Why do you taunt me so?

Oh blinking cursor, wallowing there on the blank white screen, why are you such a jerk? You sit there all calm and coy, mocking, judging, bothering me.

This has become my life. I sit around a vast majority of the day at work... what do I see? That little bastard cursor staring back at me. The only difference is that at work the cursor there is a little bit larger and in much higher definition with a killer contrast ratio.

I come home at night, and here I sit, cursor glaring at me with its blinking smugness. All I want to do is write something creative and fun and maybe even a little silly, but what do I get? White spaces and a blinking cursor.

Now I face an even more daunting cursor: the cursor that blinks at me when I open up Word and try to find a way to start my thesis. So far, I am somewhere between "In" and "When" and that's about as much progress as I've gotten so far.

Alas, I should call it a night before I try to single-handedly pluck this cursor off my screen. Fare the well, gentle readers. Perhaps tomorrow I'll have some especially witty or silence this little bastard cursor. Until then, it will haunt my dreams.

How Serendipitous.

Yesterday evening, as I'm on my seemingly interminable bus ride home after work, I decided to get a little creative in my music selecting for the final leg of my journey. I was in the mood for something more or less indie that was still up-tempo enough to keep me awake as I stood there, bookless, among the masses. I settled on Bloc Party's debut album "Silent Alarm", and it fit the bill incredibly well. (pun intended)

So that evening I went home and decided to look up what all the latest was on BlocParty.com, and lo and behold, yesterday they released a new album out of the blue. It's called "Intimacy" and from now until October 27th it's a digital download only, though they have options for people who want a digital copy now and a physical CD later.

I've got to say, it's pretty friggin' good, too. It's a little more across the board, but it all sounds like what we've come to expect from Bloc Party. I may even go so far as to say that it's better than their sophomore album "A Weekend in the City", which I enjoyed, but thought lacked a little bit of edge from the first album. It seems they've re-captured said edge with this album.

Also, I have realized that I am a huge fan of indie rock with strings. I was impressed when Throw Me the Statue put strings in their opening song "Young Sensualists" on their album. Murder By Death, though not really "indie", has a cello that really rounds out their sound. (it doesn't hurt that the cellist is hawt, too) A few other bands have incorporated cello or violin into their music, and I pretty much always enjoy it. Then, last weekend I lucked into seeing this band called Geographer at Cafe Du Nord, and I was thoroughly impressed. They are three key members, with some supporting cast, but one of the three members plays cello (along with some keys/drum loop stuff), and they have a great sound. While still being wowed by that show, I happened upon some discussion of Headlights, who remain one of my favorite bands, and there was argument of the relative hotness of Erin Fein, their vocalist. Someone arguing that she wasn't particularly hot mentioned the band Ra Ra Riot, who has a couple cuties in the band. Luckily, they are also incredibly talented, and feature both cello and violin in a number of their songs.

So there you have it: click around the indie blog world, go to shows, and you too may find new bands to adore and new albums from bands you're already fond of.

Realization.

Alan Moore is a genius. I just finished re-reading "Watchmen" and damn, what a story.

He is also the man who wrote "From Hell" which went on to be a fairly respectable movie from the Hughes brothers.

What I didn't realize is that he's also the man who wrote "Batman: The Killing Joke" in which the Joker paralyzes Barbara Gordon. For you folks who aren't hep to all that Batman whatnot, it's also the comic that "The Dark Knight" is loosely based around, though it's Commissioner Gordon rather than Harvey Dent who gets pushed to the limit in the long run.

Sorry, I just had to geek out a moment there.

The Big Problem.

Being a one-time educator, I've had more than the average person's exposure to teen-oriented books, or as they call it in the teaching world "YA Lit". I never really gave a lot of thought to it in the past, but recently I happened across a book that really struck me. I won't mention it by name, since I've already gushed about this book plenty, and I will give you the hint that it's got a movie adaptation due out on October 3rd. Now this book didn't just strike me because of the subject matter, but more because it is told from contrasting points of view; one male, one female.

I've realized that the books that are directed at teenage-ish women may quite possibly one of the worst things to happen to men all across the globe. I'm not just quibbling with the plot lines or even the way in which the books are written; I am aware that as you skew towards a younger audience, you have to make the books a bit more accessible to a much wider audience. Rather, I think the issue with these books, especially when paired with all the awful shows on TV about young love, is that they set expectations entirely too high for the average teenage male.

For those of you who have either forgotten or are in denial, teenage males tend to be the opposite of romantic. They are seldom suave, they get so-so marks on being caring all the time, even. How do I know this? Other than my work with them, I was one for years. In some ways, deep down, I still remain at least partially one. So as I read some of these books these days about high school aged males who are ridiculously romantic, have model-caliber good looks, and are cooler than I could ever hope to be even as I continue my steady trek onwards towards thirty, I can't help but scoff. I know, I know: this is fiction, and should be regarded as such. Still, the countless throngs of females who have been raised on a steady diet of these male characters. Once in a blue moon, you find the insensitive jock, or the geek who is just plain hopeless, but the most common male character to be found is the hot, usually musically inclined loner who happens to be wildly popular despite his outsider status, and that makes him more mysterious. For males, if they happen to read teen-oriented books (which they pretty much never do) usually encounter girls who just have to be plain-ass hot. They don't need to be compelling or mysterious. Fortunately, males usually know fairly well what kinds of girls they are able to attract, so they don't buy into the idea that they will someday find a girl "just like the one from that book", since they know whether or not they can before the even enter into conversations. For girls, the ideal guys pretty much don't exist, on the whole.

So, YA authors all over the world, heed my call: give your average, everyday high school male a chance. Make it okay to be more interested in sports from time to time. Write about lads with questionable musical talent and even more questionable tastes. Please remember, not everyone can own a muscle car or climb the highest mountain just to get to his lady love's door. So give those poor sods a break, and men for YEARS to come will thank you.

Olympic pride.

A quick one for Jennifer:




"I eat bambooooo."

Deliriously tired isn't so bad as long as you have inside jokes to crack.

Want to know how you can have an inside joke dedicated to you? Simple: I'll do one for your first born's birthday.

Happy birthday Benjamin.

So it's decided.

Well, my search has ended. After finding similar pictures of great authors and musicians, my last posting revealed to me my true calling. Some are bound for greatness, some are bound for apeness.



Separated at birth?

*Pop*

Congratulations to Papa T and Mama Kelly Still.

Claire Rose Still "burst onto the scene" at 3:45 this morning.

I couldn't be happier for those kids.

Just when you thought it was safe to watch the Olympics.

Most of you readers know me. You know I could really care less about all the political backdrop of what is going on with the Olympics. Yes, I'm aware of what's going on with the whole China-Tibet mess, and I'm not condoning it or anything like that, but as I've stated here before, there are a lot of other ways I could be expressing my political beliefs and all that.

However, there are a couple of things that I found out about the opening ceremony that really chap my ass. I will be the first to say, I didn't see any of this in the first place, but I've heard a lot of follow-up in the news. First of all, what I consider the lesser of the two things: apparently the big elaborate "footsteps across the sky" fireworks show didn't actually happen during the opening ceremony itself. According to reports, the officials of the ceremony decided it was too cloudy and the effect was a little less stunning than it could have been, so they decided to cut to stock footage from one of the rehearsals, when it was more dazzling. Fair enough.

Now, the one that I can't believe is about the singing kid. Some of you might know this story already, but if not, I'll give you the Cliff's Notes version: basically, there was a little kid singing "Ode to the Motherland" at the opening ceremony, and as a result, she's picked up fans all over China (and presumably further), except for one little problem: she wasn't the one who was singing. Chinese officials decided they needed the perfect balance of looks and voice for this singing kid, so they dubbed a kid who was a MUCH better singer, and this girl lip synched along. Now, for pop music, I can almost understand that kind of thing, but this kid is seven fucking years old. How in the hell can looks be that much of a factor? The musical director said everything was done in the interest of the country. The quote that got me was "The girl appearing on the picture must be flawless in terms of her facial expression and the great feeling she can give to people."

I'm just going to leave that as "WTF???"

Camaraderie.

Last night I went to see Me First and the Gimme Gimmes at Thee Parkside here in SF. For you folks who don't know, that means I saw a big band in a small club. That also means that for the first time in a while I got to enjoy the thrill of a mosh pit. It's not something I do particularly often, but I enjoy it when I do. I think even more than the simple excitement of bouncing around and running into complete strangers while there is great music going on in the background. It's not even the chance to rub up against foreign women. What I really like about being in the pit is the sense of camaraderie that everyone shares. Yes, you may be ramming into other people, but as soon as someone goes down, people swarm to help them up. If someone drops something, everyone makes a perimeter so they can find what they dropped. Last night there were even bottles of water being passed around. It's some sort of unspoken code of looking out for one another while risking physical harm. Just like the description of Fight Club - you are not as alive as when you are in the pit, and the following day or two it's like the rest of your life has had the volume turned down on it. Granted, that might have something to do with the high volume of the show last night and the fact that I forgot my earplugs last night.

The other somewhat surreal moment from last night really put a smile on my face. I was down in the pit, going nuts, listening to Me First, and I looked around and realized: all the people around me and running into me who were also going nuts were a giant mass of punk fans, screaming Judy Garland lyrics to guys in Hawaiian shirts. And at that moment, it all made perfect sense.

A (teeny) Nightmare Realized.

It's been almost two weeks of bus commutes, and I have kept fairly mum. Generally speaking, things have gone smoothly, as long as I have been standing in the middle of the bus, where apparently no one but me dares to hang out.

But today, it was a little more than I could take. See, outbound trains between Montgomery and Castro are usually uncomfortably crowded. Even in my safe haven at the middle of the train gets a little packed in. So I'm standing there, I decided not to read a book since I'd read a lot on my lunch break, so I was minding my own business and kind of staring around blankly. Then, all of a sudden I see something that no one on a bus ever wants to see (except for maybe the vomit face): I see someone look a little puzzled and sniff a bit. Then it spreads. Nostrils flare. People all look around while trying to avoid the gaze of those around them as best they can. Then, inside of a minute, my fears are confirmed: someone has farted on the bus. It's cramped. It's hot. Before I know it, I'm catching nasty rank whiffs. I can tell it's come from the left of me, but that's about it. No one looks horribly guilty. Then I have an even worse realization: we've just pulled out of Van Ness station. For you non-San Franciscans, that means this is one of the longest stretches of tunnel between stations, which means I'm fresh out of fresh air for a solid few minutes. I made it through, but dammit, I was more than a little disgusted the whole way until Church station.

Welcome to MUNI. Here's a gas mask.

Not a good sign.

Some of you may remember in this blog some time ago, I wrote how I can never be an indie rock star because I don't have the Ben Gibbard/Colin Meloy separated at birth identical twin thing going on.

Unfortunately, I think I may have found further evidence that I may never be a great writer either. This may not be news, this may not be surprising, but there's a cross-generational pairing that don't look like, and they're two authors that I'm really ever so fond of. I'm talking, of course, about Chuck Palahniuk and Jack Kerouac.
Don't believe me? The proof is in the puddin':


Jack Kerouac, beat writer extraordinaire and one of my all-time favorite writers.


Chuck Palahniuk, one of my favorite authors of the last ten years.

I guess instead of wasting away in grad school, I really should have been getting to work on dying my hair black, developing stronger cheekbones, and making my ears stick out. It's attention to detail like that which will shoot you to the top!

As hard to find as...

Hey folks, so I have been working on a blog here at work, but I get a little frustrated from time to time when the mass appeal needed to be the voice of the company outweighs my personal creative endeavors.

For instance, I saw a pair of frilly pink high heels that look like they came just off the runway at the Lusty Lady for sale at one of our sellers when searching for shoe deals to recommend in our upcoming newsletter. I showed them to a co-worker and she commented that they seemed about right for a housewife to wear when watching her soap operas. I decided to write their new marketing slogan: "These shoes are the ideal footwear to accompany a plate of bonbons, your couch, and your ever-expanding ass." Guess I couldn't put that in the mass mailer....

Today I'm writing about the Nintendo Wii, and I was coming up with similes to explain how rare and hard to find these are. I had to reel it in just a little bit. Here are some of the ideas that I had to shoot down for myself:

The Nintendo Wii is as hard to find as...
- a sober Irishman.
- a minority in an Ivy League frat.
- a first date for me.
- a glass of whiskey at a Mormon wedding.
- tasteful porn.
- an emo kid in a white t-shirt.
- a anorexic at an all-you-can-eat buffet.
- "the real killer" in the OJ Simpson case.

Ah self-censorship. Thank heavens for this blog, offending people mercilessly since January.

Aye caramba.

I don't know exactly how this happened, but it's been nearly a week since I've been back to my darling blog. It's not that I don't have an excuse, what with everything that's been happening these days. Since I last blogged, I finished my first week of work, saw to it that my best friend got married, and survived the majority of a weekend on little more than grain alcohol and red meat.
I'm trying to be concise as possible, so I will spare details of the wedding and all the surrounding festivities. All I'll say is that it was a lovely day and I managed to work in a quote from On the Road into my best man's toast. I then got to spend far too much of Sunday evening related the complete minutia of every last little thing that went on.
As a bit of a follow-up, I have successfully attained jeans. Turns out Gap was the hands-down winner, and for the first time in my life I actually own two pairs of jeans at the same time. Maybe that explains all the odd weather phenomena that have been going down across the globe recently.
One recommendation: take a look at the trailer for the upcoming movie "Nick & Norah's Infinite Playlist". How can you go wrong? It's got the chick from "40 Year Old Virgin" and "Charlie Bartlett" and Michael Cera, who plays a sensitive bassist. How can you go wrong??
Finally, I will pose one question: what's the deal with people who run? I understand that it's fantastic exercise, and that people who run tend to be in wildly more in shape than myself. Still, I find it interesting that people have a compulsive need to run. I know a handful of these people, they're kind of like gym rats as well, the type of people who don't think twice about it. I guess I just don't really know how they do it: I barely have time to blog, yet these folks have hours in their day to hit the heel and toe express. I guess it's all part of your priority system, since I am a sleeper and go do the coffee shop for hours at a time, but it still fascinates me. I see these people running by me on my way to and from work, and I have to ask myself "Shouldn't these people be working somewhere around now?"

Hopefully it won't take me six days to write again, but since no one I know is getting married this weekend, I might have a little more time to spend in front of the ol' laptop. I'll hit on some fun MUNI stuff soon enough - I'm cataloging in my brain as we speak.