Sounds for Our Fathers

As most of you know, I am a musician, and music is pretty much my lifeblood. It's cliche, I know, but it's true - the moments are few and far between that I'm not either listening to music or humming or whistling something. I have songs that remind me of some of the best times in my life, as well as songs that hearken back to some of the worst times in my life. It's just part and parcel of my life, and I wouldn't have it any other way.

So I was at the cafe tonight, they were playing a bunch of oldies - or what I was raised to refer to as oldies; songs mostly from the sixties, lots of doo-wop and stuff like that, and I had a comfortable warm feeling creep over me. I realized without a lot of thought that the reason was not that I was drinking (I wasn't - just coffee) or that I was feeling the effects of the thermostat being turned up. Rather, I realized these songs were comforting to me because they were the songs that my dad would always listen to. I never gave it much thought before, but my huge love for doo-wop probably comes directly from the fact that those were the albums (yes albums on vinyl) I heard pumping out of the big pioneer speakers in my parents' house whenever my mom was out of the house for any length of time.

It's funny, with myself being a musician, and my sister once being a very talented pianist, neither of my parents really had a musical bone in their body. My favorite story to tell about my father when asked about my parents' influence on my sister's and my musical educations is this: as a child, my dad was a tinkerer, which led directly to him pursuing a career as an engineer. However, he did take clarinet in middle school. That ended one day when, being the engineer he was, he noticed that all the screws on his clarinet were loose, at least to his perception. So to rectify this, he got out his small-sized screwdriver and went through, one by one, tightening the screws on the clarinet. However, when he tried to play it a few minutes after "fixing" it, he discovered that every single key on the instrument was stuck -- he didn't realize that the give in the screws is what allowed the keys to move, and he'd inadvertently rendered his clarinet completely unplayable. At that point, according to his account, he knew his music career was as good as over.

But getting back on topic - I was enjoying the songs selected at the cafe, thinking of how they reminded me of those cold afternoons at home where my dad would sit at his desk, balancing a checkbook or paying bills, listening to these classics of the fifties and sixties. Then that got me thinking: if I have kids, will they have similar affections to my music? It could be due to my odd tastes, or the fact that most of the bands that I listen to and enjoy the most are all currently active and putting out music, but I don't see my hypothetical kids, when they are thirty, gleefully whistling or humming along to We Are Scientists songs, tapping their toes to Motion City Soundtrack, or reveling in the epic sounds of Explosions in the Sky. Maybe they'll latch onto their grandparents' music, and love the fifties sound too, or maybe they'll like none of it.

It's even a discussion I've had with older generations from time to time: fifty years ago, there wasn't the broad range of music that there is today. For the most part, there was just "popular" music. With the exceptions of specific stations who would play classical or jazz, most mainstream radio stations played a whole range of the music that was popular at the time. There was not the division of stations that there is today. Just imagine if you turned on the radio and it played like your iTunes library on random - oldies, metal, hip hop, punk, indie, whatever. You'd probably complain that the station had no focus, or that it was inconsistent. The best way to contextualize it is to use the retirement home analogy that my mother uses: for her parents generation home, if you were in the common room at the retirement community, if you put on Big Band music, they'll all love it due to the memories and emotional connections to the songs. For her generation, it's early rock and roll and all the other music rolled up into the "oldies" label. So what will happen with my generation? Will we all be excited to hear Nirvana when we're 80? Will Snoop still be a go-to when I'm in a wheelchair? There has become such a divide, with the opposing sides entrenched against each other, over music nowadays that there isn't much of a common ground for my generation.

Am I crazy? Do you think that there is a universal music that captures our generation? Am I overly romanticizing the music of yesteryear? Or am I just a big sappy pile of musical mush because I heard some old Commodores and Four Tops while drinking coffee a few hours ago?

Trapped

I've said the joke time and time before, but I find as time goes on, I honestly kind of believe that I am a man trapped in a lesbian's body. Yeah yeah, it's a funny joke because straight men and lesbians both like attractive women, but I seriously find that on a semi-regular basis, I find myself most attracted to females who turn out to be lesbians. I don't know how it happens, or what it is about them, but I'll be at a bar or out somewhere or something like that, and check out a girl; I'll think she's cute, I'll keep an eye on her from afar, and sadly more often than not, I continue to do so until I see her pair off with her girlfriend. So no, the attraction is not based on that "woah, those two chicks will totally make out" philosophy that makes a number of guys attracted to lesbians on the surface. Nope, I just find girls I think are cute, and then they just so happen to prefer the company of women.

A perfect example the other day, which is kind of what prompted this blog being written in the first place, is I was driving around town, going down a long stretch of road with timed lights, which means you pretty much have the same cars around you for a few miles. I happened a glance to my left, and saw a girl driving next to me who was about my age. Keeping pace with her, I said to myself "ooh, she's kind of cute." I do this to myself all the time - there's little more joy I find in my day-to-day existence than the fun and excitement of finding that you're driving alongside a cute girl. It's dumb, but it brings me joy. So anyhow, I am driving, and the cute girl is driving alongside me, and after a few glances I notice a few things: I notice she has a cool and what most would call "alternative" haircut. In short, her hair kinda almost looks like an anime character, which for some reason appeals to me. She has bumper stickers of good bands on her car, I don't remember which, but I remember being impressed with her musical taste. However, most importantly, she has an air freshener hanging off her rearview mirror. It took a second or two to finally get it to swing in a direction where I could read it, but once I did, it was clear as day: "I (Heart) Lesbians." All I could do as I drove along was laugh, shake my head, and say "Apparently, so do I."

These are not theoretical isolated incidents either. There is, of course, the ill-fated tale of MUNI girl. For those of you who don't know this story, it may be better served to hear the full version from me in person, but I'll give the cliff notes for those of you who don't have that luxury. Basically, there was a girl I'd see all the time on the bus in to work, it just so happened that our schedules lined up like that. I saw her once in a local bar, and we talked briefly because I didn't know if she was in the extended group of people we were with or not. So months progressed after that where I would see her and wave or exchange pleasantries in the mornings. I finally caved and put up a missed connections ad on Craigslist, figuring I'd cast my fates to the internet. She saw the ad, replied, and we went to lunch one day. That night I received an email from her telling how she usually dated women, but had gone out with men in the past and hoped that telling me that didn't freak me out, which it didn't. Remember, I am a San Francisco native, it takes a LOT to freak me out when it comes to personal preferences. I tried and tried to get her to commit to another date, and after a short while, realized I was making no traction, only to find out via Facebook that she had a new girlfriend some weeks after I stopped calling.

So yeah, lesbians. I tend to dig 'em, much to my chagrin. Even when I don't know it, the world keeps on reminding me of this fact.

Dirty

That's right, kids. I'm now officially old. This makes me feel slightly better in that now I can feel a tad more justified in being a crotchety old man. Other than that, things don't feel much different otherwise.

So I'll warn you advance, this is going to be one of those sappy "glass half full" kind of blogs where I remind myself that turning thirty is no big deal, and it's just another day in my life, and all that business.

"So what has been going on in the land of Bill?" you ask.

I suppose the main thing is getting settled in the new house, which is always an adventure, but based on the fact that there haven't been bile-filled blogs about how horrible my roommates are, you could say things are going well. Granted, having people around to interact with after midnight has a rather direct relation to the downturn in blog productivity.

One of the pleasant upsides to the current setup is the fantastic quality of coffee in my cup each day. We're blessed to have two fantastic coffee shops a stone's throw from our front door, and they're always a short walk away. Better still, I have two wonderful french presses in my cabinet, and top-notch beans in my cabinet. I get to remain wonderfully caffeinated all day and night, which makes the days skate by easily. Unfortunately, I haven't spent a whole hell of a lot of time in the cafe, but that's due in part to the fact that I have an incredibly comfortable couch that sits in front of an almost stupidly big TV screen and my entire collection of books. I can crank my music as loud as I want (well, while keeping the neighbors in mind, at least) and can do so in the comfort of my underpants if I so choose, so the lure of the cafe isn't quite what it once was, despite it's ridiculously close proximity.

Coffee and my mailing address aside, life just kind of keeps plodding along. Hello Monster is busy kicking ass, taking names, and trying to figure out the most efficient means of fundraising while we start pushing towards recording a full-length disc. I will say that that, even at 30, playing in a band is one hell of a wonderful way to retain grasp of your youth. I tell ya, I feel like a high school kid when I'm onstage. Albeit an out of shape and sometimes tipsy high school kid, but a kid nonetheless.

So as I look forward to this coming year and my new decade, I am excited with everything around me - a new home, great friends (many of whom are expecting offspring soon), great music, and even fantastic coffee. Hopefully a job will finally be something I can add to my glass-half-full list, but other than that, I wouldn't really change much.

The Big Day.

First off, I am writing this from my phone since all my computers are packed away, so if there are a lot of typos, don't be shocked.

I am lying here in my bed, in the comfort of my hovel for what may very well be the last night. Tomorrow is the big move, and by the evening, I don't expect much of anything of mine to be left here in the hovel. I don't want to get all sappy, but I really feel like I'm approaching a turning point: I am entering a new house with new roommates (old friends, just new as roommates), I am inching dangerously closer to the big three-oh, and, for the first time in recent memory, my car is actually working absolutely like it should. Yes, to be able to make that last statement, I had to shell out almost $750 to my friendly and talented mehanic, but for the way I feel today, it was definitely money well-spent.

I was honestly caught off guard by how happy a properly functioning car made me. I think it's twofold: first, I have been car-less since early Wednesday morning, so I was just plain itching to get back in my driver's seat, better yet without the worries of overheating. Secondly, I think that being in a car that's struggling and not performing correctly, I am immediately transported back to the last year or two that I drove my old hooptie, the '78 Cadillac. I re-live the stress of trying to understand why your car just won't do what you ask, the feeling of helplessness when it starts to break down or idle roughy or sputter when you accelerate. It is a broad, broad comparison, I know, but it's kind of like being alongside a friend or relative in declining health. That car was my first car, I understood it and it understood me, it really felt like a family member at times. And for me to see it slowly slipping, and eventually sitting idly in front of my house when I got my current car was a hard thing for me to do. Harder still was watching someone drive off with it.

But alas, I digress. Today I feel like a kid in a candy store: I have a new home to get all set up, and I honestly feel like someone has handed me the keys to a brand new car. It's rare that I can sit back and enjoy these rare moments of undiluted joy. At this very moment I am not worrying about my finances (something that is short lived - the worrying not the finances themselves I hope), I'm not wondering about a job (again, just a momentary reprieve), and everything else is coming up Bill. I'd say I should play the lottery, but I'm not that dumb.

So here's hoping for a good move, good times, and a great weekend to all of you. I might be sans Internet at the house for the next couple days, but I'll try to update as best I can via either my phone again or by free cafe Internet.

Pages of the Past.

Yes, this is another "packing everything I own into boxes post", but luckily for you it isn't a bitter or cynical one. Rather, it's a nostalgic one.

This afternoon I tackled one of the final boondoggles in my packing: the top drawer of my dresser. Save for getting out the occasional pair of sunglasses, I don't ever even look into this drawer. I open it once every two to three months, and it served as a refuge in my youth for many random whatnots that didn't have a place elsewhere in my bedroom. I found a very stylish beret (yes I am saying that completely without sarcasm, I promise), old cub scout projects, science fair ribbons, and a giant bag full of old letters.

I did what any good person would do, I went to the couch, put a recycling bag at my feet, and spent almost an hour walking down memory lane. It was one of the more enjoyable and heartwarming experiences I've had in quite some time. I saw letters from friends back in grade school and high school, kids from confirmation camp, a pen pal I'd forgotten we'd set up in the third grade, and, naturally, lost of old schmooze letters from former girlfriends. It was so fun, I damn near want to find addresses for old friends just to send them an honest-to-goodness letter.

Naturally, this made me think about what happens these days. Do kids still write letters to each other? The girl I dated when I was a freshman in high school and I used to write letters all week long to each other, and give each other overstuffed letters with everything in there - pictures, guest notes from our friends, all that cute high school stuff. What do kids do now? Is it all reduced to cell phone conversations at lunch, Facebook, Twitter, Tumblr, and constant text messages? Is there no permanence to their communication? It makes me a little sad to think that freshmen in high school these days will not be able to look back seventeen years from now and see what kind of inane stuff you used to write about that special someone you were completely convinced was going to be the love of your life forever and ever. I got to today, and it was amazing.

The other thing about this reminiscence is that, probably for the best, that era has passed. Imagine if now, at almost 30, I sat in the office all day writing about how much I missed my hypothetical girlfriend. I could talk about how the boss busted my balls, and how if she had been there to give me a hug, it would all be okay again. I could go into the lunchroom and have my friends that I sit with write little notes to them, and say how much they can tell that I miss her. I could even doodle a little picture of me, bored in my cubicle, with a thought bubble of the two of us just cuddling. But do you know what would happen? Either the girl would run screaming because that's kind of insane, or everyone around would refer to me as "that guy". Then again, if I found a girl who thought 14 year old Bill affection was just the bee's knees, I might be a little worried too. But I suppose the opposite would be true - if I found a girl when I was 14 who was content with a meal and some drinks every now and then, I probably would have convinced myself that she didn't give a damn about me.

It's Been Done.

In the madness of my moving and packing, I have officially packed away my DVD player, PS2, and Xbox 360. This means that I have to watch regular television. Yes, there are far worse fates than watching television, but it also means that I am once again exposed to commercials, which is a little foreign to me.

I saw one commercial, today, that was truly jarring. Apparently, as of today (or yesterday, or some time recently) you can purchase the DVD or Blu-Ray of Beverly Hills Chihuahua 2.

Yes. Let that sink in. Smell it. Taste it. Root around in its hideous mess.

Now, let's think logically about this. This is a sequel to a movie that starred primarily latino actors doing voice work for a bunch of CGI dogs who make bad puns and discuss how hard it is to be a lapdog for a spoiled princess. I am sure it's chock full of fart and poop jokes, which, don't get me wrong, are great, but it's not enough to carry a whole movie. Which leads me to my inevitable follow up question: why in the hell do we need two of these movies? Hell, why did we need the first one? Why do we need a third "Fockers" movie? How many more Scream movies are they going to make? I thought the whole idea was that was a trilogy. Why the hell are they doing a fourth?

So just for funzies, let's take a quick peek at what's out there right now:

- True Grit, a re-make of the John Wayne classic. Yes, it was fantastic, and if anyone can pull of a remake, it is the Cohen brothers.

- The Green Hornet - This one double dips: it was both a television show and a comic book.

- Little Fockers - I don't even have to go there. The first movie was great, but yeah, that's all I want to say.

- Tron: Legacy - I have to admit, I really want to see this one. It may be derived from a movie made nearly thirty years back, but I feel like they're at least going about it the right way. Plus Daft Punk does the soundtrack, so it can't be that bad.

- Yogi Bear 3D - Of course, used to be a pretty legit cartoon, but I heard the movie is so bad even the kids don't give a damn. Might be the very worst movie made all year. Might well be the worst idea for a movie I've ever heard, and it makes me shed a little tear when I think that Tom Cavanaugh agreed to do it.

This is just of movies that you could go out and see tomorrow. I won't try to catalog the number of re-makes, re-workings, adaptations, or needless sequels are out there from the past few years, or are in development. Naturally, this makes me think: has the state of entertainment gotten so dire at this point that we can't come up with decent original movies, and if we do make decent ones, can't we leave it at just one? I know, I know, everyone makes their money opening weekend, and the current economic system of movies is to churn out as much drek as humanly possible. I just wish it were a little more sustainable.

However, there is another way of thinking about this that I don't know if many people consider, and that is that the amount of borrowing ideas is not entirely unique to movies. I would never think to re-write something like Hamlet, nor would I try to change punctuation of an e.e. cummings poem and try to re-sell it as another poem. I suppose the closest comparison on the literary front would be adaptations like "Pride and Prejudice and Zombies" and "Sense and Sensibility and Sea Monsters" but having read both the originals and the re-imaginings of both those titles, I can tell you that a NUMBER of liberties were taken with the originals. Still, aside from parody, you don't see a lot of replication of work in the literary community. Yes, I realize in music it is much more prevalent; a point that was driven home with a vengeance when I saw a couple of cover bands last Thursday. So I suppose in that respect, re-making a movie is pretty comparable to covering a song. Despite that similarity, cover bands make money and get people to come out at shows, but the primary difference is they're not re-recording albums from the bands they cover and selling those.

So what are your thoughts? Is this whole movie-remake gripe limited to me? Should I look at it like theater arts, where people re-imagine and re-invent plays all the time? Or am I just a crotchety old coot who should just be happy they still make movies and that I can then get them months later on Netflix and gripe about how much I didn't like them to the internet?

Here's to the Experts.

As my Facebook pals have seen, I have been having some car issues. Now, there was once a time in my youth, where I could be considered a "car guy". It's still true to a greater degree: I love cars, I love classic cars, and hot rods and all those wonderful things. I have a great appreciation for classic Detroit steel, yet at the tender age of about 23 I abandoned my good ol' 1978 hooptie Cadillac in favor of an Isuzu Rodeo. Though I will say, it has served me admirably as long as I've had it.

That is, until about two weeks ago. It started overheating, acting all weird, and leaking coolant like hell. But therein lies the problem: I am generally handy with a lot of things, but there's no fix-all like "unplug it and plug it back in again" with a car. I did what I could: I re-filled the coolant reservoir, checked the oil, topped it off, and walked around the car while scratching my chin. Then I gazed deeply into the depths of my engine, much like the gentleman to the right. Then I wiped my hands and got back in the car and kept on driving.

So what did I do when the problems persisted? What any reasonable guy my age would do: I asked my dad to look at it.

See, unlike me, my dad is from that generation. You know, the generation of guys who change their own oil, who know how to snake a drain (and own a snake to do it with), the guys who know metric-to-standard conversions off the top of their head. The generation of guys who build, measure, draft, re-wire, and repair, all without the aid of our good pal, the google machine. It's not necessarily a knock on our generation; we just have different skill sets, and I guess that's indicative of the change in times. Yeah, we know html, we can work in Photoshop, and we can even assemble Ikea furniture when necessity dictates, many of us just have no idea how to gap spark plugs.

It is an interesting generational chat I had with my folks just today that brought this all together. We were discussing cooking, and my pops made the offhand remark that more males in my generation, and his to an extent, cook for themselves. My grandfather, who was a true man's man of the previous generation (he was a logger, a longshoreman, and for a time a demolitions worker) would never set foot in the kitchen unless it was to eat or to get a fresh beer. Anything else was women's work. But I think it really speaks volumes to the differences in generations, with different skill sets, different knowledge, and really different talents. And while I may not have been able to discern that one of my spark plugs in my poor car had gone kaputski, and that my radiator was leaking, I was able to go on Facebook, ask everyone if they knew a good mechanic, and find a friend who I went to high school with who was an amazing help, and saved me a trip to the auto shop. So sometimes my skills can pay off too. Yes, it was pops who replaced the radiator and the plugs, but it was a high school pal two years younger than myself who identified the issue in the first place.