Well I just made it on the old self-imposed quota here of four posts a month. It also gives me breathing room not to concoct an April Fool's joke. My regular content borders on the jokeline and seriousness to begin with, so I don't feel any particular need to joke it up extra hard tomorrow. Just as I am not any sweeter on Valentine's Day, any more expectant of winter ending on Groundhog Day (seriously, why is it still pretty damn cold), and any more likely to give gifts on Christmas (I'm vaguely a Jew).
I found myself viewing a rather choice Hallmark Channel film entitled "Chasing a Dream," during a somewhat insomniac-ish evening not long ago after catching wind of the existence of said film on a running forum. You can check it out here. It's about 90 minutes, and I certainly watched close to the whole thing, skipping some middle bits. It offended me as both a runner and a human, and as writer even, but I did keep watching. Blame accepted.
The vague outline is a chubby football-playing teenager's quest to run under 4 minutes in the mile, as a high schooler. He is doing this to fulfill the dream his childhood friend had. His childhood friend who trained hard and is at least lithe in build. And who dies running home from a party he didn't want to be at, dragged there by CFB (chubby football player). The football player is a Lawrence child, as in Joey and Matthew Lawrence. Tubbly and unathletic in movement, he'd be as hard to believe as a credible football player as he is as a runner. With no prior running experience, Lawrence takes off on short-legged sprints with looks of anguish on his face with every step. As someone who wasn't far under 4:20 in the mile, and never made faces like that, I found this, to use the word at least once more, offensive. With no disrespect to the Special Olympics, he looks more qualified to participate in those. Here is the part where I say I am allowed to say that because I have been called a retard while running.
The rest of the film fits the complete lack of research and realism brought to the film. When Lawrence is DQ'ed from the state sectional for knocking his top competitor — who has a poorly contrived African name — to the track, his competitor pleads for Lawrence to be re-instated by sending a fax to the state athletic board. What? This, yes, is set, in 2011. Earlier, there is a high school party scene where attendees jam out to a boombox, one that I don't even think has CD capability. That's not a knock, those things are just hard to come by, especially in the ritzy southern California area portrayed. There are also an awful lot of shots of New Balance sneakers, and when Lawrence races, he does so in shitty flats, not even a pair of spikes. At least his African opponent looks like he can run (in a way more normal fashion than I do when running, that's for damn sure), strange as it is to see his smooth gait confronted by the clodding disabled person that Lawrence portrays. Take it from my own style that it doesn't always look pretty, but there is a limit to the believability.
Spoiler alert: they set up a special race and Lawrence loses to the African but they both break 4! Argh, if only I had played football all of high school and then stepped onto the track, sprinting stiff-legged with a look as if I need to crap my pants, I'd have beaten Alan Webb to becoming the 4th high-schooler to break 4 minutes! New Balance kicks and the boombox were sure to be essential as well. But featuring a heartfelt theme using recycled Everwood cast members, it is what it is! Yes, it was a complete mockery of the sport I love, but everything about it was so preposterous that amusement superceded true anger.
In lighter news, I think this children's choir cat duet would make for a wonderful improv warm-up game. On second thought, though, I think it's great as is. Legitimately performed at a church.
Next, I've got an oldie but a goodie, oldie to me only as I stumbled upon it recently. In general I find British news, tabloid, and real, more fun to read. So check out this dude fathering kids and working the system. It really is a tremendous read.
And last but not least, a little news from the tennis world or, at least, in the tennis world it constitutes news. I am a tennis fan, no question, but it's amazing how in need of a story news sources can find themselves. So in need that they might post as news something about a news story that shows how in need of news something is...This article (and ABC News) alleges a frustrated David Ferrer lobbed a ball into the stands to quiet a crying baby. There's all sorts of things wrong with this situation, but I'm ignoring all of them to say that there are, as I type this, over 6,000 comments on the article. Over 6,000. I can't say if all of them are tennis fans. But let's just imagine that they are, and think of the people who watch tennis. It's generally the more affluent, just like the people who play the sport. The same people clamoring for Groupons and writing reviews on Yelp. The kind of people who produce self-masturbatory internet content thinking that their opinions...oh wait a minute...
Carry on folks, carry on. Stay safe out there.
Thursday, March 31, 2011
Tuesday, March 22, 2011
Music for the Reign of Rain
Well mf's, it's raining out, at least it is here in Chicago. I don't know if that's why I'm in quite a mood for some fresh (actually they're really old, but the sound is fresh if you catch my drift — speaking of which, there are rumors of snow later in the week, whaaaaaaaaaat), but at any rate I am. At any rate has been my phrase of choice for a while now. There is a name for those phrases and modifiers that maintain the flow of writing, specifically boring writing. Looking back, all of those standard essay paragraph beginners (since I can't remember the name of the thing that they really are — my brain is not firing on all cylinders here) are quite horrendous. However, moreover, furthermore, this has the effect of, and in conclusion I don't think formal writing has to be boring, but so often it is. If you find my regular posts, boring, beware, the following is me gushing over some dope classical celloness.
Classical jams though. I believe most of you will find yourself familiar with Bach's Cello Suite No. 1, consciously or not. What I am linking then are several of the greatest cellists performing this piece that I have a strong liking for. The first is Mischa Maisky. He may seem a little emotionless in his appearance at first (not compared to Rostropovich though, who I will link next) but I think the tilt of his eyes belies a certain otherworldly focus or accessing of brain. He produces a rich, beautiful sound, and a great rendition of the classic. I also just love the room he is performing in, complete with its little pedestal. And shit, he's from Latvia, where I derive a quarter of my blood.
Next up is the technical proficiency of Rostropovich. He plays the piece with alarming speed and, again, technical mastery. And though it could be described as more emotionless than Maisky, I find very impressive the relaxed wrist and little evidence of outward physical exertion, while producing as pure a sound as he does. It's the kind of thing where, when it looks so effortless for the performer you might not realize how amazing their performance actually is.
And then there is the one cellist that people who really do not know classical music (heck I am very amateur in my knowledge) still know: it's good old Yo-Yo Ma. That clip is a little silly in parts and there is some weird clicking sound at times, but man can that dude play.
I must also reference the cello concertos composed by Edward Elgar because good lord are they delightful. I'm not saying when you listen to Yo-Yo and the Chicago Symphony Orchestra rock this that all kinds of emotion will sweep over you, but it probably kind of should. This shit murders me. And for posterity, you should hear the late, great Jacqueline du Pré perform as well. I don't think either of these quite capture the auditory magnitude and ass-whoopingness of this piece, but you also won't have abundant opportunity to see this live. I would highly suggest you buy/download the album though as the sound will make you shit your pants (in a good way).
If this weren't already so long I would make fun of a Hallmark film meant to portray running that just completely bastardizes and makes a mockery of the pursuit. You can look forward to that in the coming days, or look backward at some old posts or, better yet, read a quality blog or some real news.
In the middle of March Madness, there was a ridiculous conclusion to this Spanish League game.
At any rate (tee-hee), stay fresh.
Classical jams though. I believe most of you will find yourself familiar with Bach's Cello Suite No. 1, consciously or not. What I am linking then are several of the greatest cellists performing this piece that I have a strong liking for. The first is Mischa Maisky. He may seem a little emotionless in his appearance at first (not compared to Rostropovich though, who I will link next) but I think the tilt of his eyes belies a certain otherworldly focus or accessing of brain. He produces a rich, beautiful sound, and a great rendition of the classic. I also just love the room he is performing in, complete with its little pedestal. And shit, he's from Latvia, where I derive a quarter of my blood.
Next up is the technical proficiency of Rostropovich. He plays the piece with alarming speed and, again, technical mastery. And though it could be described as more emotionless than Maisky, I find very impressive the relaxed wrist and little evidence of outward physical exertion, while producing as pure a sound as he does. It's the kind of thing where, when it looks so effortless for the performer you might not realize how amazing their performance actually is.
And then there is the one cellist that people who really do not know classical music (heck I am very amateur in my knowledge) still know: it's good old Yo-Yo Ma. That clip is a little silly in parts and there is some weird clicking sound at times, but man can that dude play.
I must also reference the cello concertos composed by Edward Elgar because good lord are they delightful. I'm not saying when you listen to Yo-Yo and the Chicago Symphony Orchestra rock this that all kinds of emotion will sweep over you, but it probably kind of should. This shit murders me. And for posterity, you should hear the late, great Jacqueline du Pré perform as well. I don't think either of these quite capture the auditory magnitude and ass-whoopingness of this piece, but you also won't have abundant opportunity to see this live. I would highly suggest you buy/download the album though as the sound will make you shit your pants (in a good way).
If this weren't already so long I would make fun of a Hallmark film meant to portray running that just completely bastardizes and makes a mockery of the pursuit. You can look forward to that in the coming days, or look backward at some old posts or, better yet, read a quality blog or some real news.
In the middle of March Madness, there was a ridiculous conclusion to this Spanish League game.
At any rate (tee-hee), stay fresh.
Sunday, March 13, 2011
St. Patty's Way
In this city of Chicago, like places all over the world, we seem to feel as if we need excuses to get drunk. It is no illusion, except perhaps to elementary school students, that this is the bulk of what constitutes St. Patrick's Day celebration. Even they are probably wise to it. As you age, more and more holidays seem to devolve to excessive consumption. This excess, more often than not, is booze, or triggered by booze, or, okay, I'm just stretching this out without the desire to provide too much sound backing.
So here in this fine midwestern city, rather than reserving celebration for the 17th of March, as that can fall, rather inconveniently, on a weekday, here the Saturday preceding is the adopted day for observance, aka boozing from moment of waking. Tomorrow there will be a parade and whatnot, but the true grandiosity of green beer, green vomit, and the right of removal of inhibitions is reserved for this Saturday just past.
In spite of the social acceptability of drinking all day, I managed not to imbibe until around 5pm (unless you count the free samples of Vodka at the local liquor wholesaler of sorts, which I don't). Despite the recklessness associated with drinking, I by and large like to do it on my own terms — though I will never let a person drink alone if I can avoid it. In spite of my fondness for drink, I don't often find I need it to relate to people, though people seem to relate to me much better when they are drunk. I believe this is why people, historically, have pegged me for more drug and alcohol use than constitutes my reality.
Some will get angry when drunk, but some will get angry when sober, and so I enjoy what I focus on, the positive vibe that tends to permeate certain blottoness and results in those little moments of connection. Like when I needed nourishment at three in the morning and 24-hour Subway was my haven. Often my shitty haircut and mismatched sneakers can inspire ire and disgusted looks but here another patron pronounced I would be perfect for her friend, saying into the phone, "You would love this guy," then taking a picture to send for the sake of posterity. Of course, even mandated days of excess often result in further indulgence of cliquish group behavior. People travel in their packs, content not to stray from their existing group. When out, I like to meet new people, but to each his own.
Because I am often in tune with food pricing (which means I am surprised when things cost more now than they did in 1996), I've noted a strange rise in cost on what I consider many conventional items. Perhaps it is not so strange, but its seems to be on everything all at once. For instance my favorite local burrito place which announced a price hike due to rising cost of material. This can't all be the tomato crisis. Heck, Thomas' bagels are up 10 cents per six pack and I don't even eat Thomas' bagels. I also don't think there are any tomatoes in them. People are probably more in an uproar that Twitter is down at the moment.
And with the warm weather, a quick shout out to all the women looking fine as Hell today. I don't know how they get me every year with their crawling out of caves, but they do! Lest I be thought guilty of objectification, consider the cheap cop out of the beauty of art and that I think the human form is an art. And yes, one I appreciate it.
At any rate, this is sort of headed nowhere, so with the sad news that hip-hop legend Nate Dogg passed away, I leave you with what will probably (and I think should — I am not forgetting you Japan) be today's most watched video: Regulate. Pouring out some Hennesy seems apropos.
So here in this fine midwestern city, rather than reserving celebration for the 17th of March, as that can fall, rather inconveniently, on a weekday, here the Saturday preceding is the adopted day for observance, aka boozing from moment of waking. Tomorrow there will be a parade and whatnot, but the true grandiosity of green beer, green vomit, and the right of removal of inhibitions is reserved for this Saturday just past.
In spite of the social acceptability of drinking all day, I managed not to imbibe until around 5pm (unless you count the free samples of Vodka at the local liquor wholesaler of sorts, which I don't). Despite the recklessness associated with drinking, I by and large like to do it on my own terms — though I will never let a person drink alone if I can avoid it. In spite of my fondness for drink, I don't often find I need it to relate to people, though people seem to relate to me much better when they are drunk. I believe this is why people, historically, have pegged me for more drug and alcohol use than constitutes my reality.
Some will get angry when drunk, but some will get angry when sober, and so I enjoy what I focus on, the positive vibe that tends to permeate certain blottoness and results in those little moments of connection. Like when I needed nourishment at three in the morning and 24-hour Subway was my haven. Often my shitty haircut and mismatched sneakers can inspire ire and disgusted looks but here another patron pronounced I would be perfect for her friend, saying into the phone, "You would love this guy," then taking a picture to send for the sake of posterity. Of course, even mandated days of excess often result in further indulgence of cliquish group behavior. People travel in their packs, content not to stray from their existing group. When out, I like to meet new people, but to each his own.
Because I am often in tune with food pricing (which means I am surprised when things cost more now than they did in 1996), I've noted a strange rise in cost on what I consider many conventional items. Perhaps it is not so strange, but its seems to be on everything all at once. For instance my favorite local burrito place which announced a price hike due to rising cost of material. This can't all be the tomato crisis. Heck, Thomas' bagels are up 10 cents per six pack and I don't even eat Thomas' bagels. I also don't think there are any tomatoes in them. People are probably more in an uproar that Twitter is down at the moment.
And with the warm weather, a quick shout out to all the women looking fine as Hell today. I don't know how they get me every year with their crawling out of caves, but they do! Lest I be thought guilty of objectification, consider the cheap cop out of the beauty of art and that I think the human form is an art. And yes, one I appreciate it.
At any rate, this is sort of headed nowhere, so with the sad news that hip-hop legend Nate Dogg passed away, I leave you with what will probably (and I think should — I am not forgetting you Japan) be today's most watched video: Regulate. Pouring out some Hennesy seems apropos.
Friday, March 11, 2011
Midway March
Snap-dilly, it's already March 11 and I've yet to blog a single damned day of this month. I really mussed it up with the whole February 28th thing as I have a vague pledge to myself to post four times a month, which I've addressed here before. That should correlate to once a week and you might think I'd go and pick a day of the week for it. Fridays tend to be that day and well I'm just thinking out loud here, or like typing or whatever. But right, Fridays bring the week to a launchpad of joyful closing so it's a good time when I've got good energy to go and lay down some words down on this mf, or in, depending on your concept of things.
Chicago has done it again with the warm[er] weather sneaking out. This time, I think it's trending (not a twitter reference) for good. Yes, 40 and sunny is all it takes to get excited when it's cold as monkeys and then a little dreary rain and the usual wind is thrown in. Of course, as excited for this as I am, it means I will soon begin sweating profusely at all hours of the day. Not much to complain about with the tsunami devastation in Japan. And as I always point out in the warm weather, I heard the sirens blaring a-plenty today. An interesting theory was posited by one of my roommates as to whether the warm weather gets the libido going and when sex cannot be attained, some good old-fashioned violence strikes fancy. I am sure there is some research on this somewhere. I will be looking out for it.
In my ongoing delight in pointing out song similarities I was noting how Voxtrot's "Introduction" has the classic riff from Blink-182's "What's My Age Again?" You can jump right to the 1:13 mark to capture it. Borrowing does not have to be copying, and either way I dig it because the two songs are so very different in tone and demeanor and that "What's My Age Again?" riff is a good one!
I read a hell of a lot of good articles this week, many courtesy of Slate.com, but rather than a link parade, here is one Hell of a twisted story, courtesy of the human internet, my boy Osbourne Hazel, about a porn-related murder sequence. Good way to head into the weekend, right?
Well, over here in Chicago, they celebrate St. Patrick's day the Saturday before the day itself, so tomorrow will be quite the shitshow. Things'll be going green, as is all the rage this days. So I hope things are staying straight Pillsbury for you guys (and gals) aka Poppin Fresh.
Chicago has done it again with the warm[er] weather sneaking out. This time, I think it's trending (not a twitter reference) for good. Yes, 40 and sunny is all it takes to get excited when it's cold as monkeys and then a little dreary rain and the usual wind is thrown in. Of course, as excited for this as I am, it means I will soon begin sweating profusely at all hours of the day. Not much to complain about with the tsunami devastation in Japan. And as I always point out in the warm weather, I heard the sirens blaring a-plenty today. An interesting theory was posited by one of my roommates as to whether the warm weather gets the libido going and when sex cannot be attained, some good old-fashioned violence strikes fancy. I am sure there is some research on this somewhere. I will be looking out for it.
In my ongoing delight in pointing out song similarities I was noting how Voxtrot's "Introduction" has the classic riff from Blink-182's "What's My Age Again?" You can jump right to the 1:13 mark to capture it. Borrowing does not have to be copying, and either way I dig it because the two songs are so very different in tone and demeanor and that "What's My Age Again?" riff is a good one!
I read a hell of a lot of good articles this week, many courtesy of Slate.com, but rather than a link parade, here is one Hell of a twisted story, courtesy of the human internet, my boy Osbourne Hazel, about a porn-related murder sequence. Good way to head into the weekend, right?
Well, over here in Chicago, they celebrate St. Patrick's day the Saturday before the day itself, so tomorrow will be quite the shitshow. Things'll be going green, as is all the rage this days. So I hope things are staying straight Pillsbury for you guys (and gals) aka Poppin Fresh.
Monday, February 28, 2011
There's an Ad for That
One of my routine gripes in here is advertising. It's a field I considered entering and to which perhaps I was or am suited, but for which I have been unable to escape a bad taste in my mouth. I hear that cry of if I think I can do better, then why don't I. Nevermind that many gatekeepers would have to greenlight my cockamamie ideas. But I'm not going to delve into that, this gripe is rather more focused and it has to do with facsimile musical tracks being created for use in commercials, in what I would assume is an effort to avoid paying the rightful composers of said music. That seems about right, right?
The latest one I noticed was an ad for Brigham Young University during their victory over San Diego St. You might recognize the instrumental in the background as a blatant rip-off of Snow Patrol's "Chocolate". There are, in fact, differences between the two, just as there are between Vanilla Ice's most well-known hit and a certain Queen collaboration with David Bowie. Who knows, perhaps the folks who created that BYU ad were granted permission from Snow Patrol to create a little jingle that sounded much like one of their songs.
Moving right along, February is about to draw to a close and it never ceases to amaze me how quickly the 28 days pass. Heck, even when it's 29 it seems much smaller than the old 30 and 31-dayers. So it goes, eh Kurt?
Before this month ends, I must say that I am firmly behind Charlie Sheen. This vid is the latest and while many think Charlie sounds nutty, there is an awfully intelligent and articulate individual there. In the clip they even discuss that he is anti-semitic. As a half-semite, or a semi-semite, that they would even find the alleged anti-semitic remark anti-semitic, is...well...Why do I have a feeling those who made that speculation are not even Jews themselves? Not that it would matter really, I just find that interesting...Shouldn't we let the supposed offended race or religion be the one to point out their offense? Charlie, my apologies on using your first name lest it give any implication that I might know you on any real personal level.
But what really stinks in the whole situation, to me, is something I feel I see so damn often in the media. I admit I don't follow the news nearly enough. I find myself grossly uninformed on many current (and even past) events. But I might prefer to be uninformed than misinformed. With all of the unrest in Northern Africa and the Middle East, why the Hell are we so up in arms about a guy who performs on a sitcom doing a lot of drugs? Perhaps he is damaging himself, perhaps he is setting himself up as an anti-role model, but is that more important than thousands of people being murdered and political unrest? I'm all for humor bringing levity to things and serving as a pleasant distraction, but when we get down to serious business, shouldn't we focus on actually serious business? Update: Sheen was on Piers Morgan last night and these very things were addressed, with the show itself coming before Anderson Cooper's discussion of the state of affairs in Libya. Kind of...meta...
At any rate media, I continue to be more afraid of trans fat than I am Charlie Sheen. Update: I ate a DiGiorno pizza at 2:30 in the morning, which contains my feared trans fat. I had hyper-realistic nightmares. I am sure it was the pizza and not any other substances. Beware the Ides of March, folks. Mazel Tov.
The latest one I noticed was an ad for Brigham Young University during their victory over San Diego St. You might recognize the instrumental in the background as a blatant rip-off of Snow Patrol's "Chocolate". There are, in fact, differences between the two, just as there are between Vanilla Ice's most well-known hit and a certain Queen collaboration with David Bowie. Who knows, perhaps the folks who created that BYU ad were granted permission from Snow Patrol to create a little jingle that sounded much like one of their songs.
Moving right along, February is about to draw to a close and it never ceases to amaze me how quickly the 28 days pass. Heck, even when it's 29 it seems much smaller than the old 30 and 31-dayers. So it goes, eh Kurt?
Before this month ends, I must say that I am firmly behind Charlie Sheen. This vid is the latest and while many think Charlie sounds nutty, there is an awfully intelligent and articulate individual there. In the clip they even discuss that he is anti-semitic. As a half-semite, or a semi-semite, that they would even find the alleged anti-semitic remark anti-semitic, is...well...Why do I have a feeling those who made that speculation are not even Jews themselves? Not that it would matter really, I just find that interesting...Shouldn't we let the supposed offended race or religion be the one to point out their offense? Charlie, my apologies on using your first name lest it give any implication that I might know you on any real personal level.
But what really stinks in the whole situation, to me, is something I feel I see so damn often in the media. I admit I don't follow the news nearly enough. I find myself grossly uninformed on many current (and even past) events. But I might prefer to be uninformed than misinformed. With all of the unrest in Northern Africa and the Middle East, why the Hell are we so up in arms about a guy who performs on a sitcom doing a lot of drugs? Perhaps he is damaging himself, perhaps he is setting himself up as an anti-role model, but is that more important than thousands of people being murdered and political unrest? I'm all for humor bringing levity to things and serving as a pleasant distraction, but when we get down to serious business, shouldn't we focus on actually serious business? Update: Sheen was on Piers Morgan last night and these very things were addressed, with the show itself coming before Anderson Cooper's discussion of the state of affairs in Libya. Kind of...meta...
At any rate media, I continue to be more afraid of trans fat than I am Charlie Sheen. Update: I ate a DiGiorno pizza at 2:30 in the morning, which contains my feared trans fat. I had hyper-realistic nightmares. I am sure it was the pizza and not any other substances. Beware the Ides of March, folks. Mazel Tov.
Friday, February 18, 2011
Mistakes
We've all made them, like that girl I got pregnant (sorry) and not wearing a jacket when I went outside today. It would seem in both cases my mistake was in the lack of jacket. And while in the first case I didn't go through with it, in the latter I decided to stick it out (in the first case in would seem to be apt). Sure I could have gone back inside for a jacket, but that would make me a bitch! Or sensible. Also, the first scenario, so far as I know, has yet to occur for me. Ladies, if it has, and you're reading, you probably should have mentioned something much sooner. Furthermore it should have been abundantly clear through this blog alone that I am probably not the man you want raising your children.
Moving right along then, the weather is getting warmer and that means it's still not warm enough to not wear pants. The other day, had I been running, I would have opted for the pantsless approach but I was not so I did not. Often I am intrigued to make my old jeans into cut-offs for limited summer engagements, but golley gee it's the crotch that goes first! Shouldn't it be the crotch that comes first...But really, last night I was taking a deuce break at DSW Shoe Warehouse and I noted, for the first time in this particular pair of pantolons, two vampire-bite-like holes in the rear crotchal region. My concern wasn't so much that they were there at the moment so much as it was how long they had been there. Luckily my general assholistic fashion provides good enough cover that many may have assumed or presumed that it was purposeful. Or maybe, just maybe, people aren't looking at your ass you egotistical self-centered sonofabitch...
In musical news that isn't the Grammy's — at least not this years — I have been jamming to British sensation Adele, more specifically "Someone Like You." It is a sexy number if you want to use sexy improperly, but it is totally awesome. Anyway, if you haven't heard of Adele, and you probably have, then you should. Listening to her speak of heartache at 21 is, for me, a little easier to relate to than when I heard Commander Venus doing the same as a 13 year-old. I still can't believe she is only 21. Here's to talented people making me feel old and unaccomplished.
In musical news that is the Grammy's, people were in a pretty big uproar about Justin Bieber's lack of awards. I admit I was surprised and I am neither pro-Bieber nor overly knowledgeable about music. The uproar did spawn responses such as a"Who Is Arcade Fire" Blog. I looked at only a couple of posts before I had to turn away in horror before my brain exploded with pop references and the inevitable creation, evolution, and extinction by overuse of some meme in particular. Anyway, if I had to guess, the blog was created by people who like Arcade Fire and think it is funny the responses people have to there Grammy success. I think Arcade Fire is okay. I am glad I watched the Grammy's to see Cee-Lo and Gwyneth Paltrow sing "Forget You."
People have been loving slo-mo stuff since at least the Matrix ('97), so you'll probably like this too. It isn't even really new news that Border's is on the way out but it kind of depresses me like shit. And I didn't even really go to Border's all that much.
Since I want to end on an uplifting note, I suggest you go take a ride in an elevator...that joke has its ups and its downs. Stay fresh folks.
Moving right along then, the weather is getting warmer and that means it's still not warm enough to not wear pants. The other day, had I been running, I would have opted for the pantsless approach but I was not so I did not. Often I am intrigued to make my old jeans into cut-offs for limited summer engagements, but golley gee it's the crotch that goes first! Shouldn't it be the crotch that comes first...But really, last night I was taking a deuce break at DSW Shoe Warehouse and I noted, for the first time in this particular pair of pantolons, two vampire-bite-like holes in the rear crotchal region. My concern wasn't so much that they were there at the moment so much as it was how long they had been there. Luckily my general assholistic fashion provides good enough cover that many may have assumed or presumed that it was purposeful. Or maybe, just maybe, people aren't looking at your ass you egotistical self-centered sonofabitch...
In musical news that isn't the Grammy's — at least not this years — I have been jamming to British sensation Adele, more specifically "Someone Like You." It is a sexy number if you want to use sexy improperly, but it is totally awesome. Anyway, if you haven't heard of Adele, and you probably have, then you should. Listening to her speak of heartache at 21 is, for me, a little easier to relate to than when I heard Commander Venus doing the same as a 13 year-old. I still can't believe she is only 21. Here's to talented people making me feel old and unaccomplished.
In musical news that is the Grammy's, people were in a pretty big uproar about Justin Bieber's lack of awards. I admit I was surprised and I am neither pro-Bieber nor overly knowledgeable about music. The uproar did spawn responses such as a"Who Is Arcade Fire" Blog. I looked at only a couple of posts before I had to turn away in horror before my brain exploded with pop references and the inevitable creation, evolution, and extinction by overuse of some meme in particular. Anyway, if I had to guess, the blog was created by people who like Arcade Fire and think it is funny the responses people have to there Grammy success. I think Arcade Fire is okay. I am glad I watched the Grammy's to see Cee-Lo and Gwyneth Paltrow sing "Forget You."
People have been loving slo-mo stuff since at least the Matrix ('97), so you'll probably like this too. It isn't even really new news that Border's is on the way out but it kind of depresses me like shit. And I didn't even really go to Border's all that much.
Since I want to end on an uplifting note, I suggest you go take a ride in an elevator...that joke has its ups and its downs. Stay fresh folks.
Friday, February 11, 2011
Winter Warmer Words and Whiskey
If you live in a place that experiences winter you, like me, probably have your favorite winter albums. I enjoy music at all times of year, but when the temperatures dip and the days get short it activates parts of my brain — or, perhaps, deactivates others — and shifts my musical tastes to decidedly more mellow or even melancholy tunes. It's a good time for Bon Iver and Belle and Sebastian among others, and ever since I lived in Vermont for a time, I was draw into Camera Obscura. I will explain by saying I have no real explanation but sonically this stuff just works, and embedded below is the first track I heard from the band, one I instantly fell in love with:
It would seem as if winter is about to break as, though I did no follow-up, I heard strangers on the street mention that Punxsutawney Phil (PP for short, and yes, I have to verify the spelling of Punxsutawney every time I type it), did not see his shadow and winter should be receding. This would be cool or, rather, warm, but while I'll complain about winter, I kind of like it all the same, and I was settling in for a little of it. I think it's simply that, when it's over, it is another indication to me that a lot of time has passed and I stop to assess where the old life is headed.
In the name of alliteration I alluded to whiskey as well, and boy do I ever love me some of that. Winter has a way of improving the taste. And, thanks to a tip from a chum of mine (I resist the urge to draw in real names sometimes in here due to the internet and anonymity and stuff and things), I read about the following earlier this week or late last. It's a quick link, or concise summary rather of a man who survived near-nakedness in sub-zero temperatures due to an excessive blood-alcohol content (BAC, which might stand for bad-ass constant except that to drink that much is actually just stupid). Cool story though. I'm excited for the roaring 20s to be a historical epoch and not the weather forecast which isn't even accurate because it's been teens and single digits. It's not even that bad, since I kind of like the feeling of my beard and nose-hairs freezing.
I'm already a little bit excited for it to be 11:11 on 11/11/11. And it'll happen twice. But I'm also in no hurry for it to get here.
Anyway, my feet smell. Time for new insoles, new shoes, or perhaps new feet. Come on science, redeem this stinky-footed bastard...
It would seem as if winter is about to break as, though I did no follow-up, I heard strangers on the street mention that Punxsutawney Phil (PP for short, and yes, I have to verify the spelling of Punxsutawney every time I type it), did not see his shadow and winter should be receding. This would be cool or, rather, warm, but while I'll complain about winter, I kind of like it all the same, and I was settling in for a little of it. I think it's simply that, when it's over, it is another indication to me that a lot of time has passed and I stop to assess where the old life is headed.
In the name of alliteration I alluded to whiskey as well, and boy do I ever love me some of that. Winter has a way of improving the taste. And, thanks to a tip from a chum of mine (I resist the urge to draw in real names sometimes in here due to the internet and anonymity and stuff and things), I read about the following earlier this week or late last. It's a quick link, or concise summary rather of a man who survived near-nakedness in sub-zero temperatures due to an excessive blood-alcohol content (BAC, which might stand for bad-ass constant except that to drink that much is actually just stupid). Cool story though. I'm excited for the roaring 20s to be a historical epoch and not the weather forecast which isn't even accurate because it's been teens and single digits. It's not even that bad, since I kind of like the feeling of my beard and nose-hairs freezing.
I'm already a little bit excited for it to be 11:11 on 11/11/11. And it'll happen twice. But I'm also in no hurry for it to get here.
Anyway, my feet smell. Time for new insoles, new shoes, or perhaps new feet. Come on science, redeem this stinky-footed bastard...
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