Random Facts Meme

So now that I've been tagged by not one, but two, different bloggers (Aspazia of Mad Melancholic Feminista and Larry Hamelin of The Barefoot Bum) , I guess I should finally participate in this meme.

First off, we have the rules:

• We have to post these rules before we give you the facts.
• Players start with eight random facts/habits about themselves.
• People who are tagged need to write their own blog about their eight things and post these rules.
• At the end of your blog post, you need to choose eight people to get tagged and list their names.
• Don't forget to leave them a comment telling them they're tagged, and to read your blog.

And now my eight things:

• The first five and a half years of my academic life (Kindergarten onward) were spent in the public school system. Then, I switched to Greenwood Friends School in the middle of my fifth grade year. Now, after three and a half years at Greenwood, I am once again enrolled in the public school system, as I will be starting public high school this fall.

• I studied violin for three and a half years before quitting to focus on guitar a little more than a year ago, studying first with the string teachers at my public elementary school and then with Marcus Smolensky of Bucknell and Susquehanna Universities.
  

• I live, and have lived for my entire live, in a house without any broadcasted television. No cable, no annoying rabbit ears, nothing.

• Even though I have no cable, I actually very much enjoy several TV shows that I follow avidly through Netfilx, DVD boxed sets, iTunes subscriptions, and generous friends who tape things for me. Favorite shows include the Sopranos, the Office (BBC and NBC), Dirt, Friends, and (I'm blushing just revealing this) Grey's Anatomy. Also, my parents have a thing for bad British dramas, and they are constantly Netflix-ing shows like BallyKissAngel and Cracker.

• I have NEVER cried at a movie. Never. My friends think I'm dead inside.

• I can honestly say that there isn't any style of (secular) music I actually dislike, except maybe Country'n'Western (although Chuck Klosterman pretty much convinced me otherwise in his essay on the topic.)

• I discovered a couple of weeks ago that I seem to have a thing for charismatic, gravely-voiced folk/roots singers. I consider myself a fan of Tom Waits, Leonard Cohen, Daniel Lanois, and Chris Whitley, just to name a few. And Dr. John and Leo Kotke, but I'm not sure if they fall into the same category.

• And finally, today, June 27, 2007, is my fourteenth birthday.
  

Now I've got to tag people. Ughh, I hate this part...

SteveG
M. LeBlanc
Dr. Violet Socks
Jeremy dePrisco
Madman In The Marketplace
QuakerDave
Tomas Nadlehoffer

Okay, my part of the meme has been fulfilled!

Hip-Hop and White America

I have been thinking a lot about the Don Imus scandal lately. While I realize this is somewhat of a delayed reaction, it actually sort of fits a pattern in the way I experience news and politics, especially when this "news" or political intrigue has to do with popular culture or celebrity gossip. I normally find ways to ignore these delectable items of news (and so resist formulating opinions on them) while they are firmly in the limelight, but as soon as they have faded into the woodwork and disappeared from the Internet news headlines, I begin to reflect on these events I had somehow managed to ignore. So I have been thinking about the Don Imus scandal lately, and especially about the recent flurry of attention being given to racist and sexist lyrics in rap music. And the one thing I have reflected upon the most is the use of the word "nigger" in rap music and other forms of black American art and culture.

The use of the word "nigger" in predominately black hip-hop and rap music seems to be something that everyone has a strong opinion about, even to the point of making it a pseudo- political issue. I have never really had a problem with the common use of the word by black singers, musicians, rappers, and other black cultural figures, simply because much of the music and art that employs the word comes from a strong sense of hardship and persecution, whether from the back-breaking poverty of inner-city ghettos or at the hands of a bigoted, privileged white society. The word "nigger" is a direct symbol of this racist persecution and a reminder of black Americans' heritage of hardship, and the event of a persecuted group taking the very word that is a symbol of their persecution and turning it into something positive is not an unprecedented incident at all. The gay population of the eighties and nineties warped the derogatory term "queer", long used an an insult against gay and lesbian individuals, into a positive word of pride and encouragement, and the white, working-class, urban youth of '60's and '70's Europe twisted the insulting "punk" into a word that would define them and their culture for decades to come. To me, it seems only logical that a group as persecuted as black Americans would create some sort of culture from the decades of bigotry they have had to endure.

Unfortunately for my argument, though, it is hard to disagree with the fact that hip-hop has moved from the street corners and inner cities of black America into the dorm rooms, car stereos, and boomboxes of thousands of white, middle class youth. And it is apparent that many of these middle-class white youth have adopted the norms of black culture as their mantra, thus once again finding a way to incorporate the word "nigger", hurtful rather than empowering on their lips, into a white society cleansed of that kind of language by Martin Luther King and the civil rights movement. It is just this kind of paradox that led Don Imus to say the deplorable things he did, and just the same kind of paradox that allows rural, white America to idolize black rappers and comedians, while still displaying a frightening level of day-to-day racism and fear of minorities.

New(ish) CD: Tim Armstrong's A Poet's Life

If this album had been recorded by anyone but Tim Armstrong, there's no way it would have been considered punk rock. Rather, it would have been considered what it is: one of the most important modern reggae albums to be released in years, and the CD on which the versatile Tim Armstrong comes full circle, from his early ska/reggae-inflected punk with underground legends Operation Ivy, to his work with the iconic street punk band Rancid, to his recent recordings with rap-punk outfit the Translators, and then back to this, his solo album, on which he combines elements of all these groups to create something more vital than much of what he has already accomplished. Armstrong reportedly released the record because "Rancid Punx have a streak...since 2000 [we] have released a new album every year", and for this, his first solo album, he chose to work with Los Angeles reggae unit the Aggrolites, a powerhouse of LA reggae musicians whose inspired music perfectly complements Armstrong's original compositions and artfully fleshes out his complex arrangements.

All the songs on this record were penned by Tim Armstrong, and lyrically they touch upon many of the same places Rancid and OP Ivy have in the past, such as the tales of jubilant debauchery in songs like the hip-hop-tinged "Oh No" ("There's gonna be lots of people getting high tonight/...I spend all my time chasing women around"), "Take This City" (Hittin' the city all night long/...Coming up, Work it up, Got a light?, Smoke it up, Zig-zag?, Roll it up."), and "Hold On" ("Fast women, cocaine and booze/The roughest of the roughest ain't got nothing to loose"). Rancid's lyrical influence is also very apparent in the stories of poverty and loneliness throughout the album, best exemplified in the brooding "Among the Dead"("It's California but it ain't sunny/And all my dreams came crashing down/I'm out on the streets, got no money/Got no band, ain't no one around"). However, Armstrong writes outside of his typical punk-rock lyrical mold on several songs, instead opting to write declarations of love and devotion, more common in reggae than punk rock. In the love-struck reggae number "Hold On", he sings as his chorus "I'm gonna hold on to you as long as I can/And if you choose to leave me girl, I'll understand/But I'm gonna hold on to you as long as I can", and in the anthemic "Translator" he takes the voice of a regretful lover, singing as his refrain "I only wanted what was best for you." There is also a surprising lack of political lyrics throughout this album, the most political of the songs being the catchy "Inner City Violence". Overall, Armstrong delivers his lyrics with calm and poise, and with little of the anger that was characteristic of former Armstrong vocalists Jesse Michaels and Lars Fredrickson.

The guitar-playing of Aggrolites members Jesse Wagner and Brian Dixon really shine on this disk, as they provide tasteful, melodic lead-lines as well as inspired rhythmic duets with organist Roger Rivas that serve to create liquid, kinetic musical texture underneath Armstrong's vocal. Their guitar playing is best used in calm reggae numbers like "Hold On" and "Translator", in which their melodic atmospheric playing serves to add new dimension to the songs. They are also allowed to shine as soloists in several places, giving their most memorable solos on the aforementioned "Hold On" and the jubilant reggae stomp "Take This City".

The first thing a listener hears when putting on this album is Armstrong's heavily reverb-ed voice demanding to know if we are "ready for this". After listening, I have to say yes. We've been ready for this for a long time, the record on which Tim Armstrong finally steps out of a band and displays his musical gifts on his own. Definitely find a way to get this album; it should be a pretty easy task since it is being offered for free download on Armstrong's Myspace page and on other services. Armstrong describes it as "our way of saying thanks, for all the support over the years."

iPod: "Pass me one of those?"

I apologize that I have been so negligent in my blogging lately, and I confess that I didn't even realize how long it had been until I noticed the date of my last post. (Is it possible it's actually been over a month?) I have been busy during this absence, though, graduating (just from Greenwood, don't get excited), playing a lot of music, submitting a couple things for publication, and wrapping up a recording project I've working on. (If you're interested in hearing some of the stuff I recorded, and have some free time to spend waiting for the audio to buffer, you can check it out here.) And, above all else, over all musical endeavors and academic achievements, I got an iPod.

A couple of years ago, Chuck Klosterman wrote an interesting piece in Spin Magazine (November 2004) entitled Living In Stereo, essentially a glorified love letter to his broken iPod, complete with clip-art graphics and everything. His basic thesis: that the iPod, instead of isolating its users like the Sony Walkman, allows them to engage and interact with the outside world in new and revolutionary ways. Basically, the iPod allows anyone with a laptop and a 2GB Nano to create a personalized (and event specific) soundtrack to their lives. Constant music, all the time. (I guess it is worth it to mention here that he might actually have a point; I'm using mine to listen to the Beatles' "Paperback Writer" as I compose this post.) Maybe this is the reason you can tell so much about someone by the contents of their iPod. But regardless as to whether this is the reason or not, the fact remains that by looking through someone's iTunes library you are offered an informative and very private window into someone's life. For example, I got mine used from an anonymous PayPal user, and even though all the songs had been deleted, I still feel as if I have a pretty good idea of his or her musical tastes. The bass boost was pumped to a level that horribly distorted everything, even at very low volumes (think Rick James's bass tone), and the EQ was twisted into a mangled tonal jumble even Jay-Z wouldn't have approved of. And when I connected it to the computer, it informed me that the iPod's former owner had creatively named it KanyeLover07. Hip-hop listener? I'd think so.

But potential for music snooping and personality profiling aside, it is hard to argue with the fact that the iPod is one of the most innovative advances in popular technology since the internet. But there is another innovation that is overshadowed by the iPod, an innovation that almost singlehandedly ceased to make portable music players isolating machines and turned them into social devices. This innovation is the invention, and subsequent popularization, of the ear-bud headphone. It didn't take long for consumers to realize that hey, the speakers kind of suck, you can't push any volume whatsoever, and it's kind of uncomfortable to have a speaker actually shoved in your ear, but all that was overshadowed by the realization that with these headphones, not just one, but TWO people can listen simultaneously. And when you've been riding iPod-less to and from from school forty-five minutes each way for three years, this pleasant realization comes in handy. Just a quick smile, a flattering comment, and the hopeful "Pass me one of those?" started two years of sharing the wealth of music on the iPod of the person next to me. I guess the way music is experienced has come full circle, from social event, to private experience, to social event again. And that's thanks to the iPod. (Now who knows how to upgrade from 2GB for less than a hundred dollars?)

Bo Diddley Suffers a Stroke...

...and, get this, he is hospitalized just twenty blocks away from where I am right now. He suffered a stroke last Sunday while preforming at a casino in Council Bluffs (just across the river from Omaha, about a fifteen minute drive from my Grandmother's if the traffic is good), and has since regained the ability to walk, but still isn't able to speak. And so, because of this, it is very possible that the Council Bluffs gig will end up being his last public performance, and so one of the last times anyone outside of his circle of friends will be able to see him or hear him play. And nobody seems to care!! Seriously, people are more excited about Shrek 3 coming out this weekend.

So, what do you think are the chances I'll be able to get my cousins to swing me by Creighton Medical Center sometime in the next couple of days?

In the area?

Let It Be: A Theatrical History of the Beatles, the show I mentioned in an earlier post, is being performed tonight and tomorrow night at the Community Arts Center in Williamsport. I assure you, it will be a great show, and I think if you come you will really enjoy it. Doors open at 7:00, and the show is expected to run about two and a half hours with a brief intermission. Tickets are $10.00 each and are available at the door.

May-1-07: Marches for Immigration Reform

I realize that just several posts ago I promised not to post any more video, but I fear I'm going to have to break that promise now. The footage in both of these videos is some of the most disturbing and troubling I've ever seen, so much so that even the Fox (FOX!) newscaster in the first video appears disgusted and indignant. I don't think I need to waste time and computer space trying to convince anyone of the blatant racism, chauvinism, and imperialistic behavior demonstrated by the police at these marches. I also don't think I need to elaborate on how profoundly troubling a precedent has been set by the fact that the police, in addition to targeting the peaceful protesters, also targeted the press reporting on the event, to the point of even using violent and physical crowd control tactics on journalists (this is also seen in Video 1).

And something that is even more troubling (and, in fact, infuriating) is the reaction of many of the countless people who have seen this footage and read these news stories. Ironically, much of the anger over these events seems to be targeted at the peaceful (predominately Hispanic) protesters, rather than at the police. Copied and pasted straight from the YouTube message board of this video:

"The cops can't beat you enough. The white folks don't understand anything ( bullshit). Poor minorities.Cry for yourself. You get everything handed to you, try and earn it,you pussies" (mark03063)

Maybe it's time to put strychnine or arsenic in all the imported Mexican pot and get rid of a few million problems here? (It5lee)

This next video (yeah, I know, two in one post) is a CNN prospective on this debacle. It has been added so that there are two mainstream news sources available, just for the sake of validation.

Hipster Christmas: The Birth of Quirky Christ

Thirty-eight years ago today, hipster messiah and quirky-er than thou film director Wes Anderson was born in Houston, Texas to two unsuspecting parents. Weird? Weird.

So you think he'll e-mail Sarah?

Iran: Policing Clothes and...erm...Bed-head

Apparently, Iranian president Mahmoud Ahmadinejad's recent crackdowns on hajib (clothing deemed "un-Islamic") now not only apply to such trivial matters as the color of a woman's headscarf or the shape of her clothing, but also to the much more dire problem of bed-head.

According to several recent news articles (another is linked above), American-ized hair-styles have become popular among Iranian young people, mostly men as, of course, many women still feel moved to wear (or are bullied into wearing) scarves that cover their heads. Says BBC News, "Some young boys in Iran sport very wild hair styles, using gel to make their long hair stand on end in a fashion not seen in other countries." And not to discredit BBC, but "not seen in other countries?!" Um...hello! What about this? Or this? Or even something as common and conventional (dare I say "normal"?) as this? It seems to me that deliberately messy hair is popular everywhere, and is not unique to Iran. If you still don't believe me, feel free to step outside and look around every once in a while.

And, surprisingly enough, it isn't Iran's psychopathic president leading this charge against the sin of messy hair, but the hairdressers themselves who are embracing these governmental crackdowns. (These are the same hairdressers who, incidentally, are reportedly no longer permitted to receive clients wearing ties in their businesses, as ties are a sign of Western influence.) Says Mohammad Eftekhari-Fard, the head of the barbers' association in Iranian capital Tehran, "Currently some salons use Western grooming methods to create styles that are in line with the European and American ones." He adds, "The union has repeatedly announced the restrictions against unconventional grooming when issuing permits to each of the barber shops. Hence barbers, knowing these rules, should not pursue the wrong methods." Ah! Barbers using hairspray and gel! What a crime against Iranian values!

To be honest, this reminds me to a certain extent of my first through third grade teachers, all of whom were (and continue to be) strong, commanding women who took upon themselves the personal crusade of making sure all the children arrived each morning with calm, combed, neat-looking hair. It even reminds me of my mother shoving hair-brushes into my hands whenever I wake up in the morning with my knotted, shoulder-length hair hanging loose over my eyes. And, as much as it can annoy me, I almost respect the totalitarian hair-care policies of mothers and elementary school teachers. But a sovereign nation? Come on.

This is another one of Iran's out-of-control youth who reportedly sport "very wild hair styles, using gel to make their long hair stand on end in a fashion not seen in other countries." Now if that's not a sin against Allah, I don't know what is!

These YouTubers are fickle folk, aren't they...?

Sue me. Occasionally, I like to indulge my ego (actually it seems I've been doing that quite a lot lately...), and normally when I'm feeling ego-ish, I humor that egocentricity by going back and re-reading some of my past blog posts. I tell myself I do it to check for typos, or misspelled words, or other errors, but, in reality, that couldn't be farther from the truth. In fact, it's just ridiculous, because a), I have not one, but TWO spell-checks working for anything I write on the blog (both Blogger's mediocre one and Firefox's alleluia-godsend one) and b) I really couldn't care less about the typos and writing errors. So I guess the only logical conclusion I can come to is this: I go over my past blog posts simply to selfishly gawk at what I've managed to create. Kind of like the idiot version of Michelangelo gazing upon the ugly, idiot cousin of David. And for some reason, this masturbatory ego-stroking always seems to occur on Sunday, the one day of the week I don't have anything better to do.

So that's what I was doing this morning when I discovered that all but one of the YouTube clips I've posted here have either been deleted or are no longer available. ALL! BUT! ONE! That's four out of five videos gone. Which really makes me angry because all of those four clips were pretty crucial to the post they were attached to, and the one left over is kind of frivolous and unnecessary. So I'm done posting video. Done. Forever.

(Or at least until I stumble upon some Police concert footage I just have to share...)

April 28: The Comedian, The Writer, and The Dictator

What a day, eh? Today, April 28, marks the birthday of Saddam Hussein, the man responsible for the mass murder and deportation of hundreds of thousands of Kurdish civilians (and for ravaging an entire country in his decade long war with Iran), Harper Lee, the woman responsible for one of the greatest pieces of American literature ever written, and Jay Leno of the Tonight Show, the man responsible for funny things like this. And Kim Gordon of Sonic Youth, that band that everyone's heard of but no one listens to. An eclectic list of characters, to say the least. What a day...

Favorite Posts: My Moment of Ego (sorry!)

While I relize it is probably rather egotistical and self-aggrandizing to do this after not even thirty posts, I have decided to add a "Favorite Posts" list in the sidebar of the blog. Part of the reason is that I have heard more and more about people from the "real" world (as opposed to the blog one) Google-ing me, finding the blog, and then using it, which the best of intentions, to formulate opinions about my (academic) life. And this, frankly, kind of sucks, especially since I feel the quality of the blog posts have been going down as of late. This also comes at a time during which I am simultaneously leaving four years of private school for public high school and submitting more and more things for publication (oh, yeah, I do that...), knowing full well that the blog can potentially be discovered by both submission-readers and high school administrators. So I want to put what I think is my best work out front.

Another part of it is personal. I have come to realize (or at least would like to hope) that more people are finding the blog as a result of my increased traffic on other blogs. I also realize that many of these people will undoubtedly never see some of my earlier posts, which I tend to really like. (And, you'll notice, several of the indicated "favorite posts" are early posts, and have little or no comments. hmm...)

So those are the reasons for this embarrassing moment of egotistical behavior. I hope they made it easier to stomach this self-aggrandizement! (Oh, and one more thing, this post on the death penalty, while not one that I particularly like, has gotten the most positive response in the "real" world. Just thought I'd mention it.)

Now I'm done. Promise.

Riverbend: Up and Running Again!

About two weeks ago, A deacon... (Subversive Christianity) wrote a small but meaningful piece expressing his worry over Riverbend, the Iraqi blogger responsible for Baghdad Burning, one of the most important and crucial blogs in the blogosphere right now. At the time of A deacon's post, Riverbend had not posted anything new for close to two months: a fact that, while it would seem almost normal for many American blogs, poses dire questions about the well-being of a blogger living in a war zone. Well I guess now A deacon, I, and everyone hoping (and, in the case of some, praying) for any word of Riverbend can breath a sigh of relief, for she posted something new yesterday evening. And what, of all things, does she announce in this new post? She reveals that she and her family have begun preparations to leave Iraq for a safer, but as yet uncertain, location. So let us all hope (or pray, if you are religious) that she and her family find somewhere safe to escape the state of constant fear and danger they have been living in for too long. And let us also hope, and do everything in our power to make sure, that this current administration comes to its senses soon and seeks a quick end to the civil war raging in Iraq. Damn your troop surge, damn your "Iraqi liberation". Allow Riverbend and her country to live in peace.

"...I'll meet you 'round the bend my friend, where hearts can heal and souls can mend..."

Happy Birthday, Deacon!!

Yesterday, A deacon, by the grace of god over at Subversive Christianity celebrated his fifty-third birthday. The rest of us celebrated with him, remembering and commemorating his fifty-three years of devout faith, biting wit, and absolute love and compassion for everyone around him. So here's to fifty more, deacon! Keep bringing light, smiles and laughter to everyone in your life!

And about the picture: It was taken during a television interview the deacon gave, and, as can be seen, he is wearing a tattered T-shirt that bears the slogan "Alternative Energy: The answer is blowing in the wind". And just so's you know, everyone else in the TV spot wore ties. Amen, deacon!

Earth Day 07

It seems to me that a large percentage of the people who will celebrate Earth Day today have lost sight of the purpose of the event. Yes, it is a day for picnics and hikes and "family-together-time"; it is a day during which it is appropriate to marvel at the natural world and renew you Sierra Club membership, but I think it is obvious that it is not a day for exclusively those things. It is, and always has been, a day for environmental activism and political pressuring, a day set aside in 1970 by Senator Gaylord Nelson as a day when all nations and all people would rally for the greater good of the planet. This means marches, lobbying, and demonstrations. Not picnics or kindergarten greeting cards. Change. And it seems to me that we are in the most significant state of environmental emergency that the world has ever seen, and so more needing of change than we have ever been.

Not to say that nothing is being done. Quite the opposite, in fact. Of course things are being done; the global Step It Up demonstrations which advocate the reduction of carbon emissions were a huge success a little under a week ago, environmental issues are already becoming key issues in the upcoming presidential race, and even just looking at Google's home page today you encounter the image on the right. (Are those the polar ice caps melting? On Google?! Well would'cha look at that! Look at how as they melt, they miraculously form the logo of one of the largest, most influential companies on earth! Ironic, eh?) However, a simple Google search for Earth Day activism gleans disappointing results. Among the top hits is the Earth Day Clean Energy Demonstration in Nevada (Sierra Club) and the Laguna Beach Earth Day Celebration (yes, Laguna Beach, who knew?), but aside from those two events (which seem impossible to judge from their websites), it seems as though there is very little going on. But perhaps I'm wrong. In fact, please tell me I'm wrong.

Vonnegut and Sports Illustrated

During the overwhelming surge of anecdotes, quotes, and amusing tales that came after Vonnegut's death, someone shared this one with me. It says everything there is to know about Vonnegut's wit, style, and attitude. Plus, as with anything concerning Vonnegut, it's funny.

As a young author, Vonnegut applied for a position at Sports Illustrated, which was a fairly new magazine at the time. As a priliminary assignment before his hire, he was told to write a caption for a randomly selected photo. The photograph this young Vonnegut was given turned out to be a picture of a horse that jumped a fence at the Aquaduct and ran from its owners. Disgusted with the project, he hurriedly wrote the caption, left it on the editor's desk, and left the magazine for good. The caption? "The horse jumped over the fucking fence."

Ah, how we miss him...

The Rolling Stones: Even the Horses are Baked

So I guess somebody figured, hey, everybody else in the audience is going to be inebriated in some way, so why not the animals too?

According to CNN, officials in Belgrade, Serbia are planning to sedate about 300 horses so that they will not be disturbed by the Rolling Stones' complaints about satisfaction when the fifty-year-old band plays Belgrade's famed Hippodrome in July. The sedative used would be diazepam (Valium), a popular drug in Serbia, and one that was used during NATO's 1999 air strikes, during which much of the adult population of Serbia was using sedatives. And as could be expected, a Serbian animal rights group called ORCA is voicing concern over the sedation of these horses, saying, "Research has shown that noise and vibrations are the strongest causes of stress to animals. Surely our big city has enough open spaces where even 150,000 people can fit in. We think the Hippodrome should be left to horses."

ORCA has also said that, if they are unable to sway the concert organizers, they will contact the band directly. Lets just hope they don't reach Keith Richards, though. He might want some diazepam. And it's kind of twisted to envy a horse.

Uptown Music Collective: Spring Recital 2007!

The Uptown Music Collective is "an independent school of music offering education in all styles, at all levels, to all people", which strives "to create an environment in which students feel free to express themselves musically, while also stressing the importance of self-discipline and mental focus."
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Update: Yup, that's me. And yes, I was in the recital. I'm also involved in another show that's coming up, a full-scale, theatrical tribute to the Beatles' Let It Be. There will be more on that coming later.

Jim Morrison: Free the Lizard King?

Remember the Doors? That band that started as just a few desperate California buskers but grew into the genius band that would re-define performance art and its place in popular culture? Remember the inspired organ-guitar intercourse of guitarist Robby Krieger and organist Ray Manzareck, the glimmering chords and flawless cresendos that filled in the holes in songs without making them overcrowded? The trance-inducing tom-cymbal dueling of drummer John Densmore, the "jungle drums" that created palpable musical tension within otherwise ordinary pop songs? The Doors were quite literally one of the best bands to come out of the clusterfuck that was the sixties, and most definitely one of the best bands to ever come out of America.

Now remember Jim Morrison? The charismatic singer and bad-boy heartthrob who, with his seductive baritone and defined features, at the same time re-interpretted Greek theater and re-defined what it meant to be a sex symbol? Remember his bouts of acid-induced genius, during which he wrote such unforgettable songs as "Light my Fire" and "The End"? Do you remember the absolute daze he would go into on stage, during which he would loose control and do and say things that were shocking and potentially illegal (like his infamous reference to Sophocles' Oedipus the King in "The End")? And finally, do you remember the time that he was arrested at a Miami concert after removing his clothes, and then convicted of indecent exposure? Well, apparently, a TV producer from Florida (creatively named "Dave Diamond") is asking Gov. Charlie Christ for the posthumous pardon of Doors singer Jim Morrison, saying that he wants the Melbourne darling to be remembered as a revolutionary poet and singer, not a "rock and roll bad-boy with a rap sheet".

But the fact is, he was a "rock and roll bad-boy," and it was from that all his art stemmed, all his "revolutionary" songs and poetry. He wasn't just groundbreaking and unique because of the music he made or the words he wrote, but because of the way he lived. He was the embodiment of the sixties carefree Bohemian lifestyle, and that was what made his such a saint to the army of fans that admired his work. He lived in a way not expected, endorsed or even tolerated by his country and his elders, and that was the essence of Jim Morrison. And while a pardon might serve to up the ratings of Diamond Dave's TV show, it is completely unnecessary (and inconsistent with the message of Morrison's writing) for Jim Morrison's legacy to embraced in such a way by the state. And in fact, it would do nothing but tarnish the reputation of one of rock's greatest artists.


"Go ahead and light my fire. Throw me on the funeral pyre. We'll set the night in fire!!"

Urinetown! This is Urinetown!

Just when I go and start getting all proud over Joseph, Bucknell goes and does this.

If someone at Bucknell has a fetish for absurdest theater (as I suspect they do), they certainly seem to be indulging it. Earlier this year, the Department of Theater and Dance put on a wonderful production of what may just be the strangest, most metaphorical play ever: The Firebugs. Written by Max Frisch in 1959 as a radio play, it was then adapted to the odd stage version that it is. The play takes place in a small city, panicked because of the recent wave of arsons, all committed by what the town has dubbed "firebugs". The plot centers around two loveable degenerates (both firebugs) named Schmitz and Eisenring who manage to infiltrate the estate of a wealthy buisnessman, Mr. Biedermann. The two (in a metaphor for the Nazi movement in Germany) proceed to prepare the house for demolition, not hiding what they are doing, but announcing it to the household. However, Beidermann and his manipulative wife Babbett refuse to believe the two, and so end up actually giving them the matches they use to burn down the house. Seem conventional enough? You haven't heard the half of it. Says Wikipedia, "The action is observed by a Greek-style chorus of 'firemen', and the increasingly surreal flavour culminates in a final scene when Biedermann and his wife Babette find themselves at the gates of hell. Here they once again meet Schmitz and Eisenring who turn out to be Beezlebum and the Devil respectively." (Just so you know, a friend of ours was terrific in the role of Eisenring/Satan.)

And now, for its annual musical, the University decided to put on an even stranger play (with an even worse title) called Urinetown. (From Wikipedia: "Urinetown the Musical is an award-winning satirical comedy musical, poking fun at local government, bureaucracy, corporate mismanagement, and petty-minded, smalltown politics. Urinetown rejects musical theater convention. There are parodies of all-time successful Broadway shows including Les Miserables. In addition, the production satirizes its own significance. Last but not least, in reverse pantomime style, the unconventional plotline shatters audience expectations of a pleasant ending.") It is very, very strange. Very, very, very strange. But Bucknell did a great job, walking with ease through the eighteen-part harmonies (when everyone on stage was literally singing a different note) the complicated, dazzling tap-dancing ("What can we do to stop them, they have an army of tap-dancing cops!" screams an actor.), and the difficult and risky task of artfully staging such a self-satirical play without making it seem ridiculous.

Kinda makes Joseph look like a walk in the park...

Where Would We Be...Without "B.C"?

Where would we be without B.C, that courageous and innovative comic strip that brought new meaning to the line, "That joke's so old, last time I heard it I fell off my dinosaur"? Where would we be without the ants and dinosaurs and advice-givers drawn as if by a kindergartener? Without the drawings that are identical each panel to the next, the blocks of stone bearing messages always intercepted by some giant ant or cave-man, or the tiny, minuscule people way too small for even a comic strip frame? Where would we be? Well, we'd be stuck rolling our eyes at Hagar the Horrible and Beetle Bailey, that's where we'd be.

And if for no other reason than that, it feels fit to remember Johnny Hart, the 76-year-old cartoonist who died last Saturday, having been doing the B.C comic strip for more than twenty years. And on top of that, it turns out he is partially responsible for that other god-awful comic, The Wizard of Id, which he founded with Brent Parker in the 1960's. And, apparently, he died in the most appropriate way for a cartoonist: literary collapsing at his sketchbook. Said his wife Bobby to CNN: "He had a stroke. He died at his story-board." Almost seems like something Gary Larson would have thought up, doesn't it?

And so somewhere in that parallel universe of cartoons and comics, little stone tablets are being cast to the waves, declaring a funeral for Johnny Hart. All of B.C will be there, and the Flintstones will undoubtedly be in attendance. The wimpy vikings of Hagar the Horrible will stand shoulder to shoulder with the pimply-faced teenagers of Zits, and Andy and his wife might even venture out together. All of the ugly, fat-stomached people of The Far Side will gather 'round in hushed silence ("Trouble brewing"), and even Dennis the Menace will bow his head in shame. Who knows, maybe somebody will even see Calvin and Hobbes.

Joseph and the Amazing Technicolor Dreamcoat

For the small, 23-student Middle School I attend, much of this school year was spent preparing, rehearsing, and performing a production of Joseph and the Amazing Technicolor Dreamcoat. You know, that Andrew Loyd Webber musical you loved as a kid but can't stand as a person, with all the repetitious, predictable music, the feeble "biblical" storyline, and the annoyingly juvenile lyrics? The one that some high school inevitably does each year (and each year you curse your stupidity at going to)? You know what I mean, the one that is probably responsible for more Broadway suicides each year than all other shows combined (minus that other god-awful Webber show, Cats)? Yeah, that one. We did that one.

And we rocked it. Alright, that might be an over statement. But we did do a good job, and led by the skillful and tireless hands of our two directors, we managed not to kill ourselves (or the audience) during the exhausting, frustrating hours of preparation and rehearsal. And we got standing ovations both nights, albeit if only after our parents, through example, began the difficult process of getting the crowd to stand (even the "Head of School", fancy Quaker word for "principal", didn't show the second night, and left early the first). But a crowd doesn't stand up for nothing. Okay, yes, it is something of a novelty to see a thirteen year-old-girl completely (COMPLETELY!) uninhibited as she chases a fourteen-year-old boy around onstage, swiveling her hips and beckoning with her arms, exaggerating her unique style of seduction entirely shamelessly. And it isn't everyday that you get to watch your fifteen-year-old son put on skin-tight pants, shake his leg and melt girls' hearts as Egyptian royalty. But it certainly isn't often that you get to see them do it well.

Not to say that the production (and subsequent recording) went off without a hitch. That's just not the way it works for middle school musicals, and especially not musicals in which, by sheer numbers, everyone is forced to participate, regardless as to interest or singing ability. While seducing Joseph on the second night, Potifar's wife took a tumble, landing with a deafening bang on the carpeted surface of the hollow, temporary stage. And when dancing, occasionally Joseph's brothers would stumble, trip, and just generally forget what they were doing.

But overall, we overcame our stress and sleep deprivation to put on a pretty awesome show, and again, thanks to the two directors; you guys were amazing. We rocked Joseph. And his multicolored coat. (Unfortunately, no pictures though. The blond girl in that one picture wasn't actually in this particular show, but she's awesome. So she's up here.)

And now we are rehearsing yet another musical, this time a larger, all-school show to be performed in a about a week. Why do we keep hitting ourselves with a hammer? Because it feels so good when we stop.

Snoop Dogg on Don Imus

So who knew? Snoop Dogg, rapper, one-time pimp, blatant misogynist, chauvinist pig, and dick-head incarnate, is, in fact, an enlightening philosopher, gifted social critic, and champion of racial equality! Who knew? (Mouthafuckas!)

In response to the recent Don Imus incident, the rapper gave an outraged and indignant interview (and, to give him credit, it must be hard to even appear indignant when as constantly baked as he is), in which he said that sexist remarks in his songs and Imus's sexist statements are "completely different scenarios". This from a man who seems to prefer the words "bitches" and "hos" to well, any other words in the English language, and who infamously appeared at the MTV music awards with two barely dressed woman on leashes (and wearing pretty pink price tags).

But hey, it gets better. Just read what he said.

"(Rappers) are not talking about no collegiate basketball girls who have made it to the next level in education and sports. We're talking about hoes that's in the 'hood that ain't doing shit, that's trying to get a nigga for his money. These are two separate things. First of all, we ain't no old-ass white men that sit up on MSNBC going hard on black girls. We are rappers that have these songs coming from our minds and our souls that are relevant to what we feel. I will not let them muthafuckas say we are in the same league as him. Kick him off the air forever."

So whaddyaknow? Snoop Dogg is an eloquent, intelligent, compassionate human being after all. And he coaches football. (Apparently he doesn't keep the kids on leashes, though. He leaves that to Michael.)

(Quotes and info from here and here. Scary pictures from here.)

Two Kurts in Three Days: R.I.P Kurt Vonnegut

Most days, I ride to school in a cramped, loud, dust-caked van with a fifty-five-year-old bus driver named Frank. Frank is almost entirely bald, has a great sense of humor, and, much to the chagrin of the younger occupants of his van, likes to listen to oldies. And he listens in the worst way possible too: with the volume just barely audible so that it is loud enough to hear, but quiet enough to be less music than a constant underlying presence. This constant subliminal annoyance, when coupled with the piercing chattering and giggling from some of the younger students, serves to creates a situation that can, quite frankly, be miserable. And I sit closest to the radio, up front in the passenger's seat, so when Frank gets out of the van to slide the door open for another student (a luxury I do not have as the designated shotgun-rider; I have to open my own door), I take those brief seconds to quickly change the station to something, anything, other than oldies. This tends to turn Frank's bald spot red, which is probably the real reason I do it.

And just my luck, this morning I happened to flip to NPR (another potential annoyance) just as they reported Kurt Vonnegut's death and saw fit to remember him by reading aloud a couple of lines from Player Piano. And then Frank stepped back into the van, evaporating rain water rising from his head, and flipped the station back to Oldiez 93.3 ("We spell oliez with a Z!") just in time to hear the commentator admitting to buying the cliff notes for Slaughter House 5 in high school. Then Frank looked over at me (hiding a smile) and said, "My bus, my rules, my radio, buddy!"

And then when I got to school (and escaped Frank's glare), some of the first words said to me were from my English teacher (with whom I had planned to read another Vonnegut novel before the end of the year), who looked up at me and said, "Jonah, did you hear Kurt Vonnegut died?" So it only seems right to spend today's post honoring this wonderful author, hilarious cultural critic (how's about a memorial Comedist holiday, SteveG?), and ground-breaking story-teller.

And as can be told from my rambling prose above, any further mock-sentimentality or fractured story-telling on my part would only serve to belittle and offend Vonnegut's tremendous legacy. So I will end with a quote from A Man Without a Country, not his best book, but certainly his most confessional, and the one I have enjoyed the most.

" As a kid I was the youngest member of my family, and the youngest child in any family is always a jokemaker, because a joke is the only way he can enter into an adult conversation. My sister was five years older than I was, my brother was nine years older than I was, and my parents were both talkers. So at the dinner table when I was very young, I was boring to all those other people. They did not want to hear the dumb childish news of my day. They wanted to talk about the really important stuff that happened in high school or maybe in college or at work. So the only way I could get into a conversation was to say something funny....
When I'm being funny I try not to offend. I don't think much of what I've done had been in really ghastly taste. I don't think I have embarrassed many people, or distressed them. The only shocks I use are an occasional obscene word. Some thing's aren't funny. I can't imagine a humorous book or skit about Auschwitz, for instance. And it's not possible for me to make a joke about the death of John F. Kennedy or Martin Luther King. Otherwise I can't think of any subject that I would steer away from, that I could do nothing with. Total catastrophes are terribly amusing, as Voltaire demonstrated. You know, the Lisbon earthquake is funny.
I saw the destruction of Dresden. I saw the city before and then came out of an air-raid shelter and saw it afterward, and certainly one response was laughter. God knows, that's the soul seeking some relief."

April 5th: R.I.P Kurt Cobain

Last Thursday marked the 13th anniversary of Kurt Cobain's death, and with it came a slew of blog-posts, vigils (yes seriously), and poorly written articles in oily-paged fan-zines (which, I'm sure, somewhere, are blotted with tears). Think what you want to about Kurt Cobain, say what you need about his heroin habit, his digestibility, his "banal" music, and his tattoos-and-piercings-heartthrob status. But it is undeniable that he took rock music away from the pretentious, misogynistic bands with bad hair, tight pants, and oversize libido (not to mention homo-erotic tendencies: wtf is up with those tight pants??) and brought it back to where rock music should be: in the hands of an entire world of youth who needed some sort of fulfillment, some sort of enlightenment, even if that fulfillment only comes from jumping on the bandwagon of the newest angst-y "culture." Somewhere in Nirvana's jagged power chords melodies and tangled, rumbling rhythm a legion of people found peace. And somewhere (don't ask me where) in Cobain's obtuse, nonsensical lyrics and cat-with-a-hairball vocal style, they found truth. And no one can take that away from them. And no one can take that away from me. And I don't think I need to waste time and computer space explaining how astronomical his influence on popular music has been. (Of course, I probably will (and probably just did)... But I'm sure this guy will end up doing it better. And this guy. And this guy.)

Oh, and by the way, he was murdered. (Yes, I'm one of those people. When you're through giggling and rolling your eyes, check out this link.)