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1) Grateful Dead - some of the songs are classics. If you think I am a fool, you are not listening. You are more afraid of being considered a "deadhead," being part of that culture, than just plain disliking the music. Most people who claim not to like the music cannot name a single song even though they know 20, much less say why they don't like it. We're too old for this. Get over it.

2) Dirty Dancing - I was forced to watch it as a teenager by my, now dead, chorus teacher on days that she did not feel like teaching. Saw it again over the weekend and it's a good movie. The main characters all show substantial growth. They are all sympathetic. And it's a coming-of-age story: Jennifer Gray's character has to deal with growing up and dealing with a world that she know nothing about. I prefer my coming of age stories to be about boys, as it is easier for me to identify with, but thankfully this one is not a male coming-of-age story.

As if on cue, the calendar brings in spring and waking this morning we witness what the night has brought us. A powdery-yellow coat clings to all surfaces outside the windows that we were just thinking of starting to open to let the cool air in, to cut down on the extortionary gas-electric prices. Without a day in between, we will likely have to turn off the furnace and turn on the AC. To open the windows would let in far too much of the harmful things. They would climb into your nose and down into your lungs while you sleep, and you would wake to an elephant sitting on your chest, African not Asian. Even the tarry-nicotine protective coating on the lungs, if you are lucky enough to have such in this polluted city, cannot provide immunity from this yellow villain. And the boss still doesn't understand that you may need to just stay in bed for the day, for to leave the house would be to risk further contact with the insidious golden haze.

Yet, I suppose, it is this time of the year in which we can all be reborn. Running begins in order to prepare us for certain summery challenges lying in the near future, and to make sure that the girls can still fit into the two-pieces, and the boys into the tighter Ts. It is in spring when Saturdays in the Highlands become necessary. The girls bare their shoulders and legs, tops come down on the convertible 3 Series BMWs. Our beers turn lighter as do our liquors, and perhaps our winter-weary hearts do as well.

Was playing: Missed the Boat by Modest Mouse

"North Carolina is a vale of humility between two mountains of conceit."

I saw some good shows; I saw some bad shows. I listened to some good albums; I listened to some bad ones. So, here’s my “Best of” list. It’s not really exhaustive and everything is either in chronological or alphabetical order. I prefer not to get into what is “best” really, everyone knows that since Radiohead didn’t release an album or tour in ’04 that there is no best. So, here you go. Click on album covers to purchase from Amazon

BEST CDs


Artist:

Album:

I really have no idea what to say about this one, and I think that’s why I like it so much. It’s really like nothing else I’ve ever heard. Maybe if Talking Heads had more instruments, more background choirs, more drama, joined forces with Roxy Music and moved to Canada. I don’t know.


Artist:

Album:

This is on here for no other reason then she’s just so damn cute. Seriously, sometimes experiments like this don’t work—think Bobby McFerrin—but this is great, weird, spooky, beautiful music.

A conservative is a man with two perfectly good legs who, however, has never learned to walk.

FDR (1882-1945)

Conservatives are not necessarily stupid, but most stupid people are conservatives.

John Stuart Mill (1806-1873)

A conservative is a man who sits and thinks, mostly sits.

Woodrow Wilson (1856-1924)

Aging Popstar?

I saw R.E.M. the other night at the United Center. They've probably been my favorite band since I was about thirteen. I had a strange reaction though. I'm not thirteen anymore. And the three remaining members of R.E.M. aren't exactly spring chickens themselves. My first reaction upon walking into the gigantic arena was, "Wow, they're fan base is really old." Failing of course to realize that I am part of that fan base and I am getting old. When they started off with "Finest Worksong" and " Begin the Begin" I thought it was going to be a raucous night of comradery b/w the band and their fans all raging against the dying of the light. All of us remembering where we were when we heard "Life's Rich Pageant" or when we discovered that there was more to rock music than synthesizers and hair gel. Funny thing was, no one remembered. Shira and I were giddy after the first two songs but no one else seemed to care. Their enthusiasm was saved for "Man on the Moon," "Everybody Hurts," even their new song "Bad Day," (very reminiscent of "End of the World" by the way) bought more people to their feet than "Fall on Me." But when I really realized I was an aging fan alone was when the band played "Shaking Through" and everyone headed for the restroom.

I guess their early fan base has moved on to other things like Pete Yorn and John Mayer, sugary sweet songs of love and loss. I guess all of our favorite bands get old. I do admire them for their staying power. I do still laugh at Stipe's girations as goofy as they were fifteen years ago. I still tap my foot along with the masses. But the whole experience made me want to go to a rave, or to some bad 18 and over show where kids bang out three chord rock -n- roll. Maybe I'm just not well adjusted enough to the fact that I'm getting older. Maybe that means I'm immature. Maybe it means I'm nostalgic. Whatever it means, I'm happy I still feel it. I'll see you when Kings of Leon come to town.

main set
1. Finest Worksong
2. Begin the Begin
3. So Fast So Numb
4. Drive
5. Animal
6. Shaking Through
7. Fall on Me
8. Bad Day
9. The One I Love
10. Imitation of Life
11. Daysleeper
12. All the Way to Reno (You're gonna be a star)
13. I Believe
14. Losing My Religion
15. At My Most Beautiful
16. She Just Wants to Be
17. Walk Unafraid
18. Man on the Moon

encore
1. Nightswimming
2. Everybody Hurts
3. Electrolite
4. Get Up
5. It's the End of the World as We Know It (And I Feel Fine)

Our Fearless Leader

Although I try to not stray into political territory too much, I am a political person. Some would call me pinko, commie, bleeding-heart, sob, fascist, mexican faggot etc. etc. There are a few things that have got me going lately politically and I wanted to post some links that I found interesting.

The first link is testimony given to the Senate Committee on Commerce, Science and Transportation. The testimony of Jenny Toomey (formerly of the band Tsunami and record label Simple Machines) is well worth the read if you are in to this kind of stuff.

http://commerce.senate.gov/~commerce/press/03/2003124A29.html

The next link is Wired Magazine online coverage of this testimony.

http://www.wired.com/news/digiwood/0,1412,57487,00.html

The other issue at hand is a recent leaked document detailing th Justice Department's plan to introduce a bill that will increase the government's power under the "Patriot Act" that was passed after 9-11. A copy of this document can be found here, and the Wired article can be found here.

Please feel free to post any comments about what you are thinking about this stuff. If you feel really strongly, even write your senator or congress person, because I don't think writing Dubya is going to make a damn bit of difference.

These bombs do more in seconds than a team of dentists do in a full day.

Reporter: Can you explain the effect that a 100 pound bomb has on anyone who is nearby the explosion?

Colonel: Basically, the sheer force and shockwave of a 100 pound bomb will knock the teeth out of anyone in a half-mile radius.

Reporter: Can you describe the humanitarian efforts being made, specifically what types of food are we dropping for the people living in the area?

Colonel: [Chuckle] Various things like beef jerky and peanut brittle.

Hollywood star, Gillian Anderson, plays an FBI agent on TV.

Paraphrase of Josh Joplin quoting Phil Ochs:

At times like these, sometimes the most revolutionary act can be to turn our backs and attempt to create something beautiful

I've been through all of this with you before. I am tired of the pessimism. My mother was the queen of ruined holidays. My father the king of mellow. Eat your goddamn chocolate. Have your Christmas crackers and pudding. Play God Save the Queen at top volume on the hi-fi and pretend that your country is still the steward of the language. Godammit I am going to enjoy the holiday this year, come hell or high water.

I would steal your keys at a bar, you kindly spoken pansy boy, and run as fast as I could into the streets of that town. I'd take the hell, and highwater, the fifths of bourbon on the way, and a couple of chocolates just for myself. I'd run in and out of movie theaters like I was Bruce Willis, you asshole. And I really am. You may not recognize me, but you have seen my movies....

But alas, tonight, for once, I have faith in the world. It came in the singing of Closer to Fine, a song I thought I had given up some 10 years ago. A taburnacular resonating of sweet chords that were familiar and strong and strange. All bosses gone, and a night of semi-abandon. And all I can say is I love you all.

I'm opting out. I'm opting out of everything: capitalism, relationships, social conformity, the legal system, fashion and especially Christmas.

I do not want to take part, thank you very much. I don't want to traipse around town looking for gifts that will be under-appreciated and consigned to the we'll-find-some-use-for-it-but-for-now-we'll-hide-it-under-the-bed pile. I don't want to write any Christmas cards - but I'll have to. For God's sake, I'm an atheist!
I do want to drink to excess and tell my parents things I would never tell them when sober. And I do want to see those friends I haven't seen for six months. I do want to eat the turkey and all that chocolate. I don't want the have-you-got-a-girlfriend conversations with distant relatives. Please don't make me go through another Christmas.

Despite the years of therapy, Doris still felt tremendous guilt when clandestinely eating chocolate.

I was walking to the local shops the other day - a journey of two minutes - to buy bread or fresh chicken for a curry, or possibly I needed batteries for my front bike-light, I don’t remember. I’d just rounded the corner by the post office when I was overcome by a pervading paralysis. It’s happened to me before and on many occasions. It starts in the heart with a jolt - the kind of sinking feeling you get when you realise you’ve locked your keys in the house or forgotten to feed your neighbour’s cat for the third day running - and spreads to the stomach; then comes the dizzying swirl of blood in the head and the accompanying prickly flush to the skin. It’s very debilitating. I’m sure that passers-by can see my cringing posture: my limbs tensed and my face contorted into some comic semi-rictus. Sometimes I might be standing at the bus stop waiting for a number 3 or 4 to take me to town; I could be loading the dryer with freshly laundered underwear, or I could be doling out alms to the local homeless. No matter what I might be doing at the time, I’m feeling guilty.

Tissues asked for by the afflicted may be found in boxes of this sort.

Winter has finally arrived here in the United Kingdom. As a smoker of hand-rolled cigarettes, the main hazard this most dismal of British seasons presents to me is the increased likelyhood of the rolling paper fusing itself to the lower lip. There is no way of knowing that this has happened until it is far too late. That is to say, one only becomes aware of adhesion when the cigarette has been removed from the mouth along with a sizeable square of skin and a minor, yet still alarming, amount of blood.

Don't be mistaken in thinking that the cigarette has actually been frozen to the lip - the winters in Britain rarely get so cold as to freeze bodily fluids. No, it's the paucity of lubricating saliva associated with this time of year that causes paper to bond with labial skin.
The only methods I know to avoid such an injury are: i) to keep the lips moist while smoking, which can promote chapping and render the cigarette damp and unsmokeable; or ii) to refrain from smoking while outdoors - not an option to a true nicotine devotee on his way home from the pub.

So if you see bloodied cigarette stubs in the gutter, or notice bohemian types with bleeding lips, you'll know the cause. All we ask is sympathy and maybe a tissue to staunch the flow.

Logo created for upcoming weekend with Hank Vegas.

All that I am saying is she got married 'cause it is convenient.

I wish the Chicago Bears would get an offensive line.

I wish that ABC would pony up some dough to get people who could spell to do captions for Monday Night Football so I could listen to Guy Clark during the game and still read what Madden had to say.

I wish that Madden would say something in the first place.

I wish that Madden would keep on stating the obvious, because that's what I love most about him and expect out of him, and if he ever did anything more than that, I would be rather confused.

I wish airfare to Burlington wasn't so expensive this time of the year.

Lap dances should cost 5 dollars so you could then leave a 5 dollar tip.

The war on Iraq will happen... again.

The war on Iraq is overrated.

Whiskey makes my words more flowery, not gin, it makes me mean.

Whiskey gets in my heart, gin in my head.

Hank Vegas (link to MP3) is cool.

I love New York.

And Chicago.

I don't love the Yankees or Mets.

I do love the Cubs.

When baseball season ends, I get depressed, and write posts like this one.