All of this talk of Christmas music made me want to revisit an old friend this evening. As a kid I was pretty darn crazy about Prince. His music was the first that I ever collected. I still have an absurd box of vinyl (Ooh, look, the single album Mexican pressing of "1999" and the German dance mix of "D.M.S.R.!") to prove it.
One of my favorites at the holidays was the B-side "Another Lonely Christmas." Originally issued on some 12" or another, I played the hell out of one year. It's now on the "Hits" boxset and I decided to give it a listen. While some of his B-sides were certainly not throw-aways ("17 Days" and "Irresistable Bitch" in particular), I have no idea why I gravitated to this track. A maudlin tale sung to a dearly departed girlfriend, it's pretty awful. I mean, it contains the timeless and beautifully stylized stanza:
remember the night we played pokeno 4 money
and u robbed me blind
remember how u used 2 scream so loud
cuz u hated that number 9
I can only assume that the rare air of a collectible and an annual rite were the only reasons that I enjoyed this one. Either that or I was completely insane. Your call.
By the end of the year I'm probably going to rid myself of Mindspring as my ISP. Their DSL service is really no longer competitive. They lease the lines from SNET and SNET's service is now about $20 less a month.
As result, if you have mikewolf1 (at) mindspring (dot) com or mike (dot) wolf (at) mindspring (dot) com in your address book please change it to mike (at) mikewolf (dot) net. IF you're parenthetically challenged drop me a note and I'll sort it all out for you...
On Thanksgiving I continued what has become a sort of tradition by eschewing turkey and going to a movie. A co-worker and I trekked into the city (after first making sure that the parade had ended) and went to the Angelika to see "The Station Agent." I go to the Angelika a lot and take its, well, suckiness for granted. This, however, was my friend's first visit. He was rightfully appalled by the tiny screen and my usual crip space at the back of the theater. As a result, he insisted on sitting in the front row. My neck still hurts.
"The Station Agent," however, is highly recommended. Nothing blows up. There's no absurd drama. It's a simple film about people. The characters are amazingly written and the acting turns taken by Peter Dinklage and Patricia Clarkson are exquisite. It seems somehow unfair to me, though, that the under-rated Clarkson continues to get great indie supporting roles while Dinklage can currently be seen in, well, "Elf."
We finished up the evening drinking too much vodka and watching mobsters at the ever-amusing Russian Vodka Room. We were literally the only non-Russians in the place for most of the night. It was, after all, Thanksgiving.
On Friday I chose not to brave the shopping crowds and decided to stay in. Around 4:00, though, I started to get antsy. Having read interesting reviews of "Bad Santa" and knowing that it wouldn't be playing near me for long, I decided to go. I clearly forgot to account for the fact that it was playing at the mall. Playing at the mall that was also showing "Brother Bear," "Looney Toons" and "Elf." You guessed it. It was completely overwhelmed with screaming children. It was a horrible experience.
The movie, though, was tolerable. Not nearly as funny, dark or subversive as some reviews would lead you to believe. It was, however, able to produce a couple of laughs. It's so clearly not for kids and I hope that my assumption that the trio of them running up and down the aisle didn't speak English was correct. I'd have a hard time recommending this one. It's a fine rental, but most of the really funny bits are in the trailer.
As mentioned here far too many times, I'm not a person of faith. I do, however, really enjoy good holiday tunes. My Christmas music collection is merely adequate. I have about 20 discs, I think, and try to pick up a couple every year.
To that end, what's your favorite Christmas CD? My stuff tends to span from the classic holiday crooners (Bing, Frank, Mathis) to the good rock and country stuff (Presley, Willie, Merle) and the excellent compilations that Deano puts together. I need some more. Give me some ideas. I'll buy the two that sound the most intriguing and review them here.
When I worked at a hardware store in high school we would close down for three days every summer to take inventory. It was a horrible task that obviously required a lot of time. Now I wish I could do the same. Close everything down at finish my CD inventory project.
It's been an arduous task over the last couple of months. I haven't been able to devote as much time as I'd like to it and the hours that I have allocated have been slow at best. Take a look at where I stand now. I'm only halfway through "J" along with a few stragglers that I've done as I've played them. I've inventoried just over 600 CDs which means that I'm only about a third of the way done. Insane.
I want to have a little contest with my collection (something about filling in the gaps) but can't until I can present the whole project to you wacky kids. Maybe by the end of the year? Or maybe not...
I don't write a lot here about disablity issues or disability rights for a couple of reasons. First, I don't see my disability as defining who I am and, therefore, what I write about. Second, I think that most people probably find the whole subject to be both boring and depressing. I, however, find it to be both fascinating and frustrating.
Take a few minutes, if you would, to read the latest article from the Times Magazine by Harriet McBryde Johnson. I know it's long and the opening a bit odd, but it's really worth your time. You may remember her as the author of an article referenced here last year about her encounters with animal rights activist Peter Singer.
I, as you can probably guess, am far away from what Johnson appropriately terms the disability gulag. I have, however, seen it in action many times. I generally don't associate with disabled people. It really is a conscious decision on my part and certainly worthy of many hours of psychoanalysis. Primarilly, though, too many people see the gulag as their support and their fate. Even people with my level of disability (not even in the same stratosphere as those illustrated by Johnson) see the gulag as the path of least resistance and assimilate into it. It's like the Borg. Resistance, it seems, is futile.
I was born in 1969. Had I been born even three years sooner I would have certainly been immediately admitted into the gulag. Instead I spent five years on the edge of admission. In the early 1970's no mainstream school system would take a disabled child. As a result I spent pre-school through third grade at Ann J. Kellogg, a school for disabled kids in Battle Creek, Michigan. Built for one of the Kellogg daughters who was severely disabled, it drew students from far and wide who were denied entry into the mainstream. Basically it was a minor league team for the gulag. I made many friends in my years there and knew even then that most of them were destined for institutionalization. I only managed to escape when my mother took the school system to court. She's my Norma Rae.
I don't need a caretaker. I don't need assistance (although I've always wanted one of those kick-ass monkeys). But I firmly believe that those that do and want to fight the gulag should be given every single affordable resource to do so. There aren't many who are willing to put up the good fight. Those who do should go into battle fully armed. Viva la resistance!
Guy in front of me at the bagel shop this morning while pointing at the super yummy chocolate croissants -
"Are those prune croissants? No? You have anything with prunes?"
I have no words.
I'm willing to accept that the opinion I'm about to express is going to be very unpopular. That said, I think "Let it Be... Naked" sounds pretty awful. There are a few tracks that sound a bit more interesting. "The Long and Winding Road" exposes the brilliance of the writing a bit when let loose from Spector's grasp. "Let It Be" is interesting when it loses the bombast. "For You Blue" really shines as nice George piece (although it seems to me that they've inexplicably reversed the stereo separation on the track).
However, the copious use of ProTools exposes the weaknesses of a band on the brink like I'd never have imagined. The vocals throughout are strained in often unlistenable ways. Paul is completely lost during much of "Get Back." I knew that he cracked up laughing a couple times. Now, however, it's really obvious. Spector's echo chamber saved a really poor read of "Across the Universe" from John. I can't listen to it now without cringing. Some of the rockers (noteably "I've Got A Feeling" and "One After 909") now sound much more ragged.
Some of my hesitation may simply be the fact that I've always thought that "Let It Be" was an under appreciated work. I just wasn't blown away like I had hoped to be.
Vernam asks -
So thumbs up or down on My Morning Jacket?
A big thumbs up from this boy. "It Still Moves" will probably be on my Best of 2003 list. It's a gooey amalgam of the Allmans, Skynyrd, Wilco and Neil. Oh, and they're scary looking, hairy dudes. If you like them you'd probably be wise to check out Kings of Leon, too.
Vern continues -
...Innocence Mission. Heard much of them?
Yipes! I had no idea that they were still around. I wore out a copy of their debut when I was in college. I should check that out.
Finally, Mssr. Cipher ciphers about this year's Oxford American annual music issue which I also must check out. It's always a good hipster touchstone.
Yes, I said hipster. I'm reluctantly having to face some harsh realities. Gawker pointed out this Amazon list. I've read (and adored) nearly every one of those books, own three of the CDs and have seen literally every one of those films.
Deano must hate me. I, Michael Wolf, am apparently a hipster artfag. Sigh...
More than a couple of my readers have written to ask what the hell I'm doing with the title bar. You know, the bit up there ^^^^^. No. Further up. Yeah. That bit.
Anyhow, it's sort of like those goofy mood indicators that you see on some blogs but a bit more sophisticated. It's a song lyric that strikes my fancy at any given moment. It will change at completely random intervals. I said it was only a bit more sophisticated.
Over the past couple of weeks it's been provided by the likes of Hank Snow, James, Elvis Costello and Matthew Sweet. Today's wisdom is brought to you by Rosanne Cash.
Don't forget a little something for your favorite blogger.
Seriously. Where does one wear that? To the grocery? To the ballgame? Out on the town? The mind boggles.
(via gawker)
To the moron who voted for Alan Trammell of the Tigers on his AL Manager of The Year ballot -
Dude. We lost 119 games. You know that's really bad, don't you?
addendum 11/14/03
The "moron" who voted for Trammell is Joe Haakenson of the San Gabriel Valley Tribune. I owe Joe an apology. I've had a really interesting e-mail exchange with him over the last couple of days and am convinced that Joe did a valiant thing. He knew a single third-place vote for Tram wasn't going to make a difference but thought that he deserved some recognition for slogging through a disaster. I'm not so sure that he's wrong.
More coverage for the not easily bored at Tigers Central in the coming days.
Since you've bought or sold similar music in the past on Half.com, we're excited to inform you that Josh Groban's latest release, Closer is now available!
Uh, thanks. I'll keep that in mind for the holidays. I need to buy something for ol' retarded cousin Ralphie.
Mickey Mantle certainly knew something of poverty. He grew up the son of a lead miner in rural Oklahoma. In his later years, though, one has to believe that the Mick did pretty well for himself. One of the most beloved athletes in our nation's history, he surrounded himself with money-making opportunities.
One has to wonder how he'd feel about this. The Mantle family is auctioning off virtually any artifact they can get their hands on. This sale includes every professional contract that Mantle ever signed, two of his MVP trophies, several significant baseballs and one of his World Series rings. In total, 300 items are on the block.
I have to wonder aloud if many, perhaps all, of these items belong in an appropriate museum somewhere.
Not one, not two, but three people have now told me that they think I should be a victim on "Queer Eye For The Straight Guy." I can't tell you exactly on how many levels I find that disturbing.
These are apparently rabbits. Somewhere, somehow. Personally, I think they're just rejected album covers for My Morning Jacket.
(via memepool)
On Saturday I attended the second installment on the "Hello, I'm Johnny Cash" series at the Museum of Television and Radio. I became a member there during the first episode as it's cheaper than individual admission to each of the events. I'm clearly messing up their demographics, though. Most of their members are looking for the Jack Paar retrospectives or the Mr. Bean marathons.
Unbeknownst to me, Saturday also happened to be the second weekend of the International Children's Television Festival. I arrived with about five minutes to get to my screening only to be accosted by a phalanx of costumed television characters. Everyone was there. Scooby-Doo insisted on shaking my hand. Barney wouldn't move out of the way. Some big, yellow Pokemon thing was jumping up and down in my path. Droopy moped directly in my way. What you can't comprehend, though, is that they all felt the need to acknowledge my presence.
A boy in a wheelchair seems to be the fuzzy character's weakness. I'm their Kryptonite. They're powerless with the other children in my presence. When I was twelve this was pretty cool. When I took my friends to Disney they were always impressed with the attention we received. At 34, however, it's just flat-out disturbing.
But this little parody is damn funny. I've seen Lost In Translation multiple times in the theatre. That doesn't make me a hipster in itself, right? I mean, I don't immediately think that people who have seen the those Hobbit movies over-and-over are geeks, do I? Oh. Wait...
I've had really bad experiences with cabbies lately. They never want to drop you where you ask and want to either chat with you in a completely unintelligble language or yell into their cellphone headsets in the same tongue. Now there's an answer. The I Hate NYC Taxi Report Card. Simply fill it out en route and score your cabbie. Try not to stab yourself in the aorta with your pen, though, when he makes a dramatic stop in mid-sentence.
When I lived in Atlanta I always had a holiday party. It was always pretty well-attended and a lot of fun. Needless to say, I didn't have one last year. The thought of me and my cat hanging out with punch wasn't too appealling.
This year, though, I'm starting to contemplate one again. I know my co-workers and a few neighbors would show up. Would any of my NYC readers be interested? It's bucolic Stamford, after all. It's a pretty short express train from Grand Central. Perhaps too much, but just a thought. Just throwin' it out there.
Choose Your Own New York is a pretty damn funny and brilliant tour told in the trippy '80s Choose Your Own Adventure style. Some bits might be too "inside" for non-New Yorkers but methinks you'll like it.
Here's what's currently spinning at the haus of random -
The Shins - Chutes Too Narrow. This just might be the best album of 2003. Stylistically it's all over the map. From baroque pop to neo-Wilco to simple ballads to 60's psychedelia, all bases are covered. Their debut release "Oh, Inverted World" sounded like a band who'd found a great current and sort of went along for the ride. This sounds like a band now mastering that wave.
Joe Strummer & The Mescaleros - Streetcore. I've always felt that Joe's post-Clash output has been pretty spotty. The other Mescaleros albums have been good, but not great. This album, even without the filter of posthumous release, is pretty damn great. I don't know if I'd agree with The Guardian calling it his best work since "London Calling" as I'm a big fan of "Sandanista!" but it certainly is a refreshing and sad ending befitting a huge talent.
Shelby Lynne - Identity Crisis. Shelby loses Glenn Ballard and goes back to what made "I Am..." a fantastic record. Still not as interesting as her sister's work, but it'll do.
The Rapture - Echoes. I need to stop buying the bands that are hot in NYC for about five minutes. When was the last time I went back to Hot Hot Heat, The Walkmen, The Fever, Yeah Yeah Yeahs, The Thrills, Mooney Suzuki, BMRC or their ilk? Yeah, not often. This will soon be in that pile. I'll pull out stellastar* and Interpol. The rest will collect dust.
Just to prove that I'm not going to be the cranky reviewer from here out, I watched a great film tonight. Charlotte Sometimes was something I wanted to see when it was in absurdly limited release here in the summer. Thanks to the wonders of Netflix I didn't miss it.
It's an interesting character study of four twentysomething Asian Americans in Los Angeles. One of the greatest bits about it, I think, was the cinematography. It was DV but you really could tell in very few places. The first-time director even used DV's practical uselessness in dim lighting to his advantage. The cast was quite good and the plot was a real slow burn. Cody ChesnuTT is responsible for the soundtrack and I'm really starting to come around on his drrrrrty groove. Highly recommended, this one.
Unless, like me, you happen to be a slightly romantic, slightly depressed and a generally lonely guy who has a lot of female friends. Then it's sorta like sticking a really big ice pick in your cranium. Your call.
Seriously though, as brutal as it was for me to watch, it was a damn fine film. Check out the trailer here.
I've become completely smitten with Tina Fey. I mean, seriously smitten. Nearly Parker Posey smitten.
Am I alone here? Need I seek professional help? She's smart, sassy, obviously funny and bespectacled. What's not to love?
Paul from the Steve Earle show last week. I lost your e-mail. Drop me a line.
mike at mikewolf dot net
We now return you to your regularly scheduled program of white noise.
Maybe I'm getting old and cantankerous but last weekend, before Typhoid Week, I saw two of the worst films I've seen in a long time. The problem is that I feel like I "should" like both of them. They're both critically acclaimed and I like much of the directors' other work. Let me explain...
Kill Bill Vol. 1 is not a film. I'm sorry. It's just not. It's a series of really, really, really violent and interestingly shot vignettes. It's not unlike an artsy old Kung Fu movie which, let's face it, isn't an interesting premise. That is, unless it has heart and compelling story line (see Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon). But because it's Tarantino and because he was "forced" to splice his film we're supposed to just give him a pass. Nope. If I sat through a four-hour film that had no plot until the second half I'd be equally pissed. It's a piece of visual candy. Yes, I got that The Bride was whistling the theme from "Twisted Nerve." Yes, I wouldn't want to mess with Uma. That's about all I'm willing to give it. As a film it simply is, well, crap. Quentin simply dumps out his entire bag of tricks and we're supposed to just "ooh" and "ah." I'm sorry. I expect more from him.
Elephant It must have been a really, really crappy year in Cannes this year. Oh, wait. It was. This Gus Van Sant self-indulgent mess based on the Columbine tragedy must have just edged out Brown Bunny for the coveted Golden Palm. For over an hour we're slowly and methodically introduced to a handful of teens going about their high school lives. When I say slowly, I mean slooooooowly. I can best describe it as an attempt at poetic cinema verte. In one ten minute scene, for instance, we see one teen working in a darkroom and chatting to friends. Literally nothing happens. Nothing, that is, except waiting for the inevitable tragedy. But Van Sant simply glosses over and glorifies it. I won't give anything away, but I left felling like he had simply copped-out. I will give Elephant one thing, though. When I saw Van Sant's last film, Gerry, I was more interested in listening to the subway rumble under the Angelika. It was slightly more engaging. Slightly...