Have to take care of some business to start. First, congratulations to Gabriel and Ale on the birth of their son, the newest member of the ND class of 2026. Wow, we really are all becoming adults now. Well, at least all of you are, the only dependent that I could list on my taxes is my Playstation 2.
Second, I kind of neglected to mention that the story I posted yesterday had an ending that even I once said was “sappy enough that it could be used as a pancake topping.” I want to say that I wrote that in 98 or 99, when I was less cynical but a lot more resigned to the unfairness of life. Now I’m pretty sure that I can overcome any obstacle but I’m cynical about the world. I think that means that I am in the exact same place. Anyway, I’ll be posting stuff like that every once in awhile. I have about half a lifetime worth of short stories either on my laptop or lying in folders in my apartment and I’d like to at least see them published in some form in my lifetime and this might be it.
Ok, that’s it for house cleaning. Time for some real observations.
As many of you know I am a reality television addict. Let’s face it, any guy who would have a business school project revolve around correctly predicting the winner of Survivor has definitely lost touch with normality. That said, at the same time I spent 13 of 14 nights at the Backer so I didn’t have much of a baseline of normality to go start with.
I used to be a huge Real World fan but that’s ended in recent years. Once it became a show of endless self promotion, drunkenness, lewd behavior and adult situations I kind of tuned out. Yeah, I’m as confused as you are on that one. I just liked the early shows a lot better. These were people like me, living rent free but having real jobs and a seemingly real life. I’m the only person in the world who liked the London cast, which had both Jacinda (now an actress who never mentions that she was on the show) and Kat (who made my original top 10 perfect mate list, a topic for a blog entry if there ever was one).
But let’s face it, the real reason I stopped identifying with the show is the cast all stayed 19 and I got a lot older. And now watching the show is like hanging out at Kelly’s on a Saturday night, watching the people who are going to a bar for the first time. It’s funny for a while, then it turns kind of sad and you wonder why you are there in the first place.
The thing that kills me now is that being on The Real World is apparently a full time job for years afterwards. You then get to go to the Real World/Road Rules Challenges, where you get to compete against the same people you competed against the year before. Come on, does the Miz actually have a job? Or does he just bank on the twenty grand that he’ll win by being on the show every year? It just kills me because this is the ultimate example of being famous simply because your famous. There’s no actual purpose or even interest, you just know who these people are so you continue to watch the show.
I’ll talk about some of the other shows in the next few weeks. Including my request to be a part of one of the shows. Any of the shows really. Especially Pimp my Ride. I really need 20 inch spinning rims on my Grand Am. That would be awesome.
Wednesday, November 17, 2004
Tuesday, November 16, 2004
Famous graves
One of my favorite authors is Pam Houston. If you ever get a chance, search out her book “Cowboys are my Weakness”, it’s probably the best collection of short stories that you are ever going to find. I had the chance once to meet her and listen to her talk about writing. She gave me one of my favorite quotes of all time, “Someone once asked me how much truth is in my fiction and I said, ‘It’s about 75 percent true.’ Now I’ve finished my non-fiction book and people ask me how much truth is in it and I thought for a second and went, ‘About 75 percent.’”
So, this is fiction but there is a hell of a lot of truth in it. And it will be for most (or maybe all) of you, your first introduction to Brian, my literary alter ego. And I’m almost certain this is the first time I’ve ever shown this story to anyone. Think of it what you will.
“What would you like your gravestone to read?”
It was an interesting question, coming from a girl I had only met a week ago. We were walking through Westminster Abbey, just another pair of backpack wearing tourists mulling about the famous graves. We were here, not on a lark, but with the knowledge that this was our last day in London, and our last day together.
“Well, Brian, what would it be?”
She was just someone I ran into on a tour I had convinced myself to join. Just an effort to avoid all of the headaches of travel and force myself to be social. One of those things where you spend a lot of money to be thrown in a bus with a bunch of people you do not know and are forced to spend a lot of time with for your own pleasure. It is like a miniature version of hell, with all of the appropriate claustrophobia and terror of dying far from home.
“This place is just amazing, can you even imagine that we are walking pass the graves of royalty?”
Tina had been one of the few truly interesting people I had even met in my travels. Most had been a little flighty, or down right annoying, but she was down to earth and honest. Or at least had an interest in finding out what happens in other corners of the world. See what the other side has in their medicine cabinets I guess.
“Look, there is the chair where they crown the king. You can even see where people have carved their initials in it, just trying to get their own little piece of immortality.”
We just kept on running into each other, every time we were given time to be on our own we would gravitate to the same places. After a while we just started to go off together, if only to save the embarrassment of meeting each other farther down the line. So, we ended up here, walking the most hallowed ground of England, beaten and battered, wondering what the world would have in store for our future.
“You know,” I said searching the walls for a familiar name, “places like these are all about the past. There is no future here. It’s a time capsule, a place to hold your memories. You see the name and the statue and you remember the person as they were in their prime.”
“It’s neat that way. Look, there is Sir Laurence Olivier...”
“See, now when you look at that what do you imagine. I see this great actor, striding across the stage, bellowing Shakespeare’s greatest lines. Who has a monument over there even though he isn’t buried here. Still, you see Olivier as a young man, and not as an old, over acting guy in a dress in Clash of the Titans.”
“That is a very strange sentiment, Brian. I don’t know if that is what I want to remember you by, raving about actors.”
“I know, it’s just, it’s just.... In a couple of hours you’ll be off to the airport and I’ll walk back to my hotel wondering what would have happened. Wondering if there was some way if we were in the same place at the same time if things might work out and we’d, you know, date, get married, have 2.5 children.”
“Which would never work because, because...”
“Because the stars have aligned against us and we are only going to have a few moments together, not enough to fall in love, not enough to despise each other, just enough to have a sense of wonder about what it might have been. And I just look around here and I see what has been and I just wish that for once I would know what has happened instead of wondering about the possibilities that didn’t.”
“Maybe there is a way, not that we could date or anything. I have a problem with long distance relationships.”
“Same here, they never seem to end correctly do they?”
“More like they never end. But, this place is going to last forever isn’t it?”
“As long as western civilization survives, which may or not be forever, depending on how cynical I feel at the time.”
“Then come over here to this corner and let’s memorizing all the things we can see.” It was just some little edge of poets corner, next to the small stone for old Ben Johnson, with Shakespeare’s gaze looking down upon us, wondering where his body is, and the markers for numerous long lost writers of the greatest stories ever told. “On this spot, on this day, the two of us held each other in our arms and for one moment were together.”
“Without a worry in the world. With no attachments or cares to our previous lives.”
“With no worries about the future, which will take care of itself. Mindful of the past, as we stand in its presence.”
“Knowing, that for as long as this building stands, this memory will be held within its walls, as another secret of the past. And whenever we return, in another life, we will look at this spot and remember with a smile what once was.”
“And all of this is sealed with a kiss.”
We walked for a little while longer when she asked about my gravestone again. I thought, wondering what future generations should know about my noble life. I am still wondering today.
So, this is fiction but there is a hell of a lot of truth in it. And it will be for most (or maybe all) of you, your first introduction to Brian, my literary alter ego. And I’m almost certain this is the first time I’ve ever shown this story to anyone. Think of it what you will.
“What would you like your gravestone to read?”
It was an interesting question, coming from a girl I had only met a week ago. We were walking through Westminster Abbey, just another pair of backpack wearing tourists mulling about the famous graves. We were here, not on a lark, but with the knowledge that this was our last day in London, and our last day together.
“Well, Brian, what would it be?”
She was just someone I ran into on a tour I had convinced myself to join. Just an effort to avoid all of the headaches of travel and force myself to be social. One of those things where you spend a lot of money to be thrown in a bus with a bunch of people you do not know and are forced to spend a lot of time with for your own pleasure. It is like a miniature version of hell, with all of the appropriate claustrophobia and terror of dying far from home.
“This place is just amazing, can you even imagine that we are walking pass the graves of royalty?”
Tina had been one of the few truly interesting people I had even met in my travels. Most had been a little flighty, or down right annoying, but she was down to earth and honest. Or at least had an interest in finding out what happens in other corners of the world. See what the other side has in their medicine cabinets I guess.
“Look, there is the chair where they crown the king. You can even see where people have carved their initials in it, just trying to get their own little piece of immortality.”
We just kept on running into each other, every time we were given time to be on our own we would gravitate to the same places. After a while we just started to go off together, if only to save the embarrassment of meeting each other farther down the line. So, we ended up here, walking the most hallowed ground of England, beaten and battered, wondering what the world would have in store for our future.
“You know,” I said searching the walls for a familiar name, “places like these are all about the past. There is no future here. It’s a time capsule, a place to hold your memories. You see the name and the statue and you remember the person as they were in their prime.”
“It’s neat that way. Look, there is Sir Laurence Olivier...”
“See, now when you look at that what do you imagine. I see this great actor, striding across the stage, bellowing Shakespeare’s greatest lines. Who has a monument over there even though he isn’t buried here. Still, you see Olivier as a young man, and not as an old, over acting guy in a dress in Clash of the Titans.”
“That is a very strange sentiment, Brian. I don’t know if that is what I want to remember you by, raving about actors.”
“I know, it’s just, it’s just.... In a couple of hours you’ll be off to the airport and I’ll walk back to my hotel wondering what would have happened. Wondering if there was some way if we were in the same place at the same time if things might work out and we’d, you know, date, get married, have 2.5 children.”
“Which would never work because, because...”
“Because the stars have aligned against us and we are only going to have a few moments together, not enough to fall in love, not enough to despise each other, just enough to have a sense of wonder about what it might have been. And I just look around here and I see what has been and I just wish that for once I would know what has happened instead of wondering about the possibilities that didn’t.”
“Maybe there is a way, not that we could date or anything. I have a problem with long distance relationships.”
“Same here, they never seem to end correctly do they?”
“More like they never end. But, this place is going to last forever isn’t it?”
“As long as western civilization survives, which may or not be forever, depending on how cynical I feel at the time.”
“Then come over here to this corner and let’s memorizing all the things we can see.” It was just some little edge of poets corner, next to the small stone for old Ben Johnson, with Shakespeare’s gaze looking down upon us, wondering where his body is, and the markers for numerous long lost writers of the greatest stories ever told. “On this spot, on this day, the two of us held each other in our arms and for one moment were together.”
“Without a worry in the world. With no attachments or cares to our previous lives.”
“With no worries about the future, which will take care of itself. Mindful of the past, as we stand in its presence.”
“Knowing, that for as long as this building stands, this memory will be held within its walls, as another secret of the past. And whenever we return, in another life, we will look at this spot and remember with a smile what once was.”
“And all of this is sealed with a kiss.”
We walked for a little while longer when she asked about my gravestone again. I thought, wondering what future generations should know about my noble life. I am still wondering today.
Monday, November 15, 2004
Serving Time
So, today I had the chance to perform my civic duty and try as hard as possible to avoid serving on a jury. Yes, for the first time in my life I was called for jury duty. See, this is what happens when you register to vote. Since none of my candidates won I should be excused for that reason alone. But hey, they’re paying me six bucks a day and it means I won’t be sitting in a cubicle so I figured it’s worth a shot.
Had to think about what the best outfit would be to avoid serving. The NORML shirt with the pot leaf would probably be a little too obvious. My Free James Brown t-shirt might actually be too subtle for a Missouri courtroom. So, I decided to try the “Dress like you’re going to work and hope that a lawyer decides he doesn’t want someone with a job on the jury.”
Went downtown to the courthouse, which is one of those cool early twenties art deco buildings. When I become Trump rich, I’m going to build my headquarters in that old art deco style. Screw sleek and modern, I want a huge mass of concrete with a lot of intricate carvings 50 feet in the air where no one can see them. A building that will last for hundred of years, yeah that would be cool. But I’m getting ahead of myself. I sat down in the jury room and finally got a chance to see what a room of my peers looked like.
Wow, so this is the cross section of society. I think I just received even more encouragement not to commit any crimes while I live in the Kansas City area. Just think of the waiting room at the DMV, except knowing that these people will not only be on the road but having to decide legal matters.
Anyway, sit down and lo and behold a really good looking woman sits down next to me. As in, best looking woman in the room. Cool. The day is looking better already. Listen to the videotaped speech, get my instructions to wait here, and start to get to know the girl next to me. The usual, cracking jokes about the room, figuring out that getting six bucks will actually be a raise for me, that sort of thing. Find out that she’s in her mid twenties (woo hoo), single (woo hoo), a red head (hear that clone?), and has a boyfriend (damnit, damnit, son of a bitch). Yes, that is what my life has become, trying to turn the jury room into a singles bar. Oh, how the mighty have fallen. Still, she was a really cool person to sit down and talk to for a while as we waited and waited and waited.
I was actually called on a panel of 50 to go and sit on a criminal case. As I waited for them to bring us up they apparently plea bargained so I never even got to set foot in a courtroom. And that actually bummed me out. I mean, I waited all that time, I actually wanted to have a chance to talk to a lawyer and see what the courtrooms looked like and go through the process. I might (what do I mean might, I do) complain about the administration but I’m still a firm believer in democracy and justice and I wanted to play my part. Instead, it was a day sitting in a room, reading a book on best business practices that my boss wants me to read, and wondering about life some more.
Which I have to say, does beat looking at numbers on a computer screen once again.
“The train from Kansas City is coming into town and there’s nothing that I can do to make it turn around.” Neko Case
Had to think about what the best outfit would be to avoid serving. The NORML shirt with the pot leaf would probably be a little too obvious. My Free James Brown t-shirt might actually be too subtle for a Missouri courtroom. So, I decided to try the “Dress like you’re going to work and hope that a lawyer decides he doesn’t want someone with a job on the jury.”
Went downtown to the courthouse, which is one of those cool early twenties art deco buildings. When I become Trump rich, I’m going to build my headquarters in that old art deco style. Screw sleek and modern, I want a huge mass of concrete with a lot of intricate carvings 50 feet in the air where no one can see them. A building that will last for hundred of years, yeah that would be cool. But I’m getting ahead of myself. I sat down in the jury room and finally got a chance to see what a room of my peers looked like.
Wow, so this is the cross section of society. I think I just received even more encouragement not to commit any crimes while I live in the Kansas City area. Just think of the waiting room at the DMV, except knowing that these people will not only be on the road but having to decide legal matters.
Anyway, sit down and lo and behold a really good looking woman sits down next to me. As in, best looking woman in the room. Cool. The day is looking better already. Listen to the videotaped speech, get my instructions to wait here, and start to get to know the girl next to me. The usual, cracking jokes about the room, figuring out that getting six bucks will actually be a raise for me, that sort of thing. Find out that she’s in her mid twenties (woo hoo), single (woo hoo), a red head (hear that clone?), and has a boyfriend (damnit, damnit, son of a bitch). Yes, that is what my life has become, trying to turn the jury room into a singles bar. Oh, how the mighty have fallen. Still, she was a really cool person to sit down and talk to for a while as we waited and waited and waited.
I was actually called on a panel of 50 to go and sit on a criminal case. As I waited for them to bring us up they apparently plea bargained so I never even got to set foot in a courtroom. And that actually bummed me out. I mean, I waited all that time, I actually wanted to have a chance to talk to a lawyer and see what the courtrooms looked like and go through the process. I might (what do I mean might, I do) complain about the administration but I’m still a firm believer in democracy and justice and I wanted to play my part. Instead, it was a day sitting in a room, reading a book on best business practices that my boss wants me to read, and wondering about life some more.
Which I have to say, does beat looking at numbers on a computer screen once again.
“The train from Kansas City is coming into town and there’s nothing that I can do to make it turn around.” Neko Case
Sunday, November 14, 2004
Instructions for my Clone
I've borrowed this idea from Douglas Coupland's book, "Hey Nostradamus!" It's always sounded like a really neat idea to write about so I finally sat down tonight and knocked out a couple of ideas. Expect to see additions over the next few months.
Instructions for my Clone
Hello me. I figure that it is my duty to give you a little advice about what to expect on this planet, given that we share the same DNA and all. As you’ll learn soon enough, trusting yourself is not going to be one of your strong suits but in this case, listen to me. I’m speaking from experience. Anyway, here’s an owner’s manual for yourself.
You’ll start having acne when you start puberty at 12. Don’t worry; your face will clear up when you finish puberty, which will most likely be in your mid-30’s.
Being a writer will become extremely useful once you have a girlfriend. Being a musician will help you get the girls. As a result, learn how to play the guitar. It’s a much more useful skill than having an unfinished novel.
You know, a little exercise every once in a while probably isn’t that bad of an idea.
You’re going to have a weakness for redheads. Pretty much the only solution is going to be moving to Ireland. That’s probably not a bad idea whatsoever.
I have no idea why there will be an affinity towards French actresses. Use it to sound cultured as opposed to being a potential stalker.
When you start playing basketball, start working on your outside shot. Those dreams of being a power forward are never going to materialize. Just stand at the three point line and start firing away, it’s pretty much going to be your only shot.
About the world that you are inheriting. You’re living in a time of religious fanaticism, danger lurking around every corner, high unemployment, crappy economic prospects, no college football playoffs, and an environment that’s on the verge of imminent collapse. Sorry about that.
Oh, and MTV sucks big time for you. It’s not even close to being cool anymore.
But on the bright side, you’ll get to have a Playstation 7. See all the sacrifices that we’ve made for your generation?
On the whole, it is better to experience life in person rather than in digital simulations. And it’s a lot better to have real friends versus digital ones.
People are going to push you towards a career in engineering. You’re going to have a gift for it. Major in something else. Preferably a field that doesn’t consist entirely of white guys with glasses.
Yeah, sorry about the nearsightedness. Go for contacts or laser surgery. You’ll look a lot better without the glasses.
Know right away that the first girl you fall in love with is going to affect the way you look at women for the rest of your life. Choose very wisely.
That said, there will also be a second and a third. So don’t sit there and mope for a year or five when things don’t go your way.
Ok, on the alcohol consumption. You’ll be fine with beer (but then you’ll really need to remember the exercise part). Shots are ok in moderation. Drinking a dozen rum and cokes in a night in 6 different bars? Bad idea.
Actually, just try to avoid drinking with Mexicans. You’ll just end up on the floor at the end of the night.
Places you will need to live in for at least a portion of your life: New Orleans, Austin (Texas or Minnesota), and Dublin.
You know that voice in the back of your head that tells you “Don’t do this because there is a really small chance that it might not work or that someone might view you differently”? Tell it to go to hell. Early and often. Until you never hear it again.
On that point. Screw regret.
Instructions for my Clone
Hello me. I figure that it is my duty to give you a little advice about what to expect on this planet, given that we share the same DNA and all. As you’ll learn soon enough, trusting yourself is not going to be one of your strong suits but in this case, listen to me. I’m speaking from experience. Anyway, here’s an owner’s manual for yourself.
You’ll start having acne when you start puberty at 12. Don’t worry; your face will clear up when you finish puberty, which will most likely be in your mid-30’s.
Being a writer will become extremely useful once you have a girlfriend. Being a musician will help you get the girls. As a result, learn how to play the guitar. It’s a much more useful skill than having an unfinished novel.
You know, a little exercise every once in a while probably isn’t that bad of an idea.
You’re going to have a weakness for redheads. Pretty much the only solution is going to be moving to Ireland. That’s probably not a bad idea whatsoever.
I have no idea why there will be an affinity towards French actresses. Use it to sound cultured as opposed to being a potential stalker.
When you start playing basketball, start working on your outside shot. Those dreams of being a power forward are never going to materialize. Just stand at the three point line and start firing away, it’s pretty much going to be your only shot.
About the world that you are inheriting. You’re living in a time of religious fanaticism, danger lurking around every corner, high unemployment, crappy economic prospects, no college football playoffs, and an environment that’s on the verge of imminent collapse. Sorry about that.
Oh, and MTV sucks big time for you. It’s not even close to being cool anymore.
But on the bright side, you’ll get to have a Playstation 7. See all the sacrifices that we’ve made for your generation?
On the whole, it is better to experience life in person rather than in digital simulations. And it’s a lot better to have real friends versus digital ones.
People are going to push you towards a career in engineering. You’re going to have a gift for it. Major in something else. Preferably a field that doesn’t consist entirely of white guys with glasses.
Yeah, sorry about the nearsightedness. Go for contacts or laser surgery. You’ll look a lot better without the glasses.
Know right away that the first girl you fall in love with is going to affect the way you look at women for the rest of your life. Choose very wisely.
That said, there will also be a second and a third. So don’t sit there and mope for a year or five when things don’t go your way.
Ok, on the alcohol consumption. You’ll be fine with beer (but then you’ll really need to remember the exercise part). Shots are ok in moderation. Drinking a dozen rum and cokes in a night in 6 different bars? Bad idea.
Actually, just try to avoid drinking with Mexicans. You’ll just end up on the floor at the end of the night.
Places you will need to live in for at least a portion of your life: New Orleans, Austin (Texas or Minnesota), and Dublin.
You know that voice in the back of your head that tells you “Don’t do this because there is a really small chance that it might not work or that someone might view you differently”? Tell it to go to hell. Early and often. Until you never hear it again.
On that point. Screw regret.
Friday, November 12, 2004
The Aging of Alternative Nation
Dipping into the archives for this entry. Look, it's a Friday night, even I'm getting ready to go out. Thought this is a good one to post anyway, since this is the best concert review that I've written so far. Expect to see a lot more in this style in the future. Enjoy.
The Aging of Alternative Nation
(Liz Phair, Beaumont Club, Kansas City, MO 11.5.2003)
I turned 30 two months ago. I had convinced myself that it was a meaningless milestone, just another number. I mean, I don’t look any different than I did a few years ago and I’m having more fun now than I’ve had at any other point in my life. Life’s good and I’m still cool and in style. Sure, they’ve stopped carding me at bars and I’ve finished education and moved on towards employment. And there is that unnerving tendency for cashiers to ask if my video game purchase is for my son but I’m still young, right?
Seeing Liz Phair last night answered that question for me. And the answer is one that myself and the rest of the alternative nation have been dreading for years. We’ve gotten old.
(I have some confessions to make before I continue. I am a huge Liz Phair fan and have been from the moment Exile in Guyville broke when I was a sophomore in college. Had her Rolling Stone cover on my dorm room wall, bought everything she ever recorded, and when I made my list of perfect mates (women I would gladly spend the rest of my life with, no questions asked) she made the top five. Plus, she’s from Chicago and there was always that chance I could accidentally meet her. In a sense, Liz has always been like my best friend’s really cool older sister, everpresent but unattainable.)
The separation of fan and music critic and social critic started as soon as I walked into the Beaumont Club. There was a good crowd, especially for a Wednesday night, and everyone seemed really excited. But there was something in the crowd that made everything seem out of place. All the pieces were there, women wearing “Guys make nice pets” shirts, guys wearing retro t-shirts, but they were all on people who just left their offices a few hours ago. Thirty year old former slackers, now content to make a living, returning to the music of their youth. Dressing retro because that’s how they used to dress but having moved on from irony to ennui.
I was as guilty as anyone, wearing a “Murray Grade School Dodgeball Champions” t-shirt that I purchased at Urban Outfitters. A fake memento for a fake school for a fake experience in an attempt for a real emotion.
There has never been a show that has produced such a disconnect within me between the fan and the critic. The fan in me thought it was an excellent show. Starting off with 6’1”, the opening track from her debut album, to show she remembers what started her career. Sampling from all of her albums and playing everyone’s favorites. Sprinkling in songs from her new album, not overloading the show with them but bringing out the best of the bunch. Her voice was not perfect but then again, it never has been. It’s never been about her voice, it’s been about her lyrics and her passion and her emotion. It’s about Liz standing onstage brandishing a guitar and belting, “I am extraordinary, if you ever get to know me.” It’s about her requesting the spotlight be taken off of her face and focused somewhere else, like on the bass player or her breasts. It’s about the fact that deep down, every woman in the crowd envisioned herself being her and every guy envisioned himself being with her and that makes for a great show.
The music critic disagrees for one reason and one reason only, the songs don’t fit anymore. It’s why Liz’s new album has done poorly, the songs no longer fit the singer. You can’t sing about the angst of turning 20 when you’re 30. You can’t sing about the horrors of those early relationships, when no one has a clue what they’re doing, after you’ve been married and had a child. And you can’t write new songs trying to harken back to that time. I’ve gotten older, Liz has gotten older, and the material must change as well.
For an encore Liz played Flower, the one song on Exile in Guyville that is most responsible for her fame. Ten years ago it was a brazen sexual expression that stunned even the most jaded Gen X’ers. A cute young girl from Chicago, recording in her bedroom, singing “I want to be your blow job queen.” And when you looked at the cd cover, with Liz’s mouth open and a hint of nipple showing, you believed her. And you wanted every word she said to be true and refer specifically to you. And she knew it and could laugh and say, “Ha, ha, never in a million years, sucker.”
Now, a thirtysomething Liz, her face showing its age beneath the glare of the stagelights, singing the same lines evokes an entirely different reaction. There’s no more shock, no more sniggling laughter in the background, just a line sung by someone who has been a part of your life for the past decade. And it makes you remember when you first heard it and who you were with and it reminds you that those days have long since past.
Give Liz credit, she is the last surviving member of the fabled Chicago scene. Veruca Salt imploded years ago, Urge Overkill went MIA and will only be remembered for a Neil Diamond cover, and Billy Corgan has been reduced to singing “Take me out to the ballgame” at Cubs games. Liz is still out there, still searching for glory. The last one standing for Alternative Nation.
Exile in Guyville is one of the best albums of the 90’s, probably one of the best of all time. Those songs are going to last forever. They are songs written by a woman taking control of her life at the moment when life becomes an ocean of possibilities. They are songs of relationships and heartache and sex and longing and every single emotion that runs through your head when you are twenty years old. As long as people are young, as long as guys screw up relationships and women try to find themselves these songs will survive. Liz Phair’s songs will have meaning for years to come.
Sadly, they won’t have meaning when Liz sings them anymore.
The Aging of Alternative Nation
(Liz Phair, Beaumont Club, Kansas City, MO 11.5.2003)
I turned 30 two months ago. I had convinced myself that it was a meaningless milestone, just another number. I mean, I don’t look any different than I did a few years ago and I’m having more fun now than I’ve had at any other point in my life. Life’s good and I’m still cool and in style. Sure, they’ve stopped carding me at bars and I’ve finished education and moved on towards employment. And there is that unnerving tendency for cashiers to ask if my video game purchase is for my son but I’m still young, right?
Seeing Liz Phair last night answered that question for me. And the answer is one that myself and the rest of the alternative nation have been dreading for years. We’ve gotten old.
(I have some confessions to make before I continue. I am a huge Liz Phair fan and have been from the moment Exile in Guyville broke when I was a sophomore in college. Had her Rolling Stone cover on my dorm room wall, bought everything she ever recorded, and when I made my list of perfect mates (women I would gladly spend the rest of my life with, no questions asked) she made the top five. Plus, she’s from Chicago and there was always that chance I could accidentally meet her. In a sense, Liz has always been like my best friend’s really cool older sister, everpresent but unattainable.)
The separation of fan and music critic and social critic started as soon as I walked into the Beaumont Club. There was a good crowd, especially for a Wednesday night, and everyone seemed really excited. But there was something in the crowd that made everything seem out of place. All the pieces were there, women wearing “Guys make nice pets” shirts, guys wearing retro t-shirts, but they were all on people who just left their offices a few hours ago. Thirty year old former slackers, now content to make a living, returning to the music of their youth. Dressing retro because that’s how they used to dress but having moved on from irony to ennui.
I was as guilty as anyone, wearing a “Murray Grade School Dodgeball Champions” t-shirt that I purchased at Urban Outfitters. A fake memento for a fake school for a fake experience in an attempt for a real emotion.
There has never been a show that has produced such a disconnect within me between the fan and the critic. The fan in me thought it was an excellent show. Starting off with 6’1”, the opening track from her debut album, to show she remembers what started her career. Sampling from all of her albums and playing everyone’s favorites. Sprinkling in songs from her new album, not overloading the show with them but bringing out the best of the bunch. Her voice was not perfect but then again, it never has been. It’s never been about her voice, it’s been about her lyrics and her passion and her emotion. It’s about Liz standing onstage brandishing a guitar and belting, “I am extraordinary, if you ever get to know me.” It’s about her requesting the spotlight be taken off of her face and focused somewhere else, like on the bass player or her breasts. It’s about the fact that deep down, every woman in the crowd envisioned herself being her and every guy envisioned himself being with her and that makes for a great show.
The music critic disagrees for one reason and one reason only, the songs don’t fit anymore. It’s why Liz’s new album has done poorly, the songs no longer fit the singer. You can’t sing about the angst of turning 20 when you’re 30. You can’t sing about the horrors of those early relationships, when no one has a clue what they’re doing, after you’ve been married and had a child. And you can’t write new songs trying to harken back to that time. I’ve gotten older, Liz has gotten older, and the material must change as well.
For an encore Liz played Flower, the one song on Exile in Guyville that is most responsible for her fame. Ten years ago it was a brazen sexual expression that stunned even the most jaded Gen X’ers. A cute young girl from Chicago, recording in her bedroom, singing “I want to be your blow job queen.” And when you looked at the cd cover, with Liz’s mouth open and a hint of nipple showing, you believed her. And you wanted every word she said to be true and refer specifically to you. And she knew it and could laugh and say, “Ha, ha, never in a million years, sucker.”
Now, a thirtysomething Liz, her face showing its age beneath the glare of the stagelights, singing the same lines evokes an entirely different reaction. There’s no more shock, no more sniggling laughter in the background, just a line sung by someone who has been a part of your life for the past decade. And it makes you remember when you first heard it and who you were with and it reminds you that those days have long since past.
Give Liz credit, she is the last surviving member of the fabled Chicago scene. Veruca Salt imploded years ago, Urge Overkill went MIA and will only be remembered for a Neil Diamond cover, and Billy Corgan has been reduced to singing “Take me out to the ballgame” at Cubs games. Liz is still out there, still searching for glory. The last one standing for Alternative Nation.
Exile in Guyville is one of the best albums of the 90’s, probably one of the best of all time. Those songs are going to last forever. They are songs written by a woman taking control of her life at the moment when life becomes an ocean of possibilities. They are songs of relationships and heartache and sex and longing and every single emotion that runs through your head when you are twenty years old. As long as people are young, as long as guys screw up relationships and women try to find themselves these songs will survive. Liz Phair’s songs will have meaning for years to come.
Sadly, they won’t have meaning when Liz sings them anymore.
Thursday, November 11, 2004
Crowd Control
As a lot of people know, my life tends to revolve around concerts. It didn't always use to be this way but since moving out here to the great city on the plains I find myself going out more and more often to see a band. Sometimes I've listened to every note they've ever recorded. Other times all I know about them is based on one paragraph that I've read in the paper. But I always tend to be either the oldest person in the audience or the youngest person in the audience.
Case in point, watching Howie Day last week I was the oldest guy in front of the stage by a good five years. It's easy to tell that's the case when you're the only one drinking and everyone else looks like they should be studying for their trigonometry exam. But even though everyone around me is going, "Wow, my first rock concert", it's not a bad experience. They tend to be enthusiastic and loud but they're having fun. They might do something stupid but at least they don't know any better.
The Neville Brothers show was a different beast all together. A much older crowd with everyone drinking. And maybe I'm just a music snob, but I have a hell of a time enjoying a show when I'm surrounded by drunk 50 year olds. It would be like being out getting drunk with your parents and watching them dance on the bar. Sure, it's funny but you can't help thinking in the back of your mind, "My god, don't you know how stupid you look out there."
(This is admittedly a music snob point. As Jack Ingram said in concert once, "You've paid your money to see me do something that I'd do for free. You can do whatever the hell you want." But he also said, "But remember, you've paid your money to have a good time so if someone is ruining it for you, feel free to let them know.")
So, I'm going to start listing concert behaviors that drive me nuts. First one is the guy who brings a camera to a show. And I'm not talking one of those small digital ones or even better a camera phone, which I recommend that everyone have and use on a daily basis. I'm talking about cameras that have massive flashes and should be set up on a tripod. When these guys take pictures it's like watching a show with a constant strobe light. The bands hate it, the crowd hates it, and I can never understand just why it is so important to have a picture of the band on stage. So, please to all of those people out there, just stop. Buy the cd, there are probably a lot of pictures in there.
"Yellow moon, yellow moon, why you keep peeking in my window" Neville Brothers
Case in point, watching Howie Day last week I was the oldest guy in front of the stage by a good five years. It's easy to tell that's the case when you're the only one drinking and everyone else looks like they should be studying for their trigonometry exam. But even though everyone around me is going, "Wow, my first rock concert", it's not a bad experience. They tend to be enthusiastic and loud but they're having fun. They might do something stupid but at least they don't know any better.
The Neville Brothers show was a different beast all together. A much older crowd with everyone drinking. And maybe I'm just a music snob, but I have a hell of a time enjoying a show when I'm surrounded by drunk 50 year olds. It would be like being out getting drunk with your parents and watching them dance on the bar. Sure, it's funny but you can't help thinking in the back of your mind, "My god, don't you know how stupid you look out there."
(This is admittedly a music snob point. As Jack Ingram said in concert once, "You've paid your money to see me do something that I'd do for free. You can do whatever the hell you want." But he also said, "But remember, you've paid your money to have a good time so if someone is ruining it for you, feel free to let them know.")
So, I'm going to start listing concert behaviors that drive me nuts. First one is the guy who brings a camera to a show. And I'm not talking one of those small digital ones or even better a camera phone, which I recommend that everyone have and use on a daily basis. I'm talking about cameras that have massive flashes and should be set up on a tripod. When these guys take pictures it's like watching a show with a constant strobe light. The bands hate it, the crowd hates it, and I can never understand just why it is so important to have a picture of the band on stage. So, please to all of those people out there, just stop. Buy the cd, there are probably a lot of pictures in there.
"Yellow moon, yellow moon, why you keep peeking in my window" Neville Brothers
Wednesday, November 10, 2004
Possible follow-up songs for one hit wonders
I didn't write these (unless they're funny and then they're originals). Enjoy
"How Are We Going to Get These Dogs Back In?"
"Bust an Additional Move"
"Seriously, Eileen, Come On"
"(Won't You Give Me a Ride Home From) Funkytown"
"Remember When You Lit Up My Life? That Was Great"
"I Will Now Pass The Dutchie Back to You and Thank You for Passing It to Me Originally Becuase I Really Enjoyed the Dutchie"
"The Morning That the Lights Came Back On in Georgia"
"Everybody was Kung Fu Making Up"
"Whoomp! There It Continues to Be"
"867-5309, Extension 2"
"We Never Took It and Persist in Our Refusal to Take It"
(Taken from the book "Created in Darkness by Troubled Americans")
"How Are We Going to Get These Dogs Back In?"
"Bust an Additional Move"
"Seriously, Eileen, Come On"
"(Won't You Give Me a Ride Home From) Funkytown"
"Remember When You Lit Up My Life? That Was Great"
"I Will Now Pass The Dutchie Back to You and Thank You for Passing It to Me Originally Becuase I Really Enjoyed the Dutchie"
"The Morning That the Lights Came Back On in Georgia"
"Everybody was Kung Fu Making Up"
"Whoomp! There It Continues to Be"
"867-5309, Extension 2"
"We Never Took It and Persist in Our Refusal to Take It"
(Taken from the book "Created in Darkness by Troubled Americans")
Here we go
Finally, after much deliberation, delay and just plain procrastination I have finally started my blog. Now, there are a number of you out there wondering just why in the world am I doing this. Or more accurately asking, “What is up with this guy to think that anyone on this planet cares about what he has to say about anything?” For the people who are thinking that, you are free to hit back on your browser and ignore everything that I write from this moment out. But for those of you who would like to spend a few minutes a day reading about my skewed perspective of the world and hopefully having a few laughs in the process, welcome.
As any good MBA student knows, you need to have concrete and measurable goals and this project is no exception. So, here is what I am going to try to do with this little corner of cyberspace.
(1) Daily updates composed of whatever interests me at the moment. Sometimes it’s going to be a discussion of something I saw while driving to work. Or musing on a phrase overheard at a bar. There will be reviews of bands you’ve never heard of and of television shows that you would never admit to watching. And occasionally I’ll break out a story from my archives or from another source. Some of this will be funny, some might be thought provoking, and who knows, every leap year I might even write something that could be considered insightful.
(2) Have people actually read this. That’s kind of important, otherwise I’m just singing to an empty room. So, for those of you who will actually bookmark this site I thank you in advance.
(3) Have people I don’t know actually read this. Humor me for a moment, but I would like to think that I might one day write something cool enough that you go, “Hey, I’ve got to email this link to my buddy.” Which leads into…
(4) Finally do something significant so that I’m not lying when I say that I’m a writer. That’s been my dream for as long as I remember. To actually write something that people read, that means something to them, and that might in a small way make a difference on this world. Sure, my career path has always taken me away from this dream but maybe writing in here everyday will help me to recharge my creative batteries and inspire me to finally write my novel (which actually has to be written by 9/2008 but that’s another story).
It’s going to take me a couple of weeks to get into the swing of things so bear with me while I work the kinks out of the system. All I ask is that you give me a chance to see if this is a good idea. Worst case, it’s like sitting next to me at the bar late at night when I won’t stop talking. Best case, it’s like sitting next to me at the bar late at night and I’m buying. Either way, it’ll be like being at the Backer and lets face it, that is where we would all rather be right now. Ready? Let’s go. Quo Vadimus.
“All of this is but a dream. Still let us examine it with a few experiments.” Michael Faraday
As any good MBA student knows, you need to have concrete and measurable goals and this project is no exception. So, here is what I am going to try to do with this little corner of cyberspace.
(1) Daily updates composed of whatever interests me at the moment. Sometimes it’s going to be a discussion of something I saw while driving to work. Or musing on a phrase overheard at a bar. There will be reviews of bands you’ve never heard of and of television shows that you would never admit to watching. And occasionally I’ll break out a story from my archives or from another source. Some of this will be funny, some might be thought provoking, and who knows, every leap year I might even write something that could be considered insightful.
(2) Have people actually read this. That’s kind of important, otherwise I’m just singing to an empty room. So, for those of you who will actually bookmark this site I thank you in advance.
(3) Have people I don’t know actually read this. Humor me for a moment, but I would like to think that I might one day write something cool enough that you go, “Hey, I’ve got to email this link to my buddy.” Which leads into…
(4) Finally do something significant so that I’m not lying when I say that I’m a writer. That’s been my dream for as long as I remember. To actually write something that people read, that means something to them, and that might in a small way make a difference on this world. Sure, my career path has always taken me away from this dream but maybe writing in here everyday will help me to recharge my creative batteries and inspire me to finally write my novel (which actually has to be written by 9/2008 but that’s another story).
It’s going to take me a couple of weeks to get into the swing of things so bear with me while I work the kinks out of the system. All I ask is that you give me a chance to see if this is a good idea. Worst case, it’s like sitting next to me at the bar late at night when I won’t stop talking. Best case, it’s like sitting next to me at the bar late at night and I’m buying. Either way, it’ll be like being at the Backer and lets face it, that is where we would all rather be right now. Ready? Let’s go. Quo Vadimus.
“All of this is but a dream. Still let us examine it with a few experiments.” Michael Faraday
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