popular cult

And We All Shine On

2005-12-07T21:31:00.000-05:00

Wow, it's been a long time since I posted here, hasn't it? I wonder if anyone reads this still. If you do, post a comment saying so. I'd be curious to know.

Whether or not anyone reads this is less important than whether or not I write it, so if I write it to blind eyes then.. well... ok. That's fine with me.

It seems a little wierd to write about the 25th anniversary of the assassination of John Lennon when I was never alive when he was. But I grew up with John Lennon nonetheless, through music and movies and stories, and I have grown to love him as dearly as anyone who was able to share in the vitality of his life. It is strange to look at tomorrow and say, "Alright, then. It's been 25 years since you left. I miss you. I never knew you, but I miss you."

I think the Lennon legend has been distorted, blown out of proportion. I don't think Lennon was a savior, an activist or a leader. I don't think he ever extended that deeply into our lives, not as John Lennon the man. I think that John Lennon has carved himself a spacious, unfillable place in the American -- the international, even -- heart as John Lennon, the Beatle. John Lennon the Beatle changed life as we knew it; he made us smile, he made us sing, he made us dance. He made us think, made us laugh, made us cry. John Lennon, the Beatle, was one of the two most important rock and roll songwriters of all time. The other is his partner, Paul McCartney the Beatle.

I have now devoted my life to the academic study of the Beatles and what they did to permanently change and revitalize a country they weren't born in. Lennon was the only Beatle to become truly American; to move here, to fight for his citizenship, and to win it. He died here, as well.

I won't do anything special tomorrow, I don't think. Maybe I'll listen to my favorite Lennon song, think for a minute, say a small prayer. There's not much we can do for him, after all; he is where he was meant to be, wherever that is (I happen to think that he's in a universe that looks like "Tomorrow Never Knows" sounds. That, I think, would have suited him).

I will offer him this, though, publicly and on the internet for anyone to find and see. Thank you, John Lennon, wherever you are, for devoting your life to music and to happiness. My world is better, happier and brighter because of what you wrote and sang. You never knew me, and I will never know you, but you gave me a gift all the same, and for that I offer your my eternal gratitude, thanks, and respect. Bless.

And, finally, because I love this man so much:

"The Wrestling Dog"

One upon a tom in a far off distant land far across the sea miles away from anyway over the hills as the crow barks 39 people lived miles away from anywhere on a little island on a distant land.

When harvest time came along all the people celebrated with a might feast and dancing and that. It was Perry's (for Perry was the Loud Mayor) job to provide (and Perry's great pleasure I might add) a new and exciting (and it usually was) thrill and spectacular performer (sometimes a dwarf was use), this year Perry had surpassed himselve by getting a Wrestling Dog! But who would fight this wondrous beast? I wouldn't for a kick off!

It says I posted three days ago, but I certainly don't remember that...

2005-09-07T21:47:00.000-05:00

Anyway, this isn't really a post, it's just an instruction, because following this instruction will make your life better for 35 minuites.

Read this:

"Paper Tiger," in particular, effortlessly floats into of the realm of the hyper-real; there's nearly more silence than music. Spoon has always struck me as a band that, no matter how good the rest of their album was, could always be relied upon to produce at least one or two songs every album that would make my jaw drop ("Car Radio," "Everything Hits at Once," "Lines in the Suit"). And while Moonlight has far more than its fair share of stunners, "Paper Tiger" blows them all away. Daniel distantly croon-growls, "I'll never hold you back/ And I won't force my will/ 'I will no longer do the Devil's wishes'/ Somethin' I read on a dollar bill," over reverse-playback beats, solitary piano chords, and drumsticks; nothing else. It's an effect of singular elegance and power.

Now, Listen to this:

Kill The Moonlight

Tag, I'm it.

2005-08-24T16:23:00.000-05:00

So the ever so wonderful and lovely Megadork sent me the first email I've gotten from her in months to say "Tag, you're it!" There's a musical meme going around right now. 10 songs y'dig. Of course, most of mine are something like 30-40 years old or older, but she asked and so she'll know...

Right now I'm digging (in no particular order):

1. David Bowie - "Song for Bob Dylan"
2. The Beatles - "You Won't See Me"
3. Ghosty - "(In A Big World) Little Dreams Count"
4. Bob Dylan - "Subterranean Homesick Blues"
5. David Bowie - "Andy Warhol"
6. The Silver Jews - "Smith & Jones Forever"
7. The New Pornographers - "From Blown Speakers"
8. Talking Heads - "And She Was"
9. The Beatles - "And Your Bird Can Sing"
10. The Beatles - "Run For Your Life"

P.S. - You can download the Ghosty song on their website (along with some other truly fabuous songs... great band), but I can't link to the MP3 directly.

Psst! If we use red letters AND black letters, we can make profound statements without adding more lines of type!!

2005-08-08T03:55:00.000-05:00

I know it's not a new phenomena by any means, but it seems to have become clearer and clearer, more and more prominent in the past, oh I don't know, three months or so. Or maybe it's just European.

What am I talking about? Slogans, slogans for cities and countries, that utilize overlapping red and black type to make a statement. Usually these statements are pretty neat, but they're suddenly popping up everywhere!

Well, if by everywhere you mean two places (at least) then... I'm right, dammit!

For example:

I amsterdam.

It's everywhere in Holland, on all my maps and the like. I like it, really, because it's clever and I'm Dutch, and I am Amsterdam, dammit!

Then this popped up in London:

7 M1LLION
LONDONERS

A very moving statement, especially in the wake of these fucking bombings and shit, and I appreciate the sentiment but this is a bit of a reach. I mean, you have to replace the first "i" in "Million" with a 1 so that you can have "1 London" spelled properly.

Anyone got any others? I'm curious how many other cities have adopted something like this.

The Five and a Half Minute Hallway

2005-07-27T07:22:00.000-05:00

In times of great crisis and boredom, I seek out insanely complicated things. Movies, music, books, I like them all as layered and confusing as possible. I know a few people who find that to be entirely counter-intuitive, but I think it’s actually quite logical. People who seek out simple things in times of emotional distress are simply looking for a passing distraction to clear their heads before they can obsess over their problems once more. But I don’t obsess, I repress: as far as my emotional state is concerned, nothing is wrong. Admitting the problem means I have to deal with it, and I don’t deal with problems very well.

Complexity is the perfect escape then, you see? The more complex a work is, more of my time and brain-power is required to work through it. That means I have even less time to focus on what is bothering me. And lemme tell ya, a lot of things are bothering me right now

So what’s happened? I’ve developed an intense craving for House of Leaves, the modern-day Ulysses written by Mark Z. Danielewski. I read it last year, in February. I bought it over winter break after learning that it was a major influence on Radiohead during the sessions for Kid A and Amnesiac. I love Radiohead, and I love those albums (especially Amnesiac, actually) and was immediately interested in House of Leaves. So I bought it. It’s a 700-page behemoth, the story of a fictional documentary being academically analyzed by a dead blind man named Zampano, with footnotes (and another narrative) by a disturbed youth named Johnny Truant, which are footnoted by unnamed editors, and which, in reality, is all written by Mark Z. Danielewski over the course of ten years. The typography and format of the book are endless complex, a labyrinth of text that reflects the unfolding, supernatural labyrinth in The Navidson Record (Danielewski’s fictional documentary), incorporating fiction and real sources, and very, very difficult to get through until it grabs you. It took me from December to February to read the first two chapters. I finished the rest of the book on the eight hour flight back from Paris.

It is an incredible piece of fiction, a contemporary Ulysses (as I’ve already said), and a terrifically scary horror novel at heart. It’s endlessly surreal, using three different type fonts for the main narratives (Zampano’s academic analysis, Johnny Truant’s footnotes, and the editors’ footnotes). The word “house” always appears in blue (this is true of the word in all its invocations, including those in other languages) and the word “minotaur” always appears in red. The color technique is jarring and disorienting, as if the book needs to disorient its reader more. It occupied every brain cell I had. I need it right now.

I’ve settled for academic articles and doctoral dissertations (I’m in the middle of one that discusses the idea of the Uncanny, especially as espoused by Freud, as seen in the fictional Navidson Record, and not really even addressing the rest of the book), but it’s not satisfying. I could ask my roommate to send it to me, and I’m tempted to, but it would take another frustrating week to arrive. I don’t know what to do.

Interestingly, the online articles and dissertations seem to have developed a weird respect to Danielewski’s insistence on having house colored blue. Most independently published articles (not reviews from sites like Salon.com or other online publications [or print publications’ websites]) color “house” blue as well. But because it’s a device that Danielewski uses to subtly keep the reader within the fiction universe of the book, I find myself wondering if what I’m reading is really an analysis, or a Danielewski prank. After all, House of Leaves was originally published online… it only found print distribution after it developed an internet cult following. So who’s to say that Danielewski isn’t lurking around the web, adding to his decade-in-the-making masterpiece.

I want this book. Now.

The wonderful story of London's heat wave, and six others

2005-07-13T05:25:00.000-05:00

Once upon a time, far across the ocean, there was a rather small island nation called the United Kingdom. People in the United Kingdom were either Northern Irish (brutally marginalized and busy with a slow and painful civil war), Scottish (utterly unitelligable and resentful of the Queen for keeping them in the kingdowm when they could obviously govern themselves), Welsh (somewhere off to the side, rather into keeping to themselves), or English (probably overly bigheaded and certainly preoccupied with the fact that most people, when they say "British" mean "English," making them even more important than the rest of the kingdom). They lived in relative peace and harmony under the fickle British sky.

The capital of this somewhat sarcastic and unique nation was a city called London, a sprawling metropolis of neo-Classical architecture, Victorian buildings and numerous parks, green and damp from the near-constant rain. Gigantic red double-deck buses meandered through the streets, twisted and knotted in the mideval pattern, weaving in and out of the many cars and even greater hoardes of people. Most of the people who waited for these red giants lived in London, but as summer approached their numbers swelled further as tourists came flooding into the city. They came from everywhere: Paris, Amsterdam, Beijing, Tokyo, Berlin, New York, Los Angeles, Washington D.C. They came in all colors from white to neon blue, all shapes from stringbean to billiard ball, and all sizes from microscopic to towering giant.

Every year the natives of London (by and large about medium size and rather thin, though they came in a rainbow of colors) prayed and prayed for a real summer. "Give us some sunshine and heat!" they would cry, lifting their hands to the sometimes-grey sky. "Please, oh Lord, give us summer!" And God -- or Krishna or Buddha or Weather or Whomever -- looked down from the sky and laughed and laughed until tears rolled from his (her/its) eyes and sheets of rain once again fell on the sprawling city. The native sighed, the tourists yelped and the Big One Up There smiled in satisfaction.

The group of American students, in the Great City for only three months and eager to immerse themselves quickly, in a truly American fashion, sat on the steps of their apartment building in the Luxurious Part of Town (TM) and smoked cigarettes while eyeing the grey sky.

"This is bullshit," one of them said, tall and brown and angry that he was wearing long pants, "It's summer. Be hot!"

"No, I like it," another protested, curled up in the corner of the porch, cigarette loose in her hand, "This is perfect."

The Big One Up There heard their bickering and frowned in anger. "I'll teach the complainers a lesson," he (she/it) said firmly. "They question my decisions? Well, I'll show them what summer in London could really be like..."

And he (she/it) did, using his (her/its) humongous hands to sweep the clouds across the sky, allowing pure, unadulterated sunlight to stream down upon the island nation. "Sun!" the Londoners cried, throwing their arms up in celebration, "Summer at last!"

The Americans students ran out into the parks, frisbees and soccer balls held tightly in their arms like small children, rejoicing the heat of summer. Those who prefered the temperate, sometimes rainy weather, pouted sullenly and wished for a sprinkler or hose as they began to drip with sweat. The students and Londoners played and played, romping through Hyde Park, then to Trafalger Square to sit by the fountain, then to Buckingham Palace and Leicester Square and Picadilly and all the beautiful places they had longed to see in the sun-drenched summer they were used to back home. They romped for hours and trudged back to their apartments, smiles wide across their faces, sweat dripping from their brows.

As they entered the apartments, the smiles fell from their faces. "Yo, where's the AC?" the tall brown boy asked, fanning himself with his shirt collar.

"It's fucking hot," another boy complained.

"I told you so," said the quiet girl who took another cigarette out of her pack and stuck it between her lips before heading outside once more to smoke it.

"This is bullshit," they complained, "How can no one have air conditioning here?"

The Big One Up There heard them complaining and frowned furiously. In a big swoop of clouds and thunder, he (she/it) came down to London and appeared before the obnoxious American students.

"How dare you complain!" he (she/it) boomed, "I heard your pleas for real summer, for heat, and I gave it to you! Now you just find something to complain about again! You ungrateful little twats!"

The American students were taken aback by their tongue lashing (no one had thought to call them twats before, though upon reflection is seems that such blunt language might fix a lot of problems with Americans, at home and abroad) and simply stared at the Big One Up There with wide eyes.

"God!" he (she/it) cursed, stamping its foot impatiently, "I hate this shit!"

And with that he (she/it) was gone. The students looked at each other in shock until the front door opened and the sensible girl's face popped inside.

"It's raining," she said, and closed the door.

And in the great city of London, between the ancient soil and the new buildings, between the tourists and the locals, the foreigners and the natives, the raindrops fell, connecting them all in a great flood of water that finally broke the heat.

(Until it came back two weeks later)

If you cut me, do I not bleed?

2005-07-08T07:42:00.000-05:00

So I've had a full 24 hours to reflect and smoke and sleep and generally let yesterday sink in. It was the second serious terrorist attack I've personally experienced, technically the third I've lived through (I was only 8 when the World Trade Center was bombed, and I think I watched the news while playing Barbie, so I don't really count that one, nee?). I have to admit, I was generally convinced after 9/11 that this kind of thing wouldn't happen again, that I wouldn't be in the immediate vicinity of a terrorist attack, that I wouldn't have my life disrupted by it again. 9/11 was so discombobulating, so utterly out of the ordinary, that I didn't really think it could happen again. Haha, it did.

London is a truly remarkable city. I chose to study here this summer because I've been to the city three times before, and each time I do my best to figure out a way not to go back home. I really adore this place, and I did years before yesterday even happened. But yesterday was the day when I realized that if I ever had the means and opportunity to move here permanently, I would do it without a second thought. I also made a pact with a friend to come back in 2012 (if we're not living here already) for the Olympics.

I left the Crofton, my dorm, at about 5 o'clock yesterday with a friend, determined to make it to Camden Town (and Camden Market therein) in order to buy some herbal relief and relaxation (*wink*). Normally, to get to Camden, we walk to Gloucester Road station on the Picadilly line and take that to Leicester Square, switch to the Nothern line and get off at Camden Town station. All in all, on a good day, about 20 minutes each way. We would have been back by 6. But, of course, the tube was closed yesterday and we couldn't do that. So we walked up to Hyde Park gate, which is half a block from our dorm, on High Street Kensington. Luckily, they had started running buses again by then (walking to Camden takes about 2 hours, since I live in Kensington which is on the south-western corner of Central London), and we caught a number 10 which took us to Warren Street tube station. Warren Street's only a few stops away, so we walked to Camden Market from there, which only took about 15 minutes. Herbal relaxation was plentiful, despite the increased police presence (they were wearing bright yellow reflective jackets and were concerned with WAY more importnat things than two kids buying pot... plus, if they had caught us, we would've gotten a ticket for about 50 GBP), and we quickly found and bought some. Then we had to figure out how to get back.

We smoked a joint, under this little bridge with lights on the bottom of it, that covers a little canal that's, I guess, a little estuary of the Thames, but it totally looked like a little slice of Amsterdam, which is why we deemed it to be our smoking spot. But as we were finishing, typical British weather kicked in. That morning, during the attacks, it had been grey and overcast, and had rained lightly for a bit. Then, in the early afternoon until we smoked it got all sunny and gorgeous. Then... it POURED. I mean, poured. I was wearing my Ugg slippers without socks, and they squished for the rest of the day, and are STILL drying out today. We got soaked. We took refuge in a pub called The World's End, and when it stopped raining we approached a policeman to give us directions. He told us to find a C2 bus, and that should take us at least to Oxford Circus, where we could get another bus.

Well, the C2 didn't come for a long time, so we gave up and started walking. We walked to Tottenham Court Road (that took about 45 minutes), the first promising place for catching a bus. The 10 ran through there, so in theory we could've caught that one and taken it all the way back to half a block from our apartments. We waited for about half an hour before catching a 73 to Oxford Circus, then an 8 to Marble Arch and then a 10 home.

But while we were waiting at Tottenham Court, we began to realize that the city was full of people. Everyone was getting off of work and wandering around, looking lost and confused as they tried to figure out how to get home. The London Underground carries approximately 3 1/2 million commuters every day. To say that London is a bit lost without it is an understatement. But my friend and I were simply awed by the buses and police officers showing everyone how to get home. All the rail services were operating, the overground trains and trams, the coaches and buses, the airports. Just the tube was closed. And everyone, people who spent all day in offices and on cell phones on the tube, was talking to everyone else. Asking after the news, how are you, do you know how to get home? Are you hungry, are you okay. It was incredible. Simply incredible. I didn't mind waiting because all of a sudden London wasn't just a city with lots of different people, it was a community. A much closer community than I -- or any foreigner -- had ever realized. It may not look like Londoners give much of a damn about anyone other than themselves, but they do. They actually care a lot.

What happened yesterday was and is bewildering and upsetting. How can it not be? That kind of violence, against completely innocent people, is always horrific, whether it happens in London, New York, Washington DC, Iraq, Israel, Palestine, Sudan, Laos, or anywhere else in the world. Innocent people are innocent people, no matter where or who they are. The kind of anger and hatred that motivate terrorism are so foreign to me, so completely unimaginable, that I have trouble understanding how you even get the idea into your head. But it's okay; we're okay. London's already bouncing back, and I would guess that we'll be back to gloating over the Olympic win in about a week.

Thanks, anyone who IMed or emailed me to see if I was okay. I am okay; in fact, I'm more than okay. I'm happy. I'm in London.

I heard the news today, oh boy...

2005-07-07T07:31:00.000-05:00

I realize it's been a very long time since my last post, long enough that I doubt anyone is even reading this blog anymore. I've been in London since mid-May, and I've been having so much fun, doing so many things, that I've not had time to blog.

Well, today I do. I'm stranded in my dorm, asked not to leave because, as I'm sure you've all heard, someone decided to bomb the city.

Seven explosions, six on tube trains and one on a bus. Two dead, many wounded, 10 critical, 8 serious. This is the second terrorist attack I've lived through, and lemme tell you it totally sucks.

I really don't have much to say. I want to journal, keep a record, but all I know is what I see on TV. I'm lucky, I never even made it to the tube this morning, never got on my train, was never in harm's way. After the bus bombing we were looking sideways at the buses driving by, but they're empty now, closed and shut down and people have been sent to buildings, jobs, homes. The underground, the tube, is shut down, closed, unoperable, bombed. Bombed.

On the tv are crowds of men and women in suits, looking sharp, ready for business, faces shell-shocked and eyes glazed, stuttering out their stories of survival, muttering "I thought it was the end, I thought my time was up." Alarm bells, times up, we're all going to die and all that. All that. So much of that. I'm glad only two went, I'm glad that people are generally okay, I'm glad that the double-decker bus that looked like a sardine can roughly peeled open and splayed grotesquely on the side of the road isn't a mass grave and just a pile of scrap metal.

This is weird. Abnormal, nonsensical. And calm.

And now for something completely serious

2005-05-15T16:22:00.000-05:00

I have no illusions about this blog. As far as I know, no one reads it except for a few people who wander in and out. And that's fine. It's become my dumping gorund for stoned essays, meandering thoughts, and spelling mistakes. It's never been serious. And it probably never will be.

But as it is my dumping ground, I have no qualms about posting this. Maybe no one will ever read it; fine. Maybe someone will and they'll tell their friend, who will read it and tell someone else, and it will snowball; fine. Maybe somone will read it and make fun of me; that's fine too. But I have to at least try.

After five years under an Administration I didn't vote for (either time) and two years at war with a country I don't think we should be fighting, I have lost my patience for my country and my respect for myself and my peers. On the homepage of the Washington Post's online edition, there is a headline which reads "Rice Thanks U.S. Troops In Surprise Visit to Iraq." Under that headline is a small article blurb:

"Trip comes amid suicide bombings, assassinations and the discovery of bodies of Iraqis apparently slain execution-style in as many as three locations."

This is a war that is supposed to be over. This is a war that is, at least, supposed to be under control. But it's not. It's obviously not. People are blowing up cars, themselves, whatever and whoever they can get their hands on in order to fight what they see as an evil occupying regime. They are killing anyone and everyone they can --- if they have power or not --- just to make a point. Now they're killing their own soldiers. And while our troops and our people are not Iraqis, and while we've "transferred sovereignty" (whatever that means) a year ago, the truth is that we started this war, and we have a responsibility to finish it.

And what about here? Our job market is plummeting, the country is deeply in debt, Republicans are trying to privitize social security (to the infinite disadvantage of the American people), we haven't made any great strides in dealing with internal security, the religious right is completely out of control, censorship is shooting through the roof, our standards of education (not to mention the funding) are falling rapidly, we're losing our jobs and our economic market to Russians, Chinese and Indians, and according to the man behind the desk the state of the union is good.

We are being lied to, and we're not doing anything about it.

I don't know what the answer is. I don't know if a protest would do it, if a letter-writing campaign would do it, if an assassination would do it. I don't know if T-Shirts or newspaper articles or advertising is the best approach. I don't know where to start, or where to end. But I do know that no one is being held accountable for this. Five years ago, America was literally on top of the world. We had billions of dollars in extra money, we have a booming job market and economy, and we still had European allies. And I know economists say that the downturn in the markets is natural and unavoidable, and I know Osama was planning the plane attacks during the Clinton years, and I know that with economic recession comes unemployment, but no one, no one, can convince me this was all handled properly. We are a failing country. A FAILING COUNTRY. We're also one of the only countries where the people, We the people, are supposed to be able to effect some change. The government is supposed to carry out what WE want to do, or suffer the consequences. Isn't it about time that there are consequences?

I'm open to anything. I want to know where to start, how to do it. But most of all, I want accountability; I demand accountability. I hope you do, too.

Live from Prague...

2005-04-23T11:51:00.000-05:00

...Yes, I am in Prague at the moment, visiting friends studying abroad, and I was emailing my parents (y'know it's good to let them know you're alive when you travel overseas) when I came across this item on stereogum:

No Sympathy For The Devil

Speaking of Zeppelin, have you guys heard how much Pope Benedict XVI hates rock 'n' roll?

In November of '96, Vatican hardliner Cardinal Ratzinger warned that heavy metal was an "instrument of the Devil" and endangered young people's souls. The future Pope (who was in Opus Dei, Da Vinci Code stizz!) singled out these groups as the worst offenders...

* Pink Floyd
* The Rolling Stones
* Queen
* Led Zeppelin
* Black Sabbath
* The Beatles
* Alice Cooper
* AC/DC
... and of course ...
* The Eagles

He called upon members of heavy metal bands to "purify themselves" and posited that AC/DC "referred not to alternating current or even bisexuality, but to the satanic phrase 'Antichrist, Death to Christ.'"

Ok, look. I'll go for the rest of the list but... the Beatles? What? Out of all those, they're definitly the most wholesome. Although, Lennon did make that "bigger than Jesus" comment...

...I'm not going to write anymore because I'm using a Czech keyboard and I'm drunk (like to drink? Prague is the greatest). EVERYONE GO TO PRAGUE. NOW!

I'd like to write a defense of Paul McCartney

2005-04-18T13:10:00.000-05:00

On a beautiful Monday afternoon, with the sun shining and the temperature finally above 65 degress, it is nigh on impossible to resist the urge to open all the windows, roll a joint, and put Revolver on repeat as loud as is comfortable. So, when I got home from class, I did just that and then settled onto my bed with the fragile 1976 Rolling Stone Illustrated History of Rock and Roll that my professor had leant me, and began to read Lester Bangs' entry on the British Invasion and Greil Marcus' entry on the Beatles.

Greil Marcus' entry on The Beatles was of particular interest, as I am writing my American Studies thesis on Beatlemania in America 1964-1967. I've been doing a lot of research on this topic (e.g. reading a lot of silly, wonderful books about the Beatles) because it's more interesting than my classes, and I have noticed a disturbing trend. Paul McCartney, as Beatle, is being belittled in a totally undeserving way.

The death of John Lennon may be the worst thing that ever happened to the Beatles, not because it destroyed the possibility of a reunion, but because it has eclipsed the importance of the Beatles as a group. In all of the criticism and journalism and analysis that I have read that was published or written before the assasination of Lennon, he is not singled out as the primary Beatle, as he is now. Most of the Beatles' compositions have fallen to revisionist history that counts Lennon as the primary writer. The crit of pre-dead Lennon, he is viewed as much more of a group player. And in the writing that was published or appeared before the breakup, he is rarely anything other than slightly more introspective than Paul, and certainly not superior.

There are exceptions to the generalization I made above, but few. Which is why I'm so disturbed by the continued lampooning of Paul McCartney's worth. Has his post-Beatles stuff been vastly inferior to his work as a Beatle? Of course; you'd have to be deaf not to admit that. But as a Beatle, as the partner of John Lennon, Paul McCartney is not only his equal, but possibly his most important influence.

Paul McCartney was the only Beatles to have a true interest in musical virtuosity. While George Harrison was not only a fantastic guitar player, but also a deeply talented player of other string instruments like the sitar, and both Lennon and Ringo Starr were masters of the guitar and the drums, respectively, McCartney pushed beyond his own assigned instrument -- the bass -- and into the realms of piano, guitar, drums, various electronic keyboards, sound editing and orchestral scoring. Musically, McCartney was much more invested in music as art and form, which made his compositions sound a bit corny and old-fashioned. His musical curiosity, however, also bred the urge towards musical experimentation, and Paul was often the inspiration for many of their recording revolutions. He was one of the first to trule explore the possibility of multi-tracked vocals and was the writer of hundreds of delicate, intricate harmonies. He also was the first Beatle to experiment with found-sounds and tape splicing, and his early experiments were key to John's famous "innovation" of "Revolution 9." McCartney was also responsible for pushing Harrison's work to new heights, and his touch is what makes Harrison's three Revolver contributions ("Taxman," "Love You To," and "I Want To Tell You") so sublime.

Moreover, it is a baldface lie to say that, even in the bitter end, Lennon and McCartney weren't a writing team. Whoever wrote the original composition is irrelevant; master tapes, demos, and unused studio takes that have surfaced over the years has proven over and over again that once they were in the studio, Lennon and McCartney not only had free reign to pick over each others' songs, but actually encouraged the other to do exactly that. Even their most seperate compositions are covered with the fingerprints of their counterpart. That is why neither Lennon's nor McCartney's solo careers have satisfied their audiences. Their strengths are on display, as they always were, but now there is no partner to counteract their weaknesses. Lennon fell into the trap of idealism, egotism and self-promotion; his unyielding, often naive, philisophical stances are on full display without any of McCartney's softening touch, which leaves them hard and unappealing in large doses. And McCartney continues to struggle in the pit of showmanship that has tainted his unrivalved ear for melody and harmony with schlock-y, trite lyrics and ideas. He can be unbearable without Lennon there to sharpen up the edges.

Most Beatles scholars (if there are such things; it may be more correct to say "Most people who write books about the Beatles") agree that before John Lennon met Yoko Ono and Paul McCartney met Linda Eastmen, they had no other soulmates than each other. Their wives and girlfriends, whom they loved, didn't rank nearly as high as on their priority list than each other. They spent almost all their time together, they were in constant contact, and they were constantly writing and recording. Whatever one member took and interest in, they all took an interest in as well. They learned, lived and loved together. The core of this was Lennon and McCartney, songwriting team and inseperable unit. They wrote, lived and worked together as complete equals, two sides of the same coin. The equality of that partnership is deserved, and praise should be heaped upon the shoulders of both members.

DC or The Story's In the City, Keep Your Ear To The Ground

2005-03-26T20:54:00.000-05:00

Home is good. Home is so very, very good.

Flew in on Thursday and went basically straight to the Black Cat (after spending some very important time trapping my dog in a bear hug and kissing him like a madwoman) and saw The Minus Story, who a friend had tried to turn me on to a while ago. Or so he says. He says he tried to play me the songs and I wouldn't listen, but I think I know myself pretty well and I don't think that sounds like anything I would do. Maybe I didn't have time to listen. Regardless, I recognized their name on the Black Cat schedule, went, and enjoyed myself immensely. Then I left about 5 minutes after their set was done. They're touring with a band called Crooked Fingers, who are also apparently really good. I left, so I wouldn't know.

I did, however, get free buttons and a free Hitler moustache out of the deal. No, they're not Nazis. They just have a song about a one-legged Nazi. Oh, just listen!!

Friday was day-with-the parents, which was actually pretty great. My sister, who is my main foe in the family (although not really a foe, just a source of friction), is off in Italy with her school having the time of her life, so this visit home was an adult visit, complete with a really nice lunch at Houston's (mmmmmm, ribs) and alcohol. Mmmm, alcohol. Then I went shopping for a really long time and got an outfit for today's Bar Mitzvah and really, really, really, really cute shoes for summer. I am so excited about these shoes. I love these shoes.

Today was Bar Mitzvah day, with a weirdo Rabbi who copped a 'tude and the first look at my cousin Brandon's Beatles/Strokes haircut. He's 10 and officially the awesomest member of my family thusfar. Really. He's trying to be a mini-Julian Casablancas. Or a mini-JohnLennonCirca1965. Either way the verdict is in: AWESOME.

The service was short, the bar was open, and I was drunk at 12:45 p.m. along with the rest of my family. Then, the starved lot of us who hadn't eaten since the day before, chowed down on an awesome buffet. Man, the perks of Judaism. Seriously, everyone should give it a try.

And now... off to the French Kicks and Calla (Sara? Are you there? Will I see you?) and my final night at home. Tomorrow I head back to Boston, my parents head to Amsterdam, and my dog goes to a kennel. After I spend about an hour showering him with kisses again.

Cryin', waitin', hopin'...

2005-03-22T23:58:00.000-05:00

Isn't winter terribly long?

Spring's just starting emerge, which is to say that it's slowly edging up towards 50 degrees in the great white North. It was 47 today and felt positivly hot. Well, not hot. Barely warm. Which is better than lung-freezing, gut-wrenching cold. Which is how it's been since February.

"April is the cruellest month" my ass, T.S. Eliot. February. February, the second or third day, when all of a sudden that final cold snap comes. The February snap behaves the same way your perpetually-late friend does when he or she goes to a party. They're late, and they know they've missed the bulk of the fun, but damned if they aren't going to get a drunk as possible. The February snap is on a mission from its weather god: Be as cold as you can be, and maybe we'll kill off some of these idiotic humans.

But today I didn't have to wear a heavy coat and it felt like a revolution.

This is funny. This is nice.

2005-02-28T14:53:00.000-05:00

So I came home from London with all intentions to hang out with my dog, see my friends, head down to the Black Cat and see some shows, maybe do some dancing, maybe see if my Wilco luck would stike again and I could get scalped tickets to see them at the 9:30 Club.

Well. You know what happened? I got the flu. And have been home, in my bed, since Thursday. I postponed my flight back to Boston, told my professors I wouldn't be in class today, and set about getting better. And now, when I'm finally feeling better.... I get this awful cough. And it hurts. A lot.

So I go to the doctor. Guess what? I have pneumonia! AAAAAAAAHAHAHAHAHAHHAHAHAA!

Yeah. Shoot me.

A funny little side note.

2005-02-24T00:25:00.000-05:00

I try not to be so awfully self-promoting, but I made it onto MTV.com again. I also had these little comments posted after Joey Ramone died and Joe Strummer died. I tend to write in a lot (what a great way to vent to the Evil Empire), but they only seem to publish me in these kinds of memory letters. Does this mean I'm destined to write obits?

Fear and Loathing in the afterlife

2005-02-21T20:17:00.000-05:00

I had neglected to post this earlier, thinking I should write something more profound and prosaic. Well, I'm drunk now and feeling profound and prosaic.

When Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas was released onto the big screen, I wasn't allowed to see it. If I was going to see something so drug heavy (I think I was, like, 14 at the time), my parents reasoned, I should read the book first. So I did. And I fell in love. As a writer (always) and a (secretly) aspiring journalist (at the time...I mean I still am now, but I'm more open about it) I immediatley felt a deep admiration and attraction to Hunter S. Thomspon. I loved and still love all his writing. For my final paper in last semester's Journalism in 20th Century America class, I wrote about him.

He shot himself in the head yesterday.

I found out this morning, 12:30 p.m. London time, 6:30 a.m. US time, via the front page of the Evening Standard. Angrily, I asked the man at the stand "Is this true?? Can I trust this??" "Yes," he said, and I thought I would cry.

Thompson's legacy is not to be underestimated. He completely and totally changed the way journalism is written and thought about. I am very sad.

Read this to hear the same sentiments from someone who actually knew him.

Cheers, Hunter. Cheers.

Well, not exactly here, but near...

2005-02-21T16:31:00.000-05:00

Reviving the old tradition of Judro Bathing is slowly but slowly dancing in Liddypool once more. Had you remembering these owld custard of Boldy Street blowing? The Peer Hat is very popularce for sun eating and Boots for Nude Brighter is handys when sailing. We are not happy with her Queen Victorious Monologue, but Walky Through Gallery is goodly when the rain and Sit Georgie House is black (and white from the little pilgrims flying form Hellsy College). Talk Hall is very histerical with old things wot are fakesand King Anne never slept there I tell you. Shout Airborne is handly for planes if you like (no longer government patrolled) and the L.C.C.C. (Liddypool Cha Cha Cha) are doing a great thing. The Mersey Boat is selling another three copies ot some go home foreigners who went home.
There is a lot to do in Liddypool, but not all convenience.

[That's not by me. That's by John Lennon. I'm not in Liddypool. I'm in Londumb.]

[Please don't sue for copyright. I'm broke now.]

I'm like a broken record

2005-02-13T15:00:00.000-05:00

No, really. I am stuck on the same 30 seconds, 45 seconds of one song. I don't want to listen to anything other than this bridge. It is so perfect and amazing, I just play it over and over again.

Coming from a singer's standpoint, I get stuck on songs like this a lot. Little moments of perfect harmony are like crack to me. Over and over and over....

If I were you
I'd realize that I
Love you more
Than any other guy
And I forgive the lies I
Heard before
When you gave me no reply

That's it. Those seven lines in "No Reply," a Beatles song from 1964, containing possibly the best harmony that Lennon and McCartney ever sang. Paul's high compliment to Lennon's driving, double-time melody is stunning. Stunning stunning.

30 seconds. I'm going to drive my roomates completely insane.

Even though we won, it most certainly is...

2005-02-07T13:29:00.000-05:00

....gay. The Superbowl is Gay.

That video is one of the funniest things I've ever seen. The lyrics are as follows.

Warning: If you lack the essential gene that allows humans to have a sense of humor, you should probably skip this. And don't give me shit about "gay" being politically incorrect. Fuck you and your politically incorrect bullshit. This? Is funny.

The Superbowl is Gay
The superbowl is gay,
The superbowl is gay,
The superbowl,
Super bowl,
Super booooooooooowwwwwllllll…
…is gay
The Raiders are gay,
The Raiders are so fucking gay,
Raiders are so fucking gay,
The Raiders are...
…gaaaaaaaayayayayay
The Bucks are gay,
The Bucks are also fucking gay,
The Bucks are also fucking gay,
The Bucks are also fucking gay,
The Bucks are…
…gaaay
Raiders…gay
The Bucks…gay
Superbowl…gay
Everything else…gay
Water…gay
Calgone…is gay
DVD Players are gay
DVDs are gay
Straightcalves are gay
The sky is gay
And also sometimes grey
But its mostly gay
Cottage cheese is gay
Yogurt…gay
Shirts…gay
Vacuum Cleaners…gay
Electronic devices,
Name on, palmolive are gay
Why are they so gay,
Why is everything gay,
KFC is gay,
McDonalds is gay,
McDonalds is gay,
You must not mis-under-stand-me when I say McDonalds is gay because it is so gaaay,
Orange juice is gay,
Orange juice gay,
Orange Juice raped my father,
So that makes him gay,
So that you know Orange Juice is a male,
Gay,
Gay,
Gay, Gay, Gay,
I don’t want to play with you cause your gay,
I don’t want to play with you cause your gay,
Why don’t you go eat K you [???] gay
Why don’t you go eat KFC which I already told you is gay,
That’ll make a nice gay couple,
Because your eating KFC and you are so gay,
Just like the chicken that your eatinggg,
Put on some calgone you faggot cause your gay,
So is the calgone cause everything I know is gay,
Dollar Bills…gay
Coins…gay
Monitors are gay,
Monitors are gay,
Standards are gay,
Zip drives…gay,
CD Burners… gay
CD burners are gay,
They burn me the shit from kazaa,
But theyre gaaaaay,
Ayayayayay,
I am not gay,
I am not gay,
I am not gay,
I like girliiiiiiiiiiiieeeeeeeeeeeeeeesssssssseiiiiiiiiiissssssss,
I like girlies
But I like penis so I gues im gaaaaayy,
Gayasijfhdldsakng;lmdailkfn;djn;lSDNg;k/lsnlgajknfgljbd…
…
so were all GAY!

This is a business, you're bound to fail

2005-01-28T10:53:00.000-05:00

Following a link from Scott Stereogum, I was reading a Metafile posting about Ashlee Simpson and how her label has been planting spammers online to go to message boards and post nice things about her, when I saw this comment:

bob dylan got booed when he went electric
prince got booed when he opened for the stones
in 20 years, ashlee will look back at this and laugh.

I can't even describe the rage that momentarily filled my blood when I saw this idiot girl being compared to Dylan and Prince, but after a couple seconds it just made me sad.

I don't understand why failure in the music business has become such a terrifying thing for artists anymore. I mean, yeah okay, if I had invested my heart and soul into making an album and it went nowhere, I would be heartbroken. But I would also stop, take a look at what I was doing, see if it's really what I should be doing (both musically and career-wise), and maybe make some changes. Including what industry I was in, if need be. And that's what Ashlee needs to do.

And that's assuming that someone like Ashlee Simpson even thinks of herself as a musician! I mean, it seems that she needs this album to be a hit and to become a star because she made a reality show about her, and if her career flops then the reality show was rather pointless. Well, it was. Duh. We all know that. We all know she got a show because MTV made a lot of money off her sister's marriage, and wanted more. It seems like that was even the motivation for her parents to get her started on this music career in the first place. So, Ashlee, just stop! You're done! You had a hit single, got caught lip synching, and are now done. Hope it was fun, bet you made some friends, now bow out gracefully before you get hurt.

This is the way it works in music. You either make it, or you don't. And if you don't, like so many people, you have two choices. 1. If you have talent, find yourself and independent label and work your ass off. You'll have a following in no time. 2. If you don't (*cough*Ashlee*cough*), find something else to do. Please, before my ears start bleeding.

I saw a man on a flaming pie, and he said you are 'blizzard' with an 'a' and we are.

2005-01-24T01:52:00.000-05:00

Mmmmm, snow. So much snow. We got about 2 1/2 feet of snow last night and into today. I went to work at 5:30, was gone by 6:30 -- the governor declared a state of emergencey that was state-wide, and Landmark policy is to close. Which was great. Me and the roomies bunkered down in the living room and made spaghetti and watched Harold and Kumar Go To White Castle, whilst consuming as much pot as we could. It should be noted that Harold and Kumar is one of the funniest movies I've seen in the past year or so, as well as one of the most intelligent. I highly recommend it.

When I woke up this morning I went and opened the front door to see how much snow there was. Everything was white, the street signs half-buried, and the wind had blown these HUGE snowdrifts up around the cars. There was a foot of snow against the door that still hasn't been shoveled. And won't be shoveled for a while; they cancelled school tomorrow because it might snow again tonight and they can't get plowed in time. Which means a four-day weekend. Awesome.

Blizzards are awesome.

I might change my mind about that when I dig my car out tomorrow to do laundry. We'll see.

In a far off, distant land, they made pot legal and I forgot to blog for a month

2005-01-20T10:27:00.000-05:00

No, really. My incredibly long absence from the world of self-exploitative and self-indulgent constantly updated writing on the internet, I have traveled up and down the coast, across the sea, and into climates foreign and strange.

I started by getting to fuck out of school and back to my nice, comfortable house in Washington DC, which has the added super-bonus of also containing my dog. I love the reuinions with my dog, because they involve a lot of being quiet and petting him and him falling asleep on my foot and then my losing all feeling in my leg... I really, really love my dog. And I miss him a lot when I'm away, because my roommate has a cat, which is almost as good, but far more volatile and plus, I'm allergic, so really it's just incredibly unsatisfying.

Aside from sitting in my house spending countless hours with my dog (who was pretty fed up with me by the time I left, methinks), I also ventured out into the section of Southern California that had suddenly popped up outside. New Years was a balmy 65 degrees, and some days definitly reached up into the sunny 70s. I found myself wandering about in a t-shirt in... December. I will never quite be able to describe how completely foreign it felt, and how much it solidified in my mind in a most permanent and concrete way that I will always, without exception, live in a place that experiences 4 full seasons. But it was a nice, break, I suppose.

After two somehow-too-fast weeks in the warm weather, I braved a drive through the Armpit of America (hellooooo New Jersey!) through to the Sleepiest City (what up, Boston?) so that I could unpack, re-pack, and hop on a plane for (wait for it, wait for it) Amsterdam.

I should quickly mention that this vacation is the best idea I've ever had.

Amsterdam, weather-wise, hovered in the very low 50s to very high 40s, with considerable (and apparently, unseasonable) wind, and generally sunny skies. At no time were we cold nor were we ever really hot. Basically, the entire vacation was room-temperature. The architecture, without running into syrupy-ness here, is absolutely stunning; for anyone who is from DC, it's basically a city that is made entirely of Georgetown. The same great townhouse structure, no real tall buildings, everything looks like a boutique (even if it isn't), walking-only boulevards that are lined with shops (same concept, far better execution, as a mall). And, to top it off, canals. Oh my lord, the canals are so beautifuly, and at night they're all strung with lights which glow and reflect on the water. It's almost too storybook sometimes, but that is tempered by the fact that, at night, Amsterdam also looks incredibly seedy. The signs for coffeeshops (most of which are really nice, some of which are not.. I'll get to that), the red light district glowing so garishly, lined with men imploring you to take in the live sex show right behind the huge wooden doors. The occasional herion or cocaine addict, crouched in a small alley next to the thick rows of parked bicycles, cutting up white powder on the palm of his hand, the only kind of illicit drug user in the country with the world's most progressive drug policy, his movements stiffened by fear and shame. This underbelly with such beautiful, quaint, moral architecture are an intoxicating mixture. It's a very addictive city.

And, of course, everything is tempered by pot. By far the ten best grams I've ever smoked in my life, I feel spoiled and ruined by my adventures. But in a way that's worth it, and one I know I can return to (in four months, actually). To say more seems silly and somehow beneath me; I don't like the idea of investing time really thinking about pot in any way other than something which tempers and sometimes enhances my existence. I feel like I'd be giving it too much credit.

The novelty of smoking in a bar, though, or of just smoking pot out on the street, is really fun.

The rest of my attention -- eyes and ears -- have been quite hooked on the Beatles, in a very academic and curious way that I've never really experienced before, and which I can't seem to shake off, even when I want to. I have rediscovered the years of 1958-1966, and I find myself completely hooked. I have suspected for a long time that, while I enjoy modern and avant-garde music quite a lot, and even love some of the leading bands in those categories, I am not entirely suited to this era, musically. I have always been intensely attracted to early rock and pop music, but also very selectively. I am a fan of Buddy Holly, Elvis Presley (pre-army), early Rolling Stones, 64-66 Dylan, and especially the early Beatles.

As the years have gone on, I have enjoyed Abbey Road, Let It Be and even the White Album less and less, primarily, I think, because I can hear how the Beatles have started to hate each other a little bit (and then, of course, more). But the reason I've always been so entranced with the Beatles has a lot to do with the fact that their music is so perfectly balanced. Up through Revolver, all of their albums, all of their songs were remarkably complete and finished and balanced. That's why they got so big so quickly, I think: Because, musically, aside from genre, there was nothing to criticize. If you were protesting them in the name of protesting rock, that was different. But if you were a music critic you had to like them because, musically, they did everything correctly. And that correctness is why all that stuff is so brilliant. On Revolver they've peaked on both sides: their music is so perfeclty balanced it's astonishing, and lyrically their at their most precisely poetic, which is a style that both Lennon and McCartney, but especially Lennon, did really well. They've also kept up music enough so they're quite modern, if not a good bit ahead of their time. I really, really adore Revolver.

This could go on forever, with countless novels written on a piece of silicone chip, for no one to read. I'll save those for my publishing deal, thanks.

Oh and by the way...

2004-12-12T20:58:00.000-05:00

...The Pixies were the awesomest ever. If you didn't get tickets, I am so sorry. They rocked so hard they didn't even move. Kim Deal is my goal in life.

Oh, and Mission of Burma were great too.

[HAHAHAHAHAH!!! I SAW THE PIXIES!!!!]

How come I was never asked for permission?

2004-12-12T20:51:00.000-05:00

The Real Steve Zissou

For those of you who follow good directors and the movies they make, Wes Anderson is coming out with a new movie soon called The Life Aquatic with Steve Zissou. There is one man, a New York attorney, who happens to be named Steve Zissou. He had to give his permision to Buena Vista pictures in order to make the movie. He struck a deal, the details of which he won't disclose, but probably includes quite a chunk of money.

Hey, now! How come I was never asked if used "Tenenbaum" was okay? I mean, sure, there are a lot of other Tenenbaums out there (at least seven, if you count my Mom, Dad, Sister, Oma and Opa, Uncle and Cousin), but that's my last name! I want some money! I deserve some money! People STILL can't spell it right!!!

NEW RULE!

2004-12-10T02:32:00.000-05:00

Lindsay Lohan is slowly driving me out of my mind, so therefore I propose a New Rule!

NEW RULE: No more crossovers! NONE! EVER! Here's the deal, kids. Some of you are endowed with talent in the creative arts. Some of you are actors. Some of you are musicians. If you are an actor, you are no longer allowed to attempt a music career. If you're a musician, you are barred from acting. The two are not compatible. You are not as talented as you think you are. In very, very, very rare cases a person can possess both, but you do not so NO CROSSING OVER!

I mean, really! What will it take to re-introduce integrity into the music industry? CHRIST!!

Snow and the city

2004-11-20T20:09:00.000-05:00

Norah Jones makes me think of winter. This is because - and only because - of the winter of 2002.

My birthday is Christmas Eve (oh, hush; that would be a lot more exciting if I was Christian). I'm inclined to believe that, for the most part, the season you were born in is your favorite season. I don't say that because you get presents on your birthday or some idiotic reason like that; I think the season just kind of seeps into your personality. If you're born in the spring, you look forward to the spring because it brings your birthday. The good vibes from wanting your birthday to happen, from wanting to age and grow, then become inextricably linked with the season. And, then, that season becomes your favorite.

That's in no way a blanket statement; plenty of people's favorite season is not the one in which they were born. But a lot of people's favorite season is, which brings me to my point. Winter is my favorite season. I love the cold, I love the dark, and I especially love the snow. I don't even mind as it melts. I adore snow. And the winter of 2002 was the first time it has ever snowed on my birthday.

DC doesn't really get snow-snow all that much; we get a lot of slush-snow, that comes in about a 2-3 inch layer and melts the day after it falls. We've had our share of blizzards and the piles of frothy, feather-light snow they bring. But usually we get the slushy stuff. In 2002, it was a lighter version of slush, but it was slush nonetheless. The difference was that it fell on my birthday.

It started snowing midday. That night we went to dinner; our one family tradition is dinner at a very nice restaurant for birthdays. We get dressed up and everything. I like dressing up more in the winter, also. I like the sound heels make on cold cement, the way you can wear any dress you could imagine, you just have to have a fantastic coat to pair it with. I adore winter coats. Wool, knee-length coats and heels. Ohhhhhh, man.

Driving downtown, it started snowing harder. All throughout the meal, I just stared out of the window at the snow. It was my 18th birthday; since I've been buying cigarettes for years, the only really novel thing I could buy was a lottery ticket (I wasn't interested in porn, and don't say "But it would be funny!" because it's a waste of paper to buy it for laughs and then toss it, which is what I would have done) and I won $20 from it. And it was snowing. Oh my, it was snowing.

The restaurant was playing Norah Jones. And it was very, very fitting.

Jazz is winter music. I'm not here to argue whether or not Norah Jones is jazz-- that's beside the point. But jazz is such great winter music. And I want to listen to a lot of it right now. I have a bunch on record, but I still haven't hooked up my record player in such a way that it actually functions like it should.

And there's no snow.

And everyone wants to be like you

2004-11-19T20:41:00.000-05:00

I'm still totally digging the new Ghosty album. How can I convince all 5 of you who look at this? Find it! I'll give it to you! Whatever! Just.. listen!

Watched School of Rock on comcast on demand, and smiled my way through the whole thing. Man, why wasn't my elementry school that awesome? Oh, that's right. Jack Black's not really a teacher.

Also, it cracks me up each time the keyboard playing kid is given Yes for his homework, and told to listen to the solo in "Roundabout." My dad loves Yes. I love my dad.

I went into Boston today to promote the new magazine that I work for at my school, called Lies Magazine. It's your typical cheap-looking/mediocre-content college magazine, but it's hilariously focused on the hipster music scene. I think, as it continues and grows, it will acquire some integrity. Right now, it's just underground-trendy.

I started off in Harvard Square, dropped some copeis at In Your Ear, this great record store with a shitton of vinyl that is super duper cheap. Luckily, I didn't get cash before doing this part and so I didn't buy anything. Otherwise, I might not have any money right now.

They're on Mount Auburn St. so I just kept walking and there's this weird kind of church-looking building that is the beginning of a median.. oh, whatever, if you live in the area, you know where I'm talking about. But there's these big steps, and these Harvard kids were out there with a sign that said "FREE" really big and a bunch of magazines and beer. They were hipster kids, so I figured they'd be interested. They were giving out humor mags that they made, and I asked if we could cross-pollinate. Yes, I actually said "cross-pollinate" to them. They seemed to like it enough. I didn't take a beer, but I did take about 20 copies of their mag and left about 50 of ours with them. They said they'd give it out with their publication. I hope they did; they had music and were attracting attention.

Then I walked over to the pit, which is the big depression behind the Harvard T stop where a lot of bands play. There was a pretty cool free-form jazz band playing, so I passed out copies to the people sitting and listening. I saw one in a trash can later, but only one so I'm taking that as a good sign.

I hopped over to Planet Aid and dropped off the rest of them. The cutie behind the counter (John, his name is, or so he told me) talked to me while I was shopping (ah, I had gotten money by this time.. brilliant!) and I gave him my email address so he could tell me about cool local bands and so he could make me a mix-cd. He's totally cute. If he actually emails, and I go to pick up the CD, maybe I'll ask him out. Wouldn't that be fun?

I went to Urban, got a couple sweat shirts. I got two way cute sweaters at Planet Aid, one big fluffy white one that's kind of a jacket too, with wood buttons, and a really really fuzzy, warm, plaid, somewhat thin-material sweater minidress, that looks SO CUTE over jeans. I'm psyched. They were cheap; I love Planet Aid.

Oh, man. John, the counter cutie. Cross our fingers, he'll email.

Post Election Stress Disorder still reigns supreme

2004-11-18T04:02:00.000-05:00

It's four in the morning. I haven't been sleeping well lately, bothered alternately by homework and bad dreams. I think I dream mostly about politics these days, about alternate universes where either Clinton is still leading the country or where I've switched to the other side and my mind isn't so bogged down.

I think I'm usually pretty reluctant to admit what September 11 did to me. I mean, yeah, I'll talk about how terrifying it was to walk into third period and hear a play-by-play on the radio. I'll talk about who I knew who died, or who I knew who's parents and friends died. I'll talk about national guardsmen walking the streets of DC and the Metro area for the next few weeks, the month-long anthrax scare where we all opened our mail from a safe distance. I'll talk about the facts, about what the rest of the country understands from the national news and from the paper. Those are easy, simple, sterile. I don't usually admit what September 11 did to me. I don't usually admit how preoccupied with death I am, how I fixate on packages and backpacks and briefcases when I'm on the subway, or how I get panic attacks when I get on planes now. I don't really talk about how often I call home, or how I try to make sure my parents and my sister are told that I love them as often as possible, because I might be sitting pretty at Brandeis University, but they're still at ground zero, as far as I'm concerned. I don't really explain that when I said defeating Bush this time around was a matter of surviving the next four years, I kind of meant it literally.

I don't know how many other 20 year olds walk around with these thoughts, with this stress. I'm pretty sure there's a bunch from New York, but I don't know that it's manifested itself quite the same way. I think if you're from DC, or the DC area like I am, you probably know how I feel. That nagging fear that those museums and those cool looking buildings that were so much fun before have these huge bulls-eyes painted on them with invisible ink, and that someone's aiming at them and you just can't seem them. It's a terribly claustrophobic feeling.

I wonder what would happen if the rest of the 20 year olds and 21 year olds and 18 year olds who shook and cried and were generally traumatized like I was three years ago actually did something about it. I mean, yeah, we voted and I cared about voting and I hoped voting would change things, but it didn't and I don't see why I should just be sitting on my couch, crossing my fingers for the next four years. At the same time, I don't really think this administration will respond to protesting; I think the world has numbed itself to protesting, that they all learned from the 60s and can pretty much ignore it now.

There's gotta be another way to do it, but I don't know how yet.

I'm worried about my future. About my sister's future. I'm worried because I grew up in the Clinton years, and damn me to hell if the Clinton years weren't the most fun and carefree years in my memory. In a lot of people's memories. The Gulf War was over, it was peacetime. The economy straightened out and our budget balanced and all of a sudden there was a surplus. The stock market was great, everyone was getting rich. Huge corporations were kept in better check than they are now. No buildings had been knocked down. No wars had been started for no reason. God, Clinton was such a good President. Clinton was kind of like my generation's FDR in a lot of ways, and I kinda wish he had gotten a four-term job like the original.

I wish Gore had gotten to perform the job he was really elected to do in 2000. The world would be a better place.

I just wish someone would put a bullet between W's eyes.

I don't know how to fix the world. I don't think any of you - if there are any "you"s reading this - expected me to know the answer, and I certainly didn't expect me to know the answer, to that impossible question, but it's four in the morning and I'm not sleeping because I have a nervous stomach and panic attacks that I never had before. Because I'm vulnerable and I'm kind of crying and I actually admitted that 9/11 fucked me up so deeply that three years have passed and I'm nowhere near over it. That I'm just now admitting it.

This wasn't the hand that I was dealt. This wasn't the hand that anyone was dealt. That wasn't supposed to happen. They were supposed to stop it. Our government, our leaders, were supposed to care about the people of this country enough to stop it. And they didn't. And we just gave them four more years of unilateral control. And I just don't... understand it.

A very smart man who writes a column for the Boston Globe told me that if the election didn't go the way I wanted it to, that if these warmongers remained in power, then the only recourse was to take to the streets. I think that if we all put our heads together, we might be able to come up with something really great. With something really effective. With something new.

We'll start this revolution, one step at a time.

Post Election Stress Disorder (and Ghosty)

2004-11-16T13:47:00.000-05:00

I think I'm suffering from Post Election Stress Disorder (PESD). I've been having really wierd dreams. I mean, really wierd dreams.

For two nights in a row, I dreamed I was in Ann Coulter's apartment. First of all, I don't know if Ann Coulter has an apartment or a house. Second of all, I hate Ann Coulter. There mere sight of her initiates my gag reflex. But I was hanging out in her apartment. She wasn't home; actually, I'm not sure how I knew it was her apartment. There weren't any pictures of her or anything. I just kinda knew. And I spent both of these dreams just wandering around, calling friends, inviting them over, and talking about what a nice apartment it was. That's all. And I woke up utterly confused.

And then, the night before last, I dreamt that my mom was secretly a neo-conservative who started celebrating after Bush got reelected, and she kept talking about how much she loved Nixon, and how Nixon was the best president the country ever had. And I was stunned, because my Mom is a staunch liberal (and that's putting it lightly). And she hates Nixon, almost as much as she hates Bush. I think she hates Bush more because he's still president and Nixon already got exposed for the evil crook he was.

So, yeah. Those are my dreams. I don't remember last night's; maybe the PESD is fading. But, seriously, it was weird. And unnerving. And I had to call my Mom just to make sure she didn't actually secretly like Nixon. She doesn't. And she laughed. A lot.

So, to make up for it, I'm listening to Ghosty's new album incessantly. A couple friends of mine share an apartment, and one if them is from Kansas- the same town that Ghosty is from. He and his brother have played with the band before, and he likes them rather a lot, and I was eating breakfast with this roommate a couple days ago and she told me to steal the album from her computer. I complied and am now obsessed. The album's called Grow Up Or Sleep In, if any of you might think to look for it, and it's just fantastic. Kind of late 60's pyschadelic-tinged indie pop rock. Basically, it's really melodic and really catchy and insanely listenable and you will become obsessed too, I promise. Check it out.

Take it from the man!

2004-11-10T15:17:00.000-05:00

I've aparently exhausted all my other "distract me between classes" activities, so I'm going to blog in the ten minutes before 3:30 hits and I have to go to Journalism Class #2 out of 3 and suffer quietly. Actually, it's Journalism Class #3 out of 3 that is so very excruciating. Also, I hate Gloria Stienem.

Ummmmmmmmmm. Yes. I already talked about Animal Collective, my life is really fucking boring... Oh! I saw DiG! last weekend on the Sundance Channel. I think they're repeating it a few times (it was on again last night) and if you get a chance to catch it (digital cable, anyone?) you really should watch the whole thing. It's basically a hodge-podge of raw footage mainly of the Brian Jonestown Massacre (with a little Dadny Warhols thrown in for seasoning) self-destructing like crazy, narrated in the blaze-annoying-hipster voice of maybegay Courtney Taylor (leader of the Dandys). The only cool thing that is established about Courtney Taylor is that he really, really admires Anton Newcombe. Which I respect.

Although, I will admit, I prefer the Dandy's retro-ripoff glam-pop on most occasions. It's more fun to sing along to. Also, their video from "The Last Junkie On Earth" took away my Event Horizon inspired nightmares when I was in South Carolina. Hey, hey, I was, like, 12. It came on MTV at 3 in the morning when I couldn't sleep for fear of nightmares. Cured 'em in an instant. I bought the album the next day.

3:23 p.m. The horrors of living off-campus.

I just sat here for a long time, trying to think of something to say, and it's still 3:23. My life is fucking pathetic.

I'm going to class, early.

Kids On Holiday

2004-11-09T13:24:00.000-05:00

This post is appropriately titled after the Animal Collective song "Kids On Holiday" because that is officially the only song I could recognize out of their entire set last night.

Animal Collective played at TT The Bear's which was, frankly, not so great of a choice. It's tiny (capacity in front of the stage is, at most, 50) so everyone was spilling into the bar area, which is fine if you're 21, but I'm not and they yell at me cuz they always think I'm trying to buy drinks. Also? Apparently there was some sort of memo sent out that I didn't see that says you must be 6'2" or above to be an Animal Collective fan. I'm not joking. The guy standing in front and just slightly to the left of me last night was easily 6'6", 6'7", if not taller. My head came up to about two inches below his shoulder. So, I couldn't see a damn thing.

They started their set with "Kids On Holiday," and it was awesome. They drew out the intro a lot, stretching it almost five minutes by itself, and then launched into the recognizable, lyrical part of the song. Brilliant. I'm not entirely sure who the main singer is when they're live. I mean, I know he's fairly short (so not the tall blonde guy) and up front (so not the awesome long-haired drummer guy) and visible (so not that OTHER guy who was crouched in front of what I presume are samplers and other instruments at stage level for the whole show, so I kept forgetting he was there... see, I told you I couldn't see anything! He surprised me when he popped back up at the end of the set) with short brown hair and no facial hair and wearing a red/burgundy colored ADIDAS-looking track jacket. He sang. If I had to hazard a guess, I would guess he was Avey Tare (in which case, I'm talking to you on Thursday, buddy, and you better be ready), but he coulda been Panda Bear. I really have no idea. He was fantastic, though. Instead of the tribal yells and chants that punctuate "Kids On Holiday," he inserted these short, intense primal screams, that sounded basically like the echo of a very quick Tiger's roar.

That was the only song I recognized.

The show was awesome, don't get me wrong. They played, I believe, the bulk of Here Comes The Indiain and a whole shitload of unreleased stuff, and it was all good. But one of my favorite things about Sung Tongs is their brilliant vocal work. I mean, all four of these guys (Avey, Panda, Deakin and the Geologist) have choirboy voices. Beautiful tone, practically perfect pitch, beautiful falsettos and truly admirable range. They harmonize like Brian Wilson could have only dreamed. Their completely innovative in their vocal lines. But I barely heard any of it last night. Instead, they seemed more focused on samples, sound effects and meandering noise. It was really quite good; they provoked some of the most haunting and truly ghostly sounds I've heard provoked from any instrument. But I wanted them to sing.

A friend of mine who was at the show last night, and who saw Animal Collective over the summer in New York, said he had basically the same complaints. The mix was terrible (the vocals were WAY too low) and there wasn't enough Sung Tongs. He said in New York they used "Leaf House" as a recurring theme (grrr) and played "Who Could Win A Rabbit" and "Winters Love," along with a couple others from that album. Really, "Winters Love" was all I wanted to hear last night. Those complimentary and straining vocal lines, the sweetest of melodies floating above it all to somewhat present the lyrics, the layering of harmonies and melodies... That's what Animal Collective do best and, frankly, that's what makes them so damn brilliant.

So, I'm kind of dissapointed. I'm even more jealous of my friend for seeing them this summer. But, at my core, I'm also truly delighted that I was able to see these guys live. I mean, they're just so creative. Even if you don't like a note they play, you have to like them for their musical innovation. And I like them for a lot more reasons than that.

(P.S.- I asked. They're from Baltimore County.)

Album Review ofthe Week: Animal Collective, "Sung Tongs"

2004-11-06T15:34:00.000-05:00

This one's a retrospective, I suppose, but entirely appropraite since I'm going to see the intentionally obtuse quartet Monday night in Boston.

Existing on the fringes of the new eccentric scene, Animal Collective only reached widespread ears since the release of their second album Sung Tongs this summer. Expansive, ecclectic and ethereal, Sung Tongs is a stunning blend of primal and highly modern musical thought.

Headed up by the brilliant workings of main songwriters Avey Tare and Panda Bear, Animal Collective fuse modern avant garde music with the traditional structure of folk songs. Expansive and highly concentrated at the same time, the verse-chorus-verse structure of traditional songwriting remains in place, but is buried under layers of sounds, vocals and beats. Yes, beats. Animal Collective lay a throbbing foundation to all of their songs, utilizing African drums instead of the more commonplace modern drum kit. Beats are used not to guide a song, but to compliment it and give it a mood and feeling instead of a direction. It is a different school of percussive thought, and one that the Collective has obviously spent a lot of time perfecting.

Or not. Although it utilizes samplers, studio effects and digital manipulation, Sung Tongs is nothing if not completely organic in its sound. Piles of strummed acoustic guitars and multi-tracked vocals (which are recorded with at least four people, if not more, to begin with) evoke the picture of a campfire singalong, not a studio production. Sung Tongs sounds like it was composed in the middle of the forest after taking some psychadelics, a notion supported by the band in several interviews.

But Animal Collective's greatest achievement is their vocal ability. Each member has a strong voice, all in different ranges, and all voices are utilized. From the opening "Daaa-da Daaa-da" that drives "Leaf House" at the beginning of the album, to the primal chanting of "Tigertigertigertigertigertiger" in "We Tigers," Animal Collective lets their voices be instruments unto themselves. The groups even employs traditional a cappella harmonies and structures for the majority of 56-second song "College." From a group who seem to defy their roots(although you can hear that there are many), the only clear influence that permeates all their songs is that of Brian Wilson and his vocal work with the Beach Boys. The vocal shifts and harmonies in the second half of "Winters Love" sound like they were pulled from a drunken Pet Sounds.

Lyrically, Sung Tongs is generally undecipherable, although most songs become clearer with careful listening. "This house is sad / Because he's gone" is about the most easily understood lyric in "Leaf House," along with the extended scales of "It's no one / it's no one / it's no one" that comes a bit later. "We Tigers" can be deciphered realtively easily as well, with fantastic shouts and chants of "Hey kids / let's pick up sticks / let's make a sound of our own" and "I'm like this / And you're like this." Often the lyrics are seemingly nonsensical, like "There's a boy who's a Krishna / He thinks you look pretty" from "Kids On Holiday." "College" has the most easily understood lyric (and one lyric is all the song has): "You don't have to go to college."

But the ethereal, gauzy feel of the lyrics and their placement in the mix is intentional, and underscores the important Animal Collective places on their vocal sounds. Syllables are extended and manipulated; runs and scales complicate words and push them into irrelevance. The result is far more satisfying than if Animal Collective actually tried to make their words clearer; instead of focusing on a "message," or having a lyrical agenda, Sung Tongs evokes a mood, and a thoroughly enjoyable one at that.

Sung Tongs have propelled Animal Collective into a musical realm that is garnering a lot of attention right now, the Neo-Eccentrics. While the title isn't undeserved, it seems counter to the ethos that Animal Collective operate by. They display no desire to market their music, or to even encourage people to listen to it. They seem to be musicians who simply enjoy making music, and who want to continually explore the limits that music offers them. If future results turn out anything like Sung Tongs, I think music fans have a lot to look forward to.

We're so screwed...

2004-11-03T13:06:00.000-05:00

Goodbye free speech, goodbye privacy, goodbye abortion rights, goodbye separation of church and state, goodbye safety, goodbye diplomacy, goodbye job market, goodbye economy, goodbye social security, goodbye water, goodbye environment, goodbye education, goodbye healthcare, goodbye stem cell research, goodbye personal rights, goodbye hope.

America, seriously. What is wrong with you?

Election Day.

2004-11-02T01:06:00.000-05:00

Please, vote.

And if you might vote for Kerry... do that.

And then watch the Daily Show at 10.

I am a bad blogger

2004-10-28T17:20:00.000-05:00

I am a bad blogger because I constantly forget this thing exists. Oh well.

Umm, in case you haven't heard: THE RED SOX WON THE WORLD SERIES LAST NIGHT!

I promise, this will be my one and only sports freak out on this blog. It's fucking unbelievable. The world as we know it has changed. Why didn't they cancel class today?

I'm totally drowning under work (I'm sure this is exactly what everyone wants to read about... fuck you) right now. How to balance this four-intense-reading-classes is escaping me, but I'm trying. Mostly, I'm really sick of journalism. It's making me not want to go into it. I know it'll pass at the end of the semester (and when I get the hell off the Justice), but it's insane right now. Three journalism classes a day on Mondays and Wednesdays. I went to a liberal arts school for a reason...I feel like I'm losing my mind.

I've been tossing around thesis ideas more and more lately. I like the idea of writing a thesis, the idea of getting to research something so intensely for a semester and then spend another semester writing about it. I'm thinking about writing on the intersection of the punk/post-punk subculture (which would extend into the indie scene and art-rock) and American mainstream culture; how the two react to each other, how they change and morph because of each other, how each generation would be affected by those changes. It would start in the 1970-73 area and end in the 2004-area. I have a feeling I'm going to be told to narrow it down a lot, but I'm mostly interested in the stuff from the late 60's/early 70's (as in, the Velvet Underground need to be in this paper) so I'll shift to that time if I need to. I think the bigger problem will be that looking at the punk/post-punk/indie subculture means I have to look at a lot of art and writing too. That's fine; I WANT to do that. But I don't know if it's thesis-able to include that much. I don't know. I should be talking about this with an advisor, methinks.

Arcade Fire in a little over a week. Animal Collective a few days after that. Interviews with both (well, I'm talking to AF and a friend is talking to AC). Werd.

Album Review of the Week: "From A Basement On The Hill"

2004-10-19T00:22:00.000-05:00

This is a new feature in my blog. It's really just a way for me to talk about music I'm listening to at length, and also hopefully continue to hone my music journalism skillz. Feedback is greatly appreciated, about the album or the review. The albums also probably won't always be new; but the reviews will always be thorough. Ok. Introduction done.

Elliott Smith, From A Basement On The Hill

It is nearly inevitable that posthumous albums are regarded much higher then they necessarily should be. The act of dying, in the music world, has the odd effect of basically making you a god without even considering your musical merit. But if you're already a revered artist? You become irreplacable.

Elliott Smith was revered based on anyone's standards. The five albums released before his sudden suicide last year not only hold their own, but create a combined musical force to be reckoned with. From A Basement On The Hill was not, as far as anyone knows, meant to be a posthumous album; it was certainly written with the intent to be part of his catalogue. But it is also impossible to listen to this album out of context, and it becomes a written account of the most jarring kind.

Musically, Smith is in typical form; soft, wispy vocals paired with angular, dissonant, beautiful guitar lines and multiple instrumentation. In fact, Smith's most satisfying use of angular, dissonant guitars might actually be in "Shooting Star," on the second half of this record. But there is no great break from form, no change to the method. From A Basement is Elliott Smith in all of his Zoloftian glory.

From A Basement is also not a sad album. Sure, melancholy is laced through every note and word, but the primary mood Smith seems to tap into is anger. Pure, unadulterated and bitter anger. His songs contain heartless condemnations of man at the end of his rope. Everything is dissatisfying to Smith; his relationships, his friends, his world, his life, his job. In "Don't Go Down" he bitterly begins, "I met a girl/ Snowball in hell/ She's as hard/ And as cracked as the Liberty Bell." In the album's closer, "A Distorted Reality Is A Necessity To Be Free," he condemns "All you ladies and you gentlemen/ Unhappy where you could have been/ Drive people like you drive a car/ 'Till you don't know where you are/ You don't impress me."

But Smith's anger and resignation are best expressed -- both musically and lyrically -- in the centerpiece of the album: tracks six and seven, "A Fond Farewell" and "King's Crossing." Much have been made of these songs, and with good reason. "A Fond Farewell" is a quiet, melodic pop song with some of the darkest lyrics Smith has ever put to music. "I can deal with some psychic pain / If it'll slow down my higher brain/ Veins full of disappearing ink/ Vomiting in the kitchen sink/ Disconnecting from the missing link/ This is not my life." Many fans have claimed the song is Smith's real suicide note, and the lyrics are suggestive that idea: "The cold comfort of the in between/ A little less than a human being/ A little less than a happy high/ A little less than a suicide." But, the truth is, while Smith sounds as depressed as he has ever been, he doesn't sound like a man about to end his life. He sounds like a man who just wants to crawl into a hole forever.

Psychologists say that the prime time for suicides to occur is in fits of anger. Suicide is not an act that is easily planned and carried out; any human with a workng brain fears death, no matter how depressd they are. But fits of anger and rage provide the impulsive attitude needed to actually end one's own life. By those standards, "King's Crossing" is probably the suicide note on From A Basement, if such a song is actually on there. "King's Crossing" is a musical masterpiece, a modern pop symphony with quiet, bitter verses followed by grand, soaring choruses of righteous indictment. It is Smith's manifesto against the music industry, an industry that chewed him up, spit him out and left him out to dry in the sun:

"Frustrated fireworks inside your head
Are gonna stand and deliver talk instead
The method acting that pays my bills
Keeps the fat man feeding in Beverley Hills
I've got a heavy metal mouth
That hurls obscenity
And I get my check from the trash treasury
Because I took my own insides out"

The song ends on a chilling, taunting dare by smith: "This is the place where time reverses / Dead men talk to all the pretty nurses/ Instruments shine on a silver tray/ Don't let me get carried away/ Don't let me get carried away/ Don't let me be carried away." If there is a suicide note, it is here.

The rest of the album is pure pop genius. "The Last Hour" is a frail, deeply sad song about the farciful end of a relationship. "Coast To Coast" is the perfect Smith album opener; energetic, raucous, rolicking and crashing waves of angry, resigned lyrics over pop-rock perfection. "Pretty (Ugly Before)" was so perfect when it was released on a 7" that it hasn't been touched in the least. There is no song that isn't worth listening to.

From A Basement On The Hill is a glimpse into the mind of a man on the edge. Smith had nearly completed the album when he died, and his vision is preserved brilliantly by his girlfriend and his long-time producer. It is an album finished with love and longing. Elliott Smith was the last in a breed of songwriters who followed in the vien opened by John Lennon; his death has ended an era in music that will never be recaptured. It is easy to accuse me of romanticizing the album because of the context provided by his suicide; that might be true. But the fact is that From A Basement On The Hill is being released in an unignorable context--- after all, it hits shelves only a couple days before the one-year anniversary of his suicide. At the end of "Coast to Coast," Elliott's friends read his poetry as the music fades out. About thirty seconds into this frenzied jumble of voices, Smith's voice pops into the foreground, simply stating "That's why." That is why. All of this is why. So listen in context. Listen with longing, with regret, with remorse. Listen, mourn, rejoice, remember, whatever. Just listen. That is all Elliott Smith wanted you to do. So listen.

Did you know...

2004-10-14T15:18:00.000-05:00

.. That Animal Collective is from Maryland? That they are, from the suburbs of Baltimore, and one of them (Deakin, for those who care) also attended Brandeis University for about 3 years. He dropped out in 2000. That was a very good call, by the way, on his part. But it leaves me wondering... what the hell did he major in?

Washington D.C.

2004-10-13T17:05:00.000-05:00

Hooo, this is so an example of why I shouldn't get high one afternoon and read about Minor Threat. But I did and now it's gonna be here in print.

I am completely caught up in what it means to be from D.C., and how much my adolesence has shaped me as a person.

I'm reading Our Band Could Be Your Life, the fantastic tome about indie music (REAL indie music. Indie music from about 1978-1986, approximately) that includes such DC icons as Minor Threat, Fugazi and Black Flag. And I already read about Black Flag and now I'm reaidng about Minor Threat and I'm realizing how much Minor Threat and Fugazi completely shaped me as a person.

As evidenced by my first sentence, I am not straight edge. I like drinking. I like smoking. I participate in these activities often. I have no problem with that. No, they didn't define my habits. But they defined my home.

I think DC/the greater Washington area (for, alas, I grew up in Chevy Chase, just barely on the MD side) is probably the most undefinable place to grow up in the United States. It has no demographic (aside from politicians). It has NO DEFINING TRAIT. New York has a feel to it. Boston has a feel to it. LA and San Fransisco have feels to them. Chicago has a feel to it. DC has no feel at all. There is no one discernable feeling one has when they first enter DC. Maybe it's because it's not part of a state; it's a federal city. Maybe it's because it has such a non-local history; DC, until recently, has been first and foremost the center of our government and the downtown areas feel do not feel like a city that is inhabited on any regular basis. The neighborhoods on recently started booming (recently like, not until 1976 or so). And what regular population was HEAVILY minority-based for a long time, so if you were a white kid growing up in the area you didn't really have a homegrown option. That's what the DC punk/hardcore movement largely grew out of.

Which brings me to me. I was a teenager in the 1990's, and a very ambiguous time in the '90s; from about 1997 to well, now. I'm still 19. Anyway, that means that I was too young for alternative and grunge, but actually came into my prime in a point where music was extremely corporate and spread out; other than corporate bubblegum pop, there wasn't really anything having attention paid to it. But that pop was repulsive to me; I grew up in a fantastic family that made me a fan of Elvis Costello, the Clash, the Beatles, the Rolling Stones, Led Zepplin and David Bowie from a very, very early age. So I turned to local music instead. And, if you ask anyone in DC what local band you should listen to first, their answer will always be Fugazi.

Fugazi absolutely changed my life. Fugazi was the band that, when I was 13, prompted me to pull out all my dad's punk albums from the basement, bands like the Sex Pistols, the Ramones, the Specials... Apparently my dad was quite a punk fan. The classics, the forefathers. And that led me to Smash!, that pillar of punk store in Georgetown, and browse through the local stuff until I was pulling out Black Flag and Minor Threat.

I was never your full on punk; I didn't sport the clothes, and I'm a little too nice to have quite the anger and agression required. I dyed my hair several colors and purchased my first pair of Chucks (next to the glow-in-the-dark pair that I had when I was 8, that I adored (and wore) to death), but that's about as far as it went. I just started going to a TON of local shows after that. I was a fixture at Dismemberment Plan shows (who I was introduced to by a Sam Goody clerk who gave me their first EP, "The Ice Of Boston + 3" with the Nine Inch Nails CD I bought when I was thirteen. It was free, she was awesome), and was right there next to Q and Not U when they started out (my copy of "No Kill, No Beep Beep" I got for free at their release show). I didn't devote my life to it, but it continued to influence my perception of all culture.

I did Fort Reno every summer, and Fugazi was the highlight of that. I wasn't swept into the group of political reactionaries and patriot idiots. I didn't become a materialistic, easy, drunken girl like a lot of my classmates did. I wasn't a punk either, like I said. I had a brief stint as goth (that was fun), but it faded pretty quick. I remained pretty middle of the road.

But, for the first time, I felt home. And that's what DC feels like to me to this day; it feels like music and defiance and agressiveness and attitude and caring and fun and enjoyment and openess and experimentation and silliness and a dozen other things that only mix in that exact combination when I am home.

I think the point of this essay is that I'm homesick. Or in a really punk mood. Or whatever. What counts is that I finally internalized my absolute love for my hometown. I may never move back to DC; that's up in the air. And God knows I'm completely enraptured by New York. But DC will be the #1 city in the world for me, for the rest of life. I will never set foot somewhere that feels so perfectly like home.

Oh, come on

2004-10-07T16:15:00.000-05:00

So. Seeing The Killers tonight. Checked out the Roxy's website for starting time, say the show goes from 7:30 to 1 AM. We're talking about 2 opening bands and one headlining band that only has one album worth of material. And an MBTA that closes at 12:45. And a life. With my friends. At home. Methinks I won't be staying for this concert.

It's also a total possibility that, because it's thursday, they need to have dancing afterwards and the show will actually end closer to 10 or 11. That's kind of what I'm expected. I'm not staying for any encores.

I do, however, want to go dance my ass off. That why I bought a ticket, anyway.

Ummm, I've been a horrible blogger lately. I've been super busy, and super tired and kind of super fucked. Well, not literally, but metaphorically fucked. It would be a lot more fun if that was literal.

I don't want to talk about it. But I will say the following:

YES, Wilco came and played at my school. If you live in the Boston area and went to see Wilco on October 2, you were at my school and the reason you didn't see me during 66% of Wilco's was because I was backstage with a friend talking to the Fiery Furnaces for about an hour.

YES, that is true. I have the tape to provie it.

YES, I bumbed a cigarette from Jeff Tweedy after the show. He smokes American Sprit Blues.

YES, he's way too adorable. And he shook his ass at my friend Zoe. No, I refuse to elaborate on that further (and if you were there, you know what I'm referring to).

YES, I'm going to see Aracde Fire and Animal Collective (though not at the same show). That means I'm cooler than you (if you're not going) :)

Hey! Megadork! Ambulance LTD is opening for the Killers! I might actually get to see them!

"Outside the boxcar waiting, take me away to nowhere plains.."

2004-09-16T20:10:00.000-05:00

So, I got my first round of Pixies tickets today. There is a sense of unreality in the $50 I spent total, because I don't think I was supposed to see the Pixies. But, here I am. Seeing them. Hm. How bizarre. And how fucking exciting. I fully plan to act like the idiot fan I am, complete with lots of jumping and bouncing and singing. Anyone else in the Boston/Waltham area going? We should do the meet-and-hang-out thing, because as of now I'm going alone.

It's December 1. I hope it doesn't conflict wih finals. Because, really... the Pixies are gonna win. I'll say I was deathly ill, and come in the next day wearing the t-shirt anyway.

However, Fuck You, California for taking all the best shows! That would be a night to die for. For serious.

Ummmm, let' go ahead and turn this into a real post. Hey, "Cocaine'll do that to you". Everyone one made the jokes after Rick James died, and it turns out they're true! But it's alright; everyone is remembered fondly in death, and the Superfreak is no exception. R.I.P, man, you still make me dance like a crazy woman.

Speaking of death, The Ramones are dropping like flies. It's like Joey's death made it okay for the rest of the to go, too. Johnny, my friend, we will miss you dearly and greatly. I suggest that, in his and all their memory, everyone who can should go see this movie. I hope they're jamming in heaven.

I guess this is one way to get past the stigma of Anorexia.

In happier news: Carnie Wilson is (finally) allowed to gain some weight again. You know she's overjoyed-- Oh come on! Not becauser she's a food addict, but because she's preggers, people! Congrats. And that Sum41 guy has popped the question to our favorite angry punk-pop chick. Guess Avril found her Sk8er Boi. Is anyone else sick of that joke? I am. I retract it.

Wow. This is almost starting to look like a real blog. Hmm.

Maybe I could be a better blogger..

2004-09-15T10:41:00.000-05:00

...If I continue to avoid class the way I am right now. Well, not really class so much as homework; I've got a good hour before I even have to worry about my next class. So I'm sitting in the newspaper office, using our crappy Macs to fuck around with nothing.

Pitchfork and Stereogum have both finally caught onto the greatness that is The Arcade Fire. I saw them open up for The Unicorns back in early June and lemme tell you, they rocked the hizzouse in an amazing way. I'm gonna say the Unicorns were better, but only by a little bit. And, really, I don't have a right to be as pretentious as I just sounded because I didn't babble about them to everyone, but I held my little copy of their EP close to my heart and listened to it for two weeks in a row before retiring it in favor of Elliott Smith.

And speaking of the late great singer-songwriter, I am telling everyone (and I mean everyone) who has ever had a passing interest in Elliott Smith -- even if you only just kinda liked "Miss Misery" when it was all over the radio during Good Will Hunting times -- to pick up From A Basement On A Hill when it comes out on October 19. A friend of mine got his hands on it early and I've had the priviledge of listening to it a lot of time already: the album is a revelation. I didn't really get into Elliott Smith until the end of 2002, during my first semester at Brandeis (thanks, largely, to the friend who has the advance copy), and lament to this day that I never saw him in concert. This album just breaks my heart a little bit more; what a talent lost.

Continuing on, continuing on... Ummm, I'm obsessed with Ugly Casanova right now, if only because they provide an excellent soundtrack to Massachusetts fall. I know I linked to the Pitchfork review, but that's only out of convenience; I disagree with most of their review. Especially the parts criticizing "Diamons On The Face of Evil" and "Ice on the Sheets," because they're my two favorite songs on the album. "Hotcha Girls" has also been a large part of my life recently. And I know, I know; you real hispters have known about Ugly Casanova since Sharpen Your Teeth came out in 2002, but I'm a little slow. Alright?

I've been reading this for months but haven't posted it until now. Why? Dunno. I *heart* McSweeney's.

"You are a bad parent and you are going to hell."

2004-09-11T16:36:00.000-05:00

I have a challenge for you all. Go here, and tell me this isn't the most retarted thing you've ever seen in your life.

For those who aren't going to click on the link (I know who you are, and yes that's me shooting you the glare from across the room), it's a truly boggling concoction called Kidz Bop 6. Apparently, this is like the Now[insertnumberhere]! collection, except instead of just compiling all the horrid top ten hits of the year, they compile them and THEN have small, tone-deaf children sing over the tracks.

I swear, I am not making this up.

A sample grab from the tracklist:

1. Jessica Simpson - With You
2. Maroon 5 - This Love
4. Jet - Are You Gonna Be My Girl
5. Hoobastank - The Reason
7. Britney Spears - Toxic
8. Evanesence - My Immortal
12. Yellowcard - Ocean Avenue
18. Avril Lavigne - Sk8ter Boi (Dance Remix)

How do they do this? I mean, do artists actually consent to this? There's tracks from Sheryl Crow and Beyonce on this thing too! I mean... these people all seem to have careers that are going in the right direction. What the fuck?

Best part? The comments on the Amazon site from people who have bought it under the reviews section. Best One Ever:

"Kill yourself if you bought this., August 30, 2004
Reviewer: Turkitron (Seattle)

Stop censoring your kids from the real world. You are a bad parent and you are going to hell. "

I am an American aquarium drinker

2004-09-05T17:21:00.000-05:00

Wilco is playing at my school on October 2nd.

NO SHIT.

My school just got so much cooler.

This is not anything interesting

2004-09-02T11:11:00.001-05:00

I'm blogging between class in an effort not to actually lie down on my bed, because if I do I will fall asleep and the only reason I'm toughing out "Important American Texts before 1900" is because it's one of the required classes for my major, and not going to it will not help me graduate in 2006.

My first class is awesome, but early. "Journalism in 20th Century America." I don't have it again 'till Wednesday... actually, this whole weekend is awesome. I don't have Friday classes, labor day is Monday... Woo!

This is not an interesting post. This is not an interesting life. I'm having a wierd and potentially bad start to the year.

What the fuck is up with October 1?

2004-08-26T15:02:00.000-05:00

So you guys all remember my October 1 dillemma. Well, it almost got worse. First, there was the news that WILCO would be playing the Wang Center in Boston on October 1. I was very excited. Then word came down that, oh my god, the BLACK KEYS would be playing the same night! What was I to do? I still don't know.

Then, I was checking around and guess who else is coming on October 1? The VON BONDIES. I love them. So it was almost a horrible three way lose-lose-lose thing, but then I saw the Bondies were playing on November 30 as well, and that made me a lot happier.

Jeez. October 1, anyone?

Beantown

2004-08-23T18:30:00.000-05:00

Popular Cult has relocated. Gone it is from Washington DC, out great nation's capitol. It now resides in Waltham, MA, a suburb of Boston.

Why, I hear you ask? Because I decided two years ago to attend Brandeis University, founded in 1948 by Supreme Court Justice Louis Brandeis who decided there weren't enough schools in Boston and its surrounding suburbs (and, frankly, Massachusetts itself is so small it's practically a Boston suburb) so he simply had to create another one. Or, if you want to follow the party line, it has something to do with Israel, giving Jewish students a chance to get a real education at a non-sectarian university (sound oxymoronic? it is), and "truth unto its innermost parts." Or something.

But what it really means is that I'm living in my own house off campus, I have class four days a week, and I have all the alcohol I can get my hands on. The next nine months should be very interesting indeed.

Welcome to Beantown.

Godspeed all you bakers at dawn

2004-08-18T09:52:00.000-05:00

I've been listening to The Shins' "Oh, Inverted World!" For about a week straight. It's hold over from my new Garden State obsession, which, really, is over two weeks old but still continues to infect me as potently as it did the first time I saw it. Yes, I said first time. I've seen it twice.

Really, it's the only time I've ever wanted to fuck Zach Braff. And yes, I've seen Scrubs.

I missed the Ambulance LTD show that just about every other blogger in the area went to see, including Sarah. It made me very sad, but my friend was leaving for Ohio the next morning and there is a slim chance I may not see her again before I leave. So, I opted to see her on Monday night instead. Last night, I ran into Sarah (of the Megadork variety linked above) on the streets of Adams Morgan, with Avram, coming back from a blogging cocktail hour! And I wasn't informed! That might have something to do with my Under 21 status (which would've made cocktail hour kinda boring or impossible, depending on the bar/restaurant) or just because no one loves me... Or y'know, something else. I'm not that broken up about it. I was glad to see her, though, because I didn't get to go to the show on Monday and I was supposed to be a groupie with her and apparently they had a pretty crazy time.

Last night was my friend Amy's last night in town and this morning at 7 a.m. she flew back to Santa Fe for her junior year in college. On Monday, I drive back to Boston for that same reason. Junior year. Eesh. That means college is half over. That means that in a short two years, I have to do things like... get a job. A real one. That pays. And, like, an apartment. And maybe, like, a real boyfriend. Yeek. I don't wanna, I don't wanna!

Punk is Dead, Long Live Punk: An Essay

2004-08-16T02:04:00.000-05:00

It makes me decidedly squeamish to flip to MTV and see Ashlee Simpson wearing a wifebeater with the word "punk" ironed onto it in sparkly pink lettering. Somewhere, John Lydon is puking into a woman's purse (I hope).

Or, then again, maybe he's not.

It's an interesting position to be in, to look at punk completely in hindsight and never know what it felt like to be wrapped up in the middle of that movement. It tends to make one idealize, to forget the bad in a movement that one never lived through and imagine it as only milestones, only successes, only innovations. Looking back, I can't seem to imagine why punk didn't take over the world. But it's fairly obvious once you decide to look just below the surface.

Few who were alive in the late 1970's could say they knew about punk, but for those who were in the thick of it -- and who followed the movement to its lurching, staggering end in the 1980's -- the movement proved an unforgettable and somewhat un-toppable experience. But punk, like most flashes of cultural brilliance, is long dead. Long live punk.

That is the idea behind the legions of kids, adults, musicians, artists and poseurs who continue to learn to spike their hair with Elmers Glue, who purchase Manic Panic hair dye by the caseloads, and who tattoo checkered flags and anarchy symbols onto every available inch of skin. Far be it for me, or anyone else, to criticize a lifestyle choice: to each their own, and I hope they're happier for it. But their stubborn unwillingness to let go of punk music as a genre that is alive and well is simply ridiculous, not to mention insulting to the forefathers they admire so much.

For Example: To keep his career alive, Iggy Pop has recorded a song with Sum 41. Now, Iggy was punk before punk even had a name. The Stooges were one of the rawest, most raucous bands of the 1970's, and Pop's on-stage antics are legendary. Pictures of the tiny muscular frontman dripping with blood from cuts he gave to himself on stage are practically listed in the dictionary next to the word "punk." But his efforts with part of the new crop of pseudo-punks have nothing to do with artistic expression, musical idealism (or anti-idealism), or even the standard punk fallback of anti-establishment logic. It's simply an effort to remain commercially viable, and therefore paid, in an increasingly competitive music industry.

So does that mean that punk has become a simple marketing strategy? The purist in me hopes not, more than anything in the world. Punk seemed to pull it out of this festering primordial soup of social unrest and frustration. The Sex Pistols, The Clash, The Ramones, Iggy Pop... these were not band who cared about image. They didn't think about their clothes expect to make sure they were pissing someone off. They weren't washing, weren't getting their teeth fixed. They weren't getting an eduction, or a lawyer to handle their finance or PR, or even a manager half the time. They were angry. Something in their lives, in everyone's lives, was deeply fucked up and they weren't going to shut up about it. They screeched anarchy, and shouted indifference. They didn't propose a solution: fuck solutions, they would say. Fuck it all. The ultimate 20th century nihilists. They thrived in a time when nuclear war could happen at any moment, when The Man didn't give a rat's ass about any of their problems, from the major issues (education? ho ho! social or racial equality? oh dear, ha ha!) to the most minor of complaints (fixing the plumbing in south London? oh, you silly boy!) As far as they could see, the world was saying "Fuck you!" So they shouted back "Suck my dick!"

That's not to make the movement (musical or otherwise) one-dimensional. Punk came in just about any flavor you could ask for, from the noisy, sloppy Sex Pistols, to the apathy of the Ramones, to the melodic social conscience of the Clash, to the spitting wit of Elvis Costello. Want sex-kitten punk? Blondie had ya covered. Want a woman who would fuck you and then rob you blind (and maybe knife you in the process)? The Plasmatics at your disposal, sir. The basis for it all, though, was anger. Anger and dissastifaction, personal and political and beyond. There's no anger anymore.

How can there be? Now "punk" acts sell out arenas and stadiums, get paid millions, buy themselves fancy pads in New York and L.A. (or Europe if they'd like), create their own brands of clothing (Atticus by Blink182, M.A.D.E. by Good Charlotte), and no one asks them one question about their point. There doesn't have to be a point. Ashlee Simpson, had she declared herself punk in 1978, would have either been laughed off the stage or -- more likely -- run off after the audience started throwing bottles and shoes at her. Pop-punk chanteuses The Go-Go's got spit on until they were dripping when they toured the punk circuit in the UK in the early 1980's. But the movement is so rotten in its grave that no one thinks to ask anymore. All you have to do to be punk nowadays is say you are.

I would like to see punk finally laid to rest. And don't go saying anything about Emo or Hardcore: I'll send John Lydon to spit in your face. Punk is not a genre like Jazz that was revolutionary and then evolved through each decade. Jazz still lives on, alive and well, in different incarnations ranging from easy listening like Kenny G to latter day masterpieces by living (or formerly living) legends like Miles Davis to new-jazz fusion innovations from bands like Medeski, Martin and Wood. It's adaptable and has always been essentially timeless. Punk is not that way. Punk was a musical explosion in the same way your house has a minor explosion when you accidentally left the gas on for a couple hours and then you try to light your stove with a match. The flame is huge and terrifying, and for a split-second you're sure your body and house is going to be engulfed in flames. But they're not; you just kinda singe your eyebrows. And you make a future note to remember to turn the gas off before you run your errands. The energy, the anger of punk could not be and has not been sustained. So let it go. Find something else to be. Pioneer a movement, call it "Gobble" or "Bullshit" or whatever the fuck you want. Just don't call it punk. Punk is dead. Period.

So why wouldn't we fall for you?

2004-08-15T15:13:00.000-05:00

I heart A.C. Newman.

Last night was his first solo show at the Black Cat (well, his only solo show there, but I meant "first" in kind of a history way instead of implying that it was a multi-night engagement.) I've seen him before, with the New Pornographers who I simply adore, so I was quite excited to see him do the solo thing. I'll be the first to admit that I approached "The Slow Wonder" both late (I waited about a month to pick it up) and with a large amount of trepidation, mostly because I'm such a fan of his work with the Pornographers. It's that gut reaction, you know, that makes you say "But you're in that band I like! Please stay in that band I like!" Nonetheless, "The Slow Wonder" has become one of my favorite albums of the summer (up there with, ironically, the New Pornographer's second album, "The Electric Version"), and I was psyched to see Newman play. The Neins and Rogue Wave opened the show.

The Neins are awesome. My former co-worker, Dave, who was also at the show (hi Dave!) said they sounded like a cross between The Decemberists and The Mountain Goats and he was dead right. They had an awesome trumpet player. Back at the merch tables, where I picked up a t-shirt for Mr. Newman and the Neins' CD, their lead singer Kevin told me that the previous four members of the band had quit only a couple months ago for various reasons. So this band was kind of all new. And they were great. I liked them a lot. Go listen to The Neins.

Rogue Wave sucked. They were boring and nothing more than background music. I talked to Kevin during their set. It was a much better use of my time. Don't go listen to Rogue Wave.

Then it was Carl's turn! Now, I saw the New Pornographers play at the Black Cat in, like, 2000 on their "Mass Romantic" tour. They were the bomb. And during their encore, they played a bunch of New Wave covers and invited people onto the stage to dance. I had been talking to Blaine, their keyboardist, between songs (he noticed that I knew all the words and was singing along, and was quite amused by it), and he grabbed my hand and pulled me up on stage and two friends jumped up as well and we danced and laughed and were generally idiots and it was great. I got to meet the whole band after the show and I have a signed setlist that is mainly comprised of comments like "Great dancin'! Love, Neko" and "Good Dancin'! Love, Carl." Lots of dancin' compliments. But, seeing as how that was kind of a unique experience in my mind, I wondered if he remembered it as well. After all, he's only played in DC like 3 times (including last night).

So he starts playing a fantastic set (which only lasted about 30 minutes because he only has one album), and about halfway through starts waving at people in the front row. Specifically, he said "It's so nice to see all of you here. Well, I can only see a few of your faces.." and started waving at us and saying "Hi, Hello." When he caught my eye, I waved and said hi, and he said "Nice to meet you!" Siezing the opprotunity (and maybe being minorly obnoxious-- if you were there and I was, I'm really sorry, I had no intention of being That Girl), I was like "Actually, we met before. I danced on stage during the Pornographer's show here about four years ago." And he squints and me and says "Weren't you, like, sixteen at the time?" and I was like "That's me!"

And from backstage I hear Kevin shout "That's Sara!" (we talked for quite a while.. that's how bad Rogue Wave was.) It was pretty embarassing, but kinda cool too.

Then it occured to me that I had these huge black Xs on my hands, and that means I'm under 21, and any reasonably intelligent person who can count could guess 16. So I stayed after the show to speak with him and after a few minutes he came out and walked over to me to say hi. We had a very pleasant conversation about how dancing at his show was one of the best memories I have of the Black Cat (it is), and how he likes San Fransisco a lot and might move out there (I think his girlfriend there has a lot to do with that, but San Fran is a great city nonetheless) and why he likes touring on the East Coast best of all ("Boston, New York, and Washington. The best shows I've ever played have been in those cities. they're great every time.") He went to grab his backpack, and I realized it was 1:30 in the morning and I was supposed to meet friends back in Bethesda in half an hour and the Metro would take a lot longer than that, so I grabbed him for an extra thirty seconds to say goodbye and good luck and headed home.

I really, really, really am a fan of A.C. Newman. Not only because his music is absolutely fantastic, but also because he's a really nice, really funny guy who is really fantastic to his fans. He has, as far as I can tell, no ego and no pretention and the result of that is fantastic music that has great energy and therefore provokes a great crowds. His shows are nothing but pure fun. More shows should be like that.

"What's your bird? The Oriole? That's a sexy bird."

2004-08-12T09:16:00.000-05:00

Guess who said that.

If you guessed "Thurston Moore," you are correct!

I went to Sonic Youth last night. Awesome. Kim Gordon was wearing the coolest dress I've ever seen. Thurston Moore hasn't aged. Wait, let me elaborate. He wears the same clothes (tight-fitting flairs, vintage tees, Chucks), has the SAME HAIRCUT, and seems to not have aged a single day since, oh, 1987. Seriously. The rest of the band looks to be somewhere in their 40's, an accurate number considering Sonic Youth are the Grateful Dead of alternative music.. they. will. not. go. away. Which is awesome. Because they seem to be getting better and better ("Murray Street" and "Sonic Nurse" anyone?) But Thurston still looks like he's 22. It's a little bit scary.

Still, I want him to be my nerd rocker boyfriend really badly.

Best song of the night: "Rain on Tin." Great on album, awe-ing in concert.

The most awesome things on Craig's List this week...

2004-08-11T16:39:00.000-05:00

...Are in Boston.

This guy wants a Geisha of any race.

This guy wants snow in the summertime.

HAHAHAHAAAA! Oh, Boston, I'm coming up soon...

Let go

2004-08-11T14:50:00.000-05:00

So I’m blogging on the sly by simply typing it all out in MSWord first. And, hey! It’ll catch my spelling errors while I’m at it.

It’s my second-to-last day at work. I’m kind of conflicted about it, actually. I got used to being here every day. I got used to my coworkers/bosses, and grew to like them quite a bit. It’ll be somewhat of a strange adjustment to make from internship at a really cool place to nothing and then back to school. This was, all in all, a fantastically cool experience. I’m 99% sure we’re supposed to be in a meeting right now. But no one is. I feel like I might have been taken off a list and don’t know that the meeting got cancelled or something. I don’t know. It’s weird. Part of me wonders if I fell asleep and missed it. I was looking forward to my last entertainment guide meeting. Am I going to get one? I hope I do.

I like this place. And I like having an email address that ends with @washingtonpost.com.

I saw “Garden State” last night. I’m totally obsessed with soundtrack. It’s fantastic. I was already a fan of every artist on the listing, but it bolstered my fandom. And I liked that Frou Frou was on the soundtrack. A couple friends of mine told me about her and I like her. Her voice is Dido-esque and I suppose her music has a similar feel to it, but not in an offensive way, do you know what I mean? Oh, whatever, just go see “Garden State” and the last song where they’re in the airport (I’m not giving anything away, swear. Not that there’s much to give away or anything), that’s Frou Frou. It’s called “Let Go.” You can figure out it’s that song because at one point you’ll hear a woman with a wispy voice singing “So let go/ let go” a bunch of times. It’s pretty easy to figure out.

I haven’t made up my mind about the whole album, “Details,” yet, but I will soon. Thusfar I’m leaning in a positive direction.

This lack of meeting is really bothering me. Hmm.

Wilco. v. The Black Keys: The Result

2004-08-11T07:36:00.000-05:00

Wilco wins. Because the Fiery Furnaces are opening for them.

Wilco vs. The Black Keys

2004-08-08T16:39:00.001-05:00

Alright. So this is my dillemma.

If anyone pays attention to that sidebar I have where I list all sorts of concerts, then you may notice that on October 1, I have listed a concert featuring the Black Keys at Paradise Rock Club (back in Boston where I will be starting about 2 weeks for now. I know! Say it ain't so..). And, of course, Wilco is ALSO playing in Boston that night, at the Wang Theater.

"Sara!," you may be saying to yourself right now, "What's wrong with you? Considering passing up Wilco? You stupid, stupid girl. You fool!" Well, it's not that simple.

Earlier this summer (on June 9, in fact) I saw Wilco at 9:30 Club. They were spectacular. But more importantly, the show was completely sold out and I managed to scalp possibley the only extra ticket of the night (hey, I didn't see anyone else get a ticket from a show-goer, though I may be totally wrong. Don't yell at me if I am, and if you scalped a tickie into that show then mad props to you). So, on top of a fantastic first Wilco show that had an incredible setlist and was just amazing, I was absolutely on Cloud 9 eyes-rolled-back-in-my-head-from-sheer-shock excited and amazed that I was even in the door.

This time around, I'll be getting tickets in advance. Will it taint my Wilco experience? Or am I being totally idiotic? I've never seen the Black Keys, I like them a lot, and I don't know what to do.

So, everyone, weigh in on this one in the comments. I'm confused. And scared. Can one go to two shows in one night when they're at the same time?

It's Rick James, bitch!

2004-08-06T14:46:00.000-05:00

Oh my! Rick James died!

Apparently it's natural causes, and I'll show respect for the dead by not intimating that a certain white powder may have contributed...

....That's not insider info, by the way. That's pure facetiousness.

But for anyone in the DC area, Modern's weekly Prince Party (where they spin Prince, Michael Jackson and, well, Rick James profusely) will have a couple hours dedicated only to the Super Freak himself.

The world lost a musician and a fantastic punchline today.

Itty bitty update

2004-08-02T17:34:00.000-05:00

You haven't heard from me because I am in St. Thomas with my family on vacation. So, with my last five minutes of internet time, here are a couple quickies to know:

1. I am tan. I haven't been tan in about 5 years.
2. That [above] is awesome.
3. St. Thomas is not that hot spot it used to be.
4. But the beaches are still amazing.
5. I'm tired.
6. I'm going to play Nintendo at my uncle's house.
7. That's cool.
8. I'll be back Thursday night. With lots to say.

And a couple notes for Mega and others in the area: I'm going to Sonic Youth (8/11 9:30) and A.C. Newman (8/14 Black Cat). Anyone else?

Mmmmm... Bliss

2004-07-18T03:03:00.000-05:00

Went with Lauren tonight to Bliss, the indie pop dance night at the Black Cat. We danced a lot. Lauren was tired and we both got a little drunk before we went, so we had to pause at one point to let her eat something, but then she felt better and all was well and fantastic. The DJ, Mark... something (What is his NAME? He's the DJ who founded Mousetrap) played a fantastic set (so did the girl DJ who took over while he had a drinking break) with all sorts of fantastic bands like The Killers, I Am The World Trade Center, !!!, The Dandy Warhols, Basement Jaxx, Steriogram (dude, I love "Walkie Talkie Man"), the guy who does that song "Sunglasses At Night" (which is The Shit(tm)), Supergrass and New Order, among others. Just about everything that came on was great to dance to and something to get excited about.

We met this very nice Boy named Mac, who is from Fredrick and is cool. I got his phone number and I think I might call him next weekend to go dance in Baltimore. He was really nice, and had cool sideburns. I want to be his fwend.

Did anyone else go tonight? I was semi-oblivious. But I did run into Fritz, the Bars and Clubs editor at washingtonpost.com, one of my semi-bosses at the Entertainment Guide (where I'm interning this summer). He introduced me to his girlfriend, Katherine (who was very nice), as "our best intern," meaning I'm claimed the title from David, who can't be best intern anymore because they hired him part time. He's way cool, though, and if he was still an intern he'd totally be the champ. It was a nice compliment, though, and put me in a good mood for the rest of the night.

It's 4:02 a.m. Time to sleep.

It's like being in middle school again!

2004-07-17T20:15:00.000-05:00

So I'm not really sick anymore (as in, I'm functioning again) but I'm now completely saturated with VH1's "I Love The 90's." For serious. I'm obsessed. Because, watching "I Love The 80's," I was like "Wow, the 80's were so cool! I wish I had been aware during that time instead of simply alive!" But the 90's were when I grew up... I graduated high school in 2002 so, yeah, the 90's shaped my life.

VH1, however, has kind of a selective memory:

1990: Ok, well, I was 5 (I have a late birthday, ok?) so I wasn't really cognizant. I was watching Muppet Babies.
1991: I was 6. Still not all there.
1992: Ahem. There was an election? With a saxaphone playing candidate? That one? Hello? Anyone? Was voting not cool even back then?
1993: Megadork pointed this out: Blossom??
1994: Um, excuse me, but I noticed when Kurt Cobain committed suicide. And I was 9. Did you sleep through April?
1995: Pssst: "The Downward Spiral" and "The Bends" had just come out. If you're gonna talk about Alternative Rock at all, those should be included. Also... this was the point where alt rock got HUGE. I mean... enormous. Mention it?

That's all I've seen up to now. BUT I still have a bone to pick with the "Dirty Alternative Rockers" section. I love dirty alternative rockers. But...

Scott Weiland: "Dirty Stone(d) Rocker" -- yes, lets make fun of an apparently unkickable heroin addiction.
Green Day: "Dirty, sort of, Punk Rockers" -- Sort of how? Sort of dirty? Sort of punk? Are you even qualified to make that call? Also, did LIZ PHAIR just say "sort of" in relation to dirty or punk? Because, really, she lost all credibility when she sold out.
Billy Corgan: "Dirty Chubby Rocker" -- 1. Not that chubby. 2. Fuck you, VH1.
Thom Yorke: "Dirty Computer Rocker" -- This just angers me because I love him and I love Radiohead more than all other bands and they didn't even find it fit to mention them in the show. So fuck them.

And, then, entries that anger me just because they were included under "Dirty Alternative Rockers":

Everlast, Fred Durst, Jonathan Davis, Mark Hoppus, Brandon Boyd and Kid Rock.

There better be an "I Love the 90's: Strikes Back" And I want to write it.

Sick again

2004-07-15T00:11:00.000-05:00

Blech, this is awful. I've been home from my internship for two days now and I'm not sure if I can go in tomorrow. I just sit around all day snuffling snot, coughing those awful asthmatic dry coughs, and feeling generally like crap. I am craving my office, craving some work. I want to get out of this house. But I feel terrible.

On the upside, I've had time to work on my articles. Kinda. In between fever-dream naps, "I Love the 90s" episodes, chicken soup and "A to Z Johnny Depp."

"I Love the 90s: 1994" did NOT include the suicide of Kurt Cobain. Excuse me but.. WHAT? I mean, WHAT??? VH1, get your act together!! You managed to include Boyz 2 Men and "Speed" but not Cobain's suicide. Seriously, fucked up.

On another note, did you know that "Depp" means "fool" or "idiot" in German? So Johnny Depp's name is "Johnny Idiot" in German? Hahaha. He's still hot though.

Me = took too much Robitussin and NyQuil. Woohooooooooo cold drugs haze!!

How did I manage to get a cold in JULY? Can someone explain this to me? Please?

So angry I can barely see

2004-07-13T14:54:00.000-05:00

I'm home sick and I read this: Postpone the Election?

I would like to proclaim this for all the world to see and I don't give half a shit about any fucking Dept. of Homeland Security Internet Spying:

I HATE GEORGE W. BUSH, DICK CHENEY, JOHN ASHCROFT, DONALD RUMSFELD, HIS ENTIRE ADMINISTRATION (CABINET INCLUDED, AS WELL AS ALL APPOINTED JUDGES AND DEPARTMENT HEADS), AND [edited for potentially offensive-to-my-readers comments and a death wish that really could get me in more trouble than its worth].

There. Say what you will, or don't say anything at all, but he and his Republic dipshit supporters can all go fuck themselves.

Really. This makes my blood boil. Fucking lying bastards.

You wouldn't know what to say to yourself...

2004-07-12T14:15:00.000-05:00

... After several days thinking and moment of boredom at work, I proclaim "Mutations" to be my favorite Beck album.

That is all.

Come, Come, Come into My World

2004-07-11T16:51:00.000-05:00

I've been very into Kylie Minogue for the past two days. Specifically "Slow" and "Come Into My World." It was all sparked when I watched my Michel Gondry DVD again. His video for "Come Into My World" is brilliant. Well, actually, all his videos are brilliant. He might be my favorite music video director ever, but sometimes that switches with Spike Jonze. Let's just say they're neck and neck.

This is what is comes down to: "Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind" vs. "Adaptation" and "Being John Malcovitch." Fucking impossible. I love all three movies. But part of me loves "Eternal Sunshine" more than the other two because it has such a sense of innocence and such sincerity. And I love Michel because he's such a genuine, honest, cute, adorable and child-like Frenchman. Not child-like in a bad way... just innocent and curious. It's terribly endearing.

On another note, did you know that Spike Jonze was born in Rockville? Seriously. IMDB says so. That's cool.

Also born in the greater Washington area: Lisa Loeb (that "Stay" girl, Bethesda), Colleen Haskell (that annoying girl from "Survivor," Bethesda), Ginuwine (The "My Pony" guy! I loved that song! Washington, DC), Martin Luther King, Jr. (who has enough movie credits as "himself" to be listed on IMDb, Washington DC), Ian McKaye (I know, you knew that one, but did you know it was listed on IMDb? Washington, DC) and Maury Povitch (the talk show host, Washington DC).

There are about 8 pages of DC folk and one-two from other suburbs, but I was trying to pick ones that were really random while having no attention span.

I've spent this weekend sleeping, for the most part. Saw Harold and Maude at Bethesda Row last night, their weekly midnight movie. Next week is Willy Wonka. I'm so there. I'm so there a dozen times over.

Awesome

2004-07-10T19:04:00.000-05:00

Will Farrel ambushes CNBC

I Feel Like Death

2004-07-09T09:04:00.000-05:00

I'm so tired I can barely even post. It's 10:04 a.m., I just got to work, and I have no idea how I'm going to make it through the day.

I think I'm going with my co-workers (or, really, co-bosses, considering I'm the Intern) to the Bastille Day Waiter's Race downtown today. I'm really not sure. Fritz emailed, asking who wanted to go, and I said I did. I haven't received plans for getting there yet. I'm terrified they don't want me to go. Why I'm so intimidated in this situation when I'm one of the most outspoken members of the editorial board up at school, I have no idea. Must have something to do with the fact that THIS ADDRESS intimidates the hell out of me.

My stomach hurts. I got 4 hours of sleep last night. I want to die.

Blame it on the black star...

2004-07-06T15:02:00.000-05:00

It's been about 2 months since I listened to more than one Radiohead song in a sitting. That's following about a year of listening ro Radiohead almost every day. Every year or so, I take a couple months off. It keeps it fresh.

Listened to The Bends and now I'm listening to my bootleg of Field Day Fest. I have a bootleg for every show I went to. They're the most fun to listen to, because I can pretend I'm there, even though I'm at work.

They're still utterly brilliant, even after all these years.

I just need to take a quick mapping break..

2004-07-02T13:38:00.000-05:00

.. and I don't want that to involve explaining what mapping is. I just need to rest my brains for a moment.

Fort Reno was good last night. Ian McKaye's new outfit, The Evens, were quite good. It's him and a girl. Their sound system? Didn't work so well. But they sounded good anyway. A friend of mine was like, "Man, you can tell he's getting old. The music's all calm and shit!" I thought it was a rather astute observation. Ian plays guitar, Currently Anonymous Girl (TM) plays drums. It was catchy. Ted Leo was good as well. It was cool outside. I ate a salad from Whole Foods (and cheese samples!) for dinner and then shared the Guacamole Dip at Guapo's in Tenly afterwards. Mmmmmm, Guapo's. I need to make it there for a full meal, and soon.

We walked to Friendship from Tenly and in the interest of time and not paying $8.25 for my parking, Lauren, Justin, Makeda and I caught the last Metro back to Bethesda. I dropped them off and then I went home. I caught the Daily Show (missed most of the first news segment though, dammit) and was half-falling asleep through the Grahmn Norton interview. Then I realized it was a re-run interview, but by that time it was done (plus I needed to see the current Moment of Zen. side note: I actually rather like that "repeats" of the Daily Show have fresh news and Moment(s) of Zen everyday) and then I went to bed. I woke up this morning and was tired. It is Friday. I can sleep in tomorrow. That is so exciting.

I feel old when I get excited about sleeping in on Saturdays.

And we thought Mary-Kate was bad...

2004-07-01T14:46:00.000-05:00

... This is just sick. Allegra Beck, daugter of Donatella Versace and Peter Beck, turns 18.

Asian people are the coolest ever

2004-07-01T09:17:00.000-05:00

I don't think that title was politically correct, but I'm covering several different Southeastern Asian countries and I can't think of a better broad word.

Thousands in Hong Kong Protest March. That's not a very good headline (hey, the BBC came up with it, not me) since they're not protesting a march, they're protesting by way of march. But, really, the point is that there are 500,000 people in the streets and is there any violence? No. Because these people are the most well-behaved people on earth.

Human Chain Protest Spans Taiwan. This happened in February, but it still boggles my mind. Over 1 million people in Taiwan linked hands and spanned the entire island. Damn. I mean.. d-damn-damn! That is protest the likes of which Americans could never dream of.

And I can't find the picture right now, but there were protestors in South Korea at the Hyundai factory (a few thousand of them) who protested with identical fuschia banners. It was a sea of fuschia anger. It was amazing.

The Evens, Ted Leo, Tomorrow. Who's comin' with me?

2004-06-30T23:39:00.000-05:00

I'm heading to Fort Reno after work to catch The Evens and Ted Leo tomorrow. It will be good. And, really, who cares if it's good? It's Fort Reno!

I will be the girl in dark jeans and pink Chucks and an as-yet-undecided shirt. Yes, I will be wearing that to work tomorrow. Fuck them and their truly nonexistent dress code. I'm not showing up to Ft. Reno in a skirt and button-down shirt with ballet flats. Someone will hit me, and I won't have any credibility at Steak and Egg afterwards, so they won't serve me.

Ok, so no one will hit me and Steak and Egg will probably serve me (it's iffy sometimes), but I'll be ashamed to show my face. And really uncomfortable trying to sit in the grass.

So? Who's comin' with me? Oh, come on now, it's free!

Not sick! Not sick!

2004-06-30T14:56:00.000-05:00

I woke up today for the first time in a while feeling not sick. Yay, not sick!

The truth is, I don't really have much more to say than that. Other than "Farenheight 9/11" is quite good. Drawn out at parts, but very good. See it.

I'm not sick anymore!!

Freedom

2004-06-28T12:04:00.000-05:00

The US has transferred power to Iraq. This is big. And two days early.

I'm scared, hearing this. I'm nervous about what will happen, the potential for violence, the problem that Al Jazeera and Arabs in general have with the remaining presence of US troops in Iraq. As I see it, we fucked up royally when we DIDN'T keep US Troops in Afghanistan to deal with the Taliban after it had been implimented (fueling Anti-Americanism from that government), and so it's only logical that we make sure Iraq is stable and secure before we start pulling our troops out. Bush insisted we get into this mess, he better see it through to a safe conclusion.

I also wonder what this will do to the election in the fall. But I think "Control Room" and "Farenheight 9/11" will be enough to topple the election on their own. Plus a good dose of the Daily Show along with it.

What a fucking scary time.

I have a camel named Al-Jazeera!

2004-06-28T09:25:00.000-05:00

Can someone explain to me why I always get sick in the summer? Doesn't that seem 100% counterintuitive? I think it does.

My dad and I both have been sneezing like crazy this weekend, and while he thinks it's allergies, I think I went and got sick against my will again. Saturday we went to my cousin Bobby's college graduation surprise lunch (saw my cousin Deborah's son Spencer, who is a very cute two years old, and she's preggers with another one! oh!) and on Sunday went to my cousin Brandon's surprise 10th birthday party. I was supposed to go to the Black Cat Sunday night to see We Ragazzi and The Paper Chase, but I was too sneezy and too tired and too ucky. Apologies again, Megadork, especially since I was shitty and din't email you. Was the show at least good? It was a health sacrifice this time around.

Bored out of my mind in my house, however, I dragged myself and a box of tissues to Landmark Bethesda Row to see Control Room. Let me tell you, it was amazing. Not only a fantastically shot documentary, but really an enlightening one as well. Al-Jazeera gets a lot of flack in the United States for "biased" coverage (if you're interested in journalistic bias, by the way, go to Barnes and Nobles and check out their media section to learn about American bias), but one of the most aweing things about "Control Room" is that it exposed how much the information America gives is biased, as opposed to the actually journalism being biased.

That being said, there was one hilarious moment in the movie where the general manager of Al Jazeera is translating an interview with a staunch American critic, who is American and claiming the US only wants oil, etc. etc. After the interview, he finds the interview editor (the guy who gets and arranges all the interviews) and yells at him how this guy's interview is bad journalism. The guy is like, "But he's talking about his own country!" The manager is like "It doesn't matter!" The interview guy is like "It's his opinion!" and the manager guy is like "It's not opinion! It's hallucination!" It was incredibly hilarious.

I walked out of the theater with a newly discovered profound respect for Arab journalists, specifically the ones at Al Jazeera. It's hard job to do, but for the most part they do it very very well. As one of the men in the movie said (the one that's getting really famous... I need to learn their names), "It is hard for us to do this. We are trying to be journalists when no one has really been truly independent before. We have never had an independent, free media, but we are trying to now."

There's another movie playing at Landmark theaters called The Story of the Weeping Camel. Click that link, and look at that camel. It is the cutest, funniest thing I have ever seen in my life. At the Landmark Embassy, in Waltham where I go to school, they are handing out Beanie Baby camels as a promotion. My friend John, who is working there over the summer, is keeping one for me. I named it Al Jazeera.

A Life of Possibilities

2004-06-25T12:44:00.000-05:00

If you recognize what band wrote that song, you can be my friend.

I have to admit, it's really wierd looking up the Fort Reno schedule this year and not seeing Fugazi or Dismemberment Plan on the lineup. I missed D-Plan in '02 because I was in New York, but I did see them at Fort Reno and then again in Boston '03. They played the Roxy with Les Savy Fav. I caught them one final time at the Black Cat that summer. And then...

...It's wierd seeing the Fort Reno lineup this year without their name, and knowing it won't be there. I often find myself awed and surprised by the amount of loyalty in the DC scene... D-Plan toured the world for most of 2003 and then came home to play their final show at the 9:30 Club. They're still all around the city. They record here, they live here, they hang out here. They talk to people after their shows, they're nice. They're gracious.

They were the first DC band I really got into. Fugazi is, obviously, a strong presence in the city, but it was also before my time. I matured with D-Plan, getting "The Ice of Boston" for free at a Sam Goody in Friendship Heights when I was 13 and going from there. They're my band. They sound like home. They talk about home. "The Ice of Boston" (the song) is one of my favorites, because I know that feeling of being in Boston and thinking about DC and that strange tension and indecision that exists. I know what winter feels like, what summer feels like. When Travis Morrisson sings, "As I walked down K street to some temping job / As winter sucked the life out of fall / Well, I must have been having a ball, yeah"... That's home. I know that. I see it, I've lived it my whole life.

It makes me sad that they had to end. This time of year is the saddest, trudging through the new set of bands playing Ft. Reno. I miss D-Plan, I miss Trans Am, I miss Fugazi.

Things are changing.

Mmmm, tastes like blog.

2004-06-25T11:03:00.000-05:00

This is funny, although just about everything on the Onion is.

Je suis tres fatigue. J'ai besoin pour commencer a apprendre le francais encore. That, by the way, is really crappy grammar-phonetic french. I think all the subjects and verbs are probably wackily placed, but that is kind of the point.

(ummm, no condescention meant, that translates into "I am very tired. I need to begin learning french again" for the french impaired--like me!)

I want to get good enough at french that I can really converse in it quite well. That's an interesting goal since I'm foreign-language retarted, but I'll give it my best shot. Then I'll run away to Paris and never come back.

I want to go back to Paris very badly. I went in February for a week and was blown away. Wonderful city, wonderful people, wonderful weather. There was this tiny neighborhood cafe down the street from my hotel, and I would go there every morning for a cafe au lait. I kept waking up at 7:30 or 8 (jetlag threw me an extra wierd loop, for some reason) and so that's how I would amuse myself. Often I would write in my journal as I people watched, and a couple of times I would clumsily stumble through as much of Le Monde as I could understand (I read French 10 times better than I speak it... one of my primary issues with learning languages is that I can never speak it and often can hardly write it, but I'm usually quite proficient in reading it). The man and woman who owned and operated the cafe were the nicest people and I would have this coversation every morning:

Madame or Monsieur: Ah! Bonjur Sara!
Me: Bonjour, madame/monsieur! Comment allez-vous?
MoM: Tres bien, merci. Un cafe au lait?
Me: (sheepish tone) Oui, merci...
MoM: Et non croissant?
Me: Oui, oui...

They were wonderful people, but I was always so embarassed that I was so predictable. The coffe cost about € 3.40, which is slightly expensive, though really (in translation to American dollars) isn't anything more than a coffee at Starbucks and about 1000 times better.

I loved Paris, but before I go back there's a lot of places I want to go first. My friend/roommate Elisa and I were talking about going to Peru or Costa Rica this winter break (I've never been to South America, with the exception of 1 day in Venezuela when visiting family in Curacao), and also going back to Curacao to visit my family. My Curacaoan cousins are studing in Amsterdam, which is awesome, and I definitly want to go there. I also want to go to Brussels, Berlin, Prague, Milan, Rome, Venice, Barcelona, Madrid, Vienna, Athens, Lisbon, Sarajevo, and Stockholm, to name a few. I also want to go to Tokyo, Vietnam, Singapore, Indonesia...ok, so I basically want to travel the world.

Mmmm, world travel... stupid work...

I think this is what is commonly known as "smiting"...

2004-06-22T16:42:00.000-05:00

Biblical weather in Texas.

I find it hard to muster sympathy considering the monster they helped put into office. The Texans shall be smited for their misdeeds...

The coolest thing I saw on television last night..

2004-06-22T11:09:00.000-05:00

... was the Daily Show. It's generally fantastic and perfect, but I have never seen Jon Stewart destroy a conservative interviewee like that before in my life. He interviewed Stephen F. Hayes about his new book The Connection: How al Qaeda's Collaboration with Saddam Hussein Has Endangered America. Which, y'know, interestingly enough was completely disproved by the 9/11 Commission, like, two days ago. But you know Mr. Stewart, always willing to entertain a conservative idiot, so he had him on the show anyway and it was the BEST THING I HAVE EVER SEEN.

Dropping the question-humor-blankstare-question formula that works so deliciously for one minute, he began to destroy Hayes' reasoning about pre-emptive war. He talked about how it sets a dangerous precedent to say you can invade any country with XYZ criteria and proved it thusly:

JS: But, see, here's my problem with this whole Bush Doctrine. It sets a dangerous precendent.
SFH: Why?
JS: Well, look. Let's say four things: Uh, weapons of mass destruction, tyrranical leader, harboring terrorists, and uhhhhh.. funding terrorist acts or groups. Now, here's the thing. You can't tell me which country I just described.

Let me tell you, I nearly fell over I was so stunned at the point he had just made. It was amazing and fantastic. I mean, really, last night's Daily Show was above par in so many way... fantastic News segment in the beginning (I love it when politicians lie on television and then the Daily Show broadcasts their boldface contradictions), great interview, hilarious Moment of Zen. No correspondant sections... just talking and making way too much sense.

Catch the rerun tonight at 7. It's so so so very worth it.

Army Judge rules that Abu Grahib prison is a crime scene..

2004-06-21T15:20:00.000-05:00

... Well, that only gave them about a month or so to destroy evidence, right?

Washington Post coverage of the idiocy

Skinny Scots shouldn't take off their shirts...

2004-06-21T09:31:00.000-05:00

...Although they should make a point to return to DC as many times as possible. Franz Ferdinand played 9:30 Club last night, providing me with Major Musical Dilemma (tm) number 1, because about three blocks away, !!! were tearing it up at Black Cat. What to do, what to do... well, what it came down to is that I bought my ticket for Franz before !!! even announced their show so... I went and saw Franz. Worth it, I swear. I did my little dancing, I sang their little tunes, and I had a blast. Sons and Daughters, who opened 2nd, were pretty awesome too. I missed Delegate, but I hung out with them by the side of the stage a bit and they gave me their sampler for free. I like free things. The merch/manager/uppity-guy-with-a-guest-pass gave me a FF poster for free after the show, then kicked me out for not having a pass. Asshole.

Caught a cab on the way home with Megadork totally by coincidence. Took us a minute, but we realized it. She is nice, and is even nicer for splitting a cab with me. Our cabbie, when we realized we knew each other, was like "See? This is what happens when you share a cab!" He was very nice

Ran into a whole bunch of people I knew in high school at the show as well. My friend's younger brother, some people in my graduating class, and the guy I had a crush on forever and his new girlfriend. I think (judging by when I ran into him last summer) that they've been together for at least a year (he has a knack for monogamy) if not more (tops I would say 2 years) and lemme tell you, this girl has the most forgettable face I've ever seen. The only thing I remember about her appearance is the neon-day-glo green Ramones shirt she was wearing. It was layered over about 3 tank tops, ranging from neon pink to black, and had her hair extensions up in one of those messy ponytails. She might have been wearing a black miniskirt and striped tights, or that may have been some other forgettable girl who merged with her in my mind. She is alarmingly tan and skinny (although the boy is rather skinny as well, markedly moreso than when we graduated). They had fucked up their tickets and had to go back to their house (that's what he said, leaving me to wonder if they were living together) to get it. If they are living together, btw, that is very very odd. They also both look majorly strung out and anorexic. It was halfway disturbing, halfway vidicating, and I could out-punk her ass any day. She gave me a pretty scathing look and I really wanted to fight. It would have felt awesome.

Also, a guy at the show was wearing a I'm Rick James, Bitch!" t-shirt. Seriously, they should be banned.

I have been terribly remiss in my blogging duties...

2004-06-17T09:40:00.000-05:00

...especially considering that it's been a pretty eventful more-than-a-week. Some pretty big stories to tell.

My lack of blogging is mainly the all-consuming exhaustion that comes from working 10-6 everyday with a 40 minute commute (that means I'm on the Metro by at the latest, and awake at 8 a.m. every day) and then trying to have something resembling a life at night. It's been an easier weekend, as the friends left for Bonnaroo on Wednesday (woot! to 10 hour drives, yo) and that left me with little to nothing to do at night. So I slept instead. It was a good call.

So, on that note, lets start at last Wednesday, the day that will live in infamy as "The Day Sara Got Into The Most Sold Out Show Ever." Wilco was playing 9:30 Club. Post-rehab new-guitarist-having Wilco. Yankee Hotel Foxtrot-releasing Wilco. Blow-you-mind-fantastic Wilco. So it's really no surprise that they sold out, right?

I tried for about a month straight to get tickets. Impossible. Craigs List users were selling them for $80, $100, $150 a pop. I do not pay more thatn $50 for a 9:30 Club show. Period. I've lived in the DC area my entire life, and I know how these clubs work. I know the bouncers, I know the backstage-keep-out guys, I know 'em all. These are my clubs, my music venues. I'm not paying $100. And everyone was selling their tickets before I got to them and others were bidding higher than me and I just wasn't getting at ticket. So I decided to try my luck outside the club that night. Then I left my cell phone on the Metro on my way home from work. That sucked. But my fellow intern, who was riding the metro for once, picked it up and brought it back to work for me. I heart her. She is awesome. She was great before, but now she is decidedly awesome.

Then I lost my money. Don't ask. I lost my money, leave it at that.

Eventually I find my money and go to the show. There are about 50 million people trying to buy a ticket outside. Ok, so more like 15 but that's some major competition. So I'm peddling my wares with the plantive "Anyone have an extra ticket? One? Just ONE extra ticket?" for almost 30 minutes before I ask this one guy. He looks like my friend Lauren's stepdad. He has a bush beard and a full head of dark hair and is wearing a blue Hawaiian print shirt. He is funny and I surprised he's attending the show, but whatever.. Wilco rocks. And I ask him "Do you maybe have an extra ticket?" And he says, "Actually, I do." I blurt out "Omigod!" before I know what I'm saying and get very dizzy for a second. Then I almost faint when he SELLS IT TO ME FOR FACE VALUE. Yes, ladies and gents, not only did I GET a ticket to The Most Sold Out Show Ever (tm), but I got it for FACE VALUE. It was awesome.

The show was AMAZING. They played at least 2/3 of Yankee Hotel Foxtrot and a bunch off of Summerteeth and some new ones from A Ghost Is Born as well. By the way, VH1's website is streaming A Ghost Is Born pre-release. Go listen, because this album is really fantastic. It's not YHF, but nothing will ever really reach that level again, methinks. That being said, AGIB is really quite satisfying.

So after the excitement and incredibility (is that a word? the right one? probably not) of Wednesday, I took the rest of the week off to rest up for The Decemberists on Monday. Met up with a friend from school (well, he graduated) for the show and thoroughly enjoyed it. Unlike the Wilco show, which was packed tight wall to wall and on the balcony too, 9:30 Club was only about half-full for the Decemberists, which allowed me to get up to the stage to watch. They are, lemme tell you, a fantastic band to see live. The music isn't as slow or methodical and they play things like "The Tain" (otherwise known as The Decemberists Do Metal (tm)) that are just so cool. And Chris, the guitarist/aux. percussionist/general go-to-instrument-guy, puts on a beard (which reminded me of the "Float On" video by Modest Mouse for some reason) and grabs a big strapping bass drum and marches his way through the audience when they play "A Cautionary Tale," which made him the Coolest Person Ever for that night. Fantastic music, and a good portion of the band comes out right after the show to chat. They're very nice ("they" being Chris and drummer Rachel, both of whom I chatted with). Chris also took my ticket backstage and got it signed by the whole band. That's when his Coolest Person Ever status implimented itself for a good week.

And now? Well, Thursday is here and I'm still exhausted from that show. The friend and I walked from 9:30 to Connecticut Avenue right near Van Ness/UDC metro (that's about 45 minutes of walking because we accidentally took the wierd windy way) and then I caught a cab home. I slept at like 2 am and woke up at 8 again. I'm tired. I'm sick of work. But I get to start writing about music, so.... yay!

There. Blog is caught up. Go me.

NOTE: This post has been edited because Sara is a stupidhead who wrote "new-drummer-having-Wilco" instead of "new-guitarist-having-Wilco" because she is dumb and tired and apparently has forgotten both how to read and write. So sorry.

ALSO: GO SEE SAVED! It is hilarious and Patrick Fugit is way cute. Also, Macauli Kaulkin (is that how you spell his name? I have no idea) is AWESOME in it. He totally redeems himself. Mandy Moore is pretty damn funny too. She's a decent actress. Really. I know. I'm surprised too.

I was born a unicorn...

2004-06-07T00:14:00.000-05:00

Unicorns at the Black Cat tonight. Awesome. Yes, awesome. I went by myself, none of my friends having heard of them or being interested in expanding their horizons tonight. It was an all-Canadian bill (yay Canada!) and it was pretty decent. Death From Above opened with their minute-long noise punk (seriously, I don't think any song they played was longer than a minute). It's nice to see a guitar-drum outfit that isn't trying to imitate the White Stripes, but that being said... they sucked. Pretty bad. Then one of them hit on me at the merch table when I was picking up the EP from the second opener, Arcade Fire. Arcade Fire is good, people. They just recorded an album, it'll be out soon (they said September, if I remember correctly), and it should become part of your music collection as soon as possible. They also had a violinist, which is awesome. And they used the acordian. If you can make good indie pop with an acordian, I will automatically heart you.

Then the Unicorns!! I was sitting on one of the squishy leather couches at the back of the mainstage area and this guy just comes up to me and is like "Um, if I give you money, can you buy me a drink?" Now, this was pretty cool because I had been staring at him for a while like "Hello, pretty, why don't you come talk to me?" But unfortunately, I was sporting the required huge black X's on both hands that are the universal symbol for "NOT OF AGE! DO NOT SERVE ALCOHOL!" and had to tell him so. He is also 19, but had washed the X's off his hands. Why he didn't just try to buy himself was a little beyond me, although he was already pretty drunk and it probably wouldn't have worked. But he asked me if I was there by myself and when I answered yes, he introduced himself and said I should sit with him and his co-worker, a very silent girl who wouldn't introduce herself to me. Weird. His name is Matt and he is cute. We got up onto the floor and danced a bit while the Unicorns played. They were awesome. I mean, just awesome. And hilarious banter too: "Hey, remember when we came and burned down your White House? And then we had to paint it when you rebuilt it. But we're gonna do it again. Soon. Give us, like, five years." And when someone yelled out "Do it on election day!" they responded with, "No, we're gonna do it before the election and postpone it. And then George Bush is going to be president for another four years. Oh, come on now, you know it's gonna happen."

Lemme tell ya something. When the Unicorns roll through your town (they're heading south as of now), go. Go go go go go. They are so worth it and then some.

Matt and I split a cab back, because by the time the Unicorns finished the Metro was closed and neither of us were about to leave early. Then I gave him a ride to his house and my phone number. At the least, we'll see each other at the Franz Ferdinand show on the 20th. Hopefully, I'll see him before then. He's still very cute.

I rant about music because I can.

2004-06-04T16:15:00.000-05:00

The new influx of celebrities running from the stage and screen into the sound studio has begun to make me squirm. Most critics of popular culture will dismiss this rising trend as nothing new and nothing harmful. It is a simple fact that celebrity makes one act in ways one would otherwise know are foolish. Everyone sings in the shower. Everyone sings in the car. A lot of people even jam with their friends on guitars or with the radio. That includes celebrities. But because they have all that extra money to play with, celebrities are under the impression that they can actually buy talent. They can afford the best producers, studio musicians and public relations agents. Ergo, they can afford a number one hit.

Some argue that it works; take the case of Jennifer Lopez. She was a movie star. She liked to sing and dance. She recorded an album, and promptly propelled herself from Class-B movie start to Class-A+ celebrity of the most sickening saturation. What was never mentioned in all of that was the fact that her music, when you get down to it as a separate entity from her fame, pretty much sucked. Lopez’s voice is thin and her range is small. Her style is monotonous, and her choice of subject matters… Well, I’ll just say I’m not fooled by her “rocks,” nor blinded by her “bling,” but anyone who has to actually sing about how much they remember where they came from while parading around half naked in a fur coat with Ben Affleck ain’t from no block anymore. Also, Jenny, we don’t care. I do not care.

The truth is, I can’t think of one actor-to-musician crossover that has worked. Billy Bob Thorton didn’t work. Bruce Willis didn’t work. Russell Crowe didn’t work. Keanu Reeves didn’t work. J. Lo, Hillary Duff… the list goes on and on. None of them worked. And there’s basically an equal and opposite reaction; most musicians make horrible actors. In that case there are some exceptions, like, of all people, Cher who actually and deservingly won an Oscar for Moonstruck, as well as being awesome in The Witches of Eastwick. But for every Cher there is a Madonna waiting in the wings to make another classic like Swept Away.

But while someone can learn to act or model, a model or actor cannot learn to be a musician. Sure, music lessons are open to all (I play several instruments with the dexterity of a low-class hack, but it works for my personal purposes), and just about anyone with a brain cell can learn to play an instrument, but being a musician is NOT about playing back something written on paper. I would like to make an important distinction at this moment: I am not talking about classically trained instrumentalists who are trained specifically in and perform classical music. That is a different game, in fact a different stadium altogether. Classical musicians pride themselves in interpretation of classical works even more than composing, although many do choose to take that route if they have that creativity inside them.

I am talking about modern music. Rock, pop, R&B, hip-hop, all of it. And you cannot teach those. A real musician, someone who can transcend the trends and rise to the status of a legend or icon, will never be a crossover. Real musicians know nothing else. They eat, sleep, breathe and live music. They bathe in it, dry off with it, sleep with it, marry it, divorce it and marry it again and again. It is not a passing interest or an enjoyable pastime, but a passion; a passion so deep that they cannot get it out of their system, no matter how hard they try.

That’s why so many real musicians are multi-instrumentalists. Because when those melodies are floating around in your head, maturing and growing in breadth, depth and complexity, it can become increasingly hard to communicate what you are hearing to a band-mate or studio musician without actually playing it yourself. And one cannot demonstrate a piano part on a guitar, or a drum part on a keyboard. And so musicians learn and grow as instrumentalists as well as composers.

And the music they turn out is spectacular. It’s new, it’s inventive, it’s fresh and it’s exciting. Sometimes it inaccessible or too progressive, alienating and uncomfortable to listen to. Sometimes it takes months or years for it to grow on you, worm its way into your heart. But if you’re dealing with a real musician, one with actual talent, it will eventually get there. Music is music is music, no matter what genre it falls into, and good music will always win over the listener, no matter how predisposed they are to hate it.

Actors, get off of my CDs. You don’t belong there. Read your scripts, interpret your characters, but leave my music alone. It’s much better off without you.

Newsflash: Pope a "devoted servent of God."

2004-06-04T10:34:00.000-05:00

The Washington Post reports that the Pope opposes the war in Iraq (link is to the website's front page). Duly, CNN reports that Bush gave the Pope a medal today (like to the website's front page). The actual description of the article and picture of Bush giving the Pope the medal says:

'President Bush today met with Pope John Paul II as Bush began a 36-hour tour of Italy and Vatican City. The pope called for the speedy return of Iraq's sovereignty. "It is the evident desire of everyone that this situation now be normalized as quickly as possible," he said. Bush presented the pontiff with a medal, calling the pope "a devoted servant of God." '

Well, of course the fucking Pope is a devoted servant of God. I mean, assuming that God is real, or even not because that doesn't really matter here, you CAN'T be POPE if you don't "serve" God! I mean, that is #1 in the job description. Where most job criteria list "High School Diploma" or "College Degree" in the #1 slot, the job listing for "Pope, the" begins with "Must be willing to devote entire life and livelihood to God."

Who is this stupid, stupid man and why is he running a country?!

One more thing

2004-06-01T16:37:00.000-05:00

I can see the Capitol Building and Washington Monument out my window in this office. When we move at the end of the week, I'll be able to see the National Cathedral.

Beautiful.

And awesome.

This is a little risky...

2004-06-01T15:38:00.000-05:00

...blogging at work. But I'll make it a sweet shortie. Really, it has only one purpose. Deisel is auctioning off the Worst Record Collection EVER. And it really is awful. Check out the complete list of records here

Morrissey is cool

2004-05-31T19:09:00.000-05:00

What? He is.

Y'know, I write in this like I have something cool to say. I don't. You should go ahead and stop reading now.

Watched "julien donkey-boy" last night. I was informed by an email that if I was going to write the title of the movie, then it should be correctly typed. The fact that someone emailed me that is one the one hand awesome and on the other perplexing. Awesome because it means someone other than me reads this exercise in egotism. Perplexing because who really cares that much?

So, yeah, me and two girlies hunkered down and watched it and I thought it was awesome. They insisted on an hour of Comedy Central after it. Not an unwarranted request, and I was happy to oblige. But, seriously, Harmony Korine is pretty amazing. Neither of the girlies liked "Kids" or "Gummo" (well, only one had seen them both and she liked neither, and the other hadn't seen either but wants to), so it's not terribly surprising that "julien" rubbed them a little odd. It rubbed me odd too, but I'm an unabashed fan of Korine's previous work, so it was a tingly and exciting odd.

Listening to "You Are The Quarry," and I have to admit it's pretty amazing. More for lyrical content than anything else, but Morrissey's fearlessly personal and rather self-centered writing has always blown me a little bit away. "America Is Not the World" is an awesome anti-America rant, though, the kind that every American wants to get off their chest from time to time.

The J-O-B starts tomorrow. I'm nervous. This is big time. Am I ready for big time? I think this is my transition-to-second-half-of-college existential crisis. It's also the on-the-cusp-of-20 crisis. I'm kind of poking at the future and I'm not sure if I'm damaging anything. Life has a major "You Break, You Buy" policy that I just don't want to fuck with.

Big City Nights (or something like that)

2004-05-30T16:55:00.000-05:00

Went to the Black Cat last night with a friend. It's the saturday night 80's synth/new wave dance night, which is usually pretty awesome, but it was crowded and hot and I was a little too drunk and my stomach hurt so my friend and I ducked out pretty early. We ate vegetarian nachos and stared at this guy's shoes, which were these off-white Chucks with what looked like some modern-art print on them. It was cool. My friend wanted to take a picture, but she never got around to asking. He was kinda cute, and she made me admit it, but then his girlfriend showed up. And that was the end of that.

We sat on the street for a while with two other girls who my friend knows and chatted and made fun of people's outfits (on that note, HOW do some of these girls walk in stilletto heels around DC? The roads and sidewalks are horrendous. I can't figure out how they don't break an ankle) and eventually Metroed back at 3 in the morning and I fell asleep easily for the first time in a long time.

Made a Tower Records trip today on the slim chance that they had Harmony Korine's "Julien Donkey Boy," which they did because Tower is the bomb-diggity. My friend John showed me a few scenes from the movies, which were hilarious, and I wanted to watch it all the way through. It also seemed like a movie I wanted to own, and if for whatever reason I don't, I'm sure John would buy it from me. The only copy he had access to is his brother's, and his brother is about to move far, far away.

[*note: my sister's cell phone just rang and it's the Super Mario Brothers theme, which is the coolest thing ever. why isn't my cell phone that cool?]

So I picked up "Julien Donkey Boy" and the "Pixies: Best Of" DVD and tried to round out my music collection. It's always a little embarassing to realize that I've been listening to bands on mixes for months but haven't bothered to get the album yet. Not that I've really had the money for serious music shopping lately, but nonetheless. So I picked up TV on the Radio and the Constantines (John told me about the Constantines, said they were really good, but I forgot to get a copy from him before I left Boston) and the new Morrisey album is softcover. I like the soft cover one because A. It's only 13 dollars, not 17 and B. because it's not just a cardboard case, but is actually like a little mini-vinyl. It opens up and the CD is in a hazed plastic sleeve which you pull out of the cardboard from the other side... exactly like a real record. I think all CDs should be like that, so instead of having these ugly plastic things stacked everywhere, it would just be like having a mini-vinyl collection.

I also picked up Iggy Pop's "Lust For Life" because my dad took back his copy and I can't live without it.

Also picked up some awesome books, but talking about that is kinda boring. Except this one book: The Simpsons and Philosophy. I haven't cracked it open yet, but with chapters like "Lisa and American Anti-Intellectualism,"Why Maggie Matters: Souns of Silence, East and West," and "The Simpsons, Hyper-Irony and the Meaning of Life," I don't really see how I can go wrong.

Memorial Day is tomorrow, so I think I'll probably hibernate while tourists and neighbors alike cram onto the Metro and clog the streets as they attempt to squeeze down to the National Mall for... whatever it is that happens there on Memorial Day. You know, I don't think I've ever gone downtown on Memorial Day. Fear of crowds? Fear of tourists.

Tuesday I start working here. Then, hopefully, this will get a lot more interesting.

I get bored real quick...

2004-05-27T20:51:00.000-05:00

So the initial idea behind this blog was for me to have a way to document all my crazy obsessions with bizarre popular cuture things, usually involving Britney Spears or Courtney Love or some other train wreck of a celebrity (excpet, of course, when I'm drooling over Johnny Depp or Brad Pitt, but who's really keeping track?). Then I realized it's really hard to know about all that stuff. And sometimes I just want to blabber on about life. So I'm gonna. So there.

I got home from college for the summer to a city about 25 degrees warmer and covered with cicadas. What? You've never heard of a cicada? You don't know what one is? Niether did I until BILLIONS OF THEM descended on the greater Washington DC area after 17 years of hibernating and growing underground. Let me tell you something about these cicadas. They are brown and orange and gross. Really really gross. They come out for 4-6 weeks, make a lot of noise, fly around everywhere, have a lot of sex and die. And their dead little cicada bodies pile up in the streets. I was not warned about this as I traveled home. In Havre De Grace, MD (about an hour and a half away from my home outside of DC), I started hearing this wierd sound outside my car that sounded like a lot of people shaking maracas (morracas? marracas? I don't know..) all at the same time in these wierd waves that almost sounded like a maraca ocean. I dismissed it as wind. Wind sounds funny at 85mph sometimes. It was not wind. It was cicadas. Millions and billions of them.

I really really really really hate cicadas.

So I stayed inside. I'm still staying inside. But now I'm staying inside because I have strep. That's right. Streptococcus, that bad sore throat/fever/body aches disease that everyone else who is normal gets in the WINTER! I always get sick when I come home. And, hey, I have a concert schedule. I mean, I also have a 40 hour-a-week internship to uphold (check me out the washingtonpost.com entertainment guide as the summer continues. it's a pretty sweet internship), but I'm really more concerned about these concerts. If you live in the DC area, you should DEFINITLY check these out:

June 6 @ the Black Cat: The Unicorns
June 9 @ the 9:30 Club: Wilco (It's sold out, but I'm gonna seek scalpers)
June 14 @ 9:30 Club: The Decemberists
June 20 @ 9:30 Club: Franz Ferdinand

All promise to be awesome. And I'm sure more will follow. Get your tickets, though, these sell out crazy fast (I fucked up in Boston and missed the Decemberists up there because I waited too long to get tickets.)

My rambling is going to stop because my Ibuprofen seems to be stopping as well, and if I'm gonna survive the night I should probably redose.

Popular Cult.. hell yeah.

Apple is going to be so embarassed in about 15 years...

2004-05-17T18:08:00.000-05:00

You know how your parents always do those embarassing things when they think you're not looking, and then you have to go hide in your room for a while as you convince yourself you'll never be that dorky? Well, celebrity parents aren't immune to this either as evidenced by this little gem posted on the official Coldplay site. It features the band shirtless and in wigs and glasses, singing a parody song called "Nappies." A few gems from the song:

"It's a wierd nine months that you have had
And there's shit going down that you can't disguise
The cup's gone up from an A to D
That's bad for you but fun for me!"

"I'll be there baby, through the thin and the thick
I'll clean up all the poo and the sick"

"If you don't want my babies and you cannot disguise it
I'll take my [honk] and vasectomize it!"

Thanks to the wonders of the internet and the computer, I'm sure Apple will love watching this fifteen years from now.

Babysitter Britney?

2004-05-14T11:36:00.000-05:00

Britney Spears has been making news lately after she began seeing backup dancer Kevin Federline... who has a fiance and child at home, and another child seven months on the way. The Sun reported that Federline's spurned lover, Shar Jackson, said "If she and Kevin want to be a couple that's fine with me. But there are two little kids she better be prepared to babysit." Burn!

Seriously, though, would you let Brit Brit near your kids? The pop tart has picked up several interesting habits in the past year or so, including smoking and singing "Happy Birthday" to her brother while dressed in lingere.

Brad Pitt's abs are the ninth wonder of the world

2004-05-06T00:49:00.000-05:00

I am overjoyed that Troy is about to be released, because it means that Brad Pitt is now all over television and magazines. ALL OVER.

I am an unabashed --- in fact, celebrated --- Brad Pitt addict. No one can trump him in my book. He is the perfect mix of charm, sex, and violence.

And his abs are the ninth wonder of the world.