Age, Wisdom, and Radio Pop

I woke up this morning with the phrase "grammatical relativism" in my head, which makes no sense at all because I had a dream about samurai, with lots of fleeing and hiding and beheadings and blood, and katana that moved through the air like seaweed swaying in an ocean current. Which also makes no sense. But I'm determined to work "grammatical relativism" into conversation at some point today.

If you're keeping score, the blog post proper begins here:

I am grateful that Adele's "Hello" has been supplanted on the radio by her "When We Were Young" not because I don't like the former and do like the latter but because radio repetition can make me react to even the best of songs the same as I might nails on a chalkboard. Not that "Hello" is the best of songs. Or the worst. I'm just saying, Jesus, do I have to hear it ten times a day? Similarly, why can't they play more Nathaniel Rateliff and the Night Sweats songs? That whole album is great, but all we get, over and over and over again, is "S.O.B." Why? Why you damned, rich music industry fat cats, with your pinky rings and cigars and...

Wait, what was I talking about again? Oh yeah, Adele. For someone who famously names her albums for her age, and whose latest is 25, she uses a lot of phrases like, "after all these years," "we ain't kids no more," "when we were young," "that was a million years ago," etc. At first, I was like, "Girlfriend, please." Because, you know, I'm a 43-year-old white man from the suburbs who likes to appropriate as my own outdated pop culture tropes that I have no business using.

Wait, what was I talking about again? Oh yeah, Adele. Today it occurred to me: no matter how old we get, there will always be someone older, devaluing our age and experience because they are not as great or as extensive as their own. I imagine in the nursing home, there will always be a 95-year-old looking at the 75-year-olds and thinking, "Punk ass kids. Think they know shit about how things really are..." Hmm. Wait a minute. "Someone" is singular. "Their" is plural. Therefore, my '80s public school education tells me that there is no agreement among my pronouns. I should have used "his," because it is the correct choice both for masculine antecedents and those of neutral or unspecified gender. The judgmental 95-year-old in my imagined scenario is not described as either male or female. I should have said, "[t]here will always be someone older, devaluing our age and experience because they are not as great as his own." But I recall vaguely somewhere some discussion that we are living in a non-binary world now, and assignment of the masculine pronoun when the gender of the antecedent is undetermined is a construct of the patriarchy, meant to keep women and the LGBT (LGBTQ? Are we adding a Q to that now? Sounds familiar...) population oppressed, silent, under-represented. Traditional notions of grammar be damned, much like the rich music industry fat cats! Singular/plural agreement isn't as important as human equality! So bam. Grammatical relativism, right there. Done and done.

Wait, what was I talking about again? Oh, yeah, Adele. You go on and be jaded and world weary, young lady. Your (or perhaps your songwriter's? Do you write your own lyrics? I don't even know) life experience is as valuable as my own. Hell, more so, because the older I get the only thing I know with more and more certainty is that the scope with which my knowledge and experience can be applied to real life situations becomes more and more narrow with every passing day, week, month, year. Perhaps by the time I'm a 95-year-old in a nursing home, I'll know that it doesn't actually apply to anything in the present or future at all, only the past. Which is pretty damned (like traditional notions of grammar and rich music industry fat cats) useless, actually.

Wait, What was I talking about again? Oh yeah, Adele. I give her my permission to sing about the passage of time and the lessons it imparts, even though she is young. Also: I like Taylor Swift. There, I said it. "Blank Space" is a good song, I don't care what you say.

Fluctuations in My State of Mind Over the Last Few Weeks, As Illustrated by the Lyrics Searches Found in My Browser History

So you treat your love like a firefly, like it only gets to shine for a little while.
Catch it in a mason jar with holes in the top and run like hell to show it off.
Oh, promises were made when we'd go walking; that's just me and Charlie talking.

Just hoe your own row, and raise your own babies.
Smoke your own smoke, and grow your own daisies.
Mend your own fences, and own your own crazy.
Mind your own biscuits, and life will be gravy.

I’ve been man enough to tell you that I’m sorry when I’m wrong;
You never will admit it when I’m not.
Maybe you will finally forgive me when I’m gone,
But I won’t be there when you apologize.
Heads, you win; tails, I lose.
I can’t get the upper hand no matter what I do.
You’ll always be the winner, and I’ll always be the fool.
Heads, you win; tails, I lose.

You've seen your future from your present state,
And filtered through your past, it may not look too great.
If you could have your future generate your now,
You'd probably sit back, relax, kick off your shoes,
And just allow.

'Cause I can't be anyone but me, anyone but me.
And I can't keep dreaming that I'm free, dreaming that I'm free.
I don't want to fall asleep and watch my life from fifty feet.
My hands are on the wheel so I'm driving to Idaho,
'Cause I hear it's mighty pretty
In Idaho.

So I play my hopes and play my dreams
Just like two coins in a slot machine.
Sing "Glory, Hallelujah!" if everything works out fine.
My life is like a lemon drop;
I'm suckin' on the bitter to get to the sweet part.
I know there are better days ahead.
Lord, I know there are better days ahead.
Thank God!

Imagine your best friend and your worst enemy
Begs you to stay and then wishes you'd leave.
Like Marilyn Monroe, she can be who you want her to be.
You can't change her mind (even if you wanted to).
You can always try (she'll see through to you, she'll see through you).
If you think you're the only one she'll want in this world,
Then you don't know nothin' 'bout girls.

I set my sails for a new direction, but the wind got in my way.
I changed my course, but my definition of change just ain't the same.
I'm gonna sit right here, stay away from there.
I'm gonna make pretend I just don't care.

Motherfucker, I’ll be back from the dead soon.
I’ll be watching from the center of the hollow moon.
Oh my God I think I might’ve made a mistake:
Waiting patiently was waiting taking up space.
We are waiting taking up space.

You’re too mean, I don’t like you, fuck you anyway.
You make me wanna scream at the top of my lungs.
It hurts but I won’t fight you.
You suck anyway.

Never would've seen the trouble that I'm in, if it hadn't been for love.
Would've been gone like a wayward wind, if it hadn't been for love.
Nobody knows it better than me;
I wouldn't be wishing I was free
If it hadn't been, if it hadn't been for love.

I backed my car into a cop car the other day.
Well he just drove off; sometimes life's OK.
I ran my mouth off a bit too much, oh, what did I say?
Well you just laughed it off; it was all OK.
And we'll all float on OK. And we'll all float on anyway.

Sometime, can you feel the pressure does unwind, sometime?
Sometime, through the day and through the night, sometime.
Sometime, you can make the pressure does unwind, sometime.
Sometime, it's for your spirit and your mind, sometime.

I walk and cry while my heartbeat keeps time with the drag of my shoes.
The sun never shines through this window of mine; it's dark at the home of the blues.
Oh, but the place is filled with the sweetest memories, memories so sweet that I cry.
Dreams that I've had left me feeling so bad, I just want to give up and lay down and die.
So if you've just lost your sweetheart, and it seems there's no good way to choose,
Come along with me. Misery loves company. You're welcome at the home of the blues.

She loves to tell me she hates the things I do.

Sometimes you've got to bleed to know that you're alive and have a soul.

Just remember to fall in love. There's nothing else. There's nothing else.

And they’ll be quick to point out our shortcomings,
And how the experts all have had their doubts.
Ain’t it like most people? I’m no different.
We love to talk on things we don’t know about.

It's been so long since I've seen her face.
You say she's doin' fine.
I still recall a sad café,
How it hurt so bad to see her cry.
I didn't want to say goodbye.
Send her my love; memories remain.

How 'bout me not blaming you for everything?
How 'bout me enjoying the moment for once?
How 'bout how good it feels to finally forgive you?
How 'bout grieving it all one at a time?
Thank you, India.
Thank you, terror.
Thank you, disillusionment.
Thank you, frailty.
Thank you, consequence.
Thank you, thank you, silence.

Songs About the New World

Aerie and I arranged to get together last night and talk details for our divorce decree. We're doing our best to make this transition as amicable as possible. I've been saying and thinking that word a lot lately. Amicable. Amicable.

And now that we're not living together, and we're navigating our new lives apart and our new schedules as Joint Managing Conservators instead of, you know, whatever we were before, things really are fairly amicable. I look around me at the divorce stories that suddenly seem to be everywhere, and if divorcing well is a competition, I think we're winning. She's not taking out a Protective Order against me and fighting in court for full custody. We're not pitting our friends against each other or making them choose sides. She's not hiding money from joint accounts. I'm not stalking her, or playing mind games or threatening her with dastardly deeds. Neither of us is telling Thumper that the other parent is awful. He's not a pawn in some jacked up game between us. We're just... you know... amicable.

But with all this amicability flying around everywhere, and with the excitement of exploring my new life outside of all of the old roles and patterns I'd been living under for so many years, I thought that I was past the point of getting upset.  Yes, I really thought that after 23 years, I was emotionally over the hump, just six months after the word "divorce" was first uttered. I wasn't.

I've picked Thumper up and dropped him off at her house, that used to be our house. I've driven through the neighborhood before and been inside the house picking up clothes and furniture and piles of stuff. But last night, for some reason, it hit me harder. I saw neighbors walking and jogging through the neighborhood that used to be mine but isn't now, that I used to walk and jog through but won't anymore. The loop that I used to push a stroller around, past that playground we've been going to since Thumper was a brand new baby and I was a brand new stay-at-home dad. I stood on the porch and rang the bell. I didn't make myself at home and get a soda out of the fridge, or plates from the cabinet for the sandwiches I brought for us to eat while we worked. It's her house now, her stuff, her kitchen. I used the guest bathroom, not the master, and when I came out and sat down at the kitchen table to start working with her on details, I was a little shocked to find myself crying. The anger, the sorrow, the regret, the loss, they are all still real, no matter how much I want them to be memories now.

I hadn't been on the blog in quite some time. I saw I had an unpublished draft post from January, about the time the d-word first came up, that was entirely the lyrics to "Love's Recovery" by Indigo Girls. At the time, there still seemed a slim chance, but now our storm has passed and that slim chance is gone. A lot of the words fit, including the friends we thought were so together. So I'm sure I'm a cliché, 43 and divorcing, but the emotions don't feel so cliché now that I'm in them.



But now I'm just getting maudlin.

It's funny how things come to us sometimes all at once. I've never been much of a country music fan. I have a dear friend who's let me borrow her truck a few times through all of this moving of stuff, and a good many of her stereo's presets are country stations. Not wanting to jack with her settings, I listened to country music while I drove. I also worked a country music festival at my beloved arena not too long ago, and I thought some of those songs were downright toe-tappable. But still, I think of myself as too good to listen to country, really, and complained about having "Rock me, Mama, like a wagon wheel" stuck in my head. I think I'm too smart, I suppose. I have an ugly bias against it where words like "hillbilly" and "redneck" and "Deliverance" pop into my mind.

Then a friend posted a photo of what she saw as "a cool cat," and I was transported instantly back to 1979, when Hoyt Axton appeared on my favorite TV show, WKRP in Cincinnati. I still remember the hooks to "Jealous Man" and "Della and the Dealer" from that show, though honestly, I must've seen them over and over again in syndication throughout the '80s for me to have memorized them like that. But I instantly commented on my friend's picture, "If that cat could talk, what tales he'd tell about Della and the dealer and the dog as well. But that cat was cool, and he never said a mumblin' word." She probably wondered what in the hell any of that had to do with a cat she saw on a street in Italy.



Later, I read Film Crit Hulk's article about Disney's Robin Hood that mentioned Roger Miller's original songs, and I found myself again inexplicably contemplating a master of '60s tongue-in-cheek country storytelling. So today, while spending the rest of my lunch hour walking around and around the concourse of my beloved arena to burn off the brisket and sausage I ate, I plugged "Hoyt Axton" into Pandora on my phone and spent a little bit of a while with Hoyt, Roger, Willie, Waylon, Johnny, Hank Jr., Merle, Jerry Reed, and Jimmy Dean. I don't know why I'm on a first name basis with everybody but Jerry and Jimmy, but there you go. I didn't even know Jimmy Dean was a singer. I thought he just sold sausage. My mom met him in an Eckerd's drug store once. Or so my faulty memory tells me the story goes.

So I was smiling as I walked, 'round and 'round, both at the music and at my own folly. I've always known so many things that it turned out I didn't know at all. Like that my marriage would last forever, and that I hated country music. That the end of the marriage would be the end of the world. But nah. It's working out. I've always been crazy, but it's kept me from going insane.

Profanity

Aerie and I have been working on a reasonable profanity policy for Thumper. Or should that be capitalized? Profanity Policy? I don't know. Anyway, we want him to understand not only that they are just words, just sounds that our mouths make that stand for ideas, but also that they have powerful potential to affect people's emotions. It comes down to knowing your audience and knowing that some words will deeply offend some people, so it's best not to use them all willy nilly. Complicated stuff for a 6 year old. Mostly he just loves the thrill of being allowed to say forbidden words out loud in front of his parents.

Case in point: while driving 20 minutes to the cool toy store (that's the new, second location of All Things Kids, for those of you keeping score) to buy a birthday present for a friend, we listened to my iPod on shuffle. iPod on shuffle often leads to  interesting conversations. Today, "Little Lion Man" by Mumford & Sons popped up.

"Did he say a bad word?"

"Yep."

"Did it end with 'ck'?"

"Yep."

"Did it start with 'fu'?"

"Yep."

"Did it have four letters?"

"Yep."

"Oh, like [neighborhood kid] said. His mom got really mad, and I had to come home so she could yell at him some more."

"What did he say?"

"He said, 'What the fuck did you do to your face?'" [This after Thumper spectacularly wiped out jumping off the furniture and gave himself an angry red rug burn on his chin.]

"Yeah, that's why you have to be careful with words like that. You should always assume it's going to make somebody mad, unless you know ahead of time that it's not. Like you should never ever sing this song at school, OK?"

"I would NEVER do that!"

But he does get an incredible electric jolt of excitement out of being able to say to his dad, "He said, 'What the fuck did you do to your face?'"

Then "Andrew in Drag" by The Magnetic Fields came on, and things got even more complicated. Did you know that "shag" means some of the same things that "fuck" does, but people in this country don't use it very much and don't really consider it a bad word? I know! Language is weird!

I Only Hope We Get Free Tickets

A professional entertainer attempted some audience participation with Thumper and may have regretted the decision. His exact words to me were, "He's going to have his own show before long!"

We've gone to live children's music shows before, most notably the live summer shows at Symphony Square which I have mentioned here and here, and we've also gone to a couple of Sunday morning free kids' shows at Ruta Maya, including one by a very nice stay-at-home mom named Sarah Dinan who invited me to join her play group once upon a time, though that play group eventually turned me down. Thumper has enjoyed all of these shows except for the last one at Ruta Maya, known as Mr. Leebot, billed as Devo for kids. We walked in the door and Thumper declared it "too loud," saying that it "made his belly hurt." So we haven't been back to Ruta Maya since. Though he's enjoyed most of the shows, he's been suspicious of attempts to get him to dance, or to sing along, or clap in time.

But today we checked out ScottyRoo and Christini at the Cherrywood Coffeehouse. It was a very small, informal, intimate performance that seemed heavily ad-libbed. There were perhaps half a dozen families with kids from one to four years old. What I really enjoyed about the show, despite the really bad pre-schooler-targeted stand-up comedy and puppet bits between songs, was that it was the first time Thumper actually participated in audience-participation moments. When they asked if anyone were afraid of bees or bugs that bite or sting before "Baby Bumble Bee," he raised his hand. He sang along in a couple of places, he jumped in front of his chair during "Pet Kangaroo." The more he warmed to ScottyRoo, the chattier and more outgoing he got until he finally was standing in front of ScottyRoo's keyboard holding a full conversation, oblivious to the audience behind him. He told ScottyRoo his full name and age, he asked if ScottyRoo were afraid of dragons or triceratops and advised him he need not be afraid of baby triceratops because they come from eggs and are tiny. Some of the time, ScottyRoo had no idea what he was talking about, as when he asked if ScottyRoo liked Despicable Me, the movie we were going to see after the show. ScottyRoo said, "Spooky what? Is that a TV show? I probably wouldn't like it if it's spooky. I get scared easily."

ScottyRoo had been playing an extended musical interlude on his keyboard throughout this exchange then looked at me and said, "He's going to have his own show before long!" I took this as a cry for help. I wondered if maybe I should've intervened sooner, but I figured if ScottyRoo didn't want his show hijacked by a three-year-old, maybe he shouldn't engage them in conversation like that. It was time for us to leave to make it to our movie on time, so we exited stage right while ScottyRoo sang about his friend Thumper who likes dragons and triceratops.

Three

Friends and family gathered today to celebrate Thumper's third birthday. It's wonderful to have so many people who will come to our home and participate in these moments with us, and to see conversations bloom and mutate and migrate from room to room. To watch kids and cousins playing together. To see how things have changed and how things have stayed the same.

While he's not quite up to J-H's level, here's Thumper thoroughly enjoying his new guitar and improvising a couple of songs for your listening pleasure:

Toddler Punk

I'm Really Starting to Like This Guy

I never heard of Tim Minchin until @natraehawking re-tweeted @thomasemson, who declared "White Wine in the Sun" the best Christmas song ever. And since, I've been abusing his YouTube videos, and yes, even buying some on iTunes.



"White Wine in the Sun"

I really like Christmas.
It's sentimental I know,
But I just really like it.

I am hardly religious;
I’d rather break bread with Dawkins than Desmond Tutu,
To be honest.

And yes, I have all of the usual objections to consumerism,
To the commercialization of an ancient religion,
To the westernization of a dead Palestinian
Press-ganged into selling PlayStations and beer.
But I still really like it.

I'm looking forward to Christmas,
Though I'm not expecting a visit from Jesus.
I'll be seeing my dad,
My brother and sisters, my gran and my mum.
They'll be drinking white wine in the sun.
I'll be seeing my dad,
My brother and sisters, my gran and my mum.
They'll be drinking white wine in the sun.

I don't go in for ancient wisdom.
I don't believe just 'cause ideas are tenacious
It means they're worthy.

I get freaked out by churches;
Some of the hymns that they sing have nice chords,
But the lyrics are dodgy.

And yes, I have all of the usual objections to the miseducation
Of children who in tax-exempt institutions are taught to externalize blame,
And to feel ashamed, and to judge things as plain right or wrong.
But I quite like the songs.

I'm not expecting big presents;
The old combination of socks, jocks, and chocolate
Is just fine by me.
'Cause I’ll be seeing my dad,
My brother and sisters, my gran and my mum.
They'll be drinking white wine in the sun.
I'll be seeing my dad,
My brother and sisters, my gran and my mum.
They'll be drinking white wine in the sun.

And you, my baby girl,
My jet-lagged infant daughter,
You'll be handed 'round the room
Like a puppy at a primary school,
And you won't understand,
But you will learn some day
That wherever you are and whatever you face
These are the people
Who'll make you feel safe in this world,
My sweet blue-eyed girl.

And if, my baby girl,
When you're twenty-one or thirty-one
And Christmas comes around,
And you find yourself 9000 miles from home,
You’ll know whatever comes,
Your brothers and sisters and me and your mum
Will be waiting for you in the sun.
Whenever you come,
Your brothers and sisters,
Your aunts and your uncles,
Your grandparents, cousins,
And me and your mum.
Will be waiting for you in the sun,
Drinking white wine in the sun.
Darling, when Christmas comes,
We'll be waiting for you in the sun,
Drinking white wine in the sun,
Waiting for you in the sun,
Drinking white wine in the sun,
Waiting for you,
Waiting.

I really like Christmas.
It’s sentimental I know.



"Not Perfect"
....This is my body, and I live in it.
It’s 31 and 6 months old.
It’s changed a lot since it was new.
It’s done stuff it wasn’t built to do.
I often try to fill it up with wine.

And the weirdest thing about it is,
I spend so much time hating it,
But it never says a bad word about me.

This is my body, and it’s fine.
It’s where I spend the vast majority of my time.
It’s not perfect, but it’s mine.
It’s not perfect....

Yes, It's Barney. Shut Up.

Rodius (singing): "Looky, looky, it's a cookie, cookie! Cookies are wonderful things!"

Thumper: "Fun!"

R: "What?"

T: "Wonderful fun!"

R: "Oh, is that how it goes?" (singing) "Cookies are wonderful fun!"

T: "Daddy no sing..."

Staying Up Late Enough That I Don't Dream About Ushering

1. The Mrs. said it was too much white.

2. The boy and I have been very busy and having lots of fun, but I haven't blogged much because it's starting to seem like, eh, same old, same old. We did go to Joe McDermott this week:



And the boy danced like a maniac, and we both sweated like crazy:



We also went to Extreme Fun, where he flirted shamelessly with one of the moms. We took Mungo to the Austin Museum of Art. It wasn't the greatest place for him; taking an almost-two-year-old to a place with lots of cool stuff that he can't touch seems kind of mean, in retrospect. But the very touchable Family Lab, and the kids from a school or camp group of some kind that were there, kept him entertained for an hour.

But yeah. We went places. We did things. He's smart and funny and amazing and sociable and I'm proud of him. Blah blah blah.

3. Jamie Foxx did indeed start and finish on time tonight, for which I was grateful. I worked backstage security, checking credentials by the stairs that led up to the stage. I was within inches of both Mr. Foxx and Speedy, his warm-up act. Speedy has a thing for Red Bull, I guess. And I'm not sure why, but I'm always surprised when famous men are shorter than I.

4. I had two major breakthroughs on my "Publishing FileMaker databases on the web via PHP" project today. Hooray! I have to spend the next two days writing more kids furniture copy. Not so hooray.

So there you go. My thrill-a-minute life in four easy steps. Maybe now I can go to bed.

Dust Brothers? Chemical Brothers? No, Biscuit Brothers

Are the Biscuit Brothers televised nationally, or just locally? I know they're filmed locally at Pioneer Farms. Hey, let's go ask Wikipedia!

Oh, apparently they air on some texas PBS stations, but not nationwide. Too bad; it's a good show that Thumper likes to watch on Saturday mornings. So when I heard they were playing Symphony Square at 9:30 in the morning for $0.50 per kid, I thought we couldn't pass it up. Symphony Square is the home of Austin Symphony Orchestra. It's a small venue with tiered outdoor seating on one side of Waller Creek and the stage on the other.

Then I heard from a few people that you had to be "brave" to go to this event, that it's "crazy" and you have to get there "wicked early," and that it's "not a good event for toddlers."

Well, phooey on them, I say! That's right; I said phooey! It was a lot of fun. We got there about 9 o'clock, and there was plenty of seating. We parked at a meter about a block away. There were balloons and bubbles, clowns and musicians roaming through the crowd while we waited for the show to start. I also heard that there was a "petting zoo" of musical instruments that kids could touch and explore, face painting, and crafts, but we didn't make it to any of that. We just sat and snacked and people-watched.

Thumper had a great time. We watched the band set up the stage, and he waved and yelled "Hi!" at them. They must not have heard him. I wouldn't say he was exactly scared of the clowns,


more like he was a little baffled.


When the show started, he was also a little taken aback by the volume, I think.


He doesn't know their music quite as well as he does Justin Roberts', but he did recognize them when they came out. He waved and yelled, "Hi, Biscuit Brothers!" They must not have heard him, though.


It was a fun and energetic show, with lots of audience participation, and by the end, Thumper was clapping and stomping along with everyone else.


Though we were both drenched in sweat by the end (yes, at 10:30 in the morning; this is Austin in the summer after all), we both had a great time. Maybe we'll check out Joe McDermott July 8! We're just that crazy and brave!


Years from now, when Thumper is trying to impress the ladies by telling them that his first concert was some hardcore and edgy act named Caustic Bullet or some such, I'll say, "Well, actually, it was the Biscuit Brothers, son. Remember? I've got those pictures around here somewhere..." And he'll roll his eyes and do his best to pretend I'm not talking. It'll be great.

We're Taking Him to the Next American Idol Auditions

I told you he's got a thing for Genevieve.

Happy

I was at work at 7:00 a.m. today, and I got home at 11:30 p.m. I was on TV. If you squinted way into the background when the chick was making her attempt at the half-court shot for $17K (which she missed), you may have been able to see me. I ran up and down stairs and hassled children and college students who insisted on standing and/or jumping on flimsy folding chairs during a live TV broadcast that encourages otherwise reasonable folk to stand in the background and scream and generally makes asses of themselves. Then later in the day, I ran up and down stairs, seated people, and enjoyed their enjoyment of a last-minute upset of a despised rival, a rival that, it could be said, stole the national championship out from under them in another sport. It was a pretty good day. I worked and worked, and while I was running from men's room to men's room trying to determine whether the drunk patron who had gone to wash the dried blood off his face had passed out in a puddle of his own, or someone else's, urine, it just struck home with sudden intensity that I really enjoy ushering. It makes me tired, and my legs and feet are sore, but man, if you look at it from the right perspective, it's just a kick.

So I was already in a pretty good mood, but as I drove home listening to Hypersonic Radio, an unidentified song came on and lifted my spirits even higher. With the twin miracles of Google and YouTube, and just because it makes me happy, I give you Daft Punk, remixed by Adam Freeland:

Embryo

I saw this on Living in a Girl's World, and it sounded like fun:

1. Put your MP3/Ipod player on shuffle.
2. For each question, press the next button to get your answer (questions below)
3. YOU MUST WRITE THAT SONG NAME DOWN NO MATTER HOW SILLY IT SOUNDS (option to put the name of artist in brackets next to it)
4. Tag at least 10 friends who might enjoy doing the game as well as the person you got the note from.


WHAT’S THE BEST THING THAT’S EVER HAPPENED TO YOU?
“A Pillow of Winds” - Pink Floyd, Meddle [I could think of a few things better, like a pillow of boobs, and I didn't even have to think that hard...]

WHAT’S THE WORST THING THAT’S EVER HAPPENED TO YOU?
“It's Not Right (Simmons and Christopher Dub Mix)” - Dennis Christopher, Tekno 42

WHAT WILL OPRAH’S NEXT SHOW BE CALLED?
“Deception” - Blackalicious, Nia [I could see that...]

WHAT WILL OBAMA’S FIRST EXECUTIVE ORDER BE?
“Here It Comes” - Doves, Lost Souls ["Yeah, baby! Here it comes! It's that transparency in government stuff I've been talking about!"]

IF SOMEONE SAYS “FUCK YOU!” YOU SAY:
“Pig” - Seether, Disclaimer [appropriate enough]

IF YOU COULD SAY ONE THING TO THE PERSON YOU LOVE, IT WOULD BE?
“Might” - Modest Mouse, This Is a Long Drive for Someone with Nothing to Think About ["I might, and you might, but neither of us do, and neither of us will." That ain't very romantic...]

IF YOU COULD SAY ONE THING TO THE PERSON YOU HATE IT WOULD BE?
“This Is the Day” - The The [You know, it really pisses me off that I think of M&M's whenever I hear this now...]

WHAT WOULD YOUR AUTOBIOGRAPHY BE CALLED?
"The Shining (Minotaur Shock Mix)” - Badly Drawn Boy, Paul Oakenfold's Perfecto Chills Vol. 3 [Redrum! Redrum!]

WHAT IS LOVE?
“Detroit Rock City” - The Mighty Mighty Bosstones, 20th Century Masters, The Mille [Well that just doesn't make any sense at all...]

WHAT IS HATE?
“It's Raining Men” - The Weather Girls [I'm not gay. I promise. At least, I'm pretty sure.]

WHAT IS YOUR BEST TRAIT?
“Quiet Houses” - Fleet Foxes, Fleet Foxes

WHAT IS YOUR WORST TRAIT?
“Jingle Bells” - Frank Sinatra

WHERE WILL YOU BE IN FIVE YEARS TIME?
“A Higher Place” - Royksopp, Melody AM [Oh crap, I'm going to be dead in five years...]

HOW DO YOUR FRIENDS DESCRIBE YOU?
“Supreme People” - Blackalicious, The Craft [Well, I seriously doubt anybody's calling me "supreme."]

WHAT DOES THE FUTURE HOLD FOR YOU?
“Alan's Psychedelic Breakfast” - Pink Floyd, Atom Heart Mother [Sounds good. I wonder if Alan's got a diner in town...]

WHAT DOES THE FUTURE HOLD FOR YOUR BEST FRIEND?
“1985” - Bowling for Soup [You know, I could almost see him shaking his ass on the hood of Whitesnake's car...]

WHAT DO YOU WISH YOUR LOVER WOULD WHISPER IN YOUR EAR?
“Notorious” - Duran Duran [No, no, no... This was supposed to come out "Gigantic" by the Pixies...]

WHAT WILL SAVE THE WORLD?
“Nives Remix” - Orlanda, Karma Lounge [Karma, baby!]

WHAT IS SEXY?
“Lesson 13” - Pimsleur, Spanish 01 [Actually, it ain't that sexy. Though I think Carlos might be hitting on Maria. I'm not sure; I don't really understand Spanish. I never made it past Lesson 2...]

WHAT IS FUNNY?
“The Salmon Dance” - The Chemical Brothers, We Are the Night [Actually, this is pretty funny...]

WHAT IS YOUR GREATEST STRENGTH?
“Situation” - Rancid, Rancid

WHAT IS YOUR GREATEST WEAKNESS?
“Down to Earth” - Jem, Down to Earth

WHAT DO YOU DREAM ABOUT?
“Mainstream” - OutKast, ATLiens [Maybe I've had dreams like this. I don't know. I can't understand anything they're saying, but I do love it so...]

WHAT GIVES YOU NIGHTMARES?
“Lizard (Paul Oakenfold 2004 Remix)” - Mauro Picotto, Paul Oakenfold's Creamfields [I ain't scared of no lizards...]

WILL YOU EVER FIND ‘THE ONE’?
“Cowboy Coffee” - The Mighty Mighty Bosstones, More Noise & Other Disturbances [If Cowboy Coffee is cheaper than Starbucks Coffee, then maybe it is the one...]

WHAT MAKES YOU HAPPY?
“Thank You” - Michael Franti & Spearhead, Stay Human [Actually, "Rock the Nation" makes me happier...]

WHAT MAKES YOU SAD?
“The Death and Resurrection Show” - Killing Joke, Killing Joke [I never heard of Killing Joke. How the hell did this get on my iPod?]

WHAT’S THE STUPIDEST THING IN THE WORLD?
“Ballroom Blitz” - The Misfits [that "All right, fellas, let's go!" thing IS kinda stupid...]

WHAT DO PEOPLE LOVE ABOUT YOU?
“Woo Hah” - Busta Rhymes ["Throw your hands up in the air; don't ever disrespect. I got you all in check."]

WHAT WILL YOU POST THIS AS?
“Embryo” - Pink Floyd, Works [Well, OK, but my mother might think at first glance that Aerie's pregnant...]

Huh?

Fleet Foxes "White Winter Hymnal"

I was following the pack
All swallowed in their coats
With scarves of red tied 'round their throats
To keep their little heads from falling in the snow
And I turned 'round and there you go
And Michael you would fall
And turn the white snow red as strawberries in the summertime.

Justin Roberts Must Die

While I liked my previous header:



I have this little problem: I have had "Willy Was a Whale" and "Pop Fly" stuck in my head on a nearly constant basis, both awake and asleep, for something like a month now. No joke. No exaggeration. I can't stop it, and it may lead to madness. So I had to get rid of my Willy header because if I did happen to get, say, a Modest Mouse song in there for a few minutes, if I looked at my blog it was gone and Willy was back. Madness! Madness! I can't take it anymore!

The new one was done with the ED02 brush set by KaliJean on PSBrushes.net, another brush set by the same person who made the parking sign. I'm much more satisfied with my photoshopping "I, Rodius" into this one than I was that one.

Hee hee! Fun!

Fantasy Band

suttonhoo wants to know what 5 musicians I'd want in my dream jam session. The two times I participated in Fantasy Football, I got my ass kicked, so I hope I fare better at Fantasy Band. But my bassist will probably do me like Terrell Owens and get suspended halfway through the season. Bastard.

Anyway, I smart-assed my way through my Twitter response, as I'm wont to do. I gave her this little gem:

Is it me or is the band getting bigger?
Okay.
On trumpet, Peter O'Toole! (just having a little rest between bars...)
On drums.....The Pope!
On baseline, Martina Nav, Nav... She should get married...
And on mic, the lovely....Cher!

Of course, everyone knows that's Max Headroom doing guest vocals on the 12" single of the Art of Noise's "Paranoimia." It's on the blue version of The Best of The Art of Noise. I think it's also on the pink version, but who cares? Screw the pink version. I mean, leaving off "Moments in Love" is a travesty. That's some bullshit right there. The pink version doesn't deserve to lick the blue version's boots.

Wait, what was I talking about again? Oh, yeah. My Fantasy Band. Well, OK, I'll pick my players, but I'm not tracking it through the season. It causes me too much stress, watching the stats and making substitutions, then finding out I should've kept my original musician because as soon as I bench him, he has a breakout session and... Ah, well. I'm bitter. Let's move on.

First, on bass: Flea. Or maybe John Norwood Fischer. Yes, definitely Fischer. He's slightly more obscure, and therefore cooler.

Next, on guitar, either David Gilmour, or the dude from Rage Against the Machine whose name I can't remember. They both have unmistakable styles that, even when they're playing on crappy solo projects or with that god-awful Chris Cornell, you can still tell it's them. No doubt. I guess I'll go with the Rage Against the Machine dude. He rocks out harder.

On drums, I guess it'd have to be Keith Moon. Or John Bonham. Probably John Bonham. Everybody knows the drummer is the coolest guy in the band, so you definitely need either the one who OD'd on the drug he was taking to help curtail his drinking or the one who drowned in his own boozy vomit. There's nothing cooler than a belligerent alcoholic.

On keyboards, either one of those Norwegian dudes from Röyksopp, because Melody A.M. is so cool, I don't even mind that "Remind Me" is a Geico caveman commercial.

For vocals, I'm not sure. I'm thinking M. Doughty, back before he became Mike Doughty, but I think it's just because he's been on my mind lately. Maybe James Hetfield. Maybe I'm torn between these two because I like singers who throw an extra syllable at the end of as many words as possible. I don't know. I'll get back to you on that one.

The Joy of Swing

If I stole
Somebody else's wave to fly up
If I rose
Up with the avenue behind me

Some kind of verb
Some kind of moving thing
Something unseen
Some hand is motioning
To rise, to rise, to rise




By the way, that there be some Soul Coughing. If you don't know you some Soul Coughing. Get it. Get it?

My Media Week

anniemcq tagged me, and hey, why not? I actually got some answers for this one.

BOOKS

I was slogging through The Complete Stories of Truman Capote, but last night I finally gave it up at about the halfway point. No engaging plotlines, no likeable characters, no emotional punch at all. So I donated it to the Dick Paxton Memorial Library, the odd assortment of reading material shared among the ushers. I don't know who Dick Paxton was, but I guess he must've liked a good read. I'm sorry to dump this crap on you, my coworkers. I picked it up because I had a Book People gift card from my birthday and Capote on the cover looks exactly like the French professor in whose class Mrs. Rodius and I met.

I don't know if this counts as a book or as a "what I'm listening to," but I'm counting it as a book. And it's a fantastic book. When I finish it, I think I'll do a whole review, because I love, love, love it: The Time Traveler's Wife by Audrey Niffenegger.

In place of Capote, I just started Last Seen in Massilia by Steven Saylor, which I also picked up with the gift card because it was on sale and finished off the balance on the card nicely. By the first page and a half, I don't think I'm going to dig it much, but sometimes I'm wrong about these things.

MOVIES
My last three Netflix returns:

Oldboy, which should've been right up my alley, but somehow wasn't. Very strange, very violent, very sad. Maybe if they make a big budget American remake, I'll dig it. The twist was a little icky for me.

Brick, which also should've been right up my alley, but also somehow wasn't. It had Claire from Lost, Eden from Heroes, and Tommy from 3rd Rock from the Sun. It also had an annoyingly pretentious dialog style that presumably was supposed to anchor it firmly in the film noir style by reminding us of hip '40's slang that might be rattled off by the likes of Humphrey Bogart. But coming out of the mouths of 21st century high school students, it just sounded stupid. And the nicknames were pretentious, too. Brain. The Pin. Tugger. Eh, not bad. But not great either.

'Allo, 'Allo!, Season One. It's not really a movie, but it was a DVD on Netflix, so I'm counting it. Screwball physical comedies are sort of out of character for me, but this one was a nostalgic choice. When I was in jr. high and high school, Pops and I used to spend every Sunday night watching British comedies on PBS together, and this was one of them. It wasn't as funny as I remembered it, but nothing ever is. It was fun reliving it again, though.

MUSIC

Lemon Jelly. I have '64-'95, LemonJelly.KY, and Lost Horizons. I don't know anything about this group, even that they were British or a duo, until I just linked to the Wikipedia article. I heard "Space Walk" on Paul Oakenfold's compilation, Perfecto Chills, and absolutely loved it. So when I saw some more Lemon Jelly, I grabbed it. Now, of course, "Space Walk" is a Friskies cat food commercial, which makes me very, very sad. It's not the greatest workout music I've ever heard, but it is hypnotic and beautiful. And when you don't really like working out very much, hypnotic can be helpful.

Thank You, Sir, May I Have Another?

By the way, that's a reference to Animal House, Mom. It's a scene that has fun with the latent homoeroticism inherent in the macho pursuits of presumably homophobic men, though that has nothing to do with the theme of this post. At least I don't think so. I'll see if I can tie it as we go.

I've never lived a healthy lifestyle, at least not for sustained periods. I can pull out a healthy burst for awhile, but it always falls apart again eventually. I have lived as if excess were a virtue, and in my heart of hearts have even believed it to be so, at least in myself. I have taken pride in the fact that I can eat virtually anything, and do; that I can eat large quantities, and of spicy and/or heavy foods, without suffering heartburn or indigestion; that I can drink large quantities and not fall down unconcious; that I have eaten, and drunk, and smoked, and still came back to say, "Thank you, sir, may I have another?" (Huh? Huh? See, I knew it'd fit in there somewhere...)

But now, as I'm getting older, I am in some ways thankful (thank you sir, may I have another?) that my body is providing me with a variety of ailments with which to say enough is enough. My knees creak and grind from all the extra weight that's been pounding down on top of them all these years. My lungs, already scarred from the pneumonia I had when I was a toddler, wheeze and strain from all the smoke I've poured down them, though I haven't smoked now in almost a year and a half. And now, I'm waking up in the wee hours of the night, not with a crying baby, but with heartburn.

An evil, quiet voice whispers "ulcer" and "cancer" in my ear when I'm all alone, and I know I should go to the doctor for a physical, but the stubborn part of me says that it's all just my body telling me exactly what the doctor would say: eat right and exercise. So I'm trying. I'm working on it. Then I can go to the doctor so that he can tell me everything's fine. Going to the doctor when you're unwell is just asking for trouble.

So did the title have anything to do with the post? Not really, I guess.

Anyway, I'm not very good with the diet part, but I'm working on it. I have been maintaining the exercise fairly well, at least for a few weeks. I jogged this morning without the boy for the first time, and I took two minutes off my best time. Was it the Crystal Method driving me to new heights? I haven't been using the iPod while jogging lately, since I like to converse with the boy as we go. The right music does seem to improve the effectiveness of a workout. Or was it the rain giving me new motivation? No, it was because I wasn't pushing a stroller. So the boy's been holding me back! I guess I should say that really the boy's been providing me with the opportunity to burn additional calories.

Hey, is that true? If I work harder for a shorter period of time, do I burn more or less calories than if I work less hard for a longer period of time? Surely if I walk three miles in 56 minutes, I burn fewer calories than if I walk and jog three miles in 43 minutes. But do I burn more, less, or the same, if I walk and jog three miles in 41 minutes? I guess it doesn't matter, because surely pushing the extra weight, even if it's on smoothly turning wheels, must burn more calories.

So help me out, internet. If you see me at a restaurant finishing a large portion of unhealthy food and washing it down with a giant beer, glare at me disapprovingly. That's always helpful. Not sure if it's me? Glare anyway. Fat people need to be public excoriated, just like smokers. It's the only way we'll learn. Thanks!