Interesting...

I got a facebook message this afternoon from a chick in Sweden. Apparently she had some genealogy research done a little while ago, and she has some distant fourth or fifth cousin named... Bill Bergstrom! While neither she nor I are certain if I am the Bill Bergstrom she is looking for, I still find one part of this funny: I have been single just this side of forever, but without trying, blonde Swedish girls in their twenties come looking for me. Makes me question if I'm in the wrong country.

Speaking of the wrong country... I'm glad I don't live in Australia. Apparently assault happens in a very different way there. I'm not so shocked that the decided to chuck a hedgehog at this kid, I'm more just flat-out impressed by the fact that he hit him from "several yards" away.

I guess Mariah Carey could never have done it, unless she's much more deadly accurate with a hedgehog than she is with a baseball...

Guess Nick Cannon doesn't have a lot to teach her.
Trading her for Barry Zito would be one of the few times that adding "Mister one and Eight" would be a pitching improvement.

One last note before I take off, I have been re-reading Kyle Smith's book "Love Monkey" and it's fantastic. It's sort of like the single man's bible. Guys: want something you can relate to that will also keep you in stitches? Read it. Girls: want to know what that guy is thinking when he makes that funny face or tells you "nothing"? Read it. There are parts to this book that I can relate to even more than I'd ever like to admit.

Oh so quiet.

I'm disappointed. I've been house sitting (and dog sitting, obviously) and when I signed on to do this I saw this as a nice little escape, a chance to have some peace and quiet and do some writing, maybe even get my fiction writing mind going a bit. The setting is ideal: smaller house, comfortable sitting, dim-able lighting, and a nice spacious back porch.

Here I am, nearly a week later, and I have done squat. I think I'm getting sick, I feel ridiculously uncreative, and I haven't even done much as far as quality blogging in the last couple of days (though I still stand by my last post, I think it was one of my better works in a while). I think I realize why this is, though: I need external stimuli. Whether I'm writing blogs or fiction, I need some sort of spark that I can then expound on, and it's just a little too quiet and peaceful here. I don't see crazy people (save one kooky bitch on my dog walk last night) and I don't do much of anything out of the ordinary that might be considered "blog worthy." Plus, I've been so tired (a mix of less sleep, more hilly walking, and impending illness) that I feel like I'm cheating myself out of my prime blog time: the hours between two and three thirty in the a.m. So here I sit at one fifteen, gradually pecking away at this keyboard with the dog sleeping nearby, nose dripping from time to time, trying to figure out ways to be exciting and clever.

One last thing that I was struck by tonight: how is it, as a local culture, that we have such absurd food knowledge? I had sushi with two friends tonight, and everybody had their favorites, their likes and dislikes. How is it that offhand I know that I love raw yellowtail and mackerel, or that I prefer smelt roe to salmon roe? Does it strike anyone else odd that a busta white San Franciscan at age 27 can discuss the relative merits and differences between cooked eel (unagi) and fresh sea eel (anago)? Did people twenty years ago get their veggies drizzled with a cilantro-mango vinaigrette? Was aioli part of their daily vocabulary? When the hell did this happen? Is it a San Francisco thing, or do people in the Midwest eat like this too? I mean, I'm completely sopolistic, but still, I don't see some Iowa or Dakotan farmer going down to his local restaurant to order Ashanghai Noodles with Velvet Chicken & Sweet Shrimp, featuring Chino Farms stir fry vegetables, Thai basil and a ginger-black bean sauce (I didn't make it up, I got it off the online menu for Spago). That's a far cry from chicken fried steak or a bacon cheeseburger. Don't even get me started on the whole wine thing. I love knowing it, but I don't really know why in the world I do know things like that; except, of course, to impress the ladies.

A lot like dating.

As I have eluded to in the past couple of days, I am currently dog sitting. This little deviation from my usually freewheeling lifestyle has got me realizing how much this current situation is kind of like a bad relationship. Now hear me loud and clear: I am not complaining about dog sitting. I kind of enjoy it from time to time even. Yes, it puts a cramp in my style, and I'd never want a dog of my own, but I am always to help out friends (and in this case, friends' parents), but I am happy to help out when it works out.

Still, this quality time reminds me of why dating at times doesn't work out....

- She's a bitch (as in female dog, in this case, but you see where I'm going).
- She's needy: I have to take care of her, keep an eye on her as often as possible.
- She's clingy: I can't go anywhere in the house without her following me, and generally wanting attention.
- Our daily schedules are different: she's up by nine at the latest, so sleeping in until noon doesn't work well for her, so I get up earlier and am sometimes cranky as a result.
- I always have to surprise her: at least the pooch settles for treats.
- She chews with her mouth open.
- We're seldom on the same page: I want to sit on the deck, and she gets bored, when I want to leave, she wants to sit out on the deck with me.
- I have to take her out all the time: otherwise she'll get even more upset with me, and will give me an earful.
- She doesn't like me leaving her at home to go out with the fellas.
- Her heart really belongs to someone else, and I'm just a stand-in.
- We don't communicate well: she wants me to do things but can't express it right, and we both just end up frustrated.

And one that hasn't entered into my personal life (yet)

- She tries to run away from me to go chasing for pussy(cats): it's a battle I'll never win.

See what happens when I try to blog while I'm attending to other responsibilities? One thing I will say about being in school is at least I can blog about all the stuff I didn't bring up in class. When I'm on vacation like this, I can't exactly blog about my difficulty in deciding between a pastrami sandwich and hot dog for lunch (the pastrami sandwich won after very little debate) because, quite frankly, even I wouldn't read that tripe. I'm sure that tomorrow will at some point have a trip to the coffee shop, since I wound up throwing darts at the bar with the fellas on Sunday and didn't get coffee then.

PS - Don't ask why the dog has a Yoda costume on. It's just awesome, let's not ruin things with over-analysis.

How fitting.

I won't lie, it's been a bit of a boring day for me. When I have these slow days where everyone around me is busy with plans of some sort or another and I'm sitting around all by my lonesome, I can get a little down.

In an attempt to maybe figure out something to do with the rest of my day, I decided to log into my e-mail account, and what is the clever little tip that google has provided me with a link to if I'm interested?

"Dictionary.com Word of the Day -- listless: having no desire or inclination."

Thanks a lot, google. You really perked my day the fuck up with that one.

Well, I'm off to scare up some excitement for tonight. And if I don't I'll probably head to the coffee shop, which always seems rife with good blog fodder.

Midday special.

So I have the rare treat of a lazy Saturday afternoon with nothing on my plate, so it's blog time.

I've spent much of the afternoon watching the Braves play the Diamondbacks, and (as always) I can't help but miss playing ball myself. It's getting on time for me to find myself a softball league or something like that. Additionally, the announcers boiled my blood by calling the A's "surprising" in their currently second place performance. Maybe some day people will finally get it through their skulls that the A's are just a flat-out good baseball team.

But I don't want to yammer on about sports all day here. So I'll turn to something I'm much more apt to discuss in a public forum: music. Now, as many of you know, I play in a few surf bands. Those of you who don't know it, there's probably a reason why: surf music is a "niche genre". It relies on a cult following, and that cult is very small. There was a brief period in time where I honestly believed that surf music really could reach a wide audience, and maybe even become part of our cultural consciousness again, but in recent years I've realized that one of the biggest problems in the scene is trying to be something that we're not. The reason I love surf is that it is such a small scene, and that people in the scene look out for and are generally very helpful towards one another. I have gotten deals on equipment, I have met great folks who have given me worlds of advice, and I've seen a number of bands play shows that make me want to lose my mind. However, the reason all this has happened is because I "get it". I love the music, it makes sense to me, but that is not the case with a lot of people.

With all that in mind, my new musical venture should be very interesting. I want to start an indie rock band. For the last ten years of my life or so, I've been playing in more obscure types of bands, and have shied away from the mainstream. I've felt, in some ways, that doing so has helped me maintain some musical integrity and cred. So, it will be interesting to see what happens in trying to put together a new band (don't worry, Lava Rat fans, I'm not dropping the band, just adding another project to my plate) playing a music that is generally very accessible and listened to on a much more wide basis. I need to re-learn the art of playing music with a vocalist (hopefully not me), and become acquainted with a whole new style of songwriting. So I hope to keep you all in the blog world abreast of the progress of this whole experiment. Granted, I need to find musicians first, and figure out exactly what kind of sound I'm looking for. I have a few things in mind, but really haven't sat down and broken things down yet.

While I'm on this whole music talk thing, I am also interested in hearing what some of you have to say about the idea of "indie" music. It's one of those blanket terms, and many people have argued in a very convincing manner that the term "indie" is just our generation's term for what was deemed "alternative" about fifteen years back. So what makes a band indie? Is it a lo-fi sound? Is it something specific in the songwriting style? Is it the lyrics? I have a loosely constructed criteria for what I listen to, but I'm curious what some of you think. Lemme know, and let me know some bands that I should be listening to (maybe I already am).

Random tidbits.

Frank Sinatra once said "I feel sorry for people who don't drink. When they wake up in the morning, that's as good as they're going to feel all day." Truer words may never have been spoken.

Dog walking at two thirty in the morning is no fun. This is why I have fish.

Yet again, some out-of-their-mind presumably homeless person came up to me and started making nice. Taylor, Rodd, and myself were all standing in front of the club where we played tonight, and this woman comes up and IMMEDIATLEY heads right to me, past the other two, and starts yammering. Apparently I'm the captain. And Rodd is my trainee, but he's struck out. Taylor's on strike three, but he doesn't even know it yet. I have to laugh, but at the same time, I continue to ask "why the hell does this stuff always happen to me?"

I wish I had more to write about today, but it's late, I played sets with two bands, and so I'm pretty exhausted. I hope to be wittier and even more clever tomorrow.

Time. And some other random stuff.

Isn't it funny, dear readers, how time goes? Two weeks ago, I was at the end of my rope: I had papers to write, readings to do, and no time in which to do it all. Suddenly, I find myself with more time on my hands than I know what to do with. Yes, I do have the option of working at any hour of the day, but if I try to do too much editing in one sitting, I get cranky and half the time develop a headache. I can always read, but I've already finished my first book of the vacation, and am about seventy pages into the next.

And you know what else? I'm going nuts. I don't do well cast freely to the wind like this. I need structure, deadlines, things to look forward to. I need a little teeny bit of stress to keep me going, otherwise I turn into a giant relaxed puddle of mellowness.

Then again, it could just be the single part of me acting up again.

Speaking of which.... I am a great appreciator of craigslist missed connections. I think they're phenomenal. I don't know if this holds true for others, but in the "women for men" missed connections, some spam bot has run crazy and has completely wiped out any real postings with page after page of fake personals. If anyone around here has any connection to anyone with craigslist credentials, bring it to their attention. Because it's some bullshit. Same thing with the personals. They can be fun and interesting to read, and even occasionally respond to (not that I'd ever do ANYTHING like that myself) but when you know you're reading a bunch of computer generated messages that are trying to lure you to a singles site, you get pretty irate pretty quick. I'm sorry, I just know there aren't fifteen hundred women in my general age range with active posts on CL right now.

Anyhow, enough of this. I'm not even hardly making sense to myself, so I know it's time to pack it in.

Quickly.

Hey folks,
Sorry, but it's late and I'm developing more of a headache than I'd like to admit to. I did a little update on the Lava Rats site that took WAAAY more work and brainpower than should have been needed. So, having said that, I will be brief.

Scene: Bill leaves band practice in the Tenderloin.

I leave the studio, head around the corner to where my car is parked. As I approach, I see two people standing around, one has their crutches leaned on my car. I hesitate, not wanting to start any type of static. I gradually approach, and say "excuse me, this is my car and I kind of have to be somewhere." Both things are true. The one guy, who seemed to be fairly "with it," especially by Tenderloin standards, notices I have a gig bag with a bass in it slung over my shoulder. He asks "Are you playing at The Warfield tonight?"
I politely inform him that I'm just coming from band practice, and that the chances of me EVER playing The Warfield are somewhere between emaciated and none.
He then regails me with twenty some odd minutes of his life story. Where he grew up (in SF), the year he spent in jail (at the age of 18), the proper way to lift weights (lift HEAVY for few reps, then gradually decrease weight), his family tree (parents divorced, father eventually moved to Kentucky to live with his mother before he died), and the importance of family and of having a good job.
Every few minutes, I insert "well, I really have to get somewhere" which, each time, he cleverly retorted "then lemme make a long story short".

The point of this? Simple: crazy people loooooooove talking to me. It has been scientifically tested time and time again.

Before I turn in for the night, I also want to bring it to your attention that I am adding another link to my "other blogs to check out" column. My friend Madalyn from the lit program at State has a blog that has been, from the little I've checked out, pretty awesome. Imagine taking all my bitterness and spite and replacing it with humour and wit - that's kind of her blog. Hopefully you folks enjoy it as much as I do. And hopefully she adds me to her links, because that would also be awesome. And subtle.

At long last.

Ah, gentle readers, it's so good to again be staring at this blank text box that isn't blank anymore now that I've written this sentence.

I have made it out the other side of paper mayhem, and remain intact and generally unscathed.

It's been a while (obviously) since I've written, so I'll sort of give a reader's digest version of a few highlights of the past week or so.

Last Friday: my long-awaited night at the track. I lost my only bet, had fun celebrating Jennifer's birthday, but was suckered into spending over two hours in line for beer. A little back story: this was the last Friday that Bay Meadows would be in operation, so that paired with the dollar night promotion and the fact that Tainted Love was playing between races means everyone and their mother (and father, kids, and grandparents) were there. It was a tricky situation, as I would have gladly waited like half an hour or so, but with each ticking minute, I just wanted to get to the front of the line out of spite. Come to find out in hindsight, there were fourteen thousand-odd people there that night, which is the largest crowd they've had there in the past fifteen years.

Live Shows: I saw Tapes 'n Tapes on Saturday, who were surprisingly good live. They sounded tighter on stage than they do on their record. I was a little surprised at the crowd: it was as if the band, who tend to be hipster darlings and very highly lauded in the blogosphere, drew a crowd as if they had been hyped on KFOG: the crowd was widely older than me and generally polo shirt clad. It wasn't necessarily a bad thing, but I figured this crowd would have been a bit more like the Raveonettes show of a few months back. Maybe the cool kids don't go to the Fillmore. I caught Murder by Death tonight at Bottom of the Hill, and they were impressive as always. I was pleasantly surprised by the opening band, Dios (also known as Dios Malos). I'd never heard of them, and I'd actually be pretty hard pressed to describe them. Do yourself a favor and check them out at www.wearedios.com There is also a lot of buzz around the fact that My Bloody Valentine is coming to town for a show in September. Here is what I have heard: the main chick in the band isn't playing with them anymore. I cannot refute or confirm that at this point. Here is what I know: they are palying at Design Center Concourse which is a poor excuse for a venue, but it holds a bunch of people. Here's what else I know: tickets are $47.50 face value. We Are Scientists are coming to The Independent in July, but I'm trying to keep that quiet since I don't have my tickets yet. You city-ish folk, let me know if you wanna see that show - I should be getting tix by early next week.

Fortunately, that seems to be about the extent of stuff that I really missed reporting from this week. I should be blogging like always soon, but figured I'd give this somewhat less smarmy and clever blog just to knock out all the perinent info. Now I've got to get some sleep and give my liver a rest. High five!

Moratorium.

Sorry folks, but it's paper time. That means that I am suspending the blogging I love so much until I finish off these last two papers. I hope to finish by Wednesday night, which would mean a Wednesday night/Thursday morning blog, but I make no promises at that.

Fear not, I am taking notes here and there, and will be back with an epic and ridiculous blog whenever I get back to it.

Wish me luck.

Addendum.

I've been working on this paper for class, and as is far too often the case, I have been dancing around issues for a while, but in writing a more developed introduction, I stumbled upon a little nugget of wisdom that hadn't dawned on me before.

And yes, this is actually in my paper.

Morrissey is our generation’s Shakespeare not only because he is British and of ambiguous sexuality, but because he is a poet and artists of a higher order that far too many people have tried too hard to emulate over the past twenty years.

How had that comparison escaped me throughout all my years of Smiths love?

Anyhow, I'm heading back to my paper, but I figured I'd share that with you before I share it with my professor.

Burns brightest.

First things first -- Jennifer, happy birthday. I can't wait to hit the track tomorrow and help celebrate. And maybe win some money on the ponies while I'm at it. At least I can make enough to cover my dollar beers and hot dogs.

So here we go...

I had a conversation tonight about music (surprise surprise) and productivity. Most precisely, bands who produce ridiculous amounts of amazing material in a very short time. It should come as no surprise to any of you that I cited The Smiths as one of those bands that was just too good for... everything: their time, their genre, even their members, to a certain extent. Just look at their catalog in the time in which they were together as a band (this excludes later greatest hits collections and all that), which is from late 1983 through August of 1987: they recorded four full-length studio albums, released three compilation or live albums, and had eighteen singles. Eighteen singles. That's staggering.

On our side of the pond, there was The Pixies. They basically put out an album a year for the five years they were a band. And that was with a hiatus in the middle of their career.

This leaves me asking myself "how the hell do they do it?" I write songs. I can be productive when I'm in the zone, but I also go for months without producing so much as a single note of recordable music. How can these bands (and others like them, though they are few) create album after album of amazing music in such short time? Is the weight of this music what leads to dissolution of the band? Or is it that they set the bar so very high it would be impossible to maintain?

Keep in mind, I am excluding bands and musicians whose careers are shortened by, well, death. That's why there's no mention of Hendrix, Elliott Smith, Joy Division, or other highly productive musical heavy-hitters.

Another thought: both bands that I used as my examples had two famous "personalities" in the band; The Smiths have Morrissey and Marr, while The Pixies have Frank Black and Kim Deal. Could this reliance on the musical dyad lead to inevitable fallout? For as great as Morrissey's solo career has been, it is widely based around the success of The Smiths. Johnny Marr has floundered from band to band over the last twenty odd years without ever striking gold like he did with the Moz. Likewise with Frank Black - he has widely admitted that no matter what he puts out as a solo artist (or with The Catholics), he will always perform in the shadow of this giant entity known as "The Pixies". Kim Deal had The Breeders, but they're currently touring, and played Bottom of the Hill. On a Wednesday. The Pixies, on their reunion tour, were selling out EVERYTHING, everywhere.

So in the end, could it be for the best that these bands don't reconcile? What would happen if all the fellas in The Smiths decided to bury the hatchet tomorrow? Would they be able to come up with stuff that would touch the originals? I heard that The Pixies might have finally pulled the plug on the possibility of making a new record. I haven't heard it directly quoted from any band member, but there is a lot of buzz around that it just didn't work. And maybe, just maybe, that's for the best after all.

The 'Stache.

Okay folks, I'm sorry but I'm a little exhausted, so I will pose this question to you and go to sleep:

Is there anyone else who has a better pop culture moustache than Tom Selleck in Magnum P.I.?

It's thick and robust and ridiculously absurd. I can't think of a better moustacchio than this man, although I welcome criticism...

Low Culture.

First and foremost, I am not trying to make it appear as if I have coined the phrase "low culture"; rather, I have been trying to make sense of it since I first read Chuck Klosterman's Sex, Drugs, and Cocoa Puffs, which is sub-titled "A Low Culture Manifesto", oh so many years ago. I may be off base here, but so far as I can gather, "low culture" has to do with the remains of pop culture. Basically, it's the unpopular side of pop culture stuff.

So, what the hell does this have to do with anything? Well, as much as I hate to do it, I have to make this connection to my Cultural Criticism class. We have been examining the various film adaptations of Othello. There seems to be a major conflict between the Lawrence Olivier version, and the recent version starring Lawrence Fishburne. There is a lot beyond just the fact that LF is black and LO is white (and done up in HOOOOORRIBLE blackface), it has to do with our modern tendency towards low culture. I personally think the Olivier version is rubbish, but each of the leading actors and actresses were nominated for an Oscar that year. So how is it that most everyone in the class prefers the Fishburne version? Simple: Sir Lawrence Olivier could never play Morpheus. It doesn't matter that one actor is a trained Shakespearean actor, and the other once appeared as a cowboy on Pee Wee's playhouse. Low culture shuns the classically genius and creates a new standard for judgement that incorporates just enough irony to be not only smart, but funny as well.

A few things that qualify as good signposts for low culture comparison:

- 1980s music videos (big hair and bad dance moves, what more could you ask for? Oh, right -- awful special effects)
- fast food, or even better, fast food mascots (Jack in the Box, Ronald McDonald, or more obscure folks like the Noid, Mayor McCheese, or the Hamburgler)
- Any youth or teen-oriented TV show of yesteryear: Saved by the Bell, 90210, DeGrassi High (for my Canadian readers), ABC's old "TGIF Lineup", etc, etc, etc.
- Early nineties "happy rap": back in the day before bitches and bling there were performers like The Fresh Prince, The Fat Boys, and Kris Kross. And they are still hilarious in hindsight.
- Athelete references that are more than five years old: sideburns like Carl Yastrzemski, a Mattingly moustache, or a fro like Kareem are all classic comparisons
- Gene Shalit. Enough said.
- Animal celebrities: Eddie the dog from Frasier, Mr. Ed, Beethoven the giant dog, Francis the talking mule, Free Willy, Rin Tin Tin -- drop their name along with that of any celebrity who makes you roll your eyes and you'll immediately be infinitely cooler.
- Computer geekery: What makes you sound cooler and more hip than saying something [C:\>cd\sucks]?


Arright, I have papers to write, which is probably why this post is so long at this point. I really have to [C:\>dos\run] bwahahhahaa......

Man, do I hate...

... the Tenderloin. I had practice with a band way down in the heart of the 'loin tonight, and despite the fact that I got a parking space almost right in front of the studio, it was still disgusting. I hadn't even stepped out of my car when some dirty vagrant with no teeth came up to my door telling me to be sure to lock it. Then he tried to hug me. Why is it I don't get hugs from people I don't and am bombarded with them when someone has just finished telling me how filthy they are? Why in the hell do insane people latch onto me like this?


... when vocalists try to cover songs that have a signature "sound" when they know they can't do it justice. Maybe it's not conscious at the time, but you have to take a step back and pass around at least a rehearsal recording to everyone you know whose musical tastes you trust before playing something out live. In particular, bands with REALLY unique vocalists, like The Smiths or Joy Division, should basically not be covered, because that's like being a backyard boxer trying to say that their knockout punch rivals that of someone like Mike Tyson when in fact, they're really Little Mac. You may be a hell of a vocalist (and I'm really one to talk) but there are some songs that just can't be improved no matter how great you are.

... my writing process. I love writing, and I don't even mind writing papers for school all that much, but I take SUCH a long time to get things going that I end up wasting waaaay too much time that could be better spent. And it's not like I can work or anything like that, because that would seem more like avoiding writing. Rather, I do something random to pass the time that requires next to no mental exertion so that I can claim I'm "assembling the pieces in my head first" which, for the most part, is a complete crock. What's worse is that I recognize when I do these things, but am either unable or unwilling to stop myself. If nothing else, I suppose I can get to bed at a more humane hour tonight so that I can actually focus and crank out a few pages tomorrow.

But, before I let you go, I feel obliged to bring it to your attention that my buddy Jon has started blogging again after a far too long hiatus. The link, as it has always been, is at right. Enjoy!

Special midday blog.

I know that I'm breaking form, and might regret this if I have nothing else to say this evening, but I had to strike while the iron is hot here... I have a few things that I wanted to mention that are somewhat out of the norm of my standard topics.

The first thing is baseball. I can't get enough of it, as many of you know, but that's another blog altogether. There are two things that have been bothering me this season. The first is the media's short-changing of the Oakland A's. All the major news outlets seem to think that this rag-tag group of misfits are a fluke. Just like the 2002 A's who should have knocked off the Yankees in the playoffs if only Jeremy Giambi knew how to slide were a fluke. Apparently they don't realize that the A's thrive in the role of David to most Goliaths you put them up against. Like this season; at this very moment that I am writing this blog, the A's are one game behind the Angels and lead the Wild Card race by two games. If you didn't know, the Angels are constantly touted as one of the "elite" teams in baseball right now. The A's are beating the Orioles in the Wild Card, the very same Orioles that had everyone on the eastern seaboard holding their breath for the first two weeks of the season because they were in first place over both the Yankees and Red Sox. So I say "Up yours, mass media" for trying to short the already excellent season my team has put together, and I just say look out, since the A's always really crank it up after the All Star break.

The other problem I have with sports media these days are all the misinformed fools that think that Barry Bonds should still be playing in San Francisco. They find small examples of people who still pull for him. A recent article mentioned a kid in the stands who had a "bring back Barry" sign one day. How can a whole city's perception be based on a kid with a sharpie? I'm sure there were some bigots out in Atlanta who had "Rocker was right" signs at a Braves game after that whole fiasco, but no one lumped all of Atlanta in with those yahoos. What's worse, we're even getting press in the Wall Street Journal because of that steroid-pumped idiot. There was just this week an article about the economic downturn at AT&T Park because of Bond's departure. Of course, everyone had dollar signs in their eyes at the prospect of catching one of Bonds' home run balls and turning around and putting it up on ebay that night. But that's not the problem. The problem is that the Giants are currently miring below the .500 mark, and lost eleven of their first seventeen games. They are miraculously in third place in the West right now despite the fact that their team home run leader has hit four dingers over the course of the first thirty two games and despite the fact that they are playing horribly fundamentally unsound baseball right now. Oh, and Fred Lewis, who took over in left this season.... yeah, he leads the team both in batting average and runs scored.

One last tidbit for the morning: if I should somehow drop dead unexpectedly well before my time, I am going on record right now in saying that I want this coffin: http://www.foxnews.com/story/0,2933,354137,00.html That man does every Pabst drinker proud.

The simple things in life.

Yes folks, I'm actually writing in a good mood tonight. I got to enjoy coffee with a friend this afternoon, and followed that with a dinner with another friend in the evening. I know they're both regular readers, but that doesn't affect my saying: I don't see either of you guys enough. Thanks for a great Sunday.

Now what does good-mood Bill mean? That's right: recommendations! So here we go.

1) Tom Waits: the man is a fascinating musician, relentlessly hip without appearing to try, and he has little-known bit part in The Outsiders. Don't believe me? Run to IMDB, fools. He's there. He knows exactly what it takes to stay gold. But to make up for that interesting career move, he appeared in one of the least appreciated movies to be released in the last twenty years: Down By Law. If you haven't seen this movie, put it in your Netflix queue right now. Like now. See that button on your computer to open a new browser window? You should have double clicked it already. Go on, I'll wait.



Did you put it in there? Good. It's a Jim Jarmusch film, and starts Tom Waits alongside John Lurie, and that silly Italian son of a gun, Roberto Benigni. Who, like all the other movies he is in, plays himself. It's wonderful.

2) Murray's Pomade: For those who really know how to work the pomade, this is the tits. A good strong hold, little grease-shed factor, and a winning ability to re-mold as needed with just a little warm water. Yes, it takes a few days to really get it all out, but with the quality of Murray's, who wouldn't want it in there?

3) Indirect lighting: Yes, it seems ridiculous, but it makes perfect sense in my mind. I tend to be somewhat sensitive to light, so when whole rooms are lit by an over-powered ceiling lamp, I tend to be a lot less comfortable. I think this is why I hoarde various lighting fixtures: my old school floor lamp, lava lamps, tiki lamp, christmas lights, and candles. Not only is the light a lot more soothing from any of these things, I can mix and match for the exact amount of light I want for anything.

4) Kitlers: I may or may not have said this in the past, but something in me goes to idiotic jelly when I see funny pet stuff. I don't particularly even like animals that much, and have never had anything more than fish as pets, but goddamn, some of this stuff really cracks me up. Frighteningly obese pets: hilarious. Weird devilish looking pets: hilarious. And this is my new love: Kilters. Cats that look like Hitler. Think this is just my weird or twisted mind in action? Think again. http://www.catsthatlooklikehitler.com That's right kids. A whole friggin website dedicated to it. Lame site or not, pictures of cats that look like Hitler make me laugh. I hope they do the same for you. And when you're done laughing, look up "screaming frog" on youtube. Welcome to the hell that is me killing time...

... in bed!

Wow... just... wow. So I'm out to dinner with Courtney, Jen, and Brian (apparently there was a little too much pep for Mallorie's taste), and upon arrival at the restaurant, we see a big party. No one can do anything worse than be in a big close-knit group who draws a lot of attention to themselves when I'm in the area. You know you're going to end up getting blogged about. I honestly don't even know where to start with this crew. It was a wedding reception for an old couple. They apparently finally figured out the key to happiness. As the man said in one of many toasts (I'll get to the incessant toasting in a moment) "Happy wife, happy life." This was all well and good until we left the restaurant and heard him giving her hell about something or other to the tune of "Listen, when I tell you something, I expect you to pay attention to me... yadda yadda drunken yadda."

There was a very confusing seating situation where there seemed to be a teenage girl making a little too nice with a guy who we assumed was the girl's mother's boyfriend. That was... really something.

Now, on to the toasts. It was endearing at first: the newlywed wife got up and gave a liiiiitle talk, followed by her husband, who dropped the "happy wife" line, claiming it to be an ancient Chinese proverb. Sure. Then the two witnesses gave their little toast too. We assumed it all to be over from our vantage point, but we couldn't have been more wrong. Apparently this new "happy wife" took a bit of an extra shine to the power of the "tap your fork against your glass to get everyone's attention" thing. I think in the following ten minutes she popped up with something she forgot or some new realization that came to her between swigs of champagne. I think two separate "ching chings" were dedicated to the sister, who not only came from Hawaii to be there for the big day but also shipped the flowers which were on the table... all the way from HILO! Then came the final and decisive "stand up and speak" moment, when she decided she had to read her fortune cookie to everyone, and do the "in bed" game with it. Now don't get me wrong, I've done the in bed thing a few times. But you know what? I outgrew it. When I hit puberty. Apparently this woman still had the rollicking good time that the kids on "Beverly Hills 90210" the time they did it back in the early nineties. Sadly, no one slipped her the memo that the "in bed" deal went out of fashion before the show was cancelled. Hell, it went out of fashion before Nat decided to open up the "Peach Pit After Dark". "Now Bill" you're all saying, "Aren't you being a little harsh? It was a celebration and she'd had a few." Yes, and I respect your candor in calling me on the carpet like that. However, here's the thing: she insisted that everyone read their fortune in the same manner, preferably when standing up as well. Even the teenager. And the other kid who was like ten-ish. That's a line. I think even other people around the table were a little weirded out about that one. Thank heavens the teenager politely declined.

All in all, I think the coup de grâce of the evening was when we were leaving. One of the older drunk uncles was trying to make nice with one of the waitresses (one of the ones who is probably younger than me, for the record) and tried to kiss her hand, which she promptly yanked away before he could get close to it. After he'd left, dejected, the married couple came back in to thank the staff one more time for their help and hospitality. The entire time the "happy wife" was talking she was bowing. I mean fucking bowing. You know what I'm talking about. Like full on silly drinking bird toy with the water bowing. Like nineteen forties Charlie Chan bowing. Like, looking for the guy with the silk pajamas to say "me so sorry" bowing. There's one little problem with this: bowing isn't part of Chinese culture. They do a subtle head nod. The bowing is really Japanese, and also is around some in Hong Kong, but not China.

Yes, I'm a jerk. These people were having fun and relatively minding their own business. But I'm on a friggin role here, people. No detail can be spared. Fortunately, if you read this, you probably are friendly with me, and therefore exempt from being raked over the coals of my ridicule. Everyone else is fair game. If those folks didn't want to be blogged about, they should have found a restaurant with a private room. Remember folks: blog mockery happens.

Another fascinating tidbit about myself... apparently I even quote movies in my dreams. As most of you know, I lace much of my conversations (and blogs for that matter) with random pop culture references. So I had a dream recently in which a friend, I won't name who, was wearing pants that were having zipper issues. After another friend and I swapped snarky one-liners about "pants malfunctions" we apparently start busting out lines from Superbad: "See, the basic problem is that there aren't enough pants where there should be pants... he needs to upgrade, big time." Have I watched the movie in the last few weeks? No. Am I just so odd that I can quote movies at will in my sleep? Apparently so.

Alone with my music.

Well well, dear readers, I did something very unlike myself tonight. I stayed in and relaxed a bit. Yes, I know that I really should have been writing another essay or reading stuff for my thesis or something like that, but I decided to kick back, not go to the cafe, and just read, listen to music, and play FreeCell. I've realized a few things. First: FreeCell is a tool of the devil. It's more addictive than solitaire. And do you know why this is? Because there is ALWAYS a solution. You can't be like "well, I just can't win, I did everything right" because it isn't true. It drives me nuts. Of course, it's the same reason I love the game, but it turns me into some sort of FreeCell junkie. Terrible.

Now, for the meat and potatoes of what I really wanted to talk about...

That's right; music. I know I don't really talk about it often or anything, but I figured a night of listening to my iPod really left me inspired.

So here goes another amazing revelation: The Smiths are a fucking amazing band. This did not just dawn on me, believe me. I have known it since they first hit my ears, but I treated myself to an entire evening of listening to like forty or fifty tracks in continuity tonight. It was surreal.

In other exciting news, We Are Scientists have a new CD coming out. I don't know for sure when it comes out over here, but I picked up the two-disc UK release, which also features a rather entertaining live CD. There is also a ton of digital extras that I haven't taken the time to wade through yet. While it may not be quite as great as "With Love and Squalor" it has held up nicely over the first few listens. They also have a great CD/DVD combo pack which is available on Amazon called "Crap Attack" which has a bunch of good fun. Every time I come back to these guys, I am reminded of why I like them so much in the first place. Plus, their blogs are even funnier than mine.

I'll also throw Imogen Heap into the mix. Most of you know her as the chick from Frou Frou but she also has some pretty awesome solo albums. Check it out. Girl got talent.

Clearly, the quality of my writing is beginning to wane for the night, so I'll stop there and promise still more fun tomorrow.

Grr.

Wow. I'm not even going to get into it. But let me say I was yet again remdinded why I spend so much time in front of a computer screen in my basement hovel.

I'm not being bitter, I'm not saying I should never leave the confines of my hermitage, I'm just saying, I had one of those nights. Fucking high five.

Well, I almost blogged this afternoon. I submitted my thesis prospectus today, and it made me realize just how much of an impact the book On the Road had on me the first time I read it. As memory serves, I read it shortly after the end of my senior year of high school. I was ready to grab a suitcase, throw some clothes into it, hop into my Caddy, and go tooling across the country. Granted, it's probably for the best that I didn't, what with my not having any money or clue of what I was doing, but still. Now that I've read the book some seven or eight times, I can't say that it's lost any of the impact that it had the first time. Of course with my car currently being an uninspiring drive, and with gas prices being increasingly out of hand, me setting to the road is a bit of an impossibility. One day, though, I do hope to at least hit a bunch of States one of these days. Maybe I'll do it all by bus and write about how hellacious that experience was. I remember taking the Greyhound up to Oregon with my buddy Taylor way back when ('98? '99?) and I can tell you I was a lot more forgiving back then, and those few hours of driving were pretty awful.

I guess that's about it for today. I don't mean to be so very lame, but you know how it goes. I churned out like seven pages on prospectus this afternoon, so I'm somewhat "written-out". I'm going to be at the cafe tomorrow night, so that usually prompts some kind of gripe or craziness.