MERSH

It should not go unremarked that the current McDonald's filet-o-fish commercials, um, borrow from of Montreal.

I see three potential scenarios here:

(1) With the evidence of the Outback commercial in hand, McDonald's assumes that of Montreal are whores to be had for some filet-o-cash. Kevin Barnes rebuffs them, and they stick out their tongues and write a nonactionable pastiche.

(2) Someone in the McMarketing department is a fan, and decides to do a bizarre, sideways homage.

(3) The same theory that postulates that, given enough time, 100 monkeys with 100 typewriters would eventually produce Hamlet.

I'm not going to sweat the whys and wherefores, I'm just going to enjoy...

SUCKING IN THE 70s

I realized last week that the most-recent Stones album I own on anything other than cassette is Exile on Main Street.

So, seeing as I'm in a bit of a new-music dry spell, I've decided to start my own 70s Stones of the Month Club.

Each month, I'm going to buy one of the studio albums between Goat's Head Soup and Some Girls, chronologically.

Some Girls is the one I know best from front to back, so it will be interesting to get more familiar with the outer edges of things like Black and Blue...

DOES YOUR CHEWING GUM LOSE ITS FLAVOR ON THE BEDPOST OVERNIGHT?

I first encountered Trident gum as a kid, when I found it swimming between
bangle bracelets and Kleenex at the bottom of my grandmother's purse.

I picked up a 3-pack the other day, based more on price than Proustian
resonance.

And now I'm here to say that original flavor Trident is just damn refreshing...

GRANDPA'S THEORIES

Somehow, Danielson snuck a single by me back in November.

It's called Moment Soakers, and I have it now. It would not sound out of place on Ships, so you know what to do. (Um, buy or don't buy.)

The B side is an Abba song called Eagle, which serves to remind you that, hey, Abba made albums. For some reason...

MARKS THE SPOT

It’s amazing what’ll stick in your craw…

I have held a grudge against Ira Robbins for years, because he referred to X once as “appalling noise.” I assumed it was in an issue of Trouser Press, even though their old rekkid guide treats X generously.

Well, I was looking through the July, 1986 issue of Creem the other day, and there it was in a review of Green on Red/Rain Parade: “A reassuring antidote to even the appalling noise of X.”

And I was pissed anew. Watch where you’re casting those appallings, bitch…

WHITE PUNKS ON SNOW

I gave my car a reverse snowhawk...

A PUT ON

I had tickets to a Who concert once. Shea Stadium, 1982.

Thing is, I had no interest in seeing The Who. I liked their early mod stuff well enough, but in 1982 I was positively oppressed by Eminence Front, in the same way I was oppressed by In the Air Tonight: from the backseat of a black Z-28 with a custom Blaupunkt stereo pumping 100 watts, so I couldn't hear my thoughts think. And it got loudest when the driver really liked a particular section.

“Listen to the drums. Listen. You can practically feel them.”

I hated it like fuck.

So why did I have the tickets? Well, Scott and I were primed to see David Johansen and The Clash, who were opening the show.

After The Clash wrapped up, we made our way back through the bowels of Shea (and Shea did indeed have bowels, make no mistake), and headed for the exit gate. When we got there, we found it closed off with three or four guards sitting sentry.

They stopped us. “Show's not over. You can't leave.”

“But we're done.”

“Whattaya mean, done? The Who didn't even play yet.”

“We came for The Clash.”

After about 5 minutes of this, they finally let us leave, shaking their heads and clucking behind us.

People still shake their heads and cluck when I tell them this story, but they do so in a way that assumes I now recognize that this was all folly, and that I tell the story as a tale of regret.

But I don't regret it for a second...

AMPED

When I think about my 64GB iPod Touch I touch myself...

THE DAY AFTER TOMORROW

Aaaaaahhhh! The snowpocalypse is coming!

I'ma head to the Public Library and make Jake Gyllenhaal my full-flavored bitch...

EDITORS

Just finished reading Zeitoun, by Dave Eggers.

It's an important story, told artfully and with restraint.

I have to say, though, that the first edition I read was a bit sloppy.

Now, the old Copy Editor in me could bear the injury of the occasional missed space between punctuation. And that missed period that nearly stopped my heart? Over it.

But to see the Strait of Hormuz referred to as the Straights of Hormuz, particularly in the context of this book, and mindful of the events of 1988, well, that stung a little more acutely...

CURSIVE

The kids were talking about “bad” words.

“I know the 'S' word,” offered Lana.

Before she had finished her sentence, Sebastian had revved up his own.

“Oh, I know, I know! It's 'stupid'!”

“Yes,” continued Lana, “And we're not allowed to use it even though daddy sometimes does.” She said this in the melodic, lawyerly tone with which a ten-year old girl will say such things. It was fairly charming.

Sebastian had more to add to the conversation.

“I know the 'F' word.” I was prepared to be charmed again. “It's 'fuck'!”

I was... “Wait, what?”

“Fuck!”

I missed a beat, and Lana noticed I was off rhythm. “What does that even mean?” she said.

I asked Sebastian where he had learned the word. I asked more as a diversion than anything else.

Well, apparently one of his seat mates in kindergarten last year had access to the outer reaches of the “bad” word list, and had shared it with him.

I was actually pretty impressed that he'd sat on it for all this time...

WE PLAYED A SHOW AND NO ONE CAME

A couple of weeks ago, I got an e-mail from brain coral. I won't say it was frantic, because he doesn't do “frantic”-- let's say it was heightened.

And with good cause-- word had come through the wire that of Montreal was going to be playing a late-January show at the 9:30 Club.

I answered excitedly (because I do do “excitedly”), and within 5 minutes, we had our tickets.

As the days passed, I continued to check the status of the show, and tickets continued to be available. I was beginning to think that I was seriously overvaluing of Montreal's currency. Maybe 3 years on from Hissing Fauna, and a bit bewildered by Georgie Fruit, the indie kids had all moved on.

I checked again today, and it looks like it's finally sold out.

Not that it has much bearing on brain coral and me. You'd find us stage right in the rafters whether it was sold out or we were the only ones there...

TAKE OASIS

Reading the Murmur entry in the 33 1/3 series.

I'd recommend it highly if you've ever had a relationship with Murmur.

I'd recommend it even highly-er if you've ever had a relationship with a vintage cassette copy of Murmur...

NIC FIT

I sure hope that Vamp Weekend's Contra doesn't stir up any shit with my copy of Sandinista!

WHITE-WINGED DOVE

It's our wedding anniversary this weekend. I'll leave it to you to deduce from these ingenious clues the number.

I love you, dear...

CHK CHK CHK

Advising a ten-year old to use fewer exclamation points in her writing feels grammatically responsible but spiritually incorrect.

So listen to me, Lana.

But don't listen to me, Lana!

CONTRADICTION

If Vampire Weekend were a movement, I'd hate it for sure.

Got no particular beef wif them as a band, though...

ALL DOWN THE LINE

The Jersey Turnpike reminded me last week just how much I love Exile on Main Street.

Thank you Jersey Turnpike, you magnificent bastard...

HE WANTS TO LOVE AND HE WANTS TO CARE

Sebastian was sprawled across our new king-size bed this morning, which he had clambered into at some point during the night.

The boy has been tired these last few days. The collective weight of a recent birthday, the holiday season, and a quick whirlwind trip to New York has caught up to him and bowed his little shoulders a bit.

I looked at him as I passed through the bedroom. I dodged creaky floorboards, stifled a cough, then paused to watch his eyelids flutter in the gathering daylight.

“Hi daddy.”

If anyone ever comes to measure my success, let them start right here...

CARROT FLOWERS

Cable has taught me tonight that Carrot Top's Chairman of the Board is a better movie than the 2nd X-Files...