Cover Me

I'm a sucker for a good cover song. The stranger the better. The further from the original's design, the better. Today, I've created a new Radio SFT playlist that has original versions of songs followed by my favorite cover version. Most of the songs should be easily recognized.

What do I like about these songs? Well, listen to the Radiohead song. Then listen to the cover. They couldn't be more different. Or, in the case of Iron & Wine, who seems to be the king of the unexpected cover, you can hear how he deconstructs The Postal Service or Stereolab and pulls out the very heart of the song. The Flaming Lips do the exact opposite to Neil Young. My favorite may be Ben Lee's interpretation of Modest Mouse. How often can you say a typewriter is musical?

Anyway, listen and enjoy. More importantly, leave some comments about your favorite cover songs. Have you heard something odd or unexpected? Let me know. I'm a cover song pack rat. I need suggestions and you, my dear friends, have them. I know you do.

Baby Please Don't Go

There I was, minding my own business on the other side of the house, when I heard a plaintive wail coming from the kitchen.

"No Sissy," Gertrude cried, "I don't want you to go to High School." She broke down into uncontrollable sobs and was quickly engulfed in hugs from mom and Sissy trying to make her feel better. Matilda explained that she wouldn't be going to High School for many years, but it didn't help.

I picked up Gert and explained that when Matilda goes to High School, she'll still live with us in our house and sleep in her room. Gert seemed to feel a little better.

"Plus," I said, "when you go to pre-school next year you'll be at Matilda's school! You might even see her."

"Daddy," she said, her big eyes widening, "will you stay with me so I don't get scared." I couldn't resist those eyes, and that voice. I promised to quit my job, get my teaching certificate and get a job at every school she will ever go to so she never has to be very far from her Daddy. You know, just in case. Overprotective? Sure. However, you didn't see those eyes. Or hear that voice.

One thing that does make her feel better is TMBG's new DVD (and CD too) Here Come the ABCs. It's just a bunch of cool songs about the alphabet with strange and irreverent animation. It's more like stuff I watched as a kid than anything she has now.

She loves it. Whenever she watches it, she declares that the song currently playing is her favorite. She loves the penguins and the robot and feels bad for the garbage collector with the missing -ector. (Eat your heart on that one Jeff Lynne.)

The Pirates of Penzance

We have returned from the afternoon show of The Pirates of Penzance. And, while the children were all very good, one of the Major General's daughters clearly stole the show. While the other girls danced, she would glide with grace. While the other girls sang, she sweetly crooned. And while the other girls were cute, she was the most beautiful of all.

We're very proud of our Matilda and her stage debut. She was bright, confident and full of life on stage. When we met her afterward she was beaming with pride.

And that's what I like to see.

His Name Had to be Gary Didn't It?

Sigh.

Pedagogy Buy one Get One Free

I don't normally talk about the work I do because, well, most of you would be bored to tears. But every once in a while, something interesting happens when, say, you are away from your main computer enjoying the mobility of a wireless network.

In textbook publishing you have to get a previous edition of a book reviewed by instructors in the field. Usually this process provides you with a running commentary on the book that allows you to put together a revision plan that the author can work with to finish the next edition.

Other times . . . not so much.

In the general comments of one review, we ask a question about Pedagogical Features. These include boxes, activities, case studies, tables, etc. Now, you don't need to know what this stuff is, but a college professor should. Right?

Well . . . I just read the best comment I've ever gotten in any review. And I quote:

Pedagogical Features: I'm not sure to what this refers. What I like about using this text for classes are the case studies, the illustrations and tables and how clearly this is written. If you have something specifically called Pedagogical Features I did not receive it.

Yes, I find that funny. You don't? I mean, in the course of saying that this person didn't know what we were talking about, he/she managed to review the Pedagogical Features. That's funny!

Okay, maybe not. I'll get back to telling snot jokes on Monday. Sorry.

Wow! Technology!

I was thinking to myself, "Wow, Self. We're going to need to get our collective asses to a store and buy a new computer monitor. This one you've been using for the past several years is getting blurry."

"Well Corporeal Being," said my Self, "if you'd clean the damn dust off of the thing, you'd probably be able to be able to see better."

"Wow Self," I said, "You just saved me hundreds of dollars!"

"True dat," said my Self, "True dat. Hey, why have you been listening to the Postal Service, or bands doing covers of the Postal Service all day long?"

"Shut the hell up Self."

The Teardrop Explodes

In honor of the launch of the Stewfilm website, I've created a new Radio SFT playlist designed to convince you that you need everything Stew has ever touched. Trust me, very few people can resist Stew or TNP.

Lisen to the music and go out and buy some Stew!

STEW


TNP


Trust me, this music is good for you.

Say You Miss Me

I'm crawling out of my cave for a brief moment to say hello and goodbye. This week is just kicking my ass. I've had more meetings in the last three days than I have in the last two years. It's insane. But, what can you do? Personally, I drink coffee.

For the time being, you should check out the website for What's the Problem? the new documentary on the ever-puzzling and entertaining Stew. The footage looks fantastic and, if I know Stew, you'll be laughing your ass off throughout the film.

It's projected to be completed this spring, but the film maker needs your help! Producing an independent documentary isn't easy. Jeff has been all over the world, documenting Stew's grab at global domination. There's a fundraiser later this month in Portland starring Stew himself (and if you're near Portland, GO! This is a once in a lifetime chance to see Stew in this amazing setting). And soon there will be merchandise for your schwag approval.

No word if there will be an official tie-in with Count Chocula. There should be . . . it's Stew's drug of choice.

Fo' Shizzle

This is the greatest thing I've ever seen. I'd say it's a vast improvement over my usual site.

Just Like a Woman

Tuesday’s Daddy Night was a success. Gert watched a Wiggles DVD while we ate popcorn and yelled at Jeff to wake up. Much popcorn was flung in glee. After the DVD was over, Matilda drug out Disney Scene It and we played a rousing game of trivial matters. I wiped the floor with her until she explained to me that I was supposed to let her win because she’s the daughter and I’m the dad. So, I let her win for a few turns and, well, she got bored. So we went back to playing it like it was a battle to the death. It was fun.

Gert was the official dice roller for my team. She did a great job and, I must say, provided an interesting strategic element. You see, when the dice would roll off the table, across the wooden floor, around the couch and down the stairs, it distracted Matilda enough to provide me with ample opportunity to sabotage the game.

Not that I would do that. Of course not.

But Gert got distracted and bored. Her baby started to cry so she decided to feed her. “Good,” I thought. “She’s a nurturer and she’s using those neat baby bottles we bought her for Christmas.”

“Daddy, I need a pillow so I can get comfortable.” I gave her a pillow and she climbed up onto the chair and got situated. She laid the baby across her lap, propped her arm on the pillow and began to lift up her shirt.

“What the . . .” How do I deal with this one? “Gert what are you doing?”

“My baby is hungry and she needs her boobies.” Her sitter is nursing right now, so it's an action she's familiar with, and Mommy did too, of course. But I never expected to see what I was seeing.

“Um . . . okay. I’m very happy that you are an avid supporter of breast-feeding. However, um . . . do you have any idea how disturbing this image is for daddy? You’re three and the sight of you sitting there sent him into a horrid vision of you at eighteen, dropping your baby off at your baby daddy’s before you stop off at your job at the strip club. Don’t get me wrong, I don’t think pretending to breastfeed your doll will lead to teen pregnancy and slutty behavior. It’s just, as a dad, I need to keep a pristine image of you for the rest of your life. An image that’s frozen in spinny princess dresses and curly locks falling about your jam-stained face. I can’t think of you as a grown up just yet. And when you tell me that you’re offering boobies to the baby, I’m afraid it freaks me out. I’m glad you’re comfortable with breastfeeding, but you’re destroying my image of you awfully quickly.”

“It’s okay Daddy,” she said. “She’s not hungry anymore.” She hopped off the chair and ran to the kitchen.

Whew. That was weird.

She came back from the kitchen with a turkey baster, climbed onto the chair and hiked up her shirt again, placing the turkey baster strategically against her chest.

“NOW what are you doing,” I asked, fearing the answer.

“Silly Daddy! I have to save some nibbles for the baby for later!”

It was at that point I lost consciousness.

Why I Don't Have a Webcam

Because this would so be me.

Guess I’m Dumbo

Tonight is another Daddy Night. Mommy, and maybe Matilda, are going knitting. Matilda wants to see what we’re doing.

I’m afraid I’ve set myself up for failure here. Once there was a time when Daddy Night meant we were going out to the park until it got dark and buying some orange soda. After six months of providing a Daddy Night to Gertrude, I’ve kept raising the bar. The last one we went to the Disney Store (where Gert bought fairy wings with the proceeds of all the money that has fallen out of my pocket onto the couch this past year) and had a pretzel. To me, that was no big deal. To her it was like Disneyland on Ecstasy.

Tonight I have no big ideas. I was thinking about the library, but when I saw those little eyes looking up at me in expectation I’m thinking I had better get a tap dancing monkey and Hilary Duff over here tout suite.

Gert’s even playing all of her cards. This morning, before she would do anything else, she demanded that I carry her while I made coffee, made my breakfast and the rest of my morning rounds. I asked her if she was a Daddy’s Girl. She said, “Yep!” Then, as she was getting in Mommy’s car, she started yelling, “Hug and kiss! Hug and kiss!” Now, she had already given me a hug and kiss when I left to take Matilda to school. Mommy pointed that out to her.

“But if I don’t give him a hug and kiss,” she reasoned, “he will cry and cry all day.”

She’s doing her best to sway me. But I am unswayable. I’m hurricane proof. I’m blast proof. I am ice. She can’t get me to do anything out of the ordinary.

Anyone know where I can charter a jet to fly them down to the Magic Kingdom for a quick spin on Dumbo? And a churro. They’ll need churros.

Attend the Tale of Squeaky Weasel

I forgot to mention . . . My wife will be cutting my hair tonight. Yes, we are trying DIY hair care. So, tomorrow I will either have a groovy, cleaned up style . . . or a crew cut.

Time will tell.

P.S. Just in case . . . don't eat any meat pies she may offer you on Monday.

Without a Song . . .

I'm insanely busy. Too busy. So busy my head actually hurts and I got mad at the dog this morning. Now he's sitting in the corner writing me nasty letters. I knew Border Collies were smart, but it's a little off-putting to walk past my dog and have him hold up a sign that says, "Ass Monkey" while he points at me.

Anyway, today I give you songs instead of thoughts. Because, in order to give you thoughts, I'd have to have a coherent one. Which I don't. Songs, on the other hand, are coherent thoughts by other people already finished, polished and put into a groovy package with a good backbeat. I mean, if you're inclined to think so . . .

So, in honor of Ryan, I give you a song that sounds like the thoughts going through my head:

The American Analog Set - Hard To Find

And, in honor of my wife, for no good reason, a cover of a corny Bread song:

Call and Response - Baby I'm A Want You

Go ahead. Sing along. And remember how you used to wear Western-styled shirts with groovy pearlized snap buttons. Oh yeah, that's right. When the original version of this song came out you dressed like crap. Rest assured, I will laugh at you for the rest of the day.

Mockery. It's all I have.

ESOL

I've created a new Radio SFT playlist specifically to cheer up David. It is designed for his specific idiosyncrasies. I call it ESOL because . . . well . . . just listen. It's amusing.

Cancelled?

Yesterday morning this conversation occurred at my breakfast table.

Scene: Matilda eating oatmeal, passing out notes from school. Gertrude and Daddy eating Cream of Wheat (from separate bowls . . . Gertrude will later be told to eat her breakfast, ten minutes later she will come up to Daddy, holding up her empty bowl, saying, “Daddy, check it out”. But that’s later.) Mommy is wandering.

Matilda hands a piece of paper to Mom.

“Oh no, your Symphony field trip was cancelled,” she says with remorse. Our symphony is on strike because they aren’t paid crap. So, no field trip. No enlightenment for the fourth graders.

“What,” I say, being stirred from my wheaty reverie.

“The Symphony field trip was cancelled because of the strike,” Mom says.

“What,” I ask, disappointedly. “I can’t believe it. Last year it snowed and they missed it and now it’s cancelled again.”

Suddenly, Gertrude awoke from her fuzzy state. Something I said set her off.

“Cancelled again,” she bellowed with righteous indignance. “DAMN!” And she slammed her fist down on the table with authority and anger at the unfairness of the world.

I won’t say that I laughed. Laugh isn’t quite the word. I walked outside, not wanting to draw attention to Gertrude’s indiscretion (thereby encouraging her to do it again). So, instead, I stood outside in the winter cold and almost passed out trying not to laugh.

And, what’s more, later that evening when we were deconstructing the moment, guess who was blamed for teaching her that word? You guessed it. Daddy has been tried and convicted of having a potty mouth.

Sure as shit, I’m appealing that decision.