The Raymond Valentine Show

The Internetz

2010-10-05T06:31:00.000-07:00

The internet can be such an unintentionally funny place. I was just reading this article on how streaming media may replace regular cable like Comcast one day. In the comments section, this guy writes:

"I stopped watching traditional news shows on the big networks when I realized how left-wing their coverage was. They constantly insulted or ignored half their audience. Furthermore, I stopped watching movies because hollywood would inevitable insult me and promote poverty, communism and dictatorship, while living the high-life off of a free market, capitalist based movie industry.

"I mainly read blogs because I can choose which ones I want to visit and which ones I want to turn away from. I control what I see, not some cable company forcing crap down my throat."

So then this guy comments directly below him:

"So you're saying that now you only look at content that supports and reinforces your biases?"

The first guy comments back:

"It must really bother you that I have the opportunity to turn away from the propoganda you likely believe in. I am assuming you are a statist because anyone who believes in choice and freedom wouldn't have responded to my post the way you did."

Something about that line -- "propoganda you likely believe in" -- just cracks me up (and it's not just the fact that propaganda is misspelled).

A Lack of Fingernailcutteries

2010-07-09T04:54:00.000-07:00

Some things just seem like a much bigger deal than they really are.

For instance, being one of the few people alive that doesn't just bite their fingernails, it takes me forever to work up the gumption to actually pick up the clippers and give them a trim.

For a few days I can see it coming, as the white caps grow longer and longer, until finally it looks as though I've actually had a French manicure. Then I suck it up, head to the bathroom, dig out that little medieval-looking device and clip away.

The whole event (not counting the stubborn observation period beforehand) takes probably no more than a minute or so. It's not taxing in any way, and very rarely does it hurt.

Same thing with haircuts, but that has more to do with the fact that I can't find a cheap haircuttery that isn't infested with scissor-armed social butterflies that want to know if I have any big plans for the weekend.

But I find, most of all, that this relates immensely to finishing a writing project. Granted, in the last month my lap top died, I spent a week in Colorado and I got a new job. But still, I would really like to have finished a draft of my screenplay by now.

It'll happen. I know I'll get around to it (it took me about a year to write the first one). I just wish I could've come out of the six months I spent unemployed with something more than, you know, a job. Not that I'm not thankful for that, of course.

Ah well. Just need to keep reminding myself that the white caps are growing, and if I don't do something soon, there's going to be some pretty gnarly stuff under there.

Ruckus in the Rockies

2010-07-05T18:14:00.000-07:00

For Those About to Rock (We'll Subdue You)

2010-06-29T12:03:00.000-07:00

I am leaving in about an hour and a half on my cross-country journey. Packed my tennis shoes, socks, skivvies and a toothbrush. Of course I still needed some tunes for the road(/sky), so I slapped together this rather mellow mix which I have entitled, "For Those About to Rock (We'll Subdue You)." I have a good feeling about it, so I figured I may as well share the recipe with you all.

Tracklist:

01 Fleetwood Mac - Never Going Back Again
02 Heron - Some Kinda Big Thing
03 Bob Dylan - Girl From the North Country
04 Arlo Guthrie - Last Train
05 Janis Joplin - Maybe
06 The Rolling Stones - Ruby Tuesday
07 Simon & Garfunkel - April Come She Will
08 David Bowie - Kooks
09 The Beatles - Mother Nature's Son
10 John B. Sebastian - I Had a Dream
11 The Moody Blues - For My Lady
12 Elton John - Texas Love Song
13 Cream - Anyone For Tennis
14 Jethro Tull - Life is a Long Song
15 Bruce Springsteen - Does This Bus Stop at 82nd Street?
16 Neil Young - Only Love Can Break Your Heart
17 Crosby, Stills, Nash & Young - Teach Your Children
18 Townes Van Zandt - Only Him or Me
19 James Taylor - Country Road
20 Cat Stevens - Father and Son
21 John Prine - It's Happening to You
22 The Velvet Underground - I Love You
23 Queen - '39
24 Nick Drake - From the Morning
25 Peter, Paul & Mary - Early Mornin' Rain
26 Donovan - Catch the Wind

Hasta la próxima...

The Rotten Tomatoes Show

2010-06-28T10:52:00.000-07:00

Well gang, it had to happen eventually; I found a job. A good job. No, a great job! And I am not just saying that because I put this blog down on my resume...

(For real though, I am quite excited.)

Anyway, it looks like I'm going to have to find something new to write about. Since the computer crash, and with everything else that's been going on, I haven't had much time to work on the script (though I've been thinking about it as much as ever), and video production has pretty much been at a standstill.

One thing that did occur, however, is that a video comment I submitted to the Rotten Tomatoes Show was picked and shown as part of a segment during last week's show. If you're interested in seeing what the veritable HUNDREDS of viewers who watch the Current channel saw last Thursday, check out the video below (my spot is at about 19:30, but really it's in your best interest to watch the show, since it's great and all).

On the subject of movies, I am so amped to see The Extra Man. Even though Paul Dano looks to be pretty much reprising the role he had in Gigantic (not officially, just in terms of being awkward and shy), I am thrilled to see Kevin Kline finally returning to something at which he is extremely adept -- playing eccentric weirdos (a la Fierce Creatures). For a better idea, simply watch the trailer below.

Now, at the risk of sounding like far more of a jet setter than I really am, I must go pack for Aspen. Expect a film documenting my travels at some point in the future.

Rosie Sings! -or- "Eye of the Rosie"

2010-06-17T07:47:00.000-07:00

Yes, more video fluff.

Kenpo X

2010-06-13T19:37:00.000-07:00

It has been a while since I posted a video. Okay, not true, but yesterday I felt the urge to film something ridiculous, and since the cats are currently involved in a turf war over some valuable real estate surrounding the scratching post, I decided to film our workout.

Yes, I said our, meaning that my lovely girlfriend was a willing participant in this venture. About halfway through the video, you may find yourself wondering why she chooses to stay with me (if you weren't wondering already).

Have an excellent week, gang. Good health.

100th Post!

2010-06-11T09:46:00.000-07:00

Wow, has it really been 100 posts? The time sure has gone by. I remember three years ago when I started this guy; I was living in Michigan, looking for a full-time job and I couldn't get a manuscript published if I were one of Stephen King's kids. And now here it is, 100 posts later, and... well, I live in Florida.

Just kidding, gang. I mean, the facts above are all, well, factual, but I'm not as bummed with my lack of progress as you might think. Actually, a lot has happened; it's just been confined mostly to the areas outside of my writing career. How about a bulleted list summarizing the last three years?

Worked at a library part-time while finishing college
Submitted my first short for publication
DJ'ed some weddings and grad parties
Wrote my first script
Wrote some short stories
Won a flash-fiction competition (though I think there may have only been something like seven other entries)
Received my first rejection letter
Graduated with my Bachelor of Arts in English
Excitedly accepted position working for an academic publisher
Started 2009 with my first big move to a new city
Got a cat
Wrote some more short stories
Submitted a second short for publication
Came up with the idea for a second script
Received another rejection letter
Went on a cruise and met a special lady
Maintained a long-distance relationship with aforementioned special lady
Started 2010 with my first big move to a new state (to be with aforementioned special lady)
Applied for jobs selectively, assuming that I was an exceptional candidate
Watched savings account dwindle
Started making stupid videos and posting them to YouTube
Applied for jobs less selectively, assuming that the economy was to blame for my lack of interviews
Started writing a new script
Watched savings account dwindle
Applied for any and all jobs for which I was qualified and would be reasonably compensated
Watched savings account disappear
Began my short-lived stint as a temp
Watched savings account rise a smidge
Submitted a third short for publication
Lightning struck, killing laptop
Applied for any and all jobs, period

And that pretty much brings us up to now. At this moment I sit in front of my girlfriend's old computer, which I have drug up from the storage closet under the stairs, and I write my first post since my laptop went kaput. As it happens, that little Acer was used to write probably 90% of my posts over the years, so perhaps it means something that it's now gone.

Maybe it's on to bigger and better things.

Project Update 5

2010-06-02T13:25:00.000-07:00

My inaugural vlog, in which I discuss my unfinished script and the things I've done today other than complete it. Enjoy.

What's with the Bum's Rush?

2010-06-01T06:39:00.000-07:00

Another Memorial Day weekend in the books, it is now Monday, which is actually Tuesday, which is actually irrelevant because the delineation between weekdays and weekends are meaningless when you are unemployed. Today I sit and listen to Jaga Jazzist's A Livingroom Hush while I continue looking for a job. It's not a bad racket, really, but the pay is awful.

Last week put me through the ringer, so despite the fact that my life may seem like one big vacation right now, the three-day weekend was deserved. On Tuesday I received a seemingly personalized e-mail from an employer, which led to my filling out an extended questionnaire, which then led to my filling out a psychological survey, which led to a telephone conversation with a human resources representative, which led to my receiving a generic e-mail explaining that I will not be moving on to the next tier of the hiring process.

So, to re-cap, the week broke out as follows:

Monday -- Applied for job.
Tuesday -- Received e-mail from employer requesting further information.
Wednesday -- Submitted form with requested information.
Thursday -- Received electronic psychological evaluation, filled out and submitted.
Friday -- Received call telling me that I will be receiving an e-mail shortly. Mere minutes later received e-mail that more or less read: "No interview for you."

No biggie I guess, but now I'm left wondering what it was that happened between Monday and Friday that moved me from one pile to another, then ultimately to the garbage. In particular I hope it wasn't the psychological evaluation. The survey was essentially just a list of adjectives like "nice," "respectful," "confrontational," etc. I was to check the box next to the ones I thought others might use to describe me. Then, I was to check the box next to the ones that I felt describe me, personally.

Sure, I checked the box next to "murderous sycophant," but I didn't want to lie...

Just kidding, gang.

Some Advice

2010-05-26T06:33:00.000-07:00

While it's true that I'm unemployed with no prospects, please believe me when I say that I am a hard worker. I wake up every day at 7:30am, I eat breakfast, and then I go to work. Not work work, but the tedium that is job-hunting.

I plop myself in front of the computer and make the rounds, first visiting the sites of specific employers that have peaked my interest, then hitting the job boards (and lastly, gazing over the Craigslist postings that don't look as though they will end with an ice-pick through the spine).

The point is, by 9am I typically look something like below, which is what I looked like six months ago around 9am, when I was still working. You know, without the TV and watercolor with the bamboo frame in the background.

Not that anyone should aspire to look like me (in retrospect, I could have feigned a smile at least), but the practice of approaching each day as if you are going to work is certainly beneficial. For instance, one thing I noticed in my own case is that if I don't brush my teeth by 9, it may not happen until after lunch.

Brushing your teeth may not seem like a big deal, but have you ever considered how unprepared you feel before you do it? Personally, I can't leave the house. Until I get in the bathroom and do my whole oral hygiene routine, I still feel like it's time for Fruit Loops and Ren & Stimpy, and that's not conducive to a productive day.

Showering is kind of a gray area. I haven't noticed a particular increase or decrease in my productivity when I haven't showered yet, but it certainly doesn't hurt. Plus, you never know when you're going to get that call from a hiring manager who had a cancellation and wants to hear your pitch. In 20 minutes. Can you make it?

Anyway, should you decide not to shower, I would highly recommend you put on some pants. Again, it goes back to Fruit Loops and Ren & Stimpy (or I suppose any number of distractions that occur without that extra layer). Put on some pants, people. You'll get more stuff done.

I suppose this isn't the most enlightening piece ever written on the subject of job-hunting. Should be matter-of-fact stuff. It's just strange how things have changed in a relatively short period of time. When I was 16, looking for my first job, folks relied on ads in the newspaper and signs in windows. I suppose to some extent that's still true today, at least for retail jobs.

But since I graduated from college, there has been this huge increase in the "don't call us, we'll call you" mentality of job posters. Ads now have clauses that discourage applicants from calling, showing up, or driving by the business with questions in mind. Just e-mail your resume, and for the love of God, don't inquire about the status of your application.

It's rough, because every Business professor you've ever had has told you to follow up after applying/interviewing. Supposedly this shows that you are really interested in the position. Makes sense. But when you've got hundreds of hungry applicants, all of whom want to assure this potential employer that they are VERY interested, well, that makes for a lot of e-mails and voicemails to sift through.

Maybe it's pessimistic of me to think this, but I can't help the feeling that some of the cover letters and resumes that I have sent over to employers were -- and this is probably just paranoia -- discarded. Deleted. Ignored. I know, it's crazy talk. Forget I brought it up.

The bottom line is that applying is a necessary evil. You've got to write brand-spankin'-new cover letters, and you've got to customize your resume with each application. My point is that you're more likely to do this with a clean mouth and a down-to-business mentality. Pretend like you're heading into the office. A little delusion never hurt anyone.

Actually, it has hurt tons of people. But you will probably be different.

For more on the subject, click here.

"Did you get my letter?"

2010-05-20T12:59:00.000-07:00

In the Aftermath of Cookin' with Boog

2010-05-19T13:24:00.000-07:00

Productivity has come to a standstill. All Rosie wants to do is watch Cookin' with Boog. Join her?

As for Boog herself, well, her recent celebrity status has caused her to revisit some old 'nip habits...

Sad. Just sad.

Recommended Album: The Very Last Songs I Will Ever Record (Part 1)

2010-05-19T06:38:00.000-07:00

On Monday, Mike Phirman (half of the comic duo, Hard 'n Phirm) released his first solo effort, The Very Last Songs I Will Ever Record (Part 1), a 32-minute collection of musical comedy, with just a few skits sprinkled inbetween. Phirman has the album available on his site, with no minimum payment required, however, Chris Hardwick (the other half of Hard 'n Phirm, House of 1,000 Corpses, Web Soup, etc.) noted on his blog that "all of the proceeds go to the 'Mike Phirman’s Wife Just Had a Baby' Fund."

With last year's release of The Lonely Island's Incredibad, it almost seems strange that an album like Phirman's can still exist and be funny without the assistance of T-Pain or Justin Timberlake. However, that's likely its greatest appeal. While "Weird Al" Yankovic does provide guest vocals on the track Street Meat (You Keep Tauntin' Me), it is Phirman alone who drives the weird here. A song like One for Them & One for Me evokes the sort of absurdist humor one might hear on the Dr. Demento Show or a Firesign Theater album, rather than some rerun of VH1's "100 Most Dateable Guys in Comedy."

The track, Lollytown begins with a crowd booing a concert promoter who is announcing that the show's headliner, Rage Against the Machine, is unable to make it due to a scheduling conflict. However, a replacement band, Lollytown, is going to perform instead, the joke being that Lollytown sounds (perhaps unintentionally) almost exactly like Kimya Dawson, with lyrics like "I ride unicorns and I like candy // I go to the beach and I get sandy..." It's a funny concept, executed very well, and it exemplifies Phirman's ability to combine the strangeness of a character with the reality of the listener to make a Liam Lynch-esque world of the realistically bizarre.

This is again seen in Sketchy Dudes, where the narrator switches and each repeatedly breaks the fourth wall while describing these odd men that one might pass and consider the likelihood of their being a murderer, or at least some sort of deviant. As the song goes on into different "acts," a whodunit forms, ultimately culminating in a twist ending worthy of M. Night Shyamalan (you know, if he made comedy records instead of movies about scrunts and killer trees). At any rate, it's a neat song that starts off sounding like something from an Eels album, goes into a bit where it sounds like something from 808s & Heartbreak, then ends up sounding like She's So Hot... Boom! by Flight of the Conchords.

The album closer, Indie, pokes fun at... well, you get it. With different, less self-deprecating lyrics, it could potentially be a fine example of the songs that it is mocking, but nonetheless, it is a fitting end, and it shows how truly talented a musician and mimic Phirman is. As I wrote before, this album does not fall into the same classification as efforts put forth by The Lonely Island or Whitest Kids U Know, but it belongs in a more timeless category, with the likes of Tom Lehrer, Yogi Yorgesson and, yes, Weird Al. It may not be well-received by white males between the ages of 14 and 21, but those who get it will love it. Anyway, try watching Chicken Monkey Duck without singing it for days afterward.

Dep 11 Commercial

2010-05-14T16:59:00.001-07:00

This is what I was talking about in my previous entry, in terms of what I do with an overabundance of time.

Despair

2010-05-14T06:05:00.001-07:00

We're coming up on four months of being unemployed (and by we I mean I). It's monumental, signifying my longest period of unemployment since I was about 16, and simultaneously the lowest my savings account has been since those adolescent days. I normally try to abstain from writing anything on here that necessitates the "gripes" label, but as the title of this entry very subtly suggests, despair is beginning to set in.

I left a good job to come down here. In all fairness, it wasn't my dream job, but then again, whose is? I liked the people I worked with, the hours weren't awful, and the pay (for Michigan especially) was beyond decent. But my problem is that I'm a romantic (which you can read all about here), and I did probably the most impulsive thing I've ever done by simply packing up all my belongings and moving to another state.

But even at my most impulsive, I was still very kind to my employer. I gave more than apt notice of my impending departure, did everything I could to make the transitional period an easy one, and worked up to the day before I was scheduled to pick up the U-Haul. Similarly, my apartment complex, who had pretty much treated me like they were doing me a favor by letting me live there, got the royal treatment as well. Unit 305 was by far cleaner the day I left than the day I moved in.

In terms of job placement, I was on the ball as well. I'd been applying in south Florida for months prior to the actual move. No bites, but still. Within two weeks of my arrival down here, I actually had two interviews scheduled, both of which were in libraries (the market I'm trying to break into). I didn't get either job, obviously, but the frequency of the interviews seemed promising. Then things died down a bit. It was as if those first two interviewers had told all other potential employers that I have some kind of debilitating social condition.

Then came my stint as a temp. The only thing I have to say about this is that never, in the course of completion of my four year degree, was I taught the proper way to stock a refrigerator with sodas. I'm not above this sort of work, but like warm Pepsi, it certainly left a bad taste in my mouth.

Now I sit and apply. For everything. Horrified by a good amount of the job descriptions, I apply in the hopes that I get that call. I don't dream anymore that moving down here for love might somehow coincide with my finding true happiness in a career. My fantasy has become making my June car payment. It's a strange kind of regression. I mean, really, what happens when your fantasy is something you've already done?

But I guess it's not all bad. I have a very understanding would-be-fiancée, a very nice desk at which I can sit and write cover letters, and two very uppity cats that seem to require 24-hour supervision anyway. I have plenty of time left in the day to make stupid videos and write screenplays. I have this lovely blog that is perhaps helping me to shoot myself in the foot, should hiring managers be Googling my name on the open web. Yes, it could always be worse, but still, being knee-deep isn't any kind of picnic.

Man. Writing when your depressed is like going to the grocery store when you're starving. Stay tuned for something quasi-optimistic.

Cookin' With Boog

2010-05-10T07:03:00.000-07:00

In all likelihood I've plateaued in my abilities as a filmmaker. Suffice is to say that this is perhaps the greatest thing I have ever done. Look out for my girlfriend/enabler, Becca, in a supporting role.

Hunter Miller Videos

2010-05-04T12:31:00.001-07:00

Happy May, internet. I return after a fruitful weekend of movie and music goodness. I'm still cutting my teeth on this whole film thing, so it was nice to work with the very pleasant and very talented Hunter Miller of St. Augustine, FL on the shorts below.

First is my attempt at a full-scale, proper music video for a song I actually wrote (which Hunter was kind enough to improve greatly with his own vocal styling and guitar work).

The next two are just steady shots of Hunter playing, first, a cover of Neil Young's "Heart of Gold," and second, a song written by Hunter when he was 15 or so.

To examine these in greater detail, along with other videos I've created, head to my YouTube channel here. I hope you enjoy, internet. I'll write again, preferably sooner than later.

Vodka of the Seas

2010-04-25T20:19:00.000-07:00

So I'm a temp now, hence the lack of posting. In celebration of what was pretty much my first week of honest work in three months or so, I went to Fort Lauderdale for the weekend to attend a friend's pre-cruise party. Luckily I brought along my new Flip...

Project Update 4

2010-04-13T13:34:00.000-07:00

I tweeted a week or so ago that if you can use the word "eponymous" then you can be a music critic. I snickered to my clever self and was crushed when no one re-tweeted my brilliance, but that's the way it goes.

Anyway, another word often used, in reviews of all sorts of things, is "uninspired." That's how I feel. Every time I open up Screenwriter and my scene-by-scene synopsis, clicking back and forth between the two windows, I feel uninspired. I'm stuck at page 25.

I've been here before. In fact, I'd say I've been here more times than I've been sitting and typing the last period of some new composition. It's as familiar to me as the feeling of being hungry or tired, but the great thing about all three of these things is that they are merely obstacles, and obstacles can be overcome.

So allow this to serve as my declaration that this screenplay will not die at page 25 (though 25 is coincidentally my favorite number). I'm going to barrel onward, replacing the confidence and excitement I had at the start of this project with stubbornness and determination.

Potentially lucrative but definitely awesome screenplay, I will conquer you.

Lost at FAU

2010-04-05T12:35:00.000-07:00

I actually had a job interview today, which was excellent. It did lead to some down time though, in the form of an unexpected stroll through approximately 16 parking lots. Please be kind, regarding my horrible tie.

Pre-Show: Paul McCartney's Up and Coming Tour

2010-04-02T10:26:00.000-07:00

Tomorrow, at around this time, I'll be facing the dilemma of whether or not to wear my Sgt. Pepper's Lonely Hearts Club Band t-shirt to the Miami stop on Paul McCartney's Up and Coming Tour. Do I follow the advice of Droz -- that one should never wear the shirt of the band they are going to see? Afterall, I don't want to be that guy. But, in all fairness, I'll be a mere speck to the man on stage...

This can all be sorted out on the morrow I suppose.

The main thing is that I am about to cross a big to-do off of my life's to-do list; I'm going to see a Beatle. And not just any Beatle, but my Beatle (everyone has a favorite, right?). Paul McCartney, the most influential songwriter of any generation, and possessor of natural talent akin to Orpheus (maybe that's laying it on a bit too thick) is going to perform his music live, and I am going to be in the room.

When I was young, before I knew exactly how to work the cassette deck on my dad's stereo, I enlisted his help in making a mix tape. There ended up being some pretty weird stuff on there, considering I was short of 10 at the time (Robin Trower, Jethro Tull and Frank Zappa to name a few), but my favorite songs on the mix were Back in the USSR and Rocky Raccoon. I would play these over and over, until eventually the smell of melting plastic signaled that my mix had had enough.

When I made my next tape, it included Martha My Dear, among other White Album tracks. To this day, it remains my favorite song on any Beatles album, followed by I'm Looking Through You from Rubber Soul (not surprisingly, both are Paul compositions). I'm 25 now, and I still feel the same exhilaration when either of these songs come up on my iPod, and amusingly, I am the one now helping my dad with the stereo.

That reads as a lot less profound than it seems to me. Regardless, tomorrow's a big deal. Only a day before I'm tripping the live fantastic...

New Short

2010-03-25T13:28:00.001-07:00

I would say I have been very prolific this month. Unfortunately, I cannot nail my proliferation down to just one thing (a problem I've mused about before). I spent yesterday applying for jobs, with the window containing my screenplay minimized. I don't know if that was meant to tempt me into being creative, or remind me that I have responsibilities, but in any case, it did little to progress the now 25-page script. Oh well.

One thing I decided to do a while ago was submit a short story for the Fulton Prize. So today I picked out the story, started to edit, then scrapped it and started rewriting from scratch. Thus far this is going quite well, but again, that's not my job (in the sense that no one has sponsored me in my endeavor), and it's certainly not the screenplay I wanted to finish before I got back into the working world (though the way things are going with this job-hunt, there doesn't seem to be a rush on that really).

Anyway, no gripes. It's frustrating, sure, but man does it feel good to be writing at 4pm on a Thursday.

Kitties & Thugz

2010-03-23T12:44:00.001-07:00

So today I did work on a movie. It wasn't the movie I've been referring to in my previous posts, but nonetheless I did make a movie. I had happened upon some inspiration in the form of the West Palm Beach Gangstas n Thugs, and I was just too inspired not to follow this thing through to completion. I hope y'all enjoy.

[note: music accompanying this video is explicit]

Project Update 3

2010-03-17T05:56:00.000-07:00

The glass-half-full way of looking at things is that I am now 1/10 of the way through my screenplay. The glass-half-empty, of course, is that 1/10 is really only 12 pages. Still, it's only 9:30, so there's plenty of the day left.

Oh, and according to Facebook, it's St. Patrick's Day today. I've decided that instead of wearing green, I'm just going to be envious of people I know who are collecting a decent steady income from their 9-5 job.

Sláinte!

Sam

2010-03-15T12:47:00.001-07:00

[This was written in August of 2008.]

Ida had Sam drive down to the Kroger’s at nine o’clock because she’d forgotten the Mandarin oranges for the ambrosia salad. She made her request and he eyed her through the paper, smoke billowing over his head, until finally relenting and reaching for his keys. Sam hated shopping.

The leather seat in the Regal felt cool on his back. Fall was coming, and he could feel the crisp in the air. He rolled the windows down a crack and breathed in. Backing down the driveway, lighting a cigarette, Sam felt odd being out of the house on a Friday night. “Watch out for all the maniacs on the road.” Ida’s voice played in his mind.

It was a five-minute drive to the store. Sam listened to a radio station advertising an all-oldies weekend. “This will be good for tomorrow,” he thought, pulling into an empty space, away from the other cars. “Ida likes this music.” The first few notes of Kind of a Drag slipped through the speakers before Sam pulled the key from the ignition.

A few girls were sitting in a red hatchback, looking him over as he passed. The driver rolled down her window. “Sir?” she called. Sam pretended not to hear, and continued to walk, but he stopped when he heard the car door open. “Sir?” she repeated, stepping out. He turned.

“Hi, my name is Tracy,” she said, approaching fast with her hand extended, like a sales woman. Sam looked about nervously. “Yes?” he said, trying to sound unfriendly, but coming off as frightened. She closed in. “My friends and I are supposed to meet up with my one friend’s cousin out in Port Huron, and my friend who’s 21 got stuck at work…”

Sam realized where this was heading. She continued, “We don’t need a lot of alcohol or anything – just a couple fifths – and we’re going to spend the night out there…” She spoke to Sam like he was a father. “Do you think you could help us out?” Without even realizing it, he was shaking his head.

“No. No, I’m sorry,” he said, anxiously, “I- I can’t.” The girl nodded with apparent understanding. Sam turned away quickly and continued on his way, shuddering upon hearing Tracy’s car door shut. He could hear one of the other girls say something, but it was too obscured by laughter for him to make it out. He sighed with relief when the store’s automatic doors rattled open, granting him sanctuary.

Produce was on the opposite end of the building. Sam had parked on the wrong side, and realizing this, immediately began to think how much better life could have been if he had remembered the store’s layout. He thought of Ida; she would have reminded him. But that was all irrelevant now.

Sam made his way down the aisle with the breads and hamburger buns and cookies. He stopped at a box of graham crackers which seemed out of place, then quickly returned to his mission. Mandarin oranges. This is what Ida needed, and the reason why he was out at nine o’clock on a Friday night, getting harassed by teenage girls.

He thought about Tracy. She seemed like a nice girl, just out with the wrong people, that’s all. “She has no business drinking at her age,” he thought. Then Sam remembered his teenage years. When he was 18, he was old enough to buy alcohol, and Tracy couldn’t have been far from 18…

Sam rounded the corner and walked past the deli meats and fish. A young man, probably one of Tracy’s classmates, was standing behind the counter, picking something off his blood-stained apron. Sam nodded in his direction. It always made him happy to see a boy that age working. If Sam had had a son, he would’ve insisted upon it. It would’ve been Ida’s job to worry about their girl, though that was just as irrelevant now.

When he passed the dairy section, he stopped to pick up a bag of shredded cheese that had been knocked to the floor. He checked the display for an empty hook, but decided it was best to leave the package on top of some other discarded bags. He wondered how long it had been lying there, on the ground. Could it have gone bad?

Sam arrived at the produce section and looked around at the baskets of supposedly fresh fruits and vegetables. The apples seemed too red, and the broccoli was gleaming from a recent misting. It was as if none of it was real. Sam went to a corner where the pre-packaged fruits were and picked up a small plastic tub of Mandarin oranges.

Feeling a bit more relaxed, now that his mission was nearing completion, Sam also picked up a bag of dried apricots and cherries, which he planned to open on the drive home. The two items in his hand, he walked over to the checkouts and got in line behind an old couple buying at least a dozen discount greeting cards and a gallon of skim milk.

Looking around, Sam noticed that this lane – the express lane – was the only one open, with the exception of the self-checkouts of course, which he would never dream of using. He noticed, also, that this lane had a sign over the register which read, “Your Alcohol and Tobacco Station,” below which the legal ages required to purchase such items were posted in bold.

He looked behind the man ringing up the old couple, at the wall of liquor bottles. Whiskey, rum, scotch, et al. He remembered Tracy and her friends. He wondered if they were still waiting in the parking lot. Would they be watching him as he passed to get to his car? He looked over the wall.

The man was accepting money from the old woman while her husband slowly wound his fingers around the handles on the plastic bag containing the milk. Sam watched this, then returned to the liquor. “She couldn’t be far from 18,” he thought. The register made a loud noise when it opened and Sam started.

When the old couple stepped out of the way, the man gave Sam a nod, inviting him forward. Sam handed him his two items and the man rang them up quickly, depositing them in a plastic bag before him. “All set, sir?” he asked. Sam was sweating. He looked at the man, and the wall behind him, and licked his lips.

“What do you think a woman would like?” Sam asked, pointing behind the counter. The man smirked. Sam quickly added, “My wife.” He looked around to see that there were no other customers approaching. The man said, “Well, something fruity maybe. A vodka. Do you want to make her something, or just drink it straight?” The question made Sam nervous.

“Straight,” he said, “I think.” The man at last took his eyes off of Sam and looked at the bottles lined up behind him. How about this? He pointed at a bottle with palm trees and pineapples on the label. “How much?” Sam asked. The man pointed at a small sign that read “$13.99.” Sam smiled uncomfortably. “Yes, she’ll like that.” The man picked it up and scanned the barcode. “Can you ring that up as a separate purchase, please?”

Walking through, to the other side of the store, Sam’s heart raced. What if Tracy and her friends were gone? Could he bring the vodka home? What would he tell Ida? He deposited the receipt for the alcohol in a garbage bin near the exit. The automatic doors opened and the night air hit him once again, causing his hairs to stand up.

The red hatchback was gone. Sam looked over the lot to see if maybe they had moved, but there were only a few cars now. Disappointment set in, but he shook it off and lumbered toward Ida’s Regal. When he reached it, he found that the side mirror had been knocked loose.

Project Update 2

2010-03-12T14:34:00.000-08:00

5:30pm -- my scene-by-scene synopsis is complete! How about sticking to a schedule, huh?

No calls regarding a proper job or anything, but no use worrying about that all weekend I suppose.

Project Update 1

2010-03-11T06:54:00.000-08:00

Outlining is more or less on-schedule (notice how hard I'm working in the staged photo above). I've written approximately 2,500 words of my scene-by-scene synopsis, and it's helping me to get an idea of individual scene lengths, as well as establish opportunities to inject some humor here and there. The most exciting part, I suppose, is seeing the story take shape; new characters are emerging, along with little idiosyncrasies for those main characters that have been in my head since day one.

The trouble is coming from the fact that I started this with a beginning, an end and a very emaciated middle-section. Now I've got to slap some meat on those bones, and it's getting tougher. I find the shower to be helpful in these situations. Or a good run. (I don't know if any of you are like me, but I find that the further I get from writing instruments, the more ideas seem to freely come to me. Hence the crumpled napkins, Coney Island placemats and pamphlets with my scribblings all over them.)

Anyway, here's to another productive day. L'chayim!

New Project

2010-03-09T06:10:00.001-08:00

In mid-May of last year I recorded a 20-second plot synopsis on my old phone detailing the main storyline of a script I wanted to write. Over the last 10 months or so I have expanded on some concepts, and withdrawn others, but now I am confidently outlining scenes for this new project.

My last project was wrapped up in 2008, and wasn't read aloud until this last January (or rather, two months ago). It was my first script, and originally weighed in at 200 pages. Some trimming and edits got it down to 120 pages, but the read-through convinced me that it is not where I want it to be. I may return to it one day, but for now it's on to bigger and (in my opinion at present) better things.

The goal is to finish this outline by the end of the week, and start writing the meat of the screenplay Monday. Being unemployed is a blessing as well as a curse in this situation, for I have promised to delegate a good portion of each day to job-searching as well, and sometimes it's not an easy transition from Careerbuilder and Indeed.com to Microsoft Word and Movie Magic Screenwriter. Still, I am granted more free time than I had the last time I chose to undertake such a... well, an undertaking I suppose.

Anywho, for those interested, I will be updating my progress on here. This will hopefully keep me motivated, and inspire those in my shoes to know that there are other nobodies sitting around in their skivvies on a Tuesday morning, typing away at something they believe could be great.

And for the record, this Tuesday morning's muse is Justin Spooner's Everyday the Same, Everyday Different, which is available for free here.

Good day!

LifeReboot.com / By the By, I Moved to Florida

2010-02-16T12:35:00.000-08:00

Curious as to where I've been and what I've been doing? No? Oh...

Well regardless, my friend, Shaun over at LifeReboot.com has posted an article I wrote regarding my recent move to Florida on his site.

You can (and should) read it here.

And while you're there, check out some of Shaun's articles, any of which are far more popular than the mess you've stumbled upon here.

Thanks!

The Freewheelin' Bob Dylan

2009-10-23T14:49:00.000-07:00

Earlier this week I set my Facebook status to read: "What is Leonard Cohen's appeal?" This was met with mixed replies, but the gist is that I need to look past Cohen's voice and listen to what he has to say. I haven't taken on this project quite yet, but it's going to happen sooner than later. Anyway, the reason I mention this is because I have felt like a bit of a hypocrite for criticizing Cohen's vocals while preparing my entry about today's album, The Freewheelin' Bob Dylan.

Let me start by saying that if your problem with Dylan (if you've got a problem) is his vocals, this would be a good album to try on. For the most part, it's the man, his guitar, and a harmonica (with some very sparce light percussion), and you really get the impression that he's trying to give this singing thing a shot. The album contains three of what could be called Dylan's signature songs, including Blowin' in the Wind, A Hard Rain's A-Gonna Fall and Don't Think Twice, It's Alright. Two remain poignant social commentaries, while the third serves as a reminder of why one should never get involved with such a troubled poet.

But the standout track, in my opinion, is Girl from the North Country. Foremost, Dylan's guitar work is excellent, and this is probably the only example I can find in musical history of a harmonica joining a song to actually make it sound haunting. This is an account of busted romance, and it truly feels like it. I've always had a penchant for the depressing, but this goes beyond that and makes feeling forlorn seem so much more beautiful than it ever is. Don't Think Twice is a similar composition in some aspects, but the two produce entirely different moods, and really do show two different sides of Dylan.

Songs like Masters of War and Talking World War III don't leave much to the imagination, but that's the idea. The latter makes something of a jaunty square dance out of Dylan's political paranoia, and the former borrows from an old English folk tune to make one feel that death by bombing is pretty much imminent. Both sadly remain accurate in capturing what it is like to live in a climate of fear, but it is A Hard Rain's A-Gonna Fall that builds this foreboding set while still managing to come off as a sing-along. In fact, some of the album's most gruesome imagery comes from this track, which would be hearkened back to later in songs like The Times, They Are A-Changin'.

Listening to The Freewheelin' Bob Dylan makes you kind of understand why people got all up-in-arms when he went electric. You can hear the passing of the torch from that classic style of folk, kept alive in the 60s by bands like the Kingston Trio, to the understated, but vicious poetry of Dylan. I mean, the album inspired The Beatles. Did you get that? THE BEATLES. Sure, Dylan was reportedly the guy who got them all into pot as well, but that's another story...

Tapestry

2009-10-16T08:31:00.000-07:00

Sometimes it's tough liking soft rock. No one is intimidated by me, none of my friends want to listen to The Bridge, and there's the general assumption that I'm kind of a wiener. It is unlikely that you will pull up beside me at a red light and find me blasting The Fray or Five for Fighting or some other interchangeable adult contemporary schlock, but it is entirely possible that my windows will be rolled up and I will be listening to Gilbert O'Sullivan or Nick Drake at a respectable volume.

Or, of course, Carole King.

Carole King should be known for co-writing some of the 60s' greatest hits, including Some Kind of Wonderful, I'm Into Something Good, The Loco-Motion and a plethora of others (and there are plenty of folks who I'm sure give appropriate credit to King). However, the reason why most celebrate her abilities as a songwriter is her 1971 album, Tapestry, which stands out as one of the greatest overall musical achievements of the 70s. Tapestry earned King four Grammy awards for Album of the Year, Best Female Pop Vocal Performance, Song of the Year (You've Got a Friend) and Record of the Year (It's Too Late). It also features both Joni Mitchell and James Taylor in various capacities, though you wouldn't know it without reading the liner notes.

The album begins with I Feel the Earth Move, which sets a soulful tone for later tracks like Beautiful, Where You Lead and (You Make Me Feel) Like a Natural Woman. King evokes the vocal styling of groups like The Chiffons and Shirelles -- groups that made her songs hits on the Pop charts in the prior decade -- but provides a more stripped-down facsimile, focusing more closely on a soft acoustic guitar and piano. Nearly 40 years later, it still feels like you're in a smoky lounge listening to a three-piece band, fronted by King, who is seated behind a modest electric keyboard.

So Far Away is a lovely ballad, and the version here is far superior to Rod Stewart's (which for some reason always played on the local soft rock station when I was growing up), but the crowning acheivment of Tapestry is its lead single, It's Too Late. Oddly enough, the song is one of two on Tapestry with lyrics by Toni Stern, but the music itself was composed by King. It wouldn't be right to call it jazz, because the notes are too methodical, but the song really just evokes the smoothest of jam sessions. So smooth, in fact, that the Isley Brothers slowed it down for their 1972 album, Brother Brother Brother. Stern's lyrics are excellent as well, if you can tear yourself away from playing air bongos long enough to pay attention to them.

Other tracks like Home Again, You've Got a Friend and Will You Love Me Tomorrow are easy examples of why King's songwriting style continues to infiltrate its way into today's music through artists like Diana Birch (watch this and tell me you don't see it). Kind of a new turn of the phrase to "If ain't broke, it's because Carole King already fixed it." Putting Tapestry on is all the proof anyone could need. If you don't know where to get it, trust me, it's in your mom's record collection.

Rest in Peace

2009-10-15T10:23:00.000-07:00

Songs for Beginners

2009-10-09T09:40:00.000-07:00

I've noticed this absurd trend with the hipsters of today (myself sadly included) telling others about how they must check out these albums and musicians that pre-date their own existence on this earth. This often takes the shape of a 20-year-old in tight pants saying something like, "Yeah, Ziggy was good, but if you really want to dig into Bowie, Man Who Sold the World is where to start" (this is a ridiculous statement by the way). It's laughable, because I find myself having these conversations with folks who actually had these albums on vinyl, and I'm throwing out production facts that I read on Wikipedia and trying to quote the lyrics I heard this morning from some song that appears on the "Chill Out" mix I made for my iPod. Stupid.

But it is what it is, and as such I would like to implement an idea I had the other day while I was obsessing about these notions of pretension. So, going forward, on Fridays I would like to highlight albums from "before my time" that I feel deserve a listen. First up is "Songs for Beginners" by Graham Nash, which was released in 1971, and is therefore 13 years older than I am (which is not too bad actually).

This is a great album, though it is by no means flawless. If you skipped over Be Yourself or We Can Change the World, I would understand. The lyrics of these songs are a little too obvious, so these days they end up coming across like the Barney theme. However, the album opener, Military Madness, is on-the-nose. Nash does an excellent job of weaving a poignant tale, and the persistent backbeat and bouncy piano make the song pop. Better Days is a good follow-up, but takes on a darker tone.

When you get down to Simple Man, it's time for a rest. This is the antithesis of a rocker, opening with a light piano echoing and Nash's vocals only. It's fairly minimal, which does the song a service. Strings join to play the melody, but that's about it. At times optimistic, but ultimately a downer, the track is totally suitable for rainy days and early mornings. Sleep Song keeps with this theme, though it at least ends pleasantly with "And as you sleepily rise // You'll find I'll be there..."

I don't presume to know what Nash is talking about in Chicago (reportedly something about the '68 Democratic Convention), but the organ sounds so cool that I really don't care. It's like a demented soulful carnival song, and I mean that in the most positive way. If Sleep Song lived up to its title, then this is the track that will get the blood pumping. Really, the edge on this album as a whole is a surprise from Nash, who is generally known for his light contributions to The Hollies and that other, lesser-known group, but as stated previously, it is definitely worth a listen.

Yeah, I think that went well.

"Look for the girl with the sun in her eyes, and she's gone..."

2009-09-29T10:52:00.000-07:00

Let it be known that today Lucy Vodden died. A big week for the topic I suppose, though that's relative. But speaking of death and relatives...

Saturday my future brother-in-law found a dead body in the woods (the story is covered briefly here by the Detroit Free Press). I guess the guy crawled into his sleeping bag, put the shotgun barrel into his mouth through the padding and pulled the trigger with his toe. No positive ID on the deceased, but investigators have a promising lead.

Truly a tragedy.

But like any individual with validation issues, I've found a way to make this tragedy about myself. Actually, I tweeted about it yesterday, simply stating (in 140 characters or less) that I was jealous of my brother-in-law for unknown reasons, all the while knowing full-well that the reason is of course because it is an uncommon occurrence. It's an interesting story to re-tell, and everyone wants a good number of these in their repertoire; something to say at brunch outside of the usual mundane junk that we all resort to when cornered into a conversation.

Prior to hearing about the discovery, I had been all upset about some billing issues with AT&T and a speeding ticket I got in the morning on my way to work from the airport (totaling near $400, it's a legitimate concern I think). But then I heard about the black hole in that sleeping bag in the woods, and I got to thinking about mortality and time and getting all strung-out over the little bullshit in life, and... well, I didn't feel any better.

It's on par with someone saying to you that every day is a gift. Obviously the goal of a statement like this is to make one grateful, but this doesn't really account for degrees. For instance, I've been given some great gifts in the past. When I got my Gameboy, with Legend of Zelda: Link's Awakening and Tetris 2 (this was way longer ago than I would care to admit); THAT was a great gift.

But a day where you get a speeding ticket after dropping your girlfriend off at the airport so a plane can take her back across the country, all the while budgeting in your head what basic amenities (like food or gasoline) you can forgo this month to free up some extra cash for an inflated phonebill... that's like a pair of designer wool socks on your 10th birthday.

All I'm saying is that if we must resort to the life = gift analogy, can we at least agree that some gifts are lame? Of course, I don't think it's ever really cool to get bent out of shape over a bad gift, but to acknowledge that a day/situation sucks seems totally reasonable.

[EDIT: That is an admittedly rocky path from point A to B there, so let's just consider this a prompt, particularly as I wrote this all out on my lunch break. Ciao.]

Whoah, Look Out Now

2009-09-21T10:52:00.000-07:00

So it has been well over six months since I last wrote in here. I suppose that's a testament to the fact that I have been working really hard at my new job for the publishing company where I do nothing even marginally related to publishing (that's not bitterness there, that's 100% fact). Hopefully this gives hope to all the other folks with B.A.'s who also get asked regularly why they don't just teach.

Anyway, let this entry serve as a precursor. No guarantees that the forthcoming posts will be insightful or entertaining really, but I do promise you one thing: they will exist.

The Notebook(s)

2009-02-08T07:14:00.000-08:00

When I was packing I found notebooks everywhere; notebooks under the bed, in the closet, at the bottoms of dresser drawers. Some of them started out as organized containers for notes and assignments and things, but they all ended up being filled with story ideas, half-written shorts, pencil sketches and bad poetry.

I couldn't throw them away, so now I just have these boxes of notebooks. There's probably 20 or so in all (actual notebooks, not boxes). On one hand, I feel good that -- not too long ago -- I was creative enough where I was producing these half-baked ideas regularly, but on the other hand, it's a real bummer that I haven't done anything like that recently.

I did find a folded piece of scrap paper that I had apparently pulled out of a recycling bin at the library. On the back there was a cartoon caterpillar, but on the blank side I had written a pretty promising beginning to a short. I think I'll finish that one. The only problem is remembering which box I stuffed it in...

If That's Movin' Up Then I'm...

2009-02-02T10:56:00.000-08:00

So, as I mentioned in my last post, I've moved. Now I'm on the west side, all by my lonesome (unless you count the Persian cat in my closet that won't let me pet it, but is content to sleep on my clothes and throw up under my bed).

I've always been a lot o' bit co-dependent, so I figured it would be a good idea for me to live by myself. So far things are going well, although I did just move Saturday. I'm learning lots of things, like who it is who actually buys those little 8-oz containers of sour cream -- yeah, it's single people that also buy those 100-lb frozen bags of pierogies at Sam's Club (i.e. me).

Whilst unpacking I found the first edit of my screenplay. It also weighed something like 100-lbs. Going to hook up my printer today and print out the most recent edit. Will probably also take some quasi-artistic photos of myself that highlight my crotch... no wait, I've already got that covered. Maybe I'll wash some towels then.

Happy New Year

2009-01-01T18:41:00.000-08:00

New Year's Eve has always been a disappointing affair in my experience. In theory, it's this incredible event; the culmination of a year (and really, we only get so many). That's 365 days of triumphs, failures, glories and heartaches, all to be celebrated in one evening.

So what do we do?

We get drunk and surround ourselves with the people whom we spent a proportionately small amount of the last year with, and we wear funny cardboard hats that were made in China (where the new year won't start for another 26 days).

Don't get me wrong, I had a good time last night -- passing out fun-sized Snickers bars that I stole from one party to the people I didn't know at another party, and telling everyone that I'd laced the chocolate with PCP -- I just don't feel that that sort of behavior should really sum me up for 2008.

...actually, forget all that, that actually was probably the coolest thing I did all year.

I Made a Mix CD Today

2008-12-28T15:37:00.000-08:00

01 Chris Bathgate - Buffalo Girl
02 Mother Mother - O My Heart
03 Nik Freitas - Put A Sock In It
04 Starf***er - German Love
05 The Dodos - Beards
06 The Traditionist - I Know My Ocean
07 Jim Noir - I Me I'm Your
08 Ox - Surrender
09 Frontier Ruckus - Dark Autumn Hour
10 Of Montreal - A Sentence of Sorts in Kongsvinger
11 Darden Smith - What Are We Gonna Do (live)
12 Kings of Leon - Revelry
13 Wintermitts - Octopus
14 Grandaddy - Elevate Myself
15 Queens of the Stone Age - Make It Wit Chu
16 Voxtrot - The Start of Something
17 Mira Mira - So You Want to Be Atlas
18 Stellastarr* - My Coco
19 The Boy Least Likely To - I See Spiders When I Close My Eyes
20 The Tellers - Confess
21 Belle & Sebastian - I'm A Cuckoo

Yes, that's called "filler."

Two Things

2008-12-24T11:37:00.001-08:00

I keep seeing these pickup trucks with plows, driving down these perilous side streets, presumably on their way to go plow something. Couldn't they just plow the side street as they're driving? I mean, they're already going that way... I dunno, maybe I'm just annoyed because I always end up snow-blowing and/or shoveling my neighbors' sidewalks because of some innate guilt for actually owning a snowblower. Go figure.

On another note, does anyone else remember Boiler Room? Or moreso, Ben Affleck's pep talk at the beginning of the film...

The Soundalike

2008-12-15T13:15:00.000-08:00

[This was written in September.]

The soundalike song has been around as long as pop music. The Supremes, The Temptations; even Stevie did it. I can’t say if it was by choice or not, seeing as I wasn’t there and all, but I’m familiar with the practice. The song “I’m Your Puppet” was a big hit in ‘66 for James and Bobby Purify. Their only hit. They did a soundalike, ironically titled “You Can’t Keep a Good Man Down,” which failed to chart. Never heard from them again.

When you think about it, every song’s a soundalike. It’s all been done, this is what my kid tells me. He’s in some kind of modern lit class now, and everything’s depressing; everything’s old, and it’s all been done. I don’t know that I believe that, but I can tell you that I haven’t heard anything really interesting come out of my stereo since Zappa died. And I’ve been listening. I guess I thought the Talking Heads were pretty good, but then David Byrne got too big for his britches.

This guy I work with likes to listen to a classic rock station in the morning. He likes this DJ – Alice something. She’s pretty good. Got a smoky voice, like a man’s, and a butch laugh, but she’s pretty good. Plays the Beatles on Fridays, and takes requests from 10 to noon. Reg – the guy I work with – he calls and makes a request now and then, and she chats him up, off the air. I tell him all the time that he should ask her out, but he says he’s got a girlfriend.

Me, I don’t know. Single’s the word. The kid’s the only family I like to keep around, and that’s fine. Never married his mom, which was just as well for both of us when she died a few years ago. Life insurance policy didn’t look too kindly on our “commonlaw” thing, but they kicked over a few bucks to send the kid to school, and that was okay by me. Didn’t know he’d be wasting it getting depressed over everything, but that’s his choice.

I miss her, sometimes. She had a way of making situations seem less pathetic, and I’ve always needed that. When the stereo was busted and we couldn’t afford to get it fixed until the end of the month, she brought me my guitar and told me to play. Stone-faced, no sorrow and no sympathy. We were in it together, even though we weren’t. When the kid came along, it was just assumed that we would stay a couple, and apart from a few discrepancies over the years, we did.

We did the Cancer thing, twice. One win, then the eventual loss. She’d be a few hours out of radiation, asking me to roll her a cigarette, and I’d be blowing the smoke from my last in her face. Almost five years of this before she’d had enough. The kid stole some matches from the funeral home and almost lit the place on fire. I couldn’t much blame him.

It was just the boys after that. I messed around with a driver for one of our distributors, but her husband could smell me on her so we decided to cut that short. I didn’t much need it anyway. She was a big barrel of a woman, and before her I’d been with the kid’s mom, who had shrunk into a toothpick the last few years before she died. Too much contrast can really mess with your head. You want what’s familiar. What’s comfortable. You want the soundalike.

You Know,

2008-12-09T03:46:00.001-08:00

Even when expected, a rejection letter is really not the best way to start your day.

The Mario Kart Love Song

2008-12-06T10:01:00.000-08:00

Last night I was watching a girl on Youtube performing an original song in front of her webcam. It was nice -- very 21st-century singer/songwriter -- but in the related videos field I saw "Mario Kart Love Song (Original)." I clicked.

What a lovely novelty song, I thought, then dismissed the video and its author, who shared the same generic setup as the girl I had been watching prior. But then I found myself singing the song later, as I was driving home from Farmington Hills. Apparently I had internalized the words and melody without realizing it, and I simply could not get the song out of my head. So, the moment I got home I watched the video again.

Anyway, I've been on damn Youtube for an hour or so now, and I'm debating recording the audio from the Mario Kart Love Song and creating an mp3 so I can throw it on my iPod (though I think this goes too far). The performer (real name: Sam Hart) goes by Blinktwice4y, on the internet at least, and in my opinion he's quite talented. I would like to sip a pretensious coctail and listen to his music in a bar setting.

Music on Youtube... who knew?

The Orion Songbook

2008-11-26T12:25:00.000-08:00

This month marks the release of The Orion Songbook, the debut LP from Metro Detroit's Frontier Ruckus, one of a handful of bands on the Quite Scientific label (and thus far my favorite of the bunch, with Chris Bathgate a close second). I caught their set last night at The Ark's last Take-A-Chance Tuesday of the year, and it was truly excellent. I can certainly say that I was witness to some of the finest saw-playing I have ever seen (courtesy of multi-instrumentalist Zachary Nichols).

At any given time there were between two and nine musicians on stage, playing any combination of banjo, guitar, bass, drums, trumpet, trombone, harmonica, and the aforementioned saw, and that's not to mention the lyrical content provided by lead singer/guitarist, Matthew Milia, with added harmony by Anna Burch. But still, when the stage seemed completely filled, the music was not overcomplicated or messy; it was perfectly balanced -- appropriately contrived.

I've spent a little less than 24 hours with the album, so a review is probably premature, but I will say that the band has pulled off a feat of which most veteran bands are incapable; that is, they sound as fun and interesting coming through my stereo as they did in their live act. It's absolutely a cut above the rest in the current indie market, where songwriters are spending a little too much time trying to sound like Sufjan Stevens.

You can download a full track from the album and watch a few videos here.

If you dig Frontier Ruckus, check out some of the other artists on Quite Scientific and Asthmatic Kitty.

And have a happy Thanksgiving.

Thanks, Google Quotes

2008-11-23T10:27:00.001-08:00

"Character is what you have left when you've lost everything you can lose." - Evan Esar

Dare You Sample???

2008-11-23T07:06:00.000-08:00

See, it's been tough. I've been working really hard to get my act together as fast as humanly possible. Apparently when I lost a semester by transferring to a different school, and when I lost a semester by not going to school for a semester, I fell behind in the race. Basically I feel as though I am one year (give or take... well, actually just give) late to be arriving in this; the working world of adulthood.

So as such, I've been trying to do a number of things lately (i.e. establish credit, set up a decent CD, find a place to live where I can have girls over without worrying about my mom interrupting because she's having trouble with the surround sound, etc.), and they've been really time-consuming. It's been stressful, but I've found comfort in music, as I tend to do, which I can fortunately slip into my life rather effortlessly.

Here's a number of songs that I've been digging lately (some of which are freely downloadable):

George Harrison - The Art of Dying (that's a young Phil Collins on bongos, btw)
Ben Harper & The Innocent Criminals - In the Colors
Chris Bathgate - Buffalo Girl (DL)
Rod Stewart & The Faces - Lost Paraguayos
Nik Freitas - Sun Down (DL)
Mira Mira - So You Want To Be Atlas
Journey - Lovin', Touchin', Squeezin'
Sam Bennett - I Love (DL)
Grandaddy - Summer... It's Gone
Sacha Baron Cohen - The Contest (yes, from Sweeney Todd)
Darden Smith - Mary
The Tellers - The Darkest Door

On with another week. Bon chance, everyone.

Hail to the King, Baby

2008-11-16T07:56:00.000-08:00

This Friday, November 21, the My Name is Bruce Promo Tour will be making a stop at the Royal Oak Main Art Theater for a series of screenings of the aforementioned film, which was directed, produced by, and stars monsieur Bruce Campbell (who is actually from Royal Oak, by the way). Campbell will do a Q&A after all of the film's showings (except for the midnight show, which is reportedly "past his bedtime"), and hopefully be signing my copy of If Chins Could Kill. You should check it out.

Sidenote: I apologize for the lapse in posting. This is something I'm looking to amend, but you may need to bear with me.

Enjoy Your Breakfast

2008-11-07T11:54:00.000-08:00

1212: About Last Night

2008-11-05T19:37:00.000-08:00

Anyone who knows me knows that I have long been standing by Trey Parker. Since the first national airing of South Park when I was in middle school, I've been hooked. I've got Baseketball, Cannibal!: The Musical, Orgazmo, Team America: World Police, all of the related soundtracks (including South Park: Bigger Longer and Uncut's, and Chef Aid's), and I've even got an Eric Cartman magnetic notepad, upon which I think I've written twice.

South Park has become a staple on Comedy Central, so it's more than likely up to Trey and Matt when the series will end, but I have noticed that general interest in the program among my peers has wained. Thursday mornings it's nearly impossible to find someone I can talk to about new episodes that aired the previous night, and when I ask friends if they caught it, they generally respond with, "Oh yeah, when's that on?" (If you're honestly curious, it's Wednesdays at 10pm -- the same time slot since the show was first aired in 1997.)

But I'm not trying to convince you to watch the show. Admittedly, it's grown more political in recent years, and that tends to turn people off. However, tonight's episode was so fresh and on-the-money that I couldn't help but tell someone (i.e. you) to try and catch it. All I can say, without giving too much away, is that all of the mixed feelings that are floating around today in this, the post-election world, are addressed, and quite well at that. The episode is ridiculous and mildly offensive, but most of all it's poignant.

My Dad I think summed my thoughts up best when, after viewing, he said, "That was some good therapy. I actually feel better."

If you feel so inclined, you can view Comedy Central's TV schedule here.

In Nintendo Terms

2008-11-05T06:56:00.000-08:00

In the early 90s I remember playing Super Dodge Ball on my Nintendo. It was this incredibly racist, but easy game that allowed you to play as the U.S. in a worldwide dodge ball tournament (oddly enough, Japan had a really good team... weird). Anyway, I remember playing against the Kenyans, and remarking in my 6-year-old way that they were pretty funny-looking. Of course, I shared this opinion regarding Iceland's team, but that's because they had a dude on theirs that looked like Joseph Merrick.

So now here we are, a mere two decades later, and we've got a half-Kenyan president elect. That's a pretty big deal, isn't it? I've noticed a lot of glum faces today already, but hopefully y'all can be comforted by the fact that probably the most significant event of the 21st century has just occurred, and we're only eight years in. The picture above with the pasty white guys on the sidelines is actually pretty relevant today, since in a very short time we've gone from Armageddon to Deep Impact, and that's pretty darn cool. Now if we can just get a woman on the team...

The Day Has Come

2008-11-03T16:13:00.000-08:00

I've endured sometimes as many as three e-mails daily from MoveOn.org, all because I wanted a Barack Obama pin. It took two months, but last week it arrived and promptly broke in two when I attempted to fasten it to my lap top case. It's just as well, since I'm pretty uneasy about wearing my opinion on my sleeve anyway... well, at least in the real world.

So this is my obligatory night-before-the-election post, where I encourage everyone to vote because I'm such a socially-conscious and responsible citizen. I mean, that's what I would be doing, but I think the internet is pretty well covered on that end. All my friends on Facebook are pretty avidly encouraging each other to vote / notice how excited they are to vote, and the blogs I frequent are all essentially doing the same.

So I'm good.

I think I'm going to do some sit-ups in an effort to combat the fact that I've been eating all the Halloween candy that was never distributed because we had literally zero trick-or-treaters this year. Then I'm going to see if I can find a good deal on a dining room set with a cherry finish. Then... I dunno, but I'll figure out something. Definitely something that has nothing to do with the election.

I figure I'll wake up tomorrow morning, go vote, and then try to stay away from the media for the rest of the day. When the fix is in, I'll check-in with everyone else, and then, as Kenny in Don't Tell Mom the Babysitter's Dead says, "The dishes are done, man." Time to move on and roll with it. I'm sure the rest of America will feel that way too...

The Morning After

2008-10-31T09:06:00.000-07:00

A cowboy smokes a cigarette on the porch, looking over a dent on the bumper of his Buick Regal. Across the way, a lady vampire sets a bag of trash out on the steps. Her makeup is faded, and she's removed her black wig, but the line of fake blood drawn from the corner of her mouth is as bright as ever. The cowboy leans against an aluminum column, his hat tipped forward. Life imitates art imitating life.

I shut the window blinds and slide back down to the couch. My crumpled flight suit lays on the floor. Some jingling reminds me that I'm still wearing my dog tags. To my right, on the long couch, Trish stretches and groans softly. Her cheerleader outfit rides up a bit as she pushes her bottom out, revealing the bottoms of a pair of gym shorts.

The room smells like stale beer and old smoke. The counter is littered with bottles, and I try to make out which ones still house liquid, though it's near impossible to see anything clearly under the glow of the novelty red light bulb that Eric screwed-in before the party. A sign on the wall reads: "Welcome to HELL" in big block letters. Something heavy hits the floor upstairs.

A minute or so later, Eric comes stumbling down, his hand mussing through the hair on the back of his head. He nods to me a greeting, so as not to wake Trish. He is no longer wearing his costume -- a devil in a Hawaiian shirt and flip-flops -- but for a moment I think I can see horns rising from the top of his head. He disappears into the bathroom and shuts the door.

Despite suggestions made by the light and sign, the house has grown cold. Probably a window left open somewhere. I move my feet to the floor and, after a moment's consideration, begin to slip back into my costume. An empty Trojan wrapper falls out of the pile as it unravels, reminding me of what Trish and I got up to last night. I grip it with my toes and rake it underneath the couch.

The toilet flushes and Eric reappears. This time I can swear he's got on those horns.

Happy Halloween

2008-10-31T00:00:00.000-07:00

I feel the need. The need for speeeeeeed.

Important Business Afoot

2008-10-29T15:01:00.000-07:00

You'll have to excuse me, fictitious audience that I pretend reads my blog. My posts have been lacking in both substance and frequency, neither of which I usually tolerate, but given my rather hectic personal life at the moment, I've been more lenient. Sadly, this violates my code of ethics; that is, sounding like an idiot in a public forum. Perhaps an explanation is due.

I got a job! Not only that, but I got a job that I'm actually excited about. I'll be working for an educational publisher (perk #1), and I'll be utilizing both my degree and recent work experience (and there's #2). Basically, what I've been talking about doing for the last few years... well, yeah, I'm going to be doing that. And I'm quite happy about it.

I've been joking lately about how much I want to become a yuppy. I envision hypotheticals like litter-training my purebred chihuahua, or shopping exclusively at organic foods markets. I'd been doing this for much of the past week, since I felt pretty confident about the job prospect, but then a few days passed after the interview, and the doubt settled in.

Then I got the call, and here I am, breaking blog rule numero uno; never discuss your personal life. But, in the words of Ron Burgundy, "Well I can't help it, it's FAN-TASTIC!" Of course, with the renewed sense of accomplishment, I've returned to my yuppy yearnings, though with a little bit less humor this time. I found myself thinking today, "Oh, now I can afford that bookcase I saw at IKEA..." Terrible.

I don't like yippy dogs though. That much remains true. Plus, from what I've read in a few books and on the internet, litter-training a dog is one of those things that, yeah, you can do, but in reality, it's better to just get a cat. In other news, I'll hopefully post some pictures from Halloween in the near future, but at the very least, I'll post a picture of my costume. Maveriiick!

Howling Wind Productions and The Lab

2008-10-24T07:05:00.000-07:00

I probably should've posted this at the beginning of October, but I've been so busy trying to find a job / working on my Pete Maverick costume.

Yes, that's me on the left. You probably can't recognize me with my hair combed that way, but that really is yours truly. This is from The Lab's website, and was taken with my crappy camera phone during their first season open (they're on their third). I'm going to head out tonight for my yearly visit, though I don't plan on being put to work. Jenny and Mike, who run the haunt (and who may or may not be my cousin and her husband) are also the creators of such award-winning short films as How to Dispose of a Human Body, Aliens Among Us, and Love Freak (two of which I may be in). You can check out their videos, and some of Jenny's editing work at the Howling Wind Productions Youtube site.

But shying away from family promotion, let's go back to The Lab (okay, a little promotion), which is a truly awesome haunted attraction, and well-worth the drive to scenic Gross Isle, Michigan, which is in itself a creepy island littered with coyotes and dead-end streets. Every year I can look forward to getting lost en route, eventually finding The Lab, and then seeing what's new inside. I'm excited to see what they've done with Tommy -- one of the more portable Lab actors -- and getting the routine from the cast, which is in my opinion the most dedicated and enthusiastic that one can find in a modern haunt.

So, if you live in the Metro Detroit area, you know, go to The Lab.

"Why I Am a Liberal" by Robert Browning

2008-10-20T15:16:00.000-07:00

"Why?" Because all I haply can and do,
All that I am now, all I hope to be,
Whence comes it save from fortune setting free
Body and soul the purpose to pursue,
God traced for both? If fetters, not a few,
Of prejudice, convention, fall from me,
These shall I bid men -- each in his degree
Also God-guided -- bear, and gayly too?

But little do or can the best of us:
That little is achieved thro' Liberty.
Who then dares hold, emancipated thus,
His fellow shall continue bound? Not I,
Who live, love, labour freely, not discuss
A brother's right to freedom. That is "Why."

I usually don't speak directly about politics, but for the record, I'm voting for Barack Obama.

All These Mash-Ups

2008-10-17T07:51:00.000-07:00

The Mash-Up is as old as hip hop. In fact, one could say that the two terms are synonymous. You've got a sampled beat with variations cut-in by a DJ (or more commonly nowadays, a producer) and the original lyrics of at least one MC. However, as rap music has seeped into popular culture, and creative commons licensing has developed, more and more artists are spending their time chopping up the vocals from one track, instrumentation from another, adding a beat, and essentially writing their own genre-non-specific tracks. There you have the Mash-Up.

Of course, not everyone makes their fortune doing this. If you look on Limewire, for instance, you can find any number of songs labeled "T.I. raps over blondiee... this is siiiick!!1" or "DJ ProMo presents ULTIMATE HIP HOP MEGAMIX featuring fat joe, jeezy, plies, busta and more!!!" Yeah, for some reason the people on Limewire don't have any serious hangups on the grounds of spelling, grammar, capitalization, etc. It also should be noted that 9 times out of 10 when you download a file such as this, it's either a badly-synced acapella laid over some old track which is turned up very loud, or you've been Rickrolled.

But that's not to say there isn't good stuff. A few weeks ago, a Mash-Up artist that goes by the name Girl Talk was in town, playing a show. I didn't go, because it was on a work night, and I like to live my life at all times like I'm twenty years older than I actually am. However, due to some prompting by a good friend, and after reading an article about the show, I decided to at least check out the music. I was elated to find that his most recent album, Feed the Animals is available for download, in its entirety, as a set-your-own-price kind of deal. Oh, and it's good.

If you've ever wanted to know what it would sound like if Lil Mama rapped over "One" by Metallica, Animals is the album that will grant you that peace of mind. Not to mention a number of other strange combinations that all seem to, against all odds, work. For the A.D.D. generation of music, this is most definitely the logical next step. It's very amusing, at any rate.

On Sunday I received an ad in my e-mail for "Ludacris Democracy," the 9-song Cassettes Won't Listen mix of various Ludacris acapellas over the leaked tracks from Guns N' Roses' much-anticipated Chinese Democracy. As of right now, the mix has been removed from the main host site, however, if you're a savvy internet user, then I'm sure you can find it. The mix is certainly inventive, and is actually really cool-sounding. Not being a huge Guns N' Roses fan, and having admitedly never purchased an actual Ludacris album, I was quite surprised by how much I was able to get into the tracks. Unfortunately, it seems the RIAA does not feel the same way.

It may be early to say if Mash-Ups will stay predominantly in the club, or if there's going to be a resurgence of interest in DJs as in the Fatboy Slim / Paul Oakenfold craze roughly ten years ago. What can be said is that, when done right (as in those mentioned above, and others, like the Rainydayz Remixes and The Grey Album), these mixes are good fun, and maybe shouldn't be taken so seriously, as in the cases of certain mainstream artists who have tried to capitalize on them in the recent past.

Re: iTunes 8.0

2008-10-15T14:56:00.001-07:00

Dear iTunes,

I am writing to request that you cease and desist with doing some -- if not all -- of the following:

Developing new and annoying features a la Genius. While I appreciate that you are trying to assist me in my playlist-making, grouping Chuck Berry and Incubus together because they are both technically "rock" does me no favors. Very rarely am I listening to the S.C.I.E.N.C.E. album and thinking about how great it would be for Anti-Gravity Love Song to be followed by that song that Vincent and Mia dance to in Pulp Fiction. Yeah, I obviously know the title, but I'm trying to prove a point... which is now becoming, why do I even have that song in my library?
Taking forever to do anything. When I re-scan my "My Music" folder to add new songs, why doesn't it just add the new songs and... you know, have that be it? Why does it have to process / analyze gapless playback / search for artwork for my entire library? I mean, not to sound like a broken record, but can't it just do that stuff for the new songs? Actually, skip that, can't it just add my songs and leave the rest up to me? I'm a pretty responsible guy, I'd probably want to determine the gapless playback for my albums. I just want to be given the choice...
Being so big. 84 megabytes? All you've got to do is hook me up with overpriced music and play the songs I've already paid too much for! Winamp's like 24meg and it loads lickety-split!

Look, I like my iPod. It's a cool color, it holds lots of songs, and I even play the games on it sometimes. However, the fact that I have to load it using iTunes is a bit of a deterrent. I mean, you do have a monopoly, so what choice have I got? But just so you know, I am disappointed. That's a bad iTunes. Baaad.

Sincerely,

Another Sucker

Free Downloads

2008-10-12T19:08:00.000-07:00

A lot of times, great things seem to come from nowhere. There's just too much music in the world to sift through, looking for something that speaks directly to one's soul (or whatever), so isn't it nice when a good song just happens to fall in your lap? Furthermore, isn't nice when you can take said music and put it on some kind of portable music player to listen to away from your lap top? Well, I'll just say "you're welcome" in advance.

Here are some songs. You won't have to sign up for anything, or download some lame p2p application. Each site is refreshingly unannoying; just the "right-click, save as" kind of deal. Start your week with some new tunes.

Marching Band - Make Up Artist (alternative)
The Muldoons - The Sycamore Bees (folk)
Portastatic - I Wanna Know Girls (alternative)
Tom Paxton - How Beautiful Upon the Mountain (folk)

Cheers.

"Eggy weggs! I'd smash 'em!"

2008-10-10T07:20:00.000-07:00

Pictured is the Nordic Ware 2-Cavity Microwave Egg Poacher. I do not have this. I have some tupperware version that, really, I believe functions the exact same way and should ideally produce the same results. That is, poached eggs. Never microwave-poached yourself some eggs before? Well it works like this:

Step #1: Coat the inside of the poacher with a cooking spray of some sort.
Step #2: Place a teaspoon of water in the bottom of each compartment.
Step #3: Empty one raw egg into each compartment.
Step #4: Poke holes in both of the yolks (I use a toothpick).
Step #5: Place cover over egg poacher.
Step #6: Microwave for roughly one minute.

The end.

Microwave egg poachers have done to traditional egg-poaching what McDonalds has done to the word "gourmet." Ah, blessed convenience. In the morning, when I'm finding it hard to get excited about a bowl of off-brand Cinnamon Toast Crunch, eggs and toast sounds just dandy, and seeing as I'm not the most organized guy at 7:30, I need all the extra time I can muster. Naturally, this is where the microwave egg poacher comes in.

But it's not all fluffy deliciousness. What it doesn't say in the infomercials, or on Amazon, is that eggs being poached in the microwave sometimes explode. Yes, explode as in "BOOM!" I should know, since I was a victim of this this morning (I'm sure you're surprised). Hey, you know what's not a time-saver? Cleaning gooey bits of egg out of your microwave. Not to mention how unsatisfying it is to have your breakfast consist of wheat toast and the limp, pitiful half-an-egg that actually remained in the poacher.

I'm not trying to discourage you from buying a microwave egg poacher. I mean, I'm not really trying to encourage you either...

You know, sometimes even I can't believe that this is the fodder I choose to write about.

Way To Normal

2008-10-08T16:40:00.000-07:00

Well, Way To Normal is out, and of course I got it. I'll spare you a lengthy review, since if there's one thing I know about Ben Folds fans, it's that they will buy pretty much anything he releases (and I must include myself in that lot). The album is somewhere between the Supersunnyspeedgraphic LP and Songs for Silverman in terms of artistry; less thrown-together than the former, and not as heavy lyrically as the latter.

Basically, you can tell that Ben is at a point in his career where he just wants to have some fun. A little less "Fred Jones," and a lot more "Bitches Ain't Shit" (this is particularly evidenced by new track, "Bitch Went Nuts"). Of course, it would be virtually impossible for the man who so effortlessly plays dual roles as both John and Taupin to release something that isn't simply great powerpop, but I doubt that this is his Goodbye Yellow Brick Road.

The Kids Are Alright...?

2008-10-08T07:58:00.001-07:00

I have a love/hate relationship with Wednesdays. On one hand, I go into work late, so I have time to get things done in the morning that I wouldn't have if I were working my usual 9-5 shift. Unfortunately, my subconscious is aware of these plans, and often sabotages them by allowing me to oversleep. Today, though from a slightly superficial standpoint, has been pretty productive, since I was able to work out and then plop back down in front of my computer, all before 11 o'clock. To amplify my laziness, I flipped on the television, which for some reason was tuned into Nickelodeon.

What happened to children's programming? Dora the Explorer? Ni Hao Kai-Lan? And if you flip the channel; The Doodlebops? Don't get me wrong, I appreciate television working hard (so parents don't have to) at making kids bi-lingual and acceptant of multicolored homosexuals, but where's the Rocko's Modern Life and Ren & Stimpy? You know, the entertaining and subtly inappropriate stuff that helped me cultivate an actual sense of humor to deal with the mundane life that we all ultimately discover when we grow up. And what's with cartoon characters now speaking directly to their audience, with these long pauses where presumably the child is responding? That's just dead air, yo!

I guess it comes down to this: why are there so many TV shows geared toward supposedly making children smarter, yet we as a nation are obviously growing more stupid with each passing day? If it's an issue of realism, I'd like to interject that a starving cartoon dog and cat picking through garbage and finding solace in fart jokes is far more realistic in today's world than a little Spanish-American girl who gets to traipse around the globe with her talking monkey, actually helping people. They should do an episode where Boots is euthanized by the border patrol when Dora can't come up with the proper documentation to prove he's actually a pet of some sort. Keeping your international travel papers organized -- now that's a useful lesson.

The Chase

2008-10-01T15:24:00.000-07:00

The year was 1994 (apparently the same year that Jay-Z was pulled over for doing 55 in a 54). Charlie Sheen's career had yet to completely drop out from under him. Kristy Swanson was still the only Buffy. The world was uncertain about what to do with the primarily unpleasant Henry Rollins. And the Red Hot Chili Peppers were awesome. Director, Adam Rifkin, had a screenplay and a dream that would combine all of these elements (except Jay-Z), the product of which was The Chase.

The Chase is the story of Jack Hammond (Sheen), a man wrongfully imprisoned due to a case of mistaken identity. Having escaped from jail, Jack is traveling to Mexico when he has to stop for gas. This is where he meets Natalie Voss (Swanson), a Paris Hilton-esque daddy's girl, whom he kidnaps (using a Butterfinger as a fake gun) when two cops enter the station. From here on, the pair are on the run in Natalie's BMW, being followed by cops, the media, and backwoods vigilantes. Of course, hilarity (and romance) ensues.

Okay, that's all a little tongue-in-cheek, but there is actually a lot more going for The Chase than one might assume. Josh Mostel (the pro-wrestler-turned-principal from Billy Madison) is an excellent foil character to Rollins' Officer Dobbs, creating some of the funniest un-funny moments in the movie, and a turn of events that results in several cadaviers being spilt over the highway is both original and genuinely humorous. The dialogue, while of course campy in parts, is still pretty snappy as well.

I saw The Chase, probably not too long after its original release, when it was playing on Cinemax. I was maybe 11 or 12. I'm sure I didn't get a lot of the humor, but I was nonetheless moved by the simpler jokes, the fast-paced direction, and the scene where Kristy Swanson unbuttons her top. The movie was played pretty often on various movie channels, so growing up, I saw it quite a few times. Then, last Thursday, I had just gotten home from running when I flipped on the TV and there it was, back again, in all its glory. Of course I sat there and watched it, despite being caked in sweat.

Two things I noticed this time around: First, the movie is clever. It's not making a statement about Darfur or anything, but it's clever. Second, during one of the climactic scenes, where Hammond is considering giving himself up, "The Next Life" by Suede plays as he imagines the consequences, and it's phenomenal. I mean, I'm not a cinematographer/director/anything, but I really dig that scene. And the song. I can't get that song out of my mind actually. Very rarely do I patronize the iTunes store, but special circumstances called for it, and I haven't looked back.

In all, I suppose I would say that The Chase is not the greatest movie in the world. But it's definitely good. It's like comfort food. I mean, you can't always eat at a five-star restaurant, right? (Or ever, for some... well, most.) You need fluff. If every movie you saw was No Country For Old Men, you'd blow your brains out. Or start talking in Tommy Lee Jones monologues, and honestly, I'm not really sure which I'd welcome more.

Okay, but seriously, No Country For Old Men was awesome.

Oscar the Grouch

2008-09-27T12:12:00.000-07:00

"Music makes one feel so romantic - at least it always gets on one's nerves - which is the same thing nowadays." -Oscar Wilde

Some songs to make you feel romantic:
"Out Loud" by Dispatch
"Rise" by Josh Rouse
"Human Hands" by Sondre Lerche and the Faces Down Quartet
"Cannonball" by Damien Rice
And as always, "In Your Eyes" by Peter Gabriel. Oh yeah.

Dig Your Local Zines

2008-09-26T08:32:00.000-07:00

It took me 24 years to understand the true value of rags like Metro Times and Real Detroit. It's not their bathroom practicality (since they're unstapled and tend to fall apart when not being read on a reliable surface), and it's not because they're fun to leave around your work area (seeing as nearly every page has a gigantic advertisement of a half-naked club-hopper beneath a headline that reads something like "THERE WILL BE A VERITABLE ORGY THIS FRIDAY NIGHT AT BERNIE'S!!!"). No, it's because they tell you stuff.

Say you have a girlfriend, for instance, and you want to impress her with your intimate knowledge of all things urban. You want to say, "[RANDOM LOCAL BAND] is playing a CD-release show at [HIP BAR] on Thursday. I thought we could have dinner at [TRENDY SUSHI JOINT], then check it out." Of course, after hearing this, the girlfriend would swoon, and everyone would then be much cooler for the experience. See, local zines can provide this sort of fulfillment. You don't have to actually be a trendoid to live the trendoid lifestyle, though a pair of tight black jeans wouldn't hurt.

Then there's the local music exposure. It's the general procedure for most suburbanites to only see bands in which they know the keytarist, but reading the CD reviews in Metro Times can actually provide a small amount of motivation to move outside of this comfort zone. Now you can look at your girlfriend and say, "Have you heard [PRETENTIOUS ALBUM TITLE] by [RANDOM LOCAL BAND]? It's amaaazing." And occasionally, one may actually mean it when they draw out those vowels, because the music is actually good. For instance, Black Out the Stars (I hate to beat a dead horse, but the album is seriously pretty durn good).

Restaurant reviews, liberal political views, even a horoscope or two (dig that rhyme scheme); it's all there for the taking. And in this time of economic crisis, it's your responsibility as an American to support local business, even if it means driving to a hole-in-the-wall record store to procure an indie album, or paying probably too much for a tea saucer-sized entree drizzled in avacado sauce. Think of your local zine as a sort of activity menu. You can blindly pick an option from each section and go with it, and no one has to know that you're not actually trying to be ironic by wearing that old t-shirt.

My Own Personal Re-Up

2008-09-24T14:56:00.000-07:00

There's been a slight change in the format of my blog. No longer entitled "Much Ado About Immaculate Contraception," I've decided to go with the more simple "The Raymond Valentine Show." This is for two reasons, the first of which is that "Much Ado," as a title, seemed to only confuse people, and was apparently only clever to me. The second reason is that by adding the word "Show" to my nom de plume, and preceding the whole thing with a "The," people may actually get the impression that the writings found here are (a) entertaining, and (b) interesting.

The joke is on you, blog-hoppers.

In the future, I intend to report on the following: Music; Writing; Michigan Life; and any combination of the three. This is unless I stop living in Michigan, stop reading/writing, or have my ears surgically removed because I'm sick of hearing people tell me things like "Everything's going to be alright," and "It all happens for a reason." As you can see, cynicism will likely remain, but I am planning on keeping my personal life under-wraps. At least a bit moreso. I'm sorry to those who were vaguely interested in the complexities of my being.

So, cheers. I hope those of you who have been reading along will continue to do so, and I hope that those of you who stumble upon this page accidentally will give a moment's consideration before clicking "Stumble!"

You're Awful, I Love You

2008-09-23T20:26:00.000-07:00

I can't say that I'll ever be one of those people who is able to avoid pop music completely. The fact is, sometimes radio gets it right, and this is true in the case of the St. Louis band, Ludo (yes, named after the rock-loving horned dude from Labyrinth). Their album's debut single, Love Me Dead, is probably the coolest song I've heard on the alternative station since Hell by Squirrel Nut Zippers got its limited run in the 90s.

Like Hell, Love Me Dead certainly isn't hurt by its having a strange but cool music video, which is almost entirely driven by the charisma of the band's frontman, Andrew Volpe. The song itself is very clever lyrically, and the music that backs it is bouncy and entertaining. Good fun, I would say, for any appreciator.

The album, which draws its title from a lyric in the aforementioned track, is not exactly flawless. The overall content is good, but there are a few songs that don't exactly push the envelope. Drunken Lament sounds like an interpretation of Ozma covering Weezer (which is to say, basically every Ozma song), and Topeka sounds like it's lifted straight from a Motion City Soundtrack album.

But tracks like Lake Pontchartrain and The Horror of Our Love make up for any dullness on the record. The latter is a soft ballad that could pass for a love song, were it not for its violent lyrical content ("I want you stuffed into my mouth; Hold you down and tear you open; Live inside you; Oh, love I'd never hurt you"). Go-Getter Greg is another tale of creepiness, accentuated by Volpe's theatric vocals, and Such As It Ends is a nice pop ditty.

You can't really blame the band for the whole of their album, since much of the modern production process is focused on what's marketable, rather than what's new and interesting, but You're Awful, I Love You is certainly a nice change of pace from the other junk the region is being spoonfed. Either that or Detroit needs a greater variety on its alternative station. Something other than Three Days Grace, Three Doors Down and 311 maybe.

[Note: special props to Chris for fostering the Ludo love.]

Love in Da Club

2008-09-12T07:00:00.000-07:00

In this week's issue of Jet, there's an article by Keri Carpenter about hip-hop artists using strip clubs as test audiences for their potential hits. This is all apparently outlined in T. Denean Sharpley-Whiting's book Pimps Up; Ho's Down: Hip Hop's Hold On Young Black Women. Sharpley Whiting notes that the process is "Less costly than radio promotions, a mere five-to-twenty dollar club admission and a tip out to the DJ can assure at the very least a hearing among the most discerning of dancers." The article itself also quotes producers and rappers like Jermaine Dupri and Ludacris, who explain the practice as a sort of networking opportunity.

You know, as the somewhat nerdy white guy in brown shorts and glasses behind the counter at your local library, it probably seems odd for me to be commenting on something like strip club marketing, but I can't help that I have an opinion. What's particularly strange is that I've been given tons of those postcard-sized "free passes" to various clubs by regular joes who come into my work, and who think that it's just the thing I need to lighten up, and I -- unable to deal properly with such an awkward presumption -- generally just accept them and throw them into the trash later.

Strip club culture (which I've always thought a strange combination of terms) is becoming increasingly relevant in today's society. Not only do I hang around with a bunch of dudes always clamoring to go, but I find that I can't turn on television or radio without catching interviews with former strippers-turned-business moguls, VH1 specials about how celebrities go to strip clubs and spend lots of money (which makes it classier or something), and the occasional piece about how strip clubs may further a misogynistic fantasy that is hindering the advancement of us as a people.

But stripping is not really my issue. Not that it matters, but I figure a woman (or man) has every right to be oggled in whatever state of dress they choose. My issue is the association of hip-hop, as an artform, with stripping. Don't get me wrong, songs like "What's Your Fantasy?" and "Sexual Eruption" totally belong in the club. In fact, since I can't imagine anyone actually faring well romantically, playing a song like this for a potential love interest, the strip club is probably where the tracks were destined to end up from the beginning. But that's not all hip-hop. That's just the hip-hop that the majority is exposed to.

There are MC's that rap about their personal lives, and local issues, and even global concerns, and they're able to do it without sounding like this. Did you know that "Gold Digger" was actually the second single off of Kanye West's Late Registration album, and that the first was "Diamonds From Sierra Leone," which spawned a remix in which Kanye and Jay-Z wax philosphical on the topic of drug trafficking and blood diamonds? Did you know that "Diamonds From Sierra Leone" won a grammy in 2006 for Best Rap Song? Now guess which of these three songs reached number one on the Billboard Hot 100 chart.

There's a song called "9-5ers Anthem" off of Aesop Rock's Labor Days album that is easily one of my favorite songs written about being blueish-white collar and being somewhat disenfranchised with that fact. The album, which carried this theme throughout, earned much praise and critical acclaim. It did not make it into the Hot 100 list. That year "Where the Party At?" by Jagged Edge and Nelly ended up making it into the top 5 R&B/Hip Hop Singles & Tracks though, so that's good. The number one album spot was held by R. Kelly.

Again, it's not that I have a problem with strippers. Afterall, it's an industry that obviously isn't going anywhere. However, I don't see why we as a society can't put our feet down and ask for more from our artists. The song "Lollipop" by Lil Wayne is terrible. People who like it even say so. But Lil Wayne is not. I swear, he's not a bad rapper. I've heard him say genuinely interesting and poignant things. But I think he needs a push. I think we all do. We don't have to settle for strip club rap. If you want that stuff, then go to the strip club.

Top Five Records

2008-09-11T09:26:00.001-07:00

I feel bad for missing my semi-regular Wednesday night post. (I suppose I'd feel worse if I thought anyone else had actually missed it.) I've been trying to get ahead on my TEFL coursework, while still giving it the attention it deserves. That's the trouble with on-line courses; it's a little harder to give them the same respect you would give a class that comes with a crotchety old professor breathing down your neck the whole time.

I'm finding myself listening to a lot of different music lately, which is good, because I'd been listening to The Beatles and Joe Henry almost exclusively for several months. In lieu of providing anything with real substance, I'm going to post a list, in High Fidelity fashion, of my top five albums at the moment, and if you'd like to respond with your own in a comment, that would be just fine. I can always use a friendly nudge.

1. Ellis Paul - Translucent Soul (folk)
2. Q-Tip - Amplified (hip-hop)
3. Huey Lewis & The News - Greatest Hits (rock)
4. Great Lake Swimmers - Bodies and Minds (folk)
5. Sea of Japan - Black Out the Stars (rock) -- FREE DOWNLOAD, by the way...

That's it for now, I suppose. Back to work.

3hive.com

2008-09-06T07:19:00.001-07:00

I hate to ride in the wake of The Metro Times, but I was reading the music section (like I like to do) and, as always, checking out Chris Handyside's On the Download column. This week, the Silent Years and their side-project, Sea of Japan were highlighted, in addition to Ann Arbor folk act, Frontier Ruckus (who sound great by the way). Also briefly profiled is 3hive.com, a music sharing website which I am now going to plug.

As torrents enter their twilight years, I'm often wondering what the future of music piracy will be. I, like many, must admit that I have downloaded some tunes illegally in the past, and while I'm sure I feel bad about it somewhere deep inside, I'm comforted knowing that the best way to truly support an artist is to go to a show, not to download an encrypted file-protected 4-times burnable mp3 copy of their creation. (P.S. Ellis Paul is playing The Ark in October.)

But with the music industry the way that it is, and not everyone living in a cool metropolis, it's sometimes hard to get exposed to truly good music, without simply succumbing to whatever garbage is getting shoveled your way by the local Top 40 station. A lot of people I've met in this situation rebel by listening exclusively to classic rock, which is fine, but I worry that it's this sort of thinking that led me to hear something like eight terrible Beatles covers in the past year playing in the backgrounds of Target commercials and other things (and don't get me started on The Jonas Brothers).

Record labels like Asthmatic Kitty and even Epitaph have made it easy for fans to listen to and sample free and exclusive tracks from their artists, which is very cool, but sadly not all labels share the "try-before-you-buy" mentality. This is where 3hive steps in, and shows some major thought and consideration, in what is typically a very impatient arena, by providing free downloads, genre/artist/label navigation, and well-written, personalized descriptions of the artists and tracks.

Today I heard a band that goes by Rench, from Brooklyn, who combine live instrumentation and samples to basically make bluegrass hip hop, which, yes, has been tried before, but in my opinion has never sounded as natural and effortless as it does here. I also found some cool J. Tillman tracks which really match the somber folk vibe I've had going on lately. It's been a good morning, at least for a dork like me who gets entirely too excited about re-loading his iPod.

With Great Mustache Comes Great Responsibility

2008-09-05T06:51:00.000-07:00

Sooo...

I was recently told that I am getting too old to be getting drunk on the weekend with my friends, and that's weighed pretty heavily on my mind since. I started thinking: "Am I too old for my PlayStation?" "Would it help my case if I ate more sushi?" "Is there any way I can give the appearance of maturity without actually working toward it as a tangible goal?" But then I suddenly realized...

MUSTACHE.

Okay, not really. The fake mustache (yes, sadly it is fake) came from a three-pack that my friend had for some undisclosed reason. It was my other pal's 24th birthday, and we were drinking 40s of Magnum and getting harassed by an overweight Welsh Corgi named Raphael. Now what part of that sounds juvenile? I mean, it wasn't technically the weekend...

The Clerical Exam

2008-09-03T20:15:00.000-07:00

There's something tragically funny about sitting in a high school gymnasium with 250 predominantly middle-aged job candidates competing for a single mediocre-paying government position, and looking around at all the banners with optimistic Senior class quotes written on them while waiting for the test to commence.

"Dream like you'll live forever; live like you'll die today." Yeeeah.

The 2008 Detroit International Jazz Festival

2008-09-01T19:36:00.000-07:00

Today was an excellent day to visit Detroit. The weather was cooperative, the bums were too exhausted from hounding people all weekend to chase after me with their toothpick American flags, and there was a parking lot that only charged me $5 to leave my car next to a decrepit building that is most likely coming soon to a "FIRE IN DETROIT" news report.

Hart Plaza was the place to be to catch some excellent Blue Note jazz by the riverfront. At the Mack Avenue Records Stage, we caught the end of the Instant Composers Pool Orchestra set, and they were kind enough to come back out for an encore. They were particularly amusing because it was a bunch of younger musicians led by Han Bennink and Misha Mengelberg, two older dudes from Amsterdam who wail on the drums and ivories, respectively.

Over on Woodward, the streets were lined with vendors selling hot dogs and Ella Fitzgerald posters, and every 500 feet there was a stage of some sort. The following video was taken at the Compuware Here and Now Stage, and unfortunately I couldn't dig up the singer's name. She was quite energetic, and really into crowd participation, which was cool, and if I had to guess, I'd say she was local.

A bit closer to Campus Martius, there was a much larger stage, where Calvin Cooke & Friends were playing a far more electric set than any of the other acts I saw. They had an excellent presence, and judging by the size the crowd, Detroit was eager to cheer on one of its hometown heroes.

Over by Au Bon Bain there was an excellent opportunity to sit and drink some "Jamaican" soda (brewed in Canada) and catch a few songs played by local jazz and music professors, which sounded oddly perfect, and were therefore strange to hear from a live band. Still, it was a nice way to end the day. And that was Jazzfest. I'd report on Saturday night's trip to Arts, Beats & Eats, but honestly that was all kind of a blur...

You'll have to excuse the video quality of my phone. I have yet to upgrade to a non-rickety model.

Today's Computer Gripes

2008-08-27T14:17:00.000-07:00

Facebook's chat feature. It's already bizarre that I have access to the virtual dossiers of kids I went to elementary school with, which include everything from embarrassing blackout drunk photoshoots to pictures of them making out with whoever it is they're in love with at the moment, but apparently now these people have the ability to send me random messages when I pop on to update my status (as if anyone cares about that either). It's just weird, man. I know the internet is really trying to downplay the creepy nature of reaching out to contact someone you haven't spoken to in ten years, but seriously, it is creepy. And trust me, I know creepy.

iTunes. Steve Jobs has made me late for work and other engagements a few too many times with his RAM-hogging, imperialistic software. Sometimes I just want to add a single song to my iPod, in the hopes that it will come up in shuffle mode and brighten up my long and dreary drive in the morning, but by the time iTunes has loaded, frozen, un-frozen, and painstakingly organized my library for the umpteenth time (while simultaneously managing "gapless playback," which I've yet to actually experience), I'm already a block away from work, scarfing down a Nutri-Grain bar because I didn't have time for anything resembling a proper breakfast. The program is basically a concentration camp for all of your music files, except it's just as difficult to get them in as it is to get them out. Now, if you take a step back and look over things as a whole, you can kind of see what Apple was going for when they developed things like .aac format and protected MPEG-4 videos, but it doesn't make up for the fact that iTunes is essentially Capitalism that also happens to burn CDs.

Last.fm. Actually, I love Last.fm, but no one else needs to know that I've listened to "Shake It" by Metro Station 30 times since June. I can't help that pop music is my Achilles' heel...

Now watch as I continue to patronize all of these institutions.

Untitled (8/22/08)

2008-08-24T15:40:00.000-07:00

So I read that at a zoo in Muenster there’s an 11-year-old gorilla refusing to let go of its dead 3-month-old baby. As of this morning, it has been five days since the infant died of unknown causes. A friend of mine, who works in a pet store, thinks it died of malnourishment, which he pronounced to me after very carefully examining a grainy picture in the paper for several seconds. I did not venture my own guess. I asked him why the mother isn’t letting go, and he said that he’s seen cats do it before, though he added quickly that they sometimes eat their babies.

Thank god that isn’t us, I said. We are civilized. We don’t go around marching dead babies through the streets, unless there’s good reason for it. And we damn sure don’t eat them. Hell, we’re practically giving the things away! We had a good laugh about this and parted ways, and for the rest of the day I quoted my friend as an animal expert when discussing the gorilla story with my other associates and colleagues. This was yesterday, when the article came out I mean.

Today I can’t seem to shake the gorilla story, but I’m not going to talk about it with anyone unless they bring it up first. Today I want to talk about Sasquatch. He’s like a gorilla, I guess. I’m not going to ask my friend the animal expert’s opinion because he’s not an expert in Crypto Zoology like I am. I’ve got a Time Life boxed set of books that cover everything from UFOs to the Chupacabra, and there’s almost an entire half of one about Sasquatch. Have you heard about this?

So a few months ago these guys were walking in the woods and supposedly found a dead Sasquatch being mourned by several others that are still living and breathing (I imagine this like that scene at the end of Harry and the Hendersons). Well, being men of science they had to do the sensible thing, so they dragged the corpse out to their car and took it home, where, in the interest of science, they decided to freeze the body. If this were all true, I would swear that Sasquatch must actually be the missing link, because the mourners didn’t go all crazy when their relative was uprooted like that. Very sensible, like us.

So a bit of time passes before the guys decide to speak up (because obviously you don’t tell just anyone that you’ve found the remains of Big Foot!), but they eventually decide to announce it nationally, and of course the world’s interest is piqued. Not only have Sasquatch been found, but they’ve been hiding out in Georgia? Rumors began to fly about the Big Foot line possibly being directly descended from none other than Rhett Butler, and people sigh with relief that they don’t have to think about that other Georgia – the one where all those people are dying for some reason. Something about oil.

Of course it turned out to be a gorilla suit in ice, but still, it was a nice distraction.

I talk about this with my co-workers and they tell me that it’s not news, but I contest such a statement. I say that it must be news, because it was on the news, and they grumble and walk away. Some people don’t understand how this all works. My friend the animal expert, he knows the score. People want there to be truth and meaning to everything nowadays, and you ain’t going to get it. Sometimes you’ve just got to know when to call it quits. You can’t drag around that dead baby forever.

Short Man's Room

2008-08-20T15:49:00.000-07:00

Yes, Joe Henry is married to Madonna's sister. Yes, he co-wrote and produced the soundtrack to Knocked Up alongside Loudon Wainwright III. But he's also been recording his own music since the 80s, and has been doing a very good job of it, albeit unnoticed. You will most likely not be hearing any songs from Short Man's Room unless you specifically make the effort to do so, and as you may have guessed, I'd like to encourage you to do just that.

Released in 1992 (re-released on CD in 1999), this is Henry's country-ier of two alt-country albums (the other being Kindess of the World) that were made before he began exploring his more experimental jazzy side. But don't let the word "country" scare you away, because what this really is is an example of American songwriting that can not, and should not, be constrained by labels. PLUS, a fun note for Michiganders: dig the shout-out on the album's eighth track, Sault Sainte Marie.

Short Man's Room works on multiple levels. First, you have Henry's undeniable abilities as a songwriter. When listening, I often find myself catching a quip or a line and smirking at his cleverness, and while Henry loves metaphors, he's a good enough sport where he doesn't generally leave anyone out on the joke. When he begins with, "Bring me the head of John the Baptist" on Stations (track three), you just need to have faith that he's going somewhere with this.

Next, there's the actual music. Most tracks need to breathe. I would recommend taking a drive while listening, if at all possible, on a warm summer evening, with the windows down, somewhere where the odds of getting stuck in front of a club blasting Katy Perry are minimal. This is open road music, but not like George Thorogood, where you feel like slamming a couple beers first and maybe gunning down a sheriff. Fiddles abundant, and acoustic guitars as the predominant norm, Short Man's Room is best enjoyed under the condition that you actually shut up while ingesting. I swear, you won't regret it.

Now for kind of a bummer; the CD is not easily physically available anywhere. If you follow the Amazon links, you'll discover that you can purchase it for a pretty exorbitant price from private sellers, or go the digital download route, which fits a bit awkwardly with this sort of music. Unfortunately, I had to go with the latter. As a library worker, I should probably tell you to see if you can rent it, but unless your local library is either really cool or has an extremely dated indie rock collection, that's probably a no-go.

But please, trust me. If you're looking for some new old tunes, this is the album to go with (not to mention the rest of Henry's catalogue). It's honest, and it's good. And it's obscure, if you're into all that.

Particular recommended tracks: Stations, The Diving Bell, Best To Believe
Other albums by Joe Henry: Scar, Fuse, Civillians (2007)

This is the Greatest and Best Band in the World... Well, a Tribute

2008-08-16T08:28:00.000-07:00

I've made fun of a lot of cover bands, and generally speaking, most cover bands deserve to be made fun of. But the funny thing is, cover bands are also typically the most fun bands to see play live, partly because they've obviously made peace with playing the same material night after night, and partly because the only conflicts of ego are staged. Most of all, it seems that the band members themselves are having fun, and that 's always infectious.

I went to Farmington Hills on Thursday night to see Shout!, an award-winning Beatles tribute band that is actually from dear ol' Michigan. Being a fan of the Fab Four myself, I was just happy to see their music performed live in some fashion, having missed the boat for the real deal by about thirty years, not to mention it was a less creepy place to take my date than, say, a Bob Seger concert (and I mean the real Bob Seger).

Okay, the Liverpool accents were a bit off, and the guys were a bit big for the classic Beatles britches, but no one can help being born American and having the accompanying physique. The banter was often funny, though bordering on cheesy, and at one point when some drunk shouted, "Yellow Submarine!" 'John' sardonically replied, "We already did that one. Children came up here and danced, and everyone sang along. Where were you?" I laughed, anyway.

The venue was ideal; a beautiful summer evening under the sky; sunset, fireflies; the whole schtick. The sound was great, and other concert goers were, on the whole, not obnoxious, so digging the tunes and singing along was not an option -- it was a requirement. And on a personal note, I've got to add that I was immensely impressed by my lady friend's knowledge of Beatles lyrics, which I'm sure only added to the experience.

But back to the band. The first 'act' was performed in the group's Paris suits, with matching mop tops. A lot of Please Please Me, some With the Beatles, and a couple of my favorites from Rubber Soul. The group honestly performed well together. The mere fact that they harmonized successfully for Nowhere Man is a testament to their tightness as a band. The instrumentation was also spot-on, particularly that of 'George,' who seemed to have a pedal for every effect necessary.

The second half was performed in the group's Sgt. Pepper gear, complete with groovy shades. A lot of the aforementioned album, along with a lot of Magical Mystery Tour and Abbey Road. 'Paul' didn't strain his voice as hard as the real McCartney, but he still delivered a rocking vocal, and for whatever it's worth, 'Ringo' did an excellent Octopus's Garden. Actually, he should be awarded major praise for his abilities as a drummer as well.

No, it wasn't The Beatles. A lot of serious fans wouldn't be caught dead at such a show, but I suppose that's neither here nor there. The bottom line is that I was entertained, and I was entertained well. I love the songs, and it's always nice to share that experience with others who feel the same. Sitting alone in a hermetically-sealed room, listening to the same misprinted vinyl 45s gets old, no matter how cool you are for doing it.

Fun in the Upper Peninsula

2008-08-10T19:40:00.000-07:00

Ah, the wonder of Michigan's Upper Peninsula; a place where the rich can go to break in their Eddie Bauer zip-off cargo shorts and the poor can go to open up smoked fish stands with attached gift shops. It's a place where natural beauty meets kitsch, where people eat pasties like they're about to go out of style, and where basically everything cool about living in Michigan converges into one big wilderness that the majority of the state's residents never even visit.

I've been going to the U.P. nearly every summer for as long as I can remember. I've been everywhere from Ontonagon to Copper Harbor, and I've seen sights that easily rival Niagara Falls and The Grand Canyon as far as aesthetic majesty and splendor are concerned. Of course, for every glorious bit of nature there is up there, there's a hundred decrepit shacks that people are forced to live in because of the near-stagnant economy, but there's no reason we can't just do like we do with Detroit and sort of turn the other way.

Sadly I missed the Humongous Fungus Festival in Crystal Falls, but I was still able to enjoy some other neat things. Wildlife was out in full effect, in the forms of deer, toads, beavers, snakes, fishers, swans, and even a few loons, and I can attest to the fact that there is a very healthy mosquito population as well. One other wildlife triumph came in the form of a restaurant closure near Silver City, where they used to toss food out near the dumpsters to draw out bears for people to watch.

I remember seeing this as a kid once. We stopped to get ice cream, and before we knew it there were a bunch of cars lined up in front of this caution tape strung from a post to the restaurant's side. A black bear came out and was rummaging through the trash, and people were taking pictures and having a gay old time, until the bear decided to cross the caution tape (apparently wild bears have no respect for man-made boundaries). Long story short, the bear climbed into some guy's pickup bed and scratched the hell out of the liner. I'm actually surprised that the place just closed down.

The Seney Wildlife Refuge was a blast as always, despite the grumpy old ladies working (or possibly volunteering) there. Actually, a lot of the aforementioned animals were spotted either here or in the Porcupine Mountains. They have a few trails that are best hiked early, before the blackflies and things come out, and a cool scenic drive where you can check out the marshland and get tailgated by idiots in GMCs that don't seem to understand the leisurely nature of a scenic drive.

But as everyone knows, the main ingredient of any good trip is an unexpected surprise. This year it came in the form of a botched hotel reservation which led us to a stay at the King Copper Motel in Copper Harbor. But let's be fair about this. First, the positives: The King Copper Motel is right along the shore of Lake Superior, and it is within walking distance of the half-mile 'downtown' area of Copper Harbor. Alright, now the negatives: The King Copper Motel looks almost exactly like the Bates Motel (see camera phone pictorial below). There is a half-inch between the bottom of the rooms' front doors and the ground, which allows for a spectacular array of spiders and things to scuttle in and out at their convenience. Oh, but they do have Showtime. Forgot to add that to the plus column...

Of course, the King Copper Motel is not the only place you can go in the U.P. for an eventful night's rest. Want to look like a pedophile, for instance? Well, look no further than room 127 at the AmericInn in Silver City. This room features all the amenities of home, PLUS a window that looks out over the INDOOR POOL AREA. (Yes, the photo above was taken from my bedside chair.) If you haven't had this experience, let me tell you, there's nothing quite like opening the curtains to see a little boy swimming merrily in a hotel pool, then looking up to his terrified mother, who is wondering why some stranger wearing gym shorts is looking through a glass window at her child.

But in retrospect, that's all more fodder for a good vacation story, and part of the fun of the U.P. is that you really don't know what you're getting yourself into until you go. It's kind of like a gentler, northern version of Deliverance, only the yuppies outnumber the locals and hardly anyone ever gets sodomized.

But boy, it sure is perrrty.

Sell Your Cellular (Live from Silver City)

2008-08-07T18:15:00.000-07:00

My cellphone has worked sporadically for the last few days, and when I say "sporadically," I mean it's delivered two text messages to me while I was at the tops of two separate mountains. It's pretty silly for me to even be carrying it around, since all it really does is tell time, take poor digital photos, and say "No netwk coverage," but I'd be constantly patting the side of my leg and reminding myself why the phone's not there if I left it in the hotel room or car. And that's lame.

I never even wanted a cellphone. I hate being reachable. If one of my bosses calls and wants me to work a Saturday, even if I don't answer, I know I still have to call back in a timely fashion, since they know damn well I'm never far from my damn phone. Also, ex-girlfriends are more likely to call and spout their disappointments to my cellular voicemail, since they can be reasonably sure that it will be me who listens to it. I dunno, there's a lot more reasons to not have a cellphone, but painstakingly listing them all would be ridiculous.

The fact is, I've been carrying some variation of my flip-phone for six or seven years now, and I can't get away from it. I'm connected. Addicted. I check my e-mail, I text message, I download overpriced video games that my more tech-savvy friends tell me I could just as easily get for free if I installed some kind of software. This most recent phone plays mp3s, which instead of entertaining my pals when standing around outside, just seems to annoy them (probably because I'm generally playing something like OMD or .38 Special).

I need out. I yearn for the days where a "long time" to wait for a someone to return a phone call was a couple of days, not a couple of minutes.

Of course, that is unless you're a potential employer, in which case, I'll gladly work Saturdays and be readily available whenever necessary.

Coming very soon: Upper Peninsula photo post.

It's the Muppet Show! AHHH!!!

2008-07-29T09:27:00.000-07:00

On August 3, 10 and 17, the Detroit Film Theater is playing Muppets, Music & Magic: Jim Henson's Legacy, a four-part series (the first of which was shown last Sunday) showcasing some rarities of Henson's work, early experiments, and emphasizing his impact on film and television. If it's been a while since you've watched The Muppet Show, Sesame Street, Labyrinth, Fraggle Rock, Dark Crystal, or Emmet Otter's Jug-Band Christmas, and you need a refresher on his work, I recommend viewing the following clip (one of my personal favorites).

Seeing Muppets, Music & Magic is a great way to spend a Sunday afternoon with, really, anyone. I was seated behind a woman easily in her 70s who was laughing just as hard as the bank of children just in front of her during one of Fozzy's schticks. Some highlights from the Jimmy Dean show with Ralph the Dog seem so surprisingly undated that you'll find yourself forgetting what year it is, before someone's Lil Wayne ringtone starts playing that is. If you live in the Metro Detroit area, and you generally find yourself unoccupied at 2:00pm on Sunday afternoons, I'd definitely suggest you check it out.

Au La Maison de Livres

2008-07-25T07:16:00.000-07:00

Let me tell you about public libraries today.

No longer the everyman's source of knowledge on basically everything, public libraries are essentially mall bookstores crossed with Flying J truckstops (wi-fi + crappy discount VHS tapes starring Dolph Lundgren). The reason for this, of course, is survival. See, in these most turbulent of times, the average consumer wants a lot more bang for their buck, even if that buck is actually a miniscule chunk of their taxes. But citizens could care less about Salinger or Nabokov; it's all about the Jenna Jameson autobiography, or bringing home a copy of Happy Feet on DVD to shut the kids up for a while.

But then comes the desire for other things. Like coffee! Why shouldn't the library make and sell gourmet coffee? I mean, since the Dewey Decimal System is so tricky (numbered and alphabetical? No thanks!), people are going to need to stay hydrated during an exhaustive search for, well, whatever, and the library should ignore its age-old policy of 'no food or drink near books that may be priceless or irreplacable' in the name of convenience, right? Furthermore, they should welcome the opportunity to bring in some extra revenue, despite the fact that the money will probably just go back to the government and never be seen again.

And while we're on the subject of coffee bars, how about some free internet over here? People keep talking about this internet, and the public has the right to experience it, free of charge. Libraries will, of course, need to have staffmembers on-hand, capable of explaining every facet of this brand new technology to those who can't pony-up the dough for Net-Zero. (Not to mention showing us the good porn sites, right buddy? Heh heh! Wait, whaddya mean I can't look at pornography in public while sitting adjacent to the juvenile fiction? I'm an American citizen, godammit!)

Hmmm. Sorry, as I've been writing this I've found myself becoming progressively more unreasonable. And southern. The point is, libraries are not, and should not be, Blockbusters. If you want Blockbusters, Starbucks, or Deja-Vu-style service, well, go to those places. I feel sorry when I see patrons -- generally older folks -- who come in to look at Sam's Photofacts, or look up obituaries on microfilm, as they've been doing for many years. They look around; at the people on their cellphones; at the men being asked to take their hands out of their pants; at the mothers allowing their children to run around screaming while they look up the new Janet Evanovich. They see this and they shake their heads, and all I can do is smile weakly.

In some ways, it would be nice if the world would stop changing. There's nothing wrong with taking your hat off when you go inside, out of respect.

Introspection in Your Section

2008-07-22T09:28:00.000-07:00

I was talking to a co-worker yesterday about predictability. She was saying how she could see where her brother is heading with his current relationship, and how it isn't going to be good, and I was describing a similar situation to her, which I have been monitoring for years, that I believe will more than likely end in disappointment for all involved. She and I then went back and forth on past examples where we had -- sadly -- been right about something that was none of our business. I said, "You know, isn't it a shame-" and she stopped me there, knowing exactly what I was about to say, but for those of you playing along at home, the sentence would've concluded, "that we can't view our own lives with that sort of perspective?"

I am at, as many before me have said, a crossroad. And not a cool, Eric Clapton crossroad, but a life-or-money, commitment-or-freedom kind of crossroad. Basically, it's time to make some serious decisions about things, and it would be really great to have the ability to be as accurately critical of myself as I am of others. For instance, am I subconsciously causing myself to repeat the same relationship patterns over and over again? Am I somehow sabotaging myself in the job market, unbeknownst to... well, myself? These are things which I could see in anyone else, but me being me, I can only hypothesize. Of course, I guess it is easier to blame circumstance, but it's getting real old.

Basically, I wish that I could give myself the constructive criticism that annoys me when coming from others.

Literary Shenanigans and Goings-On

2008-07-15T20:02:00.000-07:00

I haven't blogged about writing in a while, which is kind of weird since I actually have been writing. For the most part as of late I've been concentrating on doing the whole screenplay thing, since that's the only predominantly completed project I have going. In fact, you might say it's too completed, since it's 152 pages, and apparently that's something like 50 pages too long. This is where revisions and rewrites and things come in, and hence the picture of the solemn genleman on the right with no pants on (I find the editorial process goes much smoother when I can feel the air conditioning vent blowing on my bare legs). There's a lot of work left to be done, but I feel good about things, especially after the only person I know who actually makes a living off of her work in the film industry didn't tell me my script was complete garbage after reading it.

On the other end of the spectrum, I have a renewed interest in my children's detective story. The re-writes on that have been a vast improvement over the first round, which is good, since if we're talking business, I guess that one would be the real "money-maker" of the two projects. Not that it's about the money... Okay, well, of course it is, but I'm sure I can afford to be more of an idealist when I get a job. Speaking of which, I still haven't found a job.

The end.

Fuzz on Your Pants

2008-07-11T08:29:00.000-07:00

In the 'Sound Off' section of today's Macomb Daily, there's a comment with the headline, INDECENT EXPOSURE, so naturally I was drawn in to read it. It said: "I sure wish the police would ticket these teenagers walking around with their pants hanging down and exposing their underwear. To me, that is indecent exposure. Let's start giving them tickets."

This is, of course, not the first anonymous editorial comment on this issue. In fact, a lot of acrimony toward saggy-pants-wearing teenagers has been stirred-up since Flint took it's well-publicized stance against the drooping menace.

Perhaps my dwindling sense of youth has made me naive, but I was honestly unaware of the severity of the problem before I opened up the Free Press on Wednesday to a rather sizable photo of some ginger kid getting frisked by a Flint policeman under the headline, FLINT COPS CRACK DOWN ON PANTS.

I must admit, I could see much of the young man's 100% cotton Fruit of the Loom boxer shorts, but 24 years of my life having been spent watching films like Basic Instinct, Die Hard and Striptease, my sense were numb to the outrage that officer must have been feeling as he felt-up that teenage boy.

I'm actually embarrassed to admit that, after seeing the headline, my first thought was, "Why don't Flint cops crack down on, say, crack?" But after having thoroughly read the article and seeing the civic outcry, I can now say that I kind of understand. I mean, these people are feeling the same way I do when I see grown men, that are not homeless, wearing sweatpants in public. Right?

And I say, why stop there? Since I can only assume that the author of the INDECENT EXPOSURE comment was not a crotchety old lady, then I'm sure they wouldn't object to my request that all senior citizens -- men and women alike -- be required to wear braziers, so as to prevent the showing of nipples, which apparently grow to resemble the stems of bananas with age.

Not to mention pants. I mean, granted, seeing someone's underpants when you have no intention of sleeping with them is always unpleasant, but when an old person squeezes into those tight, off-color fake denim sort-of blue jeans which show every bump and contour of their downstairs (kind of like a topographical map), that's unfortunate for everyone of every age.

So in the end, I support the Flint Police Department, and all the cities that have followed their lead in the war on receding waistlines. Don't be afriad to ticket people for other wacky crimes, and don't let anyone tell you that you take the term "fashion police" too seriously.

Stop Donating Smut To Your Local Library

2008-07-07T19:23:00.000-07:00

840 romance novels on three two-wheel carts. Is there any genre of fiction that people are more willing to part with after having absorbed? I hear a scolding-hot shower and sandpaper helps get rid of that hard-to-scrub-out shame.

I Ain't Got Nobody...

2008-07-06T14:48:00.000-07:00

Lately I've become a big fan of social networking, because as strange as it seems, you just can't get ahead in this world without knowing large quantities of people. As such, I've decided to extend this concept beyond my professional life, and into my personal, and maybe even start hanging out with some other people aside from the three dudes I usually hang out with on the weekends.

But how does one make friends? In the case of my current crew, it seems like having an abstract sense of humor and knowing each other for over ten years is all it took to make us essentially "BFF's." Plus, the outer-fringe of friends, whom I basically see at weddings and graduations and things are all in time-consuming committed relationships, or married, or otherwise occupied (perhaps being proper grown-ups), so they're out.

You can't exactly go to the bar to pick up some new pals to hang out with, at least not without any number of people getting the wrong idea about what you're there to do. You most definitely can't meet new friends online, for a multitude of reasons, not the least of which follow the same guidelines as my previous thought.

I need to do something though. I only work part-time, and while I'm very seriously trying to find a real job, there's just not much to do in the evening hours as far as job-hunting goes. I've been alternating 'working-out days' and 'running days,' but I fear I'm going to either (a) lose my neck, or (b) become one of those weird gym guys.

Possible time-consuming activities include: biking, getting another part-time job, or pursuing my masters degree. You say: "But Alex, why don't you write? I mean, since that's what you want to do with your life..." And I say: "That's a good point. I should probably do that."

---5 Minutes Pass---

Okay, maybe I'll start another blog.

Fun in the Sun in the Great White Norf

2008-07-02T14:24:00.000-07:00

It sure seems like a while since I've posted. This is probably due to the fact that I was out of town, and away from a computer for roughly four days last week; off enjoying the outdoors. In fact, I was up in the great white north, doing what true blue Americans do during the summer; I was camping, in Harrisville, Michigan of all places.

Camping, when you're not with the Boy Scouts, is a great way to spend a few days. It's one of my favorite things to do during the summer, in reasonable doses, and Harrisville is a great locale for such an excursion. There's a large beach, with plenty of sun, water, and nothing but opportunities for good old-fashioned fun. Not to mention that within a small proximity there's a fair surplus of alcohol, and alcohol definitely helps.

There's a lot of talk about how one doesn't need alcohol to have a good time, but trust me; if you're going to sit in front of a fire for three to four hours a night for the better part of a week, you're going to need some liquid conversation-starter. I'd suggest some reasonably-priced beer, or Seagrams and water, but then again, I'm not the sort of person who's particularly concerned about things like taste or class.

One thing I did notice this weekend was the small-town dynamic, within and around the campground. People were -- what I can only assume, having never observed it so closely in the city -- friendly. At the K-Mart in Alpena, I literally talked to a woman about discount beach towels for ten minutes. At a small bar near the park, my friends and I had conversations with nearly every other patron in the place.

And then there's 'Poppy.'

Poppy is the kind of guy you can expect to find standing at a lonely creek, amiably shaking hands with a wild grizzly bear while simultaneously fishing with a pole he'd made out of an old car bumper and some chewing gum he'd found nearby. He's just the tops; the rugged woodsman that no nice guy seems to be, and the nice guy that no rugged woodsman seems to be. A product of the oldschool, so to speak.

We ate chili with Poppy, played card games with Poppy, and he even let me have some coffee. He called my skinny friend "Bones," and my other friend "Shithead" (and while Shithead may not work as well as Bones, somehow he made it sound right). Poppy gave me some things to consider before I go on my hiking trip in the Porcupine Mountains next summer, and he also gave me a set of instructions for a neat drinking game which I feel quite assured I will lose.

The point is, I, like most other suburbanites, am socially retarded. I was in no way prepared to deal with such an onslaught of pleasantness, much less at the hands of total strangers. Complete strangers who, down here, I can only assume would want to cheat me out of money or perhaps inject heroin into bite-sized candies which I may or may not eat. You know, normal stuff.

But here I am, merely sunburned, and with plenty of stories to tell that don't simply involve me and my friends getting hammered and trying to steal boats. Go figure.

A Tribute To A True American Artist

2008-06-24T10:19:00.000-07:00

Not a lot of people remember (or ever knew of) David Pomeranz, whose best known work is arguably "Nothing's Gonna Stop Me Now," better known to the world as the theme song of the ABC sitcom Perfect Strangers. According to Pomeranz's Wikipedia article, he was something of a musical prodigy, and was writing and recording his own original compositions on piano, guitar and drums by the age of fourteen. When he was in his late teens and early twenties, he apparently opened for such major acts as Three Dog Night and The Doors, which is certainly an accomplishment.

But this is the legacy he left:

Sometimes the world looks perfect; nothing to rearrange

Sometimes you just get a feeling like you need some kind of change

No matter what the odds are this time, nothing's gonna stand in my way

This flame in my heart, like a long-lost friend, gives every dark street a light at the end

Standing tall on the wings of my dream

Rise and fall on the wings of my dream

Through rain and thunder, the wind and haze, I'm bound for better days

It's my life and my dream, and nothing's gonna stop me now

Nothing's gonna stop me now

Of course, I should mention that Pomeranz didn't actually write the lyrics, he just wrote the melody and performed the song, but he sure performed the hell out of it! According to his website, he still writes and records music, for television shows and so on, but he has also scored a few musicals. Sure, he may never have had his "Mama Told Me Not To Come" or "Light My Fire," but he is nonetheless a true American artist, and with the support of the Church of Scientology, he seems to have found peace in his music.

"Nothing's gonna stop me now" is right!

He Went That-A-Way!

2008-06-20T08:30:00.001-07:00

I read a lot of writers' blogs, published and unpublished. I find it interesting to see where I sync up and where I differ with the majority of my brethren, and I like to assure myself that I'm no more socially defunct or hiply tortured than any other artist-type. Really, for the most part, I'm reaffirmed with every read.

One thing I find to be almost universal with most of the unpublished -- myself included -- is a sort of A.D.D. when it comes to starting and finishing a project. I read a lot of "Yeah, things are going well on my wizard-zombie saga, but I've also just started a new project that's about Japanese chicks that turn into werewolves because there's a curse on their boarding school or something."

White people's obsession with fantasy and Asian culture aside, there's a definite link between being unpublished and being unfocused. I myself am alternating between three scripts, a children's book, and whatever shorts I can write in one sitting, none of which seem to be benefitting from the others' respective presences.

I refer to it as an abundance of creativity, having so many plotlines in my head simultaneously, but really it's a hinderance on success (coupled with an apparent lack of quality). I think that changes, at least I hope it does, once one is published, because in that way you know you've found your niche. You publish a detective story? Good job, maybe you're the next Dashiell Hammett.

That's called direction. It's corporate, it's sleazy, and it seems unfair, but at this point, I'd welcome it like I would a group of friends who actually express an interest in reading all of the crap that I can't seem to finish. Or like I'd welcome a spare 150 bucks to buy the Movie Magic Screenwriter software, and maybe properly format the one script that I have finished.

Quick One, Before Work

2008-06-18T09:17:00.001-07:00

I bought a Dollar Store toothbrush for my trip last weekend, and I've been using it ever since. A few minutes ago, while brushing, I was thinking about the brush's humble beginnings, and Dollar Stores in general. The one I went to was really nice, and obviously part of a chain, which made me think that there's most likely a board of directors and a president and such. I was just thinking about it; a big glass building, a thousand stories tall, with DOLLAR STORE CO printed over the revolving doors; a crowded board room with men and women wearing business suits and talking about adjusting their overheads...

Weird.

A Match Made in H-E-Double-Hockeysticks

2008-06-13T13:10:00.000-07:00

So, in case I haven't mentioned it, I work at a library. My department is being moved, or rather, merged with another department on Monday. As such, all day I've been at my desk, and higher-ups have been peering in, discussing dimensions and possible uses for the space that they're creating. The basic idea is that, after it's all said and done, the children's room is going to be relocated to the area where I'm sitting right now, conveniently adjacent to the public internet terminals.

The public internet area is also referred to as "the place where on more than one occasion men (and a few women) seated next to minors have been asked not to view explicit pornography." It's also referred to as "the area where we once caught a man viewing child pornography." Oh, and every once in a while, I refer to it as "the area where I was once given a floppy disk containing the .txt-file ramblings of a self-proclaimed 'philosopher' who later turned out to be one of the aforementioned pornography-viewers."

I'm not a political guy, really. I don't get into debates about abortion or gay marriage or, to a lesser extent, gas prices, but I do feel pretty strongly that the library's departmental equivalent of an adult bookstore should not be placed mere inches from the library's departmental equivalent of Toys-R-Us. Unfortunately for the children, however, I am too far down on the payscale to actually have my opinion seriously listened to. Actually, I'm too low to even get some decent patronizing.

Nowhere to really go with this one. I could just be overreacting because I watched Gone Baby Gone last night.

And I'd probably sound more convincing if I hadn't just written a lengthy post about how much I enjoyed Snuff.

Snuff's Enough

2008-06-09T11:05:00.001-07:00

I was so surprised to read all the negativity surrounding Chuck Palahniuk's new book, Snuff. Palahniuk, an almost-celebrity among authors (mostly due to David Fincher's take on Fight Club and the forthcoming Invisible Monsters) is one of few writers who are able to urge you to continue reading while simultaneously stimulating your gag reflex (granted, I have yet to read Haunted in its entirety, but I have read Guts and... ugh).

But that's a good "ugh." Like, as in "I can't believe someone was able to make my anus clench so tightly with just a few words." A suggestion really. And he does this page-for-page in Snuff.

Snuff is the story of porn legend, Cassie Wright, who is going to break the record for "serial fornication" with the help of her assistant, Sheila, and 600 men of all ages and sizes. It is as funny as it is tragic, and as graphic as it is enlightening. (To give you an idea of what to expect, the film being shot by Cassie is titled: "World Whore Three: The Whore to End All Whores.")

With each chapter, the story unfolds through the minds and voices of four different narrators (Sheila and three of the men in waiting; Mr. 72, Mr. 137 and Mr. 600). Sparing no gruesome detail, Palahniuk advances the plot as the day goes on, giving backstories for each character, and coming up with some humorous fictional pornography titles (my favorite: Guess Who's Coming at Dinner).

Throughout the novel, you come to feel sympathy, and some degree of empathy for these characters that most upstanding members of society would prefer to distance themselves from. Perhaps that's the beauty of it. In one moment, Branch Bacardi (Mr. 600) is sharing the tale of his first love, and love lost, and in the next, Mr. 137 is trading Viagra pills for autographs on his piss-stained stuffed dog.

All of this beneath a set of television monitors playing back Cassie's greatest hits, where an interracial gang-bang is described as "Cassie Wright's groundbreaking civil rights masterpiece." Really, that about says it all.

It's a great read, like all of Chuck's books, and it comes with the first legitimately surprising ending I've read in a while (also typical of Chuck).

And if you like Snuff, check out Stranger Than Fiction.

"Gangster" is the Word

2008-06-05T21:22:00.000-07:00

My grandpa was pretty gangster. I think if he were alive, he would still go by Steve Sr, but he would spell it with dollar signs to better promote his gangster lifestyle, so on paper he'd be "$teve $r." Of course, this is all mere speculation.

Note the gold diamond ring on my right hand. New to me, since I don't wear rings, but it felt right. Not pictured, unfortunately, is the matching tie clip, which also sports a diamond. And I'm a huge fan of the 3-piece shark-skin suit (not made of actual shark mind you).

It's nice to know that I can rock my grandpa's style. Sadly, all of this came about as a result of my waistline somehow expanding since purchasing a Calvin Klein suit two years ago. Apparently I'm entering the 'fat guy' stage in my family life cycle and my clothes failed to get that memo.

Going Down Down Down with the Ship

2008-06-03T14:01:00.000-07:00

The cool thing about the 'sinking ship' metaphor is that it makes things sound more impressively disastrous than they really are, but the truth is that, when a business (or in this case, a public library) gets closed, it's not glamorous, and the general public do not find it to be all that interesting. 8½x11 signs will go up in public service areas, alerting patrons of our closure, and probably less than a dozen (of thousands weekly) will respond audibly to the news.

That's just the state of things nowadays. No time for sympathy. Money gets short (at least by someone's standards), businesses make cuts and, more often than not, eventually close down. There's no time for teary eyes, because soon-to-be-ex employees get looking for jobs faster than you can say "monsterdotcom," and soon thereafter, we're griping about how hard it is to find gainful employment in our state. So then, inevitably, the big M comes up.

But those of us who do decide to move leave homes and (for the lucky ones) apartments that must be sold/rented to someone else. However, it seems that those who can afford a house aren't going to buy one in a state with a crippling economy, and those who want to rent are forced to pay the jacked-up rental fees, which have been boosted so that landlords can make some money after all of their tenants have split. Kind of a double-edged sword there, since those who are in a position to rent aren't typically the Howells.

Meanwhile, those who have jumped ship (there it is again!) are finding themselves bumping into other Michiganders, who are now doing their part to flood the job market in other states, making it hard to find work there. Perhaps it's all part of some regional plan to make us feel welcome in our new homes. You think?

Boy, there doesn't seem to be a very good place to end this rant. I'm not smart enough to come up with a reasonable solution, and I'm not dumb enough to try and suggest one. Quoi qu'il en soit se passe.

...but seriously though, since I can now look forward to being canned very soon, I really do need to find a job.

Some Thoughts Before I Go to the Bar

2008-06-02T12:46:00.001-07:00

I've never been good at pretending I like sports. I usually get player names wrong, or I unknowingly attempt to splice two different games together ("Oh yeah, I saw that touchdown he made from the free-throw line..."), or I do the unthinkable; I try to engage others in conversation while a game is on. It's weird. Everyone cheers at the same time, and everyone's drinking, but no one is talking. Then the commercials come on, during which everyone re-caps what's happened in the last few minutes, as if we haven't all been sitting right there, not talking, with nothing else to do but stare at the bar's two-dozen 48-inch flat-screen TVs, set in two-dozen practical angles so no matter what way the sun or the moon is shining, there's no glare on at least one of them.

I got a lot of flack growing up for not being particularly interested in The Red Wings, The Tigers, and to a lesser extent The Lions. I think other guys thought I was doing it to get chicks (not that it helped). My sexuality's been questioned a number of times (though that may have more to do with my role in my high school's production of Grease than anything). The simple fact is, I just don't get the fanatical appeal of watching sports. I liked playing catch with my Dad when I was little. I like throwing a football on the beach now and then. Hell, I've been to a baseball game and a Hockey game this season, but I'm not overly thrilled about going to a bar and paying 4 bucks a beer to shout my two cents to a team that will never even hear them, and truthfully, would never gain anything from taking my advice.

Well, anyway, let's go Wings.

We're Going

2008-05-30T06:17:00.000-07:00

A few cars happened upon us during it. Every time we could have sworn it was the cops, but then they'd just turn around and go and we'd get back into things. It was this court in the new subdivision they're building, off of Schoener. Less than half of the houses are even done, so we figured there wouldn't be any traffic, but hell, maybe they were there for the same reason as us.

I couldn't get Amy to take her shirt off, and that was just as well. She said we had to be ready for a fast getaway. With everything -- the cars and the fun -- we were finished in a half-hour. After that, we rolled the windows down a bit to let the glass desteam, and we both then quickly remembered to re-fasten our pants. Amy wanted to stay and talk, at ease now that it was done, and I didn't see any harm in it.

She recounted the experience to me, emphasizing the close-calls with the other cars as if I hadn't noticed. As she did this, I attempted to blot out a stain on my jeans with a Wendy's napkin and some old Coke. She asked me if I loved her and I said yes, yes of course. She kissed me and for the first time I didn't get excited when I felt her chest rub against mine.

Then a car door shut, and we both started. It was dark now, and neither of us had noticed any lights. I tried to look out the back window, but it was still fogged-up pretty good. I used a t-shirt I'd been sitting on to wipe some of the steam off of the windshield and I looked ahead to see if I could make anything out. Amy buckled up and said that we should just go.

When I turned on the lights he was there, as if he had been there the whole time. He had his arms crossed and he was looking me right in the eye. Amy yelped, having stopped herself from just plain screaming, and he smiled, his fingers dancing on his biceps as he approached.

He was a big man, all around. Tall, with a physique that suggested he had once been very athletic. His hair was short and receding a bit in the front, and he looked to be just a little bit younger than my dad. Amy rolled up her window, but I was frozen. He came around to my side and leaned in.

"Hello." He lead with this, then stared, first at me, then at Amy. Look man, I said, we were going. "Where?" he asked with an abrasive playfulness. He looked down at my jeans, wet with the coke, then at Amy. "Looks like you've already been there." he said. "Hey! Do you know where you are?" I debated starting the car and flooring it, but had visions of his hands around my throat as I reached for the keys.

"This is where my family lives." he said, his tone a bit darker than before. I looked around at the shadows of all the half-constructed houses with paper over the windows. When I returned to his face he had an unsettling look in his eye. Amy said, "We're sorry. We're going." I stuck the key in the ignition. "I have the license plate." he laughed. The words moved over my neck and down past my shoulders.

No one said anything for a moment. I had my hand on the keys in the ignition and my wrist was shaking. He looked at me and smiled. "Boy, she is pretty." he said. I could feel Amy's weight shift as she squirmed in her seat. She said to just go, but he said, "Just a minute," wrapping his fingers over the window's edge and peering in closer. "Just a minute..." he breathed.

I turned the key and he jumped. "Hey!" he shouted. I pulled the shifter into drive and took off. He ran alongside us for a few yards, yelling, "I have your number! Hey! I have your number!" When we turned out of the court, he fell behind us. As I sped through the subdivision, Amy began to cry and I took her hand. We didn't pass a single car.

What's the Buzz, Tell Me What's A-Happenin'

2008-05-27T16:08:00.000-07:00

Being an unpublished writer is a lot like being a drone in a honey bee hive. By the numbers, there are just a huge amount of drones in a hive, yet only 6-12 may actually get to mate with a 1st-generation queen. The queen is then, in essence, much like a publisher. But while the publisher gives the writer hope by accepting unsolicited submissions, the queen simply releases a pheromone that draws in potential sperm-donors. Of course, as mentioned, the odds of actually getting to mate (or be published) are incredibly slim.

But oddly enough, it is the honey bee drone's sole purpose in life to mate. It has no stinger, so it can't actually defend the hive (or itself), and it lacks any sort of skill that would make it in any other way useful to its queen. It is literally built and bred to mate, and if it doesn't mate, it dies, completely unaccomplished (not that I'm trying to draw any kind of cynical parallel here). Now isn't that interesting? Of course, bees are my sworn enemy, so it's slightly uncomfortable for me to allign myself with them, but hey, a simile's a simile.

What Time I Work

2008-05-20T09:27:00.000-07:00

I take the urinal that’s open, and of course it’s the one behind the door. As I’m standing there, someone new enters and hits me in the back. No apologies. It happens again. The guy pissing next to me laughs and says, “That sucks dude.” I nod and smile pathetically, and someone hits me again.

I get back to the table with Angie. She’s checking out a waiter in a tight polo with the sleeves rolled up. He’s talking to a table of women and they’re all laughing. One of them whispers to another. I look at Angie as I reach for her cigarettes. She doesn’t notice when I take one and light it with a match from the book in the ash tray.

I tell her about the bathroom, sort of. She looks surprised to see me sitting here. I tell her that some guy hit me in the back with the bathroom door. She gets excited and asks me what I did, even though she knows I did nothing; just got a little piss on my leg and kept my eyes on the tile in front of me.

Angie says she wants to order a shot. She asks me if I have enough money, then she asks if I want one. “Something with tequila in it.” she says. The waitress comes over and she orders two Four Horsemen. They chat for a minute as I smoke, then the waitress walks off. “Four Horsemen.” I say. She wants to be drunk when we get home.

I look around the bar; at the potted palm trees in the corners; the “grass hut” housing the three bartenders. Angie catches me. “Did you see those masks?” She points over the door. “Isn’t this place awesome? This is where Chrissy had her bachelorette party.” I try to look as if I appreciate this. “Mark was our waiter,” she continues, “he’s so fun.” I follow her eyes and there he is.

Mark is still chatting up the women at the other table. He has his hands on the table’s edge and his muscles are moving up and down, under his skin, as he leans in to hear the women. I ask Angie what was so fun about him and she rolls her eyes. Mark scoops up his tray and heads over to the grass hut and the women snicker.

The shots arrive. I lift my glass to cheer her, but the stuff is already in her throat. I drink mine down quickly and the air I exhale is hot. She has a hand on her chest and her lips are pursed. “Not good?” I ask. She shakes her head. I stack the glasses and set them near the edge of the table. She asks me what time I work in the morning.

The waitress comes to take the glasses and I order another beer. I ask for draft this time, but she says they only have bottles. Angie gets a Bacardi and Diet. We talk for a while about my distaste for diet pop, and in the end I agree that it’s not so bad. Angie looks happy that I’ve come around.

Mark brings the women their drinks. One of them pulls him close to tell him something. Angie and I watch. Angie says, “I doubt very much that they like it when customers are all over them like that.” “He doesn’t look too worked up.” I say. Angie finishes her drink just as the waitress brings us new ones.

“Well still.” she says. She’s jealous. I steal another one of her cigarettes and this time she joins me. I light hers then mine, then I watch her nervously tap her finger tips on the table as her eyes dart around the room. A man walks past our table in a lime-colored tank top and Angie shudders.

“I was thinking about getting one of those.” I joke. She says, “Don’t you dare.” I recognize this part of the evening. We spend another twenty or so minutes making fun of the other patrons. I spy a pair of fat sisters in leather, and she points out a couple with indisputably bad hair. We laugh, but I know if it weren’t for them we would have nothing to talk about.

We order two more drinks and cash in our tab. She can barely keep her eyes off him now. She goes through the Bacardi in less than a minute and now we’re waiting for me to finish up so we can go. I drink fast, but can’t help belching up beer in between gulps. Eventually it’s gone. I leave a good tip.

Mark is at the hut. We have to pass him to get to the exit. I see Angie’s eyes light up. We walk past and she stares, but says nothing. I ask, “Did you want to say hi?” But she doesn’t answer. We pick up our coats and go, out into the cold. As we’re driving I hear her weakly say, “He wouldn’t have remembered me.”

When we get home she says she’s dizzy and gets in bed. I make myself a drink and watch a few minutes of the news. A woman being interviewed about a robbery gets me excited. I shut off the TV and go into the bedroom. Angie calls me Mark while I’m on top of her, and I don’t care.

It's Pronounced "Rawk"

2008-05-18T10:00:00.000-07:00

Probably the only songs I can play well on a real guitar are "Locomotive Breath" and "The Wreck of the Edmund Fitzgerald," and I should mention that when I say well, that's well for me, not for the average person. I define well as "recognizable," which is satisfactory in my opinion.

But thank God for video games. When my axe-wielding alter-ego, Shreddy Lee, takes the stage, he can play everything from "Cherub Rock" to "Wave of Mutilation" (and he does this well by anybody's standards). And my singer, Freddy Money? Forget about it! He's like a cross between Robert Plant and that kid on American Idol whose Dad beats him.

When I first saw my friends playing Guitar Hero, I thought it was the dumbest thing since Dance Dance Revolution (although I must admit I've warmed up to DDR since our rather rocky introduction). I mean, who would play a game that merely simulates something you could just as easily do if you applied yourself?

But then I got dreds. Er, Freddy got dreds. And a cowboy hat. And aviator sunglasses. And a cool cut-off t-shirt. And tattoos. A lot of tattoos. Pretty soon, I was the coolest musician I had ever heard of. It was the same level of excitement I got when I was building houses in The Sims for all the movie star polygamists I would never get to be.

The point is, simulation video games are just the tops. Since the odds of my becoming a rock star are greatly decreasing with each passing year (and the fact that no one really misses Gordon Lightfoot), it's nice to be able to step on a digital stage and have fake crowds go crazy for me... er, Freddy. Not to mention that I'm actually a pretty decent fake bass player.