randomness personified

p.s.

Yeah. He's really back. This time it's for real. Wurd.

crying a river

Thanks to the wonders of ReplayTV, I just watched the entire MTV Video Music Awards in about 45 minutes. It's really short when you cut out the commercials and the, well, crap.

I'll have more commentary on it once I get over the fact that I seem to share musical tastes with a disturbing fellow. Yes, one person made lengthy references during the show to both John R. Cash and Coldplay. That man? Justin Timberlake.

I think I need a bath.

the single bestest thing about the new dandy warhols record

Three words that are found in the liner notes...

mandolin - Parker Posey

thanks?

A clerk at the aforementioned J&R today told me as she was scanning my copy of the new Warren Zevon cd,

"You know, you look just like him!"

I'm not sure how to take that. It's not a compliment when someone is told that they look like a disheveled (yet brilliant) man who is dying of terminal lung cancer, is it? This is the photo in question. Actually, he is a dead-ringer for my Mother's brother in that shot.

Then again, it's better than who I normally get. Chris Elliott.

all in a day

Sound an over-dramatic tourist from the Midwest makes when their toe is barely hit by a tiny wheelchair in a crowded Central Park,

"Oh! I'm so sorry. That was totally my fault. I was in your way. I'm SO sorry."

Sound an over-dramatic employee from New York makes when their heel is barely hit by a tiny wheelchair in a crowded J&R Records,

"JESUS! FUCK! OW! SON OF A BITCH! Great. Now I'm gettin' hit by guys in wheelchairs. Could my day get any worse? FUCK ME!"

Strangely, I prefer the second reaction. I might add, though, that I barely tapped the guy's heel. It was bizarre and embarassing.

summer blender

As our absurdly abbreviated New England summer comes to a close this weekend, I'd like to offer up a little music to keep you in the groove. The new album by Dandy Warhols, Welcome To The Monkey House, is simply a non-stop smile factory. Take one part Velvet Underground, one part Sticky Fingers-era Stones and one part Duran Duran. Blend until frothy. It's not anything super filling, but boy howdy is it sweet.

On a related note, Joel pointed me to this quiz. Which Smiths song are you? I'm "Shelia, Take A Bow" which is bizarre because it's one of my least favorite Morrissey/Marr comps.

tell me about your childhood

Paige is playing a groovy little game over on The Book of Paige. She's interviewing people who have blogs. She posed to some really, really good questions for me.

If you want to play along, too, let me know and I'll post a list for you to tackle!!

1. Name the one film, the one book, and the one song that most exemplify you. Not the idealized you, but the real, honest-to-goodness you, warts and all. Not that you have warts or anything, but - well, you know what I mean.

I assume you mean other than "Baby Got Back?" Good question. I think the best answer I can come up with is the Rob Fleming character in Nick Hornby's "High Fidelity." He's pretty much me. He argues about arcane pop music, he's a nice guy, he's a bit neurotic and throughly unlucky in love. He's also more than a bit self-centered and stubborn which, if I can't ignore the warts, I have to admit to.

2. When you were a freshman in high school, what did you envision your eventual career/life path would be? How differently has your life turned out? Is this a good or bad thing?

When I was a freshman in high school in tiny Marshall, Michigan, I think that my life goals were pretty vague. I probably wanted to do something in archeology or some such nonsense and thought that I would be doing so somewhere near my hometown. It has turned out a bit differently, hasn't it? I think that is almost entirely good. I couldn't live in smallville anymore and, while archeology is a lovely teenage thought, it's not a very practical profession for a crip.

3. You're in the convenience store, buying a pack of Dunhills, when this guy comes in with a gun and tries to rob the place. You have the opportunity to stop him, if you say just the right thing. What is it that you tell him?

Dude. Do you really think this place has enough cash to make this worth it? I mean, c'mon. Look at who's in line. That guy's buying a Slim Jim. That woman's buying a Slurpee and a Cosmo. Is it worth going to jail for, what, ten bucks?

4. What's the best fortune cookie fortune you've ever gotten?

Stop searching for happiness. It's always right in front of you.

5. You're stranded on a desert island. What five CDs would get you through the experience? (ok, smartass, pretend you have electricity and/or an endless supply of batteries, as well as something to play the CDs on, like a stereo or walkman, even though it's pretty obvious that if you have electricity or batteries, you'd probably not be stranded...)

* Wilco - "Yankee Hotel Foxtrot" because I'll need something that I can listen to and analyze over-and-over.

* Elvis Costello & The Attractions - "Trust" so that I have something that can sing along to.

* The Flaming Lips - "Yoshimi Battles The Pink Robots" because it never ceases to make me smile.

* Elvis Costello & The Attractions - "This Year's Model" because it always gets me moving.

* Jeff Buckley - "Grace" because it always slows me down.

elvis goes south

Last week I managed to get my hands on an advance copy of Elvis Costello's forthcoming release entitled "North." As you may have heard, I'm a borderline luanatic when it comes to all things Costello. Therefore, it was with giddy anticipation that I put on the new record.

Well, dear readers, that giddiness was soon replaced with confusion and frustration. EC has been known to take some odd roads. Records with the Brodsky Quartet and Burt Bacharach certainly come to mind. He's certainly an artist who likes to explore musical genres. I can appreciate his range and have gone on some wild, but ultimately fulfilling, rides with the man. I knew that this one would be pretty crazy, too. I didn't, however, think it would be dreadful.

I'm here to tell you that, unfortunately, dreadful is what it happens to be. It's an entire album of orchestral and jazz-tinged ballads. It's no longer Elvis the angry youth. It's Elvis the crooner to the extreme. From the first lush notes of the opening track "You Left Me In The Dark" Mr. MacManus finds himself out of his league trying to hit notes that his trademark scruff can't approach. This isn't to say that orchestral ballads don't work for Costello. On the contrary, several of his collaborations with Bacharach on 1999's "Painted From Memory" are brilliant. To my ears, though, that's primarily due to the fact that no one on Earth writes orchestral pop hooks like Bacharach. The medium isn't Elvis' strength and, by golly, it shows. In the end it's a confusing array of weird angles and notes that he can't hit. Even his trademark wit has been reduced to lines like

I lay my head down on fine linens and satin
Away from the mad-hatters who live in Manhattan
The Empire State Building illuminating the sky
I'm in the mood, I'm in the mood, I'm in the mood again.

Is the album really that bad? Probably not. Heck, I might even like it upon repeated listenings. In fact, a couple of the songs are already tolerable to me. It's just not what I was hoping for. It's just not up to the standard that Costello has set for himself.

Elvis very famously opens his liner notes for the re-release of "Goodbye Cruel World" by saying "Congratulations. You've just purchased the worst record in my catalog." Unfortunately, I think it may now have company.

x factor

Tonight's episode of "Sex And The City" reminded me of something that I've said for a really long time. It's an unpopular opinion, but one that I hold to be very, very true.

David Duchovny is a really, really bad actor. Horrible, in fact. His stilted, deadpan demeanor worked well for Fox Mulder. It doesn't work for any other role that he's landed. I'm sure he's a really nice guy. By all accounts he's also brilliant. However, we have plenty of evidence. The man simply cannot act.

it's gettin' hot in here

I don't normally go for the pointless survey entries. However I'm trying to post at least one entry a day from now on (yes, I mean it) and thought this was just goofy enough.

Dear readers, it turns out that Dante would place me firmly in the Sixth Level of Hell - The City of Dis. Sweet! I've always been most comfortable in big cities! Where in the inferno would you hang out?

smoking i once quit

There have been two periods in my life in which I've considered myself a smoker. The first period was as an angst-filled teenager when I lived in England. I struck-up that first friendship with Dunhill Blues because that's what angst-filled teens in Britain seem to do. My second era of smoking began as an intercollegiate debater. Again I turned to the Dunhills, this time for the hipster cachet that accompanied them.

In the ensuing years, I've been known to pick up a pack every now and then. It's become increasingly rare, but I can always count on the circumstances that will persuade me to do so.

The Blues often have been my friend on a drink-filled night in any of a number of smokey environs. I don't really drink much anymore, though, so they haven't come along for that adventure in a long time.

I also can count on picking up a pack when I'm stressed. It's the ritual that attracts me then. There's something cathartic about smoking when it feels like the world is spinning out of control. The ritual forces you to take at least a momentary break.

When I'm feeling down I also feel the draw of my friend the Blues. This one's a bit harder to explain. I guess it just provides me something to think about other than what happens to be taxing my emotions. A simple little exercise that doesn't seem so heavy.

Today I stopped and picked up a pack as part of a seemingly pointless and non-stop trek through the lonely streets of Manhattan. Sure, tobacco is a dangerous friend. But a friend that I rarely get to play with and one that I swear off of after a couple of crazy excursions. Sometimes it's nice to reacquaint yourself with a long-lost devilish sidekick.

hey! that's bubba!

At the risk of making light of something tragic, has anyone seen the sketch police have released of the West Virginia sniper suspect? They're looking for this man driving a large Ford pickup truck. Um. Last I checked that was half of the South.

In addition, he shot a man named Okey...

howdy

Well, another laundry list of random(ness) thoughts...

1. There really is no good music being released as of late. I mean it. None. I've been buying up a lot of old-time honkeytonk stuff as of late. Lots of Waylon, George and Hank, Sr.

2. Anybody here watch "Monk?" I have a bunch of episodes on the Replay but I'm not sure that I "get" it. I know it's supposed to be good.

3. Dennis and I are officially going to the Austin City Limits Music Festival. Yaaaay!

4. One of my new favorite Waylon songs, "Luckenbach Texas (Back To The Basics of Love)," opens with

There only two things in life that make it worth livin'
That's guitars that tune good and firm feelin' women

I can't sing that in public, can I?

dark ages

We've got power, yes we do. We've got power, how 'bout you?

The Great Blackout of '03 wasn't too exciting for randomness. I was in Norwalk at work when darkness fell on our great land. My biggest ordeal was getting home. The normal 15 minute commute took almost two hours. The traffic on the highway was completely gridlocked while the surface streets were moving quite well thanks to the civilian corps of traffic cops (like Paul in the city). A sleepless night followed, but that seems a small sacrifice compared to those who were living Amish-style until Saturday morning. My power came on at about 3:30 Friday morning.

So, how did you pass the time?

a point of clarification

My aforementioned love of Ray Davies' "Celluloid Heroes" has company in the Kinks' canon. I firmly believe that there is only one song that can challenge "Eleanor Rigby" as being the finest pop song ever written. "Waterloo Sunset" is, to my ears, absolute perfection. Tell me I'm wrong...

ramblings of a lunatic

1. I'm sick. I have cold. In the height of summer. I'm a mess.
2. Am I the only one confused by the fact that Dr. Dre and Doctor Dre are two different rap figures? I thought so.
3. I'm still busy. Really, though, I still promise to be more prolific in the coming weeks.
4. I don't know how anyone can live without a Tivo/ReplayTV sort of device.
5. I've decided that you can put pine nuts on pretty much anything.
6. Paige is right. Paige is always right. I didn't waste time going to a movie tonight.
7. I'm skipping my 15 year reunion this weekend. I have no doubt that it's the right call.

not even worth nothin'

I recently won a free ticket to one of the movie theatres near my building. Unfortunately it expires tomorrow. That means I have my choice of -

* American Wedding
* S.W.A.T.
* Johnny English
* Tomb Raider

Ugh. Has anyone actually sat through any of those?

rudolph valentino looks very much alive

I still think the fact that the Kinks' "Celluloid Heroes" wasn't a gigantic hit is one of the great crimes of the 20th Century.

hell, i'd like you to meet handbasket

Arnold. On The Tonight Show. I have no words. Arnold is as qualified to run a state as I am to run a jogging shop.

no weekend plans?

Why not plop down $10 on "Gigli?" After all, it's getting some great reviews...

In case the Razzie Award announcers have any difficulty with the pronunciation, Gigli rhymes with "really." As in "really bad," or "really offensive," or "really wish I’d remembered my gun so I could just shoot myself now and end the misery." -Premiere

We're talking about a disaster, and not of the fun "Showgirls" variety, either. "Gigli" is 124 minutes long, almost a marathon by romantic-comedy standards. Yet if all the apparently irrelevant, tiresome and flat-out painful moments were cut, the film would consist entirely of two scenes. -SF Chronicle

The worst movie -- all right, the worst allegedly major movie -- of our admittedly young century. More stupefying follies may come, but it's impossible to imagine how they'll beat this one for staggering idiocy, fatuousness or pretension. - Wall Street Journal

I've saved the worst for last: Larry and Ricki eventually climb between the sheets in a scene that is insulting to the sexuality of all living creatures, from plankton on up. For what it's worth, Affleck and Lopez do have the screen chemistry of a couple in love -- they seem oblivious to the movie tanking around them -- but even this scene defeats them. How could it not? Quoth Ricki, ''It's time to baste the turkey.'' Respondeth Larry, ''Gobble, gobble.''- Boston Globe

wouldn't you like to be a friendster, too?

How many of you do Friendster? I have a profile but haven't done anything with it. Do you think it's worth it? Email me, okay?

horse of another color

I always freak out when I walk on Central Park South and see the "handsome cabs" lined up in heavy traffic waiting to pick up tourists from Iowa. I always scrutinize the horses and try to make sure that it at least looks like their drivers are feeding and resting them. Not that I'm an equine expert, or anything, but it's clear that many of their owners don't give them the proper care. It seems that the ASPCA agrees with me. Check out their campaign on the matter and take a minute to send an e-mail to Mayor Mike. It seems like a no-brainer to me.

Probably a smarter way than the time I yelled at driver who was ignoring his horse that was completely out of breath, too...

help the needy

A cow-orker received this ingenious piece of spam today. The scary thing? You know someone is falling for this.

Hello,

Thank You