ONE GIANT LEAP

OK, it's a day late for this, I know, but... THE MOON IS FREE, BITCHES!

BOY IN A BOX

Boombox collectors (for yes, there is such a thing) call this their Holy Grail:




Well, slap my ass and call me Jesus— that’s my teenage box!

I went to the Walt Whitman Mall with Nancy one day, and bought it for $200 at Crazy Eddie’s across Route 110. Didn’t have a dime left after that purchase, so we had to scrounge around for change to make two fares on the N-79 bus. We begged from strangers, and dipped into the fountain in front of Macy’s for nickels.

I can still feel the tiny yet perceptible clicks as you pushed the volume slider up:

No future (click) No future (click) No future for youuuuu…

TO BE A ROCK AND NOT TO ROLL

I created a Classic Rock playlist in iTunes the other day.

So far, there are just two residents: Stairway to Heaven and Roundabout.

I listened to Stairway last night. Probably the first time in 25 years or so that I’ve listened to it all the way through. Definitely the first time I’ve ever listened through headphones. So my ears were relatively fresh.

Well, let’s just say my mind wandered. All the mock pomp and mock circumstance left me for-real bored.

Roundabout fares better. You really believe these cosmic warriors are invested in the mountains coming out of the sky and standing there. The dipshits mean it man, and commitment is half the battle...

ALWAYS BE TOGETHER

I got an e-mail today from someone on our office services staff. The subject was “Electric fun.”

Now, do I like me some electric fun? Fucks yeah.

I nearly sprained my pointer clicking to open it. The text was simple: “The fun will be here tomorrow.”

Again-- fucks yeah.

In a couple of beats, I remembered that I had ordered a table fan for my office.

Darn. A typo.

Anyway, I'm still holding out for some electric fun. Here's hoping you get some too...

TIME SLIPS AWAY

When I really want me some Comsat Angels, though, I turn to this, one of my favo(u)rite pieces of early 80s synth pop....

CS ANGELS IN AMERICA

Have a safe and happy 4th, 'Mericans...

THE IMAGE BREAKS DOWN

Man, assholes buy all the bumper stickers, don't they?

I'm looking at you, "Nobama."

You too "Marriage = One Man + One Woman."

NIGHT FALLS

Quote of the day, from Jens Lekman, who's laid up with H1N1:

"Summer is always best through a window."

I kind of agree, and feel better soon Jens.

I WANT YOU BACK

A few months ago I mentioned Michael Jackson in passing conversation. Lana crinkled up her nose.

“Ew.”

I understood. But I was curious. What had she heard?

“He's just a weirdo.”

“Well, it's not that simple,” I said.

I called up YouTube and played her the Billie Jean video.

Lana was silent for 4:54, watching with full rapt attention. I didn't need to say anything more.

Rest in peace, Michael.

Ah, but of course, it's not that simple...

THE REAL ME

"How long are you going to hide behind that nom de blog, sliced tongue?" the good people ask.

Well, good people, herewith is a video of yours truly, wherein I endeavor to instruct you all, by dint of physical example, how to get your fucking ass down in da club.

TOUCHING BY UNDERGROUND WIRES

Have a safe trip, family.

They're only miles...

WE CAN'T EVEN THINK OF A WORD THAT RHYMES

Last day of school for the kids today, so I gathered them on Lana's floor this morning for some nice old-fashioned subversion. Furnier style...

D(U)MB

The Dave Matthews Band have a new album out, and boy howdy, it does not disappoint.

Well, fuck no-- of course I haven't heard it. I'm just referring to the singularly awful title: Big Whiskey and the GrooGrux King.

“But dude,” the hemp-stained wretches would protest, “GrooGrux was the nickname of LeRoi Moore, Dave's fallen band bro. Or maybe it was just Groo. Or Grux. Whatever, dude. Wanna hackey?”

No, hemp-stained wretch-- I most certainly do not want to hackey.

Now turn that baseball cap around and throw out those ratty sandals already. You're 35 for god's sake.

We solid?

IF YOU LISTEN CLOSELY

You'd expect Olivia Newton-John's cover of John Denver's Take Me Home, Country Roads to be noxious. And by any reasonable measure it is.

But I'm sitting here listening to it right now. I actually paid 89 cents for the damn thing.

The song plays a central role in Whisper of the Heart, written by Miyazaki, and I defy you to watch the movie and be a hater without reserve.

Context is king, my friends...

LOTTO LOVE

OK, this is always funny. But it's extra funny on a Wednesday.

Definitely not safe for the work, kids...

I DON'T WANNA KNOW YOUR NAME

It's not too often that I'd like to take back a kindness.

But that clanky minivan I let cut in front of me today, the one that turned out to have the TALYO fox-hunting license plate, and a window sticker of a fox head?

I want that fucker back.

NEIGHBORHOOD

Started this week sitting in a wooden rocking chair, looking out at palm trees and feeling tiny fingers of humidity glide across my cheeks. For 5 minutes, I understood the allure of Florida.

Back in NOVA now, where it's been cold and rainy for two days straight.

Back to little obsessions as well, like that brief stretch in Wake Up (from about 1:23 to 1:27: “...colder/And I can...”) where the effects are suddenly removed from Win Butler's vocals.

I like it because it's weird and random, and I can't tell whether it is accident or design.

Kind of like my week, really...

FLO RIDA

My cell phone has a world clock feature. There’s a little animated globe, with throbbing yellow dots indicating key cities.

Asia, for example, includes dots for Tokyo, Seoul, Taipei, Manila, Beijing, Hong Kong, Jakarta, Hanoi, Singapore, Bangkok, Dhaka, Colombo, and New Delhi.

There are 9 cities listed in the Middle East, 12 in Europe.

And 1 in Africa: Cairo. That’s it. According to Verizon, Cairo is the only African city that rates.

You a racist, cell phone.

I’m Orlando bound on business. See you late next week.

As always, fight the power...

FLUSHING SURE BEATS BRUSHING

Back when I bought my first cassette copy of Combat Rock, I was surprised to hear the dialogue from a 2000 Flushes commercial pop up in the middle of Inoculated City.

Well, apparently so were the makers of 2000 Flushes, who didn't want their fine passive toilet-cleaning product associated with The Clash. So the offending section was excised from subsequent releases...

A CROWDED ROOM WHERE EVERYBODY LEAVES TOO SOON

I was writing some document summary or summary document the other day, and I used the phrase "material issue."

Of course, I thought of these guys. Forgot they ended with the singer's suicide...

FLOAT ON

Dear Modest Mouse,

So basically, this is what happened.

I bought The Moon & Antarctica back when. Really liked 3rd Planet, but hoped against hope that the rest of the album was more “The universe is shaped exactly like the earth/If you go straight long enough you end up where you were” than “I've got this thing that I consider my only art of fucking people over.”

Gravity Rides Everything followed, and was probably one of my favorite songs of whatever year that was.

But then by the next song, we were back to “And I'm real damn sure that anyone can, equally easily fuck you over.” And I'm afraid I pretty much cut bait right there. I mean, I might have listened through the rest of the album once or twice, but generally I just stuck with the openers and didn't wade in any farther.

In the end I realize that it wasn't you, it was me. It was needlessly judgmental of me to think that you had an ungenerous view of human nature. I'm like that sometimes, I guess.

Anyway, thanks so much for those two songs.

Peace and regards,

sliced tongue

WEEKEND VAMPIRE

Some weekend wisdom from the kids:

-I walked in on this conversation.
"You don't want to be a pervert, Sebastian."
"What's a pervert, Lana?"
"Someone who likes girls. Toooo much."
I walked out on this conversation.

-We were listening to a mix, and A-Punk came on.
"Why does he do that?" asked Sebastian, after the last 10 seconds or so resolved to silence.
"I... don't know."
And don't pretend you do either, smartass...

THROUGH RESTFUL WATERS

Random drive-home thoughts:

• Top 2 Beach Boys' Songs I Liked When I Was 9 But Didn't Realize at the Time Were Beach Boys' Songs

1. Darlin'
2. Sail On Sailor

• If Neutral Milk Hotel were ever to tour again, I think I'd be stricken with Stendahl syndrome just trying to order the fucking tickets.

• That Maps video was pretty damn sweet...

A KID

This is... sweet.

It's kind of like watching David Byrne eat soft cream or something...

DECLARATION

The person before me at the gas pump this morning rang up a sale of $17.76. So of course, I was obligated to do the same.

Never let it be said that I'm not a patriot.

Oh and by the way. John Adams? Total cock block...

DUCK ON BIKE

Red Kress bitches!

STANDING SULTRY IN THE RAIN

Rip Repulski bitches!

BREAKFAST IN AMERICA

Thornton Kipper bitches!

MISGUIDED BY VOICES

For all this time I’ve considered The Official Ironmen Rally Song to be an elegy to Kurt Cobain, something along the lines of You’re One and Butch by Imperial Teen: a lesser indie god’s conflicted paean to the one who spilled His blood.

Lines like “To die alone/To build a private zone/Or trigger a synapse/And free us from our traps” and “Confirmations through the wire/Spitting gas into the fire/Have I lost a worthy adversary?” seemed to support this.

Well, for some reason I looked up the lyrics online yesterday, and discovered that Robert Pollard actually sings “To dine alone” not “To die alone.” What’s more, where I heard what I thought was a tinge of a fake British accent in “Have I lost a worthy adversary?” is actually a very Ohio “Am I also worthy of a drink?”

It’s still a great song.

Hell, it might still even be about Kurt.

Sometimes it is in ignorance that we are more content…

LIGHTNING STRUCK ITSELF

Hey 1977, you might not have realized it then, but Aja and Marquee Moon were really hand in glove...

OUT ON THE TILES

I have three letters left on my rack: W, T, and F...

KYZYLPYXM

A couple of weeks back I made a Stereolab mix disc, and named it Mxyplyzyk. It was heavy on the kraut:

Anemie
Escape Pod (From the World of Medical Observations)
French Disko
Heavy Denim
John Cage Bubblegum
Klang Tone
Laissez-Faire
Margerine Rock
Pop Molecule (Molecular Pop 1)
Revox
Stomach Worm
Super-Electric
Transona Five
Transporte Sans Bouger
We're Not Adult Orientated

I figured I'd listen to this for a day or two, but I'm still playing it every day.

All of which says a few things about me.

(1) Stereolab still resonates.
(2) I'm a full-grown natural man, yet I still make mixes.
(3) I name my mixes.

I'm geek like that, bitches...

WOOLLY BULLY

New feature debuting on the tongue: Sliced Tongue Discusses Eight-Year Old Movies That No One Gave a Shit About Even Eight Years Ago.

Today: Bully, directed by Larry Clark.

I think I’ve probably seen this whole movie now, in a few different sittings.

Teen sex, teen drug use, teen anomie, teen creeps? Oh, it's all here baby.

But at it's core the movie is both reactionary and naïve. It confuses bullshit and bravado for biblical truth.

The poor little movie is scared.

And the way it uses gay sex as an easy signifier for deviancy would make proud even the most top-flight bigots...

SHAME SHAME SHAME

• Dietary manipulation: Substituting liquid meal replacements for solid food.

• Nudity: Used to cause psychological discomfort.

• Walling: Slamming detainee into a wall.

• Facial slap: Slapping detainee's face with fingers slightly spread.

• Abdominal slap: Striking the abdomen with the back of an open hand.

• Wall standing: Forcing detainee to stand with feet spread, arms outstretched, fingers resting on the wall, not permitted to move.

• Water dousing: Cold water is poured on detainee.

• Sleep deprivation: Detainee is deprived of sleep for more than 48 hours.

• Waterboarding: Pouring water over face of detainee, who is lying at an angle on his back, head lowered.

To the architects of this mess, I don't think that I can wish upon you anything worse than the rot that has overset your souls already...

CVILLE NO EVIL

Went down to Charlottesville on Monday with my sister and her kids.

We hit Plan 9, and I put a used copy of I Can Hear the Heart Beating as One in my sister's hands. Even offered to pay for it.

I fielded some questions from my 13-year old niece:

“Is The Cure good?”

“Um, sure, sometimes. What do they have?”

She pulled out three used discs: Wish, Wild Mood Swings, and Kiss Me, Kiss Me, Kiss Me.

I took the first two from her, and put them back in the racks without a word. I handed her Kiss Me, Kiss Me, Kiss Me.

“This is OK. This'll do.”

She then made the mistake of presenting me with a My Chemical Romance disc, while her mom was within earshot.

“Nah, that's emo. You don't want that. You'll just start piercing crap and wearing black eyeliner.”

My sister caught this part of the conversation and promptly vetoed the purchase. I felt like such an inadvertent bastard.

Next time I'll buy my niece a copy of Hissing Fauna and tell her mom that it's about “nature”...

ASHES TO ASHES

So now that Stereolab have thrown in, what do I find myself reaching for but Sound Dust.

It's kind of a Sean-from-Good-Will-Hunting I-miss-the-smell-of-my-dead-

wife's-fahts thing, I suppose...

DRIVE-IN SUNDAY

Happy (Mitch) Easter, y'all!

SAFETY IS SAT BY THE FIRE

Last night I was kicking at a curious bedding of straw in the backyard of an open house, and I uncovered a dead frog.

Which felt particularly, um, biblical. Especially given that it was the first night of Passover.

So I dumped a couple of buckets of lambs' blood on the kids and got the hell out of there.

We won't be making an offer...

DAVY WHO'S STILL IN THE NAVY

Last week, after visiting another house with living conditions you never would have suspected, I turned to Taeko and said “Every real-estate agent should be a novelist.”

It wasn't until a couple of days later that I realized I had validated a fooking Billy Joel lyric...

THANK YOU FOR THE MUSIC

Well, Stereolab announced they are "on hiatus," and it sounds pretty permanent.

Au revoir, les enfants...

DEAR SIR OR MADAM

I’ve never made a big effort to share my writing with the world. In general, I have not stretched beyond the dear horizon of some indulgent friends.

This blog is really no different. The audience is made up of friends, and the occasional misdirected soul in search of further info on body modification and/or deli meats.

I have always made the fairly safe assumption that there is not a defined audience for anything I’m comfortable doing.

I’m not making a show of being self-critical here. Nor am I applying for status as a misunderstood genius. It just is what it is.

For example, very little in the history to date of this blog has given me more pleasure than working through the first 10 chapters of Halo, and very little likewise tested the gentle reader’s patience to a comparable degree. And I get that.

Gladiola Dialog represents one of my only dalliances with the larger world. Some years ago, the John Lennon Songwriting Contest (which carries Yoko’s imprimatur) included a lyric-writing category.

So, I had the title “Gladiola Dialog”— I liked the way the words looked next to each other, more than anything else— and I decided that a well-selected and well-arranged listing of different types of gladiolas was the best lyrical fit for that title.

I thought this was in good creative communication with Yoko’s roots in the Fluxus movement, and with how that influence cross-pollinated with John’s pop sensibilities.

I wrote a $40 check for the entrance fee, and sent Gladiola Dialog on its way.

When the winners were announced months later, I saw that the grand prize went to a lyric that was a sturdy and able paean to the blues.

I did not expect to win.

But to this day, I don’t know exactly what I did expect…

LOOKING FOR THE FUCKING FLOWERS

Gladiola Dialog

Amberglo
Antique rose
Aztec gold
Blue beauty

Blue symphony
Bombay
Bridal veil
Calliope

Candy cane
Carved ivory
Creation
Daydream
Devotion

Elegance
Emerald
Empire yellow
Eventide
Flamenco

Grand illusion
Isle of fire
Majestic star
Meteorite

Midnight moon
Nectarine
Obsession

Opaline
Painted lips
Peachy keen
Phantom

Rare jewel
Red alert
Red dandy

Regal robe
Saxony
Sheer poetry

Smokestack
Solar flare
Summer rose
Tall dark blue
Top honor

True love
Violence
Visual arts

FAUNING HISSER

You know how I can tell that Hissing Fauna is a genius album? It basically ends with 1/4 of a Pink Floyd song (Labyrinthian Pomp), 3/4 of a Franz Ferdinand song (She's a Rejecter), and about 1/3 of a Cure song (We Were Born the Mutants Again With Leafling), yet still manages to be brilliant.

Winning!

THE SILENCE OF ICE

Next in our series of Broadcast/of Montreal connections: the reference to “Valerie and Her Week of Wonders” from St. Exquisite's Confession.

"Valerie" is a very weird Czech film from 1970, which led to a very beautiful Broadcast song from Haha Sound.

Here's two great tastes that taste great together...

AT HOME HE'S A TOURIST

You know what's the perfect soundtrack for when you put in an offer on a house you really love, only to get outbid by someone else? Entertainment!

And I was listening me to some Gang of Four today...

FEARNLEY, FINER, STACY, RANKEN, HUNT, CHEVRON, WOODS

I'm going to forgo praising Shane for being ambulatory, relatively coherent, and well, alive.

Instead: All hail the Pogues (the band)! I mean, those old buggers are furious, maudlin, and festive, and can change course at the drop of a die.

Can they be sloppy, and fall out of sync just as easily? Well fuck yes, but they're kind of predicated on that, you know...

I THOUGHT OF TOMORROW

If you had told me 20 years ago that on St. Patrick's Day 2009 I'd be suiting up for my third original-lineup Pogues' show in four years, I would have called you daft.

So glory be to god for improbabilities and shit...

TODAY’S THE DAY THE BE@RBRICKS HAVE THEIR DISCO

I finally figured out a suitable place to put my electronic disco ball.

It hovers in the corner of my desk, spinning like a fabulous planet. The motor groans like a fish-tank filter.

And now my Be@rbricks and their friends have a reason to cross the bridge into Brooklyn.

Currypanman and Kappa Anpanman stand in their dance cages and survey the crowd. Crystal Jelly Be@r downrocks like a mutha. Escher Be@r and Blue Gumby Girl do the robot in mirror form. Qee Keychain Bear checks out their moves, while Saw the Movie Be@r goes full-on Manero.

Brothers and sisters, how deep is your love?

THE LETTER

OK, Post Alpha-Bits no longer resemble letters for shit.

They should call it Post Ankhs 'n Twigs, which is a fairer description of what ends up in your bowl.

Man, if America can't recapture its cereal-making magic, it is a doomed empire for certain...

MOODS THAT TAKE ME

Finally took the time to watch Once over the weekend. (Full disclosure: I used the closed captioning.)

It was agreeably slight.

I mean, I enjoyed it, but I didn't cry a lick. And I get misty watching the fecking roller derby.

But that scene where they perform Falling Slowly? I've watched that a couple of times each day since.

Damn, that is one fine Oscar-winning song right there...

CHOCOLATE

Got a new cell phone last month, and expanded my ringtone options. Here’s my current list, along with the segment of each song that plays:

Surrender, Cheap Trick

Mommy’s alright, daddy’s alright
They just seem a little weird
Surrender, surrender
But don’t give yourself away…



Gronlandic Edit, of Montreal

I guess it would be nice
To give my heart to a god
But which one, which one do I choose?
All the churches filled with losers
Psycho or confused…



Connection, The Rolling Stones

Connection
I just can’t make no connection
But all I want to do
Is to get back to you.
Everything is going in the wrong direction…



Papercuts, Broadcast

You can’t pretend ‘cause I can see
You’re not the boy you used to be
Trust me with a secret you can’t keep.
I watch your eyes they shift with doubt
So every night when stars come out
I try to read your personality…



King of Carrot Flowers, Part 1, Neutral Milk Hotel

When you were young you were the king of carrot flowers
And how you built a tower tumbling through the trees
In holy rattlesnakes that fell all around your feet...



Did You See the Words, Animal Collective

Do the elderly couples still kiss and hug and grab their big wrinkly skin so tough wrinkly wrink wrink wrinkly rough...



So give me a call sometime. I probably won’t answer, but give me a call…

PITCHER THIS

Genuine Saberhagens are exceedingly rare. Dear Catastrophe Waitress could be one. Maybe Peace and Love.

Now you might think initially that The Beatles' white album is a Saberhagen. But it's not.

The white album is actually a Phil Niekro.

That is, it gets by on a gimmick pitch, and is just as likely to win as it is to lose. It is revered out of proportion to its quality, and earns esteem for its sheer length.

Damn that knuckler...

CRAZY WAY OF LOVING

My buddy brain coral posited the other day that only every other track on Merriweather Post Pavillion is strong.

I call this kind of album a Saberhagen, in honor of former MLB pitcher Bret Saberhagen. He had a knack at the beginning of his career for doing poorly in even-numbered years while excelling in the odd ones:

1984: 10-11
1985: 20-6
1986: 7-12
1987: 18-10
1988: 14-16
1989: 23-6
1990: 5-9
1991: 13-8

Man, there’s something damn near poetic/heroic about that pattern…

OM

Here's a good way to spend 41:29 this weekend...

STORM FRONT

Taeko wanted me to download some music from YouTube for her, maybe burn a CD.

She sent me links to 5 or 6 videos by a group called Arashi.

Which is, um, a Japanese boy band of some sort. One of Johnny's group, she told me.

Apparently, “Johnny” is a Japanese boy-band impresario without peer. Grows them like fungi, does Johnny.

-OK, are you crushing on one of these guys?

She pointed to the one in the pink sweater.

I mocked her half-heartedly, to appease the small sampling of jealousy I felt.

But more than anything, I was excited. It was so out of character that I was just damn excited...

TODAY OR NEXT YEAR

of Montreal does a version of Broadcast's Colour Me In that's pretty non-essential, but it illustrates their shared predilection for sweet sticky things dipped in weird crunchy coatings.

Come back, Broadcast. I miss you.

IN THUNDER CLOUDS ABOVE THE CITY

I spent Valentine's Day at a wedding in Terrace on the Park, overlooking the last remnants of Shea Stadium.

And while we poked at lemon sherbet and pondered the dessert tables, Shea girded itself for destruction.

The final piece came down today.

TIME WON'T GIVE ME TIME

Man, the present can be tiring, but the past is just goddam exhausting...

MAN GAVE NAMES

I have long admired the ability of the Japanese to name the living fuck out of shit.

My favorite chocolate bar? Why, Crunky, of course.

But even I was blown away by this band name I came across while watching Music Station the other day: ladies and gentlemen, I give you... flumpool.

Wow. Just, wow.

ROSIN UP YOUR BOW AND PLAY YOUR FIDDLE HARD

IT'S THE BEGINNING OF A NEW AGE

I'm a peaceful guy. Honest I am.

That being said, everyone involved with The Last Mimzy needs to get head punched.

That includes you, Dwight from The Office...

SPROING

Spring is disco, art history, and punk rock, neatsfoot oil and mended hearts.

It was in the air today, and it felt good...

ANGER IS AN ENERGY

Injustice tears at Sebastian.

He’s probably too young for me to call him noble, exactly, but it’s something close.

If he feels that I have slighted his mother or his sister even a little, he lets me know about it. I shoved Taeko gently the other day, in response to some cardio-kick moves that she had laid on me. Sebastian rose quietly from his chair, circled the perimeter of the table, and without an immediate word, started pushing me.

“How do you like it? Is it funny?” He was in a heat, but I wouldn’t call it a rage. He really wanted an answer.

And lest you think it’s all Oedipal, he will spring with equal zeal to the defense of total strangers. I once made fun of an abstract someone, and he tried to turn around and do the same to me.

“How do you like it? Is it funny?”

I think he’s always a little surprised by my response:

“Thank you, Sebastian. Thank you.”

Injustice tears at Sebastian, and it always will…

TWO TIX TO PARADISE

I have two St. Patrick's Day Pogues tickets up for auction, starting at $150 for the pair, and I haven't seen a bid yet.

Not sure if this is a product of the economic collapse, or a result of my sacrilegious hucksterism.

See, in the item description, I kinda sorta compared seeing the Pogues on St. Patrick's Day to seeing Jesus on Christmas...

WHAT A GOOD PLACE TO BE

Something that I've been listening to recently has got me thinking about Happy Hour by The Housemartins, but I can't for the life of me place what it is...

ORGANIC ADDICT

I have a new analogy for when something is really common and easy to find: "Like an Obama bumper sticker on a Prius in a Whole Foods parking lot."

As in: "Dang, new-home prices continue to freefall in the face of an ongoing economic collapse. Those things are like an Obama bumper sticker on a Prius in a Whole Foods parking lot at this point."

Haven't had a chance to debut it formally yet, but I'm just biding my time...

FALL ON SLOUGH

Prerecorded Conference Call Dude: Now entering the conference. You are the --- 10th --- caller.

Me: [Pause] Awesome! I'm the 10th caller. Do I win the REO Speedwagon tickets?

Other 9 Callers: [Laughter]

David Brent, bitches! What?

WE'RE DEDICATED TO OUR FAVORITE SHOWS

The kids had a sleepover last night, and this morning I was reporting the day's weather forecast to the whole gang.

-Snow. One to four inches.

-Snow!?

Sebastian was down with it. But Amity was skeptical.

-You can't believe everything you see on TV, you know.

Dang, that is one media-savvy kid right there.

-Because cartoons aren't real.

OK, I still think she's media savvy...

LUCKY NUMBER

Reasons why I'm a suspect father, part 12:

-I don't always correct malaprops if I think they are cute and/or amusing.

So yes, Sebastian's kindergarten teacher, I have had the opportunity to tell him that the machine for performing simple calculations is not called a “conculator.”

But, dammit, I just can't bring myself to do it...

PLEASING PEOPLE IS SO PREDICTABLE

In my dreams, Danielson is Daniel.

I went to college with Daniel. We were both English majors, and we met in an intermediate Spanish class that was eight leagues over our heads.

Daniel wrote ornate and out-of-time poetry with his sister. He had a quick defensive sense of humor, and punctuated perhaps too many conversations with a braying, nasally laugh. He was kind and gentle, and did not have a social clue.

I’ve read enough biographical information to know that Danielson is not actually Daniel.

But in my dreams, Danielson is Daniel…

InAUGURation

America, 1/20/09

LIVING PROOF AT MY FINGERTIPS

Today is our 16th wedding anniversary.

The traditional gift for number 16 is silver holloware.

I… don’t know what that is.

Maybe this will cover it.

I love you, Tae-chan.

WHEN IT'S COLD I'D LIKE TO DIE

OK, Winter. I like you. Honest I do.

But single-digit temperatures? I'm not with that.

Get your shit together, 'K?

A DODGY TRANSFORMER

Dear Santa,
I realize it's a little late, but
All I Want for Christmas is a Dukla Prague Away Kit...

Peace and cookies,
sliced tongue

VENE VIDA VICI

OK, so apparently there's one thing you can't avoid when you're shopping for a new suit: fucking Coldplay.

And Coldplay corrodes my civility-- their middlebrowbeating actually makes me angry. They should really stop doing whatever the hell it is that they're doing exactly.

I still don't have a suit, and I blame them...

OH, THE WATER

Some nights, taking a bath with your six-year old son can feel like an act of pure defiance...

CRACKING MY SWEET LOVE

Things I know about Skeletal Lamping:

-My obsession with Hissing Fauna made it tough for Skeletal Lamping to gain a foothold with me initially. It’s sort of like when Stereolab followed Dots and Loops with Cobra and Phases.
-Like Cobra and Phases, Skeletal Lamping is three or four songs too long. Not sure which ones just yet.
-The fact that I don’t have a set of those mad vinyl stickers on my office wall still baffles me. I stare at empty off-white space each day, and it mocks me. Soon, my Capri Coast OC-87, friend. Soon.
-Taeko says it sounds like David Bowie. She’s convinced I have some latent David Bowie fixation. I swear I don’t. Oh, BTW, Happy Birthday, David Bowie!
-The last two minutes of Nonpareil of Favor is pretty much bliss on a stick.

CENSORED FROM OUR MINDS

One of the albums I downloaded from Amazon was Aftermath.

The American version was my favorite Stones disc when I was 15 or 16, and I’ve always been curious about the UK version.

Back in the 60s, American labels had a nasty habit of altering the track listings of domestic releases by bands like the Beatles and the Stones. They would pull off UK tracks for release as stateside singles, or eventually bundle a bunch of orphaned tracks together to create US-only compilations.

The Beatles loved this practice so much that they resorted to fake dead babies to make a point:



Here are the respective tracklists for the US and UK versions of Aftermath, with original album sides just for kicks:

US version:

Side one
1.Paint It, Black
2.Stupid Girl
3.Lady Jane
4.Under My Thumb
5.Doncha Bother Me
6.Think

Side two
1.Flight 505
2.High and Dry
3.It's Not Easy
4.I Am Waiting
5.Goin' Home

UK version:

Side one
1.Mother's Little Helper
2.Stupid Girl
3.Lady Jane
4.Under My Thumb
5.Doncha Bother Me
6.Goin' Home

Side two
1.Flight 505
2.High and Dry
3.Out of Time
4.It's Not Easy
5.I Am Waiting
6.Take It or Leave It
7.Think
8.What to Do

So the UK version has the US version beat on sheer volume. (Out of Time, Take It or Leave It, and What to Do would later appear on Flowers and More Hot Rocks.)

The US got Paint It, Black (and, yes, the, Stones, were, as, surprised, as, anyone, by, that, interloping, comma) over an alternate mix of Mother’s Little Helper, which I’ll call a wash.

And both the UK and the US got a gobsmacking amount of misogyny. It is truly a thing of wonder to hear Stupid Girl (“She’s the sickest thing in this world…”) turn into Lady Jane (“I pledge my troth to Lady Jane…”), and then end up Under My Thumb (“The way she does just what she’s told…).

Angry much, boys?

My favorite part of the US version has always been the way it ends, with I Am Waiting and Goin’ Home, so the original UK sequencing is going to take some getting used to.

The next Stones album after Aftermath was Between the Buttons, and this was the last time the UK and US releases differed. The UK edition contained Back Street Girl and Please Go Home, which were replaced in the US with the double-sided single tracks, Let’s Spend the Night Together and Ruby Tuesday. (Back Street Girl and Please Go Home ended up on Flowers.)

And thus ends today’s archeological dig…

MP GARDEN

Allow me a brief moment to pimp for one billion-dollar corporation in favor of another and recommend Amazon's MP3 downloads over iTunes.

The selection is pretty first rate, and it appears that all the files are encoded at 256 kbps, as opposed to iTunes' typical 128. (iTunes+ my ass.)

And at least for the moment, they're making an effort to undercut iTunes pricing as well. Last time I checked, you could score the most-recent Cut Copy, M83, Hold Steady, Fleet Foxes, TV On the Radio, Beck, Vampire Weekend, Santogold, and Byrne/Eno for exactly $5 a pop.

Chugalug.

TWO THOUSAND AND NINE

It struck me a few weeks ago that I can no longer really tell 1995 from 2005. Time is starting to bend back around like a sled rail, and the years are beginning to loop.

So welcome 2009. Or 1999. Or 1989. Whatever.

FF 2008

So, Pitchfork gave album of the year to Fleet Foxes.

I like foxes. They're cute.

I like fleet. The adjective. Not the naval formation or the enema so much.

But Fleet Foxes kind of bore me. Like The Band or honking something.

I can't claim to have a cinemascopic view of 2008, but I'm going to stick with Nouns by No Age as my top pick...

TRAILER-LA-LA-LA

Um, yeah, OK. So it turns out the “dudes getting' facials” song was not actually Gay-Porn Country.

I had to do some digging to figure this out, though.

See, the singer's name is Brad Paisley. Which is really a perfect name for a Gay-Porn Country star, when you get right down to it.

The title of the song? “I'm Still a Guy.” Again, Gay-Porn Country gold.

But then the rest of the lyrics give it away. I mean, here's the opening couplet:

“When you see a deer you see Bambi,
And I see antlers up on the wall.”

So it appears this is from the more familiar Dumbfuck White-Trash Redneck Country genre.

Apologies for the mixup, y'all.

MINI PEARLS

I was one lane over from a white pickup truck yesterday, when I heard this blarin’ from a cracked window: “There’s dudes gettin’ facials…”

The light changed before I could hear any more than this g-droppin’ snippet.

But my wonderin’ ears were delighted to have happened upon a genre that I ain’t never encountered before: Gay-Porn Country.

I mean, I am got-dagblasted proud to be livin’ in a nation that is so all-fire inclusive and open-minded as to welcome this particular style of music into its Fords and Chevys. I’m wipin’ a tear from my eye.

Bravo, ‘Merica. Bra-feckin'-vo.

LISTEN TO THE SILENCE

I shitcanned the Sirius today, after three years of service.

The display on my car receiver bit the dust several months ago. I found out that my unit was obsolete, and if I wanted to replace it, I'd need to install new rigging along with the new radio.

This sealed the deal for me. I'm not about to get stuck on a hardware upgrade/replacement merry-go-round, particularly for the sake of a pay service.

Things I liked about Sirius:
-Initial exposure to some good bands: Arcade Fire, Clap Your Hands Say Yeah, No Age, etc.
-Genre/era immersion. In a 70s mood? Got you covered.
-Lack of commercials.
-24-hour Rolling Stones channel.
-Andrew Loog Oldham, for that matter.
-The artist/title scroll.
-2008 Dolphins football.

Things I didn't like about Sirius:
-Crap bands like Klaxons.
-Classic rock immersion. In a Kansas mood? Seriously? Are you? What the fuck is wrong with you, anyway?
-Heard Stereolab once in the entire three years. Neon Beanbag. Last week.
-24-hour AC/DC channel. That's 12 hours of AC, and 12 hours of DC. Sorry, the catalogue just does not warrant that kind of coverage.
-Bandwidth compression. They might as well be broadcasting in mono.
-2007 Dolphins football.

Things that left me nonplussed about Sirius:
-Mediocre bands, too numerous to mention.
-Disc jockeys. The discs don't need no jockeying when you got the artist/title scroll.
-24-hour Bruce Springsteen channel. I suppose.
-XM merger. Meh.

I'm enough of a milestone junkie to be a little saddened that it's over.

Good luck, satrad. I think you'll be needing it...

IN THIS EVER CHANGING WORLD IN WHICH WE LIVE IN

Why “I want to go to there” is not a catchphrase sweeping the nation, I just don’t know.

The asses who like to spout catchphrases should be exhausted by now with spouting this.

It’s like a prime-period Wings song: simpleminded and syntactically wobbly, but with an economical genius that will make it stick in your head for weeks on end.

Go to 4:15 here for an example...

D&D

Last week I downloaded the four Derek and the Dominoes songs that I like: Bell Bottom Blues, Why Does Love Got to Be So Sad, Little Wing, and Layla. That's a magisterially fecked up collection of tunes right there.

And as an added bonus, the iPod truncates the album title as follows: Layla and Other Ass.

Which might be a more accurate title, when you get right down to it...

HOLA

And forgive me if those 10 “chapter” entries were deca WTF. I was serializing the opening of my micro-novel, Halo.

The micro-novel is designed to be a quick jolt of a story-- maybe 50 to 75 chapters that you could take down in an hour-- with lots of silent spaces and nooks.

So, the disappearing telephone wires in Chapter 1 could bring to mind broken conversations. And the selected voice (“would stretch out”) could add to that sense of disconnectedness. And/or the scene could be meant to convey a dark, overcast early fall afternoon.

Mind you, I wouldn't argue with the position that the enterprise to date is a complete and abject failure.

But fuck, points for trying, right?

IT'S A MIGHTY LONG WAY DOWN ROCK AND ROLL

I just went from DC to Detroit, Detroit to South Bend, South Bend to Detroit, Detroit to Memphis, and Memphis to DC, with some driving from South Bend back into Michigan, and from Memphis into Mississippi. In the span of 36 hours.

Before I left, I dropped a certain song on my iPod. It was like filling a canteen with water.

So as the bell rang on board my last leg this afternoon, I plugged in my earphones and listened to All the Way From Memphis by Mott the Hoople.

I was slaked, and I made it home alive...

CHAPTER 10

[They stood in the wide entryway for a brief moment, coronal silhouettes.

Kin peeked over the edge of the carriage, and pushed a silent puff of air past his lips.

They walked into the garage.

-Motherfucker. Stupid motherfucker!

-What? I told you.

-Yeah, you told me. And that makes it better somehow?

-We still have 120. We'll get two with 120. I called before I left.

-So he's going to meet us?

-Yeah, in like an hour. In the sump.

-OK.

They dropped their Marlboro red boxes on the narrow concrete shelf that jutted out where the plasterboard wall ended.

This was Kin's older brother Ray, and his friend Sarge from over on Brown.

Ray flipped the top of a Zippo open with one hand, dropped it down to his side, then scraped it up along his pant leg so that it lit. Then he closed the top and did it again.

Sarge pulled a shuriken out of the soft, camel-brown wall and stepped back five or six feet. He released it quickly, the action mostly from his wrist, and the shuriken entered the wall with a powdery thud.

-To Oz?

-To Oz.

They collected their cigarettes from the shelf and walked back outside, bringing the garage door down behind them.

And it was once again dark.]

CHAPTER 9

-Not the moors again.

-Yup.

-Fuck.

-Tell me about it. I always think you're going to turn into Kate Bush or something.

-Or Emily Bronte?

-Yeah, or Emily Bronte. You know, raven tressed, storm tossed, consumptive...

-What is consumption, anyway? TB?

-Christ, I'm not sure really. But yeah, I think it's TB. Personally I like it.

-You like it?

-Not the disease-- the name. The idea of being consumed by a disease.

-Well, you're a sick fuck.

-And thank you kindly, ma'am.

CHAPTER 8

His name was not really Kin, but she thought it fit, and it rhymed with hers.

Her name was Gin, but not like the juniper-berry drink. She'd say

-Gin, same as “gun” except with an I instead of a U.

She liked how the vowels would masquerade as pronouns. It felt confrontational, even if she was the only one who ever noticed. Especially if she was the only one who noticed...

CHAPTER 7

-We are out on the moors, Kin. We are out on the moors.

-No, we're in the car.

-We are out on the moors. We are out on the moors. We are out on the moors.

-We are in the car.

-We are out on the moors. We are out on the moors. We are out on the moors, Kin. We are out on the moors.

-No.

And then she returned.

CHAPTER 6

[There was a baby carriage in the back of the garage, dark blue and canopied, with 5” wheels and a wobbly suspension. It was empty by then, but for years it had been filled with bundles of old newspapers, wrapped portrait and landscape in twine.

They huddled together bottomless in that carriage in the dark garage. Inside the house his father drank Champale and groped his mother's tits at the kitchen table. His mother practiced a Chopin nocturne on her knee in an effort not to notice.

-It looks like a little apple.

The garage door opened and bathed every corner in late afternoon light, and they didn't dare move an inch.]

CHAPTER 5

-Shit.

CHAPTER 4

-Crackers, cookies, crackers, cookies, crackers, cookies...

She tried to keep her mind busy.

Then she saw him reach. He was probably in his late 30s. Underdressed for the weather.

He was reaching to pluck something from an aluminum display tree adjacent to the Fudge Stripes. A Hot Wheels car. He ran a finger over the clear plastic shell, and raised the package up slightly to look at the undercarriage.

She dropped the bottle of soda, and a quick surge ran through her upper back. She waited for everything to turn red, she waited for the densified concrete floor to open and swallow her whole. But instead she just cried, low and quiet and shuddery.

CHAPTER 3

She turned and walked down the soda aisle. Only a few people there, which was good. She wanted to move. She wanted to move.

There was a little girl dancing lightly from Pepsi to Sprite. The stock clerk had the black dead eyes of a shark or an alcoholic. This would be easy.

As the neck of the bottle pressed against her thenar eminence she grasped and lifted, barely breaking stride.

Done.

CHAPTER 2

-Parmesan Goldfish and Mr Pibb.

He reached into his right pocket until his leg was completely straight, and his foot strained against the floorboard.

-Here's 5. You sure you want to?

-Yes.

She grabbed the bill and stepped out of the car onto a two-foot tall orange E. FIRE LANE.

He muttered to himself-- Shit-- and fiddled with the knob on the car stereo...

CHAPTER 1

October 19, 1:01 PM. And the telephone wires would stretch out against the sky and disappear.

KOOKIE, KOOKIE, LEND ME YOUR COMB

I was explaining to Taeko why I didn't have a comb.

“I dropped it in the toilet by accident a few days ago.”

“So. You wash it.”

“No, sorry. Strict rule: If it falls in the toilet, game over.”

“You'd never survive in a war.”

“A war? Is there some global combat imminent that's going to involve dunking my personal-grooming products in the toilet?”

Silence

“Because I think I have a right to know, dammit.”

Additional silence.

“But yeah, if those are the rules of warfare, I'm pretty much a dead man...”

I FOUND THAT ESSENCE RARE

Politics, huh? Well, OK.

I became aware of politics in the 70s. My grandmother was prominent in the local Republican woman’s club. I wrote derogatory grade-school limericks about Gerald Ford. In 7th grade, I stole a copy of The Doonesbury Chronicles from the school library.

In the 80s I felt mildly oppressed by first-round Reagan, and morbidly oppressed by second-round Reagan. The America of 1984-1988 was not my America.

Bush the First held the faintly unpleasant aftertaste of the Reagan years. I crinkled my nose and swallowed hard.

I forgave Clinton his peccadilloes in light of many of his policies, but I didn’t trust a word he said. I spent my time waiting for Cuomo… but Cuomo never came.

Gore seemed to possess a developed sense of fairness and decency, so I was satisfied when he was elected, Tipper notwithstanding. Then Bush the Second stole the consarnit thing, and we were condemned to four years of an Empire of Idiocy, then complicit in it for another four.

Yesterday we woke up. And for the first time in a long time, I can say that I am proud of this country.

Well done, America. Well effing done…