tyler vs. she-ra

though widespread fight clubs are over six years old now, i think there is still a tri-monthly quota for articles about this “savage” trend among modern day men. this article reads more like a satire, due to genius/stupid statements like this:

"Real-life fight clubs are the male version of the girls who cut themselves," he said. "All day long these guys think they're the captains of the universe, technical wizards. They're brilliant but empty."

now, i understand “brilliant but empty” quite well, but i think the author was going for “masters”, rather than “captains” of the universe. what the hell is a captain of the universe anyway? someone ranked below major but above lieutenant on the scale of everything in the physical world? we all know what a master of the universe is. i wanted to be one when i was little. but, not counting 2003, you don’t see me trying to ride tigers and panthers and buying a castle and naming it “greyskull”.

smile

give me a backyard where the sun shines directly in mid afternoon. give me bottle after bottle of beer so light and gay that it almost tastes like seltzer water. give me a hideous neon blue tri-fold beach chair with sand from last august still holding its ground like aging freckles. give me skin that soaks the sun like a car sponge and hair that longs to be lighter. give me these things, o great fate, and i’ll give you a happy young man.

rally

you know the feeling you get when you’ve met someone that you really like and have an idea that they like you too? i’m getting that feeling right now from phoenix’s it’s never been like that. the first few tracks have been so good that i just want to stop time and live here for a while. we’ve established a frighteningly solid background in a short time and yet there is still mystery in the form of the many songs un-listened to. i dare say this album could approach emblems territory, and that album was the only one i’ve ever considered settling down with (we broke off the engagement but it still weighs heavy on my heart).

erasing high school, one album at a time

so tom delonge has a new band. my take is this...possibly the best band website ever created, which leads me to a realization. that this is the largest website-to-music differential in the history of human effort.

regardless of delonge's rambling over the significance of this project, angels and airwaves is about as much of a musical stretch for its members as bano's weekly decision to release a power ballad. angels is blink, it's boxcar, it's just tom whining. again. and i don't get it. tom's voice through blink used to be a beach staple for me, a perfect solution to a drive home from high school baseball practice, a college dorm room favorite. i don't know what i expected on tuesday, but i feel cheated. disappointed, certainly, but personally cheated as well. i'm no longer at a point in my musical journey where i rely on a particular genre for sustainability...but that does not change my longing for nostalgic reassurance. i need people like tom delonge to choose. be great, or go away. seriously though, incredible website. apparently 20 million blink records buys you a decent dev team.

sampling not stealing

i never saw a sober writer,
i never hope to see one;
but i can tell you anyhow,
i’d rather see than be one.

at least in may.

when people choose to die

from the nation's western coast, where the clips-suns game is actually being played at a watchable hour (assuming you're in to that sort of thing)...
---
nagan was re-elected...closer to my residence, the people of new york have not, to my knowledge, ordered a new series of planes to forcibly remove iconic buildings from the skyline. this is because they value their lives, at least to the extent of not voting for another shot at death. well done, new orleans, on not sharing that particular sentiment.

i've made a few visits to the state of louisiana over the last few weeks, and will continue to do so over the course of the summer. i've had mahi with the secretary of transportation, filet with the head of the senate's budget committee, and gumbo with a street vendor in baton rouge...ain't a one of them thought that ole' nagan had a chance, and something led me to agree. now we're all confused.

you don't have to care about places like new orleans to allow this to interest you...these people voted, by a majority, to die. to end their lives and the lives of their families, their pets, and their coke...because while they managed to stay afloat the last time, we'll see what happens when the food runs out, the schools shut down, and the rain comes anyway. fuckin' nagan, man. remember when marion barry seemed like a mistake?

one on one

i’ve been into daryl hall and john oates recently. did you know that hall calls their masterpiece “she’s gone” the best song he and john ever wrote together? i find the motown sound blends well with daryl’s lovelorn voice. this coinciding with my viewing of cherish last night made for a pretty cool dream soundtrack. you know that part in “maneater” at 4:01 where daryl goes “thewomaniswildoooh” in one breath? yeah, that’s cool.

itunes likes jared too

music played while i sit in my office is selected at random. or as close to random as apple's flawed algorightm allows.

there are a number of reasons for my preference of computer generated playlists while i stare at one of the three screens sitting on my desk. mostly, there are other times when i must make such choices on my own. the car for one, but also at the gym. moments when my living room is filled with guests, or my bed is more than soley occupied, not to mention the importance of supplementing a vacation with the correct soundtrack. to mix genres or to segment the time into sound-driven screenplays? will they understand what they hear? is that important? to me, yes, but more generally? should generalities play a role in this?

i need iTunes in the office. currently selected --> 30 seconds to mars - a beautiful lie - the kill (3:51). i consider jared leto to be in the top ten, when considering artists worth giving my time to. this music isn't perfect, but it has become a part of the collection that i hesitate to share with others. i listen to 30 seconds alone. jared's also in fight club, requiem, american psycho...he's paul fucking allen, for christ's sake. beatuiful, and willing to front this niche band nonetheless. witness the action-based balance that i haven't reached yet. having it, risking it, reaping the benefits of being vulnerable. this is why it's important to be beautiful. it's why these steps become options. otherwise, for most people, they're stuck looking, searching, disappointed. soon, i'll be able to jump because i know that i never have to land. this is a good realization to come to on a friday, n'est ce pas?

makeovers

you may notice some cosmetic changes to this site in the near future. fear not, though, as the same droll content will continue to appear regularly. and as this is a site for the people i would like to solicit any comments you have about new color schemes, how crappy the current template is, makeovers, or eyeliner. any suggestions on how to make the blog as pretty as its words are also welcome.

by the way, the new phlox loves arthur logo/header has been trademarked already, fools. and you owe me five cents every time you say this blog's name out loud. you're on the honor system.

98 degrees from ideal

Dear Nick Lachey,

In response to our role in the breakup of your marriage, please accept unlimited audio and video air time for the release of your next eight singles (not based on actual content evaluation). We do understand that both you and the blonde agreed, in advance, to the premise of the show (any one member of the participating parties' inability to understand the complexities of legal agreements, notwithstanding). However, the gentlemen at Linkin Park have fooled us with a side project that we have also agreed to keep on constant loop, and let's not kid ourselves...Shakira is about ten pounds heavier than the bio relates. Officially, we have nothing to air. So please, continue to financially benefit from our inability to produce quality programming for the teens of today, continuing to disappoint the teens of yesterday in the process. For you, Mr. Lachey, life is better than it seems. This offer is valid up to but not including the moment that JT's new movie hits the box office, Ja Rule releases a duet with Keith Urban, and/or we begin to broadcast in HD.

Regards,

MTV

every little step

every so often there comes a time when you recognize that you are hearing the best version of a particular song ever played. that unlikely event happened twice last night at the glen phillips show. for the tweens out there, glen fronted a righteous nineties alt band called toad the wet sprocket, and he has one of the most distinctive, pretty voices around. lightning struck first during the opening act, a singer/songwriter named jonathan kingham. although both rebecca and i agreed that his music was generic and college-y, he revealed a deftness at performing rhythm and blues. no joke, he covered bobby brown’s “every little step” to the delight of both myself and the rest of the audience. i can say with some certainty that it was better than any version bobby recorded, and i’m fairly sure i’ll never hear it played better in my lifetime. after jonathan it was on to glen. he played a lot of his solo stuff to the older crowd, but my favorite parts were the old toad songs. he played “all i want”, “walk on the ocean”, and at rebecca’s request, “nightingale song”. that song is great all by itself, but something about it last night etched into my memory. it was neary perfect. the best shows are the ones that entrance you so that forget that you’re holding two empty bottles for the longest time.

victor vs. the palmettos

i spent the weekend in charleston. nobody does much of anything in charleston, and while i find myself continually labeling such activity as unacceptable, the undeniably positive impact of such visits tends to suggest otherwise.

this is not something that bothers me, at least from a perspective of self-denial/hypocrisy versus jealousy/longing. rather, it makes me feel as though i work too hard, live much too far from the beach, and needlessly limit my access to first-class seafood. the realization of such things is more catalytic than crushing, more comforting than discouraging. i bought driving loafers from j crew, and a few polos from lacoste...this, i thought, was a step in the right direction. a little less black and white in my appearance, a little less time spent reading without a natural breeze to aid in turning the pages. these are things that i'm considering, as may of 2006 continues to progress.

don't ask me to make more significant motions towards this ideal that i speak of...because i don't truly believe in it. it's just something to do for the moment, which allows me to avoid the boredom of reverting to more of the same. i don't think that the people of charleston have it figured out, but i'm terribly concerned that i am also without an answer. what i will do is continue to include alcohol and music in each aspect of my life. i find music to be more repeatably enjoyed than print, and alcohol to be limitless in potential...essentially, i have decided to safeguard myself within a world of continually increasing disappointments from those around me. i think this is the secret to why doing so very little works so very well...like the people of charleston, the level of general disappointment decreases significantly when you haven't worked so hard as to achieve anything. i like that. yeah, i need to work less.

gene bias

gattica is finally here. it was only a matter of time. i think given the choice i’d take jude law’s perfection over ethan hawke’s passion and heart. but i’m not sure that i’ll have to worry about this decision in the future. unless, that is, i meet uma thurman and impress her with my hair’s dna analysis. oh uma, i’d engineer a child with you anyday.

social regression

my childhood interests...becoming...embarassing

http://www.cnn.com/2006/SHOWBIZ/TV/05/12/tv...

and by interests, i am referring to the band

the pinnacle of my week

please tell me that one of you caught the 6:30 EST we are the eighties on vh1 classic yesterday. it was like something out of a dream. i hit the channel halfway through the program, hoping to catch some sheila e. or pebbles but instead found a manifestation of my own subconscious. first a young phil collins stole a prince keyboard riff in “sussudio”. next, whitney showed me the way to love myself with flashbacks to her youth in “greatest love of all”. and finally huey lewis’ “hip to be square” gave me the confidence to continue working out most every day and watching what i eat. it was probably the greatest sequence of videos ever played on vh1. somewhere patrick bateman is smiling hollowly.

c-fed not k-fed

though i currently reside in the north, i spent some time in the south a few years ago, and this surprises me none. to actually make a holiday to remember those that fought for (among other things) the right to enslave humans is so ridiculous that i’d expect nothing less from our “brothers to the south”. and even though i took this c-fed memorial day off to recreate the battle of antietam with q-tips and pop rocks, keep in mind that my behavior is not an endorsement of this pseudo “holiday”, but rather of the unifying american value of laziness.

how i spent my summer/evening

last night my night was fun. i went to millvale. i saw my friend rebecca. we saw her deli guy. we laughed at jokes. we heard music from russian circles, mewithoutyou, and minus the bear. russian circles was good. they played like a rocket pop from the icecream man on a hot day. mewithoutyou could have done without their lead singer. he was bad. minus the bear was more fun than a slip-n-slide. they played old and new tunes, but none from the first e.p. oh well it was still cool and fun. i would definitely go see them again. it was the best vacation ever.

passage

there is a certain romance about foreseeing the end of an era. it is a glassy-eyed, sappy (sad-happy) feeling that hangs over “the past”’s impending doom. it must be excruciating to find yourself thrown into this phase of someone else’s history, especially when you can see what used to be in their eyes on certain nights when alcohol and moonlight betray them. the urge to repeatedly ask, “why” must be unbearable. the unsatisfactory answer is, of course, that this is how these things go. and, like quicksand, struggling against momentum only makes it worse.

the word. inbound. v1.0.

on my way into the great city of philadelphia this evening, there rode a man in an unsuspecting (though completely "un-cool") car. i say that the car was unsuspecting, while omitting a large detail...or rather, a pair of large details.

thinking back to the days of ice-cream truck turned political propaganda machines, the small sedan had two large (easily 5 ft in length, 4 ft in diameter) megaphones attached to its roof. the man, with a mission on his mind, proceeded to speak through a microphone that hung from his ceiling, obviously attached to the before-mentioned amplified speakers. from his mouth came the words of jesus, or so he was more than happy to repeat to us. and my friends, i tell you this...traffic stopped at the moment of his sermon, though more likely due to the upcoming construction.

i'm not sure what else to say about this observation of mine, other than the fact that i chose to watch this spectacle with great interest. after all, the market for those megaphones must be shrinking with each passing traffic-filled day.

liberty and death

oh my god. i’m already starting to wake up in cold sweats at night and dry heaving during the day because of this. it’s not so much the uncertainty of where mysteries will be shot (i am confident that the city of pittsburgh, while running out of money for police and firemen, will find a way to subsidize a motion picture by any means necessary) but liberties like this:

The screenplay calls for the characters of Arthur (not to be confused with Art) and Cleveland Arning to be consolidated into one, played by Mr. Sarsgaard.

i know novels need to be adapted for the screen and occasionally they work perfectly (see american psycho) but how in the hell is jane supposed to be taken with clev-thur, as i’m calling the unholy hybrid? can’t anyone else see the folly in an effeminate biker thug? i need a xanax.

zebras get it

the best things in life, i think, are composed of contrasts. just today i played homerun derby in the afternoon sun wearing ralph lauren and couldn’t have been happier. the line between jock and prettyboy was blurred. certainly my long balls wouldn’t have had the same effect without it. it’s the reason everyone can get behind the underdog, and why people go to great (unnecessary) lengths to state that they are unique. this is also why i like to alternate between bartles and james and scotch whiskey.