This won't mean much to most of you but, if all goes well and I can get a minimum of 9 miles on the bike tomorrow, March will be my first 300 mile month. For a guy with two kids, a cat, a border collie who needs constant attention and a job, that isn't bad.
It may seem sill, and to experienced riders this tally is nothing (the guy on my cycle log website I use for motivation who is leading the month in distance has me beat by 1100 miles), to me, this is a big deal because it will mean that all but two of my goals that I set in September when I hopped back on a bike in earnest have been met. The only two left are to ride to Augusta, Missouri on the Katy Trail and to ride a century. When I find the century I want to ride (i.e. feel passionate about), I'll start training specifically for it (i.e. based on the route). Those two will have to wait, for personal reasons.
Listen, a year ago I was a lazy bum who would rather sit on his butt and listen to Bob Dylan records, trying to figure out of he said "zest" or "jest". Now, I actually look forward to riding my bike. Everything else has become secondary. That's cool. To me, at least.
And a note to the local meteorologists: My butt the wind is blowing at 14 mph. And I mean litterally, my butt. It's killing me. There was one point when I was riding into the wind that if I had stopped peddling I literally would have stopped and tipped over my momentum was so slow. It was like riding into a wall.
Second note to local meteorologists: If to day is "breezy" and tomorrow is "windy", tomorrow really scares me.
Thursday, March 30, 2006
Wednesday, March 29, 2006
Smart Aleck
Apparently Gert is a genius. I had no idea. I mean, I had an idea, but to have it confirmed is a bit frightening.
Let me back up. Back in February Gert had her four-year-old screening at school. It's one of those deals where they give her blocks and have her move them with her mind or something. I kind of stopped paying attention after I looked hat her scores.
Essentially these tests look at whether or not she's doing things a normal four-year-old should be doing, developmentally speaking. We're not talking about whether or not she climbs trees, talks to the squirrels and organizes a rebellion (she does). Rather, can she identify body parts, colors count, etc.?
Bottom line is she can do the things a normal four-year-old can. In fact, she can do many things a normal six-year-old can. Like writing her name, cutting things out, copying letters, problem solving . . . The little freak can do all of these things.
They score these things. Acceptable scores would have been between 7 and 10 for Motor, Conceptual and Language Skills. Mean scores would have been 14. My little Cecilia Payne-Gaposchkin scored 20 to 21 across the board and an astonishing 61 cumulative when a mere 28 would have been just fine with the school.
Honestly, she's a smart kid. Just like her big sister (only, this time I get to argue both nature and nurture on this one because I contributed genes . . . Matilda I merely molded into a genius, Gert I grew in a Petri dish as well). The educator commented that "we've done a good job" with her.
I guess. But, really, all we try to do with both kids is treat them like intelligent human beings. Nothing more. Both our kids are naturally curious. We just provide them with the means and encouragement to find the answers.
Am I bragging? Hell yeah. My progeny is well on her way to World . . . nay, UNIVERSAL domination at the age of four. To quote, Gus Grissom, "Fuckin' A, bubba."
Let me back up. Back in February Gert had her four-year-old screening at school. It's one of those deals where they give her blocks and have her move them with her mind or something. I kind of stopped paying attention after I looked hat her scores.
Essentially these tests look at whether or not she's doing things a normal four-year-old should be doing, developmentally speaking. We're not talking about whether or not she climbs trees, talks to the squirrels and organizes a rebellion (she does). Rather, can she identify body parts, colors count, etc.?
Bottom line is she can do the things a normal four-year-old can. In fact, she can do many things a normal six-year-old can. Like writing her name, cutting things out, copying letters, problem solving . . . The little freak can do all of these things.
They score these things. Acceptable scores would have been between 7 and 10 for Motor, Conceptual and Language Skills. Mean scores would have been 14. My little Cecilia Payne-Gaposchkin scored 20 to 21 across the board and an astonishing 61 cumulative when a mere 28 would have been just fine with the school.
Honestly, she's a smart kid. Just like her big sister (only, this time I get to argue both nature and nurture on this one because I contributed genes . . . Matilda I merely molded into a genius, Gert I grew in a Petri dish as well). The educator commented that "we've done a good job" with her.
I guess. But, really, all we try to do with both kids is treat them like intelligent human beings. Nothing more. Both our kids are naturally curious. We just provide them with the means and encouragement to find the answers.
Am I bragging? Hell yeah. My progeny is well on her way to World . . . nay, UNIVERSAL domination at the age of four. To quote, Gus Grissom, "Fuckin' A, bubba."
Sunday, March 26, 2006
Toys Hurt
I should take a picture of the new bike somewhere. Oh well.
Am loving it, so far. When they said it was "quick accelerating" they weren't kidding. Holy cow. Turn on the gas and the sucker goes.
Only two down sides. It came with "cheater brakes" on the handlebars that I'm not sure I like. They take up room. I may take them off, but I'm too lazy to a) do it and b) rewrap the bars. They may come in handy in crowded spots, though.
Second downside? Other than the growing pains of the first month on a new bike where things are stretching and settling? Learning the new gears. I had gotten used to the gearing on my old bike. I knew when to shift and what gear to be in. I got the new shifters down, but not the gears. They are so different from my old bike that I feel like I'm always in the wrong gear. One is too small the other too big. It's just a simple getting to know you thing, but still . . . it's no fun.
Got two rides in this weekend. Both times it was in the forties and my muscles do not like anything below 50. So I felt sluggish and tired. However, that sucker can shoot up a hill faster than my old bike. Yes, it's lighter, but I also think it's a smoother transition between gears that helps me keep a constant rate of motion. Climbing was actually almost fun.
Almost.
Am loving it, so far. When they said it was "quick accelerating" they weren't kidding. Holy cow. Turn on the gas and the sucker goes.
Only two down sides. It came with "cheater brakes" on the handlebars that I'm not sure I like. They take up room. I may take them off, but I'm too lazy to a) do it and b) rewrap the bars. They may come in handy in crowded spots, though.
Second downside? Other than the growing pains of the first month on a new bike where things are stretching and settling? Learning the new gears. I had gotten used to the gearing on my old bike. I knew when to shift and what gear to be in. I got the new shifters down, but not the gears. They are so different from my old bike that I feel like I'm always in the wrong gear. One is too small the other too big. It's just a simple getting to know you thing, but still . . . it's no fun.
Got two rides in this weekend. Both times it was in the forties and my muscles do not like anything below 50. So I felt sluggish and tired. However, that sucker can shoot up a hill faster than my old bike. Yes, it's lighter, but I also think it's a smoother transition between gears that helps me keep a constant rate of motion. Climbing was actually almost fun.
Almost.
Friday, March 24, 2006
I Know You Can Feel The Excitement
I'm about to go get my bike, then I have to put on my pedals, cages, etc. Plus I have to practice releasing the cantilever brakes to switch out the wheel for the trainer, learn the subttlies of Sora shifters and put on my computer. Fun times. Looks like the weather might actually allow me to ride outside with the new bike on Sunday. Not that I won't go out and play today. But not serious riding.
Anyway, it's the weekend. And we have a bunch of 10-year-old girls coming over for a sleep over. And our personal 10-year-old has been running around talking about the thing for seven days straight. Today she's been giving me 30 minute updates as to how long until the party starts. I finally kicked her out of my office and told her she can come back after I'm done working. She did this all day yesterday too.
Plus, did you notice I did not mention Neko Case all week? Well I am now. She sings lead on this song (and belts the hell out of it):
The New Pornographers - Your Daddy Don't Know
Okay, while you'd think that I was just finding an excuse to post more pictures of my current musical crush (okay, a crush for like three years, but still), you'd be wrong. Our friend Kym was curious about The New Pornographers, so I'm just helping her out.
Anyway, it's the weekend. And we have a bunch of 10-year-old girls coming over for a sleep over. And our personal 10-year-old has been running around talking about the thing for seven days straight. Today she's been giving me 30 minute updates as to how long until the party starts. I finally kicked her out of my office and told her she can come back after I'm done working. She did this all day yesterday too.
Plus, did you notice I did not mention Neko Case all week? Well I am now. She sings lead on this song (and belts the hell out of it):
The New Pornographers - Your Daddy Don't Know
Okay, while you'd think that I was just finding an excuse to post more pictures of my current musical crush (okay, a crush for like three years, but still), you'd be wrong. Our friend Kym was curious about The New Pornographers, so I'm just helping her out.
A Milestone Reached
Last night, in a stunning turn of events, we reached a major developmental milestone in Gertrude's life. A milestone that many kids do not hit until they are five, sometimes even six. But Gert nailed it at four.
She got something stuck in her nose.
I was shaving, my face all lathered and have scraped when there arose such a shudder and racket. A scream of panic and terror.
When I found Gert, she looked terrified and pale.
"What's wrong," I asked, trying to soothe her.
"IwahGotwahSomethinggaspStucksobInwahMysobNose!"
"Okay," I said, suppressing a laugh and praying it wasn't something alive, "no big deal. This happens all the time. I've heard of peanuts, M&M's, bread, apples, very small rocks, cider, gravy, cherries, mud, churches and even a duck getting stuck in people's noses. What is it?"
"A Polly Pocket," she sobbed.
"Hmmm. Doll, outfit or shoe?" I was trying to get the logistics here while I found the flashlight.
"Shoe."
Sure enough, when I shone the flashlight up her little nostril I saw a smart pump with a chunky purple heel wedged in her nostril. It didn't look too bad, but . . . what was the best course of action? Blowing? Tweezers? Blasting caps? How to you discreetly remove something from your child's nasal passage without a) laughing and b) accidentally flinging debris up into her brain pan, causing permanent damage (am I the only one who saw Firestarter)?
We chose the natural, blowing method. While I calmed her down enough to do the extraction, I asked her how this happened.
"Well, I was playing with the Polly Pocket instead of getting my story for bedtime and I looked at the shoe and put it next to my nose. Then I stuck it in a little and then . . . and then . . . I couldn't get it out!"
"That's okay," I said, "it happens to the best of us. What have you learned?"
"That just because it fits I shouldn't try to stick it somewhere."
"That's right," I said, assuming we'd have this same conversation about drugs and sex in the future. "Now, blow! Blow hard!"
She did, and Polly's rubber, purple Costablanca shot out in a mass of snot into the tissue. We rejoiced and again reiterated the peril of sticking things in your nose. Then we hugged.
"Here," I said handing her the tissue with the snotty shoe, "you should go wash this off."
"That's okay," she said as she left the room, "it's Matilda's."
She got something stuck in her nose.
I was shaving, my face all lathered and have scraped when there arose such a shudder and racket. A scream of panic and terror.
When I found Gert, she looked terrified and pale.
"What's wrong," I asked, trying to soothe her.
"IwahGotwahSomethinggaspStucksobInwahMysobNose!"
"Okay," I said, suppressing a laugh and praying it wasn't something alive, "no big deal. This happens all the time. I've heard of peanuts, M&M's, bread, apples, very small rocks, cider, gravy, cherries, mud, churches and even a duck getting stuck in people's noses. What is it?"
"A Polly Pocket," she sobbed.
"Hmmm. Doll, outfit or shoe?" I was trying to get the logistics here while I found the flashlight.
"Shoe."
Sure enough, when I shone the flashlight up her little nostril I saw a smart pump with a chunky purple heel wedged in her nostril. It didn't look too bad, but . . . what was the best course of action? Blowing? Tweezers? Blasting caps? How to you discreetly remove something from your child's nasal passage without a) laughing and b) accidentally flinging debris up into her brain pan, causing permanent damage (am I the only one who saw Firestarter)?
We chose the natural, blowing method. While I calmed her down enough to do the extraction, I asked her how this happened.
"Well, I was playing with the Polly Pocket instead of getting my story for bedtime and I looked at the shoe and put it next to my nose. Then I stuck it in a little and then . . . and then . . . I couldn't get it out!"
"That's okay," I said, "it happens to the best of us. What have you learned?"
"That just because it fits I shouldn't try to stick it somewhere."
"That's right," I said, assuming we'd have this same conversation about drugs and sex in the future. "Now, blow! Blow hard!"
She did, and Polly's rubber, purple Costablanca shot out in a mass of snot into the tissue. We rejoiced and again reiterated the peril of sticking things in your nose. Then we hugged.
"Here," I said handing her the tissue with the snotty shoe, "you should go wash this off."
"That's okay," she said as she left the room, "it's Matilda's."
The New Gilligan's Island
I just received a notice from someone with whom I work on some projects letting me know she'll not only be out of the country next week but " without mobile phone, telephone, or internet access."
I just realized that if she added "not a single luxury" she'd be on the Modern Gilligan's Island, trying to send a text message through a coconut. And making a tall, half soy/half skim double banana-o-cino (instead of pie).
I just realized that if she added "not a single luxury" she'd be on the Modern Gilligan's Island, trying to send a text message through a coconut. And making a tall, half soy/half skim double banana-o-cino (instead of pie).
Thursday, March 23, 2006
Cycling Technology
Makes Gizmodo. World yawns, I rejoice.
I mean, this is Phonak's rig and they are having a pretty damn good season.
I know, I know. Shut up about the bikes already. You hate it. I know. But my answer is Rochelle Gilmore, Australia's sexy cyclist.
I mean, this is Phonak's rig and they are having a pretty damn good season.
I know, I know. Shut up about the bikes already. You hate it. I know. But my answer is Rochelle Gilmore, Australia's sexy cyclist.
You'll Never Change
So, here's the thing. Last year Joe Henry (yes, THAT Joe Henry) produced a record for Bettye LaVette
, a soul singer who hung in near, but undeserved, obscurity for many years. Listening to her old output you can hear the potential to eclipse some of the better known soul divas from the same era (I'm talking about you Ronnie). Joe produced a gritty, real and interesting album.
Critical reaction was mixed. Why? Hell if I know. I read one review that said that Henry's production was "slick" and "soulless". To wit, I respond, "writer whose name and publication I cannot recall, you are a twit."
So, to provide the general public (that's you, by the way) with the ammunition to love Ms. LaVette and her particular brand of soul, both classic and apparently "Soulless", I provide you with her label's samples.
Classic Bettye:
Let Me Down Easy
You'll Never Change
Modern Bettye:
Down To Zero
The High Road
I think you'll find that I'm right. That writer is a twit. If I could remember where I read that I'd give you his email address so you could write him daily missives explaining that he is a moronic, pathetic Mr. Poopy Pants.
Hell, it's Spring Break. I'm still in profanity-stealth mode.
Anyway, if you like Bettye (and who wouldn't, except Mr. Poopy Pants), buy I've Got My Own Hell to Raise here. Damn fine record.
, a soul singer who hung in near, but undeserved, obscurity for many years. Listening to her old output you can hear the potential to eclipse some of the better known soul divas from the same era (I'm talking about you Ronnie). Joe produced a gritty, real and interesting album.Critical reaction was mixed. Why? Hell if I know. I read one review that said that Henry's production was "slick" and "soulless". To wit, I respond, "writer whose name and publication I cannot recall, you are a twit."
So, to provide the general public (that's you, by the way) with the ammunition to love Ms. LaVette and her particular brand of soul, both classic and apparently "Soulless", I provide you with her label's samples.
Classic Bettye:
Let Me Down Easy
You'll Never Change
Modern Bettye:
Down To Zero
The High Road
I think you'll find that I'm right. That writer is a twit. If I could remember where I read that I'd give you his email address so you could write him daily missives explaining that he is a moronic, pathetic Mr. Poopy Pants.
Hell, it's Spring Break. I'm still in profanity-stealth mode.
Anyway, if you like Bettye (and who wouldn't, except Mr. Poopy Pants), buy I've Got My Own Hell to Raise here
. Damn fine record.
Tuesday, March 21, 2006
An Ecumenical Matter
Wilco subgenius Jeff Tweedy's side-project Loose Fur, with Wilco drummer Glenn Kotche and Sonic Youth noise maker Jim O'Rourke lands in your record store today. Guess what I'm going to recommend that you do? Buy it!
Why buy it? Well, it's good music. It's been spinning in the O'Brien household all morning and we love it. Need another good reason? It's Jeff Tweedy. Solid songwriting, fun songs and because it's Loose Fur it takes some interesting musical side streets throughout. And, hey, who knew Jim O'Rourke could sing so tenderly? This disc could easily become your soundtrack for Spring (if the snow ever freaking melts).
Still not convinced? Man, you're a tough sell. Okay, how about a sample of one of the most head-bobbingly addictive songs I've heard in a while:
Loose Fur - The Ruling Class
Why buy it? Well, it's good music. It's been spinning in the O'Brien household all morning and we love it. Need another good reason? It's Jeff Tweedy. Solid songwriting, fun songs and because it's Loose Fur it takes some interesting musical side streets throughout. And, hey, who knew Jim O'Rourke could sing so tenderly? This disc could easily become your soundtrack for Spring (if the snow ever freaking melts).
Still not convinced? Man, you're a tough sell. Okay, how about a sample of one of the most head-bobbingly addictive songs I've heard in a while:
Loose Fur - The Ruling Class
Monday, March 20, 2006
Let's Get to the The Good Part
My lovely wife and I were supposed to go to see Wilco last night. Unfortunately, Gert got sick (again!) and was laid up with a fever, sore throat and visions of long-dead relatives. So, after both of us trying to convince the other that we should be the one to stay home, I went alone (well, with my brother). I tried to unload my other ticket, but could not on such short notice. We waited as long as possible to call it on Gert. After all, the last time we had a date night . . . well, I think resulted in Gert.
Anyway, I told Gert I was leaving.
"Where are you going?"
"To see Wilco."
"Wilco? Jeff Tweety?"
"Yes, I'm seeing Jeff Tweedy tonight. I'll tell him you said hello."
Note: Gertrude has discovered Daddy's high-holy musical trinity. Elvis Costello, Brian Wilson and Jeff Tweedy. She can differentiate between each's music and, over the past year and a half, has grown quite fond of Jeff Tweedy. I don't know if it's because he recorded a song using his son's school class ("Just a Kid") or if it's because she finds that his music touches her. Her lullaby CD is comprised of quite a few Wilco/Loose Fur/Golden Smog/Jeff solo songs. She, in fact, views Jeff Tweedy as "hers".
"I want to go! I want to see Jeff Tweety!"
"Well, honey, I'm afraid you can't. Kids aren't allowed this time. Plus, it might be a little bit loud and late for a four-year-old."
"If it is too loud I will cover my ears. And I like to stay up late."
When I left both mom and daughter stood at the door looking at me sadly.
Concert? Good. High energy, great setlist. Opening band left a little to be desired for me (last time it was Calexico . . . this time it was a two-piece outfit with a very shallow bag of tricks).
Note to GCB's from the last show. Wilco did, indeed, play Heavy Metal Drummer. I hope you were there to hear it and not down doing the Cabo Wabo with your head in a bucket for a Generic College Spring Break.
While I enjoyed myself I have to admit to more than a little twinge of guilt. Gert was home sick and I was 20 feet away from Jeff Tweedy and company singing and bobbing my head. Worse, almost spoiling a long-held dad-kid code, I was coming home with no surprise. No gift.
Gert forgave me. She woke up when I arrived home.
"Good night sweetie."
"Daddy? Did you see Jeff Tweety?"
"Yes. Jeff and his whole band were there. Even his mom and dad."
"See," she said in her grogginess, "families were allowed to go if he needed his mommy and daddy there."
I promised her that next time we wouldn't be sick. And maybe she could go. Maybe we could skip to the good part.
Wilco - The Good Part
Anyway, I told Gert I was leaving.
"Where are you going?"
"To see Wilco."
"Wilco? Jeff Tweety?"
"Yes, I'm seeing Jeff Tweedy tonight. I'll tell him you said hello."
Note: Gertrude has discovered Daddy's high-holy musical trinity. Elvis Costello, Brian Wilson and Jeff Tweedy. She can differentiate between each's music and, over the past year and a half, has grown quite fond of Jeff Tweedy. I don't know if it's because he recorded a song using his son's school class ("Just a Kid") or if it's because she finds that his music touches her. Her lullaby CD is comprised of quite a few Wilco/Loose Fur/Golden Smog/Jeff solo songs. She, in fact, views Jeff Tweedy as "hers".
"I want to go! I want to see Jeff Tweety!"
"Well, honey, I'm afraid you can't. Kids aren't allowed this time. Plus, it might be a little bit loud and late for a four-year-old."
"If it is too loud I will cover my ears. And I like to stay up late."
When I left both mom and daughter stood at the door looking at me sadly.
Concert? Good. High energy, great setlist. Opening band left a little to be desired for me (last time it was Calexico . . . this time it was a two-piece outfit with a very shallow bag of tricks).
Note to GCB's from the last show. Wilco did, indeed, play Heavy Metal Drummer. I hope you were there to hear it and not down doing the Cabo Wabo with your head in a bucket for a Generic College Spring Break.
While I enjoyed myself I have to admit to more than a little twinge of guilt. Gert was home sick and I was 20 feet away from Jeff Tweedy and company singing and bobbing my head. Worse, almost spoiling a long-held dad-kid code, I was coming home with no surprise. No gift.
Gert forgave me. She woke up when I arrived home.
"Good night sweetie."
"Daddy? Did you see Jeff Tweety?"
"Yes. Jeff and his whole band were there. Even his mom and dad."
"See," she said in her grogginess, "families were allowed to go if he needed his mommy and daddy there."
I promised her that next time we wouldn't be sick. And maybe she could go. Maybe we could skip to the good part.
Wilco - The Good Part
Friday, March 17, 2006
It's Like Christmas, Only I Paid For It
I know someone who might have bought something today. It will arrive sometime next week when I'll get fitted and pick it up. Plus I bought an extra wheel and cassette so I can use the trainer on nasty weather days.
I feel giddy. I almost bought a Fassa Bortolo jersey because a) it was there and b) because I was drunk with buying. But I didn't. Why? Because it would make me sad thinking about Giancarlo Ferretti. Yeah, I know. You're sad too.
I feel giddy. I almost bought a Fassa Bortolo jersey because a) it was there and b) because I was drunk with buying. But I didn't. Why? Because it would make me sad thinking about Giancarlo Ferretti. Yeah, I know. You're sad too.
Token Irish Drinking Songs
I don't normally participate much in St. Patrick's Day. Why? Because I find it irritating that a bunch of morons run around getting hammered, puking and saying, "Look at me I'm Irish". Worse, they get hammered on Bud Light. Come on.
But, listening to the radio this morning I realized that people listen to horrible Irish music on St. Patrick's day. There is more to Irish music than Riverdance and The Corrs.
So I made a new Radio SFT playlist. It features bands with Celtic roots and sounds. Or, in two cases, they are honorary Irishmen singing Irish related songs. Give it a moment to refresh an cycle through on the server.
So listen to this today instead of another crappy version of "When Irish Eyes are Smiling" by some hotel band.
And enjoy. Drink Guinness, the beer that drinks like a meal.
But, listening to the radio this morning I realized that people listen to horrible Irish music on St. Patrick's day. There is more to Irish music than Riverdance and The Corrs.
So I made a new Radio SFT playlist. It features bands with Celtic roots and sounds. Or, in two cases, they are honorary Irishmen singing Irish related songs. Give it a moment to refresh an cycle through on the server.
So listen to this today instead of another crappy version of "When Irish Eyes are Smiling" by some hotel band.
And enjoy. Drink Guinness, the beer that drinks like a meal.
Wednesday, March 15, 2006
Wind Sucks
Went for my ride. When I started to stretch I looked at the flag and it was dangling limply, nary a flutter. By the time I was stretched and started to ride the wind had kicked up into a nasty crosswind that, I swear, changed directions whenever I did. I head west, it would come from the north. I'd head south it would switch to the west. Stupid wind.
Anyway, before I left I asked Gert if she would still ride bikes with me when I bought my new bike. You see, she refuses to ride with me whenever I am decked out in cycling gear because she's afraid I'll speed off and leave her behind. My cycling shoes are fine, but as she says, "No fast pants!"
"Yeah, I guess," she answered.
"I promise not to go fast," I said
"Hmmm," she said looking me over. Really sizing me up. "Well, were you a tubby baby?"
"Huh?"
"Were you a tubby baby? Cuz you're a little fat now."
"Fat?"
"A little. Not as much as you used to be. You probably won't be the best bike rider ever. But you'll be pretty good."
Thank you child of abject honesty. Now to go make dinner of yogurt and grape nuts.
Anyway, before I left I asked Gert if she would still ride bikes with me when I bought my new bike. You see, she refuses to ride with me whenever I am decked out in cycling gear because she's afraid I'll speed off and leave her behind. My cycling shoes are fine, but as she says, "No fast pants!"
"Yeah, I guess," she answered.
"I promise not to go fast," I said
"Hmmm," she said looking me over. Really sizing me up. "Well, were you a tubby baby?"
"Huh?"
"Were you a tubby baby? Cuz you're a little fat now."
"Fat?"
"A little. Not as much as you used to be. You probably won't be the best bike rider ever. But you'll be pretty good."
Thank you child of abject honesty. Now to go make dinner of yogurt and grape nuts.
Rock Noir
I'm trying to get a noontime bike ride in (it's going to freaking SNOW next week) and avoid my trainer today so I can be outside. Plus I have a giant website I'm working on that I want to get out of my lap by the end of the day. And a book whose author is not responding, despite the fact we're at the very end of his cycle.
Oh, (disclaimer: I'm not really overweight, nor am I a teen obsessed with my weight, but I'm a big guy on a bike and, well, the bigger my body the harder it has to work to ride) and officially today I'm 7 pounds away from the weight I want to be at for cycling (thanks Dr. G for setting that goal!). 15 away from where I should be if I race, but I'm not planning on racing and I'm not sure it's genetically possible for me to get down to that weight.
You don't care. I'm not sure I even care. I'll stop talking about it. But if I see you I might show you all the cool new muscle formations in my thighs and calves. You can even watch the calves when I walk. Dread this summer when I wear shorts . . . mwhahahahaha.
Anyway, here's some Joe Henry lyrics I'm digging today. They are like an unsung soundtrack for a film noir film:
FLESH AND BLOOD
Come sit beside me,
That'll do for now
The night has come and left me
Just the light that you allow.
Come speak my name,
Fill my head with all such foolish dreams
My flesh and blood is no more real to me
Than what they seem
My love for you is burning
Like a spark along a fuse,
I feel your mark upon me now
As surely as the hand that leaves the bruise.
Life is for the living
And life comes hard for some,
While the rest of us, with flesh and blood,
Make it hard all on our own
All I ever wanted
Was the freedom to refuse,
Or something of my own to love enough
To hate to lose.
The fever in my brain is leaving
Smoke behind my eyes
When the part of me that wants to change
Fights the part of me that tries
Now, you see a golden light
Because I've turned a gold light on,
Sometimes, God knows, you've got to
Learn to shine your own.
I step out of darkness
And for a moment I'm only living by your kiss,
And just for now our flesh and blood
Is no more real than this
Oh, (disclaimer: I'm not really overweight, nor am I a teen obsessed with my weight, but I'm a big guy on a bike and, well, the bigger my body the harder it has to work to ride) and officially today I'm 7 pounds away from the weight I want to be at for cycling (thanks Dr. G for setting that goal!). 15 away from where I should be if I race, but I'm not planning on racing and I'm not sure it's genetically possible for me to get down to that weight.
You don't care. I'm not sure I even care. I'll stop talking about it. But if I see you I might show you all the cool new muscle formations in my thighs and calves. You can even watch the calves when I walk. Dread this summer when I wear shorts . . . mwhahahahaha.
Anyway, here's some Joe Henry lyrics I'm digging today. They are like an unsung soundtrack for a film noir film:
FLESH AND BLOOD
Come sit beside me,
That'll do for now
The night has come and left me
Just the light that you allow.
Come speak my name,
Fill my head with all such foolish dreams
My flesh and blood is no more real to me
Than what they seem
My love for you is burning
Like a spark along a fuse,
I feel your mark upon me now
As surely as the hand that leaves the bruise.
Life is for the living
And life comes hard for some,
While the rest of us, with flesh and blood,
Make it hard all on our own
All I ever wanted
Was the freedom to refuse,
Or something of my own to love enough
To hate to lose.
The fever in my brain is leaving
Smoke behind my eyes
When the part of me that wants to change
Fights the part of me that tries
Now, you see a golden light
Because I've turned a gold light on,
Sometimes, God knows, you've got to
Learn to shine your own.
I step out of darkness
And for a moment I'm only living by your kiss,
And just for now our flesh and blood
Is no more real than this
Monday, March 13, 2006
The Online Society to Stop James Blunt
I'm starting one. Who is in? I swear if I hear that pasty waif sing about how is ex-girlfriend is beautiful again I will shove explosives in my ears. The guy is pale, his voice is reed-thin and the song is, shall we say, boring.
But, oh, I guess the girls are going gaga over the video where the schmuck takes off his clothes in the snow and jumps into the ocean. Oooh. If only he did it like in the movie Coming Home.
I know I shouldn't be negative. I know I should understand how this guy has some sort of positive influence in the world, but I'm failing to see it. When I see or hear him and his ubiquitous crapfest, I want run into traffic.
Please, take him and Michael Buble and send them to Siberia to work on a gulag. I can't take it anymore.
For the love of all that is holy, please!!!!!
But, oh, I guess the girls are going gaga over the video where the schmuck takes off his clothes in the snow and jumps into the ocean. Oooh. If only he did it like in the movie Coming Home.
I know I shouldn't be negative. I know I should understand how this guy has some sort of positive influence in the world, but I'm failing to see it. When I see or hear him and his ubiquitous crapfest, I want run into traffic.
Please, take him and Michael Buble and send them to Siberia to work on a gulag. I can't take it anymore.
For the love of all that is holy, please!!!!!
Look for Me (I'll Be Around)
Good weekend. Logged roughly 60 miles on the bike, played with dog and children ate good food and went to a trivia contest. Even started having conversations with other riders this weekend. No complaints.
However, spending several hours in the saddle is proving that it is time to retire my Giant (well, maybe not retire but put on reserve) and move to something more roadie, but that would still allow me to come back from a ride caked in mud. Like yesterday.
What I'm trying to say is that, well, I may be ordering my beloved bike this week. Oh yes. Switch out the knobs for some rugged slicks, maybe swap some other components and go. Yowza.
Anyway, no one has bought Neko Case yet. Why? I have given you all the needed info. Come on. Sigh. Okay, Twin Peaky song today. But that's it. If you don't buy her album today, you are hopeless. Hopeless!
Neko Case - Look for Me (I'll Be Around)
However, spending several hours in the saddle is proving that it is time to retire my Giant (well, maybe not retire but put on reserve) and move to something more roadie, but that would still allow me to come back from a ride caked in mud. Like yesterday.
What I'm trying to say is that, well, I may be ordering my beloved bike this week. Oh yes. Switch out the knobs for some rugged slicks, maybe swap some other components and go. Yowza.
Anyway, no one has bought Neko Case yet. Why? I have given you all the needed info. Come on. Sigh. Okay, Twin Peaky song today. But that's it. If you don't buy her album today, you are hopeless. Hopeless!
Neko Case - Look for Me (I'll Be Around)
Friday, March 10, 2006
Nekolicious
At the risk of sounding obsessed--or worse like I have a crush--here's a video of Neko on Leno last night. Let it load. Trust me.
It's Cool to Love Your Family
Or so says the bejeweled Leslie Feist on her sadly out of print first album Monarch (Lay Down Your Jeweled Head). It's a good disc, it's a shame it's not easily found.
Feist - It's Cool to Love Your Family
Her song "Mushaboom" has recently been released as a single with a Postal Service remix. It's pretty good. They take Feist's peppy Holly Golightly song and turn it into a mournful tune. But Ben Gibbard's vocal additions actually work pretty well.
If you're nice, I'll post some tracks from her KCRW appearance. Sounded pretty good.
Feist - It's Cool to Love Your Family
Her song "Mushaboom" has recently been released as a single with a Postal Service remix. It's pretty good. They take Feist's peppy Holly Golightly song and turn it into a mournful tune. But Ben Gibbard's vocal additions actually work pretty well.
If you're nice, I'll post some tracks from her KCRW appearance. Sounded pretty good.
Thursday, March 09, 2006
Don't let Johnny Mathis Lead You Astray
The world's greatest song (as of yesterday, when I discovered it on IFC), performed by the world's coolest band (as of yesterday, when I discovered them on IFC) animated by the world's greatest animators (whom I hadn't heard of until yesterday, when I saw their video on IFC).
IFC = I Found Clip
Anyway, don't watch this at work because it contains the Mother of all Bad Words. Yes, it drops the F-bomb in the first verse. Look, I know that many of you find the word offensive. I really do. However, I find it to be versatile. Perhaps the most versatile word in the English Language. You know, like Jack Wagner said, "Fuck you you fucking fuckers."
Don't Fuck With Love Video on IFC Media Lab
Turns out Chad Schneider, a guy I used to work with (closely . . . in that we shared a folding table) has two films in the media lab too.
IFC = I Found Clip
Anyway, don't watch this at work because it contains the Mother of all Bad Words. Yes, it drops the F-bomb in the first verse. Look, I know that many of you find the word offensive. I really do. However, I find it to be versatile. Perhaps the most versatile word in the English Language. You know, like Jack Wagner said, "Fuck you you fucking fuckers."
Don't Fuck With Love Video on IFC Media Lab
Turns out Chad Schneider, a guy I used to work with (closely . . . in that we shared a folding table) has two films in the media lab too.
Wednesday, March 08, 2006
Hey Chicken
Admittedly odd video for the new Loose Fur song "Hey Chicken". Hey, it's Tweedy. I like any new Jeff Tweedy. Make sure you watch all the way through. Watch the dance off between the Power Ranger type guys and the monster. The moster totally got served!
Tuesday, March 07, 2006
Fox Confessor Brings the Flood
New Neko Case is out.
Now go buy it. Amazon has it for under $10. What's the last good thing you bought for under $10? A burrito?
Samples (again):
Hold On, Hold On
Star Witness
No excuses. It's a great disc. I'm listening to it as we speak. Trust me, it's much better than that burrito. And, it doesn't repeat on you during that finance meeting you have to attend at 2.
Now go buy it. Amazon has it for under $10. What's the last good thing you bought for under $10? A burrito?
Samples (again):
Hold On, Hold On
Star Witness
No excuses. It's a great disc. I'm listening to it as we speak. Trust me, it's much better than that burrito. And, it doesn't repeat on you during that finance meeting you have to attend at 2.
Sunday, March 05, 2006
Saturday, March 04, 2006
Can't Go To SXSW?
Me neither. But you can listen all you want, thanks to SXSW and many bands' open policy toward getting their music out there.
So, get thee to Bit Torrent and listen! Then, when you like the bands, buy their CDs. Now. It's good for your constitution. Seriously.
Link to nearly 1000 free and legal MP3s and film trailers.
Now, if you ARE going to SXSW, please, please, please go to the ANTI Records Hootenannay. Joe Henry, Billy Bragg, Jolie Holland, Ramblin' Jack Elliott and more. Please. Go. And bring me swag.
Someday I'll stop telling you about the genious of Joe Henry. And on that day you will be sorry. Your loss.
So, get thee to Bit Torrent and listen! Then, when you like the bands, buy their CDs. Now. It's good for your constitution. Seriously.
Link to nearly 1000 free and legal MP3s and film trailers.
Now, if you ARE going to SXSW, please, please, please go to the ANTI Records Hootenannay. Joe Henry, Billy Bragg, Jolie Holland, Ramblin' Jack Elliott and more. Please. Go. And bring me swag.
Someday I'll stop telling you about the genious of Joe Henry. And on that day you will be sorry. Your loss.
Friday, March 03, 2006
Is This The Home Environment I Want
I just rode my bike through the house, and jumped it off the steps into our bedroom right in front of Matilda.
She didn't notice. Not even when I came speeding back up those stairs and back out into the hallway, narrowly missing the television and the dog.
"I just thought you were walking by," she said.
Seriously, is this the house I want to live in? A house where I can't even set a bad example for my children? Maybe the naysayers are right. Maybe the nuclear family is disappearing.
Sigh. I guess I'll just hook the damn thing up to the trainer and do my intervals. What fun is being a rebel if no one notices?
She didn't notice. Not even when I came speeding back up those stairs and back out into the hallway, narrowly missing the television and the dog.
"I just thought you were walking by," she said.
Seriously, is this the house I want to live in? A house where I can't even set a bad example for my children? Maybe the naysayers are right. Maybe the nuclear family is disappearing.
Sigh. I guess I'll just hook the damn thing up to the trainer and do my intervals. What fun is being a rebel if no one notices?
Why I Stopped Watching American Idol
Because Neko Case would lose if she were on. First of all, she'd never sing a happy song. Would she sing "My Cherie Amour"? No. She might sing "Behind These Hazel Eyes" but when she did, it would be a boozy song that would tell you a harrowing story of loss and loneliness.
I think her voice is too good for it. Seriously. She's like a rocky, smokier Patsy Cline with a punk attitude.
Need proof that she's better than all of us?
Exhibit A:
Neko Case - Running Out of Fools
From Blacklisted. Classic song, done by Aretha Franklin, Elvis Costello, Isaac Hayes . . . Haunting, beautiful and powerful.
Exhibit B:
Neko Case - If You Knew
Neko Case - Train From Kansas City
Both live tracks from The Tigers Have Spoken. Filled with spite, anger, loss and maybe a touch of redemption. And they sound damn good.
Exhibit C:
The new album, Fox Confessor Brings the Flood, comes out Tuesday. What I've heard is amazing. It's her most daring, artistic music yet. Her melodies and subjects are more complex, soaring even. And her voice sounds better than ever.
Neko Case - Hold On Hold On
If that's not enough, I still give you this song. Amazing. Truly amazing. Listen to the chorus. Wow.
Neko Case - Star Witness
So, take that all you Idols. Neko can kick your ass. And well she should. She's a triple threat. Singer, writer, babe with a brain, and an axe. What more do you want?
Therefore, I implore you that you must go buy the album on Tuesday. They'll have it at Borders, so it won't be hard. And, if you still don't believe me, check out Leno on March 9.
Trust me, you won't be sorry. Seriously.
I think her voice is too good for it. Seriously. She's like a rocky, smokier Patsy Cline with a punk attitude.
Need proof that she's better than all of us?
Exhibit A:
Neko Case - Running Out of Fools
From Blacklisted. Classic song, done by Aretha Franklin, Elvis Costello, Isaac Hayes . . . Haunting, beautiful and powerful.
Exhibit B:
Neko Case - If You Knew
Neko Case - Train From Kansas City
Both live tracks from The Tigers Have Spoken. Filled with spite, anger, loss and maybe a touch of redemption. And they sound damn good.
Exhibit C:
The new album, Fox Confessor Brings the Flood, comes out Tuesday. What I've heard is amazing. It's her most daring, artistic music yet. Her melodies and subjects are more complex, soaring even. And her voice sounds better than ever.
Neko Case - Hold On Hold On
If that's not enough, I still give you this song. Amazing. Truly amazing. Listen to the chorus. Wow.
Neko Case - Star Witness
So, take that all you Idols. Neko can kick your ass. And well she should. She's a triple threat. Singer, writer, babe with a brain, and an axe. What more do you want?
Therefore, I implore you that you must go buy the album on Tuesday. They'll have it at Borders, so it won't be hard. And, if you still don't believe me, check out Leno on March 9.
Trust me, you won't be sorry. Seriously.
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