one of many

i thought i saw someone i knew at the gym today. this kind of thing happens so often now that i am never sure of anything. i glanced up and she was walking toward a corridor. when i looked up again she was gone. i walked to the corridor, but there was no one there. then i tried to remember what she looked like, but my mind had already melded the image with my memory of her from before so that couldn’t be trusted. plus, her face was off-shade due to heavy breathing. in addition, i’d just seen avril’s video for “sk8ter boi” on the monitors so her composite was slowly melding with a.l.’s. having considered all this for a moment, i went back to my routine. after all, that, if nothing else, helps anchor me to reality.

transition

given the closing of may, i had been mostly concerned with the likely truth that my tan would be largely viewed as unacceptable entering the month of june. thankfully, this slight (but noticeable) scare has been averted. all of this appears to be "well timed" (or at the very least "timed well") to those that know of my plans to also begin a prescription teeth whiting program over the next two weeks. not coincidentally, i've begun listening to the postal service on a fairly regular basis, along with a select few other bands that provide an equally soundtrack-acceptable collection of sound. translation: my life requires that i take in what i project. beautiful skin, glimmering teeth, and the sense that i'm following a path built on a synthesizer. it all feels correct.

oh

oh, to be in love on a tuesday. alas, i have no such luck -- i don’t even believe in tuesdays. but i do believe in me. i am watching a spider-like organism move slowly across the patterned carpet, feeling that this is an analog for my journey. i move in seemingly random directions, encountering the same pattern over and over again, with no more knowledge of the black shoe of death than of the end of infinity. it is not tuesday when you are two centimeters in diameter.

mmdywknd

over the years memorial day has become irremediably tangled with margaritas in my mind, just like christmas trees and gin or summer and nudity. the margarita is a drink that tips dangerously on edge. it has the potential to be butchered horribly and in that state it can ruin peoples lives (for a few hours), but a good margarita can help you remember the white-gold beaches of mexico in the spring even if you haven’t ever been there. that is why i recommend either patron or 1800 white and cointreau. i also recommend hanging out with attractive people and doing so on a sunny day while drinking.

borrowing from the nineties

did anyone else immediately think of ce ce penistion whenever they first heard the hillary duff song “with love”? i mean, the chorus is a blatant rip-off of “it should have been you”. i heard the duff song on mtv this morning and was shocked at this melodic plagiarism. this is yet another example of white stealing from black with no repercussions. but i suppose if you are going to imitate someone, ce ce peniston is one of the best choices you can make. not only is her nineteen ninety-two album finally a pop gem, it also has one of the best opening song duos in album history. “we got a love thing” is so i-don’t-care happy that it levitates, and “finally”, a striking piece about attaining your ideal partner, is even more emotional if less bubbly.

may fair

i've been listening to a lot of jazz lately. and by a lot, i mean more than usual. preliminary explanations point to the generally positive emotion conveyed by the melodies, but i find it hard to jump to conclusions. a lingering fact...combined with the current weather conditions in the northeast, my choices seem validated regardless of underlying reasoning. cheers.

bumper karts

i prefer to be surprised when i wake up. ideally, i would manage to forget something of considerable importance the night before, only to remember immediately upon opening my eyes. the advantage to this? it helps me to differentiate: to remember the days for some significant detail that inspired all the rest of the insignificant details. in short, a memorable awakening has the unique ability to define what it has no control over; my often listless life.

this morning, i was surprised.

because i live in a city, the sound of a car alarm alone isn't enough to cause it. i've grown...accustomed. but the sound of my car alarm...that's enough. fast forward to my second story window, to my stare across the street, to a blend; german sports sedan mixed with small american go-kart look-alike. at least she gave me the front end.

with my car now temporarily located in the fascinatingly trendy parking lot of the repair shop (a relative who's-who of the latest luxury models), i'm beginning to focus on tomorrow morning. while the leading possibilities remain fire and fallen airplane debris, i'm still holding out for a plague featuring a very specific breed of locusts. impossible, maybe, but the 6am rear-ending of a parked car isn't far behind on the reality scale.

i need to go buy insect repellent at neiman...will prada's new scent do? it certainly gave me that impression.

bury my bones in indiana

i spent the past extended weekend in south bend, indiana being assaulted repeatedly by the fightin’ irish. it was like their collective pride increased the air pressure around my being to a stifling level. and i’m still not sure why a school named after a french cathedral has the irish as mascots because no one would tell me. it was a pretty weather weekend, though, and acting pleasant takes your mind off of heavier things. it was fun to pretend i was back in school for a couple days, although it was different from my college days. i’ve never heard so many people make speeches about how faith and knowledge can coexist without the slightest contradiction. this is obviously a lie, but my promise not to ruin graduation prevented me from pointing this out. the commencement speaker was the c.e.o. of general electric, jeff immelt. his speech was very short and very good, incorporating humor and a sense of arrogance. it was mainly about how his company owned trump (g.e. owns nbc) and other television personalities and how g.e. was going green to help the environment. my ambitions are basically the same except for the environment part.

fusion

read here, classic rock devotees - i have listened to, understand, own, and generally appreciate every one of the 15 albums you've cycled through your changer in the last forty years. only, forgive me for doing it in forty days, at the age of 16; with the same level of comprehension. call it what you would like, but my penchant for timelessness has always been aimed much more closely at three-button suits than musical and visual art. with music in particular, the parameters are simply too dynamic and the stage is firmly set in the here-and-now. longevity relating to a specific piece of work is simply a part of that equation, and in many ways, is actually the most dependant element...

however...having now railed against timelessness, i'm writing today that this same diminished importance, in the proper context, can also work in favor of these tracks published long ago. throw out the past altogether, and the possibility still remains for the listener to truly notice and give in to the nostalgic and genuine yearning for emotional distribution put forth by seasoned veterans of the stage. i had the fortune of such an experience on wednesday night, and its details are not soon to leave my thoughts...

morrison is dead, densmore has been bitter for thirty years, and krieger and manzarek now physically resemble individuals approaching a triple digit birthday. what remain of the doors are those same two old men, full song rights to the entire collection, a new name, and a new lead singer; all of which intrigued me to the point of needing to catch their current tour. the venue...one of the most famous theatres in the northeast and a former stop on doors' tours of yesteryear.

riders on the storm, now fronted by brett scallions (fuel, 89-06), filled the keswick theater (philly) to capacity and then some...as expected, the crowd was simply too diverse to explain. with a seating model that favored symphony viewing more than flowing rock, fewer than a hundred people were granted passage to a standing area immediately in front of the stage. everyone else was assigned a red-velvet covered seat in one of the rows that followed. fortunately for us, we were in the back row of our section...we took advantage and stood for the duration. after all, brett asked us to.

scallions took a risk with this gig, and it was only after his performance that i was able to understand why he did it. it wasn't brett-impersonating-jim, it wasn't brett-interpreting-jim...i don't know, it just felt right. like the leather pants and unbuttoned shirt he was wearing, the music allowed me to marvel at how doors-like and brett-like the entire scene really was....his voice flowed into the lows of morrison's range effortlessly, his stage meandering felt anything but choreographed, and there were certainly times where you could close your eyes and blend the album with the present. to be fair, portions of the set, especially in between songs, felt slightly forced. krieger and manzarek sounded as old as they looked when they talked (though not when they played), and there was all-too-obvious ass kissing flying all around the stage between the old heads, brett, the audience, and back to the old heads...sometimes, it felt stiff. nevertheless, some of that came off as pleasantly nostalgic, and given that i'm not nearly old enough to have experienced the live tour the first time around, i deferred judgement to those who had and seemed to enjoy the chance to re-live it. as my friend ben pointed out, manzerek's constant need to play the keys with his shoe was also a little distracting at times, but the night truly boiled down to a familiar sound from a familiar voice.

i'm not sure where this show ranks for me from a quality standpoint, but it certainly moves close to the top in the category of "shows i'm happy not to have missed". more importantly, one act from the show in particular, break on through, was definitive enough in itself to remain in memory indefinitely. great show, great venue, and a renewed faith for me that the classic tours don't always have to disappoint. and that brett can do an entire show sober and in good vocal condition. weird.

it's always been there

as i was growing up, my father often had to spend time out of town. a few days gone were hardly noticeable, but there was something to be said of his trips that covered multiple weeks. from those journeys, he would return with gifts, usually in the form of t-shirts or collectibles. as everyone knows, blue t-shirts that say "atlanta" in scripted neon green lettering are as good as any apology.

the things is, after two weeks, i needed things. my mother never understood why only a $200 nokona glove would do, and with the webbing coming loose in the old one and nobody else to go to, i ran into problems. problems that needed to be solved in hours, not waited on for weeks. the point: if you miss enough, practicality becomes imperative no matter how trivial the stage. after two weeks of waiting, all i needed was a fucking glove. put down the shirt and take me to the store.

my hiatus from this site has concluded, and i come bearing more than a cotton blend. my next post will describe significant music, the type of information that this site has proven most capable of delivering. i would not have returned with anything less.

dear jane

please don’t give me one syllable replies because then your lips don’t move as much. i’ve discovered i like words better as text than as sonic vibrations, but i still love to see you speak. we can make our memories short and marked by a lack of concern. we can sit facing each other twelve inches apart. i can sing like paul banks and you can mouth the words back to me. we can try living sideways, neither progressing nor retreading. we can do all these things. or we can never meet.

clench

the other writer on this blog (there’s another?) is taking an indefinite leave to plan his wedding and subsequent move south, so that is why he hasn’t posted in a while. as for myself, i’ve just been staring at the sun (think smile, not the god-awful u2 -- or for those of you who were too young in 1994 think tv on the radio). i lead a non-stressful life by choice but i recently found out that i clench my teeth while i sleep. i can only imagine this has something to do with repressed memories. either that or my brain is taking my wasted potential out on my teeth. time will tell, i suppose, although i suspect that my great american novel will be published posthumously.

slipping not falling

i have a problem. i am having increasing difficulty filtering which memories of mine are real and which were part of my subconscious imagination or dreams. this is both bad in real life and in my dreams. remembering things that haven’t happened either makes you quirky or crazy in real life, but it is far worse at night. since i can never be one hundred per-cent sure what is going on, i have to tone down my behavior in the sandbox in my mind. as you can probably imagine, this makes for less exciting dreams where instead of snorting drugs off hooker’s backs i balance my checkbook and politely decline company for the evening.

where i've been

i haven’t posted in a while. recently i’ve been overcome by highs and lows, but no creamy middles. my mood has followed the weather in exact proportion such that when it is sunny i don’t want to write because of too many options and when it rains i don’t want to write because of too few. much of the last five days were spent trying in vain to solve all of the hard-category sudoku puzzles on my electronic game. i would sit down, nodding every second like i had a medical condition, rambling such strings of syllables as, “three four six nine r.kelly one one one you moron, roll up on dubs, i’m a flirt…”. when it was nice out i would drive to nowhere and back and then wash my car even though it was washed the day before.

sunday sunday

i spent today alternating between working out, laying on my back in the sun, laying on my front in the sun, and laying on my side watching playoff hockey. i’ve figured out the exact time i need to be in the sun (per side) to keep my tan looking healthy. couple that with my long-held knowledge of the perfect amount of diet coke to replace with whisky in the sixteen ounce bottles to get the correct taste and there is no question that my outdoor skills are superior to most others’. knot tying? florae identification? my butler handles such things as those.

suitcases of liquor

this article about a london house party gone wrong is terribly entertaining. at least three separate parts of the article are quote-worthy. basically, this seventeen year old girl advertised on myspace.com that her parents would be on holiday. she was then shocked that more than forty people showed up at her house, some carrying what neighbors describe as “a suitcase full of alcohol”. that is totally out of line, of course. etiquette requires only one carry-on bag and a small personal item filled with pharmaceuticals per person (at least that’s the way it was back when i was young). the girl’s mother has the best quote, though it may overstep the bounds of the literary device personification:

Whoever has come in here are worse than animals, it's like house rape. They've been sick everywhere, urinated and trashed the house. It will take a month for it to be professionally cleaned and we are having to stay in temporary accommodation.

from her head to her toe

head

i overthink situations. mostly when image is an issue. this is strange because i don’t really care, but i try to give the impression that i care. when deciding between a solemn glare and a quarter smile as my expression, just know that i am trying to decide not what i want to look like but what i want other people to think i look like. i carry a nontrivial burden on my shoulders.

shoulders

shoulders are never the same once they’ve been broken. they can be rebuilt, but never as well. scars are permanent but painkillers are fleeting. i try to keep my shoulders back and square. i try to keep them away from walls.

navel

if your shoulders are back then it is uncomfortable to look at your torso. which is unfortunate, since navel gazing is one of my favorite pastimes.

kness

much like my attitude toward humans, my knees remain flexible even at this age. i learned long ago that flexible was better than stiff, and i live my life accordingly. sure, sometimes they complain if they experience prolonged use, but how else should i pray to l. ron hubbard for new sneakers?

toes

i like consistency. perhaps that is why i am irked by the fact that my biggest toe is not my longest toe. on an otherwise perfect base it is the one thing i feel underconfident about.

reunion

i think all reunions are awkward. by nature they bring together things that were apart. and when people are apart they have no common experience, which is the basis of most non-awkward conversation. i do like unions, however. they are not so much awkward as exciting. and they leave a lot of wiggle room for truth stretching (truth is like a rubber band). the thing i like best, though, is when unions feel like reunions and reunions feel like continuous conversations.

kol - because of the times

the lyrics in the album jacket of because of the times are unbelievably wrong. i’m not going to claim i understand everything coming out of caleb’s mouth, but there are some obvious exclusions of syllables and phrases which make me doubt the accuracy of the entire thing.

as unfortunate as that is, i must say i love the album as a whole. yes, it is all over the place where aha shake heartbreak was much more focused, but it also takes so many chances that by sheer probability some of them must succeed. and succeed they do, once or twice in the most magnificent ways, such that the few failures barely register. the only cause for concern is if the kings continue too far down the path of effects and shiny polish to the point where the music loses its balance. depending upon what their next album sounds like, this one will either be considered the last great kings album or the watershed event in their careers.

i’ve been listening to the album in its entirety for several weeks now, so my opinions have passed the initial reaction and reached an equilibrium. the first song, “knocked up” is seven minutes of quiet, intense emotion. it was a bold and perfect move to make it the lead song on the album. “charmer” sounds like late strokes material, and while i didn’t like it at first, it has grown on me. i’m not too keen on “on call”, the first single. it sounds too normal and alt-rock-y. but “mcfearless”, the next track, is a virtual kick to the balls. the percussion is furious, reminiscent of block party’s first album, and caleb makes you feel every emotional line in the chorus. “black thumbnail” is a great southern swing song, similar to, but slightly poppier than what appeared on ash. “my party” is the only throwaway song on the album, in my opinion. it just doesn’t grab me.

the second half of the album is even better than the first. “true love way” blends great backing vocals with a great theme. this album has a lot of great background vocals in a way you wouldn’t expect from kings, especially this song and “knocked up”. “ragoo” is probably my favorite song on the record. i can listen to it over and over without tiring. it is a simple song with a syncopated rhythm that reminds me of summer evenings. i believe “fans” may be the second single, and while every song showcases caleb’s unique vocal abilities, this song features falsetto in almost every bar. it’s pretty in a twenty-cigarette-night-but-i’m-still-trying-to-sing-at-3am way. “the runner” is another great song about running away from home. the next track, “trunk”, is one i am not sure about. i usually skip it but i will reserve judgment until later. “camaro” is the kind of straightforward rock track one would expect from the previous two albums, but with a little more vocal effects. finally, “arizona”, the closer, is just terrific. it is a reflective piece with a pretty, wailing lead guitar that makes my eyes blink repeatedly.

early april

the weather is warm again, but now i have slipped under it. not too far that i can’t see the daffodils in my backyard, but far enough that i find it a nuisance to move. i still go to the gym because i don’t know how not to. i need to kick this bug and experience spring vitality before the summer malaise starts and i end up lying naked in the sun with a bottle of whiskey singing thin lizzy songs to the trees.

and because, be it dentist office or bedroom, everyone enjoys a good drilling in the spring, here is the POS remix of minus the bear’s “drilling”