Last Night I Had a Horrible Dream

Calling all Flaming Lips fans, or anyone who has knowledge and has seen the film Fearless Freaks (which I enjoyed, even if it was a rather disjointed doc and lacked sufficient coverage of their current tours).

At the end of the film, after they talk about the death of Wayne's dad and give the Fast Times at Ridgemont High update on the cast of characters, they play this great song, with the lyrics:

Last night I had
A horrible dream
But the dogs barking in the morning
Came and chased it all away

Last night I had
A horrible dream
But the sunrise in the morning
Came and burned it all away

Anyway, it's a great song. But I can't identify it. The credits have far too many songs to tag it with and it doesn't appear to be anything previously released. It doesn't match up with anything on the Soft Bulletin Companion boots (which I don't have, but desperately want).

I ripped the song from the DVD, edited out some shrill talking by a local OK television show for your perusal. If you recognize it, or can point me in the right direction for at least a title and some history, it would be greatly appreciated.

It falls firmly into my pocket of obsession with slightly touching songs about not worrying (see Be Not So Fearful). It's a nice song. I just want to hear the rest of it. Or know when it was written. Or what for. Or who plays the banjo.

I know. It's sad that I obsess over this shit. It really is. It's kind of like being Rainman and wearing the wrong underwear.

The Weather Man

Don't tick off the weather man while he's explaining things to you. He'll flip out.

Whoops . . . Been A While, Eh?

So I haven't updated in a week and I'm losing my readership because of a lack of posting. Sorry about that. I want to write more. I want to write about more interesting topics and go back to being funny and goofy and telling endearing stories about the little goofballs with whom I share a home.

And yet . . . life does not seem to want to cooperate. Either I take time out of my insane work schedule to write or I take time out of my family time to write. One is worth more to me than the other and I wouldn't give it up for anything.

I'm even wondering if a blog is what I want to do. I might need to move on to something else. Something that gives me a spark again. I don't know. What do you think?

One thing I have found time for is to enjoy the new The New Pornographers CD which I picked up on Tuesday. Personally, I couldn't stand The Electric Version. Found it insanely boring and repetitive. However, I lived Mass Romantic. Twin Cinema has that good, poppy sense back and it's filled with solid, enjoyable tunes. Can you ask for much else? The fact that Neko Case is more that mildly attractive with a sultry voice has very little to do with it. So stop the accusations. That's not a shrine to her in my basement. It's a national library. Someday it will come in handy. Trust me. I also have a national library for Sarah Nixey, even though Sarah is from the UK. It doesn't matter. Just don't tell my wife. She'll kick me in the head.

The New Pornographers - Twin Cinema

The New Pornographers - Use It

Serious, Scholarly Question

How in the hell do you dispose of a worn out trash can. I don't want to keep it. Even if it were sterilized, it's gross. Years of slimy trash have been in it.

Yet, it's a giant hunk of plastic. I don't want to put it in a land fill. Plus, I'm not quite sure how I'd convince the trashman that the trash can is, in and of itself, trash, without leaving a legnthy note of explanation.

"Dear Sanitation Engineer: This trash can has holes in it, is cracked down the side and no longer stands of its own volition. It no longer serves its purpose, so please, by all means, take it with you. I know, it is an extravagant waste of material, and that I surely could clean it and fashion a toboggan out of it. But honestly, rotting food and baby poop have decomposed in this thing. I don't want it. So if you could find it in your heart, kind sir and bastion of waste control, to take it with you, it would be greatly appreciated."

Somehow I don't think it would work.

So what do you do? Put it on the roof of your car and let it fall off on the highway? As best as I can tell that's how you dispose of mattresses.

More on Joe Ranft

I am dumbfounded by the lack of coverage that the death of Joe Ranft has received. While he wasn't a big movie star, he was a star of many HUGE DVDs. If you've ever watched an extra feature on a Pixar DVD or listened to a commentary, you heard Joe Ranft and you felt his goofy charm, his wittiness and that spirit that shaped the stories of so many films that you now love. As a fan of the art of animation, I feel terribly grieved by the loss.

In fact, at Pixar, it could be said that Joe was the first actor on the film, considering his tremendous work on story boards and story. Listen to any of those commentaries or extras on those DVDs and you will hear a mantra:

"Story comes first"

That's why Pixar succeeds where others fail. And at Pixar the word "story" will forever be intertwined with "Joe Ranft".

Last night I found something I wrote about the initial trailer for the Incredibles and I thought I'd repost it here, in honor of Joe. It was his spirit, his sense of play and heart, that really helped inspire the films, the stories and the development of those characters.

I titled it "Animate":

This is what life is all about.

Right now some of you are saying, “That’s just a stupid cartoon. And I don’t get it. I suppose it’s kind of funny, sure. But it’s not Shrek funny. And why does the character look so weird?”

To those comments and questions I reply: you’re stupid.

Though animation has not traditionally been an American industry, it certainly has been a benchmark of American art. From Fleischer to Disney to Warner’s to Pixar, America has always led the way as far as breakthrough animation. American artists have taken the chances, destroyed the boundaries and created beautiful, living pictures. Let me say that again: Living Pictures.

Film maker David Lynch once said the reason why he started making films was because he wanted to see his paintings move. “I looked at one, and heard a wind. Then I started making films.”

To most people, pictures are just that: Pictures. However, to an animator, a picture is the prelude to a moment. Any given painting shows that moment, but a great painting implies the next moment and fills it with mystery.

I’ll use Edward Hopper as an example: his painting “Chop Suey” shows two dapper women sitting and enjoying a mid-day meal. And you could enjoy it merely for that moment. But looking closer, you notice that the woman facing you isn’t looking at her companion. And the woman with her back to you looks slumped down, tired. You want this painting to move, to give you a clue as to what happens next.

Artists can also give life to inanimate objects. Again, using Hopper, his ”House by a Railroad” shows a simple, turn-of-the-century home sitting behind a railway. But look at the house closely. What’s wrong with it? It looks sad. As if it is sighing. As if the simple act of staying standing may be too much effort for it. It’s a lonely, sad building.

The greatest moment Hopper has ever shown was in his painting “New York Movie”. There’s no reason to describe this one. The image itself screams with a story. A wonderful story. This painting almost begs to move. You want to know what happens next. It tells you an incomplete story, which is part of its mastery.

Animators take painting to the next level. They are artists who truly do give life. They take a motionless object and give it motion. Fluid grace and movement. The swinging of a pony tail, the brush of an arm against the dress, an embrace, touching of a cheek.

But more so than simply giving life where there once was no life, animators show us things that we can only imagine. Dancing trees and skeletons, water dancing to music, talking animals, living toys . . . They give life to whole worlds that seem to be just around the corner. And it is the part of the imagination that drives these projects that gets them pigeonholed as children’s projects.

Animators are one of the lucky few have never lost a child’s sense of glee with how the universe works. An animator will look at a dandelion blowing in the wind and stare for hours at its movement. He’ll blow the seeds into the wind and watch how they fly through the air.

Unlike a child, an animator can show us what he sees. Just because animated fare generally appeals to children (for obvious reasons: children like invented worlds, they like the color palettes and they like the stories they tell . . . that an adult cannot dive into the part of their imagination that animation requires is not the fault of the artist, but of the audience).

Pixar, the maker of the above clip, understands us better than anyone. They know that the only difference between children and adults is that many adults have forgotten how to be a kid. They’ve forgotten how to play. Pixar shows us great and wondrous worlds that we heartily wish existed.

They paint beautiful pictures that move with a grace; fluidity and humanity that make us laugh and cry. They can show a wind blow through the grass, a current rip through the ocean, with such a stunning beauty that we are astounded.

Better yet, Pixar doesn’t strive for hyper reality like some animated studios do. True, they aim to get their characters to move realistically, they try to get textures just right, etc. But they do not try to replicate the real world. They imitate our world for the benefit of their world.

Pixar is the last great animation, if not film, studio. And I hope they continue to delight and challenge us, and themselves.

And I hope they never forget how to be a kid. And I hope they never stop reminding me.

Plus they have really cool ugly shirts.

Bad Animation News

Sigh.

Edited to add:
Why should you care that Joe Ranft died? Well, according to Luxo's calculations:

In addition to being an outstanding Story Supervisor who was considered by many to be "at the heart and soul of the company," Ranft provided the memorable voices for Wheezy the Penguin in 'Toy Story 2,' Heimlich in 'A Bug's Life,' and Jacques in 'Finding Nemo.'

He also contributed his talents to 'Toy Story,' 'Monsters, Inc.,' 'The Incredibles,' Tim Burton's The Nightmare Before Christmas,' 'Beauty and the Beast,' 'Oliver and Company,' 'The Rescuers Down Under,' 'Fantasia 2000,' 'The Lion King', 'The Brave Little Toaster' series, 'James and the Giant Peach,' 'Who Framed Roger Rabbit?' and 'Monkeybone.'

In other words, Joe Ranft is part of the fabric of your life, and your child's. His work has become a part of your life, without you even realizing it. Many of those films Joe didn't just contribute to, he put his soul into. When you were laughing or being touched, it was often Joe's doing.

You should care because you've lost something significant without even realizing it.

Where Is That Little Girl I Used to Know?

Gert,
originally uploaded by scifitwin.

It was today. The first day of pre-school. Or Early Hile Chood, depending on whom you ask. And the first day of fifth grade. I think I may have reasonably composed myself to speak again.

Yeah, that’s right. I cried. Like a baby. I wept like she was Anna Karenina. And I’ll probably feel the lump for hours.

Yesterday was Meet the Teacher. And we did, indeed, meet the teacher. She is a kind, sweet woman named Miss Christine who seems the type who is put on Earth to Shepard terrified children through some of their first “big kid” hurdles.

Gertrude walked around the room, investigate the toys and activities, spoke with the teacher and fell in love with a very small trampoline. When it was time to go, she was adamant that she wanted to stay. Perhaps she was more ready for school than I had assumed.

Later, when we were shopping, she told me that sometimes when she’s away from me for a while that she gets sad.

“So I just sit by myself and do something,” she said. “Sometimes my eyes get wet and I talk like a frog. But then I smile and the smilies make me feel better.”

We arrived this morning and she put her bag in her cubbie. She found her name on a list and investigated the room. As other kids started to file in she became nervous. Then as they actually began to talk to her, she looked at us.

“I don’t want you to go,” she said with a look on her face that was a mixture of panic and fear.

I know she’s okay. And I know it’s only for three hours (two now) and that she’ll have a blast. I know that I’ll pick her up and we’re going to eat lunch together and have a great talk.

This is my job as a dad. I’m supposed to raise kids, prepare them for the world and help them be kind, generous human beings. And I am proud. Daily. So proud that every time I hear this song, I swell with pride and I nod thinking, “Yeah, Stew. You know it.”

However, letting go is difficult, even though we know we should be proud.

But we did. We did leave her there, even though she didn’t want us to. I walked out the door and felt my eyes getting wet. Chris looked at me and held my hand, but all I could do was croak like a frog.

Too Bad

They only notice him when there's a lawsuit and not when he's still making some pretty damn good music.

Cover Me

I'm sure I'm going to receive the wrath of Jack White's many fans, but I have to admit that the following cover is cooler than the original:

Vyvienne Long - Seven Nation Army

It's dark, creepy, has a sinister feeling. I like it. And the cellist isn't dressed like a Target ad.

Not a fan of the White Stripes. Sorry to anyone who is. I think White's songs are good, but the execution leaves me cold.

Totally Digging This

This is a pretty good song.

It's another 80s-revival-New-Wave-with-a-disco-beat band (Killers, Franz Ferdinand, Bloc Party). But, there's something about this one that lacks the . . . posturing?

Or maybe I'm a sucker for a good bass line.

Shaping Up

It's shaping up to be a strange week. So, I don't have a lot to say today. Sorry.

So I leave you with a song. That's all I have today.

World/Inferno Friendship Society - Brother of the Mayor of Bridgewater

And as a bonus:

Aero Wave - s2sg2

For My Wife

Song of the day.

She asks, I deliver.

Sudden Realization

I don't like people. And yet, by my choice in planets, they surround me. Dilemma.

To be fair, I don't think I'd like Martians or Venutians either. And the Plutopians? Complete asshats. No, seriously. Their heads extend out of their rectums and they have to wear hats because it's so cold.

Perhaps I should work on this issue. Okay. I resolved to only not like stupid people. Therefore, if you are stupid, please start initiating a warning system around me so that I do not need to deal with you. For example, you could beep. Or get a tattoo on your forehead that says, "Drooling Moron".

Or, hey, just drool. That would work too.

Okay. Back to the salt mines.

I don't really work in salt mines, silly person! But if I did, it would do wonders for my french fries at lunch.

If a Band Plays in the Woods

I'm learning much from the comments in this Stereogum post.

From what I understand, the only way a band can be good and stay good, is to only be enjoyed by a select group of listeners. If you go beyond said group of listeners, you officially lose your "cred". Or, if you enjoy a reasonable amount of success and can record on something more complex than a tape recorder in your bathroom, you lose your "cred".

Funny. I thought if the music was good, that's what made it good to you. Should I stop liking Imperial Teen because they have a song in a commercial? Should I hate Stephen Malkmus because a Pavement song is played in bumpers for VH1?

Worse, what's the point of going on a crusade to destroy a band you don't like? Or, more interestingly, to destroy a band you don't like because they have a song on a show you don't like? It's pretty easy to avoid, in that case.

Truth is, Indie is a genre now, not an ideal. In fact, it's hard to "sell out" when the whole purpose of peddling records is to "sell" in the first place. Can't be heard if no one listens.

Meet the New Uke

Somewhere over on the left, in my Flickr stream, you can see me playing my old uke.

This is the new uke.

I like the new one. Sounds incredible. I played the Flukes and, they were nice, but the Fleas actually sounded better.

The store I was browsing at also had banjo ukes. And national dobros. Amazing. I drool.

Trying to Fix

My RSS. Something funky is going on.

Stop The Tiny Voices

An Open Letter to Joe Henry:

Mr. Henry:
A few years ago I received a mix CD that contained a wonderful gem of a song that compelled me to wonder why no one would give that fucking bug a new song to sing ("Bob and Ray"). Shortly thereafter I started a strange relationship with your music and have become, much like the friend who provided me with my "in" to your music, a musical missionary spreading the Gospel According to Joe.

You provided us with such a challenging few years. The quadrology of "Trampoline", "Fuse", "Scar" and "Tiny Voices" illustrates a most curious mutation in your music. You swang through pop, jazz, country, ballads, darkness and humor. It culminated in "Tiny Voices" which, even after two years of solid listening, is in solid rotation and touted by such luminaries as myself as one of the best albums of the new millennium.

My wife had joined me in loving your music. She, in fact, has admitted to a little crush on you. I suspect it's those dark, brooding songs that did her in.

However, Joe, you've gone away. Your website lists no live dates since 2004. You've not addressed a tearful nation since January. As best I can tell, you've spent some time with Aimee Mann and maybe eaten a little stir-fry.

The last few days, I've been listening to quite a bit of your music again. And enjoying it more than ever. Yet, I feel like someone who seeks his guru only to find the mountaintop empty.

I don't mean to rush you, or even pressure you to produce. However, a word of encouragement. Perhaps just a nod of acknowledgement to us fans. Maybe a nice streusel in the mail. Something. Anything. Just a little news would be nice.

However, Mr. Henry, since we've not heard anything from you I've decided to take drastic actions. I have decided, by using my
Radio Science Fiction Twin, to convert as many people to your music. I've loaded it with 15 great Joe Henry songs from "Curt Flood" to "Flower Girl".

Not drastic, you say? No, it's not. But they will be writing letters to your management asking, "What's Joe doing? When's he going to come back and please us fans?"

And once your management gets a whiff of the palpable anticipation of your adoring fans, then they will see opportunity. With opportunity comes pressure and with pressure comes a new album.

So, Mr. Henry, the way I figure it, you have two choices.

1. Give us a hint of what comes next. A cryptic message on your website. A random set at a dingy club. Anything. We will be happy, know that you're out there waiting for us and we'll descend back in the shadows. Or,

2. The aforementioned pestering.

The choice is yours, Mr. Henry. We don't ask much. And I guarantee, with the songs I've chosen, the conversions will be swift and easy.

So what is it? A fan army? Or a quick scribble on your site?

Sincerely,

Gary O'Brien

P.S. Hiring actors to portray you does not count and will not satisfy our lust for music.

Stupid Blogger

Why isn't it updating my comments? Sigh.

Bad news, too. My uke broke over the weekend. I'm now stringed-instrumentless. It joins my guitar in the pile of dead instruments. Granted, the guitar can be fixed. The uke, well, it's a goner. Thinking of getting a Fluke or a Flea., but I had other plans for that cash.

Sigh.

Oh, and news flash. Guess what three-year-old rode a bike without training wheels this weekend? Granted, it was in the grass, but the point is she repeatedly went about 20 or 30 feet without crashing. Now she's trying to figure out how to get started and balance. I swear, that kid could fly a jet if she decided she wanted to try.

So, if The Physicist (or his wife) is out there and not too sore from his own crash, any suggestions on how to foster this biking interest? She has a picture of Lance Armstrong on her wall, has a favorite cycling team (granted, based on name) and even pretends she's racing when we're out riding. There's a few local criterium and a minor weekend of racing coming up, perhaps I'll take her to see one. Based on courses, I fear they will be lame.

Anyway, any cyclists have suggestions?

Be Not So Nervous . .

Here's a digi-treat. It's from "The Collected Jeff Tweedy" boot that circulates. I'm not supposed to pass it around in MP3, but hey, you guys don't use FLAC, do you? No. So if you want the lossless files, go find them. I'm too lazy to look up the performance date on this one.

But, for me, it's appropriate. I've talked about it before. It's an old Bill Faye song (yeah, I hadn't heard of him either) that deserves to be heard. I sing this song to Gert all the time. And, given the last post, maybe she needs to sing it to me. Hell, we could all learn from it. For one week only. Get it while it's hot.

Jeff Tweedy - Be Not So Fearful

Kids Can't Escape

One Girl Band,
originally uploaded by scifitwin.

My wife touched on it yesterday, but I still find it hard to believe. Gert is starting pre-school in a week and a half. Real pre-school. At a real school. As part of what she calls "Early Hild Chood" education.

How is this possible? Do you realize this means that it's been four years since I started this blog? Nearly four years since I left the corporate world to do whatever it is I do now? When did she grow up?

Ah, you say, she isn't grown up. But you're wrong! Matilda has taught her to write her own name. You tell Gert how to spell it and she can write it in giant, but accurate, letters. She even recognizes the letters when she sees them on a sign or in a book.

Last night I asked her if she read her new book and she said, "Yeah, I read it by myself. I didn't know the words so I made up my own. It was about baking."

Even stranger, she is now sitting down and listening to Junie B. Jones books. Chapter books that are written for first graders. She loves them and follows the story over multiple nights.

She can recognize Lance Armstrong on TV or in a photo. She can nearly ride a two-wheeler without training wheels. She even has a favorite cycling team (which is Liquigas, which is pronounced "Leaky Gas" . . . I wonder why she likes that one).

I just don't know what happened. She's not the little lump with cute sausage arms. She's . . . a girl.

When she went back to Grandma's after vacation, I told her I was going to miss her all day because it was the first time in a while I wouldn't see her.

"Don't worry daddy," she said, "when I get home you'll be the first person I see."

Sigh. I only have to live with this sense of pride and sadness until I'm 100 years old and lose my mind. Only 68 more years.

Proofs

My wife and I have discussed this many times. Why should you love Mates of State?

It's an easy, four-step process.

1. Kori Gardner. She has a sense of joy, perhaps too much, when she enters every song. It's infectious. You have to wonder, if she's so happy about her job, why can't you be?

Evidence: Proofs

2. Woah-oh. It's my new mantra.

Evidence: Goods

3. Divergent Harmony. Hard to explain. Kori and Jason sometimes have what feels like a divergent harmony. As if they are battling for the melody before they come together in a harmonious chord. It's addictive. Seriously.

Evidence: Hoarding it for Home

4. Organ. And plenty of it. Credit again goes to Kori.

Evidence: Ha Ha

Yeah, Jason's cool. But Kori makes Mates of State. At least for me.

That is all. Go buy all their albums. I've made it easy for you. You have no excuse. Kori and Jason deserve the attention.

Flickr Vacation Stream

Day 1 - The Cabin 3,
originally uploaded by scifitwin.

Yeah, I joined in the Flickr bandwagon. It will officially start to suck tomorrow.

Anyway, uploaded some vacation pics. Click away. Enjoy.

Sam

I'm afraid I have some sad news for my first post back from vacation. Our little buddy Sam Wood, who was so valiantly fighting leukemia since last September, passed away on Tuesday. Despite his bravery and attitude, his little body just couldn't handle what life had thrown at him.

Needless to say, everyone who has been touched by Sam or his mom are heart broken.

However, it is important to remember that it's not the importance of the contribution of the life, but the life of the contribution. Though Sam was only with us for two short years, his legacy can go much further if we support childhood cancer research in his name. Sam's story touched a lot of people. Perhaps his life can continue through our philanthropy.

If you'd like to donate to the Maryland chapter of the Leukemia and Lymphoma Society, for whom Sam was a Youth Ambassador, in his name, just click here.

Or, you may make a donation directly to Johns Hopkins Pediatric Oncology Unit in Sam's name here.