long. I actually enjoyed these vicissitudes in the climate. It was sort of a literal version of that saying about New England weather: If you don't like it, wait a minute. We really only ever had to wait minutes for most of the storms and showers to subside in Ireland.

Now here I have to backtrack a bit: I forgot a story from the previous day.
While on our way to Fergus View B&B, we stopped in Ennis, the capital of County Clare. It's a smallish, but vey active little town with crowded, narrow streets and bustling commerce. To park in many Irish cities, you need to purchase parking discs (allowing parking for a certain period of time), which you display on your dashboard.
So as I parked in zone where one of these discs was needed, I inquired at a shop where they could be bought. They told me that a newstand down the street sold them. Well after a bit of a futile search (in the rain) I decided to try a different newstand, figuring maybe they all sold these items. But the owner of this shop said, no, I'd have to go to another place (a different shop from the first newstand I was directed to.) But after finding that shop, I was told that there was a controversy over the discs and no one was selling them currently! The woman told me just to put a note on my dashboard saying discs were unavailable and that would cover me. So I went back and did so.
Of course I then happened upon the first newstand to which I was directed, so I felt compleeld to at least inquire, confident I would be told of the controversy and subsequent unavaialability of the discs again.
But no, this shopkeeper said they had the discs and would sell me one. But what time length would I need? I figured an hour would do just fine and said so, but she informed that the time was not dictated by me, but rather by the sign where I was parked. You could only park in spaces for a certain period and you had to buy a disc for that length, according to the posted rules.

Well, the car was several blocks away, and I had already been back to it to put the note on it, so I thanked her and told her I'd go check. But instead I just found Jeanne at a coffee shop and had a cup with her. I figured I'd done due diligence on these damn discs and would risk a ticket. Luckiliy, none was attached to our car when we returned. As we got ready to leave, we askd a man getting out of his car if he knew the best way to get to the N85. Well, this was a mistake. As wonderful as the warmth of the Irish is, this guy was too friendly. He certainly was willing to be of service, but was leaning in Jeanne's window, almost breathing on her as he tried to explain that most locals people don't use or know the numerical names for roads (this turned out to be untrue in other conversations I had with Irish folks.)

But he did try to help us find the route, albeit through convoluted directions that had us circling the town like a bus on a route several times. (We repeatedly kept coming to an intersection where a huge sign for the Cloister Restaurant could be seen. I felt like Bill Murray in "Groundhog Day." And what do they serve at the Cloister Restaurant anyway? Loaves and fishes? Penance?)
We finally found the N85 sign and were on our way.

Well, that backtrack story is enough for this entry, The Cliffs of Moher will have to wait until next time.
(To be continued.)

2003-09-30T22:04:00.000Z

Pinstripes or TwinStripes ?

Being an eclectic-minded guy, I also dabble in sports, along with music, philosophy and politics.

So here's my question to my fellow Sox (Red) fans: Would you rather see the Twinkies beat the Bombers and avoid a mano-a-mano showdown with the Yankees (a disease I call Bronx-itis -- wow, another coinage...you'll hear it soon on radio but you read it here first!) Or would you rather face the Yankees and beat them head on to avenge about 85 years of misery, mostly at their hands?

The Twins won at The Stadium
today, giving them a great advantage for the rest of the series (provided they don't blow a game at home.) Part of me wants to see them just take NY down...but...

A bigger part wants the Sox to behead the behemoth themselves. This is bloodsport for Sox fans. Sure I'll take a World Series appearance and especially a World Series win no matter how it comes.

But it would be so much sweeter if we went through the Yankees rather than around them.

Remember: Babe Ruth, Bucky Dent, Roger Clemens.

Discuss wherever you see fit.

2003-09-27T12:37:00.000Z

The New Recruit

(Ed. note: To those who have asked me about this: I promise I will finish the Ireland travelblog soon. But I've been extremely busy as of late and I have other topics more pressing about which to write...such as the following one.)

That's right folks, I've enlisted. I've never had much truck with the military, outside of a few noble friends and relatives who have served, but now I'm joining up for a hitch -- under the command of Gen. Wesley Clark (Ret.)

OK, so it's not really military service, but I have found my candidate. As I said in my last post (directly below, if you missed it) I was flirting with the Howard Dean campaign way before anyone I know personally, and even encouraged a lot of people to take a look at the guy. But my flirtation never blossomed into a full-fledged courtship. As much as I like the guy, I am troubled by aspects of his approach (he comes across as terminally angry -- which sells with the electorate about as well as New Coke) and by some attributes he has (over which he has little control, such as his height -- hey, I don't agree the fickle tastes of the American public, but I am aware of them.)

Enter Wesley Clark. I admit he has to flesh out his platform quite a bit, but in general terms, the general is liberal enough for me and cares about the right issues. I watched his Q&A meeting with several hundred people at New England College on CSPAN last night and he was impressive. His answers displayed a facile knowledge of many issues, both domestic and international; he seemed at ease (a relief after seeing his somewhat stiff announcement speech); and when he was asked a "yes" or "no" question, he often just answered "yes" or "no" (I loved this: what a refreshing change from some pols who prattle on needlessly...I mean, one woman asked if his administration would aggressively prosecute medical marijuana users the way the Bush team has, and he simply said "No." Along with giving a definitive answer, that approach is also smart politically -- why get into the hornets' nest of drug policy when you don't have to?)

Clark also showed courage and humility and a willingness to accept responsibility. One woman, a retired Army officer told him she had been sexually abused while in the military (which has scarred her psychologically.) She asked what Clark would do for women in the military and women in general. Clark's first words were to apologize to the woman because he had been a major leader of the military for a long time, and felt the armed services should have done a better job at preventing and addressing such incidents.

Clark said: "I'd like to know how we failed because I'm going to make sure that in the American armed forces, that every person who wants to serve has a right to serve, that every person is treated with respect and dignity, and that we value their service highly, because you can't ask any more of a person than they volunteer to raise their right hand to serve the country at the risk of their own life." He also told the woman he wanted to meet with her to discuss the details of the issue.

Now I know a lot of lefties are going to seize hold of the fact that Clark voted for Reagan, gave a pro-Bush speech in 2001 and just joined the Democratic Party a few days ago (he said before retiring in 2000, he was non-partisan because the job of military leaders is to carry out policy not engage in politics -- except to exercise the right to vote.)
He also explained his epiphany leading to his embrace of the Democratic Party:

"When I got out of the military, of course, I didn't belong to any party. I looked at where the country was headed, and when it came time to pick a political party, I was going to be a very, very lonely Republican or I was going to be a very happy Democrat. I'm a Democrat and I'm proud to be one," he said.
Concerning his 2001 pro-Bush speech, Clark explained: "Everything's changed since then. This administration has taken us into a reckless war, an economic policy that is nothing but tax cuts. He promised us the tax cuts would make us wealthy. He promised they would bring jobs. This administration has lost the confidence of the American people and certainly has lost my confidence."

Clark also noted that he voted for Al Gore in 2000.

So let's review:
Clark is a good-looking, extremely intelligent, warm and avuncular war hero (he was awarded the Purple Heart, Bronze Star and Silver Star for his Vietnam service.) He was the general who headed up NATO, where he stopped some of the horrors in Kosovo. (In 1999, Bill Clinton decided to do something about the ethnic cleansing by Serbs in Kosovo. It was Clark's NATO forces which drove the Serbs out without one combat death on our side.)
Clark also believes in progressive taxation; believes in civil unions for gay and lesbian couples; would allow the use of medical marijuana and wants a health care plan that would insure all Americans.
Oh yeah, and he was developing a "green" motor that would run on computer power, too.

And with his military background and previously non-partisan record, he might just be able to capture independent and moderate Republican votes -- and elevate the D.C. discourse above partisan bickering if he's elected.

Sure, he still needs more specific policies and has to say how he'd accomplish his goals, but 10 days into the campaign, he looks not just like someone who can beat Bush, but someone who might actually be able to get something done through real bipartisan means, not just mouthing the empty rhetoric of bipartisanship the way Bush does.

Hey, if someone else gets the Democratic nod, I'll vote for him or her over Bush, but I doubt I'll be on the winning side. Yes, idealism is nice, but I live in the real world. And with Wes Clark, I can vote my conscience and be politically pragmatic. I'm not sure the latter part of that equation was possible with Howard Dean.
----------------------------------------------------------
(Note: I may start another blog dedicated to political stuff only, so as not to clog this blog up as the campaign heats up. We'll see, and I'll keep you posted.)

2003-09-23T18:31:00.000Z

"We interupt our regularly scheduled Ireland programming..."

I again have to take a break form the Ireland travelog, this time to talk politics.

First let me say this: I liked Howard Dean before you liked Howard Dean. Ask my wife. Ask a few friends at work. I was onto him more than a year ago. He seemed cool and I liked his attitude.
That said, you loved Howard Dean before I did, because my heart is still torn about the guy. Why? Because I'm a politcal pragmatist. I deciede way back in 1988 that idealism in politcis is a dead-end road. Idealists provide fuel and a spark but burn out and rarely have the power-consolidation powers to govern effectively. True believers are OK in religion (provided they don't kill others or enforce their beliefs on others) but in politics they are too narrow to be effective. I worry that Dean is too much the idealist.

But Howard Dean is great. He seems to have integrity and courage -- two quailities often lacking in public officials today. But he also has several problems that may get him clobbered in a general election.

Let's look at both sides:

Here's why Dean has a chance at being elected: 1) He was a governor (governors do better in presidential elections that senators, represenatatives or egomaniacal environmentalists who don't even want the job. 2) He has an Anglo name. Sorry, I of coiurse don't care about that; you're name could be Carpelli or Szelatzka or Ng and I'd vote for you if I liked you, but most of middle America probably still wants a Smith or Jones or Bush or Dean. (Which means Gephardt is never going to be prez.) Look at all the recent presidents: Clinton, Bush, Reagan, Nixon, Carter, Ford, Johnson Kennedy...Eisenhower is a fluke becuase he was a popular was hero. America likes easy Anglo names. 3) He's got the fiery populist appeal and bulldog attitude of John Mc Cain, who almost derailed Bush in the Republican 2000 primaries.

Here's why Dean won't win: 1) He's short. Americans like tall presidents. 2) He's comes across as angry, and not warm at all. His smile seems forced. People like avuncular figures, who can express anger without seeming angry all the time. 3) He's got the fiery populist appeal and bulldog attitude of John McCain, who burned out and scares people. (I actually like McCain, for the record.)

So enter Wesley Clark. War hero. Leader of NATO. Smart. Good looking. Appeals to independents and neutralizes the "Dems are bad on security/military" attacks the Republicans can make against all other candidiates. Clark also seems warm and caring and he's also supposed to be a good speaker. My take: although I was impressed with his appearances on CNN during the war, his announcement speech left a lot to be desired.
Now I still need to read up on him, and I've already read about some of his "problems" in the military, but overall this guy looks like a winner. We'll see...

(One side note: I'm sure the Dean people are pissing themselves about now. Clark,a long with being military hero, also has a very "green" side-- he worked on this environentally-frendly motor that uses computer algorithms instead of gears and transmissions. The company clark works for, WaveCrest Laboratories of Dulles, Va., plans to put these motors into hybrid gas-electric cars in the future. But what is funny is this: Rachel of WRSI's "Big Breakfast" show and obviously a Deanite, seemed to make fun of Clark for this on her show the other day, saying that is Clark's big chance rests on his macho military reputation, making this kind of thing makes him a little soft-looking and may undermine him. To me, the opposite is true: What is better than an environmentally friendly candidate who also has a military side to appeal to more conservative voters. I consider myself liberal, but what kills me is how so many liberal think everyone thinks like them. The reason conservatives are dominating the nation right now is they have actually figured out that most people aren't extreme so they have learned to peddle their ideas in middle-or-the-road-sounding packages.)

Anyway, I still may vote for Dean, or even someone besides Clark or Dean. But whoever I vote for has to convince me they can win the general election. There is no longer any room for "I'd rather be right than president" types. Too much has already been lost. The candidate has to give a little to the center. I'm not sure Dean can do that. But maybe he can, maybe he can.

2003-09-18T14:46:00.000Z

"I am of Ireland" (part III)

(Note: Apologies for the extended break in this series. Work has been brutal and I also launched a new blog about Northampton -- to augment with masslive.com's new Northampton blog group. It's called Notham --which is a neutral name I invented to compromise between the old more conservative townies who prefer "Hamp" and the hip, young crowd that uses "Noho." The war between these terms has gone on too long: It's time to say it loud and say it proud: NOTHAM!)

OK, back to our story: When we last left Our Hero (that would be me) he -- I mean, I -- was draining the last dregs of a pint in my first visit to an Irish pub on Day One of our trip.
I returned to our B&B to find Jeanne still enveloped in a deep sleep due to jet lag. So I ventured out to take photos of the nearby countryside. When I saw pictures of Ireland, I always was stunned at how lush and verdant the landscape appeared. Here's the incredible thing: It's even more beautiful in person. I won't bother with any purple prose attempts at describing the green scenery. Suffice it to say that I've never seen anything like it here in the U.S. New England has its own bucolic charms, but they're different than this. Not better or worse, just different.
I snapped some photos of the surrounding area, including some obligato shots of sheep and some horses. When we got these developed, Jeanne noticed that in one picture, one of the horses is taking a pee while turning his head sideways to defiantly stare into the camera. I didn't see the stream of fluid as I took the shot, but it sure gave us a laugh later!
After a bit more of this, the time change also caught up with me and I retired early, in hopes of a early srtart to the next day. Mr. Sandman bludgeoned me into a quick coma-like state, in which I remained for 9-10 hours. I usually only sleep about five, so this showed that Jeanne wasn't the only one affetced by the long overnight flight. Then again, she slept 18 hours. But beauties like her need beauty sleep: Thats why she stays so gorgeous, I guess.
The only slight glitch at Fergus View was a smoke alarm that went off in the middle of our sleep-fest. It turned out to be a false alarm (I suspect it was another guest breaking the "no smoking" rule.) The next morning Mary and her daughter Maeve served us a breakfast of eggs on toast (we could have had other items but I'm a vegetarian and Jeanne didn't feel like bacon that early.) I'm an ovo-lacto vegetarian, meaning I'll eat eggs and drink milk, but I rarely do either. But in Ireland, eggs are the potatoes of breakfast time, so I ended up eating more eggs on this 6-day trip than I probably had in the past five years. But they were scrambled, fluffy and good, so I'm not complaining. Good toast too.

We then headed off to Knappogue Castle (home of my McNamara clan for centuries) and Dysert O'Dea. Knappogue was OK, but kind of touristy (they have medieval meals there each night.) But Dysert O'Dea Castle and Archaeological Centre in Corofin is a treasure of historical and archaeological ruins and remains. The circa 1480 castle houses an archaeological center surrounded by 25 or so historical sites, such as the 15th century Dysert O'Dea tower, the ruins of stone forts used during battles in the 16th century and the Saint Tola's High Cross, from the 12th century. The ruins of a church and a surrounding graveyard also provided a further sense of history and that sense of mortality which Jeanne felt throughout the trip.

Of course, as we would discover, each venture also included either a humorous or absurd aspect. On this sojourn, this aspect took the form of a cow who was seemingly acting as a tour guide, leading two other visitors down the path to the church ruins. The two older gentlemen seemed to think nothing unusual of a cow walking along with them, even though they clearly weren't associated with the bovine navigator. The cow gave us the once-over, then continued on. The men were obviously less-than-trustful of their Guernsey guide, and asked us how to get to some of the ruins. We cheerfully helped (having just finished part of the route) and I felt "of Ireland": The people there are extremely friendly, for the most part, and I wanted to join in the bonhomie.

We then jumped back in the car, Jeanne once again reminding to drive on the left, and headed off to the Cliffs of Moher. (To be continued.)

2003-09-16T15:25:00.000Z

A few non-Irish notes...

I'm taking a brief break from my Ireland piece here, both because I have a few things I want to address and to give people who are not interested in Ireland a break (he writes, knowing full well only 4 or 5 people read the this thing anyway!)

So here are a few random thoughts that have occurred to me recently:

1. I missed another show I wanted to see at Flywheel (School for the Dead's show there on Saturday.) For some reason (in this case, a lack of transportation that night) I never seem to get over there. I admit I always feel like the babysitter there (being twice the age of the average patron) but I still would like to patronize such a cool place more than I do. Especially when a band I love plays there. Mea culpa. Maybe next time.

2. Scott's new Northampton blog referred to Henning's post (you have to scroll down a bit) about Dominic's, an Italian eatery in Northampton, which recently closed. Henning liked it and Scott never tried it (partly due to the fact that people like me dissed it.)
The food was decent, but the set-up was horrible. it was cafeterai style but they gave you a check, and it was almost impossible to order dessert the way they had it set up. And the food wasn't that good. If you think Carmelina's is the end all and be-all then you probably liked it (Damian, who owns Carmelina's, also ran Dominic's, which he bought from his ex-wife, who ran the former Mezza Luna in the space before that.) Both Carmelina's and Dominic's were overrated, in my opinion.

3) Scott also related that the Rumor Monger at Splendidzine says Jeff Tweedy and Scott Pollard may be working on a collaboration of orchestral pop songs. Sign me up, but Splenidzine says it's "due in August." Which August? 2004? They didn't say. Is it out already? Or is it delayed and due soon? When does Tweedy sleep? Between touring with Wilco, putting out the Loose Fur CD and making a few appearance with them, and now this, does his wife Sue EVER see him?

4) Masslive has now added a few new blogs centered on Northampton. Although I wasn't asked to do one of the "official" ones. I may do one anyway because, well, they "need me on that wall."
Mine will called "Notham" because both nicknames "Noho" and "'Hamp" are offensive to various people. "Notham" is good because it can be pronounced both "nahth-um" (like Gotham) or "naht-ham" which is cool (and kosher!) because I'm a vegetarian, like many in Notham are. Also, the name can refer to the fact that the blog will not be a "HAHS" (Had a Ham Sandwich) blog...as in "Not Ham"." (I hope by now you get the HAHS reference! If not, read the archives!)
So look for a link to this new side-venture later today! Maybe I'll even be linked on Masslive! (woo-hoo!)

OK, that's all for now. Oh wait, one more thing: Buy and read Al Franken's "Lies and the Lying Liars Who Tell Them." I just finished it and it's brillant and funny.

2003-09-12T15:11:00.000Z

"I am of Ireland" (part II)

My recent Ireland visit was both a honeymoon trip and the culmination of a long-held desire. So the journey was fulfilling in numerous ways. I hope this journal is able to express the very deep emotional satisfaction the trip brought to my soul.

We landed in Dublin for a three hour layover at 6 a.m., so our first views of Ireland were from inside an airport and our first cultural experience was eating croissants from an airport cafeteria -- not quite the Celtic connection I was hoping to make. Fortunately, after a brief connecting flight back west to Shannon Airport (why they flew over Shannon to Dublin and then back again remains a mystery) we were on our way rumbling through County Clare in our Hertz rental car, a Nissan Micra 1.1 litre.

The Clare Countryside alone was worth the price of the trip. I immediately fell in love with the lush, yet somehow stark, horizon vistas. This dichotomy was a theme for the trip, and the country itself, I would say. The journey was wonderful, but filled with misadventures (as you will see); the weather was great but moody -- a constantly shifting sky that showered us with rain one minute and sunbeams the next; and the country/culture itself seemed to embrace both a gentility and a brutality; both a devil-may-care humor and a imminent sense of mortality.
After a short drive we landed at Fergus View, a bed and breakfast near the Fergus River in Kilnaboy. The yellow two-story cottage was surrounded by a landscape straight out of a picture book: rolling hills, verdant pastures, rambling gardens and ancient ruins. The view from our room was breathtaking and although we didn't quite feel we were in Ireland yet, that sense of place would come soon enough at the ruins of an 11th century church not even 200 yeads up the road.

The church, now roofless, was surrounded by graves, as churchyards once usually were. But one odd thing was that now that the church was a ruin, some graves has also been planted inside the roofless walls. Another striking aspect was the placement of quite modern gravestones next to centuries-old ones. While preservation societies here in the States might have decried this type of combination, I'm glad the Irish do not distinguish some deaths as historical and others as more mundane just because they are recent. It may have looked odd, but it again illustrated the dichotomy I mentioned above.

Suffering from jet lag, Jeanne then opted for a long nap ( a wise decision so she would be fresh for the rest of the trip) while I went into nearby Corofin to check out the Clare Heritage Genealogical
Research Centre and have my first pint at an Irish pub.

The heritage centre was a bust, as I discovered I would need much more information on my McNamara roots than I had on hand to get any information on my roots. The pub, however, gave me my first encounter with Irish citizens (my brief conversations with the Fergus View host family and Aer Lingus and airport staff notwithsatnding.)

My bartender was Kathleen, a stout, redhaired ruddy-faced woman, who was friendly without being pushy. The only other person in attendance (it was only around 4 p.m.) was an older, kind-faced gentleman named John, who sat a few seats down sipping on a glass (not a pint) of Guinness and chatting sporadically with Kathleen. John sported a dusty black suit jacket and matching dusty black pants, looking like an oldtime undertker fresh from digging a grave.

Introducing myself as an American on his first visit to Ireland, the pair warmed to me and included me into their conversation whenever possible. I was a bit self-conscious, neither wanting to appear boorish nor unfriendly, so I kept my comments brief, while always trying to be attentive to theirs. I mentioned my McNamara lineage and they knew that the clan was a Clare one, but couldn't think of anyone they knew locally with the name (Kathleen later informed me she was was originally from County Cork in the south.)

Another fifty-ish man, Tom, then entered, joined in the chat, had a pint, and left all withing 20 minutes. John also had to go and so I was left alone with Kathleen, who immediately told me a fact about John.
"He has 17 children," she siad with a slightly raised eyebrow. Hmm, John's gentle outward demeanor belied a randy inner man I guess-- the rascal!

I then asked her about the history of the pub, which was called the Anvil Lounge/Daly's Bar.
Kathleen said the pub had recently been refurbished and renamed The Anvil Lounge in honor of the owner's father who was a blacksmith. The patriarch's original anvil now sat in the window of the bar.
Kathleen then said something I found extremely humorous and which gave me insight into small-town life in Ireland.
"They used to serve food in the lounge area but then the chef died," she said.
I had to stop myself from asking the obvious question: Why didn't they just hire another chef? In a flash, I realized that the chef was probably irreplaceable in a town of around 500 people.

So I drained my pint, thanked her for her kindness, paid up and even tipped, which I read is not expected from bartenders in Ireland. But, hey, I felt like an American ambassador and after our country's recent disdain for other nations, wanted to do anything I could to ensure the rest of the world didn't see us as rude cowboys. One euro didn't seem like a high price to maybe help with that cause.(To be continued.)

2003-09-11T13:55:00.000Z

"I Am Of Ireland"

(Note: Since I will be writing a travelog piece on my Ireland trip elsewhere, this blog rendition may leave certain elements out. and/or overlap in some places. If there are any missing parts here, however, they probably will be available elsewhere on masslive.com when the print story is published. While certain areas may overlap in the two pieces, they will both be written exclusively of each other -- although I retain the right to plagiarize myself if I turn a phrase particularly well and want to use it in both pieces. Here in the blog, the piece (which will be longer than the print version) will be written in daily segments until I'm done. I may interrupt these with other blog entries as they come to mind, but I will identify each Ireland piece as such.)

THE ROSE OF THE WORLD

Who dreamed that beauty passes like a dream?
For these red lips, with all their mournful pride,
Mournful that no new wonder may betide,
Troy passed away in one high funeral gleam,
And Usna's children died.

We and the labouring world are passing by:
Amid men's souls, that waver and give place
Like the pale waters in their wintry race,
Under the passing stars, foam of the sky,
Lives on this lonely face.

Bow down, archangels, in your dim abode:
Before you were, or any hearts to beat,
Weary and kind one lingered by His seat;
He made the world to be a grassy road
Before her wandering feet.

-- William Butler Yeats

Yeats often symbolically represented Ireland -- and its struggles -- as a rose in his poetry. (I am aware he also used the rose symbol in other ways, in case anyone thinks they need to to correct me on this.) Whether it was because he saw his long-suffering country as finally ready to bloom during his life, I do not know. But the blossoming certainly represented rebirth after suffering by way of passion. His use of Irish mythogical figures such as Fergus and Cuchulain (who both fell, only to be resurrected) reveal Yeats' belief that suffering is a path to renewal and a greater existence. The centuries of Irish suffering ended during Yeat's life, as the oft-conquered and subjugated people finally ended the long labor of their rebirth. It can be argued -- it has been argued -- that Yeats helped invent modern Ireland through his verse. (Note: The title of this piece, I Am Of Ireland, is also a poem by Yeats.)

But whatever the reason for his use of the rose, I find the symbol a fine one: The rose represents love, passion and beauty as well as presenting the dichotomy of a flower mixed with thorns. It is both mundane and mystical; sacred and sensual.

I have long longed to visit the land of my forebears. This desire no doubt trickled down from my mother, who was of both Kavanaugh and McNamara descent, and who often spoke wanting to make the pilgramage.

My mother, whose name, coincidentally, was Rose, never got to the shores of Eire. But to be honest, I never quite connected with my Irish roots very much until I was in my late 20s -- and after my mother died. Until then, most of my exposure to Irish culture had been American-style St. Patrick's Day celebrations with green beer, "Kiss Me I'm Irish" buttons and parades featuring floats overrun with lushy leprechauns and "colleens" who may or may not have been of Irish descent.

So I could, and still can, understand those who look at Irish culture (at least in America) as a bit boorish and ridiculous. From the cultish (and most likely homophobic and racist) secret societies to the ignorant backers of the IRA in the USA (hey, I'm for The Republic, but not its terrorists) Irish culture American-style leaves a lot to be desired.

Yet behind all this nonsense is a true love of the country by many Irish-Americans. Even those who represent the worst of Irish-American indulgences probably have a sincere passion for the land, the real culture and its history. In those repects, we are of the same cloth.

My journey to Ireland begins about 17 years ago with none other than William Butler Yeats. As a writer, I was familiar with Yeats's "greatest hits" as it were: The Lake Isle of Innisfree, Under Ben Bulben, When You Are Old, Lapis Lazuli and maybe a few others. I liked him, but was more of a modernist. Then I started reading about his life, his passions and his singleminded pursuit of both love and country. I became fascinated with his quasi-obsession with Maud Gonne, his revolutionary object of desire. I was drawn to his ability to color his verse with classic symbolism and speak to such diverse subjects as art, mysticism, mythology, love, history and even modern politics (sometimes weaving several of these topics into one poem!)

Since many of Yeats' poems revolved around Irish history, mythology and politics, his writings made me thirst for a working knowledge of the land. This led to the purchase of many books on all the above-mentioned subjects, as well as an expansion of my interest in writers such as James Joyce, Samuel Beckett, Seamus Heaney, Frank O'Connor, and William Trevor. The words of these masters turned the black and white pages to a lush green and stoked the simmering peat fire in my soul. Suddenly, my mother's longing became mine: I would make my way to the Emerald Isle, both in her memory and to touch the verdant soil that fed Yeats' pen.
(To be continued.)

2003-09-10T18:08:00.000Z

Back from the bog and back to the blog

OK, the non-blogging experiment has also failed so I'm back. I simply have too much to blather on about, so I might as well write it here in case anyone else ever cares.

I did receive a few nice emails after I temporarily suspended GEOPHYTE (and if you look below, you'll see that I did reserve the right to come back and resume this!)
One email said he enjoyed the blog and I should reconsider. Another also praised it and pointed out several reasons I should continue. No one else seemed to care but two is better than none.

But what has inspired my return to blogging is my recent trip (and honeymoon with my radiant, hilarious and brilliant wife Jeanne!) to Ireland. I am not going to write much about it in this entry because I don't want it to seem like and addendum to a post about my returning to blogging. For now, suffice it to say that the trip was intellectually invigorating, emotionally uplifting, artistically and aesthetically inspiring (being at Yeats' grave was transcendent for me) and romantic beyond belief (it was my honeymoon, after all!)

So I am renewed because, (to paraphrase Yeats) I have been "changed, changed utterly..." Because of the trip, "a terrible beauty is born" in my soul.

So I will keep at my "trade" of writing here -- even if it's not poetic -- to honor what Yeats wrote in part of another poem:

(Verse V from "Under Ben Bulben")

Irish poets, learn your trade,
Sing whatever is well made,
Scorn the sort now growing up
All out of shape from toe to top,
Their unremembering hearts and heads
Base-born products of base beds.
Sing the peasantry, and then
Hard-riding country gentlemen,
The holiness of monks, and after
Porter-drinkers' randy laughter;
Sing the lords and ladies gay
That were beaten into clay
Through seven heroic centuries;
Cast your mind on other days
That we in coming days may be
Still the indomitable Irishry.

2003-08-14T15:34:00.000Z

Can you hear me Major Tom?

Well, the blog experiment has failed for this blogonaut (<-- another coining, God I'm good!)
For me, the blog experience has been a mixed bag. On one hand, I write a lot anyway (I have to, it's who I am); I always have something to say and I think I write pretty well (OK I actually think I write brilliantly, but that's subjective.)

On the other hand, what the hell am I bothering for? Four people? I might as well just e-mail them or call them up and rant!
When I write professionally, I don't need response because I know someone is reading it (I also get a fair amount of feedback from readers, at least compared to a lot of my colleagues, apparently.)

But with a blog, you never know if anyone is reading. So it becomes a masturbatory exercise in a way. (I'm not knocking masturbation, as Woody Allen says: It's sex with someone I love. But its certainly not the ideal, even when metaphorically speaking of writing-as-wanking.)

Most blogs are basically diaries of some sort anyway. Diaries by nature are called private writing. So why are so many made public now? Seems odd, but that's just me. Sure some are entertaining (I've mentioned which ones before) but most are just boring. Yet these blogs seem to be the popular ones. So maybe the format just isn't for me. I tried to write interesting commentary, but maybe it was only interesting to me.

As Keter (a person I respect) wrote to me: I shouldn't expect a lot of readers or feedback without promoting my blog more.
But:
1) I wasn't expecting a lot of readers or feedback, just more than I ever got.
and
2) I don't have time to promote something for which I'm not getting paid. I get paid for most things I write because I am good at what I do. And I already spend enough time promoting my band for free. (As well as trying to hustle other freelance jobs and doing work on spec, etc.) Pro bono work (even for oneself) only can go so far!

I also have constantly wondered about writing for free. As Sean pointed out a while back: Samuel Johnson wrote that "No man but a blockhead ever wrote except for money." Yet I'm torn, because I also believe in Rilke's admonition to write only if you must write. (I must.) If I must, why not share it for free? (If I can't get paid for everything, that is.)

So I won't say this is it, but this is it for the time being. Maybe once I get more fee time (like that's going to happen!) or if I have something i just have to say, I'll blog again. You can check the masslive blog forum to see if I do..or just keep wasting your time checking this everyday.

To paraphrase Arnold, the next governor of California (unfortunately):
"I might be back."

Hasta la vista baby. I'm off to have a (soy) ham sandwich.

Blogging off,

-geophyte

"Check ignition and may God's love be with you"

2003-08-13T02:34:00.000Z

Some Chin Music

So, apparently, like he did with the press so many times during his career, Ted Williams lost his head.

Sorry for the lame joke, but for crying out loud in the sink, what the hell is wrong with Ted's children? Cryonics is a specious enough venture with no real scientific proof to back it up, but even if it did have some sort of proof, would Ted want to come back? I think Ol' Teddy was a pretty conservative and somewhat God-fearing man, in the John Wayne mold. Something tells me The Splendid Splinter would not want to be splintered in this way after his demise and would take a fungo bat to John Henry's (his son) ass if he knew about this.

And those gruesome details: The skull had to have holes drilled in it and its been cracked several times. Hey, if they actually can revive Ted a century from now, its not like he can go over to the head rack and get a new one like it's a broken bat.

The guy hit 521 home runs and was the last guy to hit over .400. He gave up something like eight of his prime years to serve in the military. He may have hit more home runs than Ruth or Aaron had he played those years instead. My late father thought he would have. My dad used to say he never saw home runs like the ones Ted hit: high and long, arcing endlessly into the night until they landed in the center field bleachers at Fenway.

My dad passed away almost six years ago. He would have never wanted to have been frozen so he maybe could come back. He always used to say: "When your number's up, it's up."

Number 9's number is up on the walls at Fenway, having been retired long ago. It's shame his children don't seem to respect him as much as his fans and former teammates do.

Ted's probably up in heaven fishing with St James and St. John, two noted biblical fisherman themselves. Ted loved fishing. Maybe his kids should let him be.

2003-08-10T16:09:00.000Z

Ecce Homo

So the New York Giants tight end Jeremy Shockey made another remark that offended gays, huh? Big surprise there.

Honestly, does anyone expect a guy who is a poster child for overwrought, numbskull machismo to be sensitive to the politics of the gay community? I’m not defending his remarks at all of course (in case you didn’t hear, he called former NY Giants coach Bill Parcells “ a homo”) but I am saying to anyone who was shocked by Shockey’s comment: Cut the crap.

Look, the guy is an immature prima donna who has been heralded as the old-school, balls-out, tough guy savior of the Giants. He has movie-star looks blond hair and a fiery personality. He is also quite talented at football and seemingly fearless. Therefore, he is a perfect subject for sportswriters and even more so magazine writers, especially those at Maxim, FHM, and Details.

So here’s the deal: one interview (in New York magazine, and which hasn’t even come out yet) quotes Shockey calling Parcells a “homo” and the Maxim piece apparently has him revealing his sexual fantasies (which I guess we can assume do not involve any gay scenarios.)

Now I have several problems with this whole story.

My first problem is with Shockey of course. He’s an idiot. But I knew he was an idiot. No one acts the way he does on the football field without being an idiot. Don’t get me wrong: I like how he acts on the football field. He makes stunning catches; takes powder keg hits and still hangs onto the ball; runs over defenders as if the were just so much roadkill and brings energy to the team anytime he’s on the field.
In football, these are good things. Being a Giants fan, I love Jeremy Shockey, the tight end. Just like when Roger Clemens pitched for the Red Sox, I loved Roger Clemens the pitcher. But Jeremy Shockey and Roger Clemens the human beings, I can do without. They’re both knuckleheads. Now that Clemens is with the hated Yankees, he is both a knucklehead and evil.

But my other problem is with those who are surprised at his comments. We shouldn’t expect much else from Shockey. News flash: Sports are not breeding grounds for sensitivity and tolerance. How many openly gay football players are there? Hockey players? Basketball players? Even baseball, the most genteel of the four major sports, has no players who are “out” -- except in the traditional baseball sense of the word. How many times have we read about a player assaulting someone, or beating his wife or using racist or other offensive remarks? Too many times to be shocked by it anymore.

My guess is that calling someone a “homo” as an insult (or using other anti-gay terminology) is pretty common in locker rooms. I’d bet most players wouldn’t have blinked at Shockey’s comment if he had said it to them privately. I don’t mean to paint every player as a homophobic, intolerant moron; I’m sure there are some open-minded, sensitive and sensible players. (But I found it odd that the New York Times today quoted Giants’ running back Tiki Barber as saying he didn’t think Shockey was homophobic. When did Tiki become the spokesperson for gays?)

And if you think about it, it's hilarious that football players are homophobic --what with all the ass-patting that goes on between players. And how about those groin-wiggling, butt-strutting end zone celebration dances, that, if done with just a cod piece, would probably be the featured act at a gay strip club?

So Shockey apologized, sort of (he said he was misquoted, but the reporter taped the interview.) He said he won’t do it again (uh-huh.) His coach Jim Fassell says he’ll keep a better eye on whom Shockey talks to (right.)

Of course, that is what should have happened. By saying we shouldn't be shocked, I'm certainly not implying we should just ignore such offensive comments. I'm just saying we should realize Shockey is jst saying what many others think. Don't be fooled into thinking he's some anomoly in the NFL, or sports in general.

I’m just glad he’s on the Giants. I don’t want to meet him or have a beer with him. I just want him to catch the damn football and run like he does. If I have to start not rooting for guys whose politics I don’t like, I might as well not watch sports at all. That rule would apply to a lot of people I know, too.

So let’s hope Jeremy keeps his mouth shut off the field. Maybe they can help him by putting him on a new TV show that would acclimate him to gays and make him accepting of their lifestyle. No, not Queer Eye for the Straight Guy, Jeremy’s show would be called Queer Friend for the Tight End.

Now that would teach Jeremy a lesson!

2003-08-09T10:53:00.000Z

Olivia Tremor Control, etc.

No, this isn't a post about one of my favorite (albeit now-defunct, sniff) indie bands. It's a post about cool/weird/unusual band names and album titles.

But not real ones.

Although Olivia Tremor Control is (or was) a real band, what I'm writing about here is something Donnie Moorhouse of WRNX was talking about the other day: Phrases you hear that would make good band names...or, for me, also good album titles. I always loved the name Olivia Tremor Control and although I spoke with co-founder Bill Doss several times, I never asked where it came from. I assume it was some random thing they heard (where they would have heard such a phrase, however, I would not dare to guess!) I also loved the title of their first CD: Music from the unrealized film script, DUSK AT CUBIST CASTLE. (Note: If you're not into the poppyish new psychedelia of the late 1990s, do not bother with this band.)

Anyway, a few years back, I recorded a solo CD for the fun of it (and also to learn how to use my digital recorder) and instead of just using my name, I pretended it was a band (even though I played everything on it) called Citrus Cloud Emulsion.

I got the name off the back of a juice bottle at the Amherst Deli. It was one of the ingredients. It just seemed to fit the project.

So Donnie recently made a list of 10 faux band names from phrases he and his RNX cronies (Dave Sears, mostly) had heard. I forget what any of them were (which is typical of me: The point of their exercise is that they'll be giving prizes to anyone who remembers all 10.)

So all this made me recall how I used to (and still do, to a certain extent) make lists of odd phrases in order to potentially use them as band names or CD titles someday (as if I was going to be in that many bands or ever issue a legitimate CD.) So I've started noticing these types of phrases again.

One I just noticed yesterday is in Jennifer Boyle's blog, JB writes:

I tried to go in the break room and get some caffiene but one of my co-workers is having a melt down in there because her teenage daughter is hanging out with a bad element with a learner's permit.

Did you spot the phrase that would make a good album title? I helped by putting it in bold typeface, so I hope so.

Then there's the following paragraph from Sean (the link is to his blog but the graf is inhis June 24 archive and I don't know how to do those fancy-pants permalink things that Scott is always doing.) Sean writes:

Jackasses beget jackasses who beget jackasses. And the world keeps spinning. And people like Henning get annoyed at movies and write open letters on their blogs. And people like me do everything we can to avoid the rest of humanity to as great a degree as possible, which is never enough. And we get angrier and angrier and less and less interested in social interaction. And then one day our heads (or, more likely, our hearts) just explode, and we leave the world for the jackasses to inherit. And then the jackasses have a great big jackass party at the bottom of some escalator somewhere and everyone is happy because no one has any idea that they're surrounded by jackasses, because they're too damned busy being self-involved, utterly annoying jackasses to notice anyone else.

This sequence contains several good ones, altough you have to tweak some of them a bit. First there is Jackasses beget jackasses who beget jackasses, a wonderfully biblical title for some punk band. Then, with a little adjusting, you can make and we leave the world for the jackasses to inherit into And the Jackasses Shall Inherit the Earth -- another great biblical album title!
Finally, Sean gives us A great big jackass party at the bottom of some escalator. Classic. I can see the album cover already.

Anyway, you get the idea. Sometimes you can come up with ones just from cliche phrases you've heard over the years.

But if you lack imagination, (or Imageyenation, as the always-imaginative Keter would say) you can always go here or here or here...as you can see, there is no shortage of these sites.

Got any good ones you've read/heard lately? Discuss them in the Weblogs forum at Masslive

Hell, The Weblogs Forum isn't a half-bad name for a band.

2003-08-08T09:56:00.000Z

"I'm not a politican, but I play one on TV."

Maybe it's just me (it often is, whatever it is) but I find it odd -- OK, hypocritical, actually -- that the Republicans paint celebrities like Tim Robbins, Susan Sarandon, Martin Sheen and Janeanne Garafalo as silly political dilettantes for speaking out against the war, but think it's just swell that Arnold Schwarzenegger is running for governor of California.

So let me get this straight: The Republicans don't want celebrities and artists speaking out on issues, even if they are well-informed citizens who care about the country -- they want them actually running the government!

OK, we know that's not true: The GOP only wants right wing celebrities in office. For all their chattering about the Hollywood leftist elite and how they should butt out of the serious business of governing and stick to making movies, the Republicans sure like to nominate and elect their own Tinseltown pols. Just off the top of my head (and granted, the top of my head is a pretty large landscape now that I shave it) I can rattle off these SAG-to-GOP converts: Ronald Reagan (the prototype of this trend), Sonny Bono, Fred Thompson, George Murphy and Clint Eastwood. And Jesse Ventura, although elected as a member of the Reform Party, is basically your garden variety right-leaning libertarian, i.e. a Republican who doesn't like the GOP's social agenda.

Now, we can debate these men's qualifications and governing abilities all day. Indeed, we can debate what qualifications anyone should have in order to govern properly ad nauseum, but those are topics for another day. But without insulting the dead, I just do not believe that Sonny Bono had any clearer grasp of the issues than Tim Robbins does today. Based on Robbins' ability (and this goes for Sarandon, Garafalo, Sheen et al, as well) to articulate his concerns and support his argument with facts, it is clear to me that the guy is a bright, informed, engaged and patriotic American. He cares and isn't afraid to show he cares.

Maybe Sonny Bono and Ronald Reagan really cared too. I'm not questioning any of these politicians' integrity here. I may, and certainly do, disagree with Sonny and Ronnie's right wing ideas, but they probably believed they were serving a just cause (--as warped as that may seem when the GOP's main goals seem to be to make the rich richer through tax cuts that hurt the poor, and through deregulation that leads to pollution, monopolies and a lack of diversity in the media.)

So why are Robbins and company called unpatriotic and basically threatened when they express political views? Why does the GOP scoff at their ability to make intelligent comments about the nation's and world's political landscape? I mean, please: Arnold may be a bright guy, but, with all due respect, Ronald Wilson Reagan was no William F. Buckley Jr. when it came to presenting the right's case with intellectual heft. (Ronnie was a great actor -- in the White House, not before -- and salesman, and in politics, sometimes that matters more.)

So maybe some Democratic or lefty actors should run for office, but I still doubt the GOP would then take them seriously.
But Warren Beatty flirted with the idea of running for prez in 2000 (and his wife Annette Bening already played the First Lady in The American President.) Tim Robbins was Bob Roberts and Martin Sheen has been president (on The West Wing) for four years already. Robert Redford is also thinking about running for reelection, so to speak, by making a sequel to 1972's The Candidate (a terrific film, by the way, if you haven't seen it.)
So the left has the "experience" in office, as it were...so why not?

All I know is that if politics and Hollywood are going to continue to cross-pollinate and breed our future leaders, I'd rather have The Sundance Kid than The Terminator as my chief executive. At least Sundance was human, and we've already had enough robots, puppets and automatons running the world lately.

2003-08-07T10:45:00.000Z

Cleaning out the attic

A brain dump of loose-change commentary and random thoughts I've been thinking.

1) Sean finally wised up to Teenage Fan Club. He likes great pop music and TFC is all about that.
The good news is: when he went to engage with them for a full CD, the overrated "Howdy" was out of stock and he ended up with the band's real masterpiece "Songs from Northern Britain" (The band's debut "Bandwagonesque" is often hailed as its greatets work, but it's not.)
The bad news for Sean is that, although Teenage Fan Club's entire catalog is really good, it's all downhill from here for him. "Songs from Northern Britain" was their zenith, so far anyway. I recommend he get 'Grand Prix" next. If any of you readers have yet to discover TFC, you're really missing out.

2) What's with this mania over "Queer Eye for the Straight Guy"? Am I the only one who thinks the premise is not only stupid, but also slightly offensive? (Don't get me wrong, I'm not an overly PC type or anything.)

First, since when is stereotyping gays OK? (In this case: gay men are all effete fashion mavens who know more about style than boorish straight slobs like myself.) Even if the stereotype is a positive one, isn't that sort of thinking dangerous? It's not that far a leap for some ignorant people to take one harmless stereotype and impose that template on less-flattering, or even villifying assumptions about a group.

Second, it's also slightly offensive to straight guys. I mean, I saw a bit of one episode and the gay man who was picking out the straight guy's wardrobe was wearing a huge belt buckle that would embarrass Garth Brooks. Hey, I understand kitsch and all, but if someone wearing that brass belly badge tried to tell me how to dress...

To be fair, as my fiancee (who likes the show) pointed out, I haven't really even seen the show -- except for a few minutes. But as I like to point out: some things -- like having your head dunked in a toilet -- don't need to be experienced for more than a few seconds in order to judge them. The whole concept is off. What's next... a show about women advising men about getting the fingernails clean and tidy: (and I know the women reading this are all thinking "Yep I'd LOVE to get my hands on my guy's hands!") A Woman's Hand for Today's Man or one about indie music fans advising gays to give up their show tunes and get hip musically? Indie Ears for Tone-deaf Queers?...or haute cuisine chefs (who love working with red meat) advising vegetarians to eat something with some flavor? Beefy Tips for Sprout-Stained Lips?

3) The song "All Kinds of Time" on the Fountains of Wayne CD I mentioned last week is one of the most brilliant songs I've heard in some time.

4) My "Had a Ham Sandwich"..now known as HAHS, is becoming a real buzz phrase! Check out Jennifer Myskowski's interview on Blog Beat this week.

5) Come see Mudpony at the Taste of Northampton Saturday at 3:45ish..then see School for the Dead with Philip Price at the Listening Room on Monday. I have not yet been able to get in the place, but maybe this week. I hear good things.

6) Vote for Mudpony as Best Tribute Band (even though we aren't one!) in the Band Slam poll...you have to write us in, but it would be funny to win that category, cuz I hate tribute bands..or just write us in under Best New Group..or vote for the Fawns...whatever, just vote.

7) Welcome to blogger/comedian/radio personality Kelsey Flynn, who is moving into our apartment block/construction site this week (I think.)

2003-08-06T12:23:00.000Z

"Had a piece of gorgonzola bread"

...or I will have one this Saturday at the Taste of Northampton, when my band (which is also Scott's band too) Mudpony plays from around 3:45 to 4:30ish (give or take.)

The band schedule for the Taste is here.
While I'm shamelessly self-promoting here, I might as well ask you to go here and vote for us as BEST NEW GROUP (you have to write us in under "Other") If you think write-ins have no chance, then vote for the Fawns--they're grrrreat!! Or you can always write us in under "Best Tribute Group" (we're a tribute to ourselves! No one does Mudpony songs as well as we do!)

But anyway...on Saturday, come out and stand on hot pavement in a parking lot, surrounded by a sweaty throng of people stuffing themselves with gorgonzola bread from the East Side Grill booth (OK, I basically just described myself.)

You should show up even earlier and see Ware River Club, too.

Mmmmm..gorgonzola bread. Breakfast of Champions!

2003-07-31T14:46:00.000Z

Blood is thicker than someone's skin

Hey, I'm a big boy. I can take criticism. But to have to read surly swipes at issues that concern me just because someone isn't getting attention on their concerns seems a tad small-minded.

So, to be an honorable guy, let me say this: Please take the time to donate some blood within the next week. Here's why:
I recently interviewed two local cancer survivors for a freelance piece I wrote about giving blood (by the way, how ironic is that? That is: I get attacked in blogdom even though I've recently written a piece urging people to donate blood.) They need weekly transfusions of blood platelettes OR THEY WILL DIE. That's right. Every week. They also need numerous regular blood transfusions too.

This doesn't even consider the accidents, surgeries and other things that call for a constant supply of blood.

Local hospitals rely on the local community for a majority of their blood. What they don't get from you, they have to buy from the Red Cross. Plus giving directly to a hospital shortens the turnaround time from your veins to the shelf where it can be used.

Finally, if for no other reason, give for selfish reasons: you or a loved one may need a transfusion of your own blood. Wouldn't it be nice to have it on hand?

It takes about 45 minutes total, but the blood giving takes about 5-10 minutes (the other time is for screeening before and making sure you're not dizzy afterward. And you can have a cookie!

Look, your body will regenerate the blood you give quickly. Where else can you make such an improtant donation and have it replaced like that? It's like giving someone $100 and then winning $100 in the lottery that night. If you were assured of that, wouldn't you do it? I hope so.

2003-07-31T12:50:00.000Z

R.I.P. = Really Inspiring Program...or "Death be proud"

I don't usually blog (Is that a verb now? Jeezuz! I hate having crap like that creep into my usage) about television because, with the exception of my foray into trash TV like "For Love or Money" and "American I dol" I don't watch much of it. And I'm not one of those "I only watch PBS" people either, I just don't seem to like much of what's on --although I do watch PBS a lot,when I watch. Hmmm, maybe I watch more TV than I think I do...

Anyway, we don't subscribe to HBO, which seems to have cornered the market on good programming (OK, Comedy Central is damn good too, from what I've seen.)

But we recently rented the entire first season of the HBO dark comedy/drama "Six Feet Under" which is now out on DVD (and VHS, for those of you stuck in the 1900s.) I have to tell you, this is one of the finest series I have ever seen on the old spleen screen (my version of "boob tube.")
For those who are unfamilar, the show centers on the Fisher family, and its funeral parlor business. It just finished its third season and I can't wait for the second to come out on DVD.

The basic premise in a nutshell, or coffin, as it were, is this: The father, (Richard Jenkins) who has run the family business for years dies in a car (or hearse, actually) accident, leaving his wife (a difficult role ably acted by Frances Conroy) and son David (superbly played by Michael C. Hall) to take over. Prodigal son Nate (Peter Krause, who may be my favorite TV actor now) returns home for the funeral only to find that Dad has left him half the business (which angers David who has forgone a law career to folow in Dad's foosteps.) To complicate matters, a large funeral home chain is trying to buy them out and seems willing to use any mean necessary to drive the Fishers out of business. Add in a confused but wiser-than-her-years teenage daughter Claire (perfectly played by Lauren Ambrose) and a employee who is a genius at restoring disfigured corpses (portrayed by the intense Freddy Rodriguez) and you basically have the idea.

Except that I'm leaving out several other main themes, which are masterfully woven together in each episode. The first is Nate's sleigh ride affair with the half-crazy, half-genius and goodhearted Brenda, wonderfully portrayed by Rachel Griffiths. This affair is complicated by Brenda's bipolar brother Billy (played with frightening intensity by Jeremey Sisto.)

The second theme is David's struggle with coming out as a (Catholic) gay man and his broken relationship with an openly gay cop, Keith (played by Matthew St. Patrick, he is my second favorite character after Nate.)

The third thread is Mom's newfound love life, split between two lovers and a fourth is Claire's ongoing search for meaning and troublesome relationship with her quasi-boyfriend, a neglected, at-risk teen who feels responsible for his 6-year-old brother's accidental death.

Of course, each episode has a story line around someone's (a non-recurring character, obviously) funeral, the death occuring in the first scene of each show. There are also several other minor characters who bring a spark to the show even though they are usually only on-screen for a few minutes each episode.

Despite all these perfectly-pitched performances, however, the writing is equally as good. Alan Ball (of "American Beauty" fame) is the creator of the series and set the tone in his writing of the pilot (he also wrote other episodes and directed a few as well.) The other writers have risen to the challenge, because the dialogue of the entire series seems like one seamless piece of whole cloth, not the creation of numerous minds and pens. The characters, who are drawn with the dark and rich detail of a Flemish painting, seem like real people and it takes very little time for you to feel you know them. While there are over-the-top pieces to some characters, they are believable because they are the same over-the-top pieces you might see in someone in real life.

Last but not least (and maybe most importantly) the show has also made me think about my life and inevitable death more than usual and in a different light. (Being a philsophy buff -- especially one who likes Kierkegaard -- I already think about death a lot, but this show has brought new perspective to me.) Any show that can handle such a profound topic in such a smart way deserves to be seen.

One last item, which I alluded to above: Peter Krause is the coolest guy around. First he played Casey on "SportsNight" (another of the most wonderful and underappreciated shows to ever appear on the small screen) and now Nate. (Krause just received an Emmy nomination for the role, one of 16 it received this year, more than any other show. It won six Emmys last year, by the way.)
But back to Krause's characters: If you're a guy, watch either of these shows and tell me you don't want to be like his characters; if you're a women, tell me you don't want to date or even marry them. Sure, Casy and Nate are both flawed characters, but both have a brilliance, a warmth, and a sense of what's right -- as well as being cool looking (although Nate's hair sometime looks like he had the same stylist as Calvin of "Calvin and Hobbes"...but I quibble.)

Anyway, get thee to the video store and rent this series. We watched all 13 episodes in four nights. Trust me, hardly anything ever gets that much of my undivided attention.

Death has never looked so good.

2003-07-29T22:13:00.000Z

I AM FAMOUS

OK, not really. But I am the subject of Scott's BlogBeat interview this week. Not that anyone reading here doesn't already read Scott anyway.

But that's not the story I came to tell.

Today I am here to tell you (and Scott and Sean have already done this, but I'm chiming in) to buy two CDs: "Welcome Interstate Managers" by Fountains of Wayne and "Yours, Mine & Ours" by The Pernice Brothers.

These two albums represent some of the finest pop music of our time. If you like melody; if you like clever (FOW) or gorgeous (Pernice Bros.) lyrics; if you think the Beatles were cool; if you are sick of generic dance pop (I was sick of it almost immediately); if you think harmonies, arrangements and production matter somewhat, THEN BUY THESE CDs!!!

The FOW CD took a second spin took hook me, but it is flat-out spellbinding pop. The serpentine and seductive melody of "Hackensack" is worth the price of the CD alone, but you also get the touching 'Valley Winter Song" with its Baystate reference; the hilarious "Halley's Waitress"; the poignant "No Better Place" and the faux-country classic "Hung Up on You."

The P-Bros match the Fountains: They kick off with the compelling driving pop of "The Weakest Shade of Blue" then launch into the sweltering melancholy of "Water Ban"...and follow it up with the Smiths-like "One Foot in the Grave." But this is just the start of a entire CD's worth of superb songs. No. 4 is the Solomonic jaunt of "Baby in Two" which quickly shifts into the the swampy soothing groove of "Blinded by the Stars." Then five more songs about as good as you'll hear these days.

Count yourself lucky to have the ability to hear music this good. If not, then go back to your Coldplay records and pretend you're "serious."

2003-07-28T19:01:00.000Z

Why indie will die..or Everyone sucks

Were you at the Ladybug Transistor/King Radio/Claudia Malibu show at the Iron Horse last night? Do you live in the general Northampton, Mass. area?
If the answers are "no" and "yes" respectively, then shame on you.
OK, I know most people don't share my musical tastes. If they did, those three bands wouldn't be playing for the smallish (75 people?) crowd at the Horse last night.
But Jesus, (and I mean that with all good reverence) how good of an indie show does Brendan (the IHEG indie guy) have to put together to get people there?

Hey, I know we're all busy and it was a Sunday night and blahblahblah. I miss my share of indie shows too, and I'm ashamed when I do. Unless I really don't like the band, I feel I should support anyone trying to bring indie music to clubs around here.

If dedicated indie fans such as myself don't go to these shows, then who will? No one, that's who. And then no one will book the shows. And then indie bands will have fewer places to play, and the domino effect will kick in.
Oh, Northampton -- supposedly this big indie/alternative universe. Yeah, right. Springfield may be best known for blues and metal these days, but at least it SUPPORTS those genres. Noho is often a no-show when it comes to supporting the arts its known for.

So, for you sorry-ass indie-fan wannabes who couldn't pry yourselves away from "Celebrities Uncensored" on E! last night, here's what you missed:

1. A stellar set by Claudia Malibu. I've only seen these Valley stalwarts two times before, but this was the best show I've witnessed.

2. Another monster performance by the orchestral version of King Radio. I've seen this show in all sorts of rooms and although the band always played great, the sound sometime hampered them (it has to be tough mixing a 9 or 10-piece band with a string section, two keyboards, acoustic guitar and percussion, especially at a place like Harry's.) But Dan Richardson and the Horse acoustics made them glow. Bonus: They played "Witchita Lineman" which they will perform at this year's Transperformance...it was superb.

3. Ladybug Transistor's great set, which mixed in some impressive new songs with old favorites. Gary Olsen's rich baritone always amazes me and Jeff Baron is an understated but cool guitarist. Sasha Bell provided her bell-like voice and a full keyboard sound while bassist Julia Rydholm (who usually plays violin but was filling in for Jennifer Baron for some reason) and drummer San Fadyl held down the bottom. It was a real treat seeing them at the Horse.

And it will probably be the only time I will, because you weren't there.

2003-07-24T16:42:00.000Z

Scott and I --and hopefully a few others -- will soon start a Fantasy Death League. This is like fantasy baseball or football, where you draft a team, but in this case, you draft people who you think will kick the bucket in the next calendar year or some designated time period. The further away they are from 100 years old, the more points you get. At the end of that time period, whoever has the most points, wins.

For example, if you had had Uday Hussein, you would have picked up a fat 61 points the other day, because he was only 39 years old. Buddy Ebsen's demise earleir this month would have only scored you five points as Ol' Jed Clampeet was 95. Get it?

One great source for these stats happens to be one of my fave websites Dead-or-Alive?.

From what I can gather, Scott is going to play the big score type strategy, trying to get one youngish probably mortality (Courtney Love?)

I think I'm going to try the slow and steady sure-thing approach, trying to pick up a lot of 10 and 15 pointers with older people like Betty Ford (85) Joey Bishop (85) Ernest Borgnine (86) Lady Bird Johnson (90- man, those First Ladies sure hang on, don't they?) or Studs Terkel (91). I'll skip Jack Lalanne (88) however.

Want to play? If you live near us, let one of us know. I want to start ASAP and play through the end of the year, or through some designated month next year.

I mean, why wait? We could be dead if we do!

2003-07-23T06:03:00.000Z

I'll have mine on 'wry'

When I skewer drippy diary-like blogs, I often employ the phrase "Had a ham sandwich" as an example of their dishwater-dull content.
While some may think I just use the phrase sarcastically (and I do) I would like to point out that it is not entirely fictional. And I admit that not all HAHS (Had A Ham Sandwich --what did you think it stood for?) entries are boring. But the phrase still gets my point across.
So, for your entertainment, here are some of the best (or worst) real-life HAHS blog entries.

Our first entry (you have to scroll down a bit on the page to Thursday, Nov. 21) provides some colorful action with the HAHS post. But perhaps the past perfect tense (i.e. "had had a ham sandwich") would have been more appropriate, since she's referring to an past action that changed or was terminated due another past action:
Tuesday I had a ham sandwich, but it doesn't count because I threw it back up again about 20 minutes after I ate it. Eeeewww.

Next up is Amy Bagshaw (again it's a bit down on the page) who gives us a sense of excitement over her ham sandwich. Or maybe it's just nausea:
For lunch I had a ham sandwich, so did my dad, Chris had a Caesar Salad with chicken, the food was really nice. I like the crisp that came with the meal. My stomach feels really funny, I think I am nervous but very excited.

Inspired by fiction, Fufu takes us on a roller coaster ride: Will he have a ham sandwich or won't he? For those in a rush, here's how the mystery unfolds:
In the Murakami book I'm now reading in one part of it Toru Okada eats a ham sandwich and a boiled egg for lunch. After I read that I thought to myself "Shit that sounds good" and all day yesterday I thought about eating a ham sandwich and a boiled egg. But we ended up going to this Mediterranean place and I got a falafel and a hummus plate instead. But today was a different story. Today I had a ham sandwich and TWO boiled eggs. With salt!

Lababosa (scroll to the Friday June 6 entry) offers up the ham-sandwichest blog yet. Oh, Lababosa, you really shouldn't buy those family-sized canned hams:
I've had a ham sandwich for dinner every night this week. I'm getting mighty sick of ham, and there's still a good size chunk of it leftover from Monday. There is probably enough for dinner until at least Wednesday. If I don't get thoroughly sick of it by then, I'll adopt a kosher diet.

Uh-oh! Amethyst not only had a ham sandwich, she also broke one of my road rules: Stopping her car to chat in the middle of the road. Even worse, she does it on my birthday (therefore you have to scroll to the May 6 entry to see this.) Trichinosis is too good a fate for her:
We stopped in the middle of the road (yes, I cuss at people who do that but there was no one else on the road tee hee) to see where they were going. There was a passenger in the back seat, my Aunt Lou Jean! She'd come from Idaho and was on her way to Salt Lake to stay with her daughter, and they were on their way to get some dinner. They invited me, so I swung my car around and followed them to the local family drive in and had a ham sandwich.

But the Hammy Award goes to this guy, who apparently cares little for his child's vegetarianism (I mean, why bother bringing your kid up as a vegetarian if you're going to be so cavalier about it?) He then contemplates moving his daughter onto matters more "Rubenesque", so to speak:
Yesterday S. had a ham sandwich! The babysitter forgot that she was vegetarian. She also reported that S. really seemed to like it. I was worried about S. getting indigestion, but she was fine. Next we will see how she likes a Reuben sandwich.

Yeah, that's like raising your kid to be an atheist, then discovering your babysitter reading scripture to her, and then saying "Next we'll see how she likes Fundamentalism."

Boy, even though I'm a vegetarian myself, all this ham sandwich writing makes me hungry. I think I'll go have...yeah right, you actually thought I was going to write something boring like that?

2003-07-18T18:12:00.000Z

My Hate-Love relationship.

So Scott blogged yesterday about Courtney Love's return to music. Man, just when I thought it was safe to go back into record stores, the rock version of "Jaws" is back.
I mean, she's like a shark in so many ways: she's scary, she rips into things with a killer-like vengeance, and it seems like if she ever stops moving, she'll die.

Most music careers are based on a combination of luck and talent, the ratio depending on the artist in question. Ringo was a lot of talent but even more luck. Prince is a massive talent with a reasonable amount of luck. Britney Spears is scant talent and mostly luck.

Courteny Love, however, is the luckiest woman ever to strap on a guitar.
She can't sing, can't write, isn't attractive (unless you're into the stripper-junkie thing) and has little discernable playing ability. But she has big breasts and married Kurt Cobain, so one might say she was blessed by both Heaven and Nirvana.

Look, I'm an indie rock fan, so I'm down with the atonal and/or off-key singing thing. But Love just can't sing. Period. And her songs are horrible, except the ones which were obviously co-written or ghost-written (an apt term in this case) by Kurt or Billy Corgan.

So now that Courtney is back, I'm waiting for the inevitable marketing ploy of teaming her with that other washed-up, washed out blonde indie pretender, Liz Phair. I'm thinking of two ideas: the "Blonde on Blonde" tour or "The All's Phair in Love and Whores" tour.

It's gonna happen, mark my words. God, I should work for Madison Avenue.

2003-07-11T15:46:00.000Z

Rules of the Road for Fools of the Road

Sean has some road rage and I'm with him. Read his blog first, then come back here for some addenda.

OK, are you back? Here we go with my auto-mania:

1) Get off the cell phone. Now. No, it's not the same as talking to someone sitting next to you in the car. It's different and you're driving too slowly, weaving and making a nuisance of yourself. You probably can't walk and chew gum, so you shouldn't be driving and chewing the fat. If you need to talk for more than a few seconds, pull over.

2) When you park on-street in a neighborhood, be aware of where you position your car. Don't just pull up and get out. On-street parking is at a premium some places. These curbside strips often allow for several cars to be parked linearly, but sometimes idiots inadvertantly take up two of these unmarked spaces because, well, they're idiots. So take a look: If there is enough space for three cars and you're the first one there, pull up all the way near the front curb-cut. Or park in the last "space." Don't randomly pull into the middle, potentially leaving inadequate space in front or behind you. Unless you're an idiot. Or rude. Or both. -- it's a popular combination.

3) I know you're in a hurry. We all are. I know where you're going is more important than were I am going. After all, you are more important than I am. But if I'm driving over the speed limit passing other vehicles in the passing lane, do not zoom up behind me and tailgate me as a way of intimidating me to get out of your way. Know why? because not only will I not move over, I will take precautions to avoid an accident by slowing down further. Is the speed limit 65 mph? How does 50 sound? (And I may do this right when I'm parallel with a car I'm passing, which means you'll be bottlenecked until you learn to back off.)
Also, do not flash your lights. I know you're not going to the hospital. You're late for the Sammy Hagar concert. Relax, you'll get there.

4) In a related note to No. 3: If you're one of those pinheads who pulls in front of me at a too-close distance, don't worry, I'll back off. Not because I'm a great guy -- really I'd rather ram you in the rear and push you off into the median barrier. But I'd like to live -- at least in order to keep the ratio of intelligent people to morons as high as possible. So I'll back off. But you should learn to leave enough space between you and the car in front of you. Maybe you'll learn when you slam into it and they're picking your teeth out up off the engine block.

5) WAKE UP! Hey, the "turn right on red" law has been in effect for about a million years now. Unless there's a sign that says "No Right Turn on Red" then you can turn right at a red light. You also might want to look and see if there's a sign that says "Right lane must turn right." Why? Because I'm behind you waiting to turn right (maybe on red) and you are actually going straight but were too busy talking on your cell phone or whatever and didn't see the sign. So instead of sucking it up and turning right, you're just going to floor it and try to cut off the left lane people going straight. You really know how to piss the most people off with minimum effort. Good job.

Thanks Sean, I feel better now.

2003-07-10T13:35:00.000Z

OUCH!

Well, it seems I touched a nerve, at least a little. Veiled behind Jennifer Myszkowski's compliment on my blog, there seemed to be a bit of a dig. The other day I complimented her blog, but said it was intriguing in a train-off-the-tracks" manner.
Jennifer then wrote that she likes my blog because I write what she only thinks inside her head. But then there is this little paragraph:

He generally starts with a statement like, "I do/do not like this." Then he states his reasons. Then he backs up his reasons. Then he backs off a little and says if he's offending anyone, that wasn't his intention and his intention is only to say what he thinks. Then he reasserts his original statement.

For the record, I have hardly ever followed that sequence of reasoning. If you look below, you'll see that I equivocate only a few times and those are usually when I'm trying to see both sides of an issue. For the most part, I let people and/or things I don't like have it with both barrels.

I do have a journalistic sense of balance however, maybe that's what comes through sometimes. But even more important that balance in journalism is accuracy. And Jennifer comes up short on that count when reporting the sequence of my reasoning/writing about things.

All that said, I will completely back down here and say I apologize for obviously offending Jennifer. I meant the "train-off-the-tracks" description is the same way JM often describes herself.

Two last things:

1) It's obvious that Jennifer and I disagree about the type of blogs we enjoy. She says "give me the humanity", apparently enjoys reading Walden-like musings on grocery lists, baby vomit and mortgages. (I'm sorry Thoreau fans, I like the man's ideals in many ways but that tome is a snooze..."Went to the store, bought salt and four pieces of wood..." or crap like that.) Like I said: "Had a ham sandwich" is not compelling reading.

2) Jennifer implies that I write things that others only dare to think?! That's very funny, if you think about it.

Anyway, my apologies. I'll stay away from blog critiques in the future..at least of people I know.

2003-07-08T17:51:00.000Z

Linkin' Blogs

Philip Price, a talented songwriter, keeps a blog that is even more sporadically updated than mine. Yesterday, he wrote about bloggers' links to other blogs, and why he doesn't do it much, etc.

This is a intriguing subject, in some ways. I often have wondered about the politics of linking. It mostly seems (as Philip wrote) that linking is a "you scratch my back and I'll scratch yours" quid pro quo tradeoff. My permanent links (not perma-links, which are a different concept, according to Scott) are listed to the left here, and include Scott, Sean, School for the Dead, and Group DeVille (I didn't link them here in this body because you can just click on them to the left over there.)

I link these people permanently for one reason only: I enjoy the blogs. I don't ask for reciprocity. Sean (The Moon Hoax) has no "favorite blogs" section. neither does Group DeVille. Scott links me, but he also links just about every person with a computer in Western Mass (note: Scott's blog is about blogs, so he is to be forgiven on this point.) School for the Dead linked me, and I admit I may have even asked them to, now that I think about it. But even if SFTD had said "no" to linking me, I still would have linked them, because it's a fascinating look inside the inner workings of a band.

Of course I do enjoy other blogs besides these, and I link them in the body of a post when I see something worth noting or commenting on. Jennifer Myszkowski, Scott's friend who is both funny and a nice person, has a blog that is quite often an interesting read, if sometimes in a train-off-the-tracks kind of way. (Note: No insult meant by that. I don't really know her well at all, but I think Jennifer will know what I mean.)
The aforementioned Philip Price is often good, but goes weeks without updating and I found his war stuff too much after a while, even though I agreed in principle with much of it. But Philip is a smart and creative guy. And there are other blogs that are good too, but I ain't about to list them all here.

But what strikes me as odd is why some people link others. Some bloggers who seem intelligent and interesting themselves link some of the worst blogs I've ever read (again, Scott is off the hook here, because his blog necessarily has to cast a wide net, link-wise. And no, I will not name names, it's not polite.) I will admit that "Dear Diary" crap mostly bores the boxers off me, unless there is an overriding concept or point to it. "Had a ham sandwich" is not a compelling read, to me anyway. But hey, I'm sure plenty of people think this little page is so much blogwash (<--how's that for a coinage...you read it here first, but someone else will use it in a more well-read forum and take credit. Such is my lot.)

I mean, I know some bloggers who read this sometimes and who don't link me, but do link some real coma-inducing tomes. I don't care, but I also don't get it.

In the end, blogging is like everything else: 80 percent of it is horrific and 20 percent is OK, good or maybe even excellent.

2003-07-07T12:52:00.000Z

Getting back up vs. Getting my back up

My apologies to the four people (I used to say three, but another reader who was unknown to me corrected that stat) who read this for not bloggong last week: I hurt my back last Sunday and was out of work and out of commission all week.

But now I'm back and ready to stiffen my spine once again against a all-too-familiar enemy: the record industry.

So I'm laid up and was reading the New Yorker and there's this article about some new diva ("Cherie") that some schlub manager or A&R guy was frothing over. The piece is pretty interesting, but talks about a lot of the bile in the business of which I'm already aware, so it was pretty much just a reinforcement of long-held beliefs for me.

But the thing that caught my eye was a brief mention of a website called HIT SONG SCIENCE.

These "scientists" purport to be able to tell if your song will be a hit or not based on some sort of formula they've concocted. Part of me finds this proposition ridiculous and a scam, but another part finds it and somewhat sadly believable. I mean, a lot of the hits these days sound the same to me, so maybe it has been reduced to a formula.

From what I can gather from the website, without subscribing, they base their analysis on certain mathematical aspects of music. They call this "spectral deconvolution" -- a term which could be literally defined as "making things simple by using ghosts" -- but I'm sure they mean something else.
Actually, they describe this methodology as analyzing a song's patterns in melody, harmony, chords, fullness of sound, beat, tempo, rhythm, etc and then comparing them to patterns in recent chart hits. Apparently some other secret math-magic is also then stirred into this shoobie-doobie brew and voila! the Spectral Deconvoluter can predict whether your song has a ghost of chance or not.

The sample report on the site looks all scientific and stuff to impress musicians, who this company seems to assume are naive, jerkwater rubes ("Golly! Lookie at all them there graphs and charts! It must be true!")

To me, the only possible information you can get from this "analysis" is whether your song sounds like everything else that has sold well recently. And that route has been around a lot longer than Hit Song Science. Cut-out bins are filled with artists and bands who were signed because they sounded like the Flavor of the Moment, only to be cast aside when the record execs realized that these idiotic trends last about as long as an order of fries near Anna Nicole Smith.

If it were science, everyone would have hits. Hey, maybe soon, everyone will...which reminds me of one of my favorite sayings:

"Always remember: you're unique. Just like everybody else."

2003-06-27T15:58:00.000Z

Falling in love with "Falling Up"

If you like politics or even if you just like good writing and a weave of great stories culled from a colorful life, you have to read "Falling Up" by Raymond Strother. Strother was one among the first wave of political consultants (along with Springfield's own Joseph Napolitan who is a giant and genius in the field) and he tells his story in down-home, gritty but always compelling and expressive prose.
I admit that I'm only 50 or so pages into the book (I'm a terribly slow reader, which has been explained by having a mixed dominance of the sides of my brain. I'm naturally left-handed but was taught to do some things right-handed as a child, leading to neither side of my brain being dominant. Apparently this is good in some ways, but may lead to being a slow reader.)

OK where was I?
Oh yeah, but even after just 50 pages, I enthusiastically endorse this book. Even if it became a limp litany of boring self-congratulatory verbiage, these first 50 pages were worth the price of the book alone (and it's a wallet-squeezing $29.95, by the way...but definitely worth it.)

Strother's descriptions of his life growing up, working in, and being educated in the South (these "early years" parts of memoirs or biographies are usually the ones that I find least compelling and which I often just skim) were riveting, both in the tales and the telling. Strother's father is a character who is so powerful -- a dark but smart combination of manliness, fairness and (sometimes vigilante) justice -- that he almost seems a fictional cliche. But he's not, and the passages describing Strothers relationship with his dad are superb, as are his tales of working at some of the worst jobs you can -- or can't, actually -- imagine.

In the prologue, Strother also hints at the political "inside baseball" to come (there is a great story about Michael Dukakis' campaigns for both governor and president.) And from a review of the book, I know there is plenty more political "dish" to come.

I can't wait to read it, and neither should you. It's not exactly light beach reading, but as close as I get to such a thing.

2003-06-26T15:38:00.000Z

From School for the Dead to the dead on arrival

Scott's Blogbeat (which is also linked on my "cool weblogs" tab to the left) has a couple of recent entries you may want to check out (of course if you're reading this, I assume you know about Scott, since you probably heard of my blog from his...no one else reads this thing, do they?)

Yesterday, he interviews the tres witty Henning Olhenbusch, commandant of the stellar pop band School for the Dead (whose weblog is alos listed to the left), erstwhile bassist for the late great Aloha Steamtrain and guitarist for the Fawns (and he's former member of Humbert. another cool defunct band, as well.)

The interview is part of a new series by Scott, where he probes the minds of bloggers. Henning's brain is a cache of offbeat humor, dry wit and sincere truths, so it's good read. So read it already.

Today Scott confesses his sin of buying the new Liz Phair CD (written about here last week.) The word is Liz has become a big sellout, trying to tart up her 30-something image by slinking around in plaid schoolgirl dresses and whitewashing her sound with that enamel gloss which is so popular on the trendy faux-punk streets of Avril Lavigneville.

Of course, despite how horrible it probably is, the CD will be a huge hit, for reasons I wrote earlier (you can look them up. I'm too busy/lazy to repeat them.)
All I can say is that a good friend of mine -- who is (or was, I guess) a HUGE Phair fan -- got an advance copy and had this to say:

"OK the first song is no good, and the second song sucks, and the third song is bad and the fourth song isn't good and the fifth song is horrible and the sixth song is lousy. But the seventh song, yeah the seventh song is good. But then the eighth song sucks and the ninth song sucks and..." I think you get the picture.

He then continued: "It may be the worst CD I've ever bought, and remember: I bought the first Hansen album. If you're even thinking of buying this, save your money. Or throw your money out the window. It will be the same thing and at least you won't be tempted to listen to this Godawful mess."

Now remember, this guy is (was) a huge Liz Phair fan. If those comments above were my words, you might say "Well George, you were never a big fan of Liz anyway," -- but they aren't my words.

But they sure were fun to write here.

2003-06-25T18:00:00.000Z

I AM TRYING TO BREAK YOUR FACE

Well! All this nice weather suddenly has everyone is a such a happy mood! Check out Henning's June 23rd "Dear little kid..." entry in the School for the Dead Rockumentary and Sean's follow-up in his Moon Hoax blog.

Well, those are nice little screeds, but please my friends, step aside and let ME get in there:

After last night, I am never going out in public again.

OK, maybe that's a little harsh: I'm just not going out where there are other people.

Here's my tale of woe (which is a repeating scenario in various forms throughout my life.)

First, let me say this: I'm not a bad guy. Really I'm not. I'm fairly friendly and have a decent sense of humor, try to follow most rules of courtesy, etc. etc.
But I am also the World's Most Impatient Man.

So last night I'm at a Wilco concert, reviewing it for my paper. I love Wilco and have seen them several times, but I know I'm not going to be able to fully enjoy this show as a fan, because as a reviewer, you have to pay attention to different things and constantly be scribbling down song titles, observations and notes in your notebook (in the dark, by the way.) But that's cool: I still get to see the show, as does my fiancee, Jeanne.

Now, the first problem is that half the audience didn't seem to know when the show started. A good percentage of them came sauntering in during the second and third songs, meandering aimlessly with beer in hand as if they were at a company picnic. One group whose seats were in the row behind ours had a lengthy discussion about whether to enter the row from the side they were on or walk around to the other side where their seats were -- AND THIS IS DURING A SONG!

Then, of course, we had The People Who Insist On Standing even though it was a reserved seating show and the band wasn't exactly playing dance music. (I don't mind people getting up at one of these shows toward the end when the set reaches its peak -- OK I DO mind but I tolerate it.)
Luckily, these People Who Insist On Standing were not in evidence in front of us, for most of the show, anyway. But they were still annoying. One woman, who gave new meaning to the term oblivious, stood alone in her row, even though no one else was standing in a rather large circumference of seats around her. (Does it ever occur to these pillars of ignorance that they just might be blocking someone's view? Nah, that would mean they would have had to have something occur to them in the entire thoughtless life.)
There were also the People Who Think The Band Is There To Take Requests. Jeff Tweedy cut them down after a while after an intelligent person in the crowd also tired of the relentless requests and yelled "Just play the set list."
Tweedy turned to the band, mocking those who thought they were going to get their rude requests played, and and said "Hey guys, change of plans -- we're going to play the set list!"

But the Big Prize goes to the people (three youngish couples) sitting right next to us. First, they arrive late. OK, tardiness happens. But then they take turns getting up and leaving, forcing me to get up and out of the row (I was on the end seat -- one I enjoy because of my 6'3" height.)

Maybe they were taking cigarette breaks (God forbid music or art get in the way of a smoke.) Or doing beer runs (the guys in the group came back with beer a few times.) Or going to the restroom (at one point I almost barked at one of them "They have a product called Depends® for this type of situation ya know!")
But they just kept getting up and down, up and down. Now they could see that I was writing and any idiot could have figured out that I was reviewing the show, therefore WORKING, and have shown a little courtesy. Hey, if they had to keep getting up, well, that's their "right" I guess. But they showed no courtesy as far as what I was doing was concerened. They actually got impatient if I didn't immediately stop writing and jump up to let them out.

At one point, one of the guys said (by way of a semi-apology, I guess) "Assigned seating sucks." Now I assume he meant "reserved seating" -- assigned seating being a relic of third grade (which was his maturity level, obviously.) I bit my tongue for a second and when he has passed, said, sotto voce, "No, your idiocy is what sucks."
(Being an old fogey, I like reserved seats. I usually don't go see bands that clear floor space for mosh pits.)

Then, later, I was busy writing some important observation (important to me, anyway) when one of the young women came back to her seat, she actually tapped me on the leg to hurry me along getting up. She could see I was writing. I was aware of the effluvium of her Teen Spirit presence. So, without looking up I hissed "JUST ONE SECOND!" as I finished my scrawling. She gave me a dirty look as she passed me and I said, in normal voice: "Asshole."

Well, this made us the target (according to Jeanne) of their derision for the rest of the show. Luckily for us and them, they kept this mockery out my earshot and Jeanne had the presecnce of mind and tact to not tell me until the ride home (she knows I would have given them more than an earful if I had known.)

Then the coup de grace came during the encore, when some airbag with a harmonica across the aisle for me actually started playing along with Wilco. Thank God for Jeff Tweedy, who heard this nonsense (our seats were good and close) and said "Is someone playing the harmonica out there?" and then "Look. we don't come to your gigs and play!" and finally "Stop it!" when the moron continued.

hmmm...Maybe Wilco's next Cd will be called "I AM TRYING TO BREAK YOUR HARP"

2003-06-19T17:37:00.000Z

Hey, I can't get a "perm," but...

Just for the record, a short clarification: Although I whine about Scott's gratuitous use of permalinking below, let me say that I love his blog in general and think the new interview concept is cool (I do not want to be a subject of one of those, however, for the record.)
AND: I'm not against permalinks in general, just using them when what you're linking to is directly below what you're writing. It's like taking a cab to travel one block.

Hmmm...maybe I'll change my first name to "Perma."

2003-06-19T16:31:00.000Z

"Linkin'" Park

Although I hate to have the post below move down already, I feel I need to comment on a new feature in Scott's Blog Beat blog.

Scott's blog is a sort of meta-blog: it's a blog about blogs (how many times can I use "blog," or variations thereof, in one post? Let's count...that last one was Number 7.) So now he has decided to interview other bloggers(8) and post the results on his blog(9).

Talk about the snake that eats its tail (called the ouroboros, for you myth aficianados): Blog(10) Beat is now a blog(11) about blogs(12) that interviews the bloggers(13) in question.

However, I will say that his first interview was pretty good. A guy named Joe M. who does a cool little blog(14) called This is Really Happening. Seems like a nice, intelligent chap, especially since he listed my blog(15) as one of his favorites (or at least one he reads.)

But my gripe is with Scott's meta-meta reference to the interview (which was yesterday) in today's blog(16) entry. Not only does he mention it (that's OK) but he puts one of those perma-link thingies (a link that brings you to exact spot in a blog(17) so you don't have to scroll around.) THE INTERVIEW WAS YESTERDAY. IT WAS RIGHT BELOW TODAY'S ENTRY! Did we really need a perma-link? He could have just said " It's been nice to receive such good feedback on the inaugural Blog(18) Beat Interview...which is directly below" (My words in italics.)

I know Scott, I like Scott a lot, but I have to call him on this: I think he was just showing off his techie skills.

(Oh yeah: 18 uses of "blog"...not bad.)

2003-06-19T15:08:00.000Z

Coining more than nickels and dimes...

Well, the New York Times has really taken it on the chin and shins lately over the Blair Glitch Project, so I feel a bit bad about the letter I wrote to them this morning. But I can't sit still while the Bush Administration not only runs roughshod over our liberties, but also our language.

As we all know, our President is no Noam Chomsky, but some of his henchmen (Karl Rove and pollster Frank Luntz) know the power of language and have used it wisely. One such example is how they refer to global warming as "climate change" -- making a serious environmental problem sound like a reason to go on vacation.

So imagine my disgust when I read a story in the NYT whose headline read "Report by the EPA Leaves Out Data on Climate Change." Without further ado, let me just present the letter I wrote to them (which I hope will appear in their pages sometime soon.)
______________________________________
Dear Editors:

Although I applaud your story revealing how the White House may have reshaped sections of an EPA report that dealt with global warming, I'm appalled at how they have apparently reshaped New York Times style manual as well.

As a writer, I can't believe the Times is merrily going along with the Bush terminology of "climate change" -- a euphemism for global
warming devised by Rove, Luntz, et al to make it sound less threatening. It may not strictly qualify as jargon, but it's only off by a few degrees.

Although the story only used the term "climate change" in direct quotes, it also only referred to "global warming" once -- and that was very far down in the story. But what bothers me is the use of "climate change" in the headline. If readers weren't familiar with the term, the headline "Report by the EPA Leaves Out Data on Climate Change" might lead them to believe the agency simply forgot to include information on how the White House sets its thermostat. Maybe this is a small detail, a but that's exactly how global warming works too: A few degrees here, a few degrees there and pretty soon the entire country is as hot as Bush's beloved Texas.

Global warming is a valid term that has been accepted universally for years -- even some do not accept it as a valid concept. Climate change is what you experience when you fly from New York to Palm Springs in December.
__________________________________
As one can see, my beef is with the headline, which is supposed to be about clarity, just as the story itself should be. And the headline is the responsibility of an editor. Is the Times now just accepting any terminology the Administration chooses to use? Will we see "Collateral Damage from War Contained" rather than "War's Death Toll Limited"? Will the Times also start using "conservationist" rather than "environmentalist" when the subject is a Republican? (This is another Luntz idea: "environmentalist" is being painted as someone who is an extremist whackjob, while a "conservationist" is someone who is "conservatively compassionate" about ecology, apparently. So Bush is a "conservationist"; Gore an "environmentalist."

Clever boys, Luntz and Rove are, but since I know a thing or two about language myself, I'm not going to sit silently as they twist words to fit their agenda. Because the war of words is where the battle really matters. Language is all we have that separates us from other animals, folks. If we give that up, we better get ready to go to zoo -- to stay.

2003-06-13T16:28:00.000Z

There's a cyber discussion going on in several places about "Best Song of All Time" (or maybe it's "favorite song" -- I forget.)

While choosing one song is an exercise in futility, it does make one consider and examine one's favorite tunes with a more discerning ear. Mine is "God Only Knows" by the Beach Boys, but it can change in an Alabama minute to "I'm So Lonesome I Could Cry" -- or several others.

But VH1 recently asked people's Top 10 from the last 25 years, which is arbitrary -- and roughly coincides with the advent of MTV...(hmmm, I wonder if that had anything to do with the cut-off date?)

I won't even bother to answer that silly question. One might as well ask what is the best song of the past 5 years, or 15 years. Who cares? The marekting team for VH1 and MTV, I guess.

But for a hilarious set of answers check out Sean's replies. I do think he missed one, though: Him by Rupert Holmes. This 1980 gem which went to No. 6 on the charts proved that that Holmes --and the American public -- had more than just one "Pina Colada" in him/them.

2003-06-12T14:55:00.000Z

Phair-weather fans

Well, seeing as my pals Scott and Sean have weighed in and waxed all prickly about all things Phair, I suppose I should do the same.
Apparently my amigos are all a-twitter and critical about Liz Phair's new CD, her new look and new attitude. Well guess what, guys: I'm not surprised. You see, long ago, I said what everyone is now realizing: She ain't that good. She never was.
When Exile in Guyville came out, a lot of my friends -- and I mean smart, discerning friends -- almost got drool all over their Sonic Youth collection describing this new Indie Queen. But when I heard it, all I could think was: Boy, it's amazing what kind of attention you can get if you're a cutesy prep/deb who sings off key about blowjobs. Some of it was OK, but considering the amount of critical acclaim it got, you would have thought Nick Drake had come back from the dead with John Lennon, reformed The Beatles and started writing songs with Gram Parsons. Or something like that.

Some of the cracks started to show when her sophomore effort Whip Smart was met with some raised eyebrows. But people were forgiving (you know: artists second albums are never as good; she's experimenting, blahblahblah...) To me, she was 0-for-2, or maybe 0-for-1 with a walk, because Exile was OK (at best.)

I thought Phair's Whitechocolatespaceegg was her best effort (not great but solid), but it wasn't Revolver or anything. And it's clean production and non-threatening poses foreshadowed what she is doing now.

So now comes the new one, which is exiling both Scott and Sean to "Why?!"-ville. Apparently, the Phairest one of all has looked in the mirror and seen Avril Lavigne-meets-Lita Ford. The cover of the new CD has Phair's hair being windswept (is it the breeze from the airbrush?) while she sits with a phallic Mustang (a type of Fender guitar, not the horse) bewtixt her legs. She also courted Avril's producers and songwriters (I thought the whole point of Liz was that she wrote the songs, but whatever...maybe they're just producing it.)

If that wasn't enough, Phair has also been quoted as wanting a "hit" and distancing herself from her indie roots. Treason! Apostasy!

Look, let her go. Even if you posit that Exile was great, (I don't) what has she done since? That was 10 years ago. She can write a reasonably catchy melody here and there, but really she is a mediocre talent overall. She's a childhood friend of Julia Roberts, so I'm sure she has long longed to come out of exile and into the jet set. She now runs with Sheryl Crow (or at least co-writes with her) and has felt the amphetamine headrush of popular success (read: a hit record.) So you can't blame her. Honestly, it's where she always belonged: In the tepid, fetid heap of lukewarm mainstream music, where success is measured by appearances on Entertainment Weekly covers and "Got Milk?" ads.

To me, "Exile in Guyville" was a pose. If nothing else, this chick is whip smart and played the indie world for all it was worth then discarded it like a Magnet magazine subscription card. Now she seems like she's posturing to be a cover girl for Maxim. She'll get her hit: MTV will line up a bunch of young female artists like Michelle Branch and Avril to say how much they love Liz (whether they ever heard of her or not is beside the point) and and Lizapalooza will be off and running. (This will be like what they did with Stevie Nicks.)

But don't mourn the loss of an indie icon, my indie friends: She was never ours. Remember her song Fuck and Run? Well, she fucked us -- and now she's running. Good for her.

2003-06-11T16:06:00.000Z

"...Forgotten so easily, while the whole world's ignoring me..." -- Ward Dotson

[NOTE: I slept one (that's 1) hour last night. Was doing some freelance editing work for a far-away ad agency. So if this sounds incoherent, that's why. (Please, no "How will we be able to tell the difference from your usual blogs?" comments.) END OF NOTE.]

I haven't listened to much new music lately, due to the same hectic schedule that has also kept me from this place. I've barely listened to music at all, except in the car. This morning I finally got to put an ear to The Pernice Brothers new one. Sounds like a winner, as usual. Joe Pernice always gets the best compliments I can give: I wish I had written his songs.

Last week Jeanne and I went to Newburyport and I played The Liquor Giants' "Every Other Day at a Time" (one of my all time fave titles and all-time fave albums, as well) in the car.
Now, the problem is, what ever happened to the Likker Jints? Their website mentions a "new" (2000?) CD released in Australia called "Up With People" but there is scant other info available. But an email link is provided, so perhaps it's time for me to get in touch with Ward Dotson (the main Giant) with whom I have corresponded a few times in the past (but I lost his old email address when I moved a few years ago.) Saw a few good reviews of the CD though...that's encouraging. I'll have to see if Parasol or Insound has it. (See? That's the trouble, even fans of the band like me forget about them if they're only on overseas labels.)

My point here is that The Liquor Giants, like so many of my other favorite indie bands, just seemed to drift off and vaporize into the ethereal mist of Indie Rock Past. Oh, it looks like they're still out there in some fashion, but where, and how? Ward is a brilliant songwriter. It's a shame he's probably working at a college bookstore somewhere or something, pointing freshman to "Beowulf." The guy can write circles around most popsters (and he is definitey a popster!)

I loved listening to "Every Other Day..." on Saturday, but it also made me sad. I'm not asking for Ward to be on the cover of Rolling Stone...or even Magnet, but the guy should be able to make a living doing what he does so well. Oh well, he's not the only one, just one example of a sad reality: the best songwriters these days probably deliver pizzas, design websites, teach music, work in graphics, or even write for magazines.
Hey, Vincent Van Gogh never sold a painting in his life. Some things never change

2003-06-03T18:16:00.000Z

Something Old, Something New; Something Borrowed for "Baby Blue"

Hi.
Anyone still reading this? I have been insanely busy with other more lucrative writing projects, therefore have had little time or energy for this space.

But I'm back, even though I will probably only "blog" once or twice a week from now on.

But enough with the explanantions. Today's topic: Musical plagiarism.

Now, I know that a lot of popular songs sound similar, some to a greater degree, some to a lesser one. I'm not talking about sampling here, which is outright theft, but rather the inadvertant replication by an artist of a passage of music (a part of a verse, or maybe a chorus) that was already written and copyighted by another writer.

Everyone is familiar with George Harrison's "My Sweet Lord" case, where it seems he accidently lifted the chorus of "He's So Fine" (which was written by Ronald Mack and popularized by the Chiffons.) Harrison was found to have used two key musical phrases from He's So Fine" and had to pay dearly for it. (An initial judgement awarded the publisher of "He's So Fine" more than 2 milllion, awarding damages not just for the money culled from "My Sweet Lord" but also from the "All things Must Pass" album. The argument was that the album's sales were aided by the hit "My Sweet Lord." But a later ruling attenuated that penalty, allowing that Harrison's own celebrity also had something to do with the popularity fo the song and album.)

This brings me to two new songs I've heard in the past few weeks: "My Baby Blue" by John Hiatt and "Peacekeeper" by Fleetwood Mac.
The chorus to "Peacekeeper" sounds an awful lot like "Kodachrome" by Paul Simon, but there is a subtle chordal alteration that makes it different enough (maybe) to avoid litigation. A rule of thumb, or so I've heard, is that you have to have at least four bars of similarity to make a case for infringement. So maybe Fleetwood won't get fleeced by Rhymin' Simon.

But "My Baby Blue" is another story altogether. I heard it driving home one day and it stuck in my head: WHAT WAS THAT TUNE? That verse is one catchy melody, I'll say that! That's probably because STING wrote it under the name "De Do Do Do, De Da Da Da" about 20 years ago.
Don't believe me? Listen to the verses and match up the phrases. It's almost note for note, except Hiatt leaps to an octave vocally on the second and fourth lines.

Did he do this because after he had recorded most of it, someone pointed out that it was a dead-on rip-off of "De do do do, etc" and he wanted to change it enough to make it less obvious? (WARNING: A boring theory note for musicians follows: The final chord on those lines also seems to be a bit different; I haven't sat down with a guitar and figured it out yet -- and probably won't waste my time doing so -- but that chord just seems to be the relative minor of the chord Sting uses...don't quote me, I've only heard "My Baby Blue" twice.)
Now Hiatt is a fine songwriter and doesn't need to steal from anyone. He also seems like decent guy and wouldn't want to anyway. But this time he did, intentionally or not.

I write songs and always worry that the tunes are coming from some long forgotten song I heard off some musty old album in my sister's collection when I was 6 years old. So I try to test my melodies against my memory of songs before I play them for others. But as someone said: there are only twelve notes and you're going to repeat some of them once in a while (even though phrasing, rhythm and such makes the combinations virtually infinite.)
Anyway, it would seem Bach already wrote everything somewhere. So we're all "stealing" in that sense.

But with the Hiatt song, (to my ears anyway) Der Stingle has a good case if he wants to add to his pile o' cash. But if I were Hiatt, my defense to Mr. Sting (Zappa called him that--I've always loved that!) would be:
"Don't think me unkind; Tunes are hard to find..."

2003-05-22T15:55:00.000Z

OK, now that all the confetti has been swept away after last night's American Idol finale, I can say without any question that the wrong person won. After last week, I was rooting for Ruben, the eventual winner, but last night proved what I've been saying all along: Kimberly Locke far outshone -- and outsang -- any of the others.

On last night's show, they had some of the losers from previous rounds sing and Kimberly knocked out superb versions of both "Midnight Train to Georgia" (with Gladys Knight in the audience!) and "Somewhere Over the Rainbow" -- an incredibly tough song to sing well. Meanwhile, Ruben slid further down the scale, losing both the groove (his ongoing problem) and pitch at times.

Clay was Clay, which is to say: a nice kid who has a great set of pipes but who delivers his songs in an overwrought, too-earnest, unctuous style that is fitting for show tunes only. When he tries to sing outside that style, it's horrible (I think the show-tune style itself is horrible, so he can't win with me.) So Clay is fine (well, not really) as long as he sticks to "Oklahoma!" and the like...but an "Amercian Idol"? I don't THINK so. My fiancee J. also scored another hilarious direct hit on the guy, observing correctly that he "seems like a skater." I laughed out loud at that. You could easily picture Clay gliding along on ice with that smarmy smile playing to the crowd. Even the songs (or their arrangements) he sang were perfect for skating routines. As J. said" "I can just see him hitting the double sowkow." (Is that how you spell sowkow? I ain't looking it up.)

Of course the whole show is just an industry machine, setting up potential stars with an audience before their record even comes out. So I won't cry for Kimberly: She'll have a fine chance at a career (whether it flies or not is up to the fickleness of the American public and the idiocy of the record industry, so good luck to her.)
I hope, like Sean, that I have the good sense to avoid watching the show next time. I just did it as an exercise. It's actually evil in so many ways, I won't bother to go into here. But if I had to fill out a Neilsen booklet, I would have lied and said I was watching the Weather Channel at those times.

Those "Storm Stories" rock!

2003-05-21T19:35:00.000Z

(Note: Although I usually write about American Idol on Wednesdays, I'm waiting to see who wins tonight so I can rant tomorrow. Plus I have something else to say today. In the meantime, read SEAN'S excellent blog on it.)

So the government has raised the terror alert to "high" again. We're back to "orange" which means that...well, it means nothing, really.
Face it: You aren't going to do one thing differently than you did a few days ago when the level was lower. You aren't suspiciously eyeing people who look they are of Middle Eastern descent; you aren't worrying about that van parked outside your workplace; you aren't going to give away your tickets to the Red Sox-Yankee game, fearing crowded places.
Nope, you're living excatly like you did when the level was "yellow" or "elevated" , and that was exactly like you lived right before that during the war when the level was "orange."
OK some of you, maybe, are doing some things differently, but my guess is you're a bit paranoid to start with.
And of course the government is doing things differently, but it's hard to say how. I mean, here's the exact language they use to describe what each level means in terms of preparedness:
In the level we are in now, "orange", they say they will:
Coordinate necessary security efforts with armed forces or law enforcement agencies; take additional precaution at public events; prepare to work at an alternate site or with a dispersed work force, and restrict access to essential personnel only.

Huh? Where? What are "additional precautions"?

Now under a "yellow" alert, they:
Increase surveillance of critical locations; coordinate emergency plans with nearby jurisdictions; assess further refinement of protective measures within the context of the current threat information, and implement, as appropriate, contingency and emergency response plans.

Geez, I feel safer now!

OK, so in both scenarios, they're coordinatin' an' assessin' a whole bunch, but it just sounds like a lot of useless gum'mint speechifyin' to me.

I'm glad they're doing something when they hear all this terrorist chatter. But these color-coded announcements seem like self-serving ("Lookie! we're protecting you!!!") advertisements rather than helpful guideposts. They never know where, they never know when, and they want us not to alter our routines (God forbid we don't go to the grocery store, further hampering the anemic economy!) so what's the point of these multi-hued hue-and-cries?

And will we ever get back to "Green" (low risk of terror attacks) or even "Blue" (moderate risk) again? Maybe there's a song in all of this: "I'm so blue about not being green."

2003-05-15T15:09:00.000Z

Since I'm writing about television a lot lately, I might as well continue today with something that struck me the other night.
During some show, there was a promo for the show "Biography" on A&E. This show has been around longer than Fidel Castro, starting with black & white versions from (I think) the 1950s with a young Mike Wallace as host. The show later featured Peter Graves as host as Wallace went on the "60 Minutes" fame, but it always was interesting, giving a brief, but compelling look at many of the people who shaped history.

So I'm sitting there the other night and an ad comes on for the next episode, and who do you think is the subject? Galileo? Michelangelo? King George III? Marie Curie? Teddy Roosevelt? Susan B. Anthony? Malcolm X?

Nope. It's Buffy the Vampire Slayer.

Now I know the show has probably run through a lot of the major figures in history already, but have they done everyone? I mean have they covered lesser, but still intriguing folks such as Machiavelli, Doestoevsky, Jane Adams, Stephen B. Douglas, William Butler Yeats, Emily Dickenson? Or if they want more modern day people, why not H. Ross Perot, Pete Rose, Gloria Steinem, Mary Robinson etc. (Maybe they did some or all of these but I doubt it.) Some are heroes, some are villains, some are just nuts. But they all have fascinating stories.

My point is: Buffy? I mean it didn't even say Sara Michelle Gellar, the popular actress who portrays Buffy. The show is about a fictional character, or at least they advertised it as such. But even if it is about Gellar, aren't there more important or interesting (but maybe less celebrity-oriented) thespians who haven't been covered and who have lengthier and weightier careers to examine? Have they done Peter O'Toole, who was honored with a lifetime achievement Oscar this year? How about Richard Harris? Or Faye Dunaway? Or Cicely Tyson? Or Gabriel Byrne? Or Cathy Bates? Or even Sally Field or John Ritter or Judith Light or Jimmy Walker, or even Suzanne frickin' Somers? (Though I bet they did one on her now that I think about it.)

I'm sure Ms. Gellar is a fine actress, nice person and may even had some interesting moments in her 26 years on the planet. But all I can glean is that she is a bland blonde on a campy TV show who also hawks eyeshadow for Maybelline. Her film credits include such epics as "Scooby Doo" "Cruel Intentions" and "Scream 2." Watch out Katherine Hepburn!

OK, this screed is not to sink my fangs into the vampire slayer. She's successful for whatever reason and fair enough. There are much more odious celebrities than her. My beef is with the producers of "Biography." I'm sure they have to get ratings like everyone else and Buffy is going to draw a bigger share than Mary Shelley. But there has to be a middle ground. At least wait until someone is 35 (the earliest age we allow a person to run for president) or has died young, or has such a compelling story at a young age that it can't be held back.

And, please, oh wise producers of the show: If you're going to produce shows about popular fictional characters, do yourself, and us, a favor -- do one on someone much more interesting than Buffy: Homer Simpson.
Now that's a biography I'd watch.

2003-05-14T15:09:00.000Z

OK, I have a few moments (my work schedule is brutal, and since I write for a living, I just have had no leftover words for the blog lately...this may be hard to believe by people who know how much I love to write, but it's true...) and what would Wednesday be without SEAN's and my rants about "American Idol."

Last night proved several things to me: One, I am right about Ruben (which Sean is finally seeing -- somewhat -- as well.) He has soul, but no sense of groove; he has presence, but not as much as Kimberly; he has a good voice, but goes flatter at times than either Clay or Kimberly; he can sing, but is not as polished as Kimberly.

Clay has a great voice, in the sense that he has a big clear tone and sings dead on key almost always. But he has a treacley style that moves between Vegas lounge and Broadway bathos. One could easily picture him singing the lead role in "The Phantom." But pop songs and soul numbers drown in the saccahrine bath of his milksugar delivery. Unlike Sean, I LIKE the song "Vincent" and the guy massacred it. He even forgot the words (which almost made me like him a bit -- a touch of reality in the this all-too-unreal reality show.)

Then he sang "Mack the Knife" -- Bertholt Brecht just recently stopped spinning in his grave over the Bobby Darin version and now this? Ugh. Finally, Clay took one of the most beautiful tunes ever, "Unchained Melody" and made it his own. That's not a compliment. He sang it the way he sings everything -- as if his singing is more important than the song. "Unchained Melody" was suddenly chained, gagged and bound by Clay's overwrought bombast. And, as my fiancee J. said (to my everlasting amusement): he looks like Andy Williams. Unfortunately Andy is a better singer. And that, my friends, tells you everything.

Kimberly, although she faltered a bit last night, is still head and shoulders above the other two. She has as good a voice as both others and as good an ear for intonation as Clay. She also delivers the songs with style, not just fashion. Her stage presence is engaging like Ruben, without being over-the-top, like Clay and her phrasing stays in the groove. (As I said, Ruben loses the groove often and Clay...well, Clay doesn't even know what a groove is, so it doesn't really matter with his style of singing: The guy could make "What's Goin' On" sound like a show tune.)

Unfortunately, as Sean and I both say now, Clay is going to win. I think it should be Kimberly, but that's exactly why she won't win. Even though he has major flaws, I would love to see Ruben win instead of Clay. The guy has a good voice, a warm and friendly natural stage presence, and with a little coaching could overcome that rushed phrasing he does.

A word on the judges: I think Simon is the most honest, but he certainly isn't much smarter than the others. He is clearly smitten with Ruben, and can't bring himself to tell the guy when he fails. Simon is also WAY too hard on Kimberly, although he lightened up on her last night (which is odd, because she wasn't as good last night, except for a great version of "Band of Gold.")

Why the judges chose some of the songs they did for specific contestants was also questionable. Picking "Smile" for Ruben was ridiculous. Give te guy a Marvin Gaye tune or some other soulful ballad. Unless they were trying to throw curves at the contestants, "Smile" was a poor choice for The Big R. It probably should have been given to Clay. And saddling Kimberly with the overly-intricate and jumpy "Anyone Who Had A Heart" was also a poor choice, again unless they were trying to trip her up. Giving Clay "Mack the Knife" of course was like putting a Chateauneuf du Pape, Beaucastel in a plastic sippy cup. 'Nuff said.

2003-05-12T15:30:00.000Z

Man, I have been busy since mid-last week!! I promise, (all three of you who read this) I will write something by the end of today. Check back after 1 p.m. EST.

(Later) OK I never got to this today. Might be a day or two until I have time to write. Stay tuned something is coming once I have some time!

2003-05-07T14:46:00.000Z

OK, I guess it's now a tradition: Sean writes about American Idol every Wednesday, and I give my views too.

I guess Sean may be right: Kimberly is probably a goner. This is too bad, as she is by far the most talented performer on the show. Although Sean likes Ruben too, my problem with the big guy is that he has no sense of groove. This is a problem, since he is singing groove-oriented songs and projects to be a soul singer. If you listen, (and maybe this is just the musician in me) Ruben is always on top of the beat and jumps phrases constantly. He never scallops his phrasing slightly behind the beat (as good groove drummers do) but rather gallops ahead like he can't wait to get to the end of the phrase or song. That said, maybe he's just nervous. He certainly has a great voice and commanding presence -- and he's very likeable. If it comes down to him and Clay, Ruben is my man.

Josh is there because he's a marine. Period. His off-key twanging might be good in an alt-country indie band (as if he's ever heard of that genre!) but in the homogenized, antiseptic style demanded by this show, he's just off.

Clay simply bugs me. Sure, he's got the voice and I guess young women find him cute, but he is just too unctuous and faux modest (his Clinton-like,"I 'm-so-honored-by-your-love" lip-biting as the crowd cheers must have been practiced in front of the mirror as he highlighted his hair.) And his singing style is too vegas for me. But I still think he'll win, because this is what plays in Peoria. I also think both Robin Gibb and Neil Sedaka have secret crushes on him. Paula Abdul certainly does.

But Kimberly has it all: She can sing, has a great voice (and those are two different concepts, by the way, for those of you who think a great voice automatically makes someone a good singer) and seems the most comfortable on stage. She also showed off some incredible range last night, climbing into Whitney Houston/Minnie Ripperton/Mariah Carey heights, where the notes have no name. Of course, since real talent has nothing to do with winning this show, she is probably out tonight. So tune and see her before she's gone, although I'm sure she'll end up with a recording contract, if any label has anyone with any sense working for them (and this is debatable.)

2003-05-06T19:20:00.000Z

First off, I just posted yesterday's entry today. So you might want to read that below, first.

OK, now that you're back: Today is my 45th birthday. Yeah, I'm old.

Here' some people who share my birthday: Orson Welles, Willie Mays, Sigmund Freud, George Clooney, Tony Blair, Rudolph Valentino. My old joke used to be: If I could just think like Sigmund Freud, play like Willie Mays and be as sexy as Rudolph Valentino, I'd be all set. Instead, I think like Willie Mays, play like Rudolph Valentino and I'm as sexy as Sigmund Freud (rimshot!)

Other people who were born in 1958 who share my quest for musical immortality: Madonna and Michael Jackson. We'll all be 45 this year. Where did I go wrong? I guess maybe I didn't grab my crotch (publicly, I mean) onstage enough in the 1980s. Madonna and Jacko made it a dance move and built some of their mystique on it. Whatever happened to Fred Astaire's smooth moves? But I digress...

Birthdays are weird. People make a fuss, as if my random entry into the world should be marked in some way. I know, it's nice that people care, but it's mortifying. And I don't fret about my age. As people say, it's just a number. There are 27-year-olds out there who are going to purchase the farm before I will. Sure, the older you get, the closer you are to the inevitable maw of death (it's going to get you sooner or later) but I'm 45 going on 15 in many ways (those words are a source of comfort to my fiancee, I'm sure.)

What I mean is: I refuse to surrender to the so-called "adult" belief in "security." No matter how much you own, how much money you make and save, how much success you enjoy, it can all disappear like dandlion fluff. That doesn't mean one should shun or escape responsibility. I simply mean that what many adolescents suspect (that the world isn't fair; that no one can really understand them and they are ultimately alienated from everything) is pretty much true. sure, you can pretend you "got it made" when things are going your way, but it's a house of cards.

This screed may make me seem bitter or unhappy. Nothing could be further from the truth: it's this knowledge that there is no sure thing that frees me to follow my dreams even if the world sees them as silly. And I take my responsibilities to others very seriously. Ask any real friend of mine. I show up. But during those times when I don't have to show up for others, I dance and stumble with my Muse through that overgrown garden I call my mind.

That, my friends, is the secret of my life.

45? It's just a number -- and the type of record they used to put the hit singles on. Happy Birthday to me. Celebrate it by doing something -- even something small -- you have always wanted to do, but were held back by needing "security." Run like Willie Mays. Create like Orson Welles; Love like Valentino.
Cheers.

2003-05-05T19:54:00.000Z

In Sunday's New York Times, there was this great article (you have to register to read, but it's free.)

For those of you who didn't bother to read it, the piece talks about how DVDs allow the audience unprecedented control over an artist's work (with all the camera angle choices, director's cuts, scene access, additional footage, etc., etc.) This got me thinking about the audience's role in relation to art and the artist. I mean, isn't one of them on stage or screen for a reason?

My view is that the artist should control the experience the way a driver would control a trip where he got to choose the destination, etc.. The driver/artist is taking you where he (or she) wants to go, at the speed he chooses and the route he feels is best. That does not stop the passenger from looking out whatever window he chooses; feeling whatever feelings the pace brings about or just getting out at a stop light. The passenger might also see, or choose to see, a completely different vista once they arrive at the destination. The driver may stop the car facing the overlook of a canyon, but the passenger may be looking out the side window at a family on a picnic. It's all there: different people will have differnt focuses.

While I love the extras on some DVDs, I have to admit feeling sheepish about taking advantage of the ones that may alter the artists original intent. I try to only use the ones that give me some extra information which doesn't affect the work. As David Lynch said in the NYT article (you really should read it): ''Do not demystify. When you know too much, you can never see the film the same way again. It's ruined for you for good. All the magic leaks out, and it's putrefied.''

This comment applies to all art, in my opinion. Art shouldn't be interactive, except on a subconscious level. Side note: I hate people who try to become part of the show at concerts (you know the ones: people who yell requests repeatedly at the artist, or try to engage them with their "wit" or anything that disrupts the artist's control over the show -- i.e. anything to draw attention to their sorry selves.) To those people: Sit down and shut up. If you want to perform, get your own show.

To me, looking too much and too closely behind the Wizard's curtains turns the aesthetic experience into an intellectual exercise. That can be fun, but something's lost, like when you realized there was no Santa Claus.

Luckily for me, I never realized that.

2003-05-02T13:56:00.000Z

"Come on and cover me" - Bruce Springsteen

A recent discussion on a former cyber hangout of mine (I read it but no longer contribute due to the idiotic, misanthropic tone of some people in there) got me thinking about cover bands. If you're not familiar with that term, it simply means a band that "covers" other artists' material rather than writing and playing their own original songs. A "cover" simply means a replication of a song written by someone else.

As a musican and songwriter, I have never played in a cover band. I have played in bands that did some covers (and my current band, Mudpony does a few for fun) but I've never played in a group where the majority of songs (or even close to a majority) were covers. I write songs (and I consider them good songs) so why would I want to (mostly) play other people's music? To me it's like those paint-by-number kits where you do your own version of the Mona Lisa. Some things just don't sit right with me: I wouldn't do a re-write of The Great Gatsby so why recreate others' music? (As I said, my band does some covers, but we only do it for fun and to give the audience something to hang onto. That's our big sell-out point.)
But other musicans either don't write their own music and still want to play... or they do write, but have found that there is a much bigger market for copying other famous bands' material than playing their own. And there's the rub.

On the face of it, there is nothing wrong with playing other people's music exclusively. Good music is good music, right? Who cares who wrote it?
The problem is, however, that since cover bands make up the majority or working bands, original acts have few venues to hone their craft. The reason behind this phenomemon is the usual one: money and the market. It's not the bars' fault that many of them prefer cover bands: Cover bands bring in larger crowds and therefore make more money for the venues that most original acts do (at least until the original act becomes famous, has a record deal or achieved some sort of cult status.) And it's not the musicians' fault for wanting to make a buck for a change.

Nope, not the bars; not the musicians -- it's your fault. Yes, you.

How do I know it's your fault when I'm not even sure who is reading this? Because it's almost everyone's fault, including my own.
You see, most of you (us) are lazy aesthetically and would rather go out and hear something familiar rather than take a chance hearing originals by a band you don't know. And those of you who do see original acts don't do it nearly enough, or take chances on bands you haven't seen before (so even going to see the same old original acts becomes kind of a sonic security blanket -- not much different than seeing a cover band where you know all the songs.)

But if we don't keep taking chances --even more chances that you risk takers do (and I count myself among those who experiment more seeing new bands than most people do) -- then original bands won't have any places to play. Then who will write the new songs? Who will take chances on doing something different musically? Playing in your basement is fine, but art isn't meant to be heard by only your parents or neighbors.

So this weekend take a chance. Pick a band you've never seen or heard of at your local original music venue (if you have one nearby --they're on the endangered list in some places.) Pay the cover or drop some cash in the hat, Buy a drink or two so the bar thinks the band can draw a drinking crowd. Even if you don't like the band, do so. Because you'll be fighting for a larger good.
There will always be cover bands, and I guess that's fine. I won't be seeing many of them, and I don't care if I never hear a band do Brown-Eyed Girl again (or Celebration at a wedding, for that matter.) Even without my support, however, cover bands will survive. Good for them. But please make sure that original bands also have a place to hang their musical hats. I, those bands, and The Muses will all thank you.

2003-05-01T14:16:00.000Z

"But I would not feel so all alone, everybody must get stoned" - Bob Dylan

If you change that last part to "nobody should ever get stones" then you'd be expressing the feeling Jennifer Myszkowski describes in her blog concerning a recent bout with kidney stones. I can empathize with Ms. Mysz's misery, as I also have had Sisyphusian struggles with these renal rocks.

For the uninitiated, let me try to describe what a kidney stone is, and does. The stone is a gathering of certain substances (kidney stones can be comprised of a wide array of crap, such as certain calcium compounds or uric acid) which sometimes grow so large or move in such a way as to interrupt kidney function or block the ureter. Many stones are small and are passed without the person knowing it. But others are not so friendly.

When you speak of "passing a stone" to someone who has never had one, men often cringe. The idea of a small stone passing through their penis is enough to make then shudder and faint. Males are sensitive about this area, for good reason. But guys, it's not the passing that's the problem, it's having the stone as a guest in your belly for any length of time. Passing it is easy.

The pain involved, once one of these tiny terrors hits your tubes, is indescribably excruciating. Women have said it's worse that labor pains. (One must realize, however, that women's recollections may be clouded by the fact that labor is rewarded with a wonderful little child, while a kidney stone's best post-partum benefit is maybe some leftover Vicodin.) All I know is when I first had one, I said to the ER doctor: "If there is a worse pain than this, I hope it's right before you die!"

You sweat; you feel like you have to urinate, but can't. You start praying for a quick death. You curl up like a piece of overdone bacon and wonder what the hell is going on. I suspected appendicitis, as my pain was on my right side, but after a few tests kidney stones were designated as the perpetrator.
As I said, some stones pass by themselves, even painful ones. Others can be blasted into passable bits by ultrasound treatment. But the more stubborn types (which are in places that ultrasound can't reach) bring about a more unseemly plan of attack: the doctor goes up the ol' ureter and grabs it with a miniature basket. This procedure involves putting a stent in the penile canal and... well, I'm sorry but the whole thing reminds me of what plumber do with a "snake" to remove clogs in pipes. I won't describe this any further, as I'm getting woozy just writing it.

Suffice it to say, my abdomen ain't no shower drain, so no one was about to put a length of fiber optic thread up my you-know-what. Prostate exams are bad enough. So I was determined to wait this sucker out.

And wait I did. Although the urologist urged me not to delay (kidney stones can cause some serious problems) I decided that I could will this sucker out of my body. I prayed. I chanted. I massaged my belly. I drank fluids at a record rate, trying to flush it out. And after a few weeks (note: the pain wasn't constant, as it sometimes subsides for long periods of time when the stone shifts...it was painful often however, and my doc was getting tired and leery of prescribing more narcotics) the stone surrendered and quit the premises.

And trust me: Not since Jesus raised Lazarus had the words "Roll away the stone" given more relief to someone.

2003-04-30T16:41:00.000Z

Scott has alerted Wilco fans about news that the band is offering six new songs for download on it's website. These songs are the ones that were to be issued on an EP which was due earlier this month. They are outtakes from Yankee Hotel Foxtrot, which apparently you have to own to be able to download these tunes.

Fortunately, my impatience finally has brought me something besides grief in this case: I saw an import version of Yankee Hotel Foxtrot with the EP included long before the stand-alone EP was to be released domestically and scooped it so I could hear it before anyone else. Now that the EP has been shelved I'm glad I did. I hate the idea of downloading songs and the sound is never as good, from what I hear (I've never done it so I'm going by others' opinions here.) Although not all the songs are great, "Magazine Called Sunset" is worth the price alone. Several other tunes are also very good.

If you want to find this Australian version of YHF with the EP included, try these outlets:
Turn It Up! or Insound.
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2003-04-30T14:46:00.000Z

Music -- and all art, I guess -- is such a slippery, eel-like aesthetic concept. Aesthetics is a subjective topic by nature, of course, and musical talent or relative worthiness is one of the most volatile subjects I encounter (maybe because I'm a musician with many music-loving friends who are passionate about it themselves.)

There are those who embrace the more classic traditionalist mindset: Music should be played in time, in tune and by those who have what are considered traditionally great voices and/or well-honed instrumental skills. Others adopt a looser, but not necessarily less worthy, set of criteria: Feeling, the ability to put a song or musical phrase across with a certain attitude, the talent to write a great song (even if one can't read or write music technically) and an intangible expressiveness matter more than technical ability. There are also countless combinations and variations of these above ideals. None are right or wrong, but they certainly make for some combustive debates.

These musings above were prompted by my friend Sean's obsession with "American Idol." Sean and I agree on a lot of things musically. We both love indie bands, and although his tastes run to the Americana side of things and mine more towards pure pop, there is a huge overlap in the middle. We often even agree on which indie bands aren't good -- (a sure sign that a band sucks, in my opinion. If neither Sean or I like you, hang it up.)

But when it comes to judging "American Idol" contestants, Sean and I part ways. Maybe that's because we really don't like this mainstream homogenized crap anyway, but it is still interesting to me to hear Sean's view on these MOR-ons trying to be either the next Michael Bolton, Celline Dion or whomever.

In his most recent blog entry, Sean writes that Josh is the wannabe that should be tossed on the scrap heap and I agree. But he thinks Josh's military background (he's a marine) will save him, what with all the flag-waving going on these days. (If you don't vote for Josh, you might be accused of not supporting the troops.) So Sean thinks Trenyce will then be the easiest target, and I think he's off-base here. In the three weeks I've watched this show, Trenyce has been the one who has actually listened to the advice of the judges and gotten better each week. She did a good version of "Proud Mary" last night, but made the mistake of trying to do the Tina Turner thing dance-wise. But her second song, a robust version of "Love Will keep Us Together," was the best performance of the night.

Ruben, the huggable, big-man favorite of many, has talent, but he also seems to go up and down and his phrasing is often off-tempo. (Again, I personally don't care much about perfect time or pitch, but it is de rigeur for this type of schlock music.) Although he seems to be the sentimental favorite, he won't win.(Sean thought his version of "Breaking Up is Hard To Do" was the best of last night, but i found it rushed and soulless.)

Clay, the spikey-haired blonde, has great pipes but often sings like Bill Murray's parody of a lounge act. (My take: I hate him but he will probably win.)

Kimberly is the most natural performer and has a good voice too. Left to do her own material or carve her own identity, she would fare much better than the rest. But there was something last night about her singing that left me feeling cheated. (That said, I think she will be the one of the two finalists, with Clay.)

Sean is right about Josh, though: the guy is over his head at this point of the competion.

And as Sean noted, last night featured Neil Sedaka as guest judge and featured writer. Neil is a very good pop songwriter -- not Lennon and McCartney or even Hall and Oates -- but great in that Carol King-Gerry Goffin style that made so many so famous back in the early '60s. "Laughter in the Rain" is a classic, but surprisingly none of the contestants chose it last night. In a sense, that shouldn't surprise me. Given their tastes, why would they choose his best song? I guess this just proves my earlier point: Music is such a slippery concept -- especially in the unctuous hands of these "American Idol" types.

2003-04-29T15:51:00.000Z

I hoot, you hoot, we all hoot for Hooters.

Actually, I don’t -- and I’m very much in the minority, it seems.

While many men who I consider to be upstanding, intelligent and good individuals decide to patronize establishements such as Hooters or various “Gentlemen’s Clubs,” (as if anyone who is a true gentleman would ever deign to stuff dollars into a woman’s G-string publicly) I cannot, in good conscience, do so.

Let me start by saying that I’m not here to criticize those who make the moral decision to enter these sleaze parlors, but I’m sure an implicit criticsm will be evident and felt by these patrons. My main goal here is to lay bare my breast (pun intended) and expose (again, intended) the reasons for my choice not to subsidize the further objectification of women.

Why? Because I have been implored/mocked/questioned/urged/ numerous times over the years, when my unwillingness to go comes up in conversation. First off, I should state that I have never been in a strip club, or any permutation thereof, in my entire life. This has often opened me up to the attack (by those friends who wish to wisk me off to these titillating taverns) that I should try it at least once before criticizing the experience. This makes little sense to me. I don’t have to fight in a war to know I probably don’t ever want to. I also don’t need to leap out of a plane to decide skydiving's not for me. Some things you can get a sense of by others’ descriptions.

So it is with overpaying for drinks to have some woman take her clothes off in front of me. Hey, I like a nude woman as much as the next guy; I just prefer her to be the woman I love. Why would I want to insult her by implying that she's not enough?

Another argument I hear is that many strippers choose this profession and feel that its the men who are being exploited etc., etc. That's fine: Then I just don't want to be one of those weak-willed men who are being used by these supposedly empowered ladies.

It's a free country; anyone can do as they choose in accordance with the law. There will always be strip clubs and places like Hooters, but that doesn't mean I have to agree. And for those who say Hooters is different, well, maybe it is, but only in degrees. The main idea is still at play: Women's bodies used as a snare to draw clientele. There is nothing wrong with someone choosing to use his or her charms to promote themself. But when it's mandated by a company, it's different. I have a feeling that most stippers and Hooters employees would opt for different employment if given a choice of making the same money, etc. Of course, those now employed at these places can't say that, so we'll never really know.

So, my good men, continue to haunt these places and feel free to mock me for refusing to accompany you. But I have a question for you, since you believe these places are really harmless: How many of you would want your daughter to work at one of them?

As Chris Rock said in a recent interview, his main goal concerning his daughter is to "keep her off the pole."

2003-04-24T15:57:00.000Z

The word celebrity stems from the Latin celebritas, meaning "fame."

But as they say when a new pope is installed: "Sic transit gloria mundi."

The now overused and oft misquoted Warhol statement, "In the future everyone will be famous for 15 minutes," has become a metaphorical reality (it's not 15 minutes, but it's often 15 months -- maybe Andy was misheard.) The odd thing about our new breed of celebrity is how distilled it is. As Phil Sheridan wrote recently in MAGNET magazine: Who are all these famous people? I swear, everytime I watch "E!" televison I have no clue as to who half these freshly-scrubbed teen idols are. And I pay attention to this stuff, even in middle age!

But what is even more astounding to me is how some of these leased luminaries find ways to parlay their moment in the spotlight into encores. This means although Warhol was right, someone I like much better, F. Scott Fitzgerald, was wrong: There are second acts in American lives -- even disgraced ones.

Think about it: Monica Lewinsky, a faux-celebrity (who I'm sure would have foregone her notoriety if she had a choice) is now hosting a TV show ("Mr. Personality.") Ollie North is a "reporter" for FOX news (of course, you can put ironic quotes around the word reporter anytime you're talking about FOX.) G. Gordon Liddy has a popular radio program and is a best-selling author and much sought-after speaker. The list goes on.

Others haven't experienced the level of disgrace as those above, but have such limited talents that one wonders how they got famous in the first place, never mind how they manage to keep getting high-profile gigs. These include the Olsen Twins (why does anyone care about these two?)...Paula Abdul, who now is a "judge" on American Idol (straight up now baby, are ya gonna tell us why you're still famous?) ...Anna Nicole Smith (no comment necessary)...and Joan Rivers' daughter, Melissa (who has no discernable reason to be knows outside of being Joan's daughter.)

The King of this Heap, of course, is Ozzy Osbourne...and his family. Ozzy was a joke and now is a sad story. As my friend Sean (who likes The Osbournes) once observed: The show isn't about laughing with the family -- it's about laughing at them. I can watch all sorts of mind-melting ooze that TV offers, but this show is awful. It's popularity doesn't astound me, really, given the bottom-feeder mentality of the American entertainment market. But it does sadden me. I can be as crude as anyone privately, but I wince at a public mockery of a mind addled by alcohol and drugs and a dysfunctional family who probably has only survived because dollars make good psychological bandages.

But I digress. My point is that the circus tent of fame is pushing out the lion tamers and truly funny clowns in favor of the freaks and sideshows. Greek tragedy has been abandoned for geek tragedy and the powers that be have replaced a half-hour of wit with an hour of half-wits. Artistry or ability of some sort is now merely an optional accessory for the famous: It's nice to have a talented bone in your body, but better to have a skeleton in your closet.

I guess the lyrics to that film song should be chaged to: "Fame: I want to live forever. But I'll settle for an episode of the E! true Hollywood Story."

2003-04-23T19:48:00.000Z

My friend Sean has written several times on his blog about his "American Idol" jones. I had never seen more than a channel-surfing glimpse of this garish display of what I call "Americonya" (like Americana but with a lower "conning" denominator, as it were) but Sean's fixation with the show intrigued me. He's a brilliant guy so I pay attention to what he says.

So my fiancee JMC and I stumbled on it the other night and I slid my finger off the remote button to have a look-see. It was pretty much what I assumed it would be from my previous 10-second scans: a bunch of soulless (or is the term soul-free?) singers singing soul songs, or what passes for them these days (Diane Warren is no Holland-Dozier-Holland...she's not even Paul Weller in his Style Council days.)
But of course these wannabes are even worse than the popular "artists" who warble their way across our airwaves these days. Instead of *N Sync you get In Sink; instead of 98 Degrees, you get something in the high 50s with a chance of rain. You get the picture, or maybe you don't, and that's OK too.

Some of them can't even stay in tune. Now, I listen to a lot of music where intonation is low on the list of worries (the next time Jeff Tweedy hits more than four consecutive notes that are neither flat or sharp will be the first.) But this "American Idol"-styled music's main appeal (if it has any) is its overproduction and obsession with with pristine (and some may say -- OK I am saying -- sterile) execution.
But only Ruben (the fat black guy) and the black woman (I forget her name) didn't waver on their notes. Everyone else did. The marine with the highlights in his hair (that's going to win points back at the base) had whole phrases that sounded like he was trying to change the key mid-song. And the blonde woman warbled/honked badly on a long-held note at the end of her song that I shouted "Someone stop milking that poor goat!" at the TV.

But Sean is right: Simon (the honest, but very blunt judge) makes the whole ordeal worthwhile (mainly because he voices what I'm thinking.) Another judge, Paula Abdul, is still cheerleading after all these years. Which is nice, I guess: Balance and all that.
However, even Simon is part of the machine. He actually said he liked Diane Warren's lyrics and he actually seems to be trying to help these Micahel Boltons-in-training.

Of course, I'll be watching tonight, but what I'm really waiting for is the next episode of "Mr Personality" with Monica Lewinsky as host. (If you don't know about this show, consider yourself lucky. Don't look for it lest you become a pillar of salt.)

This is how it starts, people. Let me be a lesson to you all. I used to read Kierkegaard.

2003-04-23T15:08:00.000Z

Good day.

As stated to the left here, this space will be dedicated to some writings that don't make it into the daily paper for which I write, usually because I don't get to do much column-ish, first person writing there. So you dear readers who happen upon this lonely cyber planet can consider yourselves a secret society, albeit one whose reputation is sullied prior to its very existence!

This first entry is simply an introduction. You will find all sorts of topics here, including, but not limited to: Music, arts in general, pop culture critiques, politics, books, television, film, commentary on other blogs or websites, philospophy and people. I intend to poke, pull, ponder and persuade; engage, enrage, entrap and entertain; muse, accuse, amuse and sing the blues.

And I promise not to write in rhyme/alliteration like that, when I can help it.

Come back soon for my first real column. In the meantime, check out some of the links to the left.

Thanks for stopping by.