So for the most fleeting of moments, I had a smile on my face, and I felt as if I had stumbled upon a flowery meadow in the bowels of Midtown Manhattan.
Monday, March 23, 2009
A Beacon within the Shadows
I heard "Here's Where the Story Ends" by The Sundays as I strolled through the HSBC downstairs on my way to grab lunch. Quite the unlikely place to hear such a wonderful song. I work in a rather lifeless building; the HSBC below, in particular, is perhaps more lifeless than death. Over the past nine years, I'd never heard anything but muffled chatter and the click-clack of heels as I cut through its lobby. Yet today, as I entered that void, my ears perked up immediately, and my eyes wandered toward the ceiling in search of the source of that sweet sound. I can recognize Harriet Wheeler's lovely voice anywhere, even in the depths of a black hole.
So for the most fleeting of moments, I had a smile on my face, and I felt as if I had stumbled upon a flowery meadow in the bowels of Midtown Manhattan.
So for the most fleeting of moments, I had a smile on my face, and I felt as if I had stumbled upon a flowery meadow in the bowels of Midtown Manhattan.
Tuesday, March 3, 2009
So Somber, It's Uplifting
This is my favorite song of the moment: "Daniel," the first single from Bat for Lashes's forthcoming album Two Suns. It seems I've played it 75 times in the past 24 hours.
She's got such a delicately haunting voice. I don't know if this will make sense to anyone else, but I listen to this song, and I think of Less Than Zero. It makes me envision Robert Downey, Jr. cruising around L.A. late at night in a convertible with the top down. Maybe it's that 80's synth sound in the background.
And the song also makes me think of Depeche Mode's "Behind the Wheel," as well as The Cure's "A Forest." Oddly enough, while tracking down this video on YouTube, I saw that Natasha has covered "A Forest."
She's got such a delicately haunting voice. I don't know if this will make sense to anyone else, but I listen to this song, and I think of Less Than Zero. It makes me envision Robert Downey, Jr. cruising around L.A. late at night in a convertible with the top down. Maybe it's that 80's synth sound in the background.
And the song also makes me think of Depeche Mode's "Behind the Wheel," as well as The Cure's "A Forest." Oddly enough, while tracking down this video on YouTube, I saw that Natasha has covered "A Forest."
Oh Berkeley, where art thou?
It's absolutely astounding to me how John C. Yoo still has a legal career, let alone a professorship at Boalt Hall -- the law school at U.C. Berkeley.
The Times has an article about nine newly-disclosed memos drafted by the Justice Department under Bush's reign that demonstrate further the depths of the war on civil liberties waged by the cronies in the previous administration.
According to the Times:
Bear in mind that this is the same person who authored the memo asserting that interrogation techniques need to produce an effect equivalent to something on the level of organ failure to constitute torture. (I think that, as a test of intellectual honesty, those who draft such memos should have to endure waterboarding before signing them.)
Berkeley administrators ought to be ashamed for inviting him into their midst. If I were a Berkeley faculty member, student or alum, I'd certainly be ashamed of this blight on my campus -- the same campus that was once the epicenter for protests against the Vietnam War.
Update: It appears I should cut Berkeley some slack, now that I've read an open letter from the law school's dean about the matter. Yoo received tenure in 1999. He worked in the Justice Department while on leave from the law school. I had suspected that I was missing some critical piece of information, as it seemed unfathomable that Berkeley would hire Yoo after he served in the Bush administration.
I can sympathize with Berkeley's predicament. Perhaps a tweaking of the rules regarding leaves of absence to work for the government are in order. I agree with the dean that an allegiance to academic freedom must entail the freedom of professors to sound off even the most absurd of ideas. But what Yoo wrote wasn't some loony law review article about the expanse of executive power. What he wrote was a document that established official executive department policy. Interrogators don't look to the theorteical musings of a law professor for boundaries on their interrogation techniques. But they do, presumably, look to memos promulgated by the Justice Department for that purpose.
Tenure shouldn't be jeopardized merely based upon disagreeable theoretical musings. But there ought to be some mechanism for putting tenure at jeopardy when a professor on leave engages in egregious conduct while implementing official government policies.
The Times has an article about nine newly-disclosed memos drafted by the Justice Department under Bush's reign that demonstrate further the depths of the war on civil liberties waged by the cronies in the previous administration.
According to the Times:
The secret legal opinions issued by Bush administration lawyers after the Sept. 11 attacks included assertions that the president could use the nation’s military within the United States to combat terrorism suspects and to conduct raids without obtaining search warrants.
...
The opinions reflected a broad interpretation of presidential authority, asserting as well that the president could unilaterally abrogate foreign treaties, ignore any guidance from Congress in dealing with detainees suspected of terrorism, and conduct a program of domestic eavesdropping without warrants.
...
The opinion authorizing the military to operate domestically was dated Oct. 23, 2001, and written by John C. Yoo, at the time a deputy assistant attorney general in the Office of Legal Counsel, and Robert J. Delahunty, a special counsel in the office.
...
“The law has recognized that force (including deadly force) may be legitimately used in self-defense,” Mr. Yoo and Mr. Delahunty wrote to Mr. Gonzales. Therefore any objections based on the Fourth Amendment’s ban on unreasonable searches are swept away, they said, since any possible privacy offense resulting from such a search is a lesser matter than any injury from deadly force.
The Oct. 23 memorandum also said that “First Amendment speech and press rights may also be subordinated to the overriding need to wage war successfully.” It added that “the current campaign against terrorism may require even broader exercises of federal power domestically.”
Bear in mind that this is the same person who authored the memo asserting that interrogation techniques need to produce an effect equivalent to something on the level of organ failure to constitute torture. (I think that, as a test of intellectual honesty, those who draft such memos should have to endure waterboarding before signing them.)
Berkeley administrators ought to be ashamed for inviting him into their midst. If I were a Berkeley faculty member, student or alum, I'd certainly be ashamed of this blight on my campus -- the same campus that was once the epicenter for protests against the Vietnam War.
Update: It appears I should cut Berkeley some slack, now that I've read an open letter from the law school's dean about the matter. Yoo received tenure in 1999. He worked in the Justice Department while on leave from the law school. I had suspected that I was missing some critical piece of information, as it seemed unfathomable that Berkeley would hire Yoo after he served in the Bush administration.
I can sympathize with Berkeley's predicament. Perhaps a tweaking of the rules regarding leaves of absence to work for the government are in order. I agree with the dean that an allegiance to academic freedom must entail the freedom of professors to sound off even the most absurd of ideas. But what Yoo wrote wasn't some loony law review article about the expanse of executive power. What he wrote was a document that established official executive department policy. Interrogators don't look to the theorteical musings of a law professor for boundaries on their interrogation techniques. But they do, presumably, look to memos promulgated by the Justice Department for that purpose.
Tenure shouldn't be jeopardized merely based upon disagreeable theoretical musings. But there ought to be some mechanism for putting tenure at jeopardy when a professor on leave engages in egregious conduct while implementing official government policies.
Friday, February 13, 2009
You're So Pedestrian
Yup. I'm officially a Lilly Allen fan now. But I should qualify that -- I'm a fan of her second album, not her first.
When I started hearing about her a couple of years back, I got a sense that I'd probably like her. But that first album just didn't do it for me. I've always had an aversion to ska, and that album was drowning in it.
The new album, however, is super bouncy. It's as if Lilly relocated from Jamaica to Northern Europe. Gone are the wobbly bass lines, replaced by lively keys and sprightly beeps. And maybe that's why it reminds me of Saint Etienne and Annie. It also reminds me of Kate Nash at times. (Funny how Lilly helped jump start Kate's career by linking to Kate's Myspace page. And then they had a spat, as if they were schoolgirls with a crush on the same guy. Now, Lilly sounds like Kate, instead of Kate sounding like Lilly. Strange. Might they start eating at the same lunch table again?)
I was at a Banana Republic over the weekend when I heard this catchy tune. I was surprised that BR was playing a song I liked that I didn't already own. (They tend to have a pretty good soundtrack going, actually. Saint Etienne and Phoenix seem to be staples.) If I had been at, say, anotheroom, I wouldn't have hesitated asking the bartender for the name of the song. But there was no way I was going to concede defeat by querying a BR clerk. I was troubled that the decision could mean that I'd never figure out the name of a song that I rather enjoyed, but I was prepared to live with that. Lo and behold, I wasn't punished for my stubborness! Lilly was on the Today Show Tuesday morning, and she performed the song I heard at BR -- "The Fear."
Man, that would've been damn shameful going up to a BR clerk to ask about a Lilly Allen song. Fortunately, I walked away with my dignity and still got the track name.
When I started hearing about her a couple of years back, I got a sense that I'd probably like her. But that first album just didn't do it for me. I've always had an aversion to ska, and that album was drowning in it.
The new album, however, is super bouncy. It's as if Lilly relocated from Jamaica to Northern Europe. Gone are the wobbly bass lines, replaced by lively keys and sprightly beeps. And maybe that's why it reminds me of Saint Etienne and Annie. It also reminds me of Kate Nash at times. (Funny how Lilly helped jump start Kate's career by linking to Kate's Myspace page. And then they had a spat, as if they were schoolgirls with a crush on the same guy. Now, Lilly sounds like Kate, instead of Kate sounding like Lilly. Strange. Might they start eating at the same lunch table again?)
I was at a Banana Republic over the weekend when I heard this catchy tune. I was surprised that BR was playing a song I liked that I didn't already own. (They tend to have a pretty good soundtrack going, actually. Saint Etienne and Phoenix seem to be staples.) If I had been at, say, anotheroom, I wouldn't have hesitated asking the bartender for the name of the song. But there was no way I was going to concede defeat by querying a BR clerk. I was troubled that the decision could mean that I'd never figure out the name of a song that I rather enjoyed, but I was prepared to live with that. Lo and behold, I wasn't punished for my stubborness! Lilly was on the Today Show Tuesday morning, and she performed the song I heard at BR -- "The Fear."
Man, that would've been damn shameful going up to a BR clerk to ask about a Lilly Allen song. Fortunately, I walked away with my dignity and still got the track name.
Thursday, February 12, 2009
Pick up your wedge and push, damn it!
I'm thoroughly annoyed by the announcement that Gregg has withdrawn his nomination as Commerce Secretary. It's not that I'm a Gregg fan; it's that he shouldn't have been nominated in the first place.
Perhaps this will finally make Obama realize that bipartisanship has no inherent value; it’s only meaningful if it achieves an optimal result. Nominating a fiscally conservative Republican to head the Department of Commerce at a time when virtually every credible economist agrees that massive government spending is in order? As ill-advised as it was bold.
He knows what needs to be done. He has majorities in both chambers of Congress. He (hopefully still) has a vast amount of political goodwill with the American public. So he ought to quit bending over backwards trying to demonstrate how nicely he’s willing to play. Just do what needs to be done and let the results speak for themselves!
It bewilders me why he’s acting infinitely more timidly than Bush -- a man who declared “I earned capital in the campaign, political capital, and now I intend to spend it” after prevailing with the slimmest of margins.
You’ve earned a big huge wedge, Obama. Now start using it! Geez! We don't need Kumbaya; we need action already. I hope he doesn't end up as a classic case of someone trying to please everyone who ends up pleasing no one.
Perhaps this will finally make Obama realize that bipartisanship has no inherent value; it’s only meaningful if it achieves an optimal result. Nominating a fiscally conservative Republican to head the Department of Commerce at a time when virtually every credible economist agrees that massive government spending is in order? As ill-advised as it was bold.
He knows what needs to be done. He has majorities in both chambers of Congress. He (hopefully still) has a vast amount of political goodwill with the American public. So he ought to quit bending over backwards trying to demonstrate how nicely he’s willing to play. Just do what needs to be done and let the results speak for themselves!
It bewilders me why he’s acting infinitely more timidly than Bush -- a man who declared “I earned capital in the campaign, political capital, and now I intend to spend it” after prevailing with the slimmest of margins.
You’ve earned a big huge wedge, Obama. Now start using it! Geez! We don't need Kumbaya; we need action already. I hope he doesn't end up as a classic case of someone trying to please everyone who ends up pleasing no one.
Sunday, February 1, 2009
The desert beckons, and we answer!
Woohoo! I thought our Coachella days had come and gone, but we're off to the Empire Polo Grounds yet again!
My music buddies and I went to Coachella in 2005 and 2006. We had expected to make Coachella an annual reunion. But those intentions hit a snag the last couple of years because the Coachella organizers put together some lackluster lineups. I mean, Prince as a headliner? What the hell!
But it seems they've gotten the crapitude out of their system. Can't wait to be back in the valley, watching some of my favorite bands perform on a stage inset between two mountains, with the sun setting in the background.
Maybe Johnny Marr will show up for an unannounced Smiths reunion? Yeah ... it's a delusional thought, I know. But life may be just about complete if that were to happen.
My music buddies and I went to Coachella in 2005 and 2006. We had expected to make Coachella an annual reunion. But those intentions hit a snag the last couple of years because the Coachella organizers put together some lackluster lineups. I mean, Prince as a headliner? What the hell!But it seems they've gotten the crapitude out of their system. Can't wait to be back in the valley, watching some of my favorite bands perform on a stage inset between two mountains, with the sun setting in the background.
Maybe Johnny Marr will show up for an unannounced Smiths reunion? Yeah ... it's a delusional thought, I know. But life may be just about complete if that were to happen.
Tuesday, January 20, 2009
How come my phone doesn't have a period?
A partner who has almost never stepped foot in my office just dropped by for help sending a text message. He couldn't figure out how to enter a period. Quite amusing. Reminds me of the time another partner invited me to his house to help him transfer his iTunes library to a new computer.
I suppose it's good they're aware that I'm a technology lawyer.
I suppose it's good they're aware that I'm a technology lawyer.
Monday, January 19, 2009
The Color of Subtraction
I saw a documentary about Henri Cartier-Bresson on the Sundance Channel. Not particularly well done, but it reminded me of my enchanting visit to the International Center of Photography to see the Cartier-Bresson exhibition a couple of years ago.
A strange thought occurred to me as I watched the film. Why do black and white photos seem more evocative than those in color? I think it's because the mind feels more inspired when adding than subtracting.
Black and white photos are like indie films. They don't rely on special effects to create a strained sense of realism. Instead, they give you an idea and allow you to construct the contours with your imagination. What color is that dress? How sunny was that day? You, the observer, participate in the creative process.
With color photos and big budget movies, not enough is left to the imagination. The color and special effects are intended to give a sense of realism, but the reality that they project is rather strained. Sure, that looks like the purple of the tulip, but it's not the purple of the tulip. And that looks like an explosion, but it's not an explosion. The strive for realism and the failure to attain it distract from the essence of the craft: to stimulate the imagination. Here, the observer becomes an editor -- someone focused on the deficiencies of the work and ways to eliminate them.
A strange thought occurred to me as I watched the film. Why do black and white photos seem more evocative than those in color? I think it's because the mind feels more inspired when adding than subtracting.
Black and white photos are like indie films. They don't rely on special effects to create a strained sense of realism. Instead, they give you an idea and allow you to construct the contours with your imagination. What color is that dress? How sunny was that day? You, the observer, participate in the creative process.
With color photos and big budget movies, not enough is left to the imagination. The color and special effects are intended to give a sense of realism, but the reality that they project is rather strained. Sure, that looks like the purple of the tulip, but it's not the purple of the tulip. And that looks like an explosion, but it's not an explosion. The strive for realism and the failure to attain it distract from the essence of the craft: to stimulate the imagination. Here, the observer becomes an editor -- someone focused on the deficiencies of the work and ways to eliminate them.
Saturday, January 17, 2009
Enough with the cold already.
Holy friggin' crap it's cold! I think it was all of 7 degrees when I made my way home from the lower reaches of Canada this morning (otherwise known as the Upper West Side). Many folks from back home insist that they'd move up here if not for the cold. I'd gotten into the habit of telling them that you get used to it. Well, I'll confess now that there's no getting used to this.
Yeah, it's much colder elsewhere. But you ain't gotta walk far elsewhere. I went to lunch yesterday with a friend who lives in the city but works in Jersey (except on Fridays). He whined and whined about the cold, even though it wasn't really all that cold at the time. He was being such a pansy that he insisted that we eat at the crappier of two noodle shops because the walk there was a block shorter. I gave him a hard time about it, and he reminded me that he doesn't spend much time outside anymore. Since he drives to Jersey in his cushy Mercedes, he's only exposed to the elements during his short walks to the garage.
So sad. He may as well be a suburbanite. Reminds me of the folks who visit from Minneapolis and complain about the cold.
Anyhow ... it was quite the miserable walk home. It's so damn cold that there are peesicles -- frozen yellow puddles left behind by dogs -- all over the place. Gross, I know. But you're only reading about it.
Yeah, it's much colder elsewhere. But you ain't gotta walk far elsewhere. I went to lunch yesterday with a friend who lives in the city but works in Jersey (except on Fridays). He whined and whined about the cold, even though it wasn't really all that cold at the time. He was being such a pansy that he insisted that we eat at the crappier of two noodle shops because the walk there was a block shorter. I gave him a hard time about it, and he reminded me that he doesn't spend much time outside anymore. Since he drives to Jersey in his cushy Mercedes, he's only exposed to the elements during his short walks to the garage.
So sad. He may as well be a suburbanite. Reminds me of the folks who visit from Minneapolis and complain about the cold.
Anyhow ... it was quite the miserable walk home. It's so damn cold that there are peesicles -- frozen yellow puddles left behind by dogs -- all over the place. Gross, I know. But you're only reading about it.
Friday, January 16, 2009
I like this neighborhood. Do I have to go back to LaGuardia?
Barges with giant cranes on board just rolled in. It seems they'll be hoisting the plane out of the river any minute (well, maybe hour) now. And by "plane," I mean the U.S. Airways jet that landed in the Hudson this afternoon.
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| From Plane in Hudson |
Thursday, January 15, 2009
Have you tried opening your eyes?
Well, there's much lost ground to cover after many months of idling, but I'll never overcome inertia with the perceived need for a full and immediate recovery hanging over my head. So here I go with a quick first step. (ATP, Tokyo, the plane sittting in the river outside my apartment and other fun tales will have to wait.)
I chatted a bit with a couple of people at work today about my trip to Tokyo. One of them is a frequent visitor on business. He was eager to share his observations, most of which were about the women. (To give some context, I should note that he's not Asian.) He's of the view that the women of Tokyo are rather unattractive. As a basis for comparison, he offered up the women of Thailand as an archetype of beauty. And he went on to explain ever-so-scientifically that the women of Thailand are beautiful because the population of Thailand is a blend of many ethnicities. In contrast, there's no "mixing," as he put it, in Japan.
I probably should've left that alone. But for the hell of it, I asked whether he'd ever been to Korea. He answered in the affirmative and declared that the women of Korea are also beautiful. I then pointed out that the population of Korea is rather homogeneous. Seeing the incongruity in his theory, he quickly asserted that the population of Korea isn't homogeneous, what with the Malaysian and ... well, I didn't pay much attention after that. Malaysian influences in Korea?
It's safe to say that his knowledge of anthropology is about as deficient as his sense of aesthetics.
I chatted a bit with a couple of people at work today about my trip to Tokyo. One of them is a frequent visitor on business. He was eager to share his observations, most of which were about the women. (To give some context, I should note that he's not Asian.) He's of the view that the women of Tokyo are rather unattractive. As a basis for comparison, he offered up the women of Thailand as an archetype of beauty. And he went on to explain ever-so-scientifically that the women of Thailand are beautiful because the population of Thailand is a blend of many ethnicities. In contrast, there's no "mixing," as he put it, in Japan.
I probably should've left that alone. But for the hell of it, I asked whether he'd ever been to Korea. He answered in the affirmative and declared that the women of Korea are also beautiful. I then pointed out that the population of Korea is rather homogeneous. Seeing the incongruity in his theory, he quickly asserted that the population of Korea isn't homogeneous, what with the Malaysian and ... well, I didn't pay much attention after that. Malaysian influences in Korea?
It's safe to say that his knowledge of anthropology is about as deficient as his sense of aesthetics.
Wednesday, December 3, 2008
You're So Rude
My sister called to pass along that my niece thinks I'm rude. Why? She's of the view that I compared her to a dog.
I had dinner with the whole clan on Sunday night before making a dash for the airport. My niece sat directly across from me. At some point, she retorted to my sister "okay, mother" in a rather sarcastic tone. I found her intonation humerous and reminiscent of a commercial -- the one with a child singing, "Hello mother. Hello father." And I said so, even singing a bit of the jingle.
Well, the little booger (Yes, that's you! I know you snoop here.) somehow figured out which commercial we were all thinking about but couldn't name.
See the problem? I could've sworn it was a commercial for Oscar Meyer wieners or marshmallows. Who knew it was flea repellent?
In any event, I was trying to tell you that you're cute. Can't you ever cut your uncle a break?
I had dinner with the whole clan on Sunday night before making a dash for the airport. My niece sat directly across from me. At some point, she retorted to my sister "okay, mother" in a rather sarcastic tone. I found her intonation humerous and reminiscent of a commercial -- the one with a child singing, "Hello mother. Hello father." And I said so, even singing a bit of the jingle.
Well, the little booger (Yes, that's you! I know you snoop here.) somehow figured out which commercial we were all thinking about but couldn't name.
See the problem? I could've sworn it was a commercial for Oscar Meyer wieners or marshmallows. Who knew it was flea repellent?
In any event, I was trying to tell you that you're cute. Can't you ever cut your uncle a break?
Wednesday, November 5, 2008
Rising from a Stupor
Tonight, I feel inspired to be an American. Tonight, I'm reminded of the gratitude I owe my parents for bringing me to this land. Tonight, I sense the possibility for a country to regain its footing on the path that might have been had RFK survived California.
The promise of a brighter future seems not out of sight. Hope is alive, and the imagination is awake, thanks to a transformative figure at a transformative time.
The promise of a brighter future seems not out of sight. Hope is alive, and the imagination is awake, thanks to a transformative figure at a transformative time.
Sunday, July 27, 2008
The Normalcy of Lunacy
I've experienced many a misadventure with this friend. But the one yesterday will surely be among the most memorable, given the heights of its idiocy and hilarity.
A couple of months ago, this friend from Texas asked whether I was up for a road trip to Toronto for his cousin's wedding. It was going to cost several hundred dollars more to fly directly into Toronto than to come up to NYC and drive, so he figured he'd come up, hang out a bit and take a road trip.
I probably should've thought things through before answering, but I'm always up for a road trip, so I told him I was in. After all, it was about 10 years ago that the two of us rather spontaneously drove from Houston to L.A. and came away with a bundle of silly memories.
Problems quickly arose as I started to ask questions over the next few weeks. First, I asked whether I was invited to the wedding. Thought I was merely confirming the obvious. What the hell was I supposed to do on my own in Toronto, right? I heard quite a bit of hemming and hawing, so I asked whether he was invited. As it turned out, he wasn't sure, because he didn't really know the cousin getting married very well. He was going mostly because other cousins of his from Hong Kong and London were going.
So he confirmed that he was invited, but I was not. What's more, he found out that his cousin who was going to ride back with us wanted to leave on Monday instead of Sunday. Which meant what? That I'd have to take a day off work to ride in a car for 17 hours to attend a wedding that ... well, I couldn't attend.
This is all making more and more sense, right? Just you wait.
On top of the building absurdity of it all, I learned that MGMT -- perhaps my favorite band of the summer -- was playing a free show at McCarren Park Pool on Sunday afternoon. I immediately got to thinking that it was perhaps time to beg off. (Many of my friends thought I should've reached that point as soon as the idea of a two-day road trip to Toronto was raised.)
Alas, I couldn't back out. I had told him that I'd go, so I'd go. And that was that.
Well, not quite. I figured I'd only have to accompany him on the way up to fulfill my obligation; he had a cousin to keep him company on the way back. So my plan was to get a one-way rental in Buffalo and drive back Saturday night.
We headed out bright and early Saturday morning. Probably the earliest I'd gotten up on a Saturday in months. At that hour during the weekend, the city seems rather peaceful. But also rather strange. Grand Central felt like a city of tourists. And when we drove away from the car rental place, I saw what looked to be a bum picking up a pair of slacks off the ground. Strange.
The first part of the drive went smoothly enough. We made good time passing through Jersey and Pennsylvania before looping back into New York. We listened to some good tunes on the iPod. We reminisced about other stupid ideas we've come up with over the years. At some point, he thanked me for coming along, and I told him that I'd be annoyed if it weren't for the fact that this doesn't even register in the top 5 of the dumbest things I've seen him do. Soon enough, we were already almost at Buffalo.
We pulled into a rest stop so that he could change into his suit. I stayed outside to fill up the tank. Moments later, he came running back, consternation on face and full (well, sort of) garment bag in hand.
"I can't find my pants," he said, as he searched the car inside out. He was sure that he'd packed them, but the pants were nowhere to be found. Because the garment bag lacked a bottom enclosure, he started to contemplate the likelihood that he dropped them along the way to the car rental place.
And just then, I remembered the sight of the bum picking up slacks off the ground. Didn't have the heart to mention it at that moment, because he was pretty pissed. We'd come all this way, and now he'd either have to skip out on the wedding or show up looking like a dope. (Well, that second possibility was probably going to be the case regardless of the pants situation.)
I tried to calm him down and told him that we should just find a mall so that he could buy a pair of pants to make do. After he got the expletives out of his system, we went on the hunt for a Banana Republic. Along the way, he told me that he sent a text message to his cousin that said something like: "Big problem. Dropped pants. Call me." Seemed an ill-advised message to me. Now, he ran the risk of not only being the dopey cousin, but also the pervy one. But whatever. There were more pressing concerns at hand.
We tracked down a Banana Republic, and he tracked down some pants. All was (as) normal (as could be) again. He then dropped me off at the car rental center at the airport before continuing on his way to Toronto.
I checked in at Budget and was told that my name would be called when my car was ready. I surveyed the scene and noticed a large number of others waiting. And they all looked pretty annoyed. Apparently, Budget had run out of cars, and none of the other companies had any available, either. Right away, I could sense that my crazy day was not likely to end soon.
An hour went by, and I was still waiting to hear my name. I figured I might as well check the airline websites on my BlackBerry to see how much I'd have to shell out to fly home instead. Lo and behold, JetBlue had a ticket for an astonishingly low $170, and the flight would get me into the city before 11:00 p.m. I was probably going to spend about $130 for the car and gas, so it was a no-brainer. Turned out to be a blessing that Budget is such a crap company. And off I went on an unexpectedly abbreviated trip to home sweet home.
So basically, I left my apartment at 9:00 a.m. and traveled 800 miles by plane, train and automobile (but without pants) before getting home at midnight. I wasted a Saturday and blew off $170 to keep my word. But, you know, crazy as it may sound, I had fun. And it all worked out in the end, as it always does. He saw his cousins in Toronto, and I saw MGMT in Brooklyn! (Woohoo!)
Still, you can bet I'll be saving this rather large chip to cash in on a rainy day. [Oh ... if you read this, pantless wonder, think real hard about that time when you wouldn't bother driving down to Houston while I was in town to see my folks. Think real hard. And what about that time when you left me stranded at the airport in Philly during a blizzard because your "girlfriend" wouldn't "let" you drive back to pick me up? Yup. This is one hefty-sized chip I'll be cashing in some day.]
A couple of months ago, this friend from Texas asked whether I was up for a road trip to Toronto for his cousin's wedding. It was going to cost several hundred dollars more to fly directly into Toronto than to come up to NYC and drive, so he figured he'd come up, hang out a bit and take a road trip.
I probably should've thought things through before answering, but I'm always up for a road trip, so I told him I was in. After all, it was about 10 years ago that the two of us rather spontaneously drove from Houston to L.A. and came away with a bundle of silly memories.
Problems quickly arose as I started to ask questions over the next few weeks. First, I asked whether I was invited to the wedding. Thought I was merely confirming the obvious. What the hell was I supposed to do on my own in Toronto, right? I heard quite a bit of hemming and hawing, so I asked whether he was invited. As it turned out, he wasn't sure, because he didn't really know the cousin getting married very well. He was going mostly because other cousins of his from Hong Kong and London were going.
So he confirmed that he was invited, but I was not. What's more, he found out that his cousin who was going to ride back with us wanted to leave on Monday instead of Sunday. Which meant what? That I'd have to take a day off work to ride in a car for 17 hours to attend a wedding that ... well, I couldn't attend.
This is all making more and more sense, right? Just you wait.
On top of the building absurdity of it all, I learned that MGMT -- perhaps my favorite band of the summer -- was playing a free show at McCarren Park Pool on Sunday afternoon. I immediately got to thinking that it was perhaps time to beg off. (Many of my friends thought I should've reached that point as soon as the idea of a two-day road trip to Toronto was raised.)
Alas, I couldn't back out. I had told him that I'd go, so I'd go. And that was that.
Well, not quite. I figured I'd only have to accompany him on the way up to fulfill my obligation; he had a cousin to keep him company on the way back. So my plan was to get a one-way rental in Buffalo and drive back Saturday night.
We headed out bright and early Saturday morning. Probably the earliest I'd gotten up on a Saturday in months. At that hour during the weekend, the city seems rather peaceful. But also rather strange. Grand Central felt like a city of tourists. And when we drove away from the car rental place, I saw what looked to be a bum picking up a pair of slacks off the ground. Strange.
The first part of the drive went smoothly enough. We made good time passing through Jersey and Pennsylvania before looping back into New York. We listened to some good tunes on the iPod. We reminisced about other stupid ideas we've come up with over the years. At some point, he thanked me for coming along, and I told him that I'd be annoyed if it weren't for the fact that this doesn't even register in the top 5 of the dumbest things I've seen him do. Soon enough, we were already almost at Buffalo.
We pulled into a rest stop so that he could change into his suit. I stayed outside to fill up the tank. Moments later, he came running back, consternation on face and full (well, sort of) garment bag in hand.
"I can't find my pants," he said, as he searched the car inside out. He was sure that he'd packed them, but the pants were nowhere to be found. Because the garment bag lacked a bottom enclosure, he started to contemplate the likelihood that he dropped them along the way to the car rental place.
And just then, I remembered the sight of the bum picking up slacks off the ground. Didn't have the heart to mention it at that moment, because he was pretty pissed. We'd come all this way, and now he'd either have to skip out on the wedding or show up looking like a dope. (Well, that second possibility was probably going to be the case regardless of the pants situation.)
I tried to calm him down and told him that we should just find a mall so that he could buy a pair of pants to make do. After he got the expletives out of his system, we went on the hunt for a Banana Republic. Along the way, he told me that he sent a text message to his cousin that said something like: "Big problem. Dropped pants. Call me." Seemed an ill-advised message to me. Now, he ran the risk of not only being the dopey cousin, but also the pervy one. But whatever. There were more pressing concerns at hand.
We tracked down a Banana Republic, and he tracked down some pants. All was (as) normal (as could be) again. He then dropped me off at the car rental center at the airport before continuing on his way to Toronto.
I checked in at Budget and was told that my name would be called when my car was ready. I surveyed the scene and noticed a large number of others waiting. And they all looked pretty annoyed. Apparently, Budget had run out of cars, and none of the other companies had any available, either. Right away, I could sense that my crazy day was not likely to end soon.
An hour went by, and I was still waiting to hear my name. I figured I might as well check the airline websites on my BlackBerry to see how much I'd have to shell out to fly home instead. Lo and behold, JetBlue had a ticket for an astonishingly low $170, and the flight would get me into the city before 11:00 p.m. I was probably going to spend about $130 for the car and gas, so it was a no-brainer. Turned out to be a blessing that Budget is such a crap company. And off I went on an unexpectedly abbreviated trip to home sweet home.
So basically, I left my apartment at 9:00 a.m. and traveled 800 miles by plane, train and automobile (but without pants) before getting home at midnight. I wasted a Saturday and blew off $170 to keep my word. But, you know, crazy as it may sound, I had fun. And it all worked out in the end, as it always does. He saw his cousins in Toronto, and I saw MGMT in Brooklyn! (Woohoo!)
Still, you can bet I'll be saving this rather large chip to cash in on a rainy day. [Oh ... if you read this, pantless wonder, think real hard about that time when you wouldn't bother driving down to Houston while I was in town to see my folks. Think real hard. And what about that time when you left me stranded at the airport in Philly during a blizzard because your "girlfriend" wouldn't "let" you drive back to pick me up? Yup. This is one hefty-sized chip I'll be cashing in some day.]
Tuesday, July 22, 2008
Swooshed into Nostalgia
So this is another recent favorite: Cut Copy. I'd known about them for a long while, but I didn't fully discover them until I heard them a few weeks ago at anotheroom -- my favorite neighborhood bar (except on those occasions when its charm is co-opted by the marauders from uptown). Can always count on them to have an admirable playlist put together.
I heard "Feel the Love" and just had to harass the bartender for the name of the band. Quite surprised to find out that it was Cut Copy. I'd imagined them to be less melodic and more frenetic.
The synth swooshes and the "ooh oohs" made me want to go home and watch Pretty in Pink. And maybe even break out dancing to Philip Oakley and Giorgio Moroder's "Together in Electric Dreams." Ah ... I can almost imagine myself at HYCAC again. (You'd have to be a pretty ancient Asian from Houston to get that reference. The good ol' days ... mixing it up with gangster wannabes til the wee hours and eating at Champps afterwards, sitting next to bullet holes in the windows. Until we graduated to Tan Tan and sat next to the thugs responsible for the bullet holes. Where has the time gone?)
Sunday, July 20, 2008
A Strangely Delicious Brew
Before Lykke Li, my musical addiction centered on MGMT. And that was, what ... a week ago? I can be rather fickle sometimes.
You know, I didn't much care for Oracular Spectacular when I first got it. I really only bought the album for "Time to Pretend." Slapped that on my current playlist and ignored the other tracks.
Then I heard "Kids" playing while I ate dinner at Belcourt. (Fantastic restaurant, by the way. Why hasn't steak with bone marrow sauce caught on at more places?) There's something strangely transformative about hearing music that you only kinda like playing in an environment where you don't expect to hear it. After the dinner, I gave the album another listen, and it started to grow on me.
My guess is that, for most people, Oracular Spectacular will sound quite strange upon the first listen. It did for me. But that's likely because MGMT has created such a unique sound. It's at once dancy and psychedelic, serene and bombastic. Sometimes, they sound like a hippie-ish band from the 60's. Other times, they sound like the Bee Gees on the soundtrack for the 21st century remake of Saturday Night Fever. Still other times, they sound like a band that couldn't decide whether to play electropop or indie rock and decided to do both. Seems like a recipe for a really disgusting oracular stew. And, on first listen, it is. But it becomes addictively tasty after you get over the weirdness.
They're playing a free show at McCarren Park Pool on Sunday with The Ting Tings. And I'm probably going to miss it because I let a friend sucker me into a road trip to Toronto for the weekend. (He needs to be there for a wedding, but he doesn't want to pay for airfare. So he convinces me to go to keep him company. Then he tells me that I'm not invited to the wedding. And he tries to make it all better by noting that one of his rather cute cousins from Australia will be riding back with us. 17 hours roundtrip? She'd better be a supermodel. Cheap bastard.)
You know, I didn't much care for Oracular Spectacular when I first got it. I really only bought the album for "Time to Pretend." Slapped that on my current playlist and ignored the other tracks.
Then I heard "Kids" playing while I ate dinner at Belcourt. (Fantastic restaurant, by the way. Why hasn't steak with bone marrow sauce caught on at more places?) There's something strangely transformative about hearing music that you only kinda like playing in an environment where you don't expect to hear it. After the dinner, I gave the album another listen, and it started to grow on me.
My guess is that, for most people, Oracular Spectacular will sound quite strange upon the first listen. It did for me. But that's likely because MGMT has created such a unique sound. It's at once dancy and psychedelic, serene and bombastic. Sometimes, they sound like a hippie-ish band from the 60's. Other times, they sound like the Bee Gees on the soundtrack for the 21st century remake of Saturday Night Fever. Still other times, they sound like a band that couldn't decide whether to play electropop or indie rock and decided to do both. Seems like a recipe for a really disgusting oracular stew. And, on first listen, it is. But it becomes addictively tasty after you get over the weirdness.
They're playing a free show at McCarren Park Pool on Sunday with The Ting Tings. And I'm probably going to miss it because I let a friend sucker me into a road trip to Toronto for the weekend. (He needs to be there for a wedding, but he doesn't want to pay for airfare. So he convinces me to go to keep him company. Then he tells me that I'm not invited to the wedding. And he tries to make it all better by noting that one of his rather cute cousins from Australia will be riding back with us. 17 hours roundtrip? She'd better be a supermodel. Cheap bastard.)
Saturday, July 19, 2008
Scandinavian Spunk
My musical addiction of the moment is Lykke Li. She's Swedish. (Naturally!)
I heard "Little Bit" a couple of months ago and picked up her EP right away. It only has four songs, and all are good. But I wanted more right away. Quite bummed to learn that her debut album, Youth Novels, wouldn't be released in the States until August 19. But I managed to snag an import copy last week. (Woohoo!)
Fantastic album. Not a single clunker in the mix. One of those rare albums I can listen to from beginning to end. Bjorn (of Peter Bjorn and John) Yttling's production surely has much to do with that. As do Lykke's very cute inflections -- like "awl" instead of "all." So, the album's been on non-stop rotation on my iPod.
She's reminiscent of Kate Bush one moment and Kylie Minogue the next, but derivative of neither at any moment. Haunting, spoken-word verses scattered among bouncy, it's-hard-to-stay-still numbers. All grown up here, not a care in the world there. (She's all of 22.)
The buzz surrounding Lykke online seems to have reached a fevered pitch. But my suspicion is that she won't catch on stateside. I say that with the histories of folks like Kate Nash and The Ting Tings in mind. Both attained rapid success in Europe, became the focus of many a blog post in the U.S. as a result, and then made the slightest of splashes when their albums finally arrived on U.S. shores. I'll try my best to withhold any value judgments, but I think it's fair to say that there's a discernable difference between the European aesthetic and that of Americans. (After all, the Swedes came up with H&M. And the Americans came up with Abercrombie & Fitch. I'll let you draw your own conclusions.)
Oh man! While putting this together, I found a clip for an acoustic, in-studio performance of "I'm Good, I'm Gone."
There are a couple of members of Shout Out Louds playing with her! (And the blonde with the crazy hair is apparently Robyn -- the rare Swedish export in whom I have no interest.)
Yup. I think I can officially bestow the title of "Coolest People in the World" upon the Swedes. (Random tidbit, but any society progressive enough to give moms and dads a year off from work after the birth of a child deserves recognition. As does any society that takes in many times more Iraqi refugees than the U.S. Shouldn't the country responsible for the invasion take on a bigger burden? Ah, but I digress ...)
Thursday, July 17, 2008
Don't let mom know.
So here's the last of the Texas entries. Flew into Dallas and headed straight to a bar from the airport. Seemed the only logical destination after yet another annoying flight (even if I did get bumped up to first class).
And then it was back up to Dallas for the culinary highlight of the trip: dinner at Babe's.
Oh, man. That's gotta be the archetype of chicken fried steaks. See that creamed corn at the top of the plate? The butter-to-corn ratio is at very balanced 3 to 1.
Have you ever played that silly game in which you're asked to imagine yourself on a deserted island with access to only one dish? The point is to decide which dish you'd want to eat over and over again. Well, for a long while, my choice has been mom's beef noodle soup. But I may have to re-think that selection. (Good thing mom can't read English. And don't you go translating, neither.)
[Another reason to like Babe's: When I was there back in November, one of the waitresses told me that she liked my shirt. I happened to be wearing my British Sea Power t-shirt. Who knew that a waitress who performs the Hokey Pokey with her colleagues would be a BSP fan? Then again, I'm not sure whether she liked the "British Sea Power" or the butterfly images portion of the shirt. Oh well ... she liked the shirt. That's good enough for me.]
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| From Dallas and Houston, Fourth of July |
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| From Dallas and Houston, Fourth of July |
And then it was back up to Dallas for the culinary highlight of the trip: dinner at Babe's.
Oh, man. That's gotta be the archetype of chicken fried steaks. See that creamed corn at the top of the plate? The butter-to-corn ratio is at very balanced 3 to 1.
Have you ever played that silly game in which you're asked to imagine yourself on a deserted island with access to only one dish? The point is to decide which dish you'd want to eat over and over again. Well, for a long while, my choice has been mom's beef noodle soup. But I may have to re-think that selection. (Good thing mom can't read English. And don't you go translating, neither.)
[Another reason to like Babe's: When I was there back in November, one of the waitresses told me that she liked my shirt. I happened to be wearing my British Sea Power t-shirt. Who knew that a waitress who performs the Hokey Pokey with her colleagues would be a BSP fan? Then again, I'm not sure whether she liked the "British Sea Power" or the butterfly images portion of the shirt. Oh well ... she liked the shirt. That's good enough for me.]
Wednesday, July 16, 2008
Are we actually out of purgatory?
Holy crap! I finally paid my first visit to the new Whole Foods that opened up down the street, and life may never be the same again. You have to understand that I live in that desolate corner of Manhattan known as northern Battery Park City (otherwise referred to as TriBeCa by the pretentious among my neighbors). Until last week, the most exciting food-shopping destination in the neighborhood was the Duane Reade. (BTW -- Absolutely random piece of information. Did you know that Duane Reade gets its name from the fact that its first store was situated on Broadway between Duane and Reade Streets? Now your life may never be the same again, either, right?)
I walked in, and I was overwhelmed. An actual supermarket in the neighborhood? Huh? Fresh meats? Four different brands of milk? And two whole display cases of beer? I picked up a six pack ... and I ain't even close to being out of beer!
I walked in, and I was overwhelmed. An actual supermarket in the neighborhood? Huh? Fresh meats? Four different brands of milk? And two whole display cases of beer? I picked up a six pack ... and I ain't even close to being out of beer!
Tuesday, July 15, 2008
Do you enjoy crushing hopes and dreams?
Another entertaining moment from the Fourth of July weekend came courtesy of Harry Potter. My friend spotted a copy of the last Harry while wandering about in my oldest sister's kitchen. He started asking questions about the book, and my sister laughed because she was amused that he managed to spot it. On this occasion, her boyfriend was the one reading the book, and he had camouflaged the cover with a blank sheet of paper because he's of the view that people make certain unflattering judgments about grown men who read Harry Potter. (This, of course, made my friend defensive, because he's a grown man who reads Harry Potter.)
The exchange prompted me to recount a story about the dangers of talking about Harry in public. I told them about my gaff at a restaurant the Monday after the last Harry was released. I was at lunch with yet another grown man who's a fan of the child wizard. I knew that he'd been out on Fire Island the weekend of the release and hadn't had much time to read, so I asked how far along he'd gotten.
"Already finished it," he said, to my amazement.
I'm not much of a fan of wizardry, so I had no qualms asking him what happens.
"So ... does Harry die or what?" I asked, with all the nonchalance I could muster.
After re-confirming that he wasn't going to ruin the fun for me, he proceeded to tell me how the tale ends. And as he did so, I heard a anguished squeal from the table next to us.
"No, no! Please stop!" howled the poor woman, with her face aghast. (Remember that scene from The Excorcist? "Make it stop! Make it stop!")
Yeah. We seriously traumatized her. My food somehow tasted less appetizing afterwards.
So, you'd figure that I would've learned my lesson. But while recounting this story in my sister's kitchen, I didn't edit out my lunch companion's response. After my sister and my friend laughed heartily at my moment of public shame, it dawned on my sister that I'd just done it again.
"Oh no! He hasn't finished!" she exclaimed, leaving me wallowing in guilt once more.
Her boyfriend looked wholly dejected. But then he smiled and assured us that he had already finished reading. I don't know if he was telling the truth, but I'm of the view that it's impolite to question the honesty of grown men who read Harry Potter.
Yeah, I can be a bit slow sometimes. But, hey ... I've finally learned. If you know whether Harry lives, you didn't find out by reading this entry.
The exchange prompted me to recount a story about the dangers of talking about Harry in public. I told them about my gaff at a restaurant the Monday after the last Harry was released. I was at lunch with yet another grown man who's a fan of the child wizard. I knew that he'd been out on Fire Island the weekend of the release and hadn't had much time to read, so I asked how far along he'd gotten.
"Already finished it," he said, to my amazement.
I'm not much of a fan of wizardry, so I had no qualms asking him what happens.
"So ... does Harry die or what?" I asked, with all the nonchalance I could muster.
After re-confirming that he wasn't going to ruin the fun for me, he proceeded to tell me how the tale ends. And as he did so, I heard a anguished squeal from the table next to us.
"No, no! Please stop!" howled the poor woman, with her face aghast. (Remember that scene from The Excorcist? "Make it stop! Make it stop!")
Yeah. We seriously traumatized her. My food somehow tasted less appetizing afterwards.
So, you'd figure that I would've learned my lesson. But while recounting this story in my sister's kitchen, I didn't edit out my lunch companion's response. After my sister and my friend laughed heartily at my moment of public shame, it dawned on my sister that I'd just done it again.
"Oh no! He hasn't finished!" she exclaimed, leaving me wallowing in guilt once more.
Her boyfriend looked wholly dejected. But then he smiled and assured us that he had already finished reading. I don't know if he was telling the truth, but I'm of the view that it's impolite to question the honesty of grown men who read Harry Potter.
Yeah, I can be a bit slow sometimes. But, hey ... I've finally learned. If you know whether Harry lives, you didn't find out by reading this entry.
Tuesday, July 8, 2008
You're a bad, bad man.
Yet another trip home to Texas this past weekend. Quite a few fun memories, starting with this one, courtesy of my precocious 9-year-old niece.
I'm at my oldest sister's house for a family barbecue. The whole gang is there -- rowdy niece, nephews and all. Talk starts up about a rabbit that's been hanging around in the backward. The little ones overhear and run out looking for the hoppity rascal. I quip, "Mmm ... if you catch it, we can eat it." (Maybe not the most child-friendly comment, but I'd just eaten some tasty tagliatelle with rabbit ragu the night before!)
This stops my niece in her tracks. She dons a look of disgust and asks, "You eat rabbits?"
By this time, I'm having a little fun with her. So I say, with a smile, "They're delicious!"
She dons a look of even greater disgust and tells me, "You're a bad, bad man." Then she pauses a bit before finishing things off: "That's why you don't get any dates."
I didn't quite follow the logic, and I questioned the accuracy of her information. But, really, there was nothing to do but laugh. I guess I'd better watch my diet if ever I'm going to settle down.
I'm at my oldest sister's house for a family barbecue. The whole gang is there -- rowdy niece, nephews and all. Talk starts up about a rabbit that's been hanging around in the backward. The little ones overhear and run out looking for the hoppity rascal. I quip, "Mmm ... if you catch it, we can eat it." (Maybe not the most child-friendly comment, but I'd just eaten some tasty tagliatelle with rabbit ragu the night before!)
This stops my niece in her tracks. She dons a look of disgust and asks, "You eat rabbits?"
By this time, I'm having a little fun with her. So I say, with a smile, "They're delicious!"
She dons a look of even greater disgust and tells me, "You're a bad, bad man." Then she pauses a bit before finishing things off: "That's why you don't get any dates."
I didn't quite follow the logic, and I questioned the accuracy of her information. But, really, there was nothing to do but laugh. I guess I'd better watch my diet if ever I'm going to settle down.
Sunday, June 29, 2008
The movie stinks, but the music ain't bad.
So here's the other pilfered entry: a soundtrack for my life. (Take a look here for the inspiration.)
This was damn hard (but quite fun). Probably much too big a project to tackle in one night. But ... whatever. Here's a first draft that'll surely need to be edited heavily.
opening credits: british sea power, “childhood memories”
waking up: peter bjorn & john, “up against the wall”
hanging out: the go! team, “huddle formation”
suburban boredom: beautiful people, “sedated times”
prelude to fistfight: white rose movement, “alsatian”
nighttime drive: hooverphonic, “inhaler”
reflection: the radio dept., “strange things will happen”
transition to adulthood: saint etienne, “roseneck”
infatuation: feist, “one evening”
falling in love: lykke li, “little bit”
love scene: broken social scene, “lover’s spit”
argument: the killers, “smile like you mean it”
breaking up: cocteau twins, “cherry-cloured funk”
after the breakup: one dove, “there goes the cure”
drifting aimlessly: fields, “if you fail we all fail”
falling apart: pet shop boys, “we all feel better in the dark”
in dark room alone: my bloody valentine, “sometimes”
thinking about her: keane, “try again”
reconnection: frou frou, “it’s good to be in love”
holding hands: club 8, “you and me”
first dance at wedding: leona naess, “sunny sunday”
closing credits: jem, “wish i”
Wow. That's quite the heavy sprinkling of cheese. Has my life been, and will it be, that sappy? Man, if this were a movie, I wouldn't watch it.
But I'd buy the soundtrack.
This was damn hard (but quite fun). Probably much too big a project to tackle in one night. But ... whatever. Here's a first draft that'll surely need to be edited heavily.
opening credits: british sea power, “childhood memories”
waking up: peter bjorn & john, “up against the wall”
hanging out: the go! team, “huddle formation”
suburban boredom: beautiful people, “sedated times”
prelude to fistfight: white rose movement, “alsatian”
nighttime drive: hooverphonic, “inhaler”
reflection: the radio dept., “strange things will happen”
transition to adulthood: saint etienne, “roseneck”
infatuation: feist, “one evening”
falling in love: lykke li, “little bit”
love scene: broken social scene, “lover’s spit”
argument: the killers, “smile like you mean it”
breaking up: cocteau twins, “cherry-cloured funk”
after the breakup: one dove, “there goes the cure”
drifting aimlessly: fields, “if you fail we all fail”
falling apart: pet shop boys, “we all feel better in the dark”
in dark room alone: my bloody valentine, “sometimes”
thinking about her: keane, “try again”
reconnection: frou frou, “it’s good to be in love”
holding hands: club 8, “you and me”
first dance at wedding: leona naess, “sunny sunday”
closing credits: jem, “wish i”
Wow. That's quite the heavy sprinkling of cheese. Has my life been, and will it be, that sappy? Man, if this were a movie, I wouldn't watch it.
But I'd buy the soundtrack.
Favorites among favorites, revisited.
This entry has spent many months in gestation. Tonight, it was finally time to induce labor.
I stole the idea from someone on Last.fm. Brilliant, just brilliant, I thought when I stumbled upon her journal entry. (Even more brilliant is her other journal entry, which shall also be pilfered.)
When I first read her entry many months ago, I immediately wanted to put together a list of my own. But it's been a monumentally daunting task. I came up with a rough draft while flying home to Houston some time last year. But I couldn't commit to my selections enough to finalize them. How many spots to give to old-timers? How many to give to current favorites, who, given my often short attention span, may no longer be favorites in a couple of months? Hell, I struggled for another couple of hours just now scooting bands in and escorting others out. But I'm at peace with my choices now ... I suppose.
Here are my top 17 favorite bands of all time, arranged in reverse chronological order by the approximate date on which I fell in love with each. (17 because that's my favorite number.)
But I'm gonna cheat a bit, because it was agonizing to leave out this band. They're actually my current favorite, but I couldn't justify bumping off any of the others to let in this relative newcomer. Maybe in another few months. For now, they get a very honorable mention in their very own space.
A throwback of sorts. Very reminiscent of Pet Shop Boys, but with newer synthesizers, deeper bass lines and stronger integration of guitars. That and they're Swedish ... as are three of my top 17. (Add in one from Denmark, and that's a pretty big Scandinavian bloc. Hmm ... I've just noticed that only one among the 17 is American. Go figure.)
It'll be fun to take a look at this (and update it) in a couple of years.
I stole the idea from someone on Last.fm. Brilliant, just brilliant, I thought when I stumbled upon her journal entry. (Even more brilliant is her other journal entry, which shall also be pilfered.)
When I first read her entry many months ago, I immediately wanted to put together a list of my own. But it's been a monumentally daunting task. I came up with a rough draft while flying home to Houston some time last year. But I couldn't commit to my selections enough to finalize them. How many spots to give to old-timers? How many to give to current favorites, who, given my often short attention span, may no longer be favorites in a couple of months? Hell, I struggled for another couple of hours just now scooting bands in and escorting others out. But I'm at peace with my choices now ... I suppose.
Here are my top 17 favorite bands of all time, arranged in reverse chronological order by the approximate date on which I fell in love with each. (17 because that's my favorite number.)
SHOUT OUT LOUDS
first song: the comeback
fell in love with: shut your eyes
current favorite: hard rain
MEW
first song: the zookeper’s boy
fell in love with: the seething rain weeps for you
current favorite: snow brigade
BRITISH SEA POWER
first song: remember me
fell in love with: childhood memories
current favorite: trip out
PHOENIX
first song: too young
fell in love with: holdin’ on together
current favorite: everything is everything
BROKEN SOCIAL SCENE
first song: ibi dreams of pavement (a better day)
fell in love with: swimmers
current favorite: 7/4 (shoreline)
STARS
first song: set yourself on fire
fell in love with: elevator love letter
current favorite: life 2: the unhappy ending
THE RADIO DEPT.
first song: against the tide
fell in love with: strange things will happen
current favorite: ewan
INTERPOL
first song: obstacle 1
fell in love with: obstacle 1
current favorite: obstacle 1
CLUB 8
first song: everlasting love
fell in love with: better days
current favorite: the beauty of the way we’re living
MY BLOODY VALENTINE
first song: soon
fell in love with: when you sleep
current favorite: sometimes
SAINT ETIENNE
first song: mario’s cafe
fell in love with: spring
current favorite: new thing
COCTEAU TWINS
first song: carolyn’s fingers
fell in love with: cico buff
current favorite: orange appled
THE SMITHS
first song: how soon is now?
fell in love with: there is a light that never goes out
current favorite: there is a light that never goes out
THE CURE
first song: just like heaven
fell in love with: just like heaven
current favorite: just like heaven
ERASURE
first song: oh l’amour
fell in love with: victim of love (vixenvitesse mix)
current favorite: i love saturday
DEPECHE MODE
first song: strangelove
fell in love with: everything counts
current favorite: but not tonight
NEW ORDER
first song: bizarre love triangle
fell in love with: bizarre love triangle
current favorite: primitive notion
But I'm gonna cheat a bit, because it was agonizing to leave out this band. They're actually my current favorite, but I couldn't justify bumping off any of the others to let in this relative newcomer. Maybe in another few months. For now, they get a very honorable mention in their very own space.
THE EMBASSY
first song: it never entered my mind
fell in love with: it never entered my mind
current favorite: beggin’
A throwback of sorts. Very reminiscent of Pet Shop Boys, but with newer synthesizers, deeper bass lines and stronger integration of guitars. That and they're Swedish ... as are three of my top 17. (Add in one from Denmark, and that's a pretty big Scandinavian bloc. Hmm ... I've just noticed that only one among the 17 is American. Go figure.)
It'll be fun to take a look at this (and update it) in a couple of years.
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