Today's Theme Song

Jonathan Coulton - Big Bad World One


Coulton is a mad scientist/genius. Hear the original, or buy all the Thing a Week songs here. If you're even a minor geek, you couldn't help but laugh when hearing "Code Monkey." He can be satirical one moment, and tender the next. Often, he can be both at the same time. It's amazing.

Don't believe me?



All done with Creative Commons licensed photos on Flickr. Just descriptions of photos. Funny and beautiful at the same time. Brilliant. Dwyer really does rock out on air guitar.

There, I feel better now about not having time to think lately. Even without the Tivo.

Oh No The Tivo

The Tivo died last night. DIED! It's just no longer responding. We've asked. We've begged. But, it just won't answer. It's frozen on the power up screen.

We missed Top Chef. We won't have a DVR all weekend. And it's a long weekend! And when we get it, it'll be a sad knockoff of a Tivo because DirecTV is stupid.

I'm not ashamed to admit that the Tivo has made me addicted to television. I admit it. You can bite me.

I. Need. Tivo.

Shaking. The thought of things not being recorded at my will is hurting me deeply.

Wilco - Another Man's Done Gone (From Man in the Sand)

Mates of State - Beautiful Dreamer

Mates of State is a band that consists of a married couple, an organ and a set of drums. That's it. Their fans claim it's cute how they give each other longing looks while they play. The band denies it. This video proves otherwise.

I can think of a thousand reasons why their music shouldn't work. Usually the word "organ" sends me running. And, yet, I own all their albums and love them dearly. In fact, whenever Kori wants to drop of their daughter for a play date with Gert, I'm up for it.

Neil Young and Willie Nelson - Four Strong Winds

My ride was windy today. Again. I looked over my log and at least 1/3 of my rides have had notes of strong winds. I had wind. Worse, I bonked today, which makes no sense considering my dietary habits in the last 24 hours, was wearing new gloves which I now officially hate and then managed to get some sort of exercise induced asthma when I was at my furthest point from home. Now I have a splitting headache.

Over all, today was the worst ride I've had in the last two years.

There's Always Someone Cooler Than You

And that person will inevitably be David Byrne.

He was cooler in 2005:


And in 1983:

Early In The Morning, Sometimes At Night

Can't seem to sleep past 4:30 a.m. Tired. Can't sleep, the clown will eat me.



Jeff Tweedy sans amplification singing "Acuff Rose." Because sometimes things are better without electricity.

The Ditty Bops - Summer Rains

It's rainy today.

Tom Waits -- Hold On

St. Louis got the best of me.

The Band with the Staples Singer - The Weight

Just freaking awesome.

The New Floyd Landis?

Last year I saw a commercial and the talking head was a dead ringer for Floyd Landis. Last night, a band I greatly enjoy, The New Pornographers, were on Letterman. Is that A.C. Newman singing or a certain beleaguered cyclist?



Maybe Floyd is moonlighting when he's not tearing up (or tearing himself up) at mountain bike races.

Now, a word to the Letterman director. See that woman on the left? That's Neko Case. In the future you can ignore the dude with the blowy keyboard thing and focus on Neko. For the record, Mr. Letterman Director, Neko may be singing back up here, but the girl can belt out a tune. Give her more screen time. It's 80% of the reason I watched . . .

MS 150

Wow. I send my personal fund raising page to no less than 35 people over the past several weeks. Guess how many donations I've received? Zero. Not only that, I've not even received a single response.

Sad, really. Sad for charity. Total blow to my ego. I can't get a single donation? Seriously? Not a single dollar from anyone? Not even a sorry I can't afford it?

All I'm trying to do is raise $250. Surely we can get something. Anything? I know I'm not selling cute little weasels, but come on. Nothing? Not a single dime?

Click here to donate to find a cure for Multiple Sclerosis.

Volunteers Needed

Anyone want to go to the Branson Individual Time Trial and the start of the Lebanon stage of the inaugural (and probably last) Tour of Missouri with me?

I'd be leaving after work on September 12th, watching the ITT on the 13th, driving to Lebanon for the start line by 11 a.m. the 14th and then straight home.

I have a place to stay, was planning on taking the days off, etc. But my traveling companion had scheduling conflicts and he can't go.

I was really looking forward to it.

Anyone? Anyone?

Sigh.

Gah!

Gert starts Kindergarten next week. Gah! I'm not ready for this. Not at all. She's my little buddy. My shadow. From this point on it's all downhill. Next thing I know my little buddy will be my teenage girl who hates me.

This whole kindergarten thing is also dredging up some deeper feelings in me. I was roughly about Gert's age when my dad died. Younger, actually. I keep looking at her and thinking about myself and wondering how in the hell I was able to process that kind of situation.

I was alone with my dad when he had his heart attack. The last time I saw him alive was in the ER, hooked up to machines I didn't understand, when he demanded that the staff let him see his little boy. I don't know if that's an imagined memory or not, but when I think of that night I recall him calling me his "little boy." I don't know why.

I was talking to Chris about it on Saturday before The Polyphonic Spree concert (which purged my dark feelings by filling a room full of unabashed hippie joy). I was telling her how my dad and I were planning to build a club house. I had even painted the plans for the club house for an art project in my kindergarten class.

There's a point in your life where your father is a hero; Superman. He can do anything, he can be anything, he can solve anything. Eventually you grow up and realize your dad has failings, makes mistakes, has a temper. Suddenly he's human and, I guess, in a way, you lose that hero.

Because I have never been able to see my father from any other view than as a five year old, so I've never lost that hero worship. In a way, it's a worship of something I'll never know; something I've never had. My father was alive for only 14% of my life. And, for most of that 14% I was too young to appreciate or even remember him. All I have are some photos, a random family movie (which I can't even find any more . . . the only actual proof I have of me and him moving and interacting together) and memories. Worse, I can't even be sure if I have actual memories or if the memories have been implanted from nearly 29 years of conversation.

So, I keep looking at Gert and wandering through this dark place inside of me. I don't want her to have to grow up without a dad, so I'll do my best to not die. I think that's fair. Oddly, whenever that thought occurs to me I think about how miserable I would be wherever I'd end up because I wouldn't have her anymore, or Matilda or Chris. Say what you will about afterlife, give me your rosiest picture based on your religion. Tell me what Jesus, Buddha, Jehovah and Krishna have to say. But, I'm telling you that without my little family, it wouldn't be worth anything.

Woah, sorry. I wasn't intending to write anything past "Gah" in this post. And yet I just drug you through the darkest sections of Gary's soul. I hope you've enjoyed your tour. Please gather your belongings, watch your step as you exit the ride vehicle, take small children by the hand.

In closing, and what I think was my whole point in this depression-fest, is I'm obsessed with this Billy Bragg song. I should warn my own family members that it's the first song in 29 years that actually states what I've been feeling for that amount of time. I wouldn't say it's a song that makes me cry, but it is one that I can get lost inside for an hour. Kind of like picking at a scab.

Billy Bragg - Tank Park Salute