Biff! Bang! Pow!

Beer and football 2011 — playoffs, week threeAFC Championship

2012-01-27T17:08:00.000-05:00

The game: Ravens at Patriots
The beer: Shipyard "Double Old Thumper" Ale
The result: Win, 23–20
The commentary: It's not so hard to relate to a billionaire. Robert Kraft is suffering a pain I never want to experience, and the manner in which he continues to carry himself and so publicly express his emotions, affections and spirituality is remarkable. I know what it's like to marry your best friend, to be blessed together with the most amazing child in the world and to wonder every day if your love for the two qualifies as psychotic. There are many important things in life, things no one can bear to lose. Football is not one of them. I hope Mr. Kraft is OK.

Some thoughts on Sunday's victory:

The picture above was taken after the win. It's the best we got once we were able to coerce G. into looking at the camera with those beautiful blue eyes and the rosycheeksofloveIwanttoeatthem! I apologize that I'm a little blurry and drowsy-looking, I was pretty buzzed.

Speaking of buzzed, the eleven-percent-alcohol Double Old Thumper was quite delicious and probably would have kicked my ass if it weren't for some chili con queso and most of a bag of corn chips. I've written before that a sample of regular Old Thumper (an English-style pale ale) during a Shipyard brewery tour and a pint of Lost Sailor IPA (also a less-hoppy English style) at a Berkshire beer dinner opened my eyes (mouth?) to how tasty "hoppy" beers can be when ignoring the many American brewers who go batshit with the hops. I am forever grateful.

For maybe the first time this season I watched this game more or less live. As such I had to put up with the regular announcer-generated nonsense like Phil Simms's repeated assertions that the Ravens need a "drive starter." "That's not the drive starter I was looking for." "See, this is a good drive starter right here." "Drive starter!" Also, perhaps I missed it but when the hell did Gronkowski return after that injury? Thanks for bringing it to my attention, Phil! [Edit: Apparently his first play back was on Brady's crazy over-the-top touchdown, which is the first play I noticed him on. I was definitely watching live at that point and neither Simms nor Jim Nantz said "Holy moly, Gronkowski is back! A machine like no other!" Great work.]

G. thrust her arms straight up in the air five seconds before Torrey Smith's third-quarter touchdown. It was heartbreaking and I had to lock her in the closet for the rest of the quarter.

When Woodhead fumbled during the ensuing third-quarter kick return I said through the closet door "It only took sixteen games but they finally have to pull him off return duty now, right hon?" Wrong. The Human Touchback was out there later on following a Ravens field goal. I know nothing about football.

Tom Brady has never, ever had to quiet the crowd like he did after his initial fourth-quarter touchdown was overturned. The fans brought it for two weeks straight, even if they don't know when to keep the noise down. I loved it and I hope the bulk of them make the trip to Indy.

All season I've done a good job remembering there's a baby in the house and I should no longer yell and leap from the couch whenever the Pats make a big play. Tell that to Brandon Spikes—I yelled so loud on his interception that G. started bawling and I had to walk her around for a minute before she settled down. I was somehow able to contain myself after sitting back on the couch, resuming the broadcast and witnessing my near-death at the hands of Bernard Pollard, Jimmy Williams and Matthew Slater (!). (Later, G. cried for only a second or two when I yelled "He missed it!" She is my rock.)

This whole controversy with the scoreboard being off by a down (displaying third instead of fourth) is about the best excuse Billy Cundiff could have stumbled into. If this idiot, for whom the offense is trying to improve field position for the game-tying field goal, doesn't know the down and distance at every second of the drive then it's his own fault for having to rush through his "process." Screw him and his wide-left.

I watched the NFC game in the living room while putting together the new full-sized crib. It's the last time I'll ever assemble a piece of furniture outside of the room in which it will end up—that thing barely fit through the bedroom door.

Extracurricular observations:

A. and I heard "Thin Line Between Love and Hate" by the Persuaders the other morning in the car. It's like a parody of an R. Kelly song, thirty years early. "Are you hungry? Did you eat yet?" Lady, it's 5:00 in the morning and your man's just getting home!

So Pat Sajak drinks between tapings of Wheel of Fortune. Big deal. The only thing that would surprise me less is if he were a functioning illiterate who signs his paychecks with a big X.

Lastly, a big eye-rolling thanks to the MBTA for personally demonstrating to me how they remain in the red year after year. I bought one of those twelve-ride passes because A. and I now drive to and from work every day (I feel bad about that but public transportation is too unreliable to line up with daycare schedules; it's also fucking expensive), but occasionally I might take a train if I need to go in early, stay late, etc. The pass doesn't save anything compared to purchasing twelve individual one-way tickets but the convenience is worth the upfront money. Anyway, I now understand that this is the way to go because I've had one ride remaining for the last four or five trips, including this morning's, and it hasn't cost me a dime—apparently conductors, when they even bother to check at all for tickets during rush hour, don't want to be the one to void a pass by punching that twelfth ride. And here we go again with the fare hikes.

Up next: It's a Patriot-free Pro Bowl, which is just the way I like them outside of the Rod Rust era. I will not watch one second of it. Cheers!

Beer and football 2011 — playoffs, week two

2012-01-21T10:18:00.002-05:00

The game: Broncos at Patriots
The beer: Slumbrew "Porter Square" Porter
The result: Win, 45–10
The commentary: I'm sticking with the thumb-sucking theme, before and after versions. Again, these pictures weren't taken on game day—it was really Monday at the mall—and in the second one she's sporting the vacant stare of someone who wishes she hadn't just taken her thumb out of her mouth. The void left behind projects a dim-wittedness I assure you isn't there because she is the smartest baby but I like the inferred apprehension: "The Patriots played like world champions… against the Broncos."

I actually missed the first few minutes of the game. I was so wrapped up in the amazing Saints/49ers fourth quarter and its post-game coverage that I didn't switch over in time. I was under the impression the start of the second playoff game had to be held until the first was all-the-way over, due to the television contracts and the fat cats and all. But it wasn't so horrible to be proven wrong as I switched to CBS in time to see Hernandez rip off a forty-yard run, followed immediately by the Welker touchdown. Greta turned to me and said "That's the game, I'm going to bed." She was right—bedtime for her is usually 8:30 or 9:00.

I have to assume it was Josh McDaniels who came up with the Little White Guy Mix-Up plays on Sunday. Put Welker and Edelman next to each other on the line or make one of them trace the other's route, sit back and watch the defense freak out when they can't tell which is Welker. I loved it. Hopefully this is explored even further next year when the team makes Edelman change his number to thirteen or eighty-two.

Unfortunately the Slumbrew was just OK. I'd read about this Somerville-based brewery in one of Patriots Daily's buffet spreads and filed it away to seek out. I should have known better—the label's kinetic red sculpture, straight out of Porter Square itself, brought back memories of Cambridge's… nay, the world's… most evil parking lot. Narrow spaces! No left turn! Crosswalk! Trapped! I'm not sophisticated enough to provide more criticism than "it didn't taste like much" (I'm quite certain that won't be a problem tomorrow, to the tune of eleven percent alcohol) and I was disappointed. Various porters are among my favorite beers and removing flavor, pleasant or foul, seems like it would require a major effort when producing this style. Anyway, it wasn't nearly as bad as last January's godforsaken altbier. But what could be?

I've complained an awful lot the past few months about the defense in general, the defense in specific terms and each individual personnel decision the team has made since 2005. I'm all set with that, at least until Belichick trades out of the first round—twice!—in April (or, you know, if Ray Rice, Torrey Smith and Anquan Boldin go apeshit tomorrow). The Patriots are in the AFC Championship and I expect them to win. Ed Reed might get his crazy athletic interception, Terrell Suggs and Ray Lewis might get a couple of bone-crunching sacks and Haloti Ngata might eat Ridley and Green-Ellis for an afternoon snack. But they can't cover Welker and Gronkowski and Hernandez and Branch and Faulk (big game for him, I think), especially once Brady starts directing the no-huddle. Rice will give our appalling (sorry!) defense headaches even as they overcompensate in covering/shadowing him but Joe Flacco's moustache will have to play from behind for much of the game, and its sloppy trim job will grow more unkempt as the evening progresses. (Any or all of McCourty, Arrington and Ihedigbo will still find ways to look foolish.) (Sorry again!) Hopefully last week's crowd shows up and honorary captains Troy Brown, Ty Law, Tedy Bruschi and Drew Bledsoe (I would like to have seen Ted Johnson, Lawyer Milloy or Willie McGinest) have big smiles on their faces as the Pats are awarded another Lamar Hunt Trophy. Final score: 30–24.

Up next: The Pats host the Ravens, and the winner moves on to face either the Giants or the 49ers in the Super Bowl. What year is this? Cheers!

Beer and football 2011 — playoffs, week one (bye)

2012-01-14T18:28:00.000-05:00

The beer: Founders Porter
The commentary: Last year at this time (I am not providing the link) I had a Berkshire Shabadoo all set to go for a second playoff contest that didn't happen. Never again, I vowed… until I was shopping for tonight's beer at Kappy's this morning and couldn't decide between options A and B. I stood staring at those bombers before remembering that no decision I made, then or ever, would affect the outcome of the game. So I walked out with a Divisional Round bomber and a presumed AFC Championship bomber. I still don't know which is which (one of them is eleven percent alcohol, is that better in the evening or the afternoon?) but it's a good problem to have. Unless, you know…

Demaryius Thomas. Slot him right behind Willis McGahee on the shit-that-can-go-wrong list. On Sunday I enjoyed a fine Founders while sitting slack-jawed in front of the television, wondering over and over "Who is that guy?" as Thomas made Ike Taylor repeatedly punch himself in the nuts with his own fists. Afterward Taylor tweeted "I apologize for playing the worst game at the wrong time. My goddamn nuts are killing me. Luv y'all to def. Please get me more ice." Poor guy. Poor Patriots, too, because he would start for this team.

A lot has been made of the whole Josh McDaniels thing. It does feel a little shady—I know if the Jets tried to pull something like this then Steve DeOssie's vagina-pink face would turn a shade of red invisible to the naked eye—but I'm not sure how much it will matter. He might have drafted Tebow but did he ever even play him? What can he offer other than "I liked him at Florida and here's how I would have used in in a pro offense," which is a what-if game Belichick can already play? So I don't see a real significance in his past association with the Broncos. (The larger issue involves the Rams expecting Sam Bradford to be able to succeed on three offensive coordinators in three years. It will be interesting to see how long it takes for him to start yelling at reporters to knock it off.) Where McDaniels does pay off is by drawing up a handful of gadget and/or quick-strike plays that potentially result in the team scoring forty-something points instead of thirty-something.

On the other foot, congratulations to Bill O'Brien for accepting a temporary position at Penn State. I was listening to Sirius NFL earlier and someone made the point that you don't want to be the guy to replace Joe Paterno there, you want to be the guy who replaces the guy who replaced Joe Paterno. Pop-culture history agrees: Jimmy Page was approached to join the Yardbirds after Eric Clapton pouted his way out of the group but he didn't want to replace him, instead recommending his buddy Jeff Beck for the job. When the moody Beck inevitably burned himself out (after a short, stunning term that produced "Heart Full of Soul," "Over, Under, Sideways, Down," "Happenings Ten Years Time Ago" and others), Page was all in, eventually transforming what became his band into Led Zeppelin. Similarly, when NBC gave The Tonight Show to Jay Leno instead of David Letterman and then changed their minds awhile later (as documented in Bill Carter's wonderfully salacious The Late Shift, a book full of empty calories and self-loathing), Letterman arrived at the shrewd conclusion that he wouldn't be inheriting Johnny Carson's or Jack Paar's Tonight Show (which he coveted) but rather a failed Tonight Show with Jay Leno. So he created The Late Show. O'Brien can't exactly found a new university and develop a football program from scratch, but all this particular "promotion" does is white-wash Penn State's role in the sex-abuse scandal, a scandal that will not give him a single chance to succeed as a "leader of men." In two or three years, after two or three losing seasons, alumni will have forgotten about Jerry Sandusky's crimes and will demand O'Brien's head on a platter. Someone else steps in (more in the mold of Pete "Rah Rah" Carroll than Bill "Fuck Off" Belichick), moving forward trumps looking behind and Penn State regains its esteem. Bill O'Brien will be unemployable.

Prediction time? Something like 45–27 good guys. Belichick will travel to Pittsburgh to personally thank Dick LeBeau for demonstrating—throughout the entire game—which defensive scheme will not work. The Pats go big on the defensive line to try to stop the run, entrust Ninkovich to escort Tebow wherever he goes and ensure that no passes are thrown behind Chung and (probably starting at safety again) McCourty. On offense it's all about an early lead, even if it means electing to receive should they win the coin toss. I'd like to see Ridley and Green-Ellis move the chains—the Pats have to dominate time of possession and score almost every time they have the ball, which is exactly what Denver will try to do. Mix in some big Welker, Gronkowski and Hernandez gains and give Tebow no choice but to win with his arm, then it's all over but the shouting.

Around the league, the 49ers are up by a field goal at the half and the game could go either way, but I like the Saints to pull it out. The Ravens will end Houston's improbable run despite more horrendous play from Joe Flacco—people say Mark Sanchez hasn't developed? And I think the G-Men will eke one out in Green Bay. Just remember that I know nothing about football.

Technicolor Web of Sound, my go-to internet radio station, has gone the way of a Remo Williams sequel. Suddenly it's not available to stream on iTunes, the website produces an error and someone blogged of its mysterious death. I was upset at first because the station introduced me to a lot of great sixties bands like Ant Trip Ceremony, Dragonfly and especially Blue Cheer, and it's been a part of my work day for the better part of eight years. Unfortunately the guy running it tightened up the playlist (causing it to repeat too often), focused too heavily on the Jefferson Airplane family tree and thought those old radio spots and other ephemera—including Illinois's one-time Emergency Broadcast System test tone, for crying out loud—would continue to amuse his audience after hundreds of listens. "I can't make it, Jim." Well I can't either. I'm sorry… I'll always love you for showing me that the Monkees made some amazing music and that the Pretty Things recorded soundtracks to soft porn films under a different name. But it's time to move on. WZBC has a reliable stream and I'm a month behind on PFW in Progress anyway.

Up next: Kick-off in two hours. Please don't make me write a "system failure" post next week. Cheers!

Beer and football 2011 — week seventeen

2012-01-04T16:31:00.000-05:00

The game: Bills at Patriots
The beer: Samuel Adams "The Vixen" Chocolate Chili Bock
The result: Win, 49–21
The commentary: I'm cheating with this picture as it was not actually taken during the game, or even on game day, but rather the following morning as G. snuggled her loveys and fought sleep with every inch of her little body (a battle she eventually won in fussy fashion). At the time I was certain those eyes could see a thousand years into my future. I am madly in love with her.

Fitzpatrick? Still not the bearded droid Bills fans are looking for. Stevie Johnson though? I'll take that guy! I understand why the refs had to throw the flag on his Happy New Year!!! display but it's not like he wrote My Brother's Gonna Shit!!! or anything. He might lack maturity but he seems like a good guy, I don't know. Belichick simply has not drafted/developed a young wide receiver since the team started not winning Super Bowls, so I'll be pleased if he uses this year's picks to stock the defense with cyborgs before outbidding the rest of the league for Johnson.

Lately there's a lot of backlash against local media hotheads who cannot stop criticizing the team. I understand it since Notable Fucktards A, B and C latch onto any available negative angle while refusing to acknowledge a bright side. However, these clowns have a point. There really is no redeeming quality with this defense: Wilfork does a fine job but rarely dominates; Mayo either isn't talented enough to blow plays up or isn't being used correctly; Chung, when healthy, is a superstar when measured against Sergio Brown and Matthew Slater. Then, because Belichick's draft résumé from 2006 to the present is more luke-warm water (McCourty, Mayo, Maroney) than fire (Gronkowski, Hernandez, Mankins) with way too much ice (Meriweather, Darius Butler, Chad Jackson), no hotshots with limitless potential are in place to come in off the bench. I have been spoiled rotten for ten years since the Tuck Rule—sustained success, heightened expectations and so forth—yet I do not overstate their weaknesses.

What keeps the team competitive year after year, of course, is consistent excellence from the quarterback and the head coach: Brady is still playing out of his mind and Belichick's in-game adjustments the past few weeks have been outstanding. It's possible to see the brilliance as well as the flaws unless you're some kind of apologist homer; ergo, I like my boys against anyone. Who's with me? How about six-time all-pro tight end and veteran NFL analyst Randy Cross, who chucked self-respect in the gutter on Sunday and observed "Like the old Road Runner cartoons, you heard 'beep, beep' and the Patriots were gone." (That, my friends, is why a man with thirty-five years of playing and color-guy experience gets paired up with a stiff like Don Cruiqui week after week to announce games that have no significance. Also, Randy, it's more of a "meep" sound.) They won't always come back, particularly against the likes of Baltimore and a healthy Pittsburgh in the playoffs, but I'll take my chances on Brady stringing together a few hot starts when it counts. If not? Then Kyle Arrington, Julian Edelman and Ron Brace will make opponents pay!

God bless the New York Jets. For three years we Patriots fans have been waiting for them to implode and this perfectly average 8–8 finish (more degrading than 7–9?) is extremely rewarding. They'll be back, sure, but so long as Keller and Holmes (if he's still around) keep not being targeted then they will accomplish nothing. I'm the only one who still thinks Sanchez is pretty good—it's not his fault the offensive line sucks and he's being asked to throw fifty times a game—but if I'm wrong then look out, fat boy, because your team might actually suck. Speaking of rival quarterbacks, I love ESPN's James Walker's take on reports that free agent Chad Henne would love to return to Miami: "Anyone up for a Henne vs. Matt Moore quarterback battle in training camp? I doubt the Dolphins are."

In other AFC East news, I can't believe that Brian Schottenheimer (the one asking Sanchez to chuck the ball and absorb huge hits every other play) and Bill O'Brien (who does nothing except yell at players in an effort to get television exposure) are head-coaching candidates, even though I called it three weeks ago. Whoever hires them will get what they deserve: a search for a new head coach in 2015 after three consecutive losing seasons. But what's the alternative? Brad Childress or some diddling college coach? God save the NFL.

A. and G. dozed on the couch while I paired the bock (I didn't think I liked that style… maybe drenching it in chocolate is the answer) with some corn chips and chili con queso, followed by a chocolate chip cookie. That's what happens when you haven't been to work in ten days and won't return for another two. A. called the vixen on the bottle "scary." I call her flavor country. Care to guess what I have in my refrigerator for the playoffs? Not a thing! Yet.

Up next: The Patriots must survive a harrowing bye week that no one enjoys, except for people who've been meaning to hang window blinds for a month. Next week? Bring on the fucking Steelers. Cheers!

Beer and football 2011 — week sixteen

2012-01-01T11:54:00.000-05:00

The game: Dolphins at Patriots
The beer: Ipswich 20th Anniversary Imperial Pale Ale
The result: Win, 27–24
The commentary: Crazy Christmas Eve. And that's right, my daughter sucks her thumb! And grabs her nose in the process! Is she beautiful or what?

This is going to be a short one, with kickoff just over an hour away. I missed most of the first half of last weekend's game: our goal was to leave in time to arrive in Connecticut around 12:30 so we could settle in before I started aw-shucksing "Um, can we put the game on?" But G. had her own ideas and, admittedly, her mom and dad should have finished packing and gift-wrapping the night before. It's just so hard, Ringo.

Luckily, even with an obligatory Starbucks stop, we cruised down with no traffic at all. The TV was on almost immediately and when I saw what I'd missed I pulled up the Fios app on my phone and deleted what I'd so far recorded of the game (I'm glad I elected to go with my Greatest Holiday Playlist Ever—six hundred twelve songs and counting!—in the car instead of the radio broadcast). No need to watch a bunch of punts and defensive miscues after returning home, right? Anyway, we now know that the second half was the one to watch, in spite of Miami's late touchdown that served as yet another reminder to non-believers that this defense is real-deal atrocious. (I drank the delicious Ipswich while watching two weeks worth of Patriots Football Weekly the other night. During the game and up through the party that evening I alternated between Lagunitas IPAs and some stunning Southern Tier Double Milk Stouts, both of which were my contribution, of course. Fortunately for me there were no big drinkers around and I got to enjoy most of it myself.)

I had a nice week off. On Tuesday I took G. to the mall to try to return a bunch of stuff and to see if I was at all capable of changing her diaper in public by myself. Success! She did well for awhile but before long I cut the trip short, swung by Starbucks again (d'oh!) and took her home. As a parent it was the mature, responsible thing to do. Needless to say my new year's resolution is to continue to set such reasonable expectations.

Up next: Remember 2003? Revenge… revenge… revenge! And happy new year, friends!

Beer and football 2011 — week fifteen

2011-12-21T15:01:00.000-05:00

The game: Patriots at Broncos
The beer: People's Pint Scotch Ale
The result: Win, 41–23; Sophie, 6–3
The commentary: I picked up the Scotch ale a few weeks ago out in central Mass. and thought it was a good choice for the Broncos game. Since Tebow is (was?) God's favorite quarterback, I thought I'd counter that advantage with a secular-sounding brewer in People's Pint. And it worked! I tried to go into the game (watched on lousy standard-definition delay because we were out running errands that afternoon/evening and I didn't want to take up the whole DVR drive, what with the Survivor and Dexter finales looming later on) with an open mind toward Tebow. I can get pretty worked up over just about anything but I at least try to see all sides before gripping "the correct" point of view with the ferocious death-chomp of one thousand blood-stained teeth.

All this Tebow stuff—how many people have actually watched him play? You have the religious folks who see how publicly he proclaims his faith and, of course, want to believe he's a better quarterback than a superstar who had an illegitimate child with some B actress from Longmeadow. And then you have the football fans who see him bowling over linebackers in a run-first offense and just know that he couldn't hit a wide-open receiver thirty yards down the seam. My impression is of a (very) raw athlete in the mold of a bulky, tougher Randall Cunningham—maybe he's not the best pocket passer, but just look out if you're chasing him from sideline to sideline for a few seconds and whiff on a tackle or two, because by then someone will be open. We saw a lot of that early in Sunday's game and, conversely, saw him get sacked for a loss of almost thirty yards after trying to do too much. So he lost the game but he lost it to Tom Brady, not to the Patriots' defense. I can count on one hand the number of elite quarterbacks in this league that Tebow couldn't outscore on a regular basis, and that tells me he'll probably do alright. He's not a traditional quarterback—you can't compare him to John Elway or even Jake Plummer—but he has the time to develop that part of his game. It's his first meaningful season, he's got a lot of confidence and the Broncos would be nuts to go in a different direction next season. If they embrace him as their guy and approach the draft and free-agent market with his skills in mind—and if he puts the brakes on what I suspect is false humility and doesn't get too caught up in his own celebrity—he and his team will only get better, especially once his scrambling starts to result in late-hit penalties against defenders who are terrified to let him slip past. I can't believe I'm defending this guy but there you have it.

As for the game itself, the Broncos were somehow the first of fourteen teams to attempt to take Gronk out of the game and it was therefore rewarding to watch Hernandez do his yards-after-the-catch thing. I can't say enough about these guys and I look forward to what they can do in the playoffs, even as I dread the day they both take big-money deals elsewhere. In other news, the running game continues to not do a whole lot, which should be expected since they haven't had a whole lot of opportunity. That's something I'd like to see ironed out, because we've seen the past couple of years what happens when talented, determined teams figure out how to defend the passing game.

Really too bad about Andre Carter, who was put on IR yesterday. I'll miss his disruptive defensive presence but luckily we can still enjoy the weekly roundtable program where he, Alge Crumpler, Fred Taylor and Deion Branch engage in well informed discussions about leading national and international topics like the viability of an isolationist United Kingdom, the boom in Gulf Coast tourism and that guy in Maine who probably killed his daughter. At least Mark Anderson can fill his spot on the field for the rest of the season, now that the risk of him breaking an arm in a bicep-smashing sack celebration with Carter is no longer a thing to fear. I haven't heard Anderson speak a whole lot but maybe he can even sit in on the show and provide some thought-provoking insight on the record industry's potential reaction to Fugazi offering up hundreds of concert recordings for $5 a piece.

I've made it this far without complaining about the defense? You don't say! ESPN writer James Walker does a nice job on his AFC East blog—it's great to have unbiased commentary of the Jets and the two UFL teams that round out the division, as well as some outsider perspective on the Patriots. On that topic, his pitch-perfect piece about the Patriots needing to aggressively surround the newly extended Jerod Mayo with quality players was two hundred fifty words of rock-solid action. (At first I thought the post was written by ESPN Boston's informational wellspring Mike Reiss—whom I do love—and marveled for those mistaken few seconds at the fact it this was the first bit of real criticism he'd ever laid upon the team's personnel philosophy of stockpiling cast-offs and undrafted free agents in order to rotate them in and out of a starting lineup every week. Then I realized it wasn't Reiss after all, and instead his role as a beat writer continues to get in the way of offering opinions other than "Patrick Chung walked through the locker room today so that's a good sign he'll play this weekend" for the sixth week in a row, followed by Chung being inactive for the sixth week in a row.) It was the kind of constructive (not just negative) analysis that is hard to find outside of PFW in Progress and Patriots Daily and I really appreciated it. Awesome job, seriously. But…

I'm all set with Walker's repeated assertion that Miami is "playing its best football late in the season" and "relishes the role of spoiler." I guess he's overlooking the stinker against the Eagles ten days ago? "Look out, NFL, the Dolphins are going to fuck up your playoff plans! Unless you're the Eagles. They will spoil that shit! Assuming again that you're one of thirty teams not based in Philadelphia. Go Fins!" Anyway, ask me again next week.

Some minor items that I don't feel like flushing out:

Sophie won Survivor because Coach for some reason thought she would be easier to beat than that Rick guy, about whom A. and I still know nothing. If Coach had taken Albert and Rick to the final it would have been a clean sweep, though maybe none of those three could have defeated Ozzy in that last challenge. Unfortunately this season was a bit of a bore outside of Coach's eccentricity, Ozzy's unlikability, Brandon's insanity and Cochran's general awesomeness.

Few things challenge me like fastening my daughter's clothing. Why do buttons and snaps on onesies and stuff have to be so tiny? I don't appreciate proper scale at the expense of my fumbling adult-sized fingers.

The other day I went to the post office to get some stamps. (Thank-you notes, Christmas cards and those assholes who sell your name and address to The Company Store's catalog division are the post office's last hope.) I asked the guy "Do you have any holiday 'forever' stamps"? He responded "Which would you like, ornaments or baby Jesus?" He might as well have asked "How would you like to be judged, hellfire or salvation?"

I've been playing Can's "Mother Sky" two or three times a day for the past week and a half. Its quarter hour is much too brief and the "sudden" fade-out surprises me every time. A hip-hop group (probably called Tha Kanz) could sustain itself on nothing but Can beats for ten years.

Keeping with music, I heard Boss Hog's "Strawberry" this morning and realized the sound of the rhythm-keeping dot matrix printer would be a complete mystery to high school and maybe college students today. "Awesome keyboard effect, bro!" What other noises from my salad days are obsolete? Dial-up modems? Jackée?

This afternoon we're having a $20 Yankee swap in which my gift is a $15 iTunes card and a $5 bottle of BBC's Coffeehouse Porter. I might open it myself. People are bringing snacks and my contribution—as a first-time baker—is a batch of peanut butter blossoms. (I just ate one to make sure it doesn't taste like ass and I'm proud to report it doesn't.) Please wish me luck. [Edit: I got a pretty kick-ass orange picture frame.]

Up next: Dan Marino is not walking through that door. Cheers!

Beer and football 2011 — week fourteen

2011-12-17T17:04:00.000-05:00

The game: Patriots at Redskins
The beer: Berkshire "Steel Rail" Extra Pale Ale
The result: Win, 34–27
The commentary: I got some great pictures of G. leading up to the game but the smiley ones never come out. You can't see it here because of my stupid square-cropping syndrome but her feet were going a mile a minute in this one and they're a (stylish) green and orange blur. I love that she can maintain such a nonchalant expression while her legs are getting it done. By the way, please don't call child services on A. and me because of that gash next to her left eye. She did that herself—it is nigh on impossible to effectively trim her fingernails.

A friend and I used to drink the Steel Rail while playing pool at the Brass Cat in Easthampton when I lived out there years ago. What a great spot that was—the beers were cheap, you could always get a table and the jukebox was a killer. I never worried for a second that the bomber's color scheme exactly matched the uniforms worn by the most offensively named team in all of sports, who kept things much too close all game long. It was a refreshing ale but not as tasty as I remember. I also didn't remember that it is super, super light in color, though with an attractive blond color rather than Bud or Miller's weird pale yellow. It served its early-afternoon purpose well enough, especially considering I hadn't showered yet.

To state the obvious, if Mark Sanchez and Brian Schottenheimer were screaming at each other and had to be separated during a game then all of New England, fans and media folks alike, would rejoice in the "trainwreck" that is the New York Jets. Instead, everyone from Mike Reiss (of whom I am an enormous fan) on down uses it as an example of what a competitor Brady is. I actually do believe that but I don't think it's necessarily something to spin into a positive. Nor is it a sign that the Pats won't win another game the rest of the year. Regardless, Bill O'Brien should remember that he's Bill O'Brien and maybe keep out of his elite quarterback's face next time. Of course with those idiots running the Dolphins it's a good bet either he or Schottenheimer will be coaching that team next year.

Anyway, say what you will about Tebow but he's winning games. People seem to fall into one of two camps: his heart is large enough to overcome accuracy problems or he has no business playing the quarterback position; he is a man of strong moral and spiritual convictions or he is a self-promoting fraud; he is revolutionizing what it means to be a professional athlete or he is setting the game of football back several decades. (The Overrated Brian Urlacher even decided to chip in and called him "a real good running back," adding to his pile of head-scratching post-defeat statements that includes last year's "the Patriots are the best team in the AFC.") I'll surely have some of my own expert analysis next week but, in the meantime, it's pretty exiting to be a Broncos fan right now.

Up next: Our lowly hometown heathens travel to Denver to take on God and His armies of righteousness. We are in deep shit. Cheers!

Beer and football 2011 — week thirteen

2011-12-08T16:19:00.001-05:00

The game: Colts at Patriots
The beer: Just Beer "Moby D" American Ale
The result: Win, 31–24
The commentary: Like the Pittsburgh game, only the exact opposite, this one was nowhere near as close as the final score indicated. Brady, Welker and Gronkowski were doing every single thing against the Colts that they wanted to do. I'm sort of glad all the "Lo, the defense e'er soaring!" talk around here can be put to rest. This is the same secondary that has sucked lemons all season long: they are not communicating better, they are not imposing their will upon horrible opposing quarterbacks, they are not talented. They are not improving. The three unanswered Colt touchdowns in the fourth quarter were killers once you consider an onside kick was a real possibility, and the one time Belichick decided against keeping his foot on the gas (disputing the "Anything can happen in this league, would you rather we kicked field goals?" speech he gives every time he's accused of running up the score) nearly came back to bite him. Sorry Hoyer, but you might not play another snap this season.

In an effort to save a little money—babies are expensive!—last week we downgraded our Fios cable television package to a lower tier. In the process we lost some channels we don't care about (couldn't tell you what they are), some that I really liked but, in retrospect, didn't watch too often (Palladia, HDNet) and some that really, really hurt (The NFL Network and Cloo). Sigh. I guess I'll survive because the only show I really watched on NFL was Sound FX and those clips are always made available on NFL.com, which isn't yet blocked at work. Anyway, I just watched the clip while eating my overpriced (overpriced… gak!… so long, Taylor Price, you were absolutely wasted here) sandwich and it's wonderful to see how competitive Brady is at all times, even during a bloodbath. "That's three fourth-quarter touchdowns." This wasn't a slam on his offense not keeping up—it's a sign that he might just murder McCourty and friends by the time the playoffs roll around.

G., as you can see, wasn't too good in keeping me company during the game. She asked me to put her down at halftime so she could nap during the rest of "this laugher" (her words) and that way I didn't have to awkwardly hold her and a giant beer mug at the same time. I cracked open the ale as the fourth quarter was starting (1:00 games almost feel strange now) and thought it was pretty good. I picked it up the previous weekend on the way to my uncle's. Just Beer also had a "'Not Pumpkin' Ale," an admittedly failed attempt at a pumpkin ale that turned out to be more of a pale ale. I'll remember it for next year because I'm officially stocked for the last four games of the regular season… and not beyond this time!

In 2010 I was late with a Christmas mini-playlist so I'll throw one up now with plenty of time for readers (!) to get sick of Christmas music. This is in honor of my company's holiday party at the InterContinental Hotel next week. It's right next door, and walking to work yesterday I noticed the logo resembles a giant vagina. Tell me I'm wrong.

(In other questionable signage news, the Subway restaurant attached to the convenience store a few blocks from my house has apparently gone rogue and changed its name to "Sub Day." It's a plain white and red sign that must have cost $5. Hilarious.)

1. Perry Como – C-H-R-I-S-T-M-A-S
I played my family's Perry Como Sings Merry Christmas Music record to death every December during my childhood. I still love it, right down to subconsciously layering the old skips and pops onto my soulless Perry Como MP3s. I mean the MP3 format has no soul, not Perry Como. Well maybe both.

2. The Treacherous Three – Xmas Rap
"That ain't a G.I. Joe, that's a G.I. Jerk with a kung-fu grip that don't even work. So all I did was just put him away cuz my G.I. Joe looked G.I. Gay."

3. Rotary Connection – Silent Night (Chant)
Reissued Peace from 1968. The "Chant" qualification must only be there to distinguish from the "regular" and the "instrumental" versions of "Silent Night" on the album. As if there aren't enough Christmas songs to cover.

4. Beatles – Pantomime (Everywhere It's Christmas)
"No need to worry, Jasper. [Turns page.]" From their 1966 fan-club Christmas record. Really, really out of print. This and 1967's "Christmas Time Is Here Again!" are my favorites—both are nicely produced collages that stand out against the charming novelty of the first three records and the withdrawn, sour last two. (Incidentally, I always thought that was George Harrison doing a Tiny Tim impression on the '68 record. Wikipedia and other sources tell me it's really him. I remain unconvinced.)

5. Victoria Spivey – Christmas Morning Blues
One of many highlights from the essential Blues, Blues Christmas. This compilation is repetitive and probably too long but so are the holidays, right?

Up next: The Pats travel to our nation's capital to visit museums for free and see if there's any truth to the rumor that Mike Shanahan is an overrated football coach. (He is.) Cheers!

Beer and football 2011 — weeks eight, nine, ten, eleven and twelve

2011-11-30T14:17:00.000-05:00

[Oh yeah, I have a blog!]

Week eight
The game: Patriots at Steelers
The beer: Cambridge "Great Pumpkin" Ale
The result: Loss, 25–17
The commentary: My favorite pumpkin beer, marred by repeated long completions down the middle of the field to a wide-open tight end. Hey, that's what the Pats are supposed to do! I would love another shot at these clowns in the playoffs.

Week nine
The game: Giants at Patriots
The beer: Blue Hills Imperial Red India Pale Ale
The result: Loss, 24–20
The commentary: Hopefully the season's nadir. I always thought that word was pronounced "nade-EER" but apparently it's like Ralph Nader? That's why I don't use twenty-five-cent words when I speak. I don't remember much about this game (perhaps due to the IPA's nine percent alcohol) other than being generally uncomfortable throughout, and in retrospect it's hard to believe they lost by only four points. The following day on the train I overheard a guy say to his buddy "I hope we don't have another Donovan McNabb on our hands." I hate Patriots fans.

Week ten
The game: Patriots at Jets
The beer: Haverhill "GestAlt" German-Style Brown Ale
The result: Win, 37–16
The commentary: Now we're talking. I accidentally bought two GestAlts, picking it up for the second time after thinking I'd passed on it earlier. I'll admit to being afraid when I opened the bomber and it foamed all over the kitchen counter. The eighteen ounces I was able to retain tasted pretty damn good and didn't in any way jinx the outcome of the game, so I was glad to have a backup. I attributed the first-half shutout of the Giants the week before to poor execution on the Giants' part instead of stellar defensive play by the Pats. This time I think they played pretty alright. I like how, in the week leading up to this one, everyone said the release of Haynesworth meant Belichick should be tarred and feathered. I've got problems with some (most) of his recent drafting decisions but why not give Haynesworth a shot in a short offseason? Belichick's free-agent adventures haven't worked out too well lately either but, the last time I checked, "low risk/high return" doesn't equate to "inexpensive/can't fail." One hundred thirty-one players were chosen before the first pick of the fifth round this year so who gives a shit. Belichick would have traded it for two sevens anyway.

Week eleven
The game: Chiefs at Patriots
The beer: Stone Smoked Porter
The result: Win, 34–3
The commentary: Defense plays well again but it's the Chiefs. A few weeks ago A. and G. were to pick me up in Salem and they ran late, so I dropped in to the Green Land Café for a quick pint. Boy, was I pleased to discover they had the Smoked Porter on tap. I grabbed the one free seat at the bar, which was on the corner—to my left were a couple visiting from Florida to attend a Boston College football game for some reason, and to my right were an older couple I took to be local. They were speaking kitty-corner across me (I didn't mind) about local beer and Mr. Florida was drinking something he apparently enjoyed so much that he was on his iPad the whole time trying to figure out how far south it was distributed. I never learned what was giving him such a hard-on but it was pretty light-colored, and I can't think of any light-ish beer I'd get so worked up over. "This… how you say… Hi-nah-kin… is marvelous! Is it available in the American northeast?"

Week twelve
The game: Patriots at Eagles
The beer: Ipswich Oatmeal Stout
The result: Win, 38–20
The commentary: I didn't get any good pictures of G. during the game because she's three months old now and is no longer content to sit still. Blurry, blurry, blurry! The Android Gingerbread update seems to have slowed down my phone's shutter a bit, in addition to causing a host of other problems that I've just barely resolved. (Aye, the drawbacks of openness and fragmentation. I'm starting to understand the enthusiasm for rooting.) So it's Chloe's time to shine this week! That's my leg she's sleeping on up there. Precious.

OK, I actually remember this game because it was only three days ago. We watched the first half (along with the second half of the brutal Bills–Jets game—yes, I want the Jets to miss the playoffs because I'm not sure it's possible for one team to defeat another three times in one season—at my uncle's house while we introduced G. to my mother's extended family. I recorded the game and watched the second half at home in the evening, mostly ignoring the fast-forward button because I haven't watched many "live" games this season and I wanted to soak it in. It was rewarding to witness Andy Reid at last—at last!—get openly criticized. Poor game-planning, poor adjustments, poor discipline, poor time management: I salute you, The Andy Reid Era.

Again, our defense was passable. Again, they looked lost in giving up way too many long passes. Again, Sergio Brown celebrated a "pass breakup" he had nothing to do with aside from never once turning around to look for the ball and possibly interfering with a receiver who still could have made the catch. But again, Tom Brady was unstoppable. Again, having two productive veterans like Welker and Branch at wideout, the best tight end in the league in Gronkowski, another top-ten tight end in Hernandez and a crew of running backs who can produce most of the time was a wonderful bunch of answers to a questionable defense. Again, it's awesome to be a Patriots fan, just like it has been for ten years.

I loved this tongue-in-cheek headline from Boston Sports Media Watch on Monday morning: "Porous Patriots Defense Allows 400 Yards to Vince Young, Still Manages Undeserved Blowout Win With Roster Full of Belichick Draft Busts." Nothing could sum up the past month any better. Unfortunately, staring blankly into the camera, I realize satire is rooted in truth. If Belichick doesn't trade his two 2012 first-round picks to move into the top ten and snag a defensive player opposing offenses need to account for—again—then I will surely die.

Elsewhere in football, I can't believe Stevie Johnson is being slain for mocking someone who once put on a pair of sweatpants, stuffed a gun into the waistband, went to a nightclub, shot his own leg, was arrested for and convicted of this crime and spent two years in prison for it. Plaxico mocks himself every day just by having survived that wound. I like James Walker's AFC East blog for ESPN but give me a break: "[Johnson's touchdown celebration] wasn't in great taste, considering Burress spent years in prison for the incident." It's not in great taste to pretend to rape someone in order to mock a person imprisoned for rape. The only victim here is Plax, Plax's leg and Plax's sweatpants. So let's relax, America. (Or if you insist on chiding Johnson then at least remind people that Plax is a moron who did something really, really stupid and is really, really lucky it wasn't worse.)

Speaking of relaxing, or rather doing the opposite of relaxing and, instead, evolving into an even more smug and uptight asshole, Bob Costas needs to put on some sweatpants and go clubbing. His anti-celebration rant on Sunday Night Football was as blatant an audition tape to take over for Andy Rooney as anyone wearing a turtleneck and blazer could produce, right down to lauding old-timey white players. "All this… and an overexposed, self-righteous prick who single-handedly tries to ruin the Olympics every two years… next on 60 Minutes." I loved it almost as much as the stout.

Up next: It's Pats–Colts in Foxborough, minus the beloved Brady-versus-Manning drama. If Peyton doesn't play this week then just put him on injured reserve already. And if the Colts somehow win then the misery of every single Patriots fan will be an early Christmas present for Michael Felger. Cheers!

Hit me!

2011-10-28T20:36:00.001-04:00

The Patriots are my non-daughter-based obsession lately, and although they're only really relevant for three hours once a week there are a lot of blogs to read and a lot of media to listen to and watch that it's almost a full-time job. Add in how long it takes to drink a giant beer and write another "our defense sucks" post each week and I won't find the inspiration to write about much non-football related stuff until I dig the Beefheart book out of my nightstand. So I'll manufacture some.

A. and I bought a new baby-friendly car in June, the first new car for both of us. Exciting! With it came a free three-month subscription to Sirius. It didn't seem like a big deal—we figured we'd listen now and then and not fret once it expired, instead relying on our iPods when FM radio couldn't cut it. Annoyed grunt! Classic Vinyl? Backspin? The Boneyard? These stations are essential. Two weeks ago we re-upped.

The one that sold us, I think, is Soul Town, featuring Detroit, Memphis and other classics from the fifties, sixties and early seventies. It's generally family-friendly (I remember "motherfucker" slipping through on Curtis Mayfield's "Do Do Wap is Strong in Here" one time) and G. seems to enjoy it the way A. and I enjoyed oldies radio when we were kids (we project a lot). They do a good job mixing familiar (ranging from "I love this song!" to "I remember this song!") and obscure stuff, and though they (and other Sirius stations) tend to repeat themselves a little too much—we've heard Freda Payne's "Band of Gold" about twenty times in the past week and a half—it's all pretty excellent.

In honor of Soul Town (or "Sooouuul Town," as I call it) I thought I'd throw up my own little hour-long revue for a crisp Friday evening. I purchased these in the past few days: some are big hits I'd already… acquired… in the last ten or twelve years. Some are digging a little deeper into familiar artists' catalogs. Some are in Soul Town's regular rotation and I just can't get them out of my head. I don't feel like sequencing it so I'll lean on my old friend Alphabetical Order. It actually works pretty well.

1. Sam Cooke – Bring It on Home to Me
See what I'm talking about? Alphabetical Order knows what she's doing. (Alphabetical Order is a woman because she's always bossing you around.) My father got me into the Animals at a young age and I am forever grateful. But their version of "Bring It on Home to Me" is an attempted carbon copy of Cooke's original and, though I still like it, it doesn't come close.

2. Crystals – He Hit Me (and It Felt Like a Kiss)
Wikipedia tells me this song was a bit controversial because it seemed to endorse spousal abuse. See the trouble you get into when you pay attention to lyrics?

3. Dells – I Can Sing a Rainbow/Love Is Blue
Edan's "I See Colours" (from the award-winning Beauty and the Beat) samples this nicely. And Jeff Beck did a fine job with "Love Is Blue" in 1968. But I can't tell you a damn thing about the Dells.

4. Four Tops – Bernadette
Once a year I think someone should write a song where it pretends to fade out and then the singer shouts "Bernadette!" You would have my annual 99¢, hypothetical future bands.

5. Marvin Gaye – I Heard It Through the Grapevine
My recent exploration of "Louie, Louie" had its roots in "Grapevine" when, years ago, I tracked down as many versions as I could find. Creedence just kills it but this is still the one.

6. Isaac Hayes – Breakthrough
I don't know how this song was used in Truck Turner but if my revue were a soundtrack then "Breakthrough" would play during the montage sequence where I'm strutting up and down the block, pushing drugs, copping feels, looking good. Right before the shit hits the fan.

7. Ike & Tina Turner – It's Gonna Work Out Fine
I'm a sucker for call-and-response duets (Inez & Charlie Foxx's "Mockingbird" was under consideration here). Anyone else think Ike & Tina should have covered that Crystals song?

8. Impressions – Check Out Your Mind
"Check Out Your Mind" is a Soul Town favorite. What do you call it when a band interrupts the time signature like the Impressions do here before each chorus? I love that.

9. Marvelettes – Beechwood 4-5789
A. bought this last week. I had to buy it again because she innocently got the most-popular version on iTunes, which is one of those crazy sixties super-stereo mixes. With older songs (particularly Motown) that appear on a thousand different compilations you have to listen to every sample on headphones before committing. Mine is a superior mono from The Complete Motown Singles, Vol. 2.

10. Wilson Pickett – Don't Knock My Love (Part 1)
The A-side-single half of the title track from Pickett's 1971 album, the cover of which features Pickett and his swollen genitals leaning against a Rolls Royce. Unfortunately you can't download parts one and two together as one track.

11. Otis Redding – A Change Is Gonna Come
I think Otis is a little overrated but this is the sort of thing I like from him. You can tell that sometimes (usually when covering popular hits like "A Hard Day's Night) he's mailing it in with extra postage. The MG's wisely stay out of his way here and he really gets into it.

12. Sam & Dave – May I Baby
Hey, I have a baby! I don't need to walk her home though. She can't even walk yet! Available with "Soul Man" as a stolen-idea digital 45.

13. Nina Simone – Plain Gold Ring
Probably closer to blues than to soul. It doesn't matter. Nina Simone is the real deal and tells a much richer story than Freda Payne goes on about every day.

14. Supremes – You Keep Me Hangin' On
Why was Diana Ross the feature member of this group? She comes off like a real asshole who couldn't really sing too well. All the magic of this song is in Florence Ballard and Mary Wilson's backing vocals, the Funk Brothers' stone groove and the slick production. Though I do like how Ross keeps pronouncing "free" as "fuh-ree."

15. Temptations – (I Know) I'm Losing You
Wonderful Funk Brothers block. I prefer the Temptations' "psychedelic" Dennis Edwards era but this David Ruffin effort from 1966 is tighter than Wilson Pickett's pants. Probably my favorite pre-Cloud Nine song.

16. The Watts 103rd Street Rhythm Band – Till You Get Enough
This is a great song but I have no idea how it was a hit single in 1968. I guess a boring cover of "Light My Fire" on the B-side probably helped. If it weren't for that harlot Alphabetical Order I'd have closed with this.

17. Bill Withers – You
This would have been perfect for my next overlong annual playlist but it's too good to sit on until May. "Use Me" is a Soul Town favorite but I already have that.

18. Stevie Wonder – Nothing's Too Good for My Baby
Damn right I've got a pearl of a girl! Classic pre-synthesizer Stevie. Stacks of amazing singles from the mid to late sixties more than make up for seventies nonsense like "You Are the Sunshine of My Life" and "Boogie on Reggae Woman."

Alright, I can feel the Patriots' defense studying their playbooks tonight, holding them upside down and wondering why there aren't more pictures. That's the only explanation. In the meantime, I should finish The Exorcist tomorrow (really, really good and intense) and then maybe I'll start Dracula because I'm a Halloween dork. But after that I think it'll finally be 33⅓: Trout Mask Replica. I teased my Nico piss-taker for almost a year and I'm pretty happy with the way that post turned out. Hopefully this will be even more epic. Almost as epic as Mike Wallace's undressing of of Devin McCourty on Sunday. (Pats still win big.)

Beer and football 2011 — weeks six and seven

2011-10-25T13:47:00.002-04:00

[Sorry, I didn't have the time last week so I'm going to take advantage of the bye, get my body right and provide a two-for-one special. Otherwise known as lazy writing.]

Week six
The game: Cowboys at Patriots
The beer: Berkshire Oktoberfest Lager
The result: Win, 20–16
The commentary: I think it's going to be a Berkshire-heavy season—six weeks in and I'm already onto a second offering. My team's won five of six games, though, and even if I'm not superstitious (very much) I'm not going to buck that. I've got a third in the fridge that's ready to go in an emergency anyway. In fact, the only way I would lay off additional Berkshires is if I've accumulated so many bombers over the past couple of months that I might already be able to finish out the regular season. And if you think I'm shopping ahead for an anticipated playoff run after what happened last year with the (gulp) Berkshire Shabadoo then you know nothing about football either.

The Oktoberfest was nice. I'm pretty sure it was part of that beer dinner I attended a couple of months ago and, if so, none of the three of us was overly impressed for some reason. Possibly it only works its magic in October or something, I don't know. How would a pumpkin ale taste in March? Apparently like death. Anyway, here's what I remember about the Cowboys game:

The Pats had no chance of losing, even when they were on their own twenty yard line and down three points with two-and-a-half minutes remaining. The only way Brady doesn't march up the field against a suddenly scaredy-cat defense was if he'd been shot by the same sniper who earlier took down Gary Guyton during an attempt to tackle Dez Bryant.

Our defense performed "admirably" for the second week in a row because the idiot opposing head coaches decided not to target the horrible secondary with long passes. I can't understand it, but I'll take it.

Tony Romo is really, really awful. I enjoy the NFL Network's Sound FX (formerly Mic'd Up), which recaps three games a week from players' and/or coaches' perspectives, and in teasing Patriots–Cowboys before going to commercial the narrator asked "Would Tony Romo be a superhero against the Patriots? Or would Tom Brady prove he's the Man of Steel?" My infant daughter just rolled her eyes.

Week seven (bye)
The beer: Samuel Adams "Boston" Lager
The commentary: Stupid Jets. That's two games they were let off the hook, the first being against (shocker!) pop group Tony & the Boys. I will not count out the Jets until they're playing golf in January. People keep saying how much Sanchez sucks but I just don't see it. He's no Brady, Brees or Peyton-Corpse but he's also no Romo, McNabb or Tebow. He's won some big games and even looked good carrying the team on his back when clowns like Tomlinson suddenly take ill (loved the classic sideline shots of him feeling sorry for himself; if you aren't motivated to shine against the team that gave up on you then maybe you should sulk away from the football field for the rest of your life). Maybe he's expected to win games more easily with outstanding players like Keller and Holmes to target but he's gone to two consecutive AFC title games. That's not all on Sanchez but clearly he's doing something right.

Speaking of quarterbacks, the thing I'm hearing from no one about the Colts is that Manning didn't play defense. He did his best to keep them off the field and maybe that covered up the fact that they were never any good. But giving up fifty-five offensive points? Even the Pats weren't that bad against the Saints in 2009 and the Saints won the Super Bowl that year.

Before the Colts finally won in 2006/2007 I always questioned why they used top draft picks on offensive skill positions instead of on defense. Defense (and maybe a consistent running attack) was the reason they kept losing to the Pats and I just didn't get it. Then it hit me: why not give your most outstanding player the tools to succeed? Manning doesn't succeed with tough, versatile linebackers and safeties. Blue-chip receivers, uncoverable tight ends… that's how you do it. Score! Score! Give up thirty points and still win. Score! Throw the ball, Peyton! Touchdown, Colts! Score! Turns out I was right. Not only did they not draft well on defense (very few exceptions) or use low-round picks to develop above-average backup quarterbacks but there is not one Peyton-is-down-what-do-we-do piece in place, coaching staff included.

I finally came to respect Peyton after he finally won a Super Bowl. He was the guy who got all the stats and made all the commercials and did shit in the playoffs. But the Super Bowl gave him credibility and turned Brady vs. Manning debates into balanced conversations, more Bird vs. Magic than Russell vs. Chamberlain. But the Colts team? I never respected the Colts team.

Crazed fans and media saying they should lie down the rest of the season, draft Andrew Luck (about whom I know nothing because I don't watch college ball) and trade Peyton did the same thing in 2008 with "Trade Brady!" when he went down and Matt Cassel was playing pretty well. These are the same idiots who scream "Why do we always play the Colts in Indianapolis?!" (Patriot fans) or "Why do we always play the Patriots in Foxborough?!" (Colts fans) year after year. If the Colts follow through on this insanity, trading away or letting walk a once-in-a-lifetime quarterback and the few remaining stars (Mathis, Freeney, Wayne) while continuing to not sign impact free agents then they're admitting to ten years of organizational failure. And the terrorists win.

Most varieties of Sam Adams can stand up with any of the greats. The flagship lager is often the best beer available in a lot of the cookie-cutter Budweiser/Coors bars and restaurants in Massachusetts and for that reason it's terribly underrated and under-appreciated. It is delicious. When I saw the large bottle of Boston Lager (perhaps very slightly smaller than twenty-two ounces) it was an opportunity to highlight my reliable old friend on a blog no one reads.

Sooner or later (probably next season) I'm going to have to loosen up and not restrict my football beers to bomber-size because I'll have to start repeating selections or going whole-hog with particular brewers (hello Berkshire!). There just aren't enough for less than $7 a bottle, particularly since I generally don't like to represent someone more than once in a season (hello? Berkshire?) and I'd like to feature more non-regional ones. I was glad, then, to see Sam Adams cooperating last week—unless you want one of their double bocks or something, which are pretty expensive and harsh, they don't seem to embrace the large format. Maybe it was my imagination but it even seemed to taste as good as it does out of a tap; anything might have, though, after bye-week chores like mowing the lawn and scrubbing the bathtub. I still trust it was genuinely good. Regardless, once I break down and start incorporating six-packs into my Sundays (maybe not entire six-packs) then I will leave the door open for good ole Sammy A-Damn (not an actual nickname) and welcome him, warmly, into my home.

Up next: The Pats travel to Heinz Field for one of my favorite games of the year, Let's Watch Tom Brady Toy with the Steelers Bowl VII. In Pittsburgh they refer to it as Your Quarterback Is a Homo and Ours Is Not, as Demonstrated by a Pattern of Sexual Assaults Against Women Bowl III. Cheers!

Beer and football 2011 — week five

2011-10-12T14:16:00.001-04:00

The game: Jets at Patriots
The beer: Pretty Things "Hedgerow" Bitter
The result: Win, 30–21
The commentary: My little girl knows what's up. She doesn't get all bothered the way her dad does over how poor a defense a 4–1 team might have. Here she is, really taking the time to weigh all sides of the issue, pondering just how to classify a team with an out-of-this world offense and a bottom-of-the-barrel defense. Maybe she'll have the answers one day. Maybe she'll be able to talk by then.

Another weird game. Nothing to see here with the offense, thirty points again, thanks for asking. But the defense… the defense! They gave up twenty-one points to a team that, from what I can tell, wasn't trying to score. Instead of letting Sanchez sit back in the face of an anemic pass rush and mix up short and intermediate passes against a weak secondary they decided to try something that hasn't worked all season against the one part of Belichick's defense that hasn't been terrible. Keller was "held to" (since it was an offensive scheme and not a defensive counter-scheme) one catch. That man is a killer! Holmes, Burress, Tomlinson, even this Kerley guy, all wasted by poor offensive coaching. It's almost poetic.

Ground and pound! Ground and pound!
My ground and pound is worl' renowned.
A row of Patsies lef' spellbound
All up n' down the whole playground.

Say there, baby, tightly wound,
Let's you n' me go fool around.
I'll show you what you ain't yet found
And take you there without no bound.

Jus' wait a sec… big Vince's mound…
Nowheres to go, east nor westbound.
Thought ground and pound was too profound.
Thought ground and pound be always crowned.

Too goddamn late to press rewound,
I lose three yards before I's downed.
My green Jet knees done got all browned.
My unsound ground and pound's aground.

Say where you at, my foxy hound?
Catch you on the next rebound?
At least I's got my meat to pound.
Pound and pound! Pound and pound!

The bitter was pretty good. I got it at another one of those tastings. Pretty Things is still Pretty Touch-and-Go to me but I like this one, just not as much as the St. Botolph's. Everyone else at the tasting liked it too and I gave someone the stink eye after I thought he took the last two bombers. More were hidden behind the counter, thankfully, but the stink eye was not rescinded.

Up next: The Jerry Jones Traveling Circus comes to Foxborough. They used the bye week to figure out a new way to stay competitive into the fourth quarter before crapping all over the game of football for the nth time in the Tony Romo era. Cheers!

Beer and football 2011 — week four

2011-10-09T15:57:00.000-04:00

The game: Patriots at Raiders
The beer: Notch Saison
The result: Win, 31–19
The commentary: I wonder what would have happened if Hank Williams, Jr. compared Obama to Jesus. Will we ever survive without "Are you ready for some football?!" Forget for a minute that Monday Night Football is no longer all that relevant. Sure, my team was their first game of the year, and it's nice to drink on a Monday, but Monday night matchups have been pretty spotty ever since it migrated to ESPN. Anyway, I can't be the only person who fast-forwarded through that rowdy-friends crap.

Essential analysis from my friends over at Patriots Daily after week three's vexing defeat. (I don't actually know them but I always, always agree with what they have to say and I would buy them all a round of Saisons given the opportunity.) They post a handful of items a week: a reaction to the previous game, a preview of what to look for in the upcoming game, a more in-depth examination of said game's key players and matchups, a wonderfully snarky around-the-league review and a nice "buffet table" of thematic/regional food and drink suggestions to enjoy on Sunday. (It's Clown Shoes this week, can you believe it? Apparently I didn't catch the pump dong on last week's Lubrication.) They'll also write more of a traditional column offering either a fresh perspective on an (elsewhere) overdone topic or an outside-the-box "think piece" covering some aspect of the team that either flies under the radar of other media outlets like WEEI (usually too terrified to criticize the team) or the Globe or Herald (quick to criticize but more in the form of an aimless old man). This one sort of straddles that line and it's the best thing I've read on their site in the two or three years I've been following them. They target every gripe I've had with the team (particularly the defense) and really hammer home that poor drafting is the root of the issue. I love following Mike Reiss's reporting because no one gets the access he does and his analysis is usually excellent (or at least interesting) but I'm sure getting tired of him trying to tell us the defense isn't as bad as we think. Take this absurd point of view that the team is giving up more yards than anybody because, with good kickoff coverage, they have the most potential yards to give up. Or something. That's like what I used to call my "spider defense" when I played basketball in front of my house. I'd guard a guy and never stop moving, flailing my arms and legs out in a constant effort to close off his passing and shooting lanes. It didn't work, but you might look at it from afar and say "What the hell am I supposed to do against that?" I was terrible. Here, so is Mike. It's his worst writing since the last time (of many) he called the 2007 draft a success because Belichick used picks to acquire Welker and Moss. (No one remains from that class after Roland James and Lawyer Milloy smothered Meriweather in his sleep last month.)

Along those lines, I thought the two-part Bill Belichick: A Football Life was pretty good. It wasn't the best season to follow for sure—hindsight, I know, but if you're going to pick non-Super Bowl years then how fascinating would 2006 (no proven wide receivers, horrendous playoff loss to the Colts) or 2008 (no Brady, no playoffs) have been? I guess we'll take whatever kind of behind-the-scenes footage of our tight-lipped coach that we can get. 2009 was such a weird year and I think they did as good a job documenting it as they could, particularly during the horrendous Saints game when Belichick is telling Brady "I just can't get these guys to play the way I want them to." Love the prolonged silences in that scene. The season might as well have ended right there.

The problem, oddly familiar with the current squad, is that "these guys" are not a collection of first-round draft picks that have emerged as stars. Since the last Super Bowl and up through 2009 the list of big-impact draft picks consists of Logan Mankins (2005, last pick of the first round), Stephen Gostkowski (2006, and already stretching to include a kicker… as if stretching to include a guard wasn't bad enough), Jerod Mayo (2008) and Patrick Chung (2009). I'm not including Sebastian Vollmer because he's played only one game so far this season and probably won't play this afternoon. Things improved in 2010 with McCourty (fingers crossed he figures things out), Gronkowski (Pro Bowl for him this year) and Hernandez. Throw in some flashes from Spikes and excellent punting (stretching again!) from Mesko and it's a pretty good class, though Cunningham has played only a handful more quality snaps than my daughter this year. From 2011, it looks like Solder and Ridley are immediately doing very well. I have high hopes for Dowling but he's already been injured too much, and that's never a good sign. Nothing at all to go on with the rest, though I wonder if Vereen might see a little action today.

That's seven drafts featuring (I think) nine opportunities to take a game-changing player, offensive or defensive, in the first round, and that's before you start counting Belichick's intra-round dealings. Instead you're left with Mankins, Mayo and McCourty from the above list and a lot of trade down, trade down, trade into next year and so on. Never identifying a player and moving up to secure him, often having to settle. Even when they do target someone, as with Mayo, they moved down three spots from seven to ten and hoped he would still be there, gaining a third-round Shawn Crable to throw on the bust pile in the process. He was there. They got their guy. But how excited could they really have been about it? And how excited should we Patriots fans be that he'll be out for a few weeks with a knee injury and the defense he's leaving behind cannot possibly do worse without him? DeMarcus Ware, Haloti Ngata, Patrick Willis, Darelle Revis: pick one of these guys and the Pats win at least one of the last six Super Bowls (2007), probably two (2006) and maybe even three (2010). I'm being greedy, sure, but Tom Brady is the best quarterback in the league and his shitty shit-covered shit-bum defense is holding him back.

It all comes down to players, and as the one who chooses his players—and has ample opportunity for blue-chip rookies, with the picks he stashes away year after year—it comes down to Belichick. I'll still take him as my team's head coach but I wish he would either loosen up his unrealistic and, lately, flawed standards and start taking the superstars-in-waiting and not the overachieving undrafted free agents or, in an impossible scenario, relinquish his football operations responsibilities and bring in or promote someone (not Nick Caserio, who might be able to throw a tight spiral but has done nothing to influence the organization toward can't-miss defensive prospects) to shop for the groceries.

On that topic, a fond farewell to all-around nice guy Terry Francona. Baseball managers are the least important coaching position in all of professional sports unless said managers are also general managers. These are grown men playing a child's game and if they refuse to take it seriously then the best a manager can do is decide who should pitch, who should hit and how many cutoff guys should be in place when Jacoby Ellsbury shags a deep fly ball with a man on second. Theo Epstein brought in a bunch of bums who couldn't make it to the post-season again because they're not good enough. As I said, it comes down to players and talent. It's Theo's job (for now… tick, tick, tick) to recognize good players. It's not his job to pretend the Sox are a small-market team and look down upon the Monopoly-money Yankees because they overspend and don't rely enough on value. He'd spend just as much, and could, if he just had the balls. Increasingly it seems the ownership likes to meddle and likely has a (still high) salary cap in place, but even if that's true it doesn't mean John Lackey was ever Theo's best idea. Once again I'm left to wonder what could have been if that 2004 team was left intact (I don't remember much about 2007 anyway). In short, if Theo gets to keep his job after Tito was unceremoniously kicked to the curb then I'm pretty all set with not caring about baseball for awhile. Honestly, I haven't in a few years anyway.

Back to football. The Jets have been talking all week about how they're going to return to ground-and-pound football, even if they don't have the personnel for it (though it sounds like Mangold will start; is that really a good idea?). I call bullshit on that: didn't they see the Raiders march ninety-nine yards in forty-eight seconds to score a meaningless touchdown at the end of the last week's game? What kind of defense allows that? Against Jason "Three Hundred Forty-four Yards" Campbell? The answer is either one that doesn't care (part of 2009's problem) or one that doesn't have enough football ability. Three guys played well on defense against the Raiders: Vince Wilfork, Patrick Chung and Brandon Spikes. Shaun Ellis made it clear why the Jets cut him. Sergio Brown is not the guy I had pretty high hopes for after a strong rookie season. Devin McCourty has secretly switched places with his inferior twin brother Jason from the Titans. There is nowhere to go but up and I'm glad a shaky Mark Sanchez is the opposing quarterback this week. (I'd still take him over Joe Flacco, who continuously scrambled around like a retarded monkey last week and won the game because his defense was better than the Jets'.) But it's a long, long way up.

I apologize that I'm spoiled and whining but excellence commands further, greater excellence. I just love this team so much! (I know you do, honey.) I love them so much! (I know.) On a lighter note, I'm excited the good guys are donning the classic Pat Patriot reds today. But why no cool blue and yellow New York Titans throwbacks for the Jets? It's like they're conceding victory already.

Up next: The Pats host the Jets in like twenty minutes. No outcome will surprise me. Cheers!

Beer and football 2011 — week three

2011-09-27T11:42:00.010-04:00

The game: Patriots at Bills
The beer: Clown Shoes "Lubrication" American Black Ale
The result: Loss, 34–31
The commentary: No pictures of my little girl will accompany losses, especially losses as ugly and perplexing as Sunday's. Deion Branch was invisible all day, and since he's her favorite player she will be too.

My boy Paul Perillo from Patriots Football Weekly/PFW in Progress has "the nod," which occurs at the point in the game when, to him, a Patriots victory is no longer in doubt. My equivalent of the nod came with three seconds left in the first half when I told G. the Bills were pansies for electing to kick a field goal and close the gap to 21–10. I still can't believe they didn't go for the touchdown—if it weren't for four Tom Brady interceptions (note to local media: passes that are tipped or batted down by defensive linemen are the quarterback's fault and resulting interceptions are indeed legit) the Bills would have gotten smoked. This cowardly decision should have signaled the beginning of the end of their inevitable 6–10 season, and instead the three points they "settled for" was the difference in the game (Paul's not always right either). Still, under normal circumstances against a good offensive team I don't see much difference between fourteen- and eleven-point halftime deficits. Eleven versus seven points though? You still need two touchdowns! If the Bills keep playing it safe then their hold on the AFC East won't last long.

Regarding the hometown team, this defense is scaring the hell out of me. The "new" pass rush stinks, but when the ball is thrown two seconds after the snap and Devin McCourty (what in the worldwide fuck is going on with him?) and Leigh Bodden are being dusted and racking up tackle stats then there is an inherent problem with the secondary. Patrick Chung was out and it looked like Kyle Arrington was the only one even competing, which is never a good sign when you consider he still made mistakes and, you know, is neither a first-round pick nor a big-money free agent. From what we've seen so far, and as I feared in week one, these guys are only going to stop teams from scoring by creating turnovers. Hard to do when you're so overmatched you don't even have time to turn around and look for the ball.

I have no concerns about the offense. Thirty-one points should be enough to win and I'll take a bad day by Tom Brady over a good day by ninety-five percent of the league's quarterbacks. Almost four hundred yards, sixty-seven percent completion rate, four touchdowns, zero sacks. It looks like he won't have last year's luck in terms of tipped balls hitting the turf instead of being picked off but that's OK. Ochocinco is deservedly on the hot seat for that dropped touchdown pass but I'm more worried about the fact that he was barely targeted even before that. Just tells me Brady doesn't have much confidence in him—drops like that will surely generate less (as we've seen before, if Brady freezes you out then you might as well skip town). In the meantime, I'll continue to wonder when Taylor Price will be activated so he can either blow everyone away with seven catches for a hundred and twenty yards or not register at all on the stat sheet and go down with another injury. One way or the other, I just want to know.

I first became aware of Clown Shoes (out of Ipswich) at one of the tastings at the shop up the street, which sadly closed down last month (or went on "hiatus" with plans to open up elsewhere in town, hopefully still walkable). Featured that day were a brown ale ("Brown Angel"), a witbier ("Clementine"), a Belgian IPA ("Tramp Stamp") (!) and an imperial amber ale ("Eagle Claw Fist"). None of them was particularly good except for the amber, which was alright, so I brought one home that day. Their labels border on poor taste, too—exceptionally cheesy ethnic-looking characters grace the Brown Angel (a winged black woman with a ripe ole ass posing as a hood ornament or something) and the Eagle Claw Fist (a homeless Indian doing calisthenics in the park). But the one that actually made a woman ask the Clown Shoes rep "Do people ever complain about your labels?" was the Tramp Stamp. He laughed it off, saying it was all in good fun. She looked close to telling him the Nazis were having fun, too. I wish she had… the Tramp Stamp wasn't that good. Months later, on an undoubtedly slow news day, a local station ran a story on how offensive their labels are. That lady must have known some people.

Anyway, the shop had a clearance sale before closing and I picked up a bunch of bombers that will get me halfway through the season. One of them, for the purposes of variety, was the Lubrication. You know how craft brewers give you a few sentences describing the flavors or origins of what you're drinking? This one starts "Lube? Hey, get your mind out of the gutter!" Such is the path they have chosen, though I'm majorly impressed at the discipline they showed in characterizing an American black ale. Nonetheless, I think my biggest problem with Clown Shoes is not that their beer isn't very good or that their labels are off-putting but that they apparently incorporated the first Google image search result as their logo.

Up next: The Pats head to Oakland to see about holding a team to fewer than twenty-one points. I'm not too familiar with the Raiders and I wish I'd watched that Jets game. Insert Al Davis joke here. Cheers!

Beer and football 2011 — week two

2011-09-19T19:44:00.001-04:00

The game: Chargers at Patriots
The beer: Rogue Mocha Porter
The result: Win, 35–21
The commentary: "Which beer are you having?" "Do you want me to have the Mocha Porter?" "Yes." "OK." A's re-ability to drink coincided nicely with the return of football, and I couldn't refuse her since she's been lusting after this bomber ever since I brought it home a couple of months ago. She only had a few sips but, man oh man, did she like it. I did too, right down to the Daily Worker guy on the front (don't let the teal tint fool you, that shirt is gray).

I'll keep this short because I didn't last week and because I go back to work tomorrow for the first time in three weeks. Blech. Yesterday featured a much more satisfying win over the Chargers than was last year's, which rated "Total Mess" on the Zero-to-Total-Mess scale. My daughter watched with me (that's her struggling to make it through the first half) and that definitely helped, especially since I've determined Deion Branch is her favorite player.

The defense was iffy again but I love two goal-line stands in two games. What I would love more though is for this team to figure out how to put some goddamn pressure on opposing goddamn quarterbacks. It's a good thing they nullified Antonio Gates because it sure could have gotten ugly. Vincent Jackson almost made it so on his own. It'd be funny if after all the personnel changes and philosophical shifts the defense went through in the offseason they still survived week to week by creating turnovers and otherwise coming up big at the absolute last second they need to. They gave up huge chunks of yardage last year and won fourteen out of seventeen games. Reasonable to think that, so long as the offense keeps clicking, they can be just as good or better this year.

Quickly on Romo. I slammed him on Saturday and I stand by it. He beat the 49ers a good fifteen years after anyone should take a Cowboys–49ers game seriously.

Up next: The Pats travel to Buffalo to put out the wildfire caused by everyone's "Holy shit, can you believe the Bills?!" insanity following consecutive big-time wins over small-time teams. Still, Fitzpatrick will remain the third-best quarterback in the AFC East. Cheers!

Beer and football 2011: another season-long diary — week one

2011-09-17T18:17:00.005-04:00

The game: Patriots at Dolphins
The beer: Berkshire "Saint of Circumstance" India Pale Ale
The result: Win, 38–24
The commentary: I'm calling this season "2011" even though it spills into 2012 because "2011/2012" is a little clumsy. I'm more bothered by it than you are.

So here's my little "G." Isn't she the most precious thing in all of history? Very nice of her to pose with my kicked BBC bomber, putting a tiny little baby hand up there like that. (One of the outtake photos had her pointing at her mouth with Homer Simpson's "beer goes in here" enthusiasm, but it was a little blurry.) Her mom's only reservation when I asked if I could put the bottle in with her was to "make sure it's clean." That's family.

The Monday night game marked her two-week birthday and Tom Brady & His Patriot Men really lit it up. Happy fortnight, daughter! The outcome was never in doubt, even after the Dolphins marched up the field on the opening drive on their way to a 7–0 lead. Before too long I was holding G. and narrating (in a soothing Tom Selleck voice, of course) a string of big Deion Branch gains to try to put her to sleep. Overall I did a good job of not yelling too loudly—neither she nor our cat Chloe was disturbed by my excitement over a number of huge Branch, Welker, Woodhead, Gronkowski and Hernandez plays. And yes, it is awesome to be able to list all those offensive weapons together.

But the defense? Mayo had another one of his is-he-even-out-there games. McCourty looked like Ellis Hobbs, in position to make too many tackles (which means too many catches allowed). The pass rush was inconsistent at best, familiar at worst (as in: nonexistent). Overall, Henne just looked too good, even if a lot of his yards came in prevent/garbage time. Hopefully Belichick makes some adjustments (not his strong suit lately) in time for an explosive Chargers team tomorrow.

(Not sure what it's like to be a Fins fan this week. The offense was decent but the defense was entirely useless. Hard to be optimistic. They'll probably finish with six or seven wins and get blown up again in the offseason—that's what happens when your most heralded player is a left tackle and the guy he's protecting is a bum.)

(Speaking of bums, how about Tony Romo? Aside from Donovan McNabb—yikes—he might be the worst quarterback in the league. That was one of the most awful individual meltdowns I've ever seen, and of course it benefited the fucking Jets. Meanwhile, Sanchez is in midseason shaky-start/stellar-finish form. Another fun year for the AFC East.)

Anyway, despite what I wrote following last year's, uh, fun AFC East playoff matchup, maybe I do know something about football. It's just the little details like wins, losses and production that get hazy. Remember my post-Super Bowl roster projection? Not bad. I'll start with the big things I got wrong, so as not to get all high on myself: I didn't think they'd cut Alge Crumpler or Gerard Warren. They brought Warren back for a few minutes in the preseason before cutting him again—the defensive line rotation was pretty good the other night so I'm not sure he'll be back again, but I can't believe another idiot Gronkowski brother is a better blocking tight end than my man Crumpler. My only guess is he's still recovering from injury (multiple surgeries) and once that's squared away he'll resume last year's role as Mr. Miyagi to Hernandez's and Gronkowski's (the real one) scatterbrain LaRusso brothers. Those two put on an offensive clinic last week and I just want to make sure they don't get all Terry Silver arrogant on us. (I watched The Karate Kid, Part III the other day. Paternity leave rules!) Since there's been no news of Crumpler retiring or working out for other teams, I figure there's some wink-wink-nudge-nudge talk between his camp and Belichick's that he'll be welcomed back. Nu-Gronk is even keeping 82 warm for him.

I also missed on Koppen still being with the team. I thought he'd be one of those role players Belichick likes to cut a year before his contract expires. Little did I know he'd stay on only to miss the bulk of the season due to injury. I like the guy and he and Brady do alright together, but he's a little undersized against the physical AFC defenses we play every year (Jets, Chargers, Ravens). I hope Connolly does well at center because I like keeping him in full time, and if that carries on then I love 2012's young starters of Solder at left tackle (even Matt Light admitted the second half of the "two-year" contract he just signed is essentially make-believe), Mankins at left guard (would be the most established veteran on the line), Connolly (or a first-round draft pick) at center, a cancer-free Marcus Cannon with something to prove at right guard (fingers crossed) and "The Texan Kraut" Sebastian Vollmer (not an actual nickname) at right tackle. That group could play together through 2020.

Last but not least, James "That's a Champion Right There" Sanders was cut. No one saw that coming except for the people who knew week to week how important he was to the defensive backfield and feared week to week that he would be released. Shocking and unfortunate. I won't take as much heat on keeping Darius Butler as a fourth-stringer because I didn't think they'd draft a corner with the first pick in the second round. On that topic, how come everyone around here said that pick was essentially a late first-rounder but no one called Mankins an early second-rounder in 2005?

A gray area shows up with my man Kevin Faulk, who I thought would take the Tedy Bruschi route and retire during training camp after realizing there wasn't a place for him on the team. And that was before the team drafted running backs in the second and third rounds. I like the PUP direction though and I'm glad he's around the team (the young backs in particular) right now, and his potential return in October or November would be good for everyone. The only way that doesn't happen is if Green-Ellis and Woodhead stay healthy and rookies Ridley and Vereen are running for a hundred yards apiece every game. No way there are five active running backs week to week and I don't see a Patriot of Faulk's stature being DNPCD'd. We'll see. In other gray-area news, I'm not savvy enough to have called the defensive scheme shift or the unlikely Haynesworth (who looked pretty good) trade, though I've been hinting at Ochocino's arrival for years. Look it up!

So where did I hit? I'll keep it short: Ty Warren. Kaczur. TBC. Meriweather. You're welcome.

On to the beer then. The Saint of Circumstance is BBC's "accidental guess" at what nineteenth century English IPAs might have tasted like. It's a limited release I first tasted at last month's beer dinner at the Cambridge Common. (So limited that I was pleasantly surprised to find it locally in bottles the following week.) That evening, the co-founder explained that it was intended to be a batch of their Lost Sailor IPA (see last year's week four) except the crate of hops had to have survived a warehouse fire or something because the brewed result was milder, smokier and certainly "not Lost Sailor." I attended the dinner with two friends and we were all blown away by how good it was—undoubtedly our favorite of the six or seven beers we had that night. It was better on tap, as usual, but the bomber was an excellent opening-night option. Right on.

Up next: Bring on the Bolts. In the preseason I penciled this in as one of four losses, along with the Giants, at the Jets and either at Oakland or at Philadelphia. I'll take this one back: the Pats win because the Chargers once again forget to print out the special teams portion of their playbook. Cheers!

Story number two

2011-08-02T13:34:00.024-04:00

September 8, 1990

Dear producers of Big,
How are you? Wonderful! Where can I find a fortune-teller robot? I've some challenges to overcome. Please ship to this address.

Sincerely,
Charles Napier (not the actor)
984970-6

September 8, 1990

Dear Men's Adventure magazine,
Are x-ray specs real? Are they harmful to the people you look at? If not, do you know what is? Please advise.

Sincerely,
Charles Napier
984970-6

September 8, 1990

Dear Rothberg,
I think they're reading my mail.

Please reach out to Jones for me. I didn't mean to strangle him. I certainly didn't mean to get caught. Har! Har! Please tell him that last part, so he gets the joke. Seriously, though, invisible wire is difficult to come by.

Not to be forgotten,
Charles Napier

P.S. Is the sun out today?

September 8, 1990

Dear Aubuchon Hardware,
Please supply me with limitless spools of black wire. I am writing a play and without levitating characters the story falls flat. Har! Har! I've no title yet.

Please deliver to my attention at the return address. They don't tell me what it is. I have money.

Sincerely,
Charles Napier
984970-6

September 8, 1990

Dear "Jones,"
I am truly sorry.

"Charles"

September 10, 1990

Dear Rothberg,
It was nice of you to visit yesterday. Ten minutes is not enough time. I appreciate the books.

Have you heard from Jones?

With warm regards,
Charles

September 14, 1990

Dear "Jones,"
I have a plan that requires your cooperation. Please accept and acknowledge my apology! Do not let me down, old friend.

In desperation,
"Charles"

September 14, 1990

Dear Tom Wolfe,
I have just finished The Electric Kool-Aid Acid Test. Your discursive manner has inspired me to pursue a career as an editor. Har! Har!

I assure you I am highly qualified. Please scan the classifieds and send relevant clippings to my address. Also, can you write down my address for me? This would simplify future correspondence.

Sincerely,
Charles LaVandar Napier, MFA
984970-6

September 15, 1990

Dear Fortune magazine,
Hello. I am a wealthy industrialist and I would like to subscribe to your fine publication. You do print mailing addresses on the cover, correct?

Many thanks,
Charles Napier
984970-6

September 15, 1990

Dear Vanity Fair magazine,
Hello. I am a wealthy man about town and I would like to subscribe to your fine publication. You do print mailing addresses on the cover, correct?

Many thanks,
Charles Napier
984970-6

September 15, 1990

Dear Hustler magazine,
Hello. I am a wealthy pornography enthusiast and I would like to subscribe to your fine publication. You do print mailing addresses on the cover, correct?

Many thanks,
Charles Napier
984970-6

September 16, 1990

Dear Entertainment Weekly magazine,
Hello. I am a wealthy American actor and I would like to subscribe to your fine publication. You do print mailing addresses on the cover, correct?

Many thanks,
Charles Napier (the actor)
984970-6

September 30, 1990

Dear Rothberg,
I have repeatedly failed to ascertain my location. Without a specific address my efforts are wasted.

Nothing at all from Jones. He does not understand that treachery and attempted murder result in his still being alive. Har! Har!

Keep me in your thoughts--I long to breathe a free man's air.

Faithfully yours,
Charles

September 30, 1990

Dear Aubuchon Hardware,
I have yet to receive my spools of black wire. I would like to amend my order to include gardening shears, a watering can and six gallons of acid. Please expedite!

Awaiting satisfaction,
Charles Napier
984970-6

October 1, 1990

Dearest Rothberg,
No doubt my letter from yesterday has not yet arrived but you may ignore its pessimism. Sir, I have excellent news! Jones did indeed respond to my (and, certainly, your!) letter. His faculties are at last restored. Perhaps the delay was a blessing.

It seems my fretting over the address here was for naught! Jones has known very well my whereabouts since that wretched evening when I ~~tried to squeeze the life out of~~ betrayed a loyal companion. He has embraced the Good Book and is eager to forgive me. In person! Needless to say he will be "paying me a visit" soon.

Things are falling into place. In the meantime, have you interest in Hustler magazine?

Your friend,
Charles

October 8, 1990

Dear Aubuchon Hardware,
Curse you, gentlemen! I move tonight!

Charles Napier

January 20, 1991

Rothberg,
That bastard Napier screwed me again!

Jones
985205-1

Fatherhood: The Musical

2011-05-20T20:30:00.035-04:00

We put up the Christmas tree on December 22. Weekends came and went and weeknights were dark, cold and white-washed enough that it was too much bother. I enjoy the holidays but could muster neither the enthusiasm to carry an unwieldy box (fake tree alert!) up the basement stairs nor the patience to arrange the decorations. Christmas week, though… then or never.

I'd gone out for beers after work this Wednesday evening. Home a bit after 8:00. Tired. But A. was full of zazz. "Let's put up the tree!" Sigh.

Once I wrangled the box it was straight ahead. The tree is pre-lit and comes in three parts. Top into middle into bottom. Our tree-top star was not designed with the blunt, hollow faux-peak in mind, though, so last year I married a hanger bolt to a wine-bottle cork and it solved the problem beautifully. (I'm not particularly handy but I am creative.) We were satisfied with tree, lights and star that night and agreed to add the decorations later on.

I went to squeeze off those beers and then returned to the living room. It opens to to the "dining room" (sans dining-room furniture) where the tree was standing. I plopped down on the couch, glanced over and noticed a present already underneath. "What is this?" She tells me to open it. "But I haven't wrapped your gifts. I don't even have everything yet." "It doesn't matter, open it!" "I don't know, can't we just wait and open everything together? Or, I can go wrap one of yours so we can each open one." (I'm so practical!) She said didn't need to open anything and was starting to lose patience. I relented. "Are you sure it can't wait?" I shook the box, wondering if it was our evening's dessert or something. "Open it!"

My wife is a peach. Wonderful sense of humor. I removed the paper and found myself holding "the box" (pictured). It's white with green, pink, purple and red polka dots and a matching lid. Lined with red and green striped paper, maybe large enough to hold mass-market paperbacks of It, Helter Skelter and Hammer of the Gods. I don't remember where it came from but that box has survived two haphazard moves and several "Can we stick this somewhere?" conversations, a recent one nearly resulting in its destruction and disposal. It will forever remain one of those seemingly-useful-until-you-realize-you've-never-had-a-real-use-for-it things that does nothing but get in the way until the one time you actually need it. Leave it to my clever girl: here it was again, in my lap, stuffed with blue tissue paper. Wrapped within, a plus sign broke the wonderful news that a baby is on the way late this Summer.

It is an exciting time in the land of biffs, bangs and pows, and on that note I present a bunch of songs I've enjoyed over the past twelve months. Not one of them, to my knowledge, is about children, fatherhood or lamenting the man in the moon. (To my knowledge because I don't pay attention to lyrics.) I can't wait until the day my child Googles—or 法师智力s—our names and stumbles upon an aimless, archaic, two-dimensional "blog" "written" in "English." Excited, also, to see how he or she can possibly rebel against Pussy Galore and the Fall. "Put away that Pat Boone hologram and get back in your space-cage," I'll charge with patriarchal authority.

Apologies for forty-eight songs exceeding three hours again.

1. Donovan – Lay of the Last Tinker
Donovan gets a bad rap. Being emasculated by Dylan in Dont Look Back might be the best thing that ever happened to him. Must have flipped a switch because "Sunshine Superman" sounded like no one else eighteen months later. I almost chose 1968's "Riki Tiki Tavi" for the beautiful "number twelve bus" coda, but Rick Cheese overpowered me. Also, I lied earlier: "Lay of the Last Tinker" is from the "For Little Ones" portion of Donovan's A Gift From a Flower to a Garden. So technically it's a children's song. But how many children would know what to do with that magnificent flute? Well, mine will.

2. Wire – 106 Beats That
This was a song-number-one contender. Remember last year when I wrote about the 13th Floor Elevators' "Livin' On" kicking things off? "Usually I'd choose something with a slower/longer [instrumental] buildup, in order to generate a mood or atmosphere…" Consider these first two songs and throw that shit right out the window—both singers jump in within a second. Anyway, Wire. Pink Flag is still the only album of theirs I know well. I see they're doing the reunion thing lately. Guess the Elastica winnings didn't go very far.

3. C Average – Beer Drinkers and Hell Raisers
The dumb riffage representative gets promoted to the sweet number-three spot this year. Congratulations to Cave Rage! It's hard to choose between "Beer Drinkers" and Rapeman's "Just Got Paid" as my favorite ZZ Top cover. I think C Average edges out that bastard Albini because they didn't make me look foolish over compact discs. I love the full stops following each and every line, breaking up Billy and Dusty's original smooth flow. And the false endings? The false endings! Just like The Return of the King five years later. If you think Peter Jackson wasn't on Kill Rock Stars's late-nineties mailing list then I don't know what to tell you. "Orcs vs. Elves"? "Riddermark Rock"? Come on.

4. Les Fleur de Lys – I Can See a Light
Frequent offenders on Technicolor Web of Sound. I swear six months used to pass between repeated songs on that channel. Now the playlist is maybe six or seven days long after the guy running it supposedly added a bunch of stuff. It just doesn't add up! Les Fleur de Lys are perhaps best known for somehow making the Who's stellar "Circles" even better. Sort of a Pretty Things-type of career for them, sidestepping at times into incognito/anonymous session work. Lots of fantastic stuff from them, most (if not all) of which is collected on Reflections. "I Can See a Light" slows things down early, for them and for us.

5. Michael Yonkers Band – Sold America
Goddamn but I can't believe this was recorded in 1968. Intense! I know people were mad then but this guy is fucking mad. At least he sounds like it, I don't know. But the music is mad. Loud, stripped-down production straight out of next year. Excellent work. I heard this after work a few weeks back, walking down the lovely Rose Kennedy Greenway toward North Station. "Sold America" is striking accompaniment to teenagers in ass-word clothing and fat people on Segway tours.

6. Marvin Gaye – Trouble Man
Years ago my friends and I all jumped on a compilation called Pimps, Players & Private Eyes. It featured ten songs from different blaxploitation movies, notably "Theme From Shaft" and "Superfly." The obviously-written-in-five-minutes liner notes, courtesy of someone with the improbable name of Jorge Hinojosa, recount a conversation between him and pal Ice-T about black movies and soundtracks. In fact, the second sentence is "Halfway through [watching] the film, I received a call from Ice-T." (How many anecdotes would that casual little gem improve?) The film in question is 1972's Trouble Man: "We started talking about it and agreed that the title song, 'Trouble Man,' sung by Marvin Gaye, was a true classic." Thanks for clarifying the name of the title song, Jorge. Anyway, they thought it would be great to showcase this kind of music on a disc but subsequently hit a bunch of snags in pulling it together. Because "black music from the seventies seems to be pretty scarce on the record store shelves." Am I to believe this disc was mastered from used LPs they were able to track down? Ironically it's now scarce and out of print itself, fetching $30 on Amazon. Pimps instantly makes profit.

7. Yardbirds – Glimpses
The real version, compared to Cumular Limit's broken-up mix. I appreciate that the band saved their trippiest no-commercial-potential effort (the earlier "Hot House of Omagarashid" is silly fun but not much of a composition) for Little Games, an album filled with producer Mickie Most's soul-sucking attempts at hit singles. It still contains some of the their best stuff and is no less a mixed bag than the handful of other albums. Even the glorified Five Live Yardbirds is just OK, seeing how it features Eric Clapton in his painfully dull early phase (that is, everything before Cream; the painfully dull late phase is everything since). Jimmy Page was on some great Yardbirds stuff ("Glimpses" included) but there's no question the band was at its consistent best ("Heart Full of Soul," "Evil Hearted You," "Shapes of Things," "Over, Under, Sideways, Down" and "Happenings Ten Years Time Ago") with Jeff Beck aboard.

8. Six Finger Satellite – Hot Food
Unmistakably my favorite band right now. I listen to full albums many times a week and even started following them on Twitter, though they don't seem to write anything. I joined Twitter in March so I could read Jeff Probst's commentary during each episode of Survivor. A. and I and two friends of ours are the four people who still watch. It is the greatest fucking show. I considered a Beer and Probst diary for Sunday's finale but ended up drinking classy red wine instead. (She's not drinking so, yeah, red wine for one.) But back to 6FS. "Hot Food" is off the genuinely new-ish (2009) A Good Year for Hardness and delivers the super-tight rock action. Not as experimental as the farther-out moments of the first four LPs, OK, but very far from staid. I love the interaction between the ten-second scream and an inquisitive-sounding guitar. "What now?" "YEEEAAAHHHHHH!!!" "Really?" "–EEEAAAHHHHHH!!!" "You sure?" "–EEEAAAHHHHHH!!!" "But I–" "–EEEAAAHHHHHH!!!"

9. D.R. Hooker – I'm Leaving You
It's amazing to me that unknown people recorded such strange music forty years ago and we live in an age where it's commonplace to just reissue or compile it all. What are single old white men discussing in used record shops anymore? Single old white man #1: "Have you heard the D.R. Hooker album from '72? Private press issue. Can't remember what it's called, the one where he looks like Jesus on the cover." Single old white man #2: "The Truth? It's on iTunes." Single old white man #1: (Stares into camera.) And: scene.

10. GZA – 4th Chamber
Three bands dominated my last twelve months: the previously (repeatedly) lauded Six Finger Satellite, the newly embraced Can (more on them in a bit) and Wu-Tang Clan. Enter the Wu-Tang is a top-ten rap album and probably a top-fifty anything album. Unfortunately a lot of their post-1994 group and solo stuff doesn't hold up as well. Wu-Tang went apeshit with solo albums all over the place—I actually got into Six Feet Deep by the Gravediggaz before anything else. And here we have 1995's Liquid Swords from the Genius. "4th Chamber" is practically the full Wu-bag, with guest Wu-work from Ghostface Killah, RZA and Wu-filiate Killah Priest.

11. Eddy Current Suppression Ring – Second Guessing
This is the longest song of the bunch, barely beating out Iggy and Arthur but falling short of last year's length-master, "The End of Radio." It's a shellacking! The abrupt ending to "4th Chamber" (since it flows directly into "Shadowboxin'" on Liquid Swords) segues beautifully into the opening keyboard blurt here. First I'd heard from the Ring (not sure that's an actual nickname) was "Turn Your Page" on WZBC sometime in the car last year. It's pretty great but the one most likely to appear in a Dawson's Creek reboot. I could make a joke about waffling between "Second Guessing" and "Colour Television" but that would be a little obvious.

12. Charlotte Gainsbourg – IRM
"IRM" became a free download when I signed up for some mailing list on Gainsbourg's website. I have a junk Gmail account specifically devoted to this sort of thing. Wonder where I can sign up to obtain her dad's "Requiem pour un Con" the same way. Anyway, now is a good time to mention I have only two-and-a-half songs with a female lead (the half goes to Shirley & Lee a few spots down). I've stopped trying at this point. You liberals can eat it.

13. Pussy Galore – Groovy Phone (Live)
Anyone who doubts that a man born in New Hampshire and bred in Providence, Washington, D.C. and New York City can develop a southern accent has never heard of Jon Spencer. "Groovy Phone," recorded live in 1986, is taken from the Corpse Love compilation with the crude drawings of skulls and skeleton cocks. Based on the riff it is an early version of what became "Alright" on 1987's Right Now! LP. Superior impromptu lyrics here, though. "Didja blow 'im?" Indeed!

14. ? & the Mysterians – 96 Tears
I don't understand how "96 Tears" doesn't challenge "Louie, Louie" (stay tuned!) as the reigning garage-rock staple (the Modern Lovers recorded the only cover I've ever heard). Question Mark essentially inverted and simplified the "Louie" riff and produced a smash hit, but how did it not become a phenomenon? "And when the sun comes up, I'll be on top. You'll be right down there lookin' up." Are you telling me that's not dirty enough?

15. Captain Beefheart & His Magic Band – Veteran's Day Poppy
It's not a proper post if I'm not all "One day I'll write about Trout Mask Replica!" At this point it has to be the next thing I work on, right? The second half of "Poppy" always reminds me of the soundtrack you hear during the slower parts of Metroid where the only alien left to defeat is Mother Brain, and you're wandering around shooting and bombing all these regenerating enemies to gather energy and missiles. Sorry ladies, I'm spoken for.

16. Comets on Fire – Rimbaud Blues
I provide a service. I correct people with gusto. Whoever was responsible for providing the internet with the track listing for Comets on Fire's self-titled first album really screwed up. Numbers one through four are fine but it goes pear-shaped with the forty-second-long fifth song. It is not "Rimbaud Blues" as iTunes and everyone else would have you believe. It is actually a continuation of the previous song, so let's call it "Got a Feelin' (Part 2)." That makes the real number six "Rimbaud Blues." I'm not done yet! Genius then took the next title, "Let's Take It All the Way Down" (real number seven) and turned into two different songs: "Let's Take It All" (fake number six) followed by "The Way Down" (fake number seven). The remaining songs are correct, though I should note "Days of Vapors" is only five-and-a-half minutes long—some live material is tacked on as a bonus. You're welcome.

17. Tame Impala – 41 Mosquitoes Flying in Formation
Tame Implala are my Pleasant Discovery of 2010. Probably found them browsing around eMusic again. I hate when writers say band X sounds like a cross between bands Y and Z but they really do sound like a cross between Beta Band/Aliens and Dungen, right down to the nasally vocals and chugging guitar-and-drum groove of each. Nice fake fade-out leading into a soaring (in formation?) guitar solo at the end, too. I could have gone with something off last year's Innerspeaker (probably "Lucidity") or either side of the Sundown Syndrome single but strength of title won out. "41 Mosquitoes Flying in Formation"? You'd better believe it!

18. Can – I'm So Green
It's just not reasonable to include my favorite song of 2010, by Can or anyone else, on this year's playlist: eighteen minutes of "Halleluwah" is just too long in this setting. And no other song would be able to hold its weight on either side. Funny story though, it played one day while I was streaming WZBC at work. Immediately after downloading it from Amazon for $2.99 (where iTunes would make you buy the whole album—seems to me as shortsighted as the music industry ignoring digital trends) I emailed A. three screenshots: the appearance of "Halleluwah" in WZBC's Spinitron playlist, the song's Wikipedia page (including the wife-baiting description "The drum beat for which the song is famous is repeated almost continuously by Jaki Liebezeit, with only minor variations, throughout the course of the eighteen-minute jam") and my Amazon receipt. "I'm So Green" is unexpected even to me, and I'm the one who picked it. Awfully light and bouncy for the Axis powers. I hinted last year while writing about the earlier American-fronted "Uphill" that I would explore the band's catalog. Many $2.99 purchases later (since their essential tracks tend to be longer than ten minutes) and I am right up in there.

19. Shirley & Lee – Let the Good Times Roll
1956! This was on a sampler showcasing New Orleans music that came with the March issue of Uncut. (The cover story was about "the decline and fall" of Led Zeppelin so I don't know what this was all about.) It brings me back to the car rides of my youth, listening to oldies radio and pretending the seat lever was a gearshift. But the adorable young Jarrod had no understanding of what it meant to let the good times roll: good lord is this song dirty. Right down to the bam-bam horns. A. and I saw the IMAX film Born to Be Wild for her birthday and a version was playing during a fun scene of orangutans cavorting in the trees. They might as well have played "Fuck All Night." While we're here, Steppenwolf regrettably did not make the cut this year. But "Born to Be Wild" has to be the single greatest overexposed song in the history of music. If you heard it for the first time right now it would blow you away. Instead, you flash to Peter Fonda being killed in a hillbilly death blaze for the thousandth time and either block the song out or change to something else. But it's not Steppenwolf's fault, it's the damn Hollywood fat cats! So the next time your local classic-rock radio station plays it—roughly twenty minutes from now—give it another chance.

20. Sonics – Louie, Louie
The Sonics tear right through the song that shook up the world. (Don't mind me, I recently finished the Louie, Louie book and I'm full of rhetoric.) It's easy to see how Richard Berry's original with the Pharaohs (available on the Have Louie, Will Travel compilation—do not fall for re-recordings) took parts of the country by storm in the late fifties and early sixties. The Kingsmen pushed it to the forefront with a wildly enthusiastic and incompetent interpretation that everybody knows, even if they don't know the (clean, honestly) words. But the Sonics' is the definitive version, just like their earlier cover of (again) Berry's "Have Love, Will Travel" is the one. Take away the Sonics and who knows what happens to this country. Certainly no Stooges, no Black Flag, no Mudhoney.

21. Nazz – Christopher Columbus
Not Nas, silly goose. That comes later. The "…knew they were already there" refrain is a nice hook. And "Injuns" pushes the right buttons, no? Nazz could rock out with the best of them in their short time together ("Open My Eyes," "Hang on Paul" and "Magic Me" are stone-cold killers) but piled up an equal number of snoozers. Not sure how much Todd Rundgren contributed to "Christopher Columbus" (from the posthumously tampered-with Nazz III) but his soft-bullshit solo act really defined a detestable seventies sound. And I remain unconvinced he isn't actually Liv Tyler's dad. Look at those pictures of the band in '68 and '69—she is a dead ringer!

22. Deviants – Billy the Monster
A comely, solitary nun enjoying a rocket popsicle might be as deviant an album-cover subject as you could find in 1969. Excepting those Blind Faith perverts, I mean. The first song on The Deviants 3 opens with an uttered "–ses out of my nose" and ends too soon with a nice phased instrumental passage. Seems to start as a bridge and then they're like "You know what, let's just fade this out." Probably not the last time I'll represent the Deviants/Pink Fairies/Hawkwind family tree in these pages.

23. Hives – Diabolic Scheme
"Diabolic Scheme" was apparently featured in the Swedish horror film Frostbiten. I can't wait till it gets remade in Hollywood and they substitute some Wombats rubbish on the soundtrack. I can already see the poster. The Hives got a bit rubbishy themselves with that last Black and White Album, succumbing to current trends in handing your sound over to brand-name "producers" with agendas. (And remixing—why is everyone remixing?) But everything through 2004's Tyrannosaurus Hives still holds its own. "Can you take it? Oooo! Can you take it? (Yeah!) Oooo!"

24. July – Crying Is for Writers
I name-checked July last year. Time for the big leagues! Crying is what happens once I realize I have to write forty-eight blurbs again. "What was there to say, what was there to wriiite?" I don't know either. "Might as well write about the working of a forty-horsepower combustion engine." Sounds like a damn fine idea. Of course my memory wipes itself out every other week and by this time next year I'll be all "Let's throw another bunch of songs on the pile, won't that be fun?"

25. Chris Farlowe – Baby, Make It Soon
Co-written by the one and only Andrew Loog Oldham, proprietor of the greatest name in the history of the British Empire. I wonder if Oldham ever put the Small Faces behind Chris Farlowe the way he did with fellow Immediate artists Billy Nicholls and P.P. Arnold. That could have worked pretty well. Farlowe comes off sounding like a white Tom Jones sounding like an orange Solomon Burke on this 1966 B-side. Same year and Spector-lite production as last year's gold-medal-winner "Nightmare" by the Whyte Boots. I dig it. He might as well be singing about me. "You've topped six thousand words again… baby, make it soon."

26. Monks – Monk Time
"My brother died in Vietnam." This one line—and its perfect delivery—is, to me, the greatest anti-war statement ever made. I don't know if our man Gary actually had a brother, dead or alive, but anyone hearing "Monk Time" in 1966 had to understand that it wasn't going to end well, right? He immediately lets us off the hook when chugging banjo chords cause him to shout "Stop it, stop it! I don't like it! It's too loud for my ears." And later: "What's your meaning, Larry?" to which Larry plays a little non-riff on the organ. Gary responds "Ah, you think like I think." But you remember what he said about his brother. You remember that war sucks.

27. The Ify Jerry Krusade – Everybody Likes Something Good
Big ups to independent labels gathering rare international rock and funk gems from the sixties and seventies. Who doesn't like something good? This one's from Strut Records' Nigeria 70: Lagos Jump compilation. I'd like to restate last year's sentiment that just because musicians are from Africa (like the Ify Jerry Krusade) or South America (Pax, coming up) it does not mean they perform "world music." That's why you don't see Os Mutantes or Fela Kuti records in your local Starbucks. It's not world music unless it is based around aborginal instruments and rhythms, reinforces your white-man's guilt and is the sensory equivalent of full-blown AIDS.

28. Stooges – 1970 (Take 1)
From the once limited and now readily available (digitally) 1970: The Complete Fun House Sessions. Supposedly every single second put to tape during the recording of the award-winning album. Ron Asheton incorporates more of the first album's wah-wah effects on this initial take. I dig the sound but the guys (probably Iggy) were right to scale it back it in time for the master. Didn't sound very… well, 1970. I also favor replacing "world that's lame" here with the eventual "till it blow away." Much less teen-angsty.

29. Pax – Sittin' on My Head
This blatantly rips off Les Fleur de Lys's "Hold On," which they themselves ripped off (from themselves) by recording and releasing it twice. So we're all good. From the compilation Back to Peru, Vol. 2. The perspective of the cover shot makes the foxy Peruvian chick's calves look enormous. Great hat though. Proper LP release was 1970's May God and Your Will Land You and Your Soul Miles Away From Evil. ¡Amen, hermano!

30. Alexander Spence – War in Peace
It's a good thing I don't pay attention to lyrics because I have no idea what my man Skip is going on about. Probably war and/or peace? Mudhoney did a fine job with this one on the More Oar tribute. They can't be trusted with lyrical clarification though. Just ask Sonic Boom in an hour or so. Nice hat-tip to "Sunshine of Your Love" at the end. If you reference another song I like then you'll probably make one of my silly playlists. Like Muddy Waters and that bastard Albini last year. Why are my sentences so choppy all of a sudden?

31. Entrance – Grim Reaper Blues
Nice contemporary (well, 2006) psychedelic blues here. It's not all Dead Meadow and Dungen, though would that be so terrible? This weirdo sounds like it could have been recorded minutes after that Michael Yonkers song from earlier (heard "Grim Reaper Blues" on the Greenway, too). Probably more a testament to how well that one has aged rather than anything Entrance is pulling off, but ask me again in thirty years.

32. Flaming Lips – Worm Mountain
"Worm Mountain" has a little bit of that trebly, upfront and slightly manic drum sound that a lot of shitty WFNX bands have embraced over the past couple of years. Probably because MGMT joins the Lips on this one, and they are one of those shitty bands. I'm willing to look past it because of the "Echoes"-like groove on the bridge and the general awesomeness that the (again) award-winning Embryonic spews forth. Even "I Can Be a Frog" is charming.

33. Spirit – Aren't You Glad
Spirit might be an acquired taste. I've been hearing them for a long time on Technicolor Web of Sound but only in the last year or so have I embraced more than a couple of songs (the obvious but excellent "Fresh Garbage" and "I Got a Line on You"). "Aren't You Glad" is a good example of a tight-but-loose song that requires patience. Prog tendencies will probably keep them from being cool but I'm in my late thirties and about to become a father. I'm getting no cooler.

34. Misfits – TV Casualty
My friend and I once went to the Good Time Emporium in one of the lesser neighborhoods of Somerville (since razed and about to become as an Ikea) to see "the Misfits." I put that in quotes because it was actually closer to Black Flag: only (ha!) Jerry Only remained from the classic Misfits, with Dez Cadena on guitar and Robo on drums. We learned at the door that tickets were surprisingly expensive for (a) any show at that shithole club/arcade and (b) any band who would perform at that shithole club/arcade. But it's the best $25 ever spent. Things started off great when they lifted the much-too-large Misfits curtain and it caught on the drum kit. It was the scrambling forty-five-year-old roadie's time to shine. Then the music, the stage presence—plain awesome all the way. They even sprinkled in a couple of Dez-era Black Flag songs for the encore and everyone was pumped… except for this one guy. He was slam-dancing throughout the early part of the show and really bugging the hell out of the rest of us. I used to pogo like you read about but by this time I'd far outgrown anything other than bobbing my head, giving this gorilla plenty of space and convincing myself that Budweiser really isn't so bad. Anyway, during a break between songs someone decided they'd had enough, went up behind him and tore his pants most of the way off. They split down each leg like a breakaway tux and the whole back half flapped down to expose his bare ass. Seconds later the defeat was total as two bouncers materialized to escort him out. He put on a brave face, clutched the remaining scraps of his pants like they were spilling entrails and slowly shuffled toward the door. It is the single funniest thing I've ever seen.

35. Jedi Mind Tricks – Retaliation
"Bangin' y'all in the fuckin' face." Let's give rap music a hearty welcome back following that ninety-minute interval! Jedi Mind Tricks are an example of a group whose RZA-inspired beats and mega-strong MCs are top-notch. The lyrics, however, are often painfully aggressive. It's best to ignore them (easy for me to say) and concentrate on the vocals as melodies instead of language. "Y'all is always soundin' like a bitch when you spell." Hurtful!

36. Sonic's Rendezvous Band – City Slang
1978's "City Slang" is the perfect rock & roll response to the (already dying) punk movement. Meaningless lyrics, stretch it out, solo everywhere. Hard to believe it comes seven years after the MC5's High Time because it's a natural progression—not sure how much music Sonic was making in between. Anyway, High Time's "Poison" almost made my list (it did still provide the title) and this one's just as good. The band includes former Stooge Scott Asheton on drums—Rock Action himself! By the way, the least successful response to punk would have to be "Carouselambra," right? In a landslide. And I'm a John Paul Jones fan.

37. Guided by Voices – Wished I Was a Giant
Vampire on Titus is not as easy to find as you'd think. Sure, you can download it anywhere. But I wanted to span the gap between Propeller and Bee Thousand on my CD rack. This goes against everything I wrote last year but why don't you try staying principled when you can't even remember how to spell anymore, huh? And why do people keep giving me shit about my spelling?

38. Belle & Sebastian – I Love My Car
Most fans of the pre-Boy With the Arab Strap era say the band has never been as good since main man Stuart Murdoch started sharing the load, letting lesser band members like Isobel Campbell and Stevie Jackson write and sing on stuff. It's hard to argue when the far-and-away best songs on Arab Strap and Fold Your Hands Child, You Walk Like a Peasant are Murdoch's. (Most releases since those tend to blur together for me.) I guess the alternative would have been for him to repeatedly fire and replace his band à la Arthur Lee (up next) and eventually end up in prison on a weapons charge. In honor of this tension I've chosen the mid-period "I Love My Car." Needn't tell you who wrote it—the brilliant Beach Boys verse is a giveaway.

39. Love – You Set the Scene
This is really two songs in one. The first part is your typical Forever Changes fare, and that's a strong compliment. The final four-and-a-half minutes are perhaps the best in all of this wonderful band's career. Arthur Lee's vocals are tip-top ("I need you sooo woh woh woh woh-ohhh"), the strings and horns are perfectly balanced (not something with which they always succeeded) and it's difficult to concentrate on anything else while it's playing. Perfect closing piece to the LP. On that topic, the 2001 reissue adds not only the 1968 Your Mind and We Belong Together single but also the tracking session for the A-side's guitar solo. Fascinating to listen in as Lee just kills Bryan MacLean and Johnny Echols for repeatedly fucking up. His concluding "That solo was really outta sight, man" evidently was not enough to keep MacLean, Echols and the rest of the group from splitting shortly after. Lee called bullshit on that, grabbed some hobos off the street and struck more gold with Four Sail a year later.

40. Dead Kennedys – A Growing Boy Needs His Lunch
I've really embraced this band over the past two or three years. I did always like the songs you're supposed to—"California Über Alles," "Holiday in Cambodia," "Let's Lynch the Landlord"—but only recently did I seek out the rest of the catalog. I was skeptical about the later Frankenchrist and Bedtime for Democracy but they hold up really, really well considering the stress and controversy within and around the group. "Lunch" is a good representation of late-era DK: vitriolic, clever, hippie-bashing lyrics over expansive instrumental sections (the vocals don't kick in for over a minute). Other contenders were "I Am the Owl," "Riot" and "Cesspools in Eden."

41. Tommy James & the Shondells – Crimson and Clover
I know Donovan, Steppenwolf and now Tommy James don't need me to defend them. (The undervalued Monkees might.) But Tommy James catches some real shit over his supposed phony psychedelia. Jealous assholes, these people. The Shondells recorded "Hanky Panky" in 1964 when most worthwhile American and English bands were busy arranging Bo Diddley songs. James doesn't do himself any favors by including fake studio dialog like "Just do a thing, you know, whatever" at the beginning of the glorious album version of "Crimson and Clover." (Same deal on runner-up "I Am a Tangerine.") Real turn-off. But then a few seconds later it's "Ahhh…" (do-do do-do do-do) and I am piloting that Shondells starship right into fucking orbit.

42. Nas – Star Wars
Kudos to Nas and Jay-Z for not surrounding themselves with people who would commit murder for the sake of a hip-hop feud. We've come a long way, baby. I hate me some "Fly Like an Eagle" but how does it work so well when sampled? EPMD, Biz Markie, Jungle Brothers, Ice Cube, A Tribe Called Quest, Pete Rock & C.L. Smooth… erm, Vanilla Ice. And Nas. "Star Wars" was apparently left off Illmatic in favor of weak nonsense like "Life's a Bitch." Thank goodness for reissues.

43. The Fall – Theme From Sparta F.C.
A. and I attended a friend's party late last year and the host is a big Fall fan. He was playing the slightly annoying (trendy, snappy) version of this song from the original U.K. edition of The Real New Fall LP (a.k.a. Country on the Click) and I asked if he'd heard the more guitar-driven single version (a.k.a. "Theme From Sparta F.C. #2") that was substituted onto the U.S. version. Trying hard to not be the "If you like that you're gonna love this" prick I used to be, y'know. Anyway I said I'd bring my iPod next time I saw him. A friend of theirs overheard our exchange and piped in with "I guess when you move to the suburbs you don't need an iPod anymore." I think she was taking a shot at me for being one of those suburbanites who drives everywhere, even though we both take the train to and from work every day. Sure, we drove to the party that night—I'm guessing it saved us about forty-five minutes each way. I would and will do it again. But even if we had done the train-to-subway-to-bus alternative does she think we would have ignored each other and listened to iPods the whole way? I can't remember my response but hopefully it was something in a Mark E. Smith voice. "Yew eh-yah mehstahkehn-eh."

44. The United States of America – The Garden of Earthly Delights
And you thought I forgot about "The Garden of Earthly Delights" after mentioning it in December. For shame! I wonder if it was controversial in 1967 to call yourselves the United States of America. "The United Kingdom of America" might have pushed them over the top, since Wikipedia tells me their eponymous album sold better in Britain than it did here. Maybe it's just an exchange-rate anomaly. Too bad they came and went with only one album while the inferior Jefferson Airplane stuck around long enough to suck it real hard. (End this year's Jefferson Airplane rant.)

45. Unwound – Off This Century
If you think consecutive years of ridiculously long playlists isn't excessive enough then go get Unwound's Leaves Turn Inside You right now. The band built their own studio, took a year to produce seventy-four minutes of music and split it up over two discs when it could have fit onto one. Why? Because each disc contains a data-hogging video for one of the album's songs. "Radio Gra" is a redundant and self-indulgent borefest with an equally dreadful video featuring beached whales, if I remember right. But: "Scarlette" is amazing quasi-old school Unwound at its best. Treatment of the vocals (growled and distorted beyond comprehension) might be off-putting to some but it really works with the rhythm. I can't hear it without thinking of its tremendous (and tremendously puzzling) video. Skip the CDs, download the songs you like and watch the "Scarlette" video here. Anyhoo… I picked "Off This Century" from the same album. It fit better. I don't know what to tell you.

46. Spacemen 3 – Revolution
Enter Sonic Boom. It seems like every single Spacemen 3 song is either a cover or an interpretation of the Stooges, the Red Crayola or the MC5. So I present "Revolution," a.k.a. "Black to Comm" with a side order of Brother J.C. Crawford's Kick Out the Jams introduction. Mudhoney took "Revolution" to another level—undoubtedly improving it in my opinion, as I'm an eternal Mudhoney apologist—but I need another pasty, humorless rip-off artist to keep Jimmy Page company.

47. Blue Cheer – I'm the Light
Remember that light Les Fleur de Lys were going on about earlier? Turns out Blue Cheer is the source! Vincebus Eruptum's "Out of Focus" is my ringtone, for crying out loud, but I went with the 1971's "I'm the Light" because it's a different kind of great. I love how they finally figured out how to incorporate a sitar into their sound two or three years after people lost interest in Indian influences. Too bad only a portion of their fine 1969-to-1971 output is available for download on the appropriately named Good Times Are So Hard to Find compilation. Where are the full albums? I should really start that reissue concern I've been dreaming about since Anthology Recordings apparently went under (their inactive website states "We've stepped out for lunch, will be back soon…" and they've been enjoying that meal for about a year). How hard can it be to reach settlements with defunct old labels and publishers; entrust recording engineers to competently manage the remastering process; build rewarding partnerships with iTunes, Amazon, cloud-based services and future mechanism-(x) distributors; and then ensure that artists and songwriters receive proper royalties? And pay my own bills on top of all that? (Oh.)

48. George Brigman – Some of My Best Friends Are Snakes
George Brigman has done a lot for me. I can't remember if it was "Jungle Rot" or "Blowin' Smoke" I heard while driving through Inman Square (when I was still living in Cambridge) but I lay the blame for much of my current distorted-guitar-centered blues-rock partiality at his feet. I was already deeply into the Stooges and Blue Cheer at the time but I think Brigman really sealed it up. Funny thing, 2007's comeback (for lack of a better word) album Rags in Skull came out the same year as those groups' The Weirdness and What Doesn't Kill You, respectively. Similarities end there: Iggy and Dickie arouse shocking levels of cringe-inducing what-in-the-worldwide-fuck despair. Brigman remains the genuine article. Just know, friends, that this one's not directed at you snakes.

In closing, for real this year: one song from the fifties; sixteen from the sixties (only four from 1968 this time); eleven from the seventies; three from the eighties (lowballed again!); four from the nineties; twelve from the aughts; and one from the teens. God bless you, son or daughter. I have given you a gift of thorough good taste.

A short story (100th post)

2011-05-04T14:09:00.017-04:00

The new café was beautiful and poorly built. One customer opened a display cabinet and the door came off in her hand, smacking her kid right in the face. No tip! A week later we're still finding ball bearings.

The time had come for a different address. Our old spot had its share of bad memories and rose-colored marble, neither of which is fashionable. Change is often something to fear—new environments bring new people and new people bring new letdowns—but I was sure I'd be alright.

But that letdown part. People here are assholes. The other night I'm leaving at the end of my shift and I say "Goodnight" to one of the new girls. New to me, since she transferred from another location like I did. She looks up from washing the pot of Afro-Brew and goes right back to it without saying a word.

Thursday morning I come in and notice a few strips of blue painter's tape still stuck alongside the doorframe. Rude girl is casually mentioning her boyfriend to the new (brand new) guy again. He's asking her about yoga and she's being nice enough, even seems interested when he casually mentions his upcoming beer-pong tournament. He's nice enough but probably listens to the Killers.

A few Masters of the Universe come in after lunch, speaking loudly and flipping through the small CD display. $20 is too expensive even for these guys. Each compilation (always compilations) is hand-selected by my manager—nothing too racy, a little Beatles for Kids here and Jazz for Lovers there. I had a great idea once to produce a "Safe" series—Safe Blues, Safe Soul, etc., but he didn't think that would work. "We're trying to expand horizons here. Christ." Christ.

So these guys are cracking themselves up over "all this Mexican shit." They radiate a pink glow of top-shelf gin and expensive cigars that comes with early-afternoon benders. One of them grabs a disc. "'British Invasion'? Fuck that, all those limeys do is remind us what we invented a decade earlier." I do everyone a favor and slip a little salt into their Sula-Brews. "Spicy!" they holler.

I lock eyes with the rude girl as I'm leaving again. Feeling somehow invigorated after a dull afternoon I decide to give her another chance. Cheerily: "Have a good night!" She stares at me like I'd asked her the square root of seven. Leaving, I go out of my way to hold a door open for some college girl who doesn't thank me.

It's tough to fall asleep that night. At 2:30 I get out of bed and go to the kitchen for a beer, thinking the only way I'm going to sleep is if I'm buzzed. I race through a second beer, sitting at the table and working on a crossword with only a little bit of light. Hoping to wear out my eyes. I empty the bottle and stumble my way to the fridge for another. It's dark so I'm surprised to bump into a tall man with exceptionally long, blond hair. It's straight until it sweeps away at his shoulders. Ray Manzarek is in my kitchen.

Ray tells me to forget the beer. "Fire up some of that Inca-Brew you stole from work. I love that shit."

"The gold flakes sort of freak me out, same as the lava chips in the Hilo." I say. "I prefer the Hait-Brew." I don't see anything strange here.

"'Hate-Brew'? That's a drag."

"'Hait' as in 'Haitian.' I don't know, it's all the same I guess. I once saw the boss grind up some Mexa-Brew beans and dump them into an Afro-Brew bag."

"'Afro Blue'? I dig it. Stole that riff a few times."

"No, 'brew.' 'Brew.'" We're still in front of the fridge. "He hands it to the customer and I'm like 'You know that was the wrong coffee?' He shrugs and points at the guy, who opens the bag and take a big eyes-closed, grinning-idiot whiff. He had a point." Everything is normal. "Nice employee discount though."

Ray nods the way professional keyboardists nod. "Right on." He's no longer blocking my way but rather seated at the table, somehow. Must have brought his own chair. He looks out the window and absently starts tickling the striped tablecloth. I can tell it's "Moonlight Drive." He looks distressed for a second, left hand drifting off, until he notices the cheap bookshelf in front of the radiator. "This is a fire hazard, man," he advises and grabs the first four Dark Tower books because they're the only ones worth a shit. Stacks them on the table and resumes playing. He smiles. I can hear it too.

I sit as he continues. "We're all in this thing together, you know. Under one moon and all." (Uh-huh.) "People start looking too closely at each other and problems creep in."

I'm too practical. "Won't there be injuries if people don't look at each other? Just a minute ago I walked right into you."

He sips his coffee. Where's mine? "The beans you're pushing, they're specialized. Segregated. They need to mingle and screw each other. Get real tight." (Uh-huh.) "You have to blend them."

"I'm just a barman." I glance at my crossword. It has completed itself. "I have to serve what they ask for."

Ray eases off the tablecloth. "Do you have any drugs?"

I wake up in bed. It's Friday morning. I smell awful.

Quick shower and then I hit the road. Nothing can get me down today. Not even the bus. "Sunsquashed" carries me into town and doesn't produce the hangover I'm willing to risk. I feel great, in fact, better than ever. The previous night grew a little foggy after all the talk of beans, gotta mix the beans. Easy. Beans. Real tight. Beans. Drugs. Drugs? Could be it.

Two stops early I exit the bus and walk the rest of the way. The cop directing traffic at the intersection is about five foot eight. He seems frazzled. I guess there's no longer a height requirement.

I'm paying more attention than usual. A gentleman walking ten feet in front of me slows just enough to hand a cigarette to a guy hustling homeless newspapers. Cigarettes are killers. I like when people think the papers are free. Their faces go from "I'll make this poor guy's day" to "I don't even want the damn thing."

It's sunny and flowers are in full bloom. I resist the urge to snap away with my camera phone and instead take it all in. Won't allow photographs to replace memory on a day like this. Nothing can describe the appearance of these trees.

By the time I get to work I am one million dollars. I walk in and someone is removing the leftover painter's tape, scrubbing off sticky residue. Fuckin' A.

Friday is clean laundry day. Fresh red and orange aprons hang from hooks in the break room. Mine fits perfectly and looks sharp. I love red and orange together. The rude girl wears headphones and stares into her locker, cramming one more song by some exclamation-point band. She wishes her success were equally dependent upon viral videos. I walk over and smile at her until she is compelled to smile back.

"Two point six four six," I say.

"Excuse me?"

"I answered my own question from last night. Two point six four six. With rounding, you know. We don't have all night." I wink and head out to the floor.

An older woman is washing her hands. New employee. I can tell she's one of those who've lived or worked in the area her whole life, thinks it'll be fun to chat up best friends while charging them $3.95. It's not a terrible idea. She turns to me and says "Good morning." I'm glad. She looks amazing in her apron.

At the register I greet my first customer. "What'll you have?"

"What's good today?"

Everything is good today. Smiling, I recommend the Moon-Brew. "It's a blend. The moon favors no one."

He and his perfectly round head consider this. "Fuck that. Large Hate, please." I appreciate the "please." He didn't have to say that.

I step over to the Hait-Brewer and start pouring the man's coffee. Every time I fill a large the machine emits a short mechanical sound, barely audible, like it's transferring water from one internal recess to another. It's so positive and futuristic.

Nothing is going to ruin my day.

Nomar Day revisited

2011-04-01T16:31:00.032-04:00

July 31, 2004. Red Sox shortstop Nomar Garciaparra is traded (indirectly) for shortstop Orlando Cabrera and first baseman Doug Mientkiewicz. It was the strangest thing—a large group of us had collected at our friend Hector's (false name) suburban backyard to celebrate his thirtieth birthday party. The news rolled out fast, someone probably shouting from the porch "Nomah's gahn!" (the "Boston accent" is not as common as everyone—New Englanders included—like to pretend, but it does tend to prevail the more one drinks). I had no idea at all how to react. He'd been a big part of the team almost going to the World Series the year before, but perhaps they'd be better without him. My nth beer was not so helpful in the clear-thinking department.

We all know what happened months later but that's not the point—my version would devolve into bitterness over losing Cabrera and others the following year anyway. Hector, my other best friend Ivan (false name) and I came up with a project a month or so earlier: wouldn't it be fun to pick favorite songs from the same favorite bands and stick them on mixes, then compare notes? We agreed on a list of seventeen classic artists we all liked, figuring seventeen four- to five-minute songs would fill up a CDR. The deadline was July 31 and the plan was to play them during the hours-long party. I wish I could remember what was playing when the Nomar news broke.

Our tastes did generally diverge: highbrow art like Dead Meadow and the Stooges on my side, a bunch of ska and other nonsense on theirs. So we focused on classic rock with a little punk and rap. Here's the list, in any order:

AC/DC
Aerosmith
Alice Cooper
Beastie Boys
Black Flag
Black Sabbath
Creedence Clearwater Revival
Fugazi
Kiss
Led Zeppelin
Metallica
Public Enemy
Ramones
Rolling Stones
Run-D.M.C.
Ted Nugent
Van Halen

Three additional options were available if one elected to fill out eighty minutes: Ozzy Osbourne, James Brown and the Beatles. I'm curious how we managed to leave out N.W.A., Bad Brains and Hendrix… simmering racism?. Anyhoo, I had fun putting it together and I think it turned out pretty well. But what changes might I make if I were to do this today? I'm glad I asked! Russell Johnson might not have been able to save President Lincoln in that time-bending Twilight Zone episode but it won't stop me from altering things.

1. Van Halen – Hot for Teacher
Excellent job here. Fantastic song, good way to start things off. But I feel bad for neglecting Fair Warning, my favorite Van Halen album. The unusual "Sunday Afternoon in the Park" paired with "One Foot Out the Door" (really one track, as on the album), though, is something I'd be proud of today. I choose you, Sunday One Foot.

Friend picks: Hector also went with "Hot for Teacher" and Ivan chose "House of Pain." Some serious 1984 action! "Teacher" represents the first bit of symmetry between the three of us: each shared one song with the other two.

2. AC/DC – Whole Lotta Rosie
Wouldn't touch this quintessential Bon Scott song. Others contend, sure, but why bother? Rosie's bigger than all of them.

Friend picks: "Dirty Deeds Done Dirt Cheap" (from 1992's Live) and "Whole Lotta Rosie." Not sure why Hector had to settle for a live, constipated Brian Johnson version of this excellent song. "Rosie" is shared song number two. Funny how I got them out of the way quick.

3. Beastie Boys – So What'cha Want
Nice pick, again, but why not go with something you don't still hear on the radio? Where's "She's on It"? "Looking Down the Barrel of a Gun"? "Stand Together"? It's "Barrel," for the Mountain sample.

Friend picks: "Hold It Now, Hit It" and "Hey Ladies." One of the lesser-known (and weaker, if you ask me) songs from License to Ill and probably the most-popular song from Paul's Boutique. It's a rollercoaster ride with these guys.

4. Metallica – Master of Puppets
I really like this song but I suspect I chose it because it was the right length or it worked well with everything around it. But I'll take "Creeping Death," and not just because watching The Ten Commandments is an annual Easter highlight.

Friend picks: "So What" and "Crash Course in Brain Surgery." Hector seems more interested in funny, tongue-in-cheek songs, demonstrated here and later with the Nuge. In fact, I'm confident he'd list the Dead Milkmen as one of his ten favorite bands. But I was jealous of Ivan's "Crash Course" pick here.

5. Creedence Clearwater Revival – Born on the Bayou
Money. The perfect CCR song.

Friend picks: "Down on the Corner" and "Fortunate Son." I'd make a joke about the two of them only being familiar with Chronicle if my selection weren't just as popular. But "Born on the Bayou" is on Chronicle, Vol. 2.

6. Rolling Stones – Jumpin' Jack Flash
Sheesh. I still really like this song but I hear it at least once a week in the car. I remember almost going with "Stray Cat Blues" but thinking Hector and Ivan never would have heard it before. Regrettable. Anyway, over the weekend I read the Exile on Main St. volume of the 33⅓ series (more on this when I get to writing about Trout Mask Replica) and though it's not my favorite Stones album I'm compelled to go with "Rocks Off," "Turd on the Run" or "Ventilator Blues/Just Wanna See His Face" over slightly older favorites like "Stray Cat," "Monkey Man" and "Sway." "Rocks Off," for Keith's backing vocals.

Friend picks: "Brown Sugar" and "Can't You Hear Me Knocking." I no longer bother with "Brown Sugar." If I walk up Lynn Shore Drive for twenty minutes tomorrow I guarantee I'll hear it blast out of at least one car window. I knew Ivan would pick "Knocking" because we both have always liked it. Good for him for being predictable in a good way, even if I suspect he wanted to fade it out halfway through.

7. Ramones – Cretin Hop
Safe but nice song from my favorite Ramones album at the time, Rocket to Russia. Nowadays I lean more toward the first two albums. They're all basically the same. I think, though, that "Today Your Love, Tomorrow the World" screams for inclusion. I relent.

Friend picks: "Somebody Put Something in My Drink" and "Rockaway Beach." Hector picked a weird, weird song. Good for him. He probably put more thought into this one than he did the rest of the comp. Or it was handy, I don't know. More Russia love elsewhere from Ivan. Pinko bastards!

8. Aerosmith – Big Ten Inch Record
I'm sticking with the sex puns. Nice horns, tight arrangement, same old crappy Joey Kramer drumming.

Friend picks: "The Farm" and "Toys in the Attic." I'd never heard "The Farm" before this mix. I understand why. Say what you will about Aerosmith but even haters have to admit that song's not in the same league as the well worn "Toys in the Attic."

9. Black Sabbath – War Pigs
Classic. An overplayed song that I never tire of. I contribute by playing it in bars whenever I get the chance. So it was either this or the entire first album.

Friend picks: "Am I Going Insane (Radio)" and "Supernaut." Never really liked "Am I Going Insane." It came right before "Laguna Sunrise" on my old We Sold Our Soul for Rock & Roll cassette so I could fast-forward straight through the both of them. Convenient! "Supernaut" is a great pick from the mostly good Vol. 4.

10. Run-D.M.C. – Sucker MCs
Classic, but so old-school sounding that it sticks out like a sore thumb against the straightforward rock. I'll go with guitar-oriented favorite "Raising Hell" to blend in better.

Friend picks: "Mary, Mary" and "King of Rock." My new Raising Hell selection completes the sequential-album sandwich.

11. Black Flag – Fix Me
"Nervous Breakdown" was actually my first pick but it was too long to fit. Indeed, two minutes was too long. Anyway, as much as I like the Rollins era I love the short-and-sweet Keith Morris era. "Fix Me" is fantastic but its brevity gets swallowed here. I'll let the band stretch out on my original "Nervous Breakdown" because it was the first song on their first release and its closing "…diiiiieeeeeeeee!" was more heavily produced than anything that followed.

Friend picks: "Louie, Louie" (Everything Went Black version) and "Nervous Breakdown." I like the "Mary, Mary"/"Louie, Louie" action from Hector, even though they didn't come back-to-back on his mix. He took the long view. In related news, I'm currently enjoying Dave Marsh's Louie, Louie: The History and Mythology of the World's Most Famous Rock & Roll Song; Including the Full Details of Its Torture and Persecution at the Hands of the Kingsmen, J. Edgar Hoover's FBI and a Cast of Millions; and Introducing, for the First Time Anywhere, the Actual Dirty Lyrics.

12. Fugazi – Walken's Syndrome
Not sure why I felt the need to represent my least-favorite Fugazi album. Killer song though. I was self-conscious about picking anything from Red Medicine or later, for some reason, which is really dumb even before hearing Ivan's "Bed for the Scraping." The lesson, as always, is to never care at all what other people think. Also, to always take compilations seriously enough so that, years later, you won't criticize your own decisions on a blog no one reads. It's tempting to keep "Walken's Syndrome" because I've lately (as in the last fifteen years) preferred Guy's songs to Ian's. But if Ivan can choose "Moby Dick" then I can pick an instrumental too, and "Lusty Scripps" from the Instrument soundtrack is the grooviest thing Fugazi's done. You won't even mind when Joe's bassline gets stuck in your head for three days.

Friend picks: "Waiting Room" and "Bed for the Scraping." Can't really go wrong with "Waiting Room" but five out of ten Americans would choose it given the opportunity. As I said, "Bed for the Scraping" was a nice surprise. (It's not like Red Medicine is this super complex masterwork but it's certainly more mature and experimental—yet looser—than anything before it. "Target" was even a minor hit around here.) It closed out Ivan's disc: brilliant maneuver, even as I (still today) expect "Latest Disgrace" to kick right in. And if you can't tell by now I think his mix rivaled my own, even after I'm done correcting sixty percent of it.

13. Kiss – Love Gun (live)
With Kiss, I only ever cared about Alive! and Alive II until fairly recently. Little did I know I was missing out on honest-to-god gems like "Strange Ways" and "Hooligan" (two Peter Criss songs… I'm as surprised as you are!). At the time, I naturally had to go with a live song. Unfortunately—as I chided "Dirty Deeds" above and then hypocrited myself here and with James Brown's "There Was a Time"—it's clumsy to slot random live songs among studio recordings. So I'll keep "Love Gun" but substitute the proper Love Gun version.

Friend picks: "Shout It Out Loud" and "Strutter." Solid gold. Every time I hear "Shout It Out Loud" I think of the online Globe or Phoenix review of one of the Kiss concerts the three of us attended. The guy wrote something like "We didn't know what 'It' was but we were shouting it." This was on the Psycho Circus tour so we're talking 1998, which means I was already not reading newspapers… a year after graduating with a BA in journalism. The printed word is sure taking its sweet-ass time to die.

14. Ted Nugent – Just What the Doctor Ordered
Had to reach a bit here since I wasn't (and am not) the biggest Nugent fan. "Stranglehold" would be my automatic pick but it must have been too long, plus I knew Ivan would use it anyway. I toyed with a couple of Amboy Dukes songs but thought that might be cheating, so I went with a ZZ Top-esque "Doctor." Ivan had never heard it before Nomar Day and told me it was awesome. Hector might have been in the bouncy house at the time. Regardless, I'm now taking the Amboy Dukes route and picking the obvious, excellent "Journey to the Center of the Mind." I loved it then and I love it now, no matter how many car commercials co-opt it. Besides, "Stranglehold" is still too long to fit.

Friend picks: "Kiss My Ass" and "Stranglehold." Nugent played "Kiss My Ass" when we saw him open for Kiss for the fourth and final (?) time. It was this generation's "Commonwealth Song." A couple hours later I made my classic "Love Theme From Kiss" joke.

15. Alice Cooper – School's Out
Really disappointed in myself for not branching away from many hit songs. In my defense I hadn't yet explored Alice's catalog, I guess, but if I could discover "Just What the Doctor Ordered" then I should have dug deeper for Alice. I'll go with the driving "Return of the Spiders" from 1970's pre-stardom Easy Action.

Friend picks: "Billion Dollar Babies" for the both of them. Copacetic, baby. Can't believe I only recently recognized Donovan's co-vocal there.

16. Public Enemy – Don't Believe the Hype
So many great songs on the first three albums but you can't not love "Don't Believe the Hype." I just listened to it again to make sure it's still great. Silly rabbit.

Friend picks: "Fight the Power" (from Do the Right Thing) and "Bring the Noise" (from It Takes a Nation of Millions to Hold Us Back). Holy version distinction!

17. James Brown – There Was a Time (live)
I think I'd recently bought Say It Live and Loud and "There Was a Time" was relentless love at first sound. Unfortunately my meddling squeezes James out this time, but that's OK because I named my 2007 playlist in his honor.

Friend pick: "Hot Pants (She Got to Use What She Got to Get What She Wants) (Part 1)" for Hector. He still had eight minutes of space after using all twenty artists. That'll happen when none of your songs top six minutes. Ivan had six minutes left but he outright ignored JB and the Beatles.

18. Led Zeppelin – How Many More Times
This will be my favorite Zeppelin song until the end up time. Those old coots at WZLX have even started playing it during their "Stairway to Seven" segment, daily at 7:00. (You see, it's a play on… never mind.)

Friend picks: "Immigrant Song" and "Moby Dick." I've always liked "Immigrant Song" but the only thing you hear more on the radio is "Rock & Roll," which I no longer listen to. I wonder if I'll ever skip past "Immigrant Song." In other words, it's exactly what I would expect Hector to half-heartedly pick. Oh well, it was his party I guess. "Moby Dick" was another pleasant surprise from Ivan, particularly when the assumed "Bring It on Home" didn't kick right in. What a cold, harsh edit. Well done.

In other news, Hector exercised his options with Ozzy's "Goodbye to Romance" (there's your tongue-in-cheek thing) and the Beatles' "Eleanor Rigby" (baroo?). Ozzy showed up on Ivan's mix with "Bark at the Moon." If I'd had to fill a Beatles slot then my backward-glancing guess would be either "Tomorrow Never Knows" or, more likely (since Ivan, some other friends and I used to crack up over "goo goo g'joob" in high school), "I Am the Walrus." With Ozzy, probably "Mr. Crowley" or "Bark at the Moon." How I did rue the limitations of the compact disc. [Edit: See below for my rule-breaking 2011 picks.]

New! Improved!

1. Beastie Boys – Looking Down the Barrel of a Gun
2. Van Halen – Sunday Afternoon in the Park/One Foot Out the Door
3. AC/DC – Whole Lotta Rosie
4. Rolling Stones – Rocks Off
5. Metallica – Creeping Death
6. Creedence Clearwater Revival – Born on the Bayou
7. Run-D.M.C. – Raising Hell
8. Fugazi – Lusty Scripps
9. Black Flag – Nervous Breakdown
10. Amboy Dukes – Journey to the Center of the Mind
11. Black Sabbath – War Pigs
12. Alice Cooper – Return of the Spiders
13. Aerosmith – Big Ten Inch Record
14. Kiss – Love Gun
15. Public Enemy – Don't Believe the Hype
16. Ramones – Today Your Love, Tomorrow the World
17. Led Zeppelin – How Many More Times

Better, right? Rod Serling chimes in with a solid "maybe." I'll take it.

Bonus revisionist EP alert!

1. Beatles – Strawberry Fields Forever
With age comes perspective, and I'm finally mature enough to recognize this as the greatest Beatles song.

2. James Brown – Down and Out in New York City
A favorite of mine since college, when I placed it on a classic rock/funk mixtape called I Am a Tired Old Woman. Extended version from the Make It Funky: The Big Payback compilation.

3. Ozzy Osbourne – Over the Mountain
I'm fine with this, but I'd much rather cheat in Amboy Dukesian fashion and choose another Sabbath song. Erm…

~~3. Ozzy Osbourne – Over the Mountain~~
3. Black Sabbath – Warning
It's my goddamn blog.

Eternal optimism in an age of supposed parity when two teams win five (and almost seven) of the last ten Super Bowls

2011-02-08T16:27:00.034-05:00

Some observations from Sunday's game before going all Patriots batshit:

"Labor uncertainty" is the new "all-important third preseason game." Please set aside all non-NFL-related uses of this phrase until a labor agreement is reached.

How about Ben Roethlisberger? That's three horrible Super Bowl performances, and finally one the Steelers didn't win in spite of him. It's fun listening to Michael Wilbon say he would still take him over any other quarterback… and then criticize Pittsburgh's offensive game plan for "putting it all on Roethlisberger." What a pure goddamn fool he is. (Battery mate Tony Kornheiser called Jay Cutler "a top-flight NFL player" a few weeks ago. Why do I listen to this shit?).

Aaron Rodgers was on Letterman last night and admitted he didn't have much faith in his team's kick-coverage unit. That's exactly the kind of maturity you want in your Super Bowl MVP. On a related note, head coach Mike McCarthy will be out of a job in five or six years.

Even if the Steelers had won another title I would have maintained a certain satisfaction that they managed to avoid playing the Patriots yet again. Avoid isn't the right word, really, because it's not the Steelers' fault the Pats weren't good enough to make it as far as they did. But if Steeler fans can keep spending their unemployment checks on yellow towels then I can enjoy this petty victory…

Let's see, according to every writer in New England the turning point for the Packers this season was a game against the Patriots that they would have won if Rodgers played. So the realization they came to before ripping off six straight wins was: make sure your starting quarterback starts. Never mind that the actual reason they lost that one the way they did was not because of poor play from the backup quarterback but rather some horrible Andy Reid-esque clock management by a seasoned head coach who should know better. See item two above.

My favorite commercial was for BMW or Mercedes or whatever it was with the rich white guys breaking out of rich-white-guy prison. It seems no one in America is talking about it, which tells me I'm right. Also, "Cram It in the Boot" for Mini had me snickering like a fourteen-year-old. I had to rewind to make sure I'd seen what I'd just seen and yes, he slipped a huge hoagie dick into that boot. I suspect the spot will never air in this country again.

Google produces more than seven hundred thousand results for "national anthem fail." Christina Aguilera will somehow pull it together and continue to sleep on a big pile of money every night.

Joe Buck continues to sleep on big piles of conceit, self-righteousness and malaise.

That about covers things. It was a good game but I couldn't really get into it. Certainly not the same experience when your team isn't participating. Along those lines, all in all I think the Patriots are in a great spot for next season. Everyone, only now, is conveniently calling 2010 a rebuilding year and they're right, even if they waited until elimination to admit it. Anyway, here's a projection of September's forty-five-man game-day roster (plus eight inactives), with a mix of what I think will happen and what needs to happen. Not a lot will change—I'm looking for the youngsters to keep on keepin' on—but the players being replaced are some pretty big, established names. Offense comes first (like it has since 2007) and an asterisk indicates a starter. Apologies for not really knowing how many reserve offensive linemen, defensive backs, etc., teams tend to carry on game days.

Quarterbacks
Tom Brady*
Brian Hoyer
Jonathan Crompton (practice-squad eligible)/(veteran free agent)

Hoyer is the well established backup. We haven't seen much of him, and he's surely young and has demonstrated that he can be rattled, but I think Belichick likes him. I do too. Then again, I was among the majority who thought Matt Cassel should have been cut in favor of Matt Gutierrez in 2008. The only difference is most of those lunatics are now wishing we traded Brady and signed Cassel long term. Patriots fans are idiots. As for the third "emergency" option (a position not included on the game-day roster for some time, possibly due to Julian Edleman's college experience), I think it will be fully manned by the practice squad's Compton or some journeyman veteran who may or may not have filled the roll on this team in the past. Brady is not prone to injuries but with some major recent surgeries I think it's time to employ more than one full-time backup.

Running Backs
BenJarvus Green-Ellis*
Danny Woodhead
Thomas Clayton

People around here are begging for a first-round, every-down back. I wonder why everyone wants to fuck with a formula that worked pretty well with Green-Ellis and Woodhead sharing the load. Much more important things to spend those high picks on. I see all three 2010 veterans either retiring—Kevin Faulk, a true American hero and gentleman who I hope becomes a coach on this team—or moving on—Fred Taylor, who could have been wonderful here if he wasn't repeatedly betrayed by his body, and Sammy Morris, possibly the most underrated member of the team the past few years (except for 2010). Fun group, but it is indeed time to get younger. I see Thomas Clayton moving up from the practice squad and getting a lot of special-teams experience the way Green-Ellis did, then maybe a third-or-so-rounder getting some carries later in the season.

Wide Receivers
Deion Branch*
Wes Welker*
Julian Edelman
Brandon Tate

Maybe a mid- to late-round pick to add to the mix, but I don't see much to change here. Local blowhards are demanding a Moss-like field-stretcher and seem to think we can pry a slightly disgruntled Larry Fitzgerald from Arizona for a bag of balls, proving once and for all that there is no bottom when it comes to the intelligence of people who follow the Patriots. The offense sucked in the Jets loss but, just like with the running backs, I'm not ready to ditch everything that worked so well in the regular season. The only wild card is Welker—weird year for him. He exceeded all expectations by returning so quickly and solidly from last season's injury. But despite more touchdowns than usual he dropped a shitload of passes and there's speculation that he's unhappy with his contract (I don't believe that based on recent comments). Edelman is an excellent receiver… when Welker is inactive. When Welker is in the game Edelman drops passes or gets assaulted in the middle of the field, and often both. But when he doesn't have to worry about being benched he does a pretty convincing (and cheaper) Welker imitation. Very strange. I'm left wondering what he could turn into if Welker and his looming shadow were traded or released. I like Tate to continue to be a decent kick-returner, drop some passes and make the (very) occasional excellent offensive play. Second-year guy Taylor Price is the question mark: if he develops like some analysts think he can he could morph into a reliable David-Givens type of possession receiver with added big-play potential. Exciting to see what he might do.

Tight Ends
Rob Gronkowski*
Aaron Hernandez*
Alge Crumpler

Gronkowski and Hernandez are locks, of course, but I really hope the team retains Crumpler. I see no point in discarding him in favor of a less-expensive veteran. He's a captain, he does amazing high fives with Gronkowski and I want him, Taylor and Branch to start a free-form talk show. They are the smoothest, most upstanding individuals around and I'd love to hear their level-headed realism regarding everyday things like the Verizon iPhone, Egypt and shoveling your sidewalk.

Offensive Line
Matt Light (LT)*
Logan Mankins (LG)*
(Draft pick) (C)*
Dan Connolly (RG)*
Sebastian Vollmer (LT)*
Ryan Wendell
Quinn Ojinnaka

I had some trouble here. Light had a good season but I thought, no matter what, it would be his last one here (he's a free agent). More on that in a second. Dan Koppen seems like a nice guy but he's a little undersized, and I think the team needs to spend one of their higher picks on a big athletic center. For that reason, and because Mankins might be gone (he'll likely be back if you ask me, but still; I know nothing about football), I don't think Belichick will want to have to replace at least two starting veterans with rookies or free agents. So I'd go with a rookie center in this year's draft and a rookie right tackle (Vollmer shifting over to the left side, unless some monster left tackle is available) next year. It pains me to leave off my man Stephen Neal—he is outrageously athletic when he's able to play and he's super-fun to watch on late-developing screen passes, but I think the most recent is one injury too many. He will retire. Too bad. Connolly—clearly athletic as well, with the amazing kickoff return against the Packers (maybe Rodgers wasn't so out of line)—will become the full-time right guard. And, if you haven't noticed, I have no confidence in Nick Kaczur as a tackle or a guard. He was penciled in at left guard last preseason (when it became clear that Mankins wouldn't be back) and then hurt himself before playing a down. This follows his right-tackle job being taken away from him two seasons ago by a German rookie. So suddenly he's a returning starter? At a new position? I don't see it. He'll be dealing drugs in Canada by October. [Edit: I added the Kaczur rant after realizing I neglected to defend my decision to leave him off the roster. (I admit to cleaning up older posts when not writing shiny new ones.) I hadn't heard anything about the team's potential—and still unproven—decision to cut him. After this revelation, however, I would like to move my drug-dealing projection up to March.]

Defensive Line
Ron Brace (DE)*
Vince Wilfork (NT)*
Kyle Love (DE)*
Myron Pryor
Mike Wright
Gerard Warren

Weird year for this crew. Ty Warren goes down before the season starts and who knows what we can expect from him. I'd love to see him return to his dominant pre-injury self at right defensive end. Only thing, he was never a dominant player the way Richard Seymour was or Wilfork can at times be. I think Belichick sees what the young guys (Pryor, Brace, Love and Deaderick) can do around Wilfork, Wright and Gerard Warren (who admirably filled the Warren role but probably doesn't have the trade value and/or high contract of Ty). Wilfork finally displayed some three-down flexibility (as well as some excruciatingly boring interview skills… when he actually sucks it up and gives interview, like following huge wins where he plays well) and I think we'll see more four-man lines like we did this season. Unfortunately, too many injuries stunted a lot of potential 2010 development.

Linebackers
Rob Ninkowivh (OLB)*
Jerod Mayo (ILB)*
Brandon Spikes (ILB)*
Jermaine Cunningham (OLB)*
Gary Guyton
Eric Moore
Dane Fletcher

We need an outside rusher who can consistently pressure the quarterback and make awesome defensive-player-of-the-year type plays in the middle of the field. That man is not on the team right now. I don't know who or where he is. But I wish Belichick would just take a fucking chance for once and draft a guy who might make an immediate impact, even if he is a little shorter than some perfect-on-paper prospect. In other news, Tully Banta-Cain has been a nice player but he is fourth-best behind a converted long snapper, a serviceable second-round pick and a UFL player. Patriots All Access also did a feature this year on his side career as a shitty R&B singer. Sorry, TBC. You're cut. Maybe we'll see you again in three years. Again.

Cornerbacks
Devin McCourty*
Leigh Bodden*
Kyle Arrington
Darius Butler

Count me among the people disappointed—at the time—with last year's McCourty draft pick. Not because I thought he was a lousy player—I don't follow college football in any capacity—but because the first thing the "experts" on the NFL Network said about him was that he was a strong special-teams player. Not what I was looking for in a first-round pick. But it turns out he is indeed an excellent special-teams player and an even better cornerback. I'm excited to see what he can do this year opposite Leigh Bodden, winner of the award for Least Talked-About but Most Defense-Crippling Injury of 2010. Arrington was OK but I liked it better when he was a strong special-teams player who occasionally played some defensive back. Butler is hanging on by a thread—he is just not that good. Even in the few times when he played perfect coverage—as in, not an Ellis-Hobbsian seven yards behind the play—the receiver would end up with the ball. Either he or Wilhite will be inactive on game day and then cut by the end of the year.

Safeties
Patrick Chung*
James Sanders*
Jarrad Page

Now that Brandon Meriweather is a two-time Pro-Bowler I wonder if we'd be able to get a seventh-round pick for him. Good riddance. His contract is up after next season but I don't even want to wait that long. What a horrible, horrible player he is. If you meet someone who claims to be a Pats fan and you are wondering how carefully he follows the team, just ask what he thinks of Meriweather. If he says anything more flattering than "Substandard" then you are speaking with a fake fan or to Meriweather himself. Other than that, I like what I've seen in Chung and (in limited situations) Page and Brown. I think either Page or Brandon McGowan (returning from injury) will be back in that spy-Dallas-Clark type of role, but not both. James Sanders is a good player with a great attitude and his is the role the team will look to fill via the draft, either this year or next. Honestly, they can dump Meriweather and do nothing else with this crew and it will have improved.

Specialists
Stephen Gostkowski (K)
Zoltan Mesko (P)
Matt Katula (LS)
Matthew Slater
Tracy White

Haven't read anything saying Gostkowski will not return at full strength. Then again, I don't read notable fucktards Mike Felger, Tony Massarotti or Dan Shaughnessy. I appreciate Shayne Graham and the fill-in job he did for us but I hope we don't need him, and that he succeeds on another team. Mesko was fine and another year of training camp should hopefully tighten up his mechanics. Katula did what he was supposed to do (the botched fake punt against the Jets was not his fault) in being totally forgettable so I don't see a point in drafting a replacement. (He also reminds me of Metallica's "The Call of Ktulu," which is the fine closing instrumental from the award-winning Ride the Lightning.) There are a lot of Slater-haters… and I'm one of them when he's on the field for anything other than kicks and punts. But he makes special-teams tackles and looks like an incognito superhero with his glasses on, and there's value there. He'll count as a never-used receiver on game day. Same as "linebacker" White, who will probably be back as a big-four special-teamer.

Inactives
Taylor Price (for now)
Sergio Brown (for now)
Brandon Deaderick
Rich Ohrnberger
Jonathan Wilhite
Running back (draft pick)
Cornerback/Safety (draft pick)
Outside linebacker (draft pick)

So there you have it: the uninformed ramblings of someone who has never played a down of meaningful football. Matter of fact I fractured the tip of my ring finger the last time I played a pick-up game—twelve or thirteen years ago—slamming it against the frozen Brighton tundra after whiffing on a tackle. But guess what: I played through that shit.

Beer and football — playoffs, week two

2011-01-27T16:36:00.012-05:00

The game: Jets at Patriots (divisional round)
The beer: Cody "Unz Ya" Altbier
The result: Fuuuuuuck
The commentary: I know nothing about football.

Spending a week away from the game is a good way to deal with the end of your team's season. I don't know what I would have done without the Golden Globes—A. was all excited to watch, and when the game was over and she asked if I was going to watch the post-game stuff I harumphed and changed the channel. The red carpet and Ricky Gervais were just what I needed, as self-aggrandizing celebrity culture does well to balance out football-related despondency.

It's a good thing I'm not superstitious or else I might got into it's-all-my-fault mode. A couple of weeks ago I picked up the Cody altbier (my least-favorite beer of the season—insofar as I actually didn't like it at all—paired well with the Pats' worst game of the season) and, for the "inevitable" championship game, Berkshire's "Shabadoo" Black & Tan Ale. I knew I'd want something reliable for what figured to be a tough matchup against the Steelers–Ravens winner. Drag.

So on Sunday, following a week-long media blackout (no Mike Reiss, no PFW in Progress, no Patriots Daily), I muted the games, drank my Shabadoo and finally finished the Krakauer book (highly recommended) before starting Jonathan Safran Foer's so-far-irritating Extremely Loud and Incredibly Close. Some Christmases ago I gave it to A. because I liked the cover. She never got through it and it's been sitting on our shelf ever since, dying to be sold or donated. I'm turned off by contemporary authors who can't just produce a good story but I thought I'd give it a shot, though I can already tell I should have chosen to reread The Bachman Books instead of engaging another "next great American novelist" who wears trendy glasses and does forest-crippling things with typography. Say what you will about Dan Brown (I can't remember if Digital Fortress or Deception Point was my guilty pleasure a few years ago because they're basically the same book) but I think well designed ambigrams are more interesting than scanned scraps of notepaper and purposely illegible text. And I guess some readers can't be trusted to imagine what two-and-a-half pages of integers might look like. Anyway, I look forward to not seeing the movie.

The healing process began Saturday evening when I watched the ESPN documentary Four Days in October, chronicling the 2004 Red Sox comeback over the Yankees. I loved the behind-the-scenes clips and puzzled over the value of intermittently cutting to Bill Simmons (someone I used to enjoy reading until he morphed into this generation's Rick Reilly a few years ago) and Lenny Clarke (ditto Don Rickles) sitting in a bar, not drinking their beers and trying to provide context as if the series played out in a world without cable television. (The Sports Guy lost me in 2007 when, long after the fact, he said Jarvis Green—someone with significant playing time over a number of years—and not Marquise Hill—who didn't play a meaningful down his entire (short) career—was the Patriots' defensive lineman who died in a jet ski accident. Does he even follow this team when his bookie's not around?) Anyway, I walked away encouraged… by the Yankees. They lost, they continued with moderate success for a bit and then they won again in 2009. It's the same blueprint if the Pats can win next year or the year after and, despite how upset I am that it didn't work out this year, I have no reason to believe they won't be right back in this thing in September. The quarterback just had the second-best season of his career (maybe the best, if you consider the talent differential from 2007), some defensive building blocks are in place with Vince Wilfork, Devin McCourty and Jerod Mayo (who still needs to emerge as a consistent playmaker) and the young guys learned the hard way that it's not all kittens and pancakes—hopefully they'll want to know what it feels like to win a playoff game.

Watching the Jets lose was rewarding, particularly because their idiotic roughing-the-punter penalty contributed to the outcome. While everyone was raving about what a remarkable quarterback Sanchez had become they forgot that his crunch-time three-and-out two weeks earlier was saved by a similarly idiotic roughing-the-punter by the Colts. Sanchez is pretty good and maybe even plain good—he played well against the Pats, aside from some early accuracy problems—and stability at that position will keep the Pats–Jets rivalry going for years.

I rooted for the Packers in the NFC game because they've had some bad luck this year and because Cutler and the Bears are exceptionally overrated. I hope they destroy the Steelers—no more picking the lesser of two AFC evils. Each yellow-thighed team is capable of playing poorly but this should be an exciting, high-scoring affair featuring two aggressive defenses, one athletic quarterback and one athletic sex-offending quarterback. Just remember that I know nothing about football.

Up next: One more Patriots post and then I'll start working on a year-in-music list. Beer and football will return next season. Cheers!

I hope Jess still has a job

2011-01-20T17:10:00.007-05:00

Courtesy of our CBS affiliate's local-news feed. I don't know if "Jess Will Type Headlines Here" is actually the subject of the story because it links to a dead page. But I'm guessing Jess is shirking her duties and goofing off on Facebook.

Also, Lynn is the next town over from me. Encouraging.

This is indeed a stall tactic to keep from having to write about beer and catastrophe.

Beer and football — playoffs, week one (bye)

2011-01-09T17:27:00.009-05:00

The beer: Tetley's English Ale
The commentary: A relaxing, stress-free Sunday is nice for a change. I'm thankful the loudmouth Jets won last night because I'm watching the Ravens push the Chiefs around and I really want no part of them next week. (The week after that, assuming the Pats whoop the Jets, I wouldn't mind a piece of them if they take care of business in Pittsburgh.) Funny story about last night's game, we have a pleasant "sun room" space right off the living room that's large enough for a desk and a recliner. It's got windows on three sides and faces the street and, yes, welcomes the sun every morning. Along the front window we've strung up these blue icicle Christmas lights that turn on and off every evening via a timer. (Never mind that we put them up last Christmas and they've been there ever since. Hey, we like blue things.)

Last night the lights switched off literally two seconds before Folk hit the field goal to end the blue Colts' season. I thought that was pretty cool. If I were a superstitious man I'd hang up some green lights and tell the timer to turn them off around 7:30 next Sunday. But I'm not and, besides, I don't fear these Jersey frauds. I don't know if Green-Ellis will get more than sixty yards on the ground (unless it's a blowout and the Pats are trying to kill the clock, though I see them running it up instead) but he and especially Woodhead will do damage through the air, along with just about every other wide receiver and tight end on the team as Brady chucks it around for three hundred or so yards. I'm not expecting a laugher like last time but the Jets will probably be playing catch-up all afternoon, and therefore won't but able to run the ball as much as they'd like. That punk Tomlinson will be pouting by the middle of the third quarter.

Enough football. The Ravens just won anyway. I've got a sip or two of Tetley's remaining (I turn into a child every time I pour a pub can, oohing and aahing as the foam cascades). I included it as part of a make-your-own sixpack yesterday after indulging in a wonderful stout- and porter-tasting event at that new market up the street. The beer distributor hosting it was really nice and enthusiastically allowed me as many half-Dixie cups as I wanted. She was serving Ipswich Oatmeal Stout (which I pick up in Vinnin Square from time to time), Mad River Steelhead Extra Stout (very smooth) and Scotch Porter (so wonderful I walked out with a sixpack and will open one in a minute), Otter Creek Stovepipe Porter (another local winner that supposedly was the most popular) and Southern Tier Choklat Stout (very good but a little too chocolaty to have much in one sitting). Alongside the porter (this is delicious!), I filled out the make-your-own with a can of Dale's Pale Ale and twelve-ounce bottles of Troëgs Java Head Stout (my week-eleven selection), Left Hand Milk Stout, a somewhat risky Ithaca "Flower Power" IPA and an exceptionally risky Wells Banana Bread Beer. Feel the apprehension!

I also picked up a couple of bombers for the next two weeks. One of them I know and love and the other is an Amesbury brewer I'm unfamiliar with. I realize I'm taking next week's game for granted in assuming a victory but what are you going to do. (I haven't decided if I'll keep this going if the Pats should lose before reaching the Super Bowl.) Anyway, the new shop apparently did a nice job marketing the event on Facebook because there was a great turnout, even with the snow. (I'm not on Facebook but I was speaking with a guy there and he said that's how he'd heard. I learned of it on my way to the train last week, reading the chalkboard they have hanging outside—no need to worry about security settings with that.) The owner even had some cheese and chocolate available, which was a nice touch. Still, she wasn't particularly friendly even after I spent more than $50 on beer and other treats. It's a neat little place in spite of this, especially to have close by (to have in our town, honestly; there aren't many places here for a middle-class, thirty-something couple to feel welcome) and the number of patrons leaves me encouraged that it might stick around awhile. They're closed on Sundays, but so long as I avoid any blue-law flashbacks I'll have a number of great craft-beer options during my team's potential march to Dallas. Please wish me and my convenience the best of luck.

Up next: It's Jets week. Patriots home crowds tend to suck because real fans (like this guy) are priced out of attending. Still, I have confidence that my sardonic New England brothers and sisters at the Big Razor won't let me down: anyone who can turn foot fetishism, sexual harassment and driving under the influence into an NFL on CBS sign gets a Scotch Porter on me. Cheers!

In defense of Impulse #AS-95, Edition I

2011-01-07T10:10:00.010-05:00

"Be careful, this might make you believe in God." – Me, after giving a CDR (!) of John Coltrane's A Love Supreme and Ascension to a friend for his birthday

Coltrane released Ascension in 1966. I first heard it in the late nineties and finally bought it in 2003 or 2004. It continues to challenge me, as do most things you learn to love for the rest of your life. I discovered the man and his music by accident, having backed into a Pablo CD misleadingly dubbed The Best of John Coltrane. Where I might have ended up with safe studio recordings of ballads and standards I instead was introduced to some groundbreaking (to me, at least) early-sixties European concert performances. It's a wonderful document and I can't imagine jumping into his catalog in better fashion: much earlier and his avant-garde leanings of '65 to '67 could be a little intense; much later and his (relatively) straightforward late-fifties treatment of standards and blues might sound dull.

(I don't really know what I'm talking about when it comes to jazz. I don't know what modes are and I'll leave it to the nerdophiles to argue whether or not Ascension is free jazz. As with wine, I can't sort out the flavors but I like the way they taste and how they make my brain all swimmy.)

So with each ensuing Coltrane purchase I went forward and backward: Giant Steps (1960) to A Love Supreme (1965) to Blue Train (1957; the one owned by people who own only one, similar to Miles Davis and Kind of Blue) to John Coltrane and Johnny Hartman (1963) to Olé Coltrane (1961), etc. As a result I now celebrate his entire catalog, so I couldn't have gone about it better if I'd tried—particularly because it eased me into what is likely his most divisive album. (From Lewis Porter's essay accompanying Ascension's 2000 reissue: "To some, it was Coltrane's breakthrough album, a bracing declaration of independence from the prevailing musical restrictions. To others, it marked the beginning of a talented musician's disturbing slide into chaos." Reminds me of what Dylan was going through around the same time, except I think Dylan was purposely pissing people off. Coltrane was looking for something new.) Over that time I heard one version or another (I'll get to that in a minute; and in case you don't know, the original LP consisted only of a title track, split into two parts) of "Ascension" and eventually understood its transcendent achievement.

It wasn't easy. The preceding A Love Supreme remains my favorite Coltrane album but the nod to its theme at the beginning of "Ascension" wasn't enough to make me a believer. It wasn't so much the squonky nature of the playing—I'd become accustomed to Coltrane and part-time sideman Pharoah Sanders (who plays on Ascension) doing plenty of that for years—but rather the layered, indistinct quality of the non-solo portions.

I won't go into why I like it now when I once did not. I've since been exposed to more "out there" music and I suppose my tastes have opened up or shifted over the years (no more buying stuff based solely on green-light reviews in fucking alterna-rags like some nineteen-year-old asshole, that's for sure; though, in fairness, Spin first pointed me toward the Jesus Lizard's Liar and a year ago I appointed it my favorite album of 1992) so I'm sure that has something to do with it. I also fell harder and harder in love with the drumming of my man Elvin Jones, whose polyrhythmic style (I looked it up) does a lot more for me than succeeding Coltrane drummer Rashied Ali's self-consciously atmospheric playing. I am not a drummer but I'm a sucker for good drumming, and by concentrating on Jones's wild, organic flourishes—still keeping time—I was capable of seeing the big picture.

The eleven-man group recorded two takes of "Ascension" in June 1965. (Another artist would be booed at Newport a month later.) They differ in that the second sounds like it was performed at a slightly quicker pace and therefore is almost two minutes shorter. In addition, Archie Shepp's and John Tchicai's saxophone solos were flip-flopped in the middle (explanation below) and Jones gets a little star time before the concluding ensemble.

When the album was released the following year it contained the second take, with "Part 1" on the A-side and "Part 2" on the B-side. Opinions differ regarding what happened next. The Discogs database (an extremely useful website to have around when considering the tagging/artwork issues mentioned during my fourteen hundred-word introduction to last year's three-hour "best of" playlist), which pulls much of its information from sleeve notes, press releases and magazine articles, explains it one way: "By accident, [producer] Bob Thiele put out the wrong take. After he went through the initial press run, he switched the masters to the other take and inscribed 'Edition II' on the inside of the runout circle." So it was Thiele's error that led to the substitution, right?

Porter's reissue essay tells another story: "Two complete versions of 'Ascension' were recorded, and Coltrane selected one to be released in 1966. Shortly afterward, Coltrane decided he liked the unissued take better, primarily because he didn't like the lack of variety created by the two alto saxophonists [Tchicai and Marion Brown] soloing back to back on the version that was released. Producer Bob Thiele substituted the other take for subsequent pressings, without explanation, even though the solo order didn't match that given in the liner notes. The only hint that this was a different 'Ascension' was the phrase 'Edition II' inscribed in the vinyl near the label." So Coltrane (all along or in retrospect) meant for the first take to be released because he (all along or in retrospect) insisted the Tchicai-then-Shepp-then-Brown order (Shepp's tenor sax separating the two altos) was superior.

In the end, different recordings were made available because someone screwed up or someone else changed his mind. Whatever. Imagine if two unique versions of one of your favorite albums existed? (Take a bow, Raw Power!) And imagine if those Hollywood fat cats finally acted in consumers' best interests and bundled each of them together for the price of one? Impulse/Verve/Universal has kindly done so—they generally do a good job with reissues anyway, adding bonus tracks and such, and kudos to them. Now we listeners can indulge in one or the other or both—personally, I prefer the second-take "Edition I." It's a little tighter and the added treat of a Jones solo evolving out of his interplay with bassists Jimmy Garrison (his battery mate since '62) and Art Davis is beautiful. It's short at twenty-five seconds but it propels him into the finale, where to me it sounds like he plays with a little more vigor than in the earlier take. Others will disagree on which is better so it's nice to have both—particularly with a little ambient studio chatter included between tracks.

If not for clumsiness and/or fickleness we might be unable to choose at all without spending $300 on eBay. Thanks again, human nature. You're the best.

Beer and football — week seventeen

2011-01-04T14:35:00.008-05:00

The game: Dolphins at Patriots
The beer: Long Trail Imperial Porter
The result: Win, 38–7
The commentary: Ho-hum. Another destruction, another twenty-two ounces. At least some nice Brian Hoyer and eight-percent-alcohol action kept things interesting.

I don't have much to say this week. It was nice to see Julian Edelman cash in on some of that great punt-return potential. And a new coffee shop/market opened up by the hometown train station. I had the day off yesterday so took a stroll down to check it out. It's true that I practically walk by it every day on the way to and from the train, but it's on the other side of the street and I've almost been run down a few times already just trying to chuck a Netflix into the mailbox. I figured having the day off with nothing planned would mean I could carefully take my time and look both ways and such. The shop is pretty neat but they don't serve anything iced "until Spring… Summer" so I left with a hot Colombian something-or-other, a rarity for me (even iced coffee is only once a week or so, due to a swelling iced chai addiction that has come around to the more genuine-tasting options at the Equal Exchange and Sip cafés in Boston). The owner wasn't particularly friendly—odd way to go about staying in business—but I browsed a minute and was really pleased to discover an excellent, if small, craft beer selection. Plenty of new bombers for me to try, and how about that but it's the playoffs this weekend.

I didn't get up to much else. I watched Cloverfield and yelled at the TV a lot, hoping that if I'm ever in a similar situation a top priority will be to find something for my companion to wear beside a cocktail dress and high heels. I suppose a suspension of disbelief is necessary… even the guys in Predator were slaughtered after remaining calm and relying on their survival and combat training. Except for Billy—challenging the predator with a machete and a Sagat-esque chest gash didn't make a lick of sense during the five or six remaining seconds of his life. (Wikipedia says actor Sonny Landham was "unstable" during filming so maybe it was the character's inevitable direction.) Still, he is the one who sniffed the thing out in the first place. Score one for insanity.

I also watched the ESPN documentary Muhammad and Larry. It's a well done and impossibly sad study of the decline of a champion who might just be our greatest living American. Number Two: Richard Kline!

Up next: The Pats get a week off to rest and study film on potential round-two opponents. The Steelers have earned the other AFC bye but their top concern will be to keep Roethlisberger from raping anyone. Cheers!

Q: Are we not degenerates? A: We are RadioShack.

2010-12-31T12:41:00.030-05:00

We had a little Yankee swap at work last week. Weren't allowed to drink because we're now part of this uptight group whose idea of casual dress is a mock turtleneck tucked into high-waisted, pleated chinos, but it was still fun and we got to go home early (or go to a bar, as four of us chose instead). There was a $20 limit so I contributed a DVD of the first season of Extras, which is a pretty solid gift if you ask me. So much so that I nearly opened it myself. Most people brought cool stuff like gift cards and alcohol but you know there were some duds, including what I ended up with: the Desk Pets TREKBOT Remote Control Robot. It's this tiny Phantom Menace-like two-wheeled dealy controlled—no shit—by "a unique patent pending five-button USB remote controller and charger." Patent pending? Holy living fuck, you'd better hurry with that.

At first I opened a pretty excellent gift consisting of a bottle of Cabernet Sauvignon and a bomber of Stone Smoked Porter, which I mistakenly thought I had drunk and written about earlier in the NFL season as part of my increasingly non-beer and non-football related "beer and football" series. Nevertheless, I could not have been happier. Until someone took it from me. So I opened a super-light gift bag that I hoped would be a gift card and it was, one of those American Express thingies. I was still annoyed until I reached the Homer Simpson conclusion that money can be exchanged for goods and services, so I could get my own beer and wine. Solid.

But then my boss—bearer of the coveted number one and therefore the last person to pick—didn't take kindly to my mocking the stupid TREKBOT she had opened earlier and decided to swap it for the AmEx card. Ride over.

I was New York pissed and I pouted for awhile until noticing the goddamn thing still had a RadioShack $19.99 sticker on it. (Turns out the person who brought it is this weird systems contractor who recently congratulated a coworker on her wedding before adding "Yeah, I was happily married for twenty years before it fell apart." Thanks?) So I figured I'd try to "return" it and get a store credit and pick out the un-shittiest thing they carry—a real challenge, as you know if you've ever stepped inside the store. I am forever covered with every kind of audio/video cable or component imaginable until the next technology wave introduces something new, and even then it will probably be wireless. Then RadioShack will be in some deep shit. This prescient Onion article from 2007 is spot-on from top to bottom—what a ceaselessly baffling operation.

That evening I resigned myself to a quick visit—I figured if I couldn't swing this deal then I'd bring it to my wife's family's Christmas Eve party and maybe toss it into the Yankee swap frenzy there. Luckily it didn't have to come to that: it was a smooth transaction, and the guy didn't even ask for my zip code or try to sell me batteries. (I grew up in a small town in central Massachusetts and it was a big deal when we got a RadioShack. It was the only place closer than Leominster or Nashua where a twelve-year-old boy could buy Bill Cosby cassettes, and even at that young age I thought it was odd of them to require my zip. Did they think shoppers were traveling from Los Angeles or something?) I'm thankful to the guy for making it easy for me but it was clear he and the other (male, of course; has a woman ever worked here?) employee were born to be RadioShack salesmen and/or pedophiles. Such an unpleasant people, with greasy hair and cheap Casio watches. I couldn't be bothered to put my $16 (thing had gone on sale I guess—shocker!) in store credit to immediate use. I had to leave.

Returning the day after Christmas (during the pre-storm errands I wrote about Wednesday) was a terrific move. The same two masochist bastards were working again, too, and when I saw the rack of iTunes gift cards my decision was made. (I'm not the biggest fan of iTunes because it behaves horribly even on Leopard, but $25 in downloads is $25 in downloads.) Add it to the additional $75 in iTunes cards I received from family and I'm a pretty happy guy who looks forward to spending it all next week, avoiding $1.29 songs like the plague. This delayed reward had a hiccup yesterday when I couldn't wait any longer to purchase "The Garden of Earthly Delights" by the United States of America. Would you care to guess what year it came out? You are correct!

So a happy, healthy new year goes out to our sweaty friends at the Shack. We are all better people in comparison, so long as they stick around.

Beer and football — week sixteen

2010-12-29T13:45:00.024-05:00

The game: Patriots at Bills
The beer: Shipyard "Blue Fin" Stout
The result: Win, 34–3
The commentary: Once again I rocked a Starbucks iced chai as a warm-up, obtained during a pre-storm errand scramble. And then the Blue Fin Stout. Mmm… as tasty and comfortable as December football against a Thurman Thomas-less Bills team. This and my homemade Chex Mix (homemade because I add unsalted peanuts to a bag of original-flavor Chex Mix, which for some reason does not already contain peanuts) eventually treated me just fine as it grew more and more beautiful outside. Nothing much stands out from the game except for future All-Pro Tight End/Goofball Rob Gronkowski having his way with all defenders and Ryan Fitzpatrick proving once and for all that he is not the bearded droid Buffalo fans are looking for. And honestly, watching an opposing team march up the field on its opening drive and then be forced to settle for three points is almost reassuring at this point—why teams continue to not go for it on fourth and goal when Brady's about to get the ball is beyond me.

Though the victory (and the earned bye week and home-field advantage) made it pleasant enough to deal with being trapped at home, I was still trapped at home. This was some real snow: between Sunday and Monday I shoveled for about three hours—curse my corner lot!—and that doesn't include the driveway, which we have plowed. But it wasn't so bad because the original Sonik Truth helped me catch up on PFW in Progress podcasts (that's Patriots Football Weekly.) I was a study in primary colors—red hoodie and blue hat with proud yellow stripe—and if the wind- and snow-driven whiteout thought I would surrender like some Bears cornerback then it was mistaken. (Meanwhile, two cocksuckers up the street still haven't cleared their front walks.)

The storm (technically not a blizzard, according to the smug forecasters on the news who couldn't help but celebrate rare accuracy) officially canceled work on Monday, thus saving me a vacation day (A. and I had already taken Monday and Tuesday off). I spent that day alternately shoveling, watching Caddyshack: The Inside Story and stealing my wife's Snuggie. It was as stress-riddled as the AFC East contest the previous afternoon—even having to occasionally clean up after uncooperative drifting snow couldn't get me down.

Earlier in the weekend, Christmas and Christmas Eve were all kittens and pancakes if you ignore the two hundred fifty miles worth of driving, and that wasn't so bad either with Sonik Truth II providing the greatest Christmas playlist of all time. Belatedly, here are a handful of seasonal recommendations for readers (!) to track down in the next eleven months:

1. Nat King Cole – The Christmas Song
The original trio-only 1946 recording with no overdubbed strings. Taken from The Complete Capitol Recordings of the Nat King Cole Trio.

2. The Jon Spencer Blues Explosion – Big Yule Log Boogie
The early part (0:22 to 0:47) served as the outgoing message on my answering machine each December from 1996 to 1999. Twenty-five seconds is a long time. Currently found on the two-disc reissue of Extra Width.

3. Virus – Xmas Submarine (Es Kommt ein Schiff Geladen)
From a wonderful 1971 compilation called Heavy Christmas. I just discovered it this month.

4. Johnny Cash – The Ballad of the Harp Weaver
"Just. My. Size." Deeply, sincerely moving. From The Christmas Spirit.

5. Drifters – The Bells of St. Mary's
My favorite Christmas song. No collection is complete without the Drifters doing this and "White Christmas." Both are available as a "digital 45" on iTunes and Amazon. Hmm, that sounds familiar.

In closing I'd like to pay respects to Captain Beefheart. The man's music isn't everyone's cup of tea but our world is a better place if only for this exchange from Trout Mask Replica: "The name of the composition is 'Neon Meate Dream of a(n) Octafish.' [Chuckles, strikes match.] No, it's 'Hair Pie.'" Once I track down and read the contextual 33⅓ volume I'll be ready to write about an album that once scared the hell out of me.

Up next: Tom Brady plays three quarters of a meaningless football game against the lousy Miami Dolphins because that's what he gets paid to do. I'm supposed to take Steve DeOssie's vagina-pink face seriously when he says Brady should take three weeks off? Happy new year!

Beer and football — week fifteen

2010-12-20T12:42:00.013-05:00

The game: Packers at Patriots
The beer: Shipyard "Prelude" Special Ale
The result: Win, 31–27; Fabio, 5–4
The commentary: I went to bed at 1:30 for the dorkiest reason possible: the Survivor finale. It was sort of a complicated television night, the plan was to watch Survivor live (pretty much) while recording the game. (I couldn't record both because we had free premium channels for three months—synching up nicely with twelve weeks of Dexter, and not by accident—and the DVR was too close to full thanks to a handful of movies (The Hurt Locker, The Kite Runner, The Sext Bronzer). So along with the stress that comes with Survivor (surprisingly high) I had to prepare myself for the DVR full—please delete programs to continue recording message. I'm glad it never happened because I still don't know what I would have done.

I ended up drinking the Prelude during the show. I don't know if I've just had too much beer lately (gallons and gallons in the past two weeks) but I didn't think too much of it. I wish I knew more about beer to be able to express certain flavors that don't do it for me, all I know is it was similar to the Thanksgiving beer that was also just alright… maybe it's a bitter ale thing. I'm excited for next week's stout though, also from Shipyard—I picked it up during our trip north after having dinner at Federal Jack's, a sort of brewpub that serves some delicious haddock tacos but is otherwise exceptionally unromantic. (Later that night, however, we were the only people in the theater to see the 9:30 showing of the new Harry Potter movie. We didn't make out like teenagers learning about their bodies but it was fun to be able to talk out loud to each other as if we were watching at home.) I had a couple of Blue Fin Stouts with dinner and bought one of those and the Prelude to help finish out the regular season. (A stop at the market in Ogunquit center produced last week's Rogue and one more that I'm very excited about saving for the closing Dolphins game.)

So Survivor first: I couldn't be happier with the result. Fabio might be a knucklehead (particularly for letting the "Fabio" nickname stick and not punching whomever gave it to him) but he seems like a good guy and he closed out as well as anyone in the history of the show. I'm also certain he was stoned out of his mind during the reunion special. Chase is a buffoon… how he calls recurring paranoia a "strategy" is beyond me. And I knew Sash wouldn't get a single vote but it was nice of him to dress like an English banker for the night. Watching him overcome the urge to emotionally wound everyone on the jury was almost as fun as Dan's do-I-have-to-wear-these-cowboy-boots-now-or-can-I-give-them-to-my-manservant-for-Christmas expression.

And what a great job by my man Jeff Probst, as always. (Remember when notable fucktard Bryant Gumbel used to host these reunions?) Switching to "On second thought, fuck you and forget I asked" mode after Shannon didn't take him up on his offer to redeem himself for the "Are you gay?" exchange was amazing. Survivor would be a good show without Jeff but I'm not sure it would have the top-priority spot in our series settings the way it does now. I can even overlook his minutiae-driven narration during challenges—he is perfect for this show. (I'm disappointed that "drop your buffs" hasn't entered common lexicon. Same thing with "dance for your life" from So You Think You Can Dance. "The client just called to tell us they're slashing their advertising budget. So drop your buffs, everyone—we have to redo the entire campaign. And you there… Johnson? You'd better dance for your life if you want to keep the account.")

Hey, there was a football game too! Let me tell you about football: the average game lasts one hour on the game clock, airs for three hours when factoring in timeouts and other breaks and contains about twenty minutes of actual football. I know because the skip-ahead on our remote is set to thirty seconds, so I was skipping immediately from play to play (except when the Pats went no-huddle in the fourth). This is no way to watch a game unless you just want to go to bed—before I knew it there were only five minutes left in the game and the Pats were barely hanging onto a four-point lead. Instant quickening of the pulse, to the point where I started taking deep breaths and forcing myself to settle down. If this team loses the Super Bowl because Mike Carey's crew is too chickenshit to call an in-the-grasp sack then I will surely die.

What is it with sparkling-new quarterbacks and massive white running backs against this defense? They turn into Joe Montana and Jim Brown—bring on another shot at Joe Flacco and Ray Rice. (I hope I don't regret that come January.) The defense reverted to a week-seven sieve-like state and still won, just like they've been doing all along. The Packers should have been up by so much more at the half but they weren't, just like opposing teams have been doing all along. I'm a little worried but not too much, since you can correct things like foolish penalties and (via benching) Brandon Meriweather's extended exercises in mental retardation. It does help when underrated guard Dan Connolly makes the best special-teams play since week four (thanks Dan, if not for you I might have gotten no sleep at all). At this point it's comforting to know they'll probably be able to tighten things up and rest key players while enjoying an extra week of preparation for their round-two opponent. And also to know that it often snows in January.

Up next: The pesky Buffalo Bills host the Pats in a welcome early-afternoon contest. A win here means the good guys clinch home-field advantage throughout the playoffs. A Jets loss to the lowly Bears means the same thing but I want my boys to earn that fucker. Cheers!

Justified carpooling with satanic results

2010-12-14T12:19:00.005-05:00

I have yet another work party tonight. I will not get drunk this time, and am even considering the wine route because I'm probably still pissing out beer from several recent mammoth sessions. This party is company-wide and is being held up the street at the Children's Museum, relatively close to my wife's office. So we decided to drive in this morning and park in that area in order to make it easier for me to get home afterward—the party gets out around 8:30 and driving should get me home quite a bit earlier than the 9:30 train would. Plus I'll be forced to be careful with the booze and instead overindulge in free food.

I felt a little bad about driving (and paying for parking, which is quite difficult for me to do) but the pain was eased in Revere when we switched the radio to WMBR just as they'd started a three-song Black Sabbath block. We were treated to "Into the Void," "Planet Caravan" and "The Wizard" by the time we reached the tunnel—far out! (I'm the same guy who nearly lost his shit at another work function—my but do we drink—because someone played "War Pigs," "Paranoid," "Iron Man" and "Fairies Wear Boots" on the jukebox. And A. is the same girl who dressed up as "Fairies Wear Boots" two Halloweens ago. We are the cutest thing.) I will be in an excellent mood tonight, sipping white wine and stuffing my mouth with mashed potatoes and shrimp. And then maybe I'll get mugged on the way to the car, and as I lie on the cold ground I'll think of the part toward the end of "Into the Void" where the soloing guitar track rejoins the main riff. I will realize that life has meaning. Everything is alright. Then I will drive through the gate because I won't be able to pay the fare.

Beer and football — week fourteen

2010-12-14T11:36:00.011-05:00

The game: Patriots at Bears
The beer: Rogue "Dead Guy" Ale
The result: Win, 36–3
The commentary: A. and I went up to Maine over the weekend and I came home with a bunch of beer. One of them was the Dead Guy Ale, something I can find anywhere but that I couldn't resist because the Bears were about to get creamed. (Too bad Sam Adams Cream Stout doesn't come in bomber form—that would have been a better metaphor.) Now Urlacher—who did absolutely nothing in this game—is willing to admit that the Pats are the best team in the AFC. How mighty fucking gracious of his humiliating-first-round-elimination-at-best ass.

I was pretty all set by the time Hoyer was on the field. I drank the Dead Guy really, really quickly—I'm not sure if I loved it or if was just "drinkable," the same way I'll fly through a terrible book (like David Baldacci's The Winner, perhaps the worst thing I've ever read) and take my time with a book I'm enjoying (currently, Jon Krakauer's excellent Under the Banner of Heaven is taking me far too long). After that I moved onto my bonus Mayflower Thanksgiving Ale, the one I forgot to give my brother-in-law a couple of weeks ago (it tasted as OK as it did when I re-watched the Lions game). Then I topped that off with a bottle of Winter Warmer. I guess I'm a productive drunk though because I ended up doing a shitload of laundry that night—I even remember how Dexter ended.

The game was another fun one to watch—it's good to be a Pats fan these days—though I'll admit to wondering if a field goal might have been enough to win after each team went three-and-out on its first possession. I loved the 2007 imperiousness of Brady heaving it up to end the first half with six points, mixed with the pragmatic 2004 result of Deion Branch being on the receiving end of said touchdown. Randy Moss (poor bastard) was the man when he was here but this offense is now both exciting and efficient—for crying out loud, Brady's last interception was a hail-mary pass eight weeks ago! What a time to be alive.

Winnable remaining games against three wavering opponents mean anything other than home-field advantage throughout the playoffs will be a disappointment. On that topic, the local post-game show on WBZ—hosted by historical Patriots ass-kissers Steve Burton, Dan Roche, Steve DeOssie and Scott "Exactly What the Hell Is Going on with My Eye Anyway" Zolak—presented the online poll question "Will anything less than a Super Bowl win be a failure for the Pats?" Almost sixty percent answered "No." What in the worldwide fuck?

Belichick had his first good draft in six years, and because rookies are finally succeeding we're supposed to ignore the standard of excellence he and Brady have put in place and just accept anything worse than first? I root for a team that is nothing at all like, say, the Jaguars, whose fans will be pleased as punch just to make the playoffs even as they get shot like a cannon out of the first round. The Patriots have established a winning tradition and I want a Super Bowl championship every goddamn year and get bummed out for days whenever all goes wrong. But a bunch of regional morons probably think it was a neat idea to hang a 16–0 banner in Gillette Stadium (recognizing a regular-season achievement—isn't that was we used to give Peyton shit about?) after an unsuccessful finish. So yeah, you're goddamn right I was part of the shrewd forty percent who answered Yes to that WBZ poll.

Lastly, I follow a lot of football blogs and I don't understand what this Football Outsiders headline means: "Is Will Muschamp Another Ron Zook or Another Bo Pelini?" To paraphrase Lisa Simpson, I know some of those words but that sentence makes no sense.

Up next: A Green Bay team that once scared the hell out of me comes limping into Foxborough. Injuries suck, as proven by the fact that a healthy, horrible Bears team might win the division over the decimated, super-talented Packers—too bad. Cheers!

Bruins fans are the worst

2010-12-09T22:54:00.016-05:00

I'm riding the train home after a night of drinking (hooray for Whale's Tale!) at a work holiday party, and the rowdiest bunch of hockey fans in the history of poor taste is sitting five rows in front of me. I'm considering reminding them that their sorry excuse for a hockey team hasn't won the Stanley Cup since 1972 and hasn't accomplished anything of significance since I think 1990 (I'm a long-time—if lapsed—follower of the Canadiens, thanks to Patrick Roy). Said superfans are chanting some bullshit that I can't make out over the greatest Christmas playlist of all time on my iPod and I am thoroughly perplexed by the confidence they have in their team—most likely the unreasonable last-minute shot of Dewar's before leaving isn't helping. Now James Brown is telling me that Christmas is love and I'm inclined to be swept away by that for the remainder of the ride. I haven't even reached Lynn yet. I wonder if anyone drank as much as I did.

Beer and football — week thirteen

2010-12-07T16:03:00.017-05:00

The game: Jets at Patriots
The beer: Heavy Seas Mutiny Fleet "Smoke on the Water" Smoked Porter
The result: Win, 45–3
The commentary: There may have been a "godless chill of New England" in the air (New York Post columnists are so colorful!) but the hometown team was torching everything in sight. A new king reigns over the AFC East and it's the same as the old one, despite what some loudmouth Jets might have had you believe. I actually enjoy Rex Ryan—he's really funny and honest in a way that frightens beat writers. Boston sports-talk shitheads get all bent out of shape over supposed "disrespect" and now they'll blather for a week about how we shut them up good. Get over your cross-eyed, Bledsoe-backup ass. Ryan is good for football because he should want to fucking win games, and he says so—would you rather he got all starry-eyed trying to scheme against Tully Banta-Cain? (All the same, I'm glad Bill Belichick is our coach.)

Regarding the game, there's really not much to say that wasn't clear from watching—it's unbelievable how the Pats had their way with everything. I liked going into halftime with a twenty-one point lead but I'd seen teams come back too often against this defense so I wasn't at all comfortable. But when Sanchez threw a perfect pass to Brando Spikes I knew it was all over but the shouting—I just didn't yet know that it was truly, terrifically over.

I'll admit I didn't finish the entire Heavy Seas bomber. I was pretty all set following a marathon session of Murphy's Stout and Rapscallion Lager at O'Neill's Pub in Salem the day before, so much so that I fell asleep halfway through Dexter that night. And I was in pretty bad shape for most of yesterday until I had the bright idea to eat a sleeve of saltines in the middle of the afternoon, followed by leftover Thai food, a frozen burrito (baked instead of microwaved; it might take an hour but I'm no savage) and a huge glass of milk for dinner. Only in the second half was I able to to finally pop it open (don't worry, I corked it and will finish tonight). It's a really nice beer and luckily not too "smoked" (like other smoked ones I've had) because it might have made me barf the way the Jets did. Why do we drink? Because the Jets still suck, that's why.

Up next: It's a rematch of Super Bowl XX in Chicago. I've had no fear of the Bears ever since Brady juked an overrated Brian Urlacher out of his cleats a few years ago—throw in Jay Cutler and I expect a blowout that directly leads to the Bears missing the playoffs. Cheers!

Beer and football — week twelve

2010-11-29T10:32:00.006-05:00

The game: Patriots at Lions
The beer: Mayflower Thanksgiving Ale
The result: Win, 45–24
The commentary: The Mayflower was the plan for Thanksgiving but it turned out to be a weird day. I ended up watching on three different televisions in three different homes, broken up by two radio sessions in the car. We were finally able to settle in where we'd eventually be eating dinner but much of my wife's extended family was there and I didn't know how they'd react to me pulling out a twenty-two ounce bottle to share with no one. So I had three Ipswich Ales and a Sam Adams, which is not better but rather more distributed. I'm still counting the Thanksgiving Ale for this game though because it's what I bought it for, and it's what I drank Friday around five past noon while I re-watched parts of the game. I thought the ale was pretty good but I wish I'd liked it more because I bought an extra bottle that I forgot to give to my brother-in-law. It's in my fridge.

Regarding the game, it was another one where my team was fortunate to be down only one touchdown at the half, and I felt pretty good about them being able to overcome that. McCourty would be a lock for Rookie of the Year if it weren't for Suh, but timing is everything and them's the breaks. (As much as I like McCourty, anyone who says he deserves to win over Suh is a total, total homer who probably couldn't name the Pats' backup quarterback.) Branch and Welker put on a clinic and the defense, though terrible throughout most of almost every game this season, knows the only way it's going to stop anybody is to force turnovers. And they've been succeeding. I'm not sure how far that will take you (I hear a lot of talk about last year's Saints even though this Pats team is not as offensively dominant) but no one in the league is as exciting—they could get blown out in the first round of the playoffs or they could run up the score in the Super Bowl. What a team to watch.

Up next: Monday Night Football with the Pats and the Jets in Foxborough. Should be the game of the regular season, and likely the difference between the first and fifth playoff seeds. I'm excited that old friend Josh McDaniels revived the Spygate talk because the Pats will take it out on the Jets. Cheers!

Beer and football — week eleven

2010-11-23T10:23:00.016-05:00

The game: Colts at Patriots
The beer: Tröegs "Java Head" Stout
The result: Win, 31–28
The commentary: Damn. Damn damn damn. Goddamn if that wasn't a tough win. It's stupid to get so worked up over a football game but I can't remember the last time my heart was pounding so badly (yes I do, it was week seven in San Diego) while I was immobilized with fear. Manning was having his way with the Pats' defense for most of the fourth quarter and on that last drive in particular—a field goal (at least) was inevitable. I was already afraid of what the loss would do to team, particularly with regards to Brady's confidence in his receivers and the young defense's confidence in itself. I was so deep into this that, out of nowhere (due to some clumsy CBS camerawork), my man Jimmy Sanders makes a remarkable interception—it took me a second to jump up and yell "YYYYYYYYRRRRRRR!!!!!" because I thought it was a replay from some past game. (I scared the bejesus out of poor Chloe and she couldn't flee the room fast enough.)

And just like that, this team could win fourteen games. I don't think they will but every remaining game is winnable. Thanksgiving in Detroit reeks of a closer-than-I-would-like win. Game two against the Jets should be a win (I don't see Brady and Belichick getting swept by them). The Bears are total frauds who will be exposed by the Eagles this weekend and death-killed by McCourty and Chung (plus maybe some more Sanders and a little reckless Meriweather) making crazy athletic interceptions and tackles all over the field. The Packers game will be another shootout (lots of those this season) and could go either way, but I'm glad it's in Foxborough. And the Bills and Dolphins should play tough unless they're more concerned with returning crappy Christmas gifts. We will see. Anyway, I'll be incredibly disappointed if the Pats win fewer than twelve. The ridiculous thing is that the Jets are keeping pace with the tiebreaker currently in their favor, so twelve might not even win the damn division. (Though I was encouraged by something I read this morning: the Jets won't have any lousy teams to get lucky against in the playoffs because all the lousy teams will be home watching on TV. Except for maybe the Bears, whose lousiness might not end their season until the first round of the playoffs.)

On the beer front, the stout was delicious. (I drank it pretty fast and it's the only one I had because, as the fourth quarter got rolling, I was much too petrified to fetch a new one from the fridge.) Very close to Sam Adams Cream Stout, which has been one of my favorites for a long, long time. Even A. had a sip and liked it, as she has recently taken a strange and wonderful turn toward stouts and porters. What a woman! Anyway, it was a good choice for another outrageous Pats–Colts classic.

Up next: The Pats travel to Detroit for a slightly annoying Thanksgiving game. Annoying because I don't know if I'll get to watch the whole thing—we're traveling to Connecticut, and transit time plus dinner time might not allow for three solid hours of television time. Cheers!

Beer and football — week ten

2010-11-16T17:13:00.011-05:00

The game: Patriots at Steelers
The beer: Cisco "Whale's Tale" Pale Ale
The result: Win, 39–26
The commentary: After such an ugly loss you've gotta go with what you know. Whale's Tale is quickly becoming one of my favorite beers, and when I saw a twenty-two ounce bomber in a store in Danvers I had to get it. (There's a great pub around the corner from my office called Mr. Dooley's and they have it on tap. On a related note, whenever I'm there I end up getting plastered while forgetting to order dinner.) So I'm glad I picked up a great beer for a great, important game.

Like last week's shitstorm it was not as close as the score indicates. (My boys at Patriots Daily made me laugh out loud when commenting about how the prevent defense needs to be careful loosening up with a big lead because "when you loosen your belt, you don't take it off and throw it into an incinerator.") It's always fun to beat up on the Steelers in their home—a fine tradition over the past nine seasons—and Sunday night's game brought back some marvelous 2001, 2004 and 2007 memories. The Rooneys, however, always get the last laugh as they roll around in giant piles of money, waiting to be pinched awake from the dream where an entire fanbase spends up to $35 on towel-related merchandise.

Up next: The Pats host the Colts in the annual Nielsen Bowl. It's in Foxborough for the first time since 2006, thanks to the NFL's straightforward scheduling formula that somehow confounds casual and/or stupid Pats and Colts fans alike. Cheers!

Beer and football — week nine

2010-11-09T12:22:00.012-05:00

The game: Patriots at Browns
The beer: Samuel Smith "Organically Produced" Ale
The result: Loss, 34–14
The commentary: Wow. Let me say that I'm worried about my relationship with Samuel Smith right now. I had a Taddy Porter the night before our Block Island trip (see week two against the Jets) and tried to counter the loss with a Nut Brown Ale the following day. Samuel Smith hovers over both losses so far, which is a concern because it's the brewery that kicked off this whole adventure. No idea what I'll do in two weeks because I usually reserve their Imperial Stout for Colts games—will I skip it this season? Frightening times. On a completely unrelated note—since there's nothing worth discussing about the horrid Browns game—I watched Harrison Ford on Letterman last night. He can thank Star Wars for his entire career and can't shit on the series fast enough with every opportunity. I'm sorry it's not all Six Days Seven Nights.

Up next: The Pats visit Pittsburgh for what should be the first of two pretty fucking great games in a row. This is the one with those gay yellow towels. Cheers!

Beer and football — week eight

2010-11-01T13:46:00.009-04:00

The game: Vikings at Patriots
The beer: Shipyard "Smashed Pumpkin" Ale
The result: Win, 28–18
The commentary: As unacceptable as it is to feel sorry for athletes/starlettes/sensations who sleep on giant piles of money every night, it's clear to me that Randy Moss is instantly regretting his decision to jump ship from New England. I disagree with his criticism of Childress because they should have gone for that touchdown before the half—Peterson had been unstoppable to that point. But Childress was a pure fool for challenging Tate's bobbling catch—it's almost like he was saying "Hey Bill, here's how you win a challenge." I have never seen such a glaring inferiority complex in sports (and I was a Sox fan for years before 2004, for crying out loud). Regardless, a good win for the hometown team. Fox's coverage sucked because they barely showed any costumed fans—sure, they can come back from commercials with that jacked-up, pumpkin-headed robot but otherwise couldn't be bothered with Halloween. Would it kill Troy Aikman to wear an orange tie to go with his orange face?

Anyway, the Pumpkin Ale started out just alright but either it got better the longer it sat or I got used to it. I tend to like pumpkin ales (Cambridge Brewing Company's "Great Pumpkin" is my favorite) so I was a little disappointed—I suspect it was more of a wheat beer than I normally go for. Meanwhile I'd like to thank the technology gods for inventing DVR because around 5:30 I had to start getting up to hand out candy. Was Super Mario the costume of the year or what? I had three of those plucky little greaseballs. Much better than the plain teenager who, when questioned, told me he was dressed as a chaperon. It was a good answer so I gave him a Twix.

Up next: The Pats travel to Cleveland to visit the house from A Christmas Story and drop forty points on some JV squad. Cheers!

Beer and football — week seven

2010-10-26T11:35:00.006-04:00

The game: Patriots at Chargers
The beer: Stone Imperial Russian Stout
The result: Win, 23–20
The commentary: The closest I've come to a heart attack since the dreaded helmet catch. Holy, holy lord. I got a late start on the Stout because A. and I went out for lunch and a few errands and got some iced chais from Starbucks on the way back, and that carried me through the recorded portion of the first half (yeah, errands took longer than I thought). That fourth quarter was almost catastrophic but this could turn out to be one of those character-building wins. And I couldn't agree more with something I read the other day on Patriots Daily (essential reading): last year's team would have lost. The beer was excellent, by the way, even though the bottle turned out to be a little sticky. Eww.

Up next: The Pats host my man Randy Moss and the Vikings. It will be fun to root against Brett Favre as a fan of his opponent and not just a fan of decency. Cheers!

Beer and football: a seventeen-week diary (and hopefully longer)

2010-10-20T19:06:00.040-04:00

I love to watch the Patriots win and I love to drink good beer. So in 2006 I said "Hey, man, I should get myself a fancy beer for every Pats game!" And by fancy I mean one of those oversized singles, usually stocked in the fridge farthest from the Coors Light. I was living in Cambridge at the time and the two liquor stores in my neighborhood didn't really offer a whole lot—the closer one wasn't open on Sundays anyway. The other, though, always had a few different Samuel Smith offerings. They're a fantastic brewer and I enjoy everything of theirs I've tried, even the IPA, and I don't really like IPAs (more on that later). So I thought I had a nice little thing going, particularly once I remembered that nearby Davis Square had a great store.

In 2007 ("that season") I really grabbed on and didn't let go. I was sure to have a Samuel Smith in my hand for every game, and since they kept not losing I felt my beers and I were somewhat responsible. When I went to a friend's house to watch the Colts game (in which I astounded everyone by correctly predicting Manning wouldn't remove his helmet before shaking Brady's hand afterward) I made sure to bring enough Nut Brown Ales for everyone there. I wasn't about to blow this thing.

Despite the delicious Imperial Stout I explicitly saved for the Super Bowl, we all know how that went down. Regardless, I more or less kept the tradition going the last two years and into this year, and now I'm going to journal-tize the experience to see if any patterns emerge. I guess it's mostly an excuse to write about beer, and who doesn't like reading about beer?

The goal is to post an update each week, though since I'm getting a late start I'll be forced to cover weeks one through five, plus this past Sunday's game, on memory. Should be challenging because I can't remember shit anymore. No kidding.

Week one
The game: Bengals at Patriots
The beer: Berkshire Coffeehouse Porter
The result: Win, 38–24
The commentary: The first game of the year calls for my favorite beer in the world. The Coffeehouse Porter seems to have saved the day when it appeared the defense likely couldn't. Nothing else stands out except for Chad Ochocinco patting his future head coach on the ass.

Week two
The game: Patriots at Jets
The beer: Mohegan Honey Porter
The result: Loss, 28–14
The commentary: Special circumstances with this one—A. and I left that Sunday morning for a few days on Block Island. Admittedly, my first priority after dropping our bags off at the B&B (shudder) was to find a place to watch the game. I was a little nervous to interrupt the whole beer-at-home thing so soon in the season, but we landed at the Mohegan Cafe where they brew their own. The crab cakes were amazing and the Honey Porter was just OK—fittingly, the Pats looked like shit in the second half. But the view was nice and A. was a good sport for accompanying me. I'm glad, though, to have had some vacation time to forget about this stinker.

Week three
The game: Bills at Patriots
The beer: Pretty Things "St. Botolph's Town" Rustic Dark Ale
The result: Win, 38–30
The commentary: Some married friends of ours are craft-beer maniacs, going to festivals and whatnot, and they've gotten to know the couple responsible for Pretty Things. I'm shallow enough to like this brand because the labels are attractive and they stole the name with one of my favorite bands. Plus, the two or three I've tried actually are really good. This dark ale is my favorite so far, and for additional shallowness reasons it might have something to do with having "St. Botolph" in its name. St. Botolph Street runs through the eastern part of the campus of Northeastern University (where I excelled at being a mediocre student and a full-time music snob) and is where the shitty hockey team's arena is located. The Huskies haven't won a Beanpot since 1988—it's almost too easy to call them the Buffalo Bills of the Beanpot tournament. Thankfully, the Pats played a horrible Bills team on this day, thus fulfilling the metaphor. The way the Pats played I don't think they could have beaten anyone else.

Week four
The game: Patriots at Dolphins
The beer: Berkshire "Lost Sailor" India Pale Ale
The result: Win, 41–14
The commentary: Last month I attended a beer dinner at the Cambridge Common restaurant, one of our favorites from our People's Republic days. It was right up the street from our apartment and practically served as our kitchen. They've been having these dinners for years and only after I moved twenty miles away did I finally attend one. It was hosted by Berkshire Brewing Company, and one of the founders was there and gave a little talk about each of the five beers we had. One of them was the Lost Sailor IPA—I generally don't go for IPAs, I guess because they're too hoppy. But he sold me on theirs: he said IPAs were originally brewed with extra hops so the ales would survive British seafarers' long hauls around the Cape of Good Hope on the way to and from (ch-ching!) India. The Lost Sailor is this "English" style of IPA, and not the "California" style where batshit American brewers just go hop crazy. That kind is what I don't like, and it's most of what you find around here (Harpoon being a popular offender). So when I saw a bottle of the Lost Sailor at the local liquor store I figured it was the perfect choice for what I thought would be a difficult road game against a competitive division foe. Turns out it was the best game I'd watched in a couple of years. Score two for BBC!

Week five (bye)
The beer: Belhaven Wee Heavy
The commentary: Didn't actually get to watch much football during the bye weekend but I did create enough time to drink a smaller-than-usual (about eighteen ounces, compared to twenty-two or so for BBC, Samuel Smith, etc.) Wee Heavy from Belhaven. There are few beers as good as Belhaven Scottish Ale off the tap and so I was excited to see a Wee Heavy in a store in Danvers. I lived in Northampton for a little over two years and the Northampton Brewery (which I miss and think about often) served one of my all-time faves, "Maggie's Wee Heavy." My wife (girlfriend, at the time) lived in Boston and, bless her, would take the bus out to Springfield every other Friday. I'd pick her up and we'd head straight to the brewery nine times out of ten for dinner. I loved the Winter months because they always had Maggie's going and I always ordered it. Unfortunately, the Belhaven version wasn't nearly as good—granted it's out of a bottle and not a tap, but still disappointing. I'm glad I didn't save it for a Pats game.

Week six
The game: Ravens at Patriots
The beer: Southern Tier "Iniquity" Imperial Black Ale
The result: Win, 23–20 (OT)
The commentary: This ale was a bit of a gamble, but I figured it was worth it since a lot of people picked the Ravens for the Super Bowl. Another fantastic game… eventually. We were lucky to be down only three at halftime because the defense was fully terrible. The fourth quarter was a blast, and it's nice to have Deion Branch back (I will miss Randy Moss and I thoroughly enjoyed his time here, but it's nice to at least resemble the old Super Bowl teams). The beer turned out to be good but a little rich, and I noticed halfway through that it was nine percent alcohol—I was pretty all set. It was exactly the push I needed to ride the half-drunk ups and downs of a game-winning field goal followed by the realization that there's a flag on the field before it's revealed to be a penalty on the Ravens. And then Brady's day-after response to a whining Terrell Suggs reminded me of some 2003/2004 dominance and a little 2007 arrogance. I am very excited for this season to play out.

Up next: The Pats travel to San Diego so they can watch Philip Rivers make weird frat-boy faces while throwing for four hundred yards. Cheers!

So I guess run-on sentences are acceptable when discoursing on abstract art

2010-10-17T17:13:00.027-04:00

Have you ever unsubscribed to a magazine… without success? It's quite an adventure. My Newsweek subscription was set to run out a month or so ago and I did originally return the re-subscription mailer like a good always-two-or-three-issues-behind reader. But before I sent in payment, the magazine was sold to some old dude for $1. One US dollar. Sure, the guy assumed the magazine's debt as well, so it amounts to $1 plus (x), but still.

$1.

It turned me off, and I was honestly seeking an excuse to free up reading time in order to tackle the pile of books I've not tended to for far too long. After days of measuring the pros and cons (I might have taken the decision a little seriously, but I have been reading for fifteen years and feel I'm better for it) I decided to call customer service and cancel my renewal. She didn't even try to talk me out of it, as she's probably more bitter about that dollar than I am.

I was to receive my last issue the week of September 6. OK. That one arrives and I liked the symmetry when it happened to be Jon Meacham's last as editor. I knew he'd leaving and that contributed to my not renewing because I enjoyed his tenure. He oversaw the major, controversial redesign (which I loved until they essentially rolled it back) and the change in focus from a source for news (seemed reasonable to me at the time, since it's gotta be tough for any printed weekly to compete with an RSS reader) to a more exploratory essay format. I was excited until I realized (only very recently) that essays don't really provide context. So if you don't know the story behind what the writer is going on about then you're probably out of luck. I read it all and understood some. (Even while this was going on, Fareed Zakaria remained their most focused and cogent columnist, but that ship has sailed: he just took his talents to Time.)

September 6 comes and goes, and issues continue to get cozy with my mailbox. When I received the September 20 issue I called and told them so and that they better not try billing me. She said no, the September 27 issue would be my last, and I would not be billed (she, too, never turned on the salesmanship-o-matic). September 27 comes and goes and I'm still getting them, still reading them and still waiting for it to stop. (Though I'm happy to have received last week's issue with the Android cover story, since I am the proud new owner of an HTC Incredible—naturally sporting the inept and amazing guitar solo from Blue Cheer's "Out of Focus" as its ringtone—and, regardless, I really enjoy reading Daniel Lyons. But then I got another one this week. What in the worldwide fuck!)

This lack of unsubscribability has forced me to recognize some strange trends. The first is that George Will is completely batshit—I used to enjoy his sober conservativeness during a messy Dubya era but now I'm afraid he would shoot me dead if I told him it was warm outside. Another is that Jersey Shore and Sister Wives qualify as print-worthy (even considering the magazine's A&E team often exhibited questionable, overly ironic taste). Still another oddity is the sequence where a columnist purportedly writes about one topic but then uses that as an opportunity to write about something completely different. Jeremy McCarter recently pulled an elusive double buttonhook by writing about a movie (The Social Network) in order to target Facebook as some enabler of "American loneliness" so he could then casually (in three separate instances!) mention Jonathan Franzen's new novel Freedom. Just review the book already!

However, the most frustrating byproduct of the above-mentioned design/format is that run-on sentences are now satisfactory. Maybe this has been the case for years and I haven't noticed. Maybe it went into effect only after Meacham departed. Most likely, it is encouraged only for nonsensical raps about art—check out this shit. Even the writer's name runs on: David Wallace-Wells. It seems one first name and one last name are insufficient for serial killers and, now, know-it-all Pollock-blowing nitwits.

Think my graphic example at the beginning was an exaggeration? Well it was, but only by thirteen words in a Wallace-Wells world. How about this sweet excerpt, clocking in at seventy-six words:
"Many of these canvases will be unveiled when a remarkable retrospective opens at New York's Museum of Modern Art on October 3—remarkable in large part because it will be drawn entirely from the museum's own holdings, a reminder of how few enthusiasts forged the outsize reputation of abstract expressionism in its heyday, and how large a role a single institution could play (and continues to play) in an art world of small, critical clusters and long speculative collecting."

Followed soon by this sixty-seven-word gem that's somehow worse:
"The sentinel émigré Hans Hofmann—itinerant painter, teacher, and mentor to much of the New York school—was German-born, had lived in Paris, and seemed to his students the living embodiment of a standing European tradition that the American painters would pillage and repurpose in their own canvases—most explicitly the work of Russian abstract painters Wassily Kandinsky and Kazimir Malevich and the surrealist exiles Max Ernst and André Masson."

What an asshole. (I'm occasionally that asshole as well but I'm not a professional writer.) Let's take a short-ish fifty-nine-word example and have fun with it, striking every other word to turn it into merely an overlong sentence:
"The truly indigenously thing abstract was the rhetoric celebrated—the magazine, chiefly Rosenberg Greenberg, made of into and crucibles, aesthetic to tests a teleology, presented belated embrace European as world event."

It's as lucid as the rest. I wish I were his editor so I could leave Freshman composition textbooks on his desk and make hand gestures indicating that he needs to tighten things up. I'll say this though: after a minuscule thirty-four sentences over two pages (!) the guy wraps up with "It published only once." I admire that. Prick.

The all-important third preseason game

2010-08-26T16:50:00.017-04:00

It seems that game three of an NFL's preseason schedule is never referred to as "game three" or "the third game" or "I lost my thumb and forefinger sneaking a pinch of Chuck Negron's cocaine so it's this many games." It is called "the all-important third preseason game." Since I'm not one to let such an event slip past uncelebrated, and since I'll probably watch a lot of tonight's first half while sipping white wine and waiting for Project Runway to start, I'm going to make a few lazy observations concerning the Patriots' upcoming actual season—where every game counts. Until weeks sixteen and seventeen.

Aside from the obvious (big years for Brady and Moss; Welker being super-human… unless/until he gets injured again; Gronkowski, Hernandez and Tate revitalizing the offense), here's what has me scratching my head:

I doubt Chung's viability as a starting safety. Really, what has this guy done beside get drafted ahead of Byrd, who turned out to be the better (much better) Oregon safety? Meanwhile our other starter (Merriweather) only made the Pro Bowl because like ten other safeties chose not to play—I was actually hoping the team would trade him, taking advantage of the rest of the league believing he really is a stud. I'm not convinced that either one of them knows how to tackle, but people are saying Chung has practiced really well this preseason. You know, sessions where you're not allowed to tackle. I guess Harrison and Milloy aren't walking through that door though…

I really want McKenzie to succeed on this team. He's got a difficult background, he seems like a nice guy based on extended interviews and he reminds me of Keith David. I almost want him to get an unnecessary roughing penalty tonight so he can stare down the ref and shout "He was provokin' me"…

I'm the only man in New England who still likes Maroney. He comes off very full of himself in interviews, which turns everyone off around here, especially when there's a humble, hard-working white guy like Welker on the team (hey, I'm just sayin'). Despite a lot of issues (indecisiveness, fumbling) he is one of the most exciting players on this team when he gets a little room. I wasn't sold on the offensive line even before Mankins turned out to be a no-show and I think Maroney generally gets too much of the blame for short gains. At the same time, if he doesn't average 4.5 against a shitty Rams team that won't be scheming much then even I might give up on him…

Is Mayo really so great? He seems adequate to me. Spikes is really coming on and will probably start, but everyone assumes it will be Mayo he pairs up with. Not so sure Spikes won't be the guy who plays every down, with Mayo rotating in and out with Guyton and McKenzie…

(Only historically Patriots-related.) Remember when the Pats traded Bledsoe to the Bills, a team within their own division? And everyone said it's because the Pats knew he was basically done and weren't worried about facing him twice a year? Someone might want to tell every Redskins fan that they—and McNabb, who has been a total hack for years—are in the same division as the Eagles…

(Certainly not limited to the Pats.) Get ready to start hearing the word "cadence" again. It has to be trademarked by the NFL and those who cover it. There's no other explanation…

(Not even remotely related to the NFL.) How many goddamn "Wolf" bands do we need?

The above list acts as this year's version of an NFL preview. I got a little gimmicky prior to the 2006 and 2007 seasons and, honestly, neither post was an example of good writing. Probably why I took a couple years off. Next up will be a discussion of the events leading up to the Velvet Revolution and/or Trout Mask Replica.

Postscript: Killing a fool on a hill

2010-05-15T10:26:00.037-04:00

[Two nights ago I started writing a few paragraphs to append to yesterday's music post. Eventually I realized it wouldn't work unless it was shoehorned in as an extended parenthetical aside, something I had already done with a never-quite-satisfying Jefferson Airplane rant that has since been severely cut down. So this gets its own post, completing the transformation from simple playlist essay to seven-thousand-word mess. In two parts!]

There's something about the whole digital revolution that bothers me. I've read enough on the supposed rebirth of an era before 1967's Sgt. Pepper's Lonely Heats Club Band pushed the two-song single out of fashion. I understand the point being made, that people can now pick and choose their own version of what a band's single might be (predictably I went with "Ulysses" b/w "No You Girls" in place of Franz Ferdinand's Tonight and I was able to steer clear of much of Danger Mouse's irritating contributions to the Black Keys' Attack and Release by choosing "Same Old Thing" b/w "All You Ever Wanted"). But what I hoped the theory would prove to mean is that bands would realize albums don't count for much anymore, and instead of releasing twelve songs every year and a half they would release one or two songs every couple of months. And these would be really good songs. No filler… no place for it!

Unfortunately we're stuck with an outdated process where a record company chooses the lead single (which is all a lot of people will ever hear or care to own) and then the album comes out. Why not? It still works, thanks to radio stations being fine with playing what they're told and to the shiftless rabble who like what they're supposed to.

I don't see the 1966 model limiting consumer choice but rather guaranteeing quality, assuming a band is worth a shit in the first place. People won't buy a new song just because it's new, but they will if it's good—and a more focused, immediate purpose could go a long way toward ensuring worth. (If not then Darwin readies "Error 404," today's answer to the cut-out bin.) And you think it'd be pretty rewarding—artistically as well as financially—if people are excited about your newest release just months after the last one. Right?

Take Sgt. Pepper, for instance. It's a good album but not great, and maybe just OK. But how about this alternative 1967 sequence of Beatles releases? No albums or EPs, just singles:

1A. "Penny Lane"
1B. "Good Morning Good Morning"

2A. "Strawberry Fields Forever"
2B. "Lovely Rita"

3A. "Sgt. Pepper's Lonely Hearts Club Band/With a Little Help From My Friends"
3B. "Lucy in the Sky with Diamonds"

4A. "Being for the Benefit of Mr. Kite!"
4B. "She's Leaving Home"

5A. "Magical Mystery Tour"
5B. "Within You Without You"

6A. "A Day in the Life"
6B. "It's All Too Much"

7A. "All You Need Is Love"
7B. "Baby, You're a Rich Man"

8A. "I Am the Walrus"
8B. "Blue Jay Way"

Let's compare this to reality. Between the "Strawberry Fields Forever"/"Penny Lane" double A-side in February and the Magical Mystery Tour EP in December, I've cut out a handful of songs that either suck ("Hello, Goodbye," "Getting Better") or would work better on a posthumous hodgepodge type of collection ("Fixing a Hole," "Only a Northern Song"). I'm also including one song recorded immediately after the Sgt. Pepper sessions but not released until 1969's Yellow Submarine ("It's All Too Much"). Clearly I'm no fan of Paul and his silly stories, sure, but I'm fair in realistically switching between him and John for who gets the A-side, along with the collective (and regrettable) disrespect for George in tossing him some B-side bones. But how about it? Eight singles spread out over eleven months, and every one a bona fide smash hit—a quality smash hit. (I don't care for "With a Little Help From My Friends" or "All You Need Is Love" but I realize I'm in the minority. They are therefore necessary.) So no filler, just like I said! And it should be noted that "All You Need Is Love"/"Baby, You're a Rich Man" was an actual release and that I've kept the "Sgt. Pepper"/"Friends"/"Lucy" continuity that works pretty well on the album.

("The White Album" is a whole other subject. You can slice it a hundred ways, discarding layers of excess and mediocrity until you're left with a handful of songs that are as good as anything they ever recorded. That's a lot of work and a lot of shit. Lucky for us that Electric Ladyland was released a month earlier.)

The Beatles were unique in many ways, and it's not kosher to assume many bands could succeed where they did. Certainly, record-label Luddites would never let out this amount of rope until it was proven to succeed, nor would increasingly important touring commitments allow for much recording/mixing flexibility. But it's a direction I thought artists might turn toward as the need for albums—in physical, digital or (x) form—gets pushed further behind us. Isn't $2 every four months better than $10 every eighteen? How does the music industry not embrace this? I cannot possibly be this smart all by myself.

Of ones and zeros, Byrds and Groundhogs

2010-05-14T17:02:00.117-04:00

Steve Albini was right. Years ago, Big Black's Atomizer LP (minus the lame "Strange Things") was issued on CD with the Heartbeat 45 and the Headache EP. This compilation was called The Rich Man's Eight Track Tape. (As opposed to The Hobo's Diarrhea Smear, which is a collection of early Clash recordings.) Included was a short, humorous Albini-penned essay about how compact discs (classy new medium of the time) would soon—like the eight-track tape, dig?—become an obsolete format, at which time they can remain useful for serving egg sandwiches. "Ptooff!" I remember thinking. "What can replace this? It's small and fairly durable, and it sounds good. Sure, portable CD-players are a pain in the ass and they go through batteries like diarrhea through a hobo, but there's really no room for improvement." Actually I didn't think that last part because I was eighteen years old and too busy trying to cover up my hard-on to bother with future-vision hypotheses re: media delivery methods.

In the end, of course, that shiny bastard Albini hit the mark exactly. Fast-forward to an extended and ongoing transitional era, throughout which I've amassed a fantastic collection of MP3s. (What will replace those? This cloud business? Something that requires no storage device at all? Probably the latter eventually, right? And will headphones exist as we know them today?) Mostly because I'm not buying CDs much anymore, except to fill in some Coltrane gaps, and I'm ripping tracks off of ones I plan to sell. I realize more and more that I only listen to CDs when I'm doing something around the house and when we have people over. I maintain loyalty to too many still and so will probably hang onto what I consider essential for too long until I ask "Am I sure I can't just get by with Smell the Magic on my iPod?" (I have a hard-and-fast rule that nothing from my CD collection is allowed on my iPod, excepting only the seasonal borrowing of Run-D.M.C.'s "Christmas in Hollis" from their Greatest Hits. Speaking of which, in December 2006 I wrote of coming to grips with best-of CDs. Reading back on that now is quite startling, even more so considering it wasn't written in 1994. Quite a philosophical shift, as only nine of those remain.) Then there is the Napster-era bounty. Napster, Audiogalaxy, Kazaa Lite… the heady days of theft. (I'm too old to understand this torrents shit. "Jack Torrance?" I ask. "NO!" scream ten million twatters. Officious little pricks, indeed.) I can't say what percentage of my songs subverted the pay-for-this process but it's gotta be half. And only that low because my conscience has been getting the better of me lately. But I'll get to that.

In transitioning from CDs to MP3s, songs graduate to my iPod in a very deliberate and time-consuming manner. I have however many MP3s on my computer at home, but I can't just drop them all into iTunes and copy them over to Sonik Truth II (the original Sonik Truth being my first iPod, which offers too little capacity and nowadays is used during yard work and rare gym visits). That would be too easy and, honestly, inaccurate. A few years ago I combed through all the files and edited each one's album name to reflect the actual name of the original release. For example, "Berkeley Mews" by the Kinks should not read "The Kinks Are the Village Green Preservation Society (Special Deluxe Edition)" in the album field. It should read "Lola," because it was originally released as the flipside to that single. These are the problems I create for myself.

So as I prepare to sell Belle & Sebastian's Push Barman to Open Old Wounds compilation (somewhere, MC Paul Barman is pissed), I plan to keep (among others) "Photo Jenny" but I have to properly mark "Lazy Line Painter Jane" as the album/single name. You get it. But where it gets annoying is with old blues songs and obscure psych tracks from the sixties. For instance, I have to learn that the non-album version of July's "The Way" (currently available on the reissue of the band's lone, eponymous album) was the B-side to the single "Hello Who's There?" And then—because iPods are all fancy-pants now and display album art—I have to track down a picture of that single sleeve. I'm not proud of this behavior but my collection is spotless, so actually I am proud. Damn proud. I just have a couple thousand more songs to go through, plus whatever ones I continue to buy/rip, and if the whole thing doesn't drive me to drink a bleach-and-thumbtack smoothie then I'll be finished one day. Just in time for digital music to be replaced by the next big thing.

In the meantime, as I go through the files, I'm deciding that instead of perpetuating my crimes I'll replace the occasional track with a paid-for version, usually from Amazon's MP3 service (much better than iTunes, in my opinion). It's a case-by-case basis: mostly it comes down to whether or not something has been remastered, or if I plainly want to give my money to a particular artist. As in, a black group like Sam & Dave probably got screwed over a lot in their time. So I'll give them what I owe and probably more. It's only right, even if I'm naive to think they'll earn a piece of a 99¢ purchase in today's holy-shit-we're-fucked media complex.

Meanwhile, Jefferson Airplane (for example) will be OK without me thanks to the extravagance provided by the brain-friend fans of their wretched tootling. Screw them. (Jefferson Airplane confounds me. They have some great early songs but were clearly too pleased with themselves to recognize how increasingly ridiculous they grew with each album. Seriously, who writes a song called "Rock & Roll Island"?)

I last posted a music-in-review list back in January 2007. (Beyoncé was atop the charts with "Irreplaceable," a song I'd never heard until I just listened to thirty seconds of it on iTunes. It's on the album where she has the blank look on the cover of someone who would release a song called "Irreplaceable" as a single.) So "this year's" list covers from then to now. Of course, it doesn't consist solely of songs released since then, but new and old stuff that's turned my screw along the way. And, because we live in a world of TMZ this and sexting that, I'm not going to limit myself to a traditional eighty minutes of CD-fitting music like I did before. I'll just keep adding until I'm satisfied, and make an effort to fit everything together in some imagined chemistry. Let's just see how it all shakes out in terms of length—it's never easy to halt a frenzy. [Edit, after the fact: I have clearly created a box set rather than a simple playlist. Will box sets exist in the future? Will boxes?] Honestly, a good long playlist is nice to have if you're stuck in Cape traffic or your spouse is watching a Property Virgins marathon in the other room. I'll try to not get too carried away about each pick, randomly dumping all over reggae and assaulting artists with my word-fists and stuff. Anyway… god save our frightening new times!

1. 13th Floor Elevators – Livin' On
I hate to be the guy who puts a side-one-track-one song first on a mix, but dammit, sometimes I am that fucking guy. This has the perfect introduction to kick everything off. Usually I'd choose something with a slower/longer buildup, in order to generate a mood or atmosphere, but this simple riff (the best ones are always simple) lays it all down in only six seconds before the vocals kick in. From 1969's Bull of the Woods. The horns remind me of the arrangements that were layered onto the Pretty Things' Emotions after the band thought they'd completed it. Since Woods was recorded and assembled in a haphazard way, I'm guessing the record company wanted to "spruce things up" with some session hackery. But I like the effect, so there you go. The lesson here: always submit to authority.

2. Black Mountain – Bicycle Man
What a rip-off! I don't care. If the Jam can go all Sean Puffy Diddy on "Taxman" then I won't fault anyone for redoing "No Fun." It even has a little saxophone straight out of Fun House. Don't worry, though, Iggy gets his revenge later. Anyway, I've got In the Future on CD and I almost went with "Tyrants" here until I remembered my implied rule about choosing only from my digital collection. I'm not going to make a conscious effort to include more women this year (2007's was pretty bad) but I hope I do a better job this time. The co-vocalist here helps, at least. Last time I incorrectly assumed a female backup vocalist on a Dead Meadow song and got yelled at by some dickless turd who didn't even have a blog I could visit and pick apart. I seen this band on the TV so fuck that guy. Anyway, I'm trying to present a bit of a rollercoaster ride here, ups and downs, loose lap-belt anxiety, bare breasts for the still-cam. A good chunky rocker fit here, I thought, to get the ride moving.

3. Ant Trip Ceremony – Pale Shades of Gray
And then Ant Trip Ceremony slowly drags you up the terrifying first hill. I always wish I would allow myself to enjoy the view… OK, enough with the rollercoaster shit. How far could I even have gone with that? Like, when I get to Ya Ho Wha 13 would that represent the googly-eyed park custodian who paws through people's barf looking for gold fillings? And then Royal Trux is when you're blocked from leaving the parking lot by an old sedan with a failed inspection sticker on the front and a Drill, Baby, Drill! bumper sticker on the back? I think so. Maybe I should keep this up after all. (Nah.) Ant Trip Ceremony is one of those I discovered from Technicolor Web of Sound. What an amazing band. 24 Hours sounds like it was recorded in a well. I drink from that well.

4. Amnesty – Love Fades
Somehow this album (Free Your Mind ~~and Your Ass Will Follow~~) came out in 2007. If you told me Amnesty used to hang with Tower of Power in '73 I'd believe you. Maybe they did, and this is a reissue of some old record? I'm too lazy to look it up.

5. Groundhogs – Split (Part 2)
Part of a side-long suite from the 1971 album Split. (I'll talk about suites later on.) My man George Brigman dug these guys and I do too. It's funny how many great defunct bands there are that I'd never heard of until the past few years. Makes me wonder (and look forward to) what I'll be uncovering in the next few.

6. Elliott Smith – Rose Parade
Let me start by saying I am not pandering to A. by including an Elliot Smith song—he's her fave. (She won't read this for a few months anyway, and by then I'll probably be in the middle of writing about how frustrating it is to locate a usable JPG of Andre Williams singles.) Not that I have any idea what I'm talking about, but I think Elliott is an enormously gifted guitar player. No one else really sounds like him. So I thought it was fitting to slot him after acknowledged guitar hero Tony McPhee from the Groundhogs. I know, I know, "Rose Parade" doesn't do much to emphasize his playing skills, but it's a beautiful song. At least I hope it is, because I don't pay attention to lyrics. Sure sounds nice, though. Except for the part about being "the only shit that's left behind." Probably not so nice.

7. The Pentangle – Sally Free and Easy
Bert Jansch is a name I hear every now and then but I don't know much about him. I think I read a Mojo article about him once—maybe I should read it again and dig a little deeper. "Sally Free and Easy" is the one Pentangle song that TWOS plays. I think it's gorgeous.

8. Gil Scott-Heron – Whitey on the Moon
"It was inspired by some whiteys on the moon." How about the audience member who spoils the last punchline? I know, it's not really a punchline because he's saying it throughout the performance, but just sit tight, lady. The protracted silence following her interruption, as if he's giving her a good "I'll put your dumb ass on the moon" glare, is priceless.

9. Russell Morris – The Real Thing
I could write an essay about the wonder of this song but it would take me six months. Everything takes me six months nowadays, the way everything Girls Against Boys does seems to cost them $20. This might be the best thing Australia has ever produced, and that's not a knock on Australia because I'd be saying the same thing if Morris were American. The continuation of this song, "Into Paper Walls," is nearly as essential, but "The Real Thing" might just change your life.

10. People Under the Stairs – San Francisco Knights
I had to throw in a pun title because I hate puns so much and yet I have a knack with them. Damn my wit! I know the original "San Franciscan Nights" by the Animals, when Eric Burdon was going through an extended "California is beautiful" phase, but it's a different version sampled for "Knights." Speaking of which, I can't recommend Who Sampled and Second Hand Songs enough if you're into shit like sample sources and cover versions, respectively.

11. Byrds – Eight Miles High
Since I've decided against including any Coltrane (or jazz at all, but jazz usually comes down to Coltrane for me) I'm choosing a song reputedly influenced by the man himself. Considering it's a mid-sixties pop band best known for covering Dylan I think they did a pretty good job. McGuinn even has a recurring theme and some passable sheets of sound going for him. The Byrds are one of those rare bands who tried a bunch of different shit, and good for them that most of it stuck. (I don't like their country-ish stuff but I generally don't like country music, so that tells me they probably nailed it.) Still, with all the great music they produced up through The Notorious Byrd Brothers in early '68, it will always be the Gene Clark era that does it for me.

12. Stooges – Penetration
So I have Iggy's remix of Raw Power on CD (of course) and I just picked up the double-disc remaster of Bowie's original mix. I plan to rip that one to my iPod and then sell it (sorry boys). I think it's the perfect compromise: Iggy's mix is better when played loudly in your living room and Bowie's mix is better on headphones. So that's how I justify owning two versions of the same album. With "Penetration," there seems to be a little less going on in this Bowie mix (most notably the buried xylophone) but it feels darker. Side note: hammered home in the live Georgia Peaches set included with this reissue (as well as on Metallic KO/Metallic 2xKO) is the fact that piano player Scott Thurston might be the most farcical backup singer ever.

13. John Mayall & the Bluesbreakers – Another Kinda Love
Aynsley Dunbar must be quite the asshole. This guy was in and out of so many bands his Wikipedia page reads like a fifty-year-old white guy's wet dream. Aside from some top work with John Mayall (he plays on this track from A Hard Road) my favorite thing of his has to be 1968's "Warning" by the Aynsley Dunbar Retaliation, a great song made even better when covered on Black Sabbath's first album a year or so later.

14. Can – Uphill
You know what's harder than going uphill? Listening to a humongous playlist at the office, pausing your work every few minutes to jot down brilliant insights into what you've just heard. It's like my softball game last week where I kept on crushing the ball (or at least hitting it away from fielders) and it seemed I was constantly running the bases. Toward the end I seriously contemplated making an out on purpose just to get a breather. Plus, I had to cut off the beer until afterward because I can't run for shit and I was slogging around enough on my own. Anyway, this playlist business is a lot like that. I want to quit, but I'm too good. Moving uphill. Going slowly. (But moving nonetheless.)

15. Dragonfly – Blue Monday
"Oh… my god." Thus begins "Blue Monday," another gem I first heard on TWOS. It's much better than it reads, sounding like the dude just witnessed his own death at the hands of an angry diarrhea-covered hobo. As with Ant Trip Ceremony's 24 Hours, I can't recommend Dragonfly enough. And they're both from 1968. Of course they are!

16. Madvillain – Strange Ways
Not a whole lot of rap so far. Not much more after this either. It's challenge to make rap songs work on mixes—transitions of anything into and out of rap are difficult to get right. Anyway, I remember reading all this great press about Madvillainy when it came out, and I loved the album cover, but I only thought to check it out a couple of years ago. I bought a few songs and they're good so I'll probably buy more. Gentle Giant's "Funny Ways" sounds a little sped up but it's already plenty weird on its own.

17. Dungen – Bortglömd
I got into these guys when "Sätt Att Se" from the album 4 was available as a free download somewhere a couple of years ago. "Bortglömd" wallops you right away and ends too soon. In general, the singer's voice might take some getting used to. But it's worth the time, particularly if you're wondering what mainstream progressive music could have become outside of Jeff Lynne and Rick Wakeman going all keyboardy batshit. My Swedish friends at Wikipedia tell me the title of this translates to either "Forgotten" or "Neglected." I find that hard to believe because umlauts are nothing if not triumphant.

18. Pink Floyd – Wot's… Uh, the Deal?
I'll pit early Pink Floyd (up through Obscured by Clouds, where this song lives outside of ridiculously self-indulgent three-hour playlists) against any of their contemporaries and choose the Floyd almost every time. The Stones and the Kinks were consistently better from '67 to '72… who else? [In retrospect, I can't think of any band beside these three whose career spanned '67 to '72. My bad. But shit, I even like Animals.]

19. Shadows of Knight – Someone Like Me
"Hey!" Infectious—these guys sneak up on you every time. They are good and it's odd that you don't hear more about them. They never get airplay, except in The Underground Garage and in niche college shows like WZBC's Psychotic Reactions and WMBR's Lost and Found. They had a couple of hits and showed up in the Nuggets series a few times. They could also out-Yardbird the Yardbirds when they wanted to. So I've given them a bunch of my money.

20. Sharon Jones & the Dap-Kings – What Have You Done for Me Lately?
Uh-oh, still some shameful misogyny all up in here. Better start representing. But seriously, don't ninety-nine percent of female singers sing about men? Not so much about pestilence and milky cereal. And these men they're going on about, they're either sweethearts or dogs. And wouldn't you know it, Sharon Jones is singing about a no-good dog! It's like I set myself up, I do cursory research for one-sided evidence and then I prove myself correct in my own forum. It's the oldest story.

21. Camera Obscura – If Looks Could Kill
Not a Heart cover. It only took me an hour or so to get to an honest-to-goodness pop song. It's impossible to resist "If Looks Could Kill," just like it is the Crüe's "Looks That Kill." Appears I've found me a formula here, baby.

22. Aliens – Magic Man
Also not a Heart cover. I added "Magic Man" after hearing it on my iPod on the way home from work the other day. I think you'll agree one more "fun" song was needed, particularly because it sets up a little Scottish block alongside Camera Obscura. "Magic Man" should appeal to the kids who don't get the whole Lady Gaga thing but still want to bob their heads.

23. Jay Reatard – It Ain't Gonna Save Me
I had his Watch Me Fall as the best of 2009 in a pointless post from January and then dropped it in favor of the Flaming Lips, and then Jay Reatard went and died. But he doesn't give a shit so it's cool. He'll be missed by people who like to buy a bunch of singles only to see them all compiled a year later.

24. Sir Lord Baltimore – Hell Hound
Hey, I always have to have at least one ridiculous song in the bunch. Riffage! I luuuurrrve this song, and the entire Kingdom Come album. "Woman is a hell hound!" Another standout pronounces "woman, you are the master heartache." That one is called "Master Heartache." You get the idea. I wrote recently that Sir Lord Baltimore is the only good rock band to come out of Brooklyn and a steady stream of soulless no-talent It bands continues to prove me right.

25. Kills – U.R.A. Fever
This is the type of band I usually resent on principle. Can't look cool enough on the album cover, over-stylized breathy trade-off vocals and what I suspect is a "DIY" sound that took them weeks to unearth. But… what happens if I actually do like this song? Have I been bamboozled?

26. Loop – Too Real to Feel
Though I did pony up and download some legal Spacemen 3 and Jesus & Mary Chain in the last year or so, I'm choosing Loop to represent the eighties wall-of-guitars genre. Found these guys at Anthology Recordings, who sold this to me for 98¢ instead of 99¢ on iTunes. Eat shit, iTunes!

27. Automator & Sinister 6000 – Cartoon Capers
Who knows how many pseudonyms Kool Keith has had over the years, but I've got to give it up for "Sinister 6000." It might be my favorite. The hilarious, engrossing "Cartoon Capers" is from the expanded "much better" reissue of Automator's A Better Tomorrow EP, a quasi-collaborative project that led directly to Dr. Octagon later the same year (no bumbling Sir Menelik accompaniment here though). How did it take until '96 for someone to cast Skeletor as a crime boss?

28. Lee Hazlewood & Ann-Margaret – It's a Nice World to Visit (but Not to Live In)
I don't know if the guitar is so distorted on purpose or if it was just poorly recorded (or preserved). I wouldn't change a thing. Hazlewood's collaborations with Nancy Sinatra get all the attention (and they should, because "Some Velvet Morning" and "Summer Wine" are luscious) but don't overlook this one (sans Hazlewood vocals, though). Ann-Margaret tries to sound tougher than she is, and doesn't really pull it off, but even that works.

29. Junior Kimbrough – Meet Me in the City
One lo-fi song follows another. iTunes says "Meet Me in the City" is from a "noisy and hazy-sounding" 1992 home recording. I respond "Screw you, I downloaded it for free from the Fat Possum site." What's with all my iTunes rage?

30. Whyte Boots – Nightmare
A message to anyone who has tried to develop drama in pop music: you will never, ever top this song. It packs all the tragedy of opera into 2:45 and makes "Leader of the Pack" sound like a Cream of Wheat jingle. I love the Greek chorus effect, and the bird-like "Ohhhhhh! Ohhhh! Ohhhh!" at the climax gives me the chills every time. "It's all my fault she's dead." Goddamn. A genuine masterpiece.

31. Chain & the Gang – Interview With the Chain Gang
Had to lighten the mood after what happened with Bobby's former and current (well, now former) girlfriends. Everything Ian Svenonius records makes me laugh ("Diary of a Genius," anyone?). Perfect mixture of genuine (I think) political/artistic values and an ability to make fun of himself. "What's my stance? You know, I like to dance." Gold. For no reason at all I'll note that this is the second telephone-sound-effect song after "U.R.A. Fever." Will somebody answer that damn phone?

32. Six Finger Satellite – Half Control
Frequent readers (!) know how much I like Six Finger Satellite. I'll try to keep my pants on. The new/old/awesome Half Control (recorded in 2001 but only released last year) is still in my regular rotation. The real new one, A Good Year for Hardness, is good too but not as consistent. This one's solid all the way through. Hot title track action!

33. Mr. Lif – Welcome to the World
I think it's pretty cool that my two favorite rappers (Lif and Edan) are from Boston. Not that I live in Boston anymore. Don't you love when you meet someone at Clark's Trading Post in New Hampshire who says they're from "Boston" but when you ask what "part of town" they live in they say like Melrose or something? I don't necessarily blame those who hate people from Massachusetts.

34. Ofege – It's Not Easy
I snagged this on eMusic from the Forge Your Own Chains compilation. One of the reviewers called it "an irresistible swirl" of "Hey Jude" and "Oh! Sweet Nuthin'" and I have to say that's pretty spot-on. I'll throw in "Dear Mr. Fantasy" too, because I'm a Traffic dork.

35. Shocking Blue – Send Me a Postcard
I think "Send Me a Postcard" was in a movie I saw recently. I had a hard time deciding between it and "Love Buzz," but I didn't want all my readers (!) to think I chose that one in a bald attempt to show off. "Ever hear of a little band called Nirvana? Their first single was a Shocking Blue cover. Also, give a listen to 'Rainbow Chaser' by the original Nirvana. 1968. You're welcome."

36. Rocket From the Tombs – Transfusion
I could have chosen anything from The Day the Earth Met the Rocket From the Tombs. It's one of the best things I've bought all my life. Members went on to form Pere Ubu and the Dead Boys, but the original RFTT rehearsals ("Sonic Reducer," "30 Seconds Over Tokyo," etc.) smoke the official later recordings.

37. Funkadelic – I Wanna Know If It's Good to You?
I put a shortened version of this song (from a comp I had called In Yo' Face! The History of Funk, Vol. 1) on a college mixtape of "oldies" called I Am a Tired Old Woman, but the album version is one hundred percent better—basically the "Part 1" single and its "Part 2" B-side grafted together with some extra stereo effects added in. Anyway, I have a distinct memory of listening to this song while driving down Storrow Drive on my way home from work one night years ago. When I got home I probably opened a Harp, put on some Blues Explosion and played Dark Forces II: Jedi Knight on my PC. I was a real winner.

38. Ya Ho Wha 13 – Camp of the Gypsies
Welcome to the weird block. It helps to have blocks when dealing with this many songs. Every time I see the Magnificence in the Memory cover I fear the picture of Father Yod is a cock. I'm sorry about that. He is intercoursing a woman on the front of I'm Gonna Take You Home though, so don't think it's out of nowhere. Probably not an accident, either.

39. The Red Krayola – The Jewels of the Madonna
I like that these guys changed the spelling of "Crayola" under legal pressure from the crayon company, and then eventually said "Fuck it" and went back to the C. I also love how the (totally shitty-sounding) two-fer CD of their first two albums mistakenly calls the second one God Bless the Red Krayola and All Who Sail on Her (instead of …With It). Must have been a navy man done that.

40. Amon Düül II – Archangel Thunderbird
Remember when we were bouncing around to Camera Obscura? We've come a long way, baby. Amon Düül II is what happens when you're browsing eMusic for psychedelic music—it's like shopping for aspirin at Target and going home with a bag of cocaine.

41. The Olivia Tremor Control – Green Typewriters (Part 1)
Weird block over. Maybe? I like this band but I suspect they're strange for strangeness's sake. This song is taken from Dusk at Cubist Castle, where it's part of a ten-song "Green Typewriters" suite. Only it's not "Green Typewriters (Part 1)," "Green Typewriters (Part 2)," etc. Each part is just called "Green Typewriters." Why? Just to be annoying? If it's so important that "They're all part of one big piece, man" then just make it one long track, man. I have their later (really good) album Black Foliage on CD and it's a good thing, because even though silly little "songs" like the four-second "The Sky Is a Harpsichord Canvas" are necessary (in that the tracks all run into each other) it would drive me nuts every time one of them popped up on shuffle on an iPod. There are only so many times you can elect to skip stuff when shuffling before you wonder why you shouldn't just delete that shit. If they produced a series of short tracks called "I Am Collecting Mad Royalties" then maybe I'd understand.

42. Royal Trux – The United States vs. One 1974 Cadillac El Dorado Sedan
For some reason you can't download much Royal Trux. The self-explanatory 3-Song EP is excellent, especially for $3 on Amazon. And yes, "The United States vs. One 1974 Cadillac El Dorado Sedan" is as good as the title suggests. Basically four minutes of straightforward Royal Trux and three of spacey Royal Trux. The result? My favorite Royal Trux song.

43. UFO – Evil
The last song I added. I can't believe I almost forgot about it—"Evil" got me thinking about the whole digital thing in the first place. I first heard it about a year and a half ago, parked outside the condo A. and I came thisclose to buying before walking away. (We were waiting for the seller's agent to show up so we could check out a couple of things. She turned out to be as annoyingly pushy as the seller was indisputably insane.) Anyway, I think it was WMBR that played this at like 8:30 on a weeknight—that's what I love about college radio. What happened next is the perfect marriage of old, new and newer: liking something on the radio, checking the station's website for a playlist to see what it was and then buying it on iTunes (I couldn't find it elsewhere). Kudos to UFO for knowing exactly what I like—moderate fidelity, a chunky bass- and drum-driven riff and lyrics about an evil woman who won't get down with you after a long day. Also, their first album is called UFO 1. Confidence!

44. Charizma & Peanut Butter Wolf – My World Premiere
Really crammed this in here. But I love the drum loop—adds some excellent old-school flavor (this was recorded in '91 or '92 but not released until '96, and then again in '03 on the Big Shots album). Also eases some where's-all-the-rap? tension and almost makes up for the fact that EPMD's "Get Off the Bandwagon" was a late scratch. Almost.

45. Muddy Waters – She's Alright
I hope you've made it this far because I'd hate for you to miss this Electric Mud achievement. Late last year I heard it on WZBC while driving into Boston late one evening and it seconded the "Evil" progression I related above. Anyway, Muddy Waters was so relevant for so long it's scary. Some might accuse him of leaning toward whatever was popular and then disowning if afterward, but if it produces great music then everyone should be happy. Nice little "My Girl" shout-out at the end. [Later: So I just streamed the Black Keys' upcoming album Brothers on the NPR site (I'm not an NPR guy, I just happened to read that they were doing this) and its "She's Long Gone" is basically a rewrite of "She's Alright." Keeping the Led Zeppelin tradition alive! Can I pick 'em or can I pick 'em?]

46. Small Faces – The Autumn Stone
Like I wrote about the Byrds, the Small Faces were not afraid to go in different directions. But where the Byrds were really serious and uptight, the Small Faces had a lot of personality and were not afraid to use humor in their music. This gives their rare quiet, introspective stuff like "The Autumn Stone" and "Become Like You" some real weight. Funny that they and Cream are two of my favorite bands and they both flamed out so quickly. Maybe I have a short attention sp

47. Shellac – The End of Radio
Steve Albini almost gets the last word but not quite! That would have been too predictable. Last word in English though, I suppose. Muddy Waters referenced the Temptations and Shellac does the same with the Modern Lovers' "Roadrunner." Everyone likes to sing about 128 but no one likes driving on it, as I'll be doing in a few hours. Drag.

48. Os Mutantes – Ando Meio Desligado
As I end on a Brazilian note I'd like to state how proud I am that I've included a handful of songs by international artists and not one of them can be considered "world music." Wikipedia (in which I clearly place too much trust) says "Ando Meio Desligado" roughly translates to "I feel a little spaced out." You bet your ass I do, after forty-eight songs and three-plus hours. So I'm ending the way I began, with a side-one-track-one. Final thrill of the ride. Don't forget your backpacks. Personal electronic devices are not allowed. You must be this high to blow your mind. No cutsies. Etc.

In closing [Edit: Not quite! See: Beatles.]: we've got fourteen songs from the sixties (half that from 1968 alone… shocker!); thirteen from the seventies (six from 1970); only one from the eighties; seven from the nineties; thirteen from the aughts; and nothing from 2010. With the way we're heading—digital awakenings and all—maybe a self-aware iPod can do the heavy lifting for me next year? (Be afraid.)

Maybe I should force-justify all my post titles, because that looks real sharp

2010-03-23T12:37:00.017-04:00

You dirty rat cocksuckers! (Sorry, this is the true final bit of quick sizzle. In a few weeks I'll more than make up for the brevity.)

A joke on you and me

2010-02-11T17:33:00.033-05:00

You know when you keep reading about some album or other, and people are pissing all over themselves to douse the lava-flames of awesomeness that emanate from said album, except they like being engulfed by the overhyped lava so much that they don't panic when they run out of pee? They just drink more water? Except they do it carefully enough so that they don't spill any and cool the lava? Do you know this? Society says you're supposed to welcome the awesome death-flames because everyone else does. Well I'm going to say it: to hell with being burned by lava! To hell with skin grafts! To hell with The Marble Index!

Nothing bothers me more than someone claiming to like something because it's supposedly cool to do so. I am not cool, and I don't care to be. Who do I need to impress? I landed an amazing wife and I can make her laugh. Fitting in with the crowd is for chumps. Same thing goes for those who dislike something because it's popular. Who cares? I had similar rants in my anti-Clash diatribe and 1997 mixtape review. Led Zeppelin is one of the most popular bands around, and a lot of assholes love them, but I'm not going to stop loving them because of that (though I'd be shocked if these assholes like "How Many More Times" as much as I do). So last month I picked their first album as the best one released in 1969. Again, who cares?

I'm about to do to Nico's second album what I did to the Clash a few years ago: destroy its validity. You see, it works when I'm controlling popular opinion, just not when society is. After all, society as a whole doesn't have a blog. But I do. I even write things sometimes.

I was reading Mojo awhile ago and it reviewed a reissue set of The Marble Index and Desertshore. I knew of both but was pretty sure I'd never heard anything off of either one. I own and enjoy her Chelsea Girl, though Mojo (and Nico) seemed to think it's a lightweight affair. Wikipedia tells me that Nico could never listen to it, "because everything I wanted for that record, they took it away. I asked for drums, they said no. I asked for more guitars, they said no. And I asked for simplicity, and they covered it in flutes! The first time I heard the album, I cried and it was all because of the flute." Fuck that—it's a good album and I am all over that flute. Saves the album, in fact. (As an aside, check out the band Ant Trip Ceremony for excellent sixties flute-playing. That is some sweet action!) I downloaded "I'm Not Sayin'" the other day, the Gordon Lightfoot cover that was her first single, and that's a great song too. I can see how she might have felt molded into something she wasn't on that one, but whatever, I like it. "Eef you luff me." And while she wasn't happy to be pushed around on Chelsea Girl, it's a fairly challenging album—not too many underground (at the time) performers were getting away with longer songs on major-label releases in '67. It's more challenging than her handful of tracks on The Velvet Underground & Nico, anyway.

I know what you're thinking: how can I enjoy a song like "It Was a Pleasure Then" and not find a redeeming quality in anything on The Marble Index? The answer is, I don't really know. I can appreciate that one for the same reason I enjoy some Ya Ho Wha 13 songs, I guess, in that there's a definite organic feel to it. Everything on The Marble Index sounds like it was made in a lab by people who don't know what laughter is.

I went ahead and… acquired… the album for the sole purpose of discovering whether or not I liked it. As you've undoubtedly inferred, I think it's a pile of soulless crap. There is not one second of anything traditionally enjoyable, admirable or artful. Go ahead and tell me I don't get it, because you're right. I un-get it so badly that upon hearing it I immediately feel the need to wash myself with The Mirror Man Sessions for eighty minutes.

Let me tell you what's not to like. Here's the breakdown, LP-style:

Side A
Prelude
Lawns of Dawns
No One Is There
Ari's Song
Facing the Wind

Side B
Julius Caesar (Memento Hodié)
Frozen Warnings
Evening of Light

A1. Prelude
Coincidence that one of the better songs on the album is one minute long? Absolutely not. It reminds me of Christmas, and I like the sloppy edit at the end. Really lets you know it's a downhill fire-piss ride from here. The biggest mark against it is that it's first on the album and not last, and so there are seven assholes left to listen to. By the way, what did John Cale ever do that was so great? Sure, some innovative and exciting bass, viola and keyboard work with the Velvet Underground (he steals "Sister Ray") and a classic reading of "The Gift." What about the forty-two years since? What's worth seeking out? I'm asking because I don't know. Sure, the Velvets got worse after he left, but he got a lot worse. (I guess the same could be said for Lou Reed, but at least he wrote "The Blue Mask" and has been entertaining us with his Imhotep impression for twenty years.)

A2. Lawns of Dawn
I'll admit this song isn't bad, and progresses interestingly enough (aside from the vocals), but then the whole rest of the album just straight-out copies its example. (As in, I really like Pulp Fiction but I hate everything it influenced.) It is, however, the only song with any actual dynamism, and the novel idea of a beginning and an end. I understand it's this whole minimalist philosophy but to me that only means you're limiting yourself, you're in a hurry or you're dull.

A3. No One Is There
I like when bands record songs and slap on non-sequitur titles, something like Shellac's "Watch Song." That one's about wanting to fight some guy but where's with the aforementioned watch? Shellac has a sense of humor, so probably someone's watch broke while they were recording it. Or maybe someone stole one of their watches one night, and they're appealing to us to keep our eyes open for it the way they did for Bob Weston's coat on "Mantel." So there are the non-sequitur people, and then there are people who name a song after a repeated phrase from said song. Unwound's "Fingernails on a Chalkboard" is a great example of this, and the funny thing about that is I knew the phrase was going to be repeated throughout the song just from reading the title on the back of Repetition the day it came out, to the point where the only explanation is that I had to have read about it somewhere beforehand. I can't tell you how many times he says "Fingernails on a chalkboard" in the middle of that song, mostly because I don't feel like counting. But see? Unwound has a sense of humor too. Nico does not. She's German, so maybe it's not her fault. And, as you might have figured by now, no one is there. All uff them are missink.

A4. Ari's Song
I understand the point of this album was probably to break Nico out of her shell as, like, an unknown beautiful woman. I remember in either the Velvet Underground biography Up-tight or some in-depth magazine article there was a bit where she was complaining about her performance of "I'll Keep It With Mine" on Chelsea Girls, where she's saying "But I vant to sound like Bubbee Deeleen!" Later it documented how she ended her romantic relationship with Reed by telling him "I can no longer fuck a Jew." Anyway, she had a kid named Ari. This is his song. Sail away, Ari! You're free now! Unless you're dead, I don't know.

A5. Facing the Wind
This is the worst song I've ever heard. The piano-playing has so much not-soul it reminds me of the time my friends and I were inexplicably watching a video of a Nine Inch Nails performance (?) and one band member accidentally (you know, amid the chaos and nihilism of a Nine Inch Nails performance) knocked over his keyboard, and we could see that a couple of keys were taped down. The electrical tape had more passion than whoever (probably Cale) is striking this poor piano like it's a dead calculator. I think the recording engineer shoots himself at 3:22. Rest in peace, recording engineer.

During this welcome interval, let's discuss the rest of the people and/or things who drive me crazy with their undeserved popularity: the Pretenders (she gets a pass because she's a supposed tough chick with a cool haircut who writes her own songs, even though her songs suck and her band makes them sound even worse); Patti Smith (whose utter nonsense, shitty vocals and ugliness I will never enjoy, and like Chrissie Hynde her band is historically cheesy-sounding—hubby Fred's "City Slang" dances on the unattended grave of everything she's ever done); Heineken (I have nothing in common with people who enjoy this piss and it's evident that, for the most part, I no longer trust green-bottle beers); television ratings (have you ever met someone from a Nielsen family?); English bands who can only sing about English things (the Kinks are the exception that proves the rule); so-called Brooklyn "rock bands" (you can't name me one quality non-rap group from this overrated-in-every-sense-even-though-I've-only-been-there-once-maybe-twice borough other than Sir Lord Baltimore, and even they only had one great album); Brooklyn Brewery beers (see previous item); regular-season winning-streak records (thanks, Peyton, for validating the utter dominance of the Patriots over the last ten years); meteorology (I was happy to be able to leave work at 1:00 yesterday but we got maybe a half inch of snow last night, as opposed to the "six to twelve plus" inches they'd been predicting for a week); Stephen Merritt and all his sad-sack bands (a long time ago I saw the Future Bible Heroes open for someone at T.T. the Bear's and he psychologically raped his fellow bandmates for a bad half hour—what a miserable prick). Enough already, all of you. And hey, LaDainian Tomlinson? You missed this list because everyone finally recognizes your plummeting skills and understands that you're a total punk bitch. Here we go with side two.

B1. Julius Caesar (Memento Hodié)
Picking up with the second side, I'm noticing that—strangely enough—these songs would have been better served as a single suite taking up a full side of the LP. They are boring and share a general Teutonic gloom, and this is the only thing that could make them work. "The Celebration of the Lizard" is the most ridiculous thing ever recorded but it hangs together precisely because it's hung together. Excepting "Not to Touch the Earth," which I still really like (don't get me wrong, I like "Celebration of the Lizard" too), no individual song has a whole lot to offer. But they somehow pull it off all together with the snake and the tribes and whatever he's mumbling about. From that point of view, The Marble Index could possibly work. The other side of the record could then be a bunch of Creedence covers.

B2. Frozen Warnings
I guess I don't mind this song too much. It borders on pretty, even. But it's the same goddamn thing, endlessly. Again. Maybe everyone does that (I don't pay attention to lyrics), but it's so prominent with her manner of singing. "Close to the frozen borderline." I get it.

B3. Evening of Light
Smack in the middle of this song (a real charmer!) some really nice guitar/bass/strings interplay starts bleeding in. It's quite good. But she's busy singing about jumping children and the end of time and so it's all for naught. I do really like the last twenty seconds of this, and it's fitting because it's the last bit of The Marble Index I'll ever listen to. Never again, Nico. Your lava drowns in my pee.

Saw that big-time James Cameron flick this weekend

2010-02-04T12:58:00.010-05:00

I have to say I was impressed, it's a fresh take on a wonderful original idea. Many say the special effects steal the show, and that the story suffers from too many action-movie clichés, but I happen to like action movies. And yeah, the special effects are stunning.

So there's this alien planet. Humans have "colonized" there, not sure for how long but they are pretty well established with infrastructure, and are aware of how to survive and navigate the atmosphere and geography. Overt signs of hostility between the humans and the alien race they encounter are present, but that doesn't matter to the slimeball representative from "The Company." He only cares about harvesting something, likely for use as a weapon based on most everything the human characters bring to the movie—this is clearly a military operation first and a scientific one second.

Cameron knows armaments, or a least has a futurist's grasp of armaments. Personnel vehicles too—you can see the roots of those transport ships back in The Terminator. He gets into combat tactics as well, and thankfully realizes that all the technical flair in the world can't always defeat a determined enemy with home-field advantage. (I love how the human troops only seem capable of looking straight ahead and not up and down, particularly since they were eventually decimated by an overhead attack.)

Alien was a slow-burning thriller and I think this film works just as well in its own way. Indeed, it holds up after almost twenty-five years—Aliens is that good.

Hey, we saw Avatar the other night too. It was pretty good.

The wait begins

2010-01-28T15:21:00.028-05:00

I was going to save this amazing juxtaposition for my year-or-two-in-music review but I've lost confidence that I can cram it in without… well, cramming it in. We know Ice is hiding an Uzi, but what about Ditto? I say it's a pizza.

On deck are said review (which could also detail the death of the compact disc; that's where Power and Movement come in) and the Marble Index bash-o-rama I mentioned once. I started both of them a long time ago and they're a mess. But I'm trying real hard, Ringo.

Interlude: Marc and Debra Blain have real problems

2010-01-24T21:48:00.032-05:00

A slight non-musical exploration while I rejoice in one evil (the Colts) defeating another, greater evil (the Jets), while the greatest evil of them all (the Favre) mentally prepares for how he will swiftly and publicly blame Peterson for the loss. (It's tied at 21 right now, but there's no way the Saints lose this).

Really dodged a bullet here. As Chairman Mao once said, "We live in some interesting god-hole-fucking times." Perhaps it was Ming the Merciless. I forget my American History.

Speaking of America, this whole "USA" thing is a blessing and a curse. A blessing because when I'm filling out some international form or declaration or shit like that, when I get to the Country line I can write three silly letters and be done. And two of them are vowels! And the third is like the most popular consonant. Those letters don't even need to be written out, they're assumed and shit.

I'm very nearly drunk right now.

The downside of such a catchy acronym is that people can sculpt ridiculousness based solely around its simplicity, with a little warmongering richness added for flavor. A. and I moved here last Spring and we've enjoyed its lack of an overt political heaviness. We're both rabid independents and we get pretty worked up when it comes to (I think Favre is hurt!!!!) people who feel entitled. We're so independent, in fact, that we bucked the system and never got around to re-registering to vote. Washington can eat shit.

Who knows if us not voting in the special Massachusetts The-Future-Is-Brilliant-and/or-Fucked senatorial election will matter in the long run. (Also the local election to decide if town taxes should (touchdown, Saints!) be raised to build a new police station, and frankly I was more interested in those results. Not interested enough to take three or four minutes to update my voter registration, but still interested. And it was defeated… take that, fuzz!) So back to that entitlement thing. Maybe I would have voted for Brown (probably not) and maybe I would have voted for Coakley (also probably not, particularly because I saw her glad-handing at North Station twice in the last two weeks and noticed her Quadimodo-esque hunch was dangerously under-reported). In fact, I probably would have voted for Joseph P. L. Kennedy because he thought he could win based on coincidence and outright deception. Which is how most elections are won anyway. That guy got one percent of the vote, which might not sound like a lot, except I'm sure seventy-five percent of the people who voted for him thought he was an "actual" Kennedy.

Anyway, Coakley only recently realized that she had to earn (fumble!) our votes, and that's why she lost. In true I-can't-believe-I'm-losing-to-this-guy fashion, Brown did everything short of bitch-slap his daughter when he announced in his victory speech that she was available for sex. He also kept telling us about the truck he drives. Matter of fact, his campaign slogan was "Slip it to my daughter in my truck or the terrorists win."

Onward. This… monument… would have pulverized every political, sensible and ironic fabric of my beautiful mind and body. Marc and Debra Blain have real problems. I like the line comparing the thing to a commercial sign because unfortunately that's what "USA" has become—a brand name that ninnies can holler in unison because it's easy to say, and it's an easy way to pretend to be patriotic. When your national anthem is about war and your veterans memorials honor violence instead of sacrifice, it's not unfair to accuse "Occupying force!" when your humanitarian aid workers arrive bearing machine guns.

Anyway, I play Risk online with my friends, and Kamchatka is a key country (or key oblast, for my Russian friends). I've been staring at the word "Kamchatka" off and on for years playing this game, and just now I still had to look up how to spell it. I don't wish I lived in Kamchatka, because I like it here and it's where I keep my stuff. But I wish my country were called "Kamchatka." Or "Eastern Australia." Even "Tinycockistan." Anything that would make people think twice about yelling it over and over when they have nothing better to say.

Tied at twenty-eight.

The continuing adventures of an extended delay

2010-01-10T22:36:00.090-05:00

The Pats lost, my cat Chloe is face-planting on the loveseat and I'm writing about music. Here are my favorite albums of each year from 1964 to two weeks ago. (I figure 1964 is as good a year as any to mark the beginning of the modern music age.) Think of this as a warm-up for my best-of-2009 list, which I promise to consider finishing sooner or later.

Stop reading after the second entry if you think I picked a jazz album to be hip. Stop reading if you get to 1970 and wonder "If this asshole is only going to pick one jazz album it should've been Bitches Brew." Stop reading if you think a cat face-planting on a loveseat is less than adorable. Readers will be happy to know I struggled to break three nineties ties ('93, '96 and '98). You're welcome.

1964 – Beatles, "A Hard Day's Night"
1965 – John Coltrane, "A Love Supreme"
1966 – 13th Floor Elevators, "The Psychedelic Sounds of the 13th Floor Elevators"
1967 – Captain Beefheart & His Magic Band, "Safe As Milk"
1968 – Pretty Things, "S.F. Sorrow"
1969 – Led Zeppelin, "Led Zeppelin"
1970 – Stooges, "Fun House"
1971 – Groundhogs, "Split"
1972 – Curtis Mayfield, "Superfly"
1973 – Hawkwind, "Space Ritual"
1974 – Kiss, "Kiss"*
1975 – George Brigman, "Jungle Rot"
1976 – Fela Kuti & Afrika 70, "Zombie"
1977 – The Damned, "Damned Damned Damned"
1978 – Pere Ubu, "The Modern Dance"
1979 – Chrome, "Half Machine Lip Moves"
1980 – Dead Kennedys, "Fresh Fruit for Rotting Vegetables"
1981 – Van Halen, "Fair Warning"
1982 – The Fall, "Hex Enduction Hour"
1983 – Bad Brains, "Rock for Light"
1984 – Metallica, "Ride the Lightning"
1985 – Rites of Spring, "Rites of Spring"
1986 – Big Black, "Atomizer"
1987 – Boogie Down Productions, "Criminal Minded"
1988 – Public Enemy, "It Takes a Nation of Millions to Hold Us Back"
1989 – Beastie Boys, "Paul's Boutique"
1990 – Breeders, "Pod"
1991 – Black Sheep, "A Wolf in Sheep's Clothing"
1992 – The Jesus Lizard, "Liar"
1993 – Wu-Tang Clan, "Enter the Wu-Tang (36 Chambers)"
1994 – The Jon Spencer Blues Explosion, "Orange"
1995 – Chrome Cranks, "Dead Cool"
1996 – DJ Shadow, "Endtroducing....."
1997 – Yo La Tengo, "I Can Hear the Heart Beating As One"
1998 – Six Finger Satellite, "Law of Ruins"
1999 – Make Up, "Save Yourself"
2000 – Dead Meadow, "Dead Meadow"
2001 – R.L. Burnside, "Burnside on Burnside"
2002 – Mr. Lif, "I Phantom"
2003 – White Stripes, "Elephant"
2004 – Dungen, "Ta Det Lugnt"
2005 – Edan, "Beauty and the Beat"
2006 – Black Keys, "Magic Potion"
2007 – Radiohead, "In Rainbows"
2008 – Black Mountain, "In the Future"
2009 – Flaming Lips, "Embryonic"

My favorite album from a young 2010 is Fuck You, First Alert, Maker of the Combination Smoke/Carbon Monoxide Alarm Outside My Bedroom That Boasts an Indecipherable Voice Feature and Enjoys Going Off in the Middle of the Night for No Reason at All, Even After I've Replaced the Goddamn Batteries Twice. It's a concept album about violence.

*1974 sucks for music and it's the year of my damn birth. On that note, I do genuinely like every song on Kiss. I even made a bunch of strangers laugh at a Kiss concert when Paul went into one of his over-the-top addresses to introduce a huge hit from this album, and I yelled out "Love Theme From Kiss!" It might be the funniest thing I've ever said, so much so that I've now mentioned it twice in this blog. Anyway, second place for '74 goes to their follow-up Hotter Than Hell. Another great album but, clearly, what a strange year.

A program for mass constipation in the form of an old mixtape review

2009-06-23T20:39:00.060-04:00

Welcome back, pee-ers! I'm new to this retroactive self/music criticism so I'll provide some context. By 1996 I had been listening to WZBC for two years and felt I had a good grasp of the underground music scene (honestly, I was right). That year I took a co-op job at what used to be Digital Equipment Corporation (since bought by Compaq and then HP, I think) so was in the car forty-five minutes each way to and from Acton. Definitely got nice and cozy with the likes of "Psychotic Reactions," "Mass. Ave. and Beyond" and other great WZBC shows, but sometimes I needed to control the playlist. (It's remarkable what a great invention the iPod is.)

So I was making mix after mix, mostly for myself, which is a little sad except for the fact that I was mercilessly selfish about my music: I had a friend at the time (the one I ranted about once) who would always glom onto a band I really liked and nearly ruin every single one. Lucky for me he was a Long Island boy who could be counted on to revert to Alice in Chains. And though I didn't date a whole lot in college, I had no confidence in any girl's ability to like what I did. One of them played that Bush album early on, for crying out loud. I didn't want to be rude so I admitted it was "OK" when she asked. Then she admitted to wishing she had "cool" taste in music like I did, and I almost broke up with her on the spot. It's ridiculous to be envious of another person's taste in music, or taste in anything, because taste by definition is personal. Why aspire to something just for show? Should I force feed myself a lobster just because it's popular, even though I don't like it? So anyway, yeah, I hated that she liked Bush, but I'm glad she liked something, as opposed to not caring for music one way or another. I felt no need to introduce her to different music… and it's a good thing, since she dumped me a few weeks later anyway. I did the legwork, spent the money at Newbury Comics (remember when they sold music?) and spit out a mix every few weeks or so for—more or less—this guy alone. All thanks to these two clowns who haven't been in my life for almost fifteen years.

The one I'm presenting today, Interrupting Cow Blues, is about ten deep into my career and the first one I really nailed. It must have been early 1997 because I've only got one song from that year and eighteen from 1996. Something that jumps out though is I have absolutely no hip-hop, which is strange because I was listening to a lot at the time (before and since as well). Guess I was in a straight rock & roll mood that day.

Side A
Brainiac – I Am a Cracked Machine
Shellac – Killers
Guv'ner – Coitus City
My Bloody Valentine – Only Shallow
Girls Against Boys – Vera Cruz
Cibo Matto – Birthday Cake
Railroad Jerk – Bang the Drum
Polvo – The Purple Bear
June of 44 – June Leaf
Man… or Astro-Man? – Planet Collision
Make Up – International Airport
Yo La Tengo – Autumn Sweater
Halo Benders – Don't Touch My Bikini
Dandy Warhols – Ride

Side B
The Jon Spencer Blues Explosion – Can't Stop
Stereolab – Percolator
Beat Happening – Pinebox Derby
Chokebore – Cursor
The Nation of Ulysses – Diphtheria
Quivvver – Mermaid
Guided by Voices – Watch Me Jumpstart
Dub Narcotic Sound System – Robotica
Six Finger Satellite – Padded Room
Retsin – Loon
Unwound – Corpse Pose
Jonathan Fire-Eater – The Beautician
Combustible Edison – Solid State
Boss Hog – I Idolize You

The title refers to my favorite joke of all time: "Knock, knock." "Who's there?" "Interrupting cow." "Interrupting cow wh–" "Moo!" I told so many people that joke that I unwittingly told the person who first shared it with me. And so I got the blues for running out of laughter targets. (Second favorite joke? "Three musicians and a drummer walk into a bar.") So what? So let's dance!

A1. Brainiac – I Am a Cracked Machine*
Love starting with "I Am a Cracked Machine," one of my favorite songs from Hissing Prigs in Static Couture, which is one of the best albums of 1996 (and still in my regular rotation). Excellent job by me. A friend of mine saw Brainiac at the Middle East Upstairs (I'm not sure where I was) and told me they had a ton of technical problems during the set before closing with this. By the end of it they had obliterated a keyboard out of frustration. I'm glad they went the irony route there.

A2. Shellac – Killers**
This Shellac song is from The Lounge Ax Defense and Relocation Compact Disc, a 1996 compilation that is exactly what it sounds like. I guess they couldn't have sold enough of these because the club still closed down a few years later. And I sold the disc awhile ago too (salvaging this and three or four other MP3s). I dig this song and have been getting into Shellac again. They're so goddamn tight! It's exciting. "I side with the defendant!" Nice progress so far.

A3. Guv'ner – Coitus City**
"Coitus City" is from a series of split singles eventually compiled and released as the soundtrack for some movie called Screwed. I know nothing about it, except that it once upon a time must have been called Porn because that was the name of the original single series. Super-catchy song for the three-spot (where a lot of album sequences seem to lay the first single) except it's mega-filthy. "Tweaking my speed bag the way that I taught ya." I love it. Not to be overlooked is the near-nonexistent break between "Killer" and this—a practice designed to suffocate each second in an effort to milk every millimeter of that tape. This quick transition sounds great.

A4. My Bloody Valentine – Only Shallow**
My Bloody Valentine. I'm not adding to the eighteen-plus years of blather about how blah blah blah they were/are. Suffice it to say, I think I included this song because I liked it (still do, sigh) and because I was days away from selling the CD. Now I want to puke whenever they're mentioned—we've come a long way. Next.

A5. Girls Against Boys – Vera Cruz**
Nothing against Girls Against Boys, but I saw them open for the Jesus Lizard once (still one of my favorites) and all this does is underscore the fact that I excluded Yow & Company. Worrisome and shameful. Possibly because I had all their albums on tape already? Anyway, GvsB's "Vera Cruz" was great live and is still a good song. Sort of slowing things down a little. See what I mean? I really knew what I was doing with these things. Sad follow-up: House of GVSB is currently in a pile of discs I plan to sell, right next to their earlier Cruise Yourself. I have ripped most of the tracks, though, and am going to hang onto Venus Luxure No. 1 Baby. They're a great band, I just think their songs are better broken up. That's why "Vera Cruz" works well on a mix.

A6. Cibo Matto – Birthday Cake*
Cibo Matto's Viva! la Woman is in another pile next to the one of CDs to sell. This pile is of stuff I probably will sell, but only after listening and harvesting the good songs. I'll keep most of this one, I'm sure, and certainly "Birthday Cake." You have to bounce to this. Wasn't it in Brain Candy too? Appropriate, since the best line from that movie is "Can you get me something to eat before I chew my fucking hand off?" and this whole album is about food.

A7. Railroad Jerk – Bang the Drum*
This is definitely the fun portion of the tape. I first heard "Bang the Drum" on WZBC during one of those Acton drives and was hooked. Aside from the Blues Explosion and the Jesus Lizard I'm afraid a lot of the straight-up rock bands I was into were pretty dry and self-important, so discovering Railroad Jerk (on their third-and-a half album, so what?) was fresh air. This song moves the joy along but I hope I brought in some weightiness soon. (Alas, One Track Mind is in the harvest pile too, though maybe I'll end up keeping it and selling The Third Rail instead.)

A8. Polvo – The Purple Bear**
No weight here. "The Purple Bear" is a straight-ahead pop song that Polvo did so well. If I knew better I'd write coherently about how they had the most wondrous distorted-but-not-really-distortion sound available. I sold Exploded Drawing quite awhile ago now, but not before the birth of MP3s because I was clever enough to hold onto this song and a number of others. It was a fairly ambitious album, if I remember right, but clearly by this point that the Polish guy was writing better songs than the Helium-screwing guy. (How's that for analysis?) Also, if I wanted to sell my copy of Today's Active Lifestyles on eBay I could apparently get $40 for it, since it has the tigers image that was later pulled. I'll keep that in mind and tells the whores to watch out.

A9. June of 44 – June Leaf^ø
In case you were wondering, I still like everything I've heard so far. "June Leaf" is the first misstep, and the first song I no longer own in any capacity. Don't know why I didn't go with "Anisette" here, maybe I already included that on another mix or knew that I'd run into time constraints. I should have just skipped June of 44 entirely—they have a handful of good songs and all, but definitely queue up in the dry-and-self-important line and aren't really worth it. "June Leaf" takes too long to get going and doesn't do anything once it arrives—slow boilers generally don't work in a mixtape format. The Polvo-to-June of 44 transition is sort of organic, I guess, but the song no longer does it for me. Check minus.

A10. Man… or Astro-Man? – Planet Collision**
Yup, "Planet Collision" is a Man… or Astro-Man? song alright. (Though I think they dropped the ellipsis by this time?) It's a good song too, but pretty shoe-horned on here. I suspect I needed something short in order to fill out the side. I was pretty particular in constructing in that I basically knew the songs I was going to use, but the order was open to whim. And usually the fine folks at TDK would bless each side of your ninety-minute cassette with an extra minute and a half on each side, so a little improvisation was required. A generic two-minutes-and-change MoAM song, bookended by some old sci-fi dialog of course, did the trick. I wish I'd gone with the "Television Man" cover instead.

A11. Make Up – International Airport*
"Airport! Airport!" I still loooove the Make Up. "International Airport" is from the fake live Destination: Love. Excellent short rave-up near the end too. Everything about this band is phenomenal. I've even hung the "Substance Abuse" sleeve on my cubicle wall. Q: How cool am I? A: Very.

A12. Yo La Tengo – Autumn Sweater*
My introduction to Yo La Tengo was I Can Hear the Heart Beating As One. Years later I remain baffled by the title, but it's either my favorite or second-favorite (after Electr-O-Pura) album of theirs. I showed some real restraint in burying "Autumn Sweater" toward the end of side one, because it was one of my absolute favorite songs of the year. Still like it a lot too. These guys stylistically are all over the map and it's awesome how well they pull everything off, particularly once James McNew became a full-time member. Perfect song. Funny story, when I was working in Stoneham there was a girl who had a crush on me… and on every single guy who ever walked through those doors. But I happened to be the flavor of the moment. Anyway, she asked to borrow this CD and I loaned it to her for what turned out to be months. I was New York pissed. She's the type who thought irritating equated cute, so she was always getting on my nerves on purpose, thinking I'd wear down and realize "Wait a minute, I love her!" I'll tell you what put a stop to that though: I drove a red-hot Corolla two-door then and was very particular about the position of the driver's seat, and that it never be adjusted because I had it set just right. This one time I drove us to a Chinese place up the street–I always volunteered to drive because one of the other girls was an internationally recognized terrible driver, as in I'd feel nauseous within a mile–and the annoying girl sat behind me. When we returned to the office I wouldn't let her exit on my side because that would have meant moving the seat. She thought I was joking so she reached for the lever and I slammed the door in her face. To quote Mayor Quimby, I could not have been happier with the way that turned out.

A13. Halo Benders – Don't Touch My Bikini**
With the Halo Benders, Calvin Johnson makes his first of three appearances here (really, no room for the Jesus Lizard at all?). He must have forced himself on me the way he did to all those K bands. "Don't Touch My Bikini" was a big WZBC hit the Summer of 1994 when I first discovered the station—it's a fun little song. On paper you think this band would sound like a fifty/fifty mix of Beat Happening and Built to Spill and that's exactly what it is. Plus some boingy sound effects. I still like the song but they could have severed a minute out of the middle there somewhere. The A side is getting a little tired now so it's a good thing this song is second-to-last.

A14. Dandy Warhols – Ride**
Is there a sillier band out there than the Dandy Warhols? Posing nude in the liner notes, selling songs to The O.C., accepting roles as receivers to Anton Newcombe's giver. And the fucking name. And the fucking singer's name. Still a catchy song, and I'll hang on to it even though the CD is going away. Maybe if I draw red lions on the cover I can make another $40 for those whores.

Entr'acte. I will say I know how to close a side, since "Ride" ends perfectly as an "Ahhhhh… let's regroup" transition.

B1. The Jon Spencer Blues Explosion – Can't Stop*
With that said, "Can't Stop" is a mistake. The sound is raw enough compared to the slick Dandies, just not overly raw as to be a deliberate shift in tone. Oh well. I like the song, it has a great riff, but it's an awfully weird choice for a mixtape. The Blues Explosion were my favorite band at the time (Orange still slays) and I had a whole mess of songs to choose from. Must have felt compelled to pull something from Now I Got Worry since it was their latest at the time. Whenever I hear something from this album I flash back to my senior year of college, living in a great duplex near Symphony Hall in Boston. And I mean flash back in that I flash straight to the exposed-brick wall of the small dining room where I kept the stereo, because I played Worry a lot. I think I was trying to convince myself that it was as good as Orange and Extra Width when it was not (and is not—in fact, "Love All of Me" is the dullest thing Spencer has ever done). So back to "Can't Stop": I do love the Iggy shout-out "'Cuz your girlfriend still loves me," and maybe that was enough to favor it at the time. But something like "Skunk" or "R.L. Got Soul" would have worked better.

B2. Stereolab – Percolator*
To this day, "Percolator" makes me think of a particular intersection along that drive to Acton, right at routes 2 and 126 (where you'd turn to go to Walden Pond). I must have heard it for the first time right there one morning. (Funny that "Bang the Drum" reminds me of a spot a couple hundred yards eastbound, probably where I heard that for the first time.) I'd been familiar with Stereolab since Mars Audiac Quintet came out in '94 but "Percolator" is the song that made me a real fan. Emperor Tomato Ketchup is easily my favorite album of theirs—I can listen to "Metronomic Underground" for hours. "Percolator," also, is cash money.

B3. Beat Happening – Pinebox Derby**
Welcome back, Calvin! What was I thinking? "Pinebox Derby" is a good song but I really should have opened things up with Dr. Octagon or something (I like "Wild and Crazy" here). Anway, I'm not about focusing on past mistakes. This is Beat Happening in down-and-dirty mode—down-and-dirty for them anyway. I do like the guitar sound here and definitely prefer this style over the lesser "Indian Summer" stuff.

B4. Chokebore – Cursor^ø
About those past mistakes though: Chokebore. Really? Misstep number two. Dull, repetitive, overlong, real momentum-killer. I hate when bands think they've stumbled across something oh-so-clever and just can't let it go ("indie" bands are particularly guilty). That describes every element here: the noodly little riff, the retarded crunchy riff, the megaphone vocals and the "slow" parts. I'm really annoyed with myself for including this. I pulled it from an Amphetamine Reptile sampler with cars on the cover. Clearly, excluding "Percolator," this B side is not winning again and again and again.

B5. The Nation of Ulysses – Diphtheria*
Ian Svenonius makes appearance number two with his Nation of Ulysses comrades. If you excise "Cursor" and make this number four then suddenly I'm not so hard on myself. Theses guys excelled at weaving in and out—their albums are so perfectly sequenced that I had to steal "Diphtheria" (from 13-Point Program to Destroy America) as my a chill-out track before getting loud again. I'm pretty sure Steve Kroner handled the backing vocals on all their stuff because this style of contribution is absent from The Embassy Tapes, recorded after he quit/was booted from the band. I think he is fantastic and really makes songs like this and "Mockingbird, Yeah!" stand out against contemporaries. (I don't know if the intention was to amuse, but "DEE-NIGH-YULL! DEE-NIIILE!" is amazing.) In one hand it's a shame these guys broke up after only two proper albums, but in the other we know that a band's first or second album is usually its best. I guess it worked out.

B6. Quivvver – Mermaid**
"She's a mermaid!" I think this version is different from the original single version I first heard in '94 or '95. I remember that being a little slower and probably better, but I only had the re-recorded album version. Super fun song—I wonder how Quivvver didn't become mega-stars.

B7. Guided by Voices – Watch Me Jumpstart*
Pretty safe GBV choice, indeed, but I'm still enamored with the chorus. So grand and earnest that I want to cry whenever I hear it, and I don't usually go for grand and earnest things. I'm not talking about the words because I don't understand what he's saying, and if I did I wouldn't pay attention anyway, but the melody is beyond catchy. In-and-out harmonies too. I love this shit.

B8. Dub Narcotic Sound System – Robotica**
Ho-hum, Calvin Johnson again. I still enjoy this song but I don't know why I felt the need for some Dub Narcotic. It's a better song but sort of accomplishes what "Cursor" did earlier on by killing any type of vibe I was building. Practically an instrumental, and when an instrumental is the best song on a lousy Dub Narcotic album (Boot Party) then you might have an overbearing singer.

B9. Six Finger Satellite – Padded Room*
Thank god for Six Finger Satellite—"Padded Room" wakes this party right the fuck up. Every few weeks their four albums (and now the new/old/awesome Half Control) end up right back in my regular rotation (I love listening to them at work, for some reason) and there aren't many bands I'd take over them. Like Shellac, I get such a kick out of how tight they are. I like my roving sixties psych workouts as much as the next guy but I definitely have a soft spot for straight-ahead, focused, rehearsed volume. For when I die it will also be from severe exposure.

B10. Retsin – Loon**
What the fuck was I thinking by following 6FS with Retsin? Trying too hard for variety? When I die will it be from sincere cooing? "Loon" is a pleasant little song on its own but to cram it between two of the best rock songs of '96 is lunatic and unfair. A friend of mine once made out with Tara Jane O'Retsin backstage at a Rodan show so maybe this was a shout-out to him. Or I was justifying buying Egg Fusion in the first place. Frankly, I should have to justify buying something called "Egg Fusion" that doesn't cook me omelettes.

B11. Unwound – Corpse Pose*
Yes. Unwound's Repetition was a welcome bounceback after the somewhat lackluster The Future of What. That album grew on me over time but Repetition is immediately and thoroughly excellent. WZBC might have played "Corpse Pose" before the album was released since it was the single (in a slightly different mix that I don't remember) but I'd be surprised if I didn't trek down to Newbury Comics (seriously, remember when they used to sell music?) and buy it the day it came out. Great song, and though I prefer their first two albums and the earlier singles, this post-punky type of stuff still does the job. Sounds to me like that direction started on Future, reached its apex with Repetition and especially "Corpse Pose," grew a little stale by Challenge for a Civilized Society and then got old and dull with the monumentally overwrought (but not bad) Leaves Turn Inside You. "Lazslo" from a 2001 Troubleman compilation victoriously redeemed the band for me (not that I ever stopped liking them) but I don't know if it was recorded before or after—I only heard it after. (Not that LTIY was without great songs, but the overall sprawl—sixty minutes of music split over two discs… when's that a good idea?—really crimped my crack. "Scarlette" and its video were amazing but I could not have sold that album faster.) But anyway, yeah, apex and "Corpse Pose" are near synonyms.

B12. Jonathan Fire-Eater – The Beautician**
Let me check Wikipedia: yes, Jonathan Fire-Eater is American. Tremble Under Boom Lights is good, if slick, but the band's Anglophilia tends to get annoying. I'm surprised they didn't name themselves Jonathan Color-Favor so they could spell it Jonathan Colour-Favour. It's a good thing I liked "Cherry Red" so much (it was the first song I heard off this) because I certainly would have balked at the oh-so-English cover art with the oh-so-Wire band photos. And then they sprinkle in phrases like "night on the tiles" and name their singer Stewart Lupton. I have to admit it, though: "The Beautician" grooves along nicely for some pasty wannabes. The whole EP does, really. Who's the asshoule now?

B13. Combustible Edison – Solid State**
Combustibly Edisonic! I haven't used that modified adjective in far too long. Who would guess "Solid State" works so well here, fitting wonderfully after those fake English guys and setting up the finale. (It doesn't matter that I don't speak whatever language they're singing because I don't pay attention to lyrics.) I still have their first album and I bet I haven't listened to it in fourteen years. What's that about? Maybe I'm afraid of no longer liking it? Of course "Solid State" is gold, and anyone who disagrees is… well, they're probably OK I guess. But I dig it. I dig you too.

B14. Boss Hog – I Idolize You*
But Jon and Cristina idolize you, baby. A slightly tongue-in-cheek Ike & Tina cover is better than no Ike & Tina cover at all, but that's underselling the song. Big Jon Spencer makes a B-side curtain call and fares much better this time—terrific closing number. You can almost picture the nudity.

Término. Well that took some time. Worth it? I don't know, but it was fun to listen and write. Overall my original assessment was correct and Interrupting Cow Blues is a very good mix. I still like most of its songs and that can only mean I'm old and tired. Diffuse pastness rules!

I've denoted songs whose albums I still own with one asterisk; two asterisks means I've sold the CD but kept the MP3; null means it's dead, baby. The final count: twelve source albums still in possession (and this is significant because I'm in the middle of my second large-scale selling wave, though a couple of remainders are on the bubble); fourteen songs that live on as MP3s (so, fourteen CDs gone); and two songs I no longer like enough to possess in any capacity. Strong ratio—especially, I'm sure, compared to earlier attempts.

Have you seen this man?

2009-06-20T17:12:00.014-04:00

Greetings and salutations! I'd like to thank the Revere R.M.V. for this glamour shot, taken a few weeks ago for my renewed license. I told A. afterward that if I ever go on a killing spree and they show this picture on the news, people will say "Well of course he's a murderer."

One thing about moving to the suburbs is you have to drive everywhere, so a valid operator's license is like prison cigarettes. In Cambridge I went quite awhile without a car and did just fine for the most part, since everything was within a ten-minute walk. It only got annoying were when I had to meet people outside the reaches of the subway, such as the time I had to rely on a friend to pick me up at the blazing-hot South Acton commuter rail station when that friend is never on time for anything, so I stood there for a good twenty minutes with my golf bag and a developing sunburn. Or when my bike and I rode the train out to Concord (bikes are just the clumsiest goddamn things when you're not riding them) and then ride for three miles to Minuteman Park so I could… go on a bike ride. And then ride back when I'm done riding. And then realize there's apparently a clan of hippies that does this every weekend, and they seem to be in cahoots with the train conductor, so the conductor hoards all the bikers into one car and doesn't make them buy tickets, which made half of the prepaid round-trip ticket in my pocket an absolute waste. But even then, the Porter Square commuter rail station was ten minutes from my apartment.

In our new hometown the station is a five-minute walk from our front door, which is excellent since the train zips me back and forth to Boston in twenty-five minutes. Otherwise it's not particularly helpful (we'd rather drive to, say, Newburyport than commit to a schedule)—therefore, simple tasks like buying wart remover at CVS and bagging my own groceries at Stop & Shop require hopping in the car. Aside from walking to the beach, the library and this amazing Italian place we discovered, there's not much to walk to. But I guess those are pretty awesome things to have close by.

Which makes me one of those assholes who drives everywhere. I know it and I'm not proud… but it can't be helped. Feel free to walk that hour and a half to get me some damn eggs. Still, except for occasional trips the car sits in the garage ninety-five percent of the time. And one benefit of driving is I'm getting to know the area. I never had much connection to the North Shore. (And by "North Shore" I mean the part of Massachusetts north of Boston that's actually on or near the coast, and not landlocked towns that happen to be north or northwest of Boston, miles from the ocean. Semantics is semantics, but geography is geography—people need to stop pretending Andover and Melrose are seaside.) Occasional touristy trips to and family obligations in the area would bring me northeast every now and then, but that's about it. You don't even drive through these towns if you're going to New Hampshire or Maine because they're east of the interstates. But A. and I enjoyed these visits enough to put it on the eventual list of settle-down destinations. And here we are today.

Driving is the best way to learn what's what in these parts. And all the driving means a lot of radio-ing. Commercial radio stations are so weird, not only do they play the same newer songs over and over but they latch onto the same older songs. Sometimes you can attribute this to Rock Band or whatever, where people want suddenly to hear "Tom Sawyer" over and over. But other times I swear all the program directors are listening to each other. Since not one of them is capable of independent thought, they steal each other's "ideas" and turn the whole charade into some kind of circle-jerk for mimics. It can catch you off guard, like "Wow, you never hear 'Creeping Death' on the radio, cool!" But then you hear it on the next station too, and realize that a lot of people own and like Ride the Lightning, so it's not at all a bold programming decision. They'll probably follow it up with "Enter Sandman" anyway.

(The alternative, if I'm lucky to be driving on a weekday, is listening to WZBC or WMBR, though that always costs me money—a couple weeks ago I was compelled to buy "Erase You" by ESG and "In a Rut" by the Ruts after hearing them one recent morning.)

But on a trip to Target or something I might have to pop in a tape (I think I've mentioned before my excitement over our cassette deck). I get a kick out of this because I can revisit my salad days of music taste supremacy, when I openly judged people by the music they like. (Please infer that said judgment is merely silent today and not dormant. Aging and maturing are different things.) Lately I've dug up some old mixtapes, and it's high time to judge that elitist twenty-something asshole, show him who's boss. Or, perhaps, learn that he was a cool shit, and wonder whether continuing to like what I did a dozen years ago is good or bad. Have I progressed as a person? Have I erred in my own estimation as a wise and chiseled future-man? In a matter of days you will know. (Seriously, it's almost finished. And excessively long at that.)

What’s wrong with Peter King?

2009-06-18T13:26:00.014-04:00

Say what you will about context, but Peter King is writing some real crazy shit this week:

"Wake up, Washington. You know what I dug out of my closet the other day? Form-fitting Detroit Tigers pajamas. Now we'll see if all the sweat pays off… nausea and terminal ugliness… people would watch that. There's hope both for the killer and the killed. What happened when the action was really live? Not to be preachy, but the redemptive quality of some combo platter of Joe Namath, miso soup and accidental death grips you. Taut. Sounds like the script for a commercial. Brett Favre leads the nation in screwing, scurries from one explosive reacher to the next. (And I feel very good about the nuns.) I've been staring at that since I was a kid, and it's time I do something about it. 34 inches! He's used to giving, struggling to fit, now I'm ready to take all of his powerful stuff out of spite. Just wake up every morning and go. We've been in here 45 minutes? I thought it was 10 or 15. I tell you, there's nothing sinister about packers. How about throwing it to Jay Mohr, dripping with sweat in the center of some hotel? Pick him up and have it done in two days, only with more aggression. He's on record as being opposed to discipline. Dude: you're a dumb, uncomfortable and altogether needless midget and you can only mow your grass so many times. Tell him to eat balls. Who knows? We'll all make it. You're welcome."

The death of quick sizzle

2009-04-04T22:19:00.024-04:00

A. and I moved to the North Shore last week—we're the proud owners of a shiny new condo! (Actually it's a converted house built in the thirties, but you get the idea.) We're really happy here and are looking forward to being adults. Since we are now a short walk to the beach (well, I don't suspect it's much of a beach beach where you go to get all bronzy, but it should be a nice stretch of sand to clear one's head, enjoy a fantastic view of Boston and snicker at ugly Lynn residents; and I don't like the sun anyway), I figure the late Spring and Summer months offer the best time to become acquainted with and take in the local offerings. And maybe become a townie.

Anyway, the point of this post is to really rechristen the blog. I started out figuring I'd write mostly about music, and I have here and there, but too often I've posted only a sentence or two commenting on something that, for the most part, wasn't worth the effort. Even worse, sometimes I just copied and pasted a Bill Belichick quote I fancied, with no context whatsoever. Little did I know I could have turned that idea into Twitter and been done with it. (I almost made a remark about earning millions by creating Twitter but it sure seems like one of those enterprises that earns no revenue at all.)

Therefore, I promise to knock it off with the lazy little posts about whozits and what's-his-nose and the like (once labeled "quick sizzle"). From now on I'll be posting only in-depth, well considered, fully baked art. Anything I'm compelled to relate in few words likely isn't worth relating. Along those lines I've gone and deleted most of that old shit.

I wish the blog to be reborn with more music writing in the coming weeks and months. On the agenda are a recap of the new (to me) music I've gotten into since my last such list (over two years ago!); the long-promised review of one of my old college mixtapes (probably from 1996 since I was making one every other week around then); and, for no real reason other than my inability to shut up about things I dislike, an unabashed assault on Nico's The Marble Index.

Last thing (and call this the final "quick sizzle" entry if you'd like, since it's the type of thing what earned the label): I was straightening up our storage area in the basement, sweeping and organizing (and discovering that attaching a dryer hose is deceptively frustrating), and my hands were getting really dirty. So the old Lava jingle popped in my head: "I don't need no Lava soap, nope. Ladies' hands don't get that dirty. I don't need no Lava soap." Ladies' hands? How did they get away with that?

Also, the real last thing: I was listening to classic-rock radio for like six hours down there and I heard a live version of "The Joker" rearranged as a reggae song. It was like chocolate and peanut butter, only if the chocolate were anal rape and the peanut butter were AIDS.

Item! Manufacturing sports opinions is not journalism

2008-11-14T18:58:00.035-05:00

I'm listening to Thursday's Pardon the Interruption via the podcast and I simply cannot take it anymore. Analysts, writers and announcers are killing sports. Wilbon is riffing about "clutch" (defined as "he hits the shot when his team needs offense") players in recent NBA history. These are Paul Pierce (discussion of whom kicked off this whole thing), Moses Malone, Reggie Miller, Dwyane Wade and Dennis Johnson. He glossed right over Bird and—laughably!—Jordan (I guess Craig Ehlo wasn't consulted). How many championships did Miller clutchify for himself against Jordan? How many championships did Jordan single-handedly win? It's insane that people forget how good he was.

The context of this whole bag of nonsense was: would you rather have a player like Kobe/LeBron (like how I switched to first names there?) who can score at will against the world, or Pierce (I am not bashing Pierce here, he turned the corner with every Celtics fan last year, and he's inexorably fun to watch, let's just be realistic) who can selectively/intermittently come up big? I'm no basketball scientician but it seems to be the sport where it's most common for one great player to lead his team to success. So I'll take the player who's great seventy-five times out of eighty-two, thanks.

More anger: watching one of the all-time most exciting football games I can remember, Pats–Jets, Thursday night. The Sanctimonious Christopher X. Collinsworth and some other dude are calling it on the NFL Network, your home for programming I'm excited to have but never watch. Pats are down big, game seems hopeless early, but our man Cassel remembers what team he plays for and turns it into a nail-biter. The bad guys won, but what a game.

Highlight of the game was naturally Randy Moss's exceptional game-tying catch at the end of regulation. Seconds earlier, Collinsworth was all "Moss is lazy. He is a lazy dog. Watch this replay of the last play. What a dog he is. Look at that, he's lying on the ground! Who does he think he is? He never even won a Super Bowl. I didn't either but I'm white, and I'll be damned if anyone ever calls a white athlete lazy. People would rather stick their tongues right up David Eckstein's gritty asshole than pretend a non-white man can selflessly hustle. I mean, have you seen Manny Ramirez? That guy should get a haircut. Touchdown, Randy Moss." (Verbatim.)

And lastly, the Fire Joe Morgan guys are hanging it up! So long to one of the few sources of common sense and realism in sports commentary. What n terrible waste. If only there were commercials where coaches' post-game press conferences were edited into a bunch of out-of-context quotes in a way that told me what kind of beer to drink. Alas.

This is Wal-Mart do not panic

2008-10-09T17:37:00.032-04:00

This goes back a ways now, but I'm sitting here at work staring at my dual cinema displays (fanciness!), getting a headache because my right earbud is fried and zapping me with non-artful distortion, and I've been meaning to write about this. And I'm bored.

Background: I own an Xbox 360. I enjoy using it to make Lego Chewbacca dismember Lego Stormtroopers and to pretend Tom Brady is still alive. And lately, A. and I have taken to setting the world ablaze with our color-coordinated riffing via Guitar Hero III.

When I first heard of this game I thought it sounded ridiculous, and I'm sure it is, but I guess I enjoy ridiculous things (Love's "Revelation" comes to mind). But after an all-night session of Rock Band at a friend's house, we really couldn't deny how fun it was. We were hooked. So we played until 3 a.m., woke up the following morning (luckily a Saturday) and shot straight to Target to get GH3, because that's all our small P.R.C. apartment could handle. (We're in a much bigger place in Mitt-Town now, and are currently in a heated debate over Guitar Hero IV (she) versus Rock Band 2 (me). Frankly, I will not be denied RB2's set list.) Sadly, the game came with only one guitar, and we wanted to play together the way adorable couples should. So our next mission was to buy a second wireless guitar, which is indeed sold separately with some assembly required.

Last Christmas my brother- and sister-in-law were nice enough to buy us an iPod adaptor for the car, one of those you have to wire into the back of the stereo. But it sat unopened because our car has a tape deck (old school!) and we already have one of those flimsy-yet-functional cassette adaptors that are much simpler, and we had held onto it for long enough that the return/exchange period lapsed. It came from Wal-Mart online so who knows if we'd have followed up on that shipping nonsense anyway. It took a planned visit to my dad's in New Hampshire to start the let's-get-away-with-something wheels rolling, thinking that if they sold the same item in actual stores then they might take one back.

More background: sometime last year we saw the documentary Wal-Mart: The High Cost of Low Price. I was easily and illogically (and uncharacteristically, but I'll get to that in a second) swayed against ever shopping there again, even though I recognized the film's point of view as purely one-sided. I'm the guy who complains about unions and, while living in Northampton, said local shops that couldn't compete with the Wal-Mart up the road should stop whining. Still, I was so repulsed with the way the chain was portrayed that I took all the bullshit and made a nice quilt, and then burrowed into it with the effortless cuteness of a purring kitten—my naiveté was darling. (On a related note, unless I let my dark soul pull the lever for Ron Paul next month I'll be voting for Obama simply because I don't squirm and turn away from the television when he speaks, whereas watching McCain in action is the most uncomfortable thing I'm capable of doing. During the debate the other night I went into Kennedy/Nixon mode and watched during Obama's turns but closed my eyes and only listened during McCain's turns. I figured it was the best way to fairly judge the discussion. This plan worked until I closed my eyes too successfully and fell asleep.)

Anyway, I figured Wal-Mart must sell video games and stuff, and they certainly must be able to afford a little red ink. Why not try to return the iPod thingy for store credit (we had the receipt, but the date would debunk my "We received this as a gift, um, last week" cock-and-bull) and see about getting ourselves a gee-tar? So after dinner we hit the nearby Jaffrey Wal-Mart for some scam-o-rama. Nice, right? Nice.

Except: not nice. The plan was a brutal failure, with the no receipt and the no return. ("But I do have a receipt, see?? Wait, let me scratch out that date and barcode and everything. Are you calling me dishonest? Well fuck you. Eat that truth.") To make matters worse we ventured back to the electronics department after the monkey-wrench incident and saw that they did carry the individual GH3 guitar we were looking for. Drag. So we went home empty-handed, and for some reason held off buying one on Amazon or wherever for a couple of weeks. Soon enough we had plans to head to Wal-Mart country again for a dinner date at my mom's in central Mass. The Lunenburg store was close so we figured we'd give the return trick another shot. This one's close to where I grew up, and I knew that whole strip-mall sat on a manufactured hill that used to be a lovely cow pasture. I always loved driving by those cows when I was a kid. I figured the awareness of this attack on nature and childhood wonder might shift some points our way when we stopped in on the way home.

And—huzzah!—it did. The nice old lady working customer service accepted it without question, even going so far as to cut open the security tape (we never opened it since we always planned to return it) and taking everything out to make sure nothing was missing. I didn't mind this overt mistrust because it meant they had to take it back, since she was the one to ruin its pristine newness. So now we had like a $60 credit, which as we learned in Jaffrey was an even swap for the guitar. Sweet! We practically ran to the electronics section, and I had that feeling in my stomach like I was shoplifting. It was exhilarating. But rats! They didn't have the prize in stock. Fucking shit. Luckily I anticipated this at my mom's and mapped out other Wal-Marts more or less on the way back to Cambridge. (Rest assured, you pinko bastards, there is no Wal-Mart in the P.R.C.) Hopefully we would get lucky in West Boylston, Hudson or (the inconvenient last resort) Framingham.

Route 190 is a scenic highway I enjoy touring. It's the only direct north-south passage in the middle of the state, and I'm always amazed at how little traffic it carries on the weekend (I guess Worcester isn't quite a Saturday night hotspot, unless the WWE is in town). So I had no problem with a southward detour to West Boylston. Unless, of course, the West Boylston store was also sold out. And naturally it was. Getting lost on the way to Hudson was not as fun as cruising 190. I had a bad attitude going into that store and a worse one walking out, after learning that "We only sell the Wii version" wouldn't help us. This was not working out, and I was in no mood to deal with route 9 and its Framingham/Natick Shopping Madness Spectacular. But I also didn't want to go home without that friggin' guitar. So off to Framingham it was, even if we should've been home an hour and a half ago.

As it turns out, the fourth (fifth, really) time was the charm. They had like ten of those fuckers on the shelf, and you're damn right we took our time picking out the perfect one. Of course we got home too late to even play, but who cares. We'd just gotten away with something, however minor in the grand scheme of things, and that's what counts when it comes to dealing with The Man. But you knew that, right?

In case you’re wondering, my blog is the shit

2008-10-03T11:26:00.024-04:00

I was just perusing a fairly professional-looking sports blog written by (let's see) my wife's coworker's husband, who coincidentally is also my ex-conjoined sister (I find the wife's-coworker's-husband story easier to explain). The blog's OK, not good enough to name here, very Sports Guy rip-off-ish (territory I've admittedly come close to at times). And since the Sports Guy seems to have had his recent articles composed by those people who post on IMDB message boards (save for the Manny diatribe, which I think is strong and coherent if you discount a couple of (natch) forced A Few Good Men and The Usual Suspects references, and for the fact that he never called Boras out either, which really deflates his whole argument, which really devalues the article, which is now an oozing pile of turd-flavored pixels) I don't think this is much of a compliment anymore.

Anyway, sis is a Sox fan who either gets paid to write the thing or has crazy amounts of free time. He wrote about the first win against the Angels the other night, at one point posting the Sox lineup and noting that it contained "no easy outs." Meanwhile, The Adulterer Jason Varitek is in the ninth spot where he belongs, swinging at every first pitch in the world and being reduced to sacrifice bunts (I hate bunting because making outs is the one thing batters are supposed to avoid, but I suppose it's better than the inevitable double plays). That scumbag is such an easy out he's actually making outs on purpose. So this blogger's judgment on easy versus difficult outs is, at best, lame-brained. (And in case you think I'm being overly critical based on one written opinion, a few weeks ago he posted multiple times about replacements for Tom Brady, and one of them was entitled "Bring In Daunte Culpepper. FOR THE LOVE OF GOD BRING IN DAUNTE CULPEPPER!!" Douche.)

Meanwhile, Manny is the most talented consistent offensive player the Sox have had since notorious asshole Ted Williams, and he gets run out of town for another white guy. New England's baseball priorities are misplaced since getting that 1918 shit off our backs. Before October 2004 everyone would have overlooked Manny's occasional ho-humness and pointed to his outrageous offensive output. That's what every true Sox fan did—the only ones complaining about lack of hustle and grit and gamer-ness were the casual fans who couldn't spell Youkilis (or Belichick, for that matter) and the exact same media types whom the Sports Guy properly (though not often enough by name) calls out in the article—"exact same" because they will never leave us alone until they are destroyed, and even when they do leave an outlet they just jump from one sinking ship (the Herald) to another (the Globe) like notable fucktard Tony Massarotti. ("Mazz." Really! Can we stop applying sporty-sounding nicknames to sportswriters? And can they stop calling each other by their last names like they're sporty teammates? Also, that link is purposely and hilariously transposed.)

(More parentheses: I noticed baseball-reference.com changed the address for Youkilis's stats page from www.baseball-reference.com/y/youkike01.shtml to …youklke01.shtml, even though it defies the site's standard first-five-letters-of-last-name-followed-by-first-two-letters-of-first-name convention. Would they have made that change if he weren't Jewish? Incidentally the i version still works, for all you anti-Semites.)

Changing one’s mind on short notice

2008-09-12T09:25:00.023-04:00

A lot to get to here. I have all these crappy unfinished posts and if I don't complete them this weekend I think I'll just lump them all together and call it poop stew.

I did want to throw this up though, about an interesting Red Line ride one morning last week. I was standing and half out-of-it, listening to loud Hawkwind, following a night of celebratory drinking due to our company softball team's semi-final victory. (I am not good and don't play much. I managed to get a hit in my only at-bat, somehow, but when it was my turn to take the field in the last inning I couldn't dig my glove out of my backpack because there were too many beer cans piled on top of it, so someone else ran out instead. Really the right move there for everyone involved.)

So at Central Square an older man gets on the train, walking with a cane, and stands across from me. A minute later as we're approaching Kendall a Cambridge-type woman ten feet down the train gets up, walks over and presumably offers her seat to the guy. Very nice. (The best part was when people started boarding at Kendall, and she had to lunge back to block for the guy so he would get the seat. The new people were appropriately puzzled.)

I was fully prepared to flash her a "Good on ya!" smile if she looked my way: it was a legitimately nice and unselfish deed. And then she went and did it: walked right up to a some poor sap who—criminally!—was sitting closest to the old guy in the first place and didn't get up and offer his seat. Thing is, he was intently going through a bunch of papers in his briefcase and likely didn't even notice the guy. Naturally this asshole woman chews him out in front of everybody (at least I think she did because, again, Hawkwind). And (I think) he was like "Screw you, I didn't even see him." Of course she didn't let it go, because Cambridge types never do, and they yapped back and forth some more. At last she walked away, and he grinned to himself, and it was over. Except now I hated her.

I have no words

2008-02-04T12:28:00.005-05:00