Abbey Road

Despite the fact that my trip was for business I did find myself with one hour for sightseeing. Before someone at work complains and questions why I wasn’t checking my email at the time, it was ten in the morning on Monday which was four in the morning in KC. There wouldn’t have been any email to check. And one hour of free time meant that I had just enough time to sprint through Westminster Abbey, which is pictured above just before I attempted to see how fast one can traverse one of the greatest historical sites in the world.

Basically, I couldn’t stay at a hotel a few minutes walk from the Abbey and not make an attempt to tour it. It’s such a strange place. It’s a combination church, cemetery, hall of fame, and cultural touchstone. Kings were crowned there and then were buried there. You can’t turn around without running into a famous grave. Or a tourist with one of those headphone wands that cause them to wander around blindly listening to a bad description of what they could see if they just opened their eyes. Sorry but it was tough having to fight through the crowds and tour groups so that I could experience the space.

And it is an amazing place. If you have any sense of history the place just knocks the breath out of you. Over there is the grave of Edward the Confessor. There is Elizabeth I. Here is Henry V, whose grave doesn’t get nearly the attention that I feel it deserves. It’s almost as if it is in a discarded corner and that doesn’t seem right for my favorite Shakespeare character. Every step you take brings you in contact with history. As well as with some lesser known people. Such as the inventor of the Penny Postage, who had a small statue in one corner. It’s nice to know that the guy who invented the stamp gets to be buried amongst kings. As was Sir Edward Earle Bulwer-Lytton who will always be remembered as the guy who started a novel with the sentence “It was a dark and stormy night.” Maybe it isn’t that tough to get into Westminster after all.

Two other sights that deserve mentioning. The Coronation Chair is one of those historical artifacts that leaves you dumbfounded. Here is the chair that the rulers of England have been crowned on for centuries and it is sitting out in the open with no one guarding it. And to be honest, it doesn’t look like that comfortable of a chair. It is sorely lacking in the area of lower back support. Plus, you can see how generations of people have carved their initials into the chair. Talk about finding your way into immortality.

The other is one of my favorite places in the world, Poets Corner. I have to love any country that dedicates a place of honor to its writers. I just seem to find myself standing there, looking down at the names, and just being blown away by who is buried around me. From Chaucer to Olivier, they are all in this one corner of the church. And they all have tourists stomping over their graves with absolutely no regard to who they are. Now I know that part of this is just the nature of the building, when you bury people in the floor people have to walk over their graves. It’s just that Poets Corner houses the last resting place of some of my idols and it’s tough to stand there and watching people not treat the place with the respect and reverence that I feel it deserves.

(While I do appreciate the fact that the tour guides were pointing out the grave of the 152 year old man. How can you go to London and not see the grave of the 152 year old man?)

Longest bar story tomorrow. Well, not longest in terms of words. More like length. It’ll make sense when I explain it.

Yet another fine mess...

As always, there is a reason as to why I wasn’t updating the blog last week, besides just the usual laziness and a surprising lack of Lindsay Lohan news. As the above picture indicates, I happened to find myself in London where everything, including internet access, is insanely expensive. So even though I was a witness to the whole “Hugh Grant throwing a can of baked beans” incident I haven’t had a chance to write about it until recently. (I have two things to say about that whole chain of events. 1) I would never had expected Hugh to be a consumer of baked beans and 2) He has a surprisingly good arm.)

The trip itself was one of my usual excellent adventures. It was a work excursion (yes, my job has me crossing the pond pretty regularly and no, I have no idea how I lucked into this position) that I wasn’t told about until two weeks ahead of time. This was a slight problem as my passport expires in June and you can’t travel into the UK on a passport that is expiring in the next ninety days. Which brings the whole “Expiration Date” concept into question. Wouldn’t that mean that my passport had already expired since I couldn’t travel on it? Anyway, I was able to get my passport renewed in less than a week and flew overseas. In the middle seat in a packed plane. I have to thank my parents for getting me an MP3 player for Christmas as I basically put my collection of New Pornographers songs on shuffle mode for eight hours. It made it a slightly bearable experience.

So we land and I make my way through Heathrow as I have on many occasions and wait at the baggage carousel. My boss (who had the exact same flights as me) gets his bag and I wait. And wait. And wait. To no avail. Yep, my luggage had disappeared somewhere between O’Hare and Heathrow and the nice airline employee told me that if it appeared they would let me know. Pissed as hell I head to the hotel, check in, find out that my room wasn’t ready yet, and drop off my backpack with the concierge so I can go shopping since I didn’t carry any clothes in my backpack and I had meetings in the morning.

Head out of the hotel to discover that a) the hotel was right next to Buckingham Palace and b) the London Marathon was finishing at Buckingham Palace. (By the way, for some reason I was referring to Buckingham Palace as “Buckminster” for the whole trip. Partly this was my combining Buckingham and Westminster, partly it was the fact that I feel that Buckminster Fuller deserves a palace named in his honor). So I fight the crowds and it dawns on me that at this moment I am overseas and am literally down to the clothes on my back. I don’t even have my backpack anymore. And I freak out because I really can’t handle that type of situation.

Of course, at times like this I ask myself “What would Ivey do right now?” And I put myself in his snowshoes and thought “Ivey would say ‘There’s nothing I can do aboot this so I might as well find a pub with a hockey game on.’” I do him one better and find a Gap and am able to buy slacks and a dress shirt, which cost more than I even want to think about. This after I went past all of those top end clothing places I read about where I could have bought a five hundred dollar shirt that would have been lost on my way back to the states.

Anyway, so I was happy that I at least had clothes for my meetings in the morning and wouldn’t be talking to clients in jeans and a Notre Dame football shirt. Head back to the hotel to get my key and officially check in. Get to the reception desk and I see Stephanie the desk clerk. Who was about six foot four, blonde, and vaguely eastern European. And regardless of the fact that I hadn’t slept in a day and a half, she was the most beautiful woman that I had seen in ages. Which led to the following conversation.

“Is there anything else that I can do for you?”
“Yes, when do you get off work and can I buy you a drink? And how interested would you be in obtaining a visa to the States?”

Ok, that conversation technically didn’t happen but I really did think about asking it. I showed restraint because a) I had been wearing the same clothes for 30 straight hours and I must have looked like hell and b) I’m chickenshit in these situations. However, I did spend the rest of the trip contemplating things I could break in my hotel room just so I could head down to reception.

My luggage did finally show up the next day, which meant that my running around wasn’t for naught but at least it wasn’t a world ender. It wasn’t as if I was entirely concerned about my luggage since all I had in it was clothes. Just that I had my favorite dress shirt in there, my favorite Notre Dame shirt, and my Notre Dame hockey shirt. And how can you run around London without proclaiming your support for a college hockey team?

More stories tomorrow including England’s longest bar, foreign languages, and yet another trek through Westminster

The five random CDs for the week:
1) The Neville Brothers “Family Groove”
2) The Police “Message in a Box” (Four disc set, so that adds up to five for the week)

And I'm back...

A quick post tonight as I am fighting a number of things, mainly a vicious case of jet lag. Yes, I’ve been out of town the past few nights (the main reason for the lack of posts) and dealing with issues of passports, lost luggage, the most beautiful front desk clerk in the world and other stories that I will discuss in full when I feel that I can accurately type a sentence. Right now, I have to deal with the fact that I haven’t slept in a bed in twenty four hours.

For those wondering, jet lag is a lot like having a hangover. Except without all of the enjoyable moments beforehand. This may explain why I was playing trivia at the bar tonight. If I’m going to suffer, I might as well have some fun in the meantime. We even won, which shows that I am apparently more intelligent when I can’t technically think and can only react.

Anyway, here is the story that I want to tell. It is from the trivia game on Friday night where once again there was a question where I was the only one in the building who knew the answer. It was a rather simple question, “What city proclaims itself to be the Spam capital of the world?” And I immediately answered, “Austin, Minnesota.” And, as is almost always the case, I was correct.

Why do I know this? One very simple reason. My first girlfriend grew up in Austin, Minnesota. As part of my birthday present one year she sent me a Spam bank. These are the sorts of facts that you never forget. Even though Austin is known for other things (more like other thing, that being the Gear Daddies) in my mind that city is tied to the first girl I ever fell for and Spam. I’m not sure if anyone else in the world could ever make that connection. Definitely not a group of people sitting in a bar in KC on a Friday night.

So Meg, wherever you are, thanks for making me look intelligent once again. And yes, I’m going to write the novel I promised you. It’ll be done in November. Sure it’s, uh, seventeen years late but things happened. There were a lot of good television shows on at the time.

Can't beat Casmir Pulaski Day

I have to thank Jeff tonight for reminding me that today is National High Five Day. I can’t believe that I forgot about that, I consider it one of the official Battling the Current holidays. It’s a simple celebration when it comes down to it. For one day you should high five random people in your life. If someone does anything of even minor significance, give them a high five to show your appreciation. Sure, there are only a few hours left but you can carry this over until tomorrow. Few things in life are as satisfying as a well executed high five.

(Though keep in mind that tomorrow is 4:20 so there will be celebrations of a different sort going on as well. If you know what I mean…)

I also have to admit that I did not celebrate Dyngus Day this year. I knew what day it was, can’t really miss the day after Easter. And I was ready to go out and enjoy the holiday that commemorates the fact that there is a day after Easter and that day is as good of one to drink as any. At least I think that is the reasoning behind the holiday. To be honest, it was never clear why I was drinking very large beers on a Monday night while drama unfolded around me. Though that is a surprisingly typical event in my life.

Anyway, I was thinking about going out but since Kansas City doesn’t celebrate Dyngus Day I was stuck in a rather large quandary. While I could go out to the bars and carry the South Bend tradition onwards there would be absolutely no one out to join me. In fact, all it would be is me sitting in an empty bar on a Monday night. That’s not quite the best position to find yourself in. Until I find someone who wants to be my reflection on a Monday night, I try to avoid being in an empty bar by myself. (Also, just a hint to the still single out there. Never go out on a date on a Monday early on in a relationship. Because in that case it so clearly a date the seriousness of the relationship gets ratcheted up much higher than it needs to be. Avoid the pressure, always schedule for Wednesdays.)

One quick housekeeping note. For the next week or so blog updates are going to be rather sporadic. It’s a combination of forseen and unforeseen circumstances. I have a lot of work stuff to address as well as about 100 pages of Tawdry Amusements to edit, rewrite and figure out just what the hell to do with in general. It’s missing things like general organization at the present moment. I have lots of words, though they aren’t in any particular order or anything. Hopefully I’ll be able to get a lot of that settled in the next few days. Things should get back to normal by the end of the month. I’ll write when I can, but there might not be daily updates.

Until next time, have a great weekend everyone.

More on Va Tech

Have a few more things to say about the shootings at Virginia Tech. I’ve been kind of drawn to CNN and the other news networks the past few nights. I’m not sure why, it’s not as if I feel that there is going to be a great revelation and today did mark the return of the screaming head of Nancy Grace, who shouldn’t be allowed on television much less a major news network. But, I always have to watch these stories in an attempt to just answer the question why. It’s a tough one to answer.

(At some point I have to stop watching just because the news is too sad and depressing and you feel completely helpless in the process. It’s not healthy to go days where your only emotion is sadness.)

The first point is based on what I wrote on Monday. I did immediately assume that the shooter was an engineering student. This was based entirely on the fact that Virginia Tech has a strong engineering program and that in the past, engineers have been involved in campus shootings. I never would have expected that this would be the work of an English major. I know that this is stereotyping of a degree but that doesn’t seem to be a major that a loner would be drawn to. That and the fact that his writing did and would show what was going on in his mind. It’s sad that they weren’t able to get him the help that he needed. I’m not sure what else could have been done.

I’ll still stand by my claim that engineering programs have to address the fact that it is a high stress major filled with people who aren’t always equipped to handle that type of pressure. I’m not implying that it is a dangerous field or anything. I am extremely proud that I have a degree in electrical engineering and that I worked my way through the program. But, if I had some dark moments in that process and I know others that did as well you have to wonder what will happen when someone who doesn’t have a support network faces those type of stresses.

The second point is based on an interview I saw on Chris Matthews. It was with a student who was a suite mate of the shooter and Matthews grilled him on the relationship with him. And I mean grilled him, they were harsh questions to ask a twenty year old who just discovered that a mass murder watched television in his living room. What this student mainly said is that he tried talking to Cho but he never said anything or showed any emotion. He wasn’t even sure if he spoke English. After a few weeks he just started to leave him alone.

Chris Matthews couldn’t believe this. He couldn’t fathom how you wouldn’t tell anyone if a roommate just kept to himself and didn’t interact. The fact is, his roommate’s reaction seems completely reasonable to me. Anyone who has had to deal with roommates assigned randomly knows that at some point you deal with someone strange. In a best case scenario a roommate is your best friend, usually what you hope for is someone that you can stand. If the guy just doesn’t talk and doesn’t interact you just give him a wide berth. It isn’t that you are callous and uncaring, it is simply the easiest way to deal with an awkward situation with someone who is a complete stranger. It really isn’t that unusual of a situation. I think there were a handful of students that I spent two years of business school with who I never heard speak and I talked with everybody.

My last point is about the video that Cho sent to NBC that was released today. It is a very confounding piece of film. My reaction, and this is going to be tough to explain, is that it almost seems like a parody of a manifesto. I know that parody isn’t the right word but it definitely doesn’t seem real. If you asked someone to write a manifesto and have it be over the top that is what it would sound like. It seems like a bad script. I’m not sure if you can even say that there is emotion in his speech, at times it is like he is reading off cue cards.

That’s what makes it so frightening and disturbing. Even with his filmed explanations as to why he did this horrible act it still doesn’t make any sense. You can’t get a grip on any of his reasoning or his logic. It really plays out like a bad movie. And that is what really bothers me. I understand that bad things happen but you would like to think that there is a reason. In New Orleans the levees failed. Here, I can’t even begin to understand what would push someone to that point.

Searching for a spare

Another installment in my neverending car adventures today. A few days ago I was filling up my car and went, “My tire looks really low.” But I just assumed that was just due to the angle I was looking at it. Plus, Grand Am tires always look low. Next day, looked at it again and thought, “It does look a little low.” Don’t actually do anything about it, just mentally note it. Yesterday I drive back from work and go, “The car is handling rather strange.” Still, watching Monday Night Raw takes precedence.

So today I drive to work and not only is the car not handling well it is beginning to get a rather strong pull to the right. Make it to work, get out of the car and figure out, “Yeah, my tire is for all effective purposes flat.” At this point I finally decide that I should have it fixed before I end up driving on the rim. (What? You think that I know how to change a tire? Much easier to drive on a flat tire.) Ends up I had a nail in the tire, from where I have no clue as I typically don’t drive through building sites, and I was able to get it patched up. This is the third tire that I’ve had to have fixed since I owned the car and adds to the repair bill for the month that includes a confused security system and a broken mirror, which has probably given me seven years of bad luck. Unless the world ends in 2012 with the Mayan calendar though I guess that would also count as bad luck. Though, seriously, what type of civilization can’t make a calendar that doesn’t have a fatal error? Is tomorrow that difficult of a concept?

Anyway, this is all just another sign that I need a new car. I know that it is odd to associate a flat tire with buying a whole new car but to me, it’s just a sign that something is going wrong. Plus, if I am going…

(Excuse me, they just used the Josh Rouse song “El Otro Lado” in a Panera Bread commercial. I’m going to need to bang my head against a wall for a few minutes. Sure, let’s use the most beautiful song of last year to sell overpriced sandwiches.)

Like I was saying, if I am going to have a midlife crisis I might as well play the part. I’ve reached the point that when I get my haircut that I have discussions on how to emphasize the gray in my hair. The idea being that we can turn my aging into a suave and sophisticated look. I’d rather not come to terms with my aging. I’d rather date someone half my age. Ok, not half, I’m only 33 so half my age would be way too young but still, I don’t want to be an adult just yet. Like all that lies in front of me is an endless string of tax returns. Which I probably should get started on, now that I think about it.

Unthinkable

While heading to a meeting this morning I walked past a TV tuned to CNN. I glanced up at the screen and saw the breaking news headline of “Shooting at Va. Tech. 2 students dead.” And my initial thought was “Another engineer lost it” and I just kept on walking. I didn’t even break stride.

That may not be the most callous thing I have ever done in my life but it is pretty high on the list. I’m disgusted with myself for that. I can’t even be bothered to take five seconds to look at what became the worst shooting in US history. All I can do is pass it off with a flippant comment to myself. Talk about having your priorities in entirely the wrong place. I know that it was an event far away that I couldn’t impact but still, I should at least have the decency to react.

My heart goes out to everyone at Virginia Tech. I can’t imagine what it is like to be walking to class and seeing police officers with weapons drawn charging the engineering building while gunshots ring out all around you. It is so far removed from anything that you can ever experience. I’m not even sure if you react with fear. You might just act as if it is a movie in the same way that the one student pulled out his cel phone and started filming it. It seemed as normal a response as any. You can’t believe what is happening around you so you put it on a video screen, an environment where it does make sense.

The other point I want to talk about is the comment I made to myself, which while flippant has a heck of a lot of truth to it. Now I don’t know much about what happened other than the news stories that I have seen so far (and I’ve been avoiding CNN due to a fear that I’ll have to listen to Nancy Grace be an idiot for an hour straight) so I have no idea if the shooter was an engineer or associated with the engineering program. But, the shooting did take place in the engineering building and Virginia Tech is an engineering school and I have a serious issue with the way that engineering programs tend to be run.

Being an engineer is a tough major. I’m not speaking just in terms of coursework or subject matter. Architects always seemed to work longer hours than engineers and there are other majors that definitely aren’t simple. But there is something about the engineering side of campus that makes things worse. You have a group of guys who entered the program mainly because they enjoy working with numbers more than working with people. And it really is a group of guys, I had several classes where there was not a single female in the class. Everyone in the room was one of the smartest, if not the smartest person, in their high school. And suddenly, half of them are for the first time in their life going to be below average.

Dealing with that shift is insanely difficult. Being twenty years old is tough enough, discovering that the one thing that has made you different, the one thing that set you apart from others, isn’t there anymore can break you. I pretty much shut down at one point my junior year after I bombed a test after spending the entire weekend studying for it. I just couldn’t accept the fact that even though I did everything I could, spent Saturday night studying like crazy, I just could not get the answers to the questions. That had never happened to me before. I remember lying in bed thinking that the next day I was just going to walk into the administration office, admit that I was an idiot, and find another major. And this was because I got a C on a test.

I made it through thanks to some good friends who would hit the bars with me, Heather’s kindness in sitting and having coffee with me and just listening to me, and one call from the angel in my life who has a habit of showing up whenever I need her. But I don’t think it needs to be that hard or that cutthroat. I was told in my first big engineering lecture, “Look to your left, look to your right, those people won’t be here when you graduate.” I don’t take that to be a good thing. It’s not that I want to see curriculums lessened or an “Everyone is an A student” mentality. I’d just like to see a little more care taken up front in letting people know that they are not always going to be the best and that is not always a bad thing. Something to help people cope with the stress.

Again, my thoughts and prayers are with those in Blacksburg. As I remember hearing a priest say in 2001 at ND, “At times like this, all you can do is pray.”

Back in the day...

At work last week we had a discussion of mentioning your most embarrassing moments. I sidestepped the entire topic, mainly because it would be very hard for me to settle on just one. Making a fool out of myself on a regular basis is something that I take pride in. Such as playing trivia on Friday night where one of the topics was 80’s Teen Sex Comedies and I freaking rocked that category. Not only did I know that Tom Cruise starred in “Losin’ It” but I was able to identify the movie My Tutor from the tagline alone. And I was incredibly proud of myself for remembering that even though I doubt that it impressed the red headed slutatorian.

My explanation as to my encyclopedic knowledge of bad 80’s sex comedies? Well, being a teenage boy back in the days before the internet meant that you had to be a little more creative in your attempts to see boobs. Hence, a great understanding of late night cable lineups as well as discovering various neglected corners of video stores that were pretty lenient on your rental habits as long as you didn’t go into the back room. Heck, I think I rented The Unbearable Lightness of Being when I was fifteen, which I was able to pass off as my being interested in art films when really it was just a beginning of a fascination with Juliette Binoche. Who I’ll picture above just because my hard drive contains more pictures of her than you could readily imagine. Hell, I have a poster of her in my living room.

(True, The Unbearable Lightness of Being doesn’t technically count as a sex comedy but it does have boobs. And at a certain age that is all that matters.)

I really don’t want to know what it is like being a teenage boy with high speed internet. It must take all of the fun and adventure out of the whole enterprise. Twenty years ago I thought I might get in trouble for watching Benny Hill night after night while tonight a thirteen year old is probably becoming very familiar with the works of Bridget the Midget. I don’t think that we can consider this progress. I’m of the opinion that I’m much more lenient in broadcasting sex than violence but there are some things that you shouldn’t see at a young age. Or at any age, for that matter. There are some corners of the internet that you just don’t want to walk down.

I know, a strange topic tonight but it was just one of those weekends. Outside of a little shopping and some hanging out I really didn’t accomplish much of anything. Cleaned my apartment, did some grocery shopping, took care of a bunch of lingering tasks that just had to get done but nothing that was life altering. Spent most of this afternoon watching the history of the Four Horsemen DVD (the wrestling group, not the football players or signs of the apocalypse). Basically I just wanted to relive sitting around on a Saturday night, watching TBS and waiting to see Ric Flair and the boys just beat the ever living crap out of someone. Usually Dusty Rhodes but occasionally Ricky Morton.

Some people would say that watching wrestling videos while in your early thirties is a bad sign. Admitting so in public definitely is. But like I said, making a fool out of myself is just part of who I am. Anything to avoid being typical.

The five random CD’s of the week:
1) Alejandro Escovedo “Bourbonitis Blues”
2) Kathleen Edwards “Live from the Bowery Ballroom”
3) Old 97’s “Too Far To Care”
4) Pearl Jam “Vs.”
5) Wilco “Yankee Hotel Foxtrot”

All this happened, more or less

The greatest compliment that anyone has ever given me in my entire life was telling me that my writing reminded them of Kurt Vonnegut. I have never come close to his brilliance but just knowing that for a moment I had someone comparing me to my literary idol had me floating on air for a week.

(My second greatest compliment was Gabriel grabbing me and going, “Chris, you are my idol” and my response of “Dude, you are so wrong” but that is a story for another day.)

It was tough waking up this morning and finding out that Kurt had died. Not that it was a surprise as he had reached the age where those things occur. He had written about it for years, basically viewing his last few essays as a coda on his writing life. Even his last novel Timequake is filled with self-reference in which he states that he is too old to still be writing novels. As he states at one point, “When Hemmingway and Fitzgerald were my age they were already dead. Why am I still writing novels?” But for me, it is really a loss of one of my literary heroes.

Growing up there were two writers that I admired and whose styles I tried to copy. One was the late Douglas Adams, who wrote the Hitchhiker’s Guide books and showed me that you could be funny and philosophical and fantastical all at the same time. The other was Kurt, who showed me that books didn’t have to all be the same. That the distance between the author and the story can be negligible. And that you don’t need to write massive tomes to get your point across. Slaughterhouse-Five is a tiny little book. It doesn’t feel like it when you read it. I can still remember the image of Billy Pilgrim standing in the corner of the rail car, with his arms outstretched and head down, even though it has been more than fifteen years since I first read that story. You don’t need a thousand pages to prove your point. Sometimes you only need three words.

(The only F I have ever received was on a paper I wrote on Slaughterhouse-Five. Technically, I received an A and an F on the same paper. From an analysis standpoint I was given an A based on my interpretation of the symbolism in the novel. The F was on my grammar as writing about a book that has no consistent timeline resulted in my paper using past, present and future verb tense, often in the same sentence. In retrospect, I should have claimed that it was a tribute to a master.)

Maybe it was because he eschewed artifice. Maybe it was because he saw as a young man how inhumane people can be and how random life really is. Or maybe it was just because he understood too well what it meant to be a human being. Where you decide to pinpoint his insight is insignificant, the importance is the mirror he put up to the world. Almost alien at times, his detachment to the world around him and his ability to point out the frivolity of life while maintaining those moments of brilliance that keep us going is what made him special. He made a kid lying on a couch in his basement fall to the ground in laughter and then wonder if one day he could write something that would stay with someone for a lifetime.

The last great American author died this morning. So it goes.

Next Friday is Funny Hat Day

Lost on the very last question in trivia tonight to the millionaire, all because I couldn’t remember what you give someone on your third anniversary. Probably because I have never gotten to the point where I have had a third anniversary. Or a second even. Wow, I thought my inability to have a lasting relationship was my strength in trivia and not my eventual downfall. That and missing a Boulevard beer question, which is really, really embarrassing and has caused my liver to attempt to disown me.

I know that I usually keep a rule of not talking about work but I have been dealing with something over the past couple of weeks that I just need to write about. Now like most offices we have an official dress code that is vaguely enforced. It’s not like when I worked in downtown Chicago where I wore a suit and tie every day even though all I did was walk into my cube and work on a computer all day. All I have to do now is throw on a shirt with a collar and be sure that I am wearing pants. Well, for the past few weeks we have been getting emails touting how we are having a special jeans day and we all get to feel special by wearing jeans to the office.

All of which makes me feel like I’m back in high school. Seriously, throughout my twelve years of catholic schooling having a jeans day was a really big deal because you finally didn’t have to wear a uniform. But I’m not a kid anymore (at least chronologically, my desire to own G.I. Joe figures not withstanding) and wearing jeans really doesn’t mean anything to me. It’s not like anyone would complain if I started wearing jeans to begin with. Hell, I wrote in here a year ago my plan to start dressing up to see what the reaction would be. Wearing a tie would worry people more than wearing jeans. A suit would make people stop me in the hall. A top hat and tails, complete with gloves and a walking cane, would probably result in the security guards chasing me around campus on their Segways.

I have one other reason I really don’t want to wear jeans to the office. Back when I was at the good ole neighborhood nuclear power plant I wore jeans to work. It made sense then but to be honest I really don’t want to be reminded of that time. I’ve moved on in my career to the point where I no longer have to wear radiation detectors at all times or work in a room where the safety instructions were, and I quote here, “If the alarm sounds you have a minute to get out of the room before the Cardox goes off and you’ll die.” I’m happy that I now have to wear a dress shirt and look like a professional. Otherwise I might as well just work from home.

One other dress code story from my old job. When I started there they really didn’t have a written policy. My boss once joked that he never inforced the rules because he could never find them, though he did remind us at times what might be best for our career. Well, after a while they actually printed the rules so we, being detail oriented engineers, went through them with a fine-toothed comb. One stated that “skorts of appropriate length” were allowed, which caused five of us to yell in unison

“What the hell is a skort? How can I know if it’s the appropriate length if I don’t even know what it is?”

That’s what you get when you have an engineering department that honestly consisted entirely of guys with glasses. And probably why you really should avoid having such a department.

Or I'll try out for Win, Lose or Draw

(Yes, that was the best Barneyism last night. I’m still trying to figure out who is the best definition of a twelve, where you are required to hit it but scared to death that you are going to lose a lot of money in the process.)

Anyone who has read my blog for any length of time (besides deserving a medal or at least a free CD) has heard about my penchant for entering trivia contests around town. What started off as a lark and an extension of my quest to have the name “Dr. Wang” immortalized on bar trivia machines across the country has since turned into something bordering between second job and obsession. In the process, I somehow became embroiled in a huge rivalry at the Flea Market where my team’s early dominance caused another team to bring in reinforcements to beat us. As someone who really does play to cover my bar tab I was extremely proud of that fact.

That may have changed this weekend. See, during a commercial break on The Amazing Race (will Charla and Mirna just go away already) I for some reason decided to see what was on the Game Show Network. Not a channel I usually check on but that night they had on “Secrets of game Show Millionaires.” And obviously that is a show that is going to gain my attention.

The idea behind the show was to give you the hints that you need to become a successful game show contestant and was hosted by the legendary Chuck Woolery. Who, I’m sad to say, did not tell me how to make a better Love Connection or that he’d be back in two and two. They had the usual hints like “Know the game” and “Be yourself, but bigger” with comments from previous top players. Like Ken Jennings the Jeopardy king. The military guy who won a ton of money on Tic Tac Dough, my favorite show as a kid as it involved a dragon and Wink Martindale. They also had someone who won $32K on Who Want’s To Be a Millionaire. I wouldn’t particularly consider that to be a successful performance. I think I could do that in my sleep without any lifelines. Still, it was a fun little television break…until…until…

I saw the guy I play trivia against every week being interviewed. And a graphic underneath him that mentioned that he won $1.4M on Twenty One.

Son of a bitch.

(To the rest of the Kai Badgers. I’m not making this up. It’s the dude who wears the sweatshirt that says “Who Wouldn’t Want To Be a Millionaire” all the time. Did anyone know this and just not tell me?)

I’m not quite sure how I am supposed to react to this. Now as much as I don’t really care about money I really do care about people being more successful than me, which is a problem as at the present moment pretty much anyone with a pulse is more successful than I am. But to know that I have spent a year fighting this guy, week in and week out, and winning more than my fair share of the time when he was a freaking millionaire just ticks me off. One, because why the hell is this guy stealing my beer money and two, why the hell am I not getting rich on television right now?

(Yes, and I know that I am saying I when it is a team game. But let’s just say that if my team was the 90’s Bulls I wouldn’t be playing the role of Luc Longley. I’d be that guy with the statue.)

What gets me is that this guy did bring in reinforcements to deal with the fact that I was killing him in categories like “Family Guy” and “Pro Wrestling”. I don’t know if I could take him one on one in trivia but I could probably hold my own. It’s just knowing that what is meant to be a friendly game has just become a hell of a lot more competitive for me. Because if there is one thing that gets my adrenaline going is having the opportunity to show up someone who is supposedly better than me. I’ve been doing that all my life.

Stop all the world now

I’ve just got a couple of random items tonight as well as no picture, as I couldn’t think of one that would be really fitting. By the way, what’s the overall opinion on my adding pictures to the blog? Good idea? Bad idea? I at least thought that it would make it a little more interesting when I write about someone like Neko Case or Lisa Hannigan in that now people who don’t spend their entire life studying music magazines would at least be able to see what I am talking about. Let me know what you think.

Topic # 1: Thanks for the comment over the weekend that informed me (and Wikipedia confirmed) that Brittney Spears and Howie Day became a couple in rehab. In a strange way that doesn’t really surprise me. I’ve just assumed that Howie has spent the past year in rehab as opposed to touring, recording a new record, or acting like a total douchebag. He is definitely forward thinking and I could definitely see him playing solitaire in rehab going, “If I hang out here long enough some starlet will walk through and I’ll be able to pick her up on the rebound.” Because that’s just the type of playa that he is.

(Oh what the hell, here’s a picture of the dude)

(Damn, picture went to the top of the blog. And no way am I rewriting the opening)

I have really mixed feelings on the guy. Not in terms of whether or not he should be dating Brittney. I figure that I’ll tip my hat to anyone brave enough to go there. It’s more a matter of my dealing with the fact that I really liked his music for a time and saw him in concert three times in six months. I consider him to be a case of what happens when a major label screws with your head. He started off as being a guy with a guitar and a ton of effects pedals who created a unique sound by looping the hell out of his songs. That got him popular and signed and Sony then went “Be the next John Mayer. Here’s your band.” And I think he hated that.

It would at least explain why he took the stage at one of the shows so stoned out of his mind that he could barely play. I could see why he wouldn’t want to play a parking lot in Kansas City. I didn’t want to be there either but I still paid to see someone play music as opposed to flop around the stage. Add in a couple of arrests and his career has pretty much disappeared in three years. So getting a little tabloid time is a good thing.

Topic # 2: Oh, and on John Mayer. Seriously dude, Jessica Simpson? Really? After doing all of that work to try to show that you are a real artist and not someone whose music is performed primarily for teenage girls you decide to go out and date Jessica Simpson? I think I lost all respect for the guy and I really didn’t have any for him to begin with.

Topic # 3: Another strange vanity plate to add to the list. “KTCHUP”. Unless you are an actual member of the Heinz family I can see no valid reason why you should have that as a license plate. Can anyone be that interested in a condiment? To the point that you find it necessary to tell the world just how much you love the stuff? Sure, if your plates read “BEER” that would be cool but otherwise, try not to be a billboard.

I’ve got one other rant but I’ll save that one for tomorrow. It’s going to take a couple of paragraphs to explain.

Furnace Room Lullaby

Every once in a while you have days that can only be described as excellent adventures. Friday was one of those days. Talk about a day when you are totally out of sorts.

Woke up Friday morning in my usual stupor and start getting ready for work. My big issue was what to wear to work since I was heading to Lawrence Friday night to see Neko Case in concert (pictured above in an explanation of why she ends up either third or fourth on my Perfect Mate list). I typically don’t care that much about what I wear, a point that is plainly obvious to most people, but when I’m heading to shows the “Do I bring a change of clothes to work or not” question takes on real importance. So, I was running late already when I get down to the garage and my car doesn’t start.

This after having my car in the shop twice this week for things that had absolutely nothing to do with the engine.

I’ll admit that I did not pull the usual guy move of opening the hood and staring at the engine with a concerned look on my face. Mainly because I had no idea what was wrong and there were no women nearby that I needed to impress by acting like I knew anything about cars. Instead, I call in the tow truck and make my way to the dealer with absolutely no idea what is wrong with my car. Could be a battery, could be a fuel pump, could be the entire engine was removed when I wasn’t looking. All I know is that I need to get to Lawrence tonight and having a car would be very useful.

Get to the dealer and they look at it and tell me that “Your car thinks that you are trying to steal it.” Somehow, the security system in my car failed to the point that it wouldn’t recognize my key and let the car start. I didn’t even know that was possible. What it does mean is that 500 bucks later I was able to convince my car that I did in fact own it and was able to make it to the office. Though now I was looking at driving to a town an hour away with a car that I wasn’t certain would start once the show was over.

(Side note: This probably means that I’ll be in the market for a new car in the next few months. Up to now, everything that I have had to have fixed on my car was entirely my fault. Now I have random parts failing and with Pontiacs that is never a good sign. Any suggestions on what car I should get next? I’m looking for a car that says “I’m successful and sophisticated and while I am going through a mid-life crisis I don’t feel too showy about it. In a ‘You should look at me but you don’t have to’ sort of way”)

Anyway, I survive the day at work taking care of the few projects that I needed to complete for the week and made my way to Lawrence confident that a) the show would be incredible and b) my car would start on the way back. The show was at Liberty Hall and that is easily the biggest venue that I have ever seen Neko in. I was there early and walked in to make my way next to the stage and ran into Michelle, who owns Davey’s Uptown. We talked about some bands and Billy Joe Shaver getting arrested for shooting a guy in Texas. As the opening act took the stage I took a look at the crowd and went “There are way too many people here.”

Neko sold out Liberty Hall. There were as many people there as there were for Guster or The Shins or Rufus Wainwright or a whole bunch of bands I’ve seen there in the past three years. This just stunned me. I’ve been following her for at least seven years and have been at shows where there were forty of us in the crowd. What’s interesting is that, as opposed to Jack Ingram, I can’t really point to something where I would say that she sold out. Adding a drummer to your band probably doesn’t equate to being a sell out. But all of her touring and work with the New Pornographers have paid off with a really strong following.

The show was her usual amazing performance. She has a commanding if disarming stage presence. I don’t know of many other lead singers who I would describe as disheveled in appearance. But she has her dyed red hair flowing everywhere and she takes the stage in jeans and no makeup and absolutely no airs about her. It’s all about her music and her voice taking over the night. At times she can sound like a classic country torch singer though one with a lot of darkness lurking in her past. It’s just an incredible set and I got to be front and center for it once again.

And I even got my car to start on the way home. And dreamt really nice dreams that night. Sometimes music can really take all of your cares away.

The five random CDs for the week:
1) Damien Rice “O”
2) Bruce Robison “Bruce Robison”
3) Various Artists “Celtic Tides”
4) The Subdudes “Lucky”
5) Mike Doughty “Haughty Melodic”

These are a few of my favorite things...

Something a little different tonight. I’ve been playing around with writing this for Tawdry Amusements and figured that tonight is as good as any. So, here is my list of what I will buy when I become Mark Cuban rich, which will hopefully happen by next Tuesday.

1) The aircraft carrier from G.I. Joe (assuming that they even exist)
2) The complete set of Atlaspheres from American Gladiators (seriously, who wouldn’t want those in their backyard)
3) A first edition of The Great Gatsby
4) The original Millennium Falcon (the toy I most wanted at a kid but could never own)
5) Hire Howard Finkel to record the following for my answering machine, ringer and doorbell “The winner of the match and new world’s heavyweight champion, “The American Dream” EC”
6) Resod the lawn with Bermuda grass so that I’ll have my own putting green in the backyard
7) Tickets to any show that The Frames or The Arcade Fire play at any venue around the world
8) An arcade version of the Outrun game. And not the standup version, the one where you sat in a red convertible and drove. Oh, and one of those tabletop hockey games where it was the US vs. the USSR and you could make the crowd boo the Russians. Pretty much I just want to own everything that was in the arcade at the Haunted Trails miniature golf course when I was ten years old.
9) An original Shakespeare folio
10) A desk from Everett Lab room 242. The room that taunted me throughout all of college. If I ever would feel a need for time to slow down all I would need to do is sit in that desk because I swear time stopped when I was in that room being lectured to about how to dope silicon to a nanometer thickness to create the proper electrical connection.
11) Same vein, I’d endow a chair at the ND business school. Specifically, front row, right side, nearest to the center aisle. After having that seat for two years of business school it should be officially noted that that is my seat. There should be plaques or something.
12) A bar trivia machine. Actually a Backer replica wouldn’t be bad. And a plane to fly Donna back and forth when required.
13) Hire Gary Coleman to spend a night out at the bar with me. No real reason why I want to do this other than to be able to drop into everyday conversation, “So I was doing shots with Gary Coleman last week and…”
14) An Uncle Tupelo reunion. Even for only a half dozen songs. Don’t really care how much that would cost.
15) My own action figure. Complete with “Ultra-powerful glasses”, “Cynical gaze” and “Laptop of Doom” (I actually know someone who has his own bobblehead but an action figure would be cooler)
16) The condo two doors down from William Faulkner’s home in Pirate’s Alley. This would be the very first thing I did. That’s my favorite piece of real estate on the entire planet.
17) Can’t believe it took me this long to think of this one, Mace Windu’s lightsaber. Sure, I already have one but you can always use a spare lightsaber.
18) Dinner with Natalie Portman. I’d probably just sit there and stare for two hours but honestly, it would probably be worth it.
19) My very own Mach V. Along with a Trixie.
20) Finally, the one thing we all agree on as a must own. A duck. And a wagon for the duck to sit in. And a monkey to pull the wagon. And a cowboy hat for the monkey. Because everything in life is better with a monkey.

Have a good weekend everyone.

This post brought to you by the Cruise World Order

This might be the strangest piece of graffiti that I have ever seen. I understand the idea behind graffiti. You get to show your artistic abilities in an urban environment, engage in self-promotion and stick it to the man by defacing helpless walls. But this one is pretty stunning. Now there is the possibility that Tom Cruise himself did this and this is his tagging style, which would be rather low key and refined. If not, then I am at a loss as to what this means. If it said “Rulez” or “Suks” afterwards then it would at least be a critique. Here it is just a statement. Maybe it is a part of some urban marketing campaign to raise overall Tom Cruise awareness to new heights. Or maybe some guy just thinks that Far and Away is a really, really great movie and wants us all to bask in the majesty that is the words “Tom Cruise”.

My fun Ticketmaster comment for the night. In a case of target marketing gone berserk over the course of twenty four hours last week I received emails informing me that I was eligible to pre-order tickets to two concerts. One was for Morrissey because you can’t keep me away from concerts by Englishmen who have been depressed for twenty years. The other was for Social Distortion. I am really, really trying to figure out how I got on both lists and whether I am the only person on the planet who is equally likely to be in the pit at a Social D show as he is to wear black on the outside because black is how I feel on the inside at a Morrissey show. I’m pretty sure I’ve broken whatever algorithm they are using as a part of their recommendation engine.

So I was at another concert tonight, this time to see Jack Ingram. Night started out the way a lot of my nights have recently with an abysmal opening act. That’s not quite fair on my part. The guy had talent and since it was a country show I should have expected country music but I do expect opening acts to sing their own songs. Not “Here’s a Travis Tritt cover, here’s a Brooks and Dunn cover, here’s a Big and Rich song” until I start banging my head against a wall because it is more pleasurable than listening to any of those bands. That’s the problem with lounging in the alt-country gutter, occasionally I find myself forced to listed to mainstream country and it is just god awful. Also, I just have an issue with people wearing cowboy hats in a non-ironic manner. Unless for some reason there has been a cattle stampede in the past few weeks there really is no reason for anyone to wear a cowboy hat in this town and consider a good look in anything but a retro hipster manner.

Anyway, Jack performed better than expected and I was only tempted to yell “Sell out” and “Traitor” once during the show. I’ll have to explain this. I first saw Jack back in 1999 when he opened for Kelly Willis. I’ve seen Jack play when there were maybe thirty of us in the crowd. He’s a talented musician and songwriter and I’ve talked to him after shows and he is a nice guy who really appreciates his crowd. Well, a year or two ago he cashed in his Nashville card and got on Toby Keith’s label and was able to have a number one hit. This means that he is now popular and playing bigger venues and opening for people like Sheryl Crow and Brad Paisley and making people like me wonder “What the hell just happened?”

It’s not that I fault the guy’s success because he sure has hell earned it. It’s just that by making that leap he lost some of what made him special. I’ll give him credit because even in a bigger venue his show was similar to when I’ve seen him in the past. He played a lot of his great old songs and his new material is pretty good. It’s poppy and has a Nashville sound but that sells discs. What kills me is that on his new disc (which he even said sold more copies last week than Electric sold in five years) he covers Hinder’s “Lips of an Angel” and uses it as his first single. I don’t care how he tries to push the idea that he thought it would sound good as a country song. Nothing Hinder does will sound good in any format. They are just a horrible excuse for a rock band. And covering them seems like such a sell out move.

That and the dancing girls who came on stage at one point. Actually, I doubt those were Jack’s. They were probably supplied by the record station promoting the show. While I certainly have no problem with scantily clad women dancing in front of me there is a hell of a lot of unintentional comedy watching them dance to a song called “Barbie Doll”. A song which has the lyric, “She’s really good looking but she’s got no heart at all.” It was a very meta moment. Still, he has remained the same appreciative, nice guy and while I’m stunned that someone I like has actually become popular it’s nice to know that it hasn’t changed him.

And as long as he closes his shows with Goodnight Moon I’ll always leave happy.

Ready to challenge Turbo in the Gauntlet...

Hey, it’s my two favorite things. And the Stanley Cup. Thank you, tip your bar staff, I’ll be here all week…

(Thanks as always to my friends at Deadspin for finding this picture. It’s like someone took a picture of one of my dreams, though admittedly in my dreams Lindsay is wearing a Blackhawks jersey.)

Attention Super Dave and anyone else who might be able to raise some capital quickly. There is a car auction going on right now in Dublin where we can bid on one of the four existing KITT’s. Yes, we can buy the car from freaking Knight Rider. It even has that blinking red LED on the hood working and all of the interior lights and buttons for things like oil slicks and turbo boost. While they claim that the car does not speak I feel that with some additional work I can remedy that, though I don’t know if I’ll be able to get the dude from St. Elsewhere to voice all of the tracks. We could probably settle for Howie Mandel so at least it would still be from the same show. (David Morse would be cheaper but much more disturbing). They also state that the car isn’t street legal but I don’t really see that as an issue. Who the hell is going to pull over Michael Knight? Not unless being awesome is now a crime. So who is with me to put up the $200K they’re asking for?

(Crickets (or possibly Cricket) chirp)

Bummer. What’s worse is that while driving to work on Monday I saw a car with a Missouri license plate that read “LT SABR” and I so wanted to use that one. Now I’m going to have to settle for “DRK SIDE” or “SITH RLZ”.

Staying on the geek front, and boy have we been spending a lot of time there in the past week, in what might be the most incredible programming decision ever ESPN Classic has obtained the rights to American Gladiators and are now showing the original episodes nightly. And they started by having a marathon on Saturday of pretty much the entire first season. What’s sad is that not only could I name all six of the original Gladiators (intense Nitro, tough guy Gemini, completely worthless Malibu, vaguely attractive Sunny, surprisingly non-athletic Lace and probably a dude Zap) but I even remembered the names of some of the contestants. Namely bad ass Billy Wirth, who was introduced as a writer from New York while completely ignoring the fact that he was an actor, stunt man and champion decathlete. I still remember Billy getting into a brawl with the gladiators during Powerball.

I guess I view this as proof of how good my memory is and how boring my life was in high school. I can’t really blame myself for my entertainment choices when I was sixteen but wow, when you watch the show again you realize just how horrible it was. Bad hair, horrible acting (even from someone who was brought up on pro wrestling) and competitions that always seemed to be bordering on silly (the battles with the giant Q-Tips are still some classic television moments). The show got better in later years as they got rid of the pro wrestling elements and brought in some awesome events like Swingshot and the Wall. Oh and Atlaspheres because there is nothing better than watching people run around in giant hamster balls.

Still, of all the things that ESPN has in its tape library this is what we feel is the best option for six in the evening? Really? Is this considered classic sports? If it was G4 or Spike or the Game Show Network I would understand but ESPN Classic? Talk about giving up on the channel. Might as well just call it the “Poker, Stump the Schwab and whatever tape is nearest to us” channel.

I remember it well...

(I’ve decided to try to make the blog a bit more multimedia intensive. Natalie is a little more adept at posting images than Julie was and I’m close to figuring out how to embed YouTube clips into my posts. Not sure if any of this will turn out to be beneficial but I’m hoping that pretty pictures distract people from my writing.)

Over the weekend I learned something that totally bums me out and will potentially ruin the concert I’ve been looking forward to for months. The news is that the lovely and talented Lisa Hannigan (pictured above) has left Damien Rice’s band. Or, as the official press release stated, “Their creative partnership had run its course.” Or, translated from press release speak, “They got into a screaming match that had been brewing for months and she either quit or was fired.” In the music industry, creative differences indicates that blunt objects were being thrown.

Sadly, this doesn’t surprise me because it was always strange to see that everything was recorded as Damien Rice when Lisa sang lead on a number of tracks. The opening track on his new album begins with Lisa singing the entire first verse. That, and the fact that labels were desperately trying to sign her, had to add a lot of tension to the band. And it had to be a pretty rough ending given that the story I read is that she did the sound check in Berlin in the afternoon and was out of the band before the set began that evening.

Of course, what bums me out is that I have tickets to see Damien in a few weeks and my goal was to be next to the stage and standing right in front of Lisa with the hope of her looking down, seeing me and going, “You know, I really should marry that guy.” (Yes, that’s how my brain works.) It should still be a good show but a huge element is going to be missing. I don’t even know how he’ll do some of the songs. I’ve heard a version of “I Remember” without Lisa’s vocals and while it is nice it definitely doesn’t have the incredible power of the original version. I guess I’ll find out when I see the show where I’ll be hanging out by the soundboard.

I did just come back from seeing Guster tonight in Lawrence. Not only was I one of the oldest people at this show but I was getting a contact buzz off of the magic marker fumes from all the hands they had to mark. While it is nice that it makes the line to get beer a lot shorter I really don’t like feeling that I am one step away from being on Dateline NBC when all I want to do is catch a band. The more that I think about it, the rule of “Half your age plus seven” as the acceptable floor for who you should even be looking at seems to be incredibly accurate.

The other thing is that this was part of Guster’s “Campus Consciousness Tour.” Which means that not only did I have to deal with slightly more hippies than usual I was also chastised for not living a carbon neutral lifestyle. There’s a lot of things that I am in life and that is not one of them. Chaotic neutral yes, carbon neutral not so much. I do want to help out the environment, just don’t state that the fact that I drove an hour to see your show was a horrible decision before the band even plays. Though after seeing the opening act I definitely was thinking that. There is a fine line between a passionate lead singer and a total douche bag and he was treading on the douchery side of the line. Also, twenty year olds shouldn’t be emulating Mick Jagger. Mick Jagger shouldn’t even bother emulating Mick Jagger anymore.

Happiness abounds...

Hey guess what? Over the weekend I met this really cute girl who is working on her master’s in English at KU and we started talking and things started to click and as we gazed into each other’s eyes it dawned on both of us that this is the person we’ve been waiting for our entire lives.

Ha ha. April Fools. All I did this weekend was sit around and watch the WWE Hall of Fame ceremony. Nice to see that they honored the late, great Mr. Perfect Curt Hennig who was one of the best technical wrestlers of my generation. They also gave props to Jerry “The King” Lawler who was a part of the biggest angle of all time with Andy Kaufmann. Something that a decade later people were still trying to figure out which parts were real. And yes, I do pay attention to things like the hall of fame for a fake sport. We give Emmy’s to people who act like doctors, I really don’t see any difference here.

(Oh, I did make some progress at trivia as the red headed slutatorian did say that she didn’t hate me. In my world, that is considered success. I think at one point in my life someone told me that getting some self-confidence would be a good thing. I really should look into that.)

Yeah, it’s been a weird weekend for me. I watched a little of the basketball games but didn’t really focus on either of them. I predicted both correctly, which has moved me up to 11th in my pool. If Ohio State wins I’ll end up 5th, which will provide me with the pride of knowing that I am smarter than everyone else who didn’t win any money. I still can’t believe that I can predict the entire final four correctly and still not win. I must have really blown the first couple of rounds.

Ok, onto the all important Transformers discussion. Jazz is a freaking Pontiac Solstice? For the record, Jazz was the first Transformer that I ever owned precisely because he was an awesome race car. Now he’s a car I might actually own? That is so wrong. That would be like casting Neil Patrick Harris to play Flint or Rosie O’Donnell to play Lady Jane in a live action G. I. Joe film. (Which is probably in production) Autobots should always be transforming into cars that you wished you own. It doesn’t bother me that they messed with Bumblebee, I always hated him. I was interested in the little car that could. I wanted to see the big, massive robots with heavy weaponry.

I’m a little worried about the Transformers movie if only because I’ll have to then try to take the plot seriously. Ok, so we have a bunch of alien robots who land on this planet who decide to take on the shapes of motor vehicles so they will be inconspicuous. Except that they occasionally transform into giant robots by completely breaking the law of conservation of mass and engage in siege warfare using laser beams. It’s a movie where you need to check your rational mind at the door. Your entire intent for the night should be a desire to see big things go boom.

Oh, and I will look into taking my dream job as the pilot of the Green Lion in Voltron. I feel eminently qualified to be a member of the Voltron Force. I am brave, courageous and would totally try to hook up with Princess Allura. And hell, they let that annoying little kid pilot one of the lions, can’t see why I couldn’t do it. Now I just have to find the mystical lost temple and travel deep into the forest to find the hidden lion.

The five random CDs for the week:
1) The Frames “For the Birds”
2) The Mike Plume Band “Song & Dance, Man”
3) U2 “Zooropa”
4) Gillian Welch “Time (The Revelator)”
5) Paul Burch “Fool for Love”