I Hope I Die Before I Get Old

A Smalle Ode

O septegenarian lady at the gym today,
Why dost thou walk around naked--
Nay, also moisturize your legs
By hoisting one (certainly a most amazing feat)
On to the vanity counter?

Drink Scotch Whisky All Night Long

...And die behind the wheel.

Steely Dan moment. It's the weekend, people.

You Can All Just Kiss Off Into The Air

The routers, LANs, POPs, and T1s of the interweb are aflame these days with the rage of thousands of post-punk, pre-Beck music lovers. Two-kids-and-a-Subaru-Forester-in-Wauwatosa, WI thirtysomethings can agree with still-but-unadmittedly-clinging-to-hipsterhood-in-Ukrainian Village (or Buckhead, or Somerville, or Bay View, or, ugh, Brooklyn):

It sucks that Wendy's is using "Blister In The Sun" in a new commercial campaign to peddle its chili and baked potatoes. Complete with a smug, disaffected Gen X-sounding voiceover.

There's really nothing else to be said. Except that maybe the real estate market bottomed out in Connecticut just when Gordon was ditching the two-car, four-bedroom Colonial for a one-car, five-bedroom with a mud-room and sunken koi pond A-Frame, and when a man's gotta mortgage to pay, he's gotta mortgage to pay.

So, instead, let's remember our wee friend when he was fuzzy-headed and fey and frustrating and the sight of a man playing his drum kit standing up was cool, not two inches of eyeliner and a pierced something-or-other.




This clip, incidentally, is from 1984, exactly when I first heard the name "The Violent Femmes" (in homeroom in the Chem lab and I thought they were an all-female punk band, thereby presaging the Riot Grrrl movement by at least nine years) and the same year that the Wendy's "Where's the Beef" ad was rolled out and Clara Peller ruled cathode ray tubes across the nation.

Which all to say, I feel old.

Pull It On We Got A Tight Fit

Dude. I know how crappy this feels, it was totally this way last week when I was in Banana Republic trying to find a pair of overdyed boot-cut jeans...

They Smile In Your Face/All The Time They Wanna Take Your Place

I witnessed a defining moment the other night at the House of Blues.

hustle Slang. to earn one's living by illicit or unethical means.

Fig. 1: lyric from Kevin Federline's "rap music concert:"

"My name's K-Federline/Ben Franklin's a good friend of mine"

Fig. 2: lyric from Kevin Federline's "rap music concert:"

"I got 50 mill. /I can do whatever I want "

Fig. 3: lyric from Kevin Federline's "rap music concert:"

I come tight with every rhyme/I built a kingdom down the street from Pepperdine/This marijuana got me heavily sedated/I'm Kevin Federline America's most hated (what!)

Run, Rabbit, Run

In the time-honored tradition of other blogs I admire (imitation=flattery, y'all), I hereby institute

PINK FLOYD FRIDAYS

Because what's better to ease you into the weekend than a Friday-morning spin of some Floyd?

I've never been a pothead, so I delight in chillaxing with the Floyd when the day is tastily stretched out ahead of me, weekday pressures are gone.

There was a period of time where anyone who came to my two-residences-ago coach house apartment was forced to listen to the interlude on the first track of Dark Side of the Moon where "Speak to Me" effervesces into "Breathe." Even in my crumbly attic apartment with the weird ceiling-stuccoed walls, you can just imagine Dark Side of the Moon being played up to the stars, as it was in 1972 at a launch party at the London Planetarium. Better that than synchronizing it with a DVD of The Wizard of Oz. I just don't think anything should interfere with the Floyd -- except perhaps embellishments of their own design.

Oh, and record scratches.

I gotta get a turntable. Til then my own copy of DSOTM is as useful as a placemat.

Next: Steely Dan Sunday!

Starry, Starry Night

I just heard this song.

While I do have a particularly pungent loathing for "American Pie" not only due to its exhausting length but some bad experiences with it involving microwave popcorn, a college dorm lobby, and twenty over-hormoned high school drama students, I truly heard the lyrics to this song just now, and--damn. It's gorgeous.

Maybe because I just saw Vincent yesterday at the Art Institute...

We Walk Away, Maybe Then Shake Hands

I have a secret.

I love "But Anyway" by the Blues Traveler, despite the cloying harmonica and patchouli reek. It's got such a great groove. Whoever is their drummer is a pretty good drummer. And I heard them play it for the 7 minutes I watched them at Lollapalooza in August.



Good God, Allmusic tells me this song is from 1990!

Cripey. I was placing it at an entirely different time, say 96 or 97, round about the time the Bob Dylan's hot son was singing in the Top Ten in his leather jacket.

What's clear is that this decade has entered its second half, and I need to get into the first. Maybe I should start with, say, OK GO. That will get me up to at least 2002...

Life In A Northern Town

Ah hey ma ma ma ma...

He Is Your Marrow/And Your Ride Home

Postscript to Brown-Eyed Blue Line Emo Boy,

I saw you again tonight, this time at the Damen station. I ran into a friend and as she and I walked down the east-side stairs, you came down the west. We were on the same train.

Tonight you wore a sporty Timberland-type coat and a backpack. But I knew it was you when I saw those eyes--and that tuft of hair that juts from the right side of your head.

I didn't see your cassette player and headphones; tonight, were you just listening to your thoughts?