I’m home now. I left shortly after I wrote that last thing. I think I’ll go to sleep soon. You didn’t e-mail me, but that’s OK. You were probably sleeping. Or if you weren’t, you probably didn’t see the blog in that one brief window when I was sitting there at work after I posted that last post.
Bye.
It is 11:39 p.m. and I’m still at work. I’ve been working since 8:30 a.m. There is a late story tonight. I’ve been waiting forever. I think I might almost be done, but I’m still here.
I’m tired. I’m bored. I can think of no more Web sites to surf, I am too tired to work on the blotter and my eyes are too sleepy to read a book. If you’re reading this, e-mail me or something. I need something to do.
I have the greatest blog ever. The best on Friendster, no doubt. And yes, probably the best on the entire Internet. I should really be getting paid for this. The Internet owes me for the service I am providing by contributing such fine content. They should levy a special tax on all Internet users and the money should go directly to me. That’s what I think. That’s how special I am.
That last paragraph was me being confident. What do you think? Does it suit me? I am experimenting with this idea. I am told that people like confidence. When you are confident, you have sway over others and you are secure in yourself. Lots of history’s greatest people were confident. Like Charlemagne. And Napoleon. Wow, the first two I thought of were French guys. French people are mostly considered snooty these days, but I guess snootiness is a form of confidence. Back on track, I believe that George Washington, Genghis Khan, Albert Einstein, Themistocles, Henry Ford and Eli Whitney (inventor of the cotton gin) were also confident. And what about that Jesus guy? He said he was GOD, for Pete’s sake. How much more confident can you get? And look where it got him: Dude’s got millions of followers 2,000 years after they nailed him up and left him for dead. If only any of us should have that kind of impact on the world.
Point is, confidence rocks. Or so they say.
But there’s a whiny little voice inside me that wonders if confident people are fooling themselves, failing to see the errors of their ways. There’s an old saying that goes “Sometimes your low self-esteem is just good common sense.” For every confident Thomas Edison who invented like 80 things that I’m either using or wearing at this moment, there must have been 1,000 confident inventors who never did more than improve on the spork or come up with a new kind of staple. Big freakin’ deal, boys. They probably all starved to death. And the Japanese, they were pretty damn confident back in 1941, with that Pearl Harbor stunt they pulled. Look where it got them. The Pacific is still littered with the remains of their ships and planes that we done blowed up. Then there’s Shelley Long. Anybody heard from her lately?
There must be some middle ground. There must be some kind of confidence that allows you to believe the best about your efforts and best-laid plans without being blinded by your faith in yourself. Pragmatic confidence, we’ll call it. But how does one know if one is selling oneself short, being overconfident, or getting it just right?
I guess this is the part where a more traditional “writer” would wrap things up with some kind of “conclusion” or “observation” or “meditation” on the subject. Tying it up with a little bow and all of that. Well, sorry. I got nothing. And I am self-assured enough to be OK with that.
Bye!
OK, the Universe is trying to tell me something about the Red Hot Chili Peppers, because I have accumulated two Red-Hot-Chili-Peppers-related observations in the past few days. Here they are:
1) This one requires some background. When I drove my now-destroyed Honda, I could listen only to a limited number of radio stations because the antenna was broken. Hence, I could get the Current but I could not get Drive 105. This did not bother me much. I did not really miss Drive 105. But now I’m driving a different car and it gets both stations. Last week, the Current was doing the pledge drive, so I kept changing the station during all the yap-yap-yapping. I’d check Drive 105 frequently to see what they were playing. I swear that I have never heard so much Red Hot Chili Peppers in my life. For Pete’s sake, it’s all they play! I think I heard "Soul to Squeeze" at least three times in that week. And that Zephyr song, too. Good gravy. I have been so spoiled by the variety on the Current that I will never be able to go back.
2) Today, while checking the radio stations, I tried KQRS and what did I hear? "Under the Bridge" by the Red Hot Chili Peppers. Holy cow. When did that become "classic rock"? Where was I when this decision was made? This is the first time that this has happened to a song that I distinctly remember being in heavy rotation on MTV when I was younger. I always wondered when the music I grew up listening to would end up on the "classic rock" station. Well, now I know. Folks, it happens when you’re about 30. The first time I hear "Smells Like Teen Spirit" on KQ I’m going to poop my pants.
As long as I’m on the topic, what’s up with the Red Hot Chili Peppers, anyway? My first memory of them was when I was in middle school. I heard some kids who obviously had way cooler taste than me talking about them. I, of course, had never heard of them. This was back when only cool people knew about them. Then they went big with "Under the Bridge" and "Give it Away" and suddenly they were at the forefront of the "alternative" explosion, but it still seemed that they were considered relevant and relatively cool. My brother had that CD, Blood Sugar Sex Magik, and I remember my dad actually confiscating it because it had explicit lyrics. And now, 10 years later, this band has turned into about the most inoffensive, semi-easy-listening, radio-friendly-single-producing machine out there, the best friends of radio stations that play it safe. Yipes.
I don’t like them. I never really did, but now I really don’t.
It’s winter. It’s cold. What do we do when it’s cold? We bundle up. On this blog, I have already covered the usefulness of gloves in protecting against the bitter chill of winter. We also don coats, hats, boots and perhaps even snowmobile pants to keep our bodies warm in the harsh conditions of our state.
But what of scarves? All my life, I’ve seen people wearing scarves and wondered to myself, “what’s the point?” A long strip of fuzzy cloth that you wrap around your neck. Big deal. How much can that really help? How much heat are you going to lose through your neck, anyway? I have seen these people with their scarves and wondered what all the fuss was about. Sure, scarves can be attractive. In fact, until recently, I thought that was the best thing about them. There’s nothing hotter than a gal with a nice scarf around her neck. It makes me want to just rip that scarf off and … and … and I’m not sure what, because she’d still have several other layers of clothes on. But you get my point.
However, you may have noticed (if you live in Minnesota, which most of you do) that it’s been quite cold the past few days. Earlier this winter, my mom had given me a scarf, just an extra one she had lying around the house. “Sure, I’ll take the scarf,” I said, not figuring that there was much likelihood that I’d wear it. Well, yesterday, on a lark, I put the scarf on before I went out. I didn’t even have it wrapped all the way around. I just had it hung over my shoulders. But it kind of helped. It kept the back of my neck cozy. Then, later that day, when I got home, I left the scarf on. It caressed my bare neck-skin as I carried out my evening activities, which included washing dishes, cleaning Billy’s litter box, and doing laundry. (I know how to live it up on a Friday night, eh?)
Today, I wore the scarf again, but this time I wrapped it all the way around and left the ends dangling down in the front. When I got to work, I removed my hat, coat and gloves, but I kept the scarf. Even as I type this, I am feeling the pleasing sensation of neck-warmth — fuzzy, cozy, and vaguely erotic. About an hour ago, I tried taking the scarf off, just to see if I’d notice a difference. BANG! Immediately, a chill raced down my spine and I shivered. You had better believe that the scarf went right back on.
I love this scarf. I’m never taking this scarf off, or at least not until May. The next time you see me, I will undoubtedly be wearing this scarf. I am going to be known as the Scarf Guy. I’m a born again Scarfist. I’ve been converted. I have seen the light. Hallelujah!
You know that little bell they have on the counter at some places, and you are supposed to ring it to get their attention? Those bells make me uncomfortable. I think it’s a polite/meek Midwestern thing. I don’t like ringing the bell. It’s like I’m being impatient and drawing attention to myself. DING! “I am more important than whatever you’re doing at the moment!” DING! “Pay attention to me now!” DING! “I am an asshole!”
But at the same time, they put the bell there for a reason, right? So why shouldn’t I ring the bell? I don’t know. I think it’s easier if there’s actually a “Ring bell for service” sign. Then, the presence of the bell itself and the presence of the sign combine to give a very strong impression that they WANT you to ring that bell. But I still don’t like it too much.
Every week I go and copy down some police reports from this one sheriff’s office, and they have a bell there at the counter. Now, they leave the reports out for me, so I don’t have to ring the bell to get them. But I have the chance to observe its effect on others, and I don’t think I’m alone in my attitude about the bell. A few weeks ago, this guy was standing there, and he didn’t ring the bell, and finally one of the office workers came over to him. “Why didn’t you ring the bell?” she said. “Uh … well, I didn’t think I had to,” he said. Then after he left she totally mocked him to the other employees. Ouch. Then, today, somebody else came in and stood there without ringing the bell, waiting for the person behind the glass to look up and notice her. (There was no comment about the bell this time). And, remembering the other guy, I almost said to her, “Hey, ring the bell. Otherwise they will make fun of you when you leave.” But I didn’t.
My point? Ha-ha, my friend. If you’re asking for a point, you must be new to this blog. I just thought it was interesting the effect those little bells have on people.
Good day to you!
Last week was not a great week, I have to say. There were some unfortunate things. There was the slippery ice on the highway, the sinking feeling in my stomach as the car spun around, and the muffled crunch of metal as the front end smashed into the guardrail. There was the death of Kitty, the dog my family got when I was but a teenager. There were some other sad things that I’d just as soon forget, as well, but unfortunately, 1) I have a good memory, and 2) Forgetting things doesn’t really help. Like in that movie “Endless Sunshine of the Spotless Mind.” Forgetting all that crap didn’t make Jim Carrey or what’s-her-name any happier. And we learned that even though bad things happened to them and their relationship didn’t turn out as they wanted, by forgetting it all they also forgot the good things (and they were cheating themselves by not being honest about what happened in their lives, good and bad). And then Frodo, like, tried to seduce what’s-her-name with the information from her stolen memories. That was weird.
Anyway, point is, bad week. But nothing cheers me up like pretending to be a critic. And I realized the other day that I actually heard more than 20 new albums that came out in 2005. So, I can legitimately make a list of my top 20 albums of the year (although it’s a month and a half late). Once I realize that something like this is possible, there’s no stopping it from happening. You’re just going to have to read it.
Countdown-style:
20. Beck, Guero
Pretty good stuff from Beck. I found this to be a really top-heavy album, which I listen to through track 7 or 8 and then shut off. But that stuff at the top is pretty good. He’s back to his “Odelay” sound on lots of the songs but it’s darker and less out-of-left-field wacky than his early stuff. Best song: Earthquake Weather.
19. Rogue Wave, Descended Like Vultures
This band sounds pretty Shins-like to me, except not as good as the Shins. They’ve put together a good, poppy album that is, at worst, easy to listen to all the way through, and it does have a few moments of transcendence when it all really clicks. Best song: Catform.
18. Fiery Furnaces, EP
I really, really like the Fiery Furnaces. This is merely a collection of B-sides and leftovers, and it’s still damn good. They are musical geniuses and I have to love their quirky songs and interesting sounds. That said, sometimes their lyrical quirkiness goes a little far for me and gets kind of annoying. A couple of songs on here do that to me, and that keeps it from being a top-echelon record for me. Best song: Here Comes the Summer.
17. Caribou, The Milk of Human Kindness
At times dancy, at times somber, at times funky, at times just involving. It’s good stuff and I enjoy it when I listen to it, but for some reason I don’t put it on very often. I think it just doesn’t grab me as much as some of the other stuff on this list, but I do like it a lot. Best song: Yeti.
16. Soviettes, LP III
A co-worker gave me all the Soviettes’ stuff and I’m digging it. Nothing too fancy about this, just good old fashioned punk. But sometimes that’s what I’m in the mood for. Not postpunk or punk-pop or whatever the hell Fall-Out Boy is supposed to be, just regular old punk. This does the trick. Best song: Do The Stagger.
15. Andrew Bird, the Mysterious Production of Eggs
Smooth and extremely well-written stuff that just seduces my ears. Definitely one to put in for those mellow moods. Wow, did I just write that? Best song: The Naming of Things.
14. Rosebuds, Birds Make Good Neighbors
These crazy little lovebirds write some sweet melodies, but there’s an edge to many of them, too. A very sincere, heartfelt album, which, for some reason, I appreciate now more than I used to. Best song: Boxcar.
13. New Pornographers, Twin Cinema
Yeah, they’re good and all. Lots of variety and lots of tightly written, well-done songs. A good listen. So why don’t I like it more? Not sure. But it did land at #13, which isn’t too bad. Best song: Sing Me Spanish Techno.
12. LCD Soundsystem, s/t
I don’t dance. I don’t go to “clubs.” I sometimes wiggle a little while I’m doing the dishes. But I still like this. I’ve heard it described as electropunk or discopunk or something like that. That’s about right. And you have to give it points for being two full discs of songs and never getting monotonous. Best song: Really hard to say, but right now I like “Movement.”
11. Wolf Parade, Apologies To The Queen Mary
This is good music. Lots of energy, lots of noise, well-done all around. Best song: Shine A Light.
10. Franz Ferdinand, You Could Have It So Much Better
OK, maybe not quite as good as the first album. But still very good. Nothing fancy about this, either. These guys are just really good at doing the jagged guitar thing and writing hooky, crankable stuff. Best song: You’re The Reason I’m Leaving.
9. Clap Your Hands Say Yeah, s/t
I think this is one of those bands that’s going to blow up Modest Mouse-style sometime soon (they’re close already). They are different enough to be interesting and good enough to not be annoying. This album has a lot of great stuff and I often can’t get that guy’s voice out of my head. Best song: Over And Over Again (Lost And Found).
8. Bloc Party, Silent Alarm
It took me a while to hear this one, but I’m glad I got around to it. Like the Futureheads and Franz Ferdinand (and Gang of Four and a bunch of other stuff before them), this band pretty much just rocks in that perfectly British way. Don’t you love that I can provide you with that kind of deep analysis? This is why I can only pretend to be a critic, not actually be one. Best song: Like Eating Glass.
7. Thunderbirds Are Now!, Justamustache
My mom hated this album. It must have been the hyperactive keyboards, stabbing bursts of guitar, screamy vocals and spazzy attitude. Well, I like it. A lot. Best song: Many good candidates, but I’ll say Better Safe Than Safari.
6. The Joggers, With A Cape And A Cane
I like the Joggers. I saw somebody write that they were like Pavement combined with a barbershop quartet. A little bit. Mostly they just write good, tight, groovy tunes and they do some nice vocal layering. Best song: Wicked Light Sleeper.
5. Blood On The Wall, Awesomer
Probably the hardest rocker on the list. It reminds me a lot of the Pixies, partly because the dude’s voice is a lot like good old Black Francis at times, but also because they have a similar sound. Of course they don’t approach Pixies brilliance, but even getting halfway there is pretty good. Best song: Reunite On Ice –or– Gone (can’t decide).
4. Sufjan Stevens, Illinois
Sufjan delivers lots of delicate, tender, folky music surrounding quirky narratives about the state of Illinois, managing to sound light and upbeat even when the songs are about John Wayne Gacy and a girl who died of cancer. Brilliantly woven and almost spiritual at times. Best song: Casimir Pulaski Day.
3. Okkervil River, Black Sheep Boy
It only took one listen to know that I was hearing something special here. This is like a concept album that goes to lots of dark places in the human experience and heart, but with a kind of passion that makes you feel like the pain can be overcome. The kind of thing that could be lame and trite in less skilled hands, but perfectly done here. The singer sounds tortured and soulful, the music is beautifully arranged and I came away incredibly impressed.
2. Architecture in Helsinki, In Case We Die
This is like what Old Country Buffet would be like if Old Country Buffet had any good food. A little bit of this, a little bit of that, a little bit more of that, a tiny pinch of something else, and a big helping of “Holy crap, this is good stuff.” No two songs sound the same but they all sound good. Lyrically, they give you a nice mix of sweet/cute/wistful/melancholy/optimistic/regretful/deep/shallow. Best song: It’s 5!
1. Art Brut, Bang Bang Rock And Roll
These guys do a great jaded, sarcastic, art-punk thing without coming off as snide. Just clever, funny, and brilliant. Their songs hit hard and dig their way into my brain, and the lackadaisical half-spoken singing is a perfect match for the tone of the lyrics. The songs are tight, fast and well-formed. These guys are coming to the Entry in March and I can just tell it’s going to be the kind of show that will have me reeling. Best song: Impossible to choose, but I keep going back to Modern Art.
Isn’t it funny how people think that if they begin a statement with the phrase “with all due respect,” it totally excuses them from whatever horrible thing they’re about to say?
I mention it because I saw a letter to the editor today that was something to the effect of “With all due respect to councilman so-and-so, this is the dumbest idea I’ve ever heard in my life!” Does adding “with all due respect” really make the “dumb idea” part easier to take? Does saying “with all due respect” negate the fact that you are showing the person absolutely no respect by tearing them a new arsehole?
Can you get away with saying anything if you start with “With all due respect”?
“With all due respect, I’d rather suffocate myself with a garbage bag than talk to you for one more minute.”
“With all due respect, these pickles you canned are so terrible that they have shaken my faith in the inherent goodness of brine-soaked vegetables.”
“With all due respect, who dresses you?”
“With all due respect, if stupidity were rocket fuel, your idea could propel a NASA space probe to Pluto and back, and not just during those periods when Pluto passes Neptune and temporarily becomes the 8th planet from the sun, but also when its elliptical orbit takes it to its maximum distance of 4.486 billion miles from Earth.”
“With all due respect, I have absolutely no respect for you.”
“With all due respect, please turn around and kneel on the ground so I can shoot you in the back of the head.”
Gloves keep my hands warm. When I put them on and touch something cold, such as a doorknob or a steering wheel before the car warms up, they serve as a buffer between the coldness of the item and my soft, vulnerable hands. When I shovel snow, they lessen the effect of the cold air that wants to whisk the heat away from my exposed skin. Wearing gloves reduces the necessity of warming my hands by forming them into fists and blowing into them by 63 percent.
Gloves are also an attractive accessory. When paired with a stylish jacket and/or hat, they can be part of a winter ensemble that oozes style and has the ladies swooning and touching themselves and whatnot.
In addition to these practical concerns, gloves are also satisyfing playthings. They can be trotted about individually as if they were turkeys, with the thumb part being the head and the other finger parts being the feathers. “Gobble, gobble,” I say. Or, two gloves can be held together in such a way as to suggest some kind of octopod (the two thumbs combined can be part of the body, leaving the 8 other fingers to serve as the tentacles). Watch out, Captain Nemo! And finally, gloves can be placed over the ears, held on top of the head, or, in extreme cases, slipped over the end of the feet to serve a wide variety of silly-making purposes. Here comes fun!
Finally, in a pinch, gloves can be used to stuff into holes in dikes or dams, cut into cloth strips to be used as tourniquets, or set on fire to provide a source of heat for cooking.
For all these reasons and more, gloves are truly wonderful instruments, and I think every American should own at least one pair, maybe even two or three.
I just found out that that chick from that Melrose Place show is breaking up with that dude from that crappy band. Oh. My. Gosh.
How can I live in a world where some chick from a lame show and some jackass from a lame band can’t make it work? What does it say about the fragility of human relationships when the love between a bad actress and a dumbass ’80s rock guitarist is so fleeting? Is there any hope for me to find happiness if the star of a melodramatic prime-time soap opera and a musician from a band that stopped being relevant 15 years ago can’t sustain a fulfilling relationship?
This is worse than when that talentless pop singer bimbo broke up with that other stupid guy. Or when that singer who thinks she can act (or is she an actress who thinks she can sing?) split with that horrible “Good Will Hunting” guy.
What am I to do? Where can I look for guidance? Should I take solace in the enduring relationship between the costars of that moronic movie about the secret agents who are supposed to blow each other up? No, that’s no comfort. They’ll probably break up soon, too.
I think I’m going to cry.
