excuses, music
- I moved to Westwood, the neighborhood in LA near UCLA. It’s lovely. But it’s not “I Don’t Still Desperately Miss the East Coast and I Might Head to LAX Now for My July 1 Red-Eye to Philly Just to Be Safe” lovely. I’ll discuss in detail later.
- My colleague has been out for a long vacation and I’ve been covering for him. I can’t really explain my job, but I will say that there only about eight of us at the company that do it and we each have individual specializations. This is good, because we’re all irreplaceable, but bad, because we’re all irreplaceable.
You can think of it kinda like the Justice League. My colleague, Batman, has been away on vacation for some time. I, Aquaman, have been covering for him. So in addition to my sea-related duties (of which there are several, mind you), I’ve been getting calls all day like:
“Hi, is Batman around?”
“Um, no – he’s on vacation. This I’m Aquaman, I’m covering for him. Can I help you with something?”
“Oh…uh, yeah, I guess. Well, the Joker’s escaped Arkham and he’s already murdered fourteen people, cut all of Gotham’s power, and is threatening to release a poisonous gas into the atmosphere.”
“Wow…that’s, uh, that’s pretty bad.”
“Yeah. Sure is.”
“Let me ask you something: are you having any problems with fish or with dams leaking or anything like that?”
“No, not that we know of.”
“You sure? Nothing about dolphins and the plastic soda rings or that kinda thing?”
“Not really, no.”
“You know, the ones that come on six-packs? Six-packs of cans? The plastic rings?”
“Yeah, yeah, I know them, but we’re ok in that department.”
“Ok. Hmm…because that’s sort of what I do – the whole fish/sea/water thing. Not so strong with murder and all that other stuff you mentioned.”
“Right, right…but do you think you might be able to give it a shot?”
“Oh, totally – I’ll totally give it a shot. But I just wanted to be up-front with you as to where I stand, and my areas of expertise. But no, I mean yeah, I’ll totally give it a shot.”
So the result is that I spend half my days flailing away at something that I have no idea about and with limited success, before turning back to my own duties. I shouldn’t complain, because it works both ways – if someone else at the company could do what I do, I would have been laid off, oh, five to eight years ago. So it’s good that way, but tough when co-workers go on vacation.
- Finally, I’m turning 30 in less than a month (July 17) and it’s freaking me out.
(Not really. Calmer than you are.)
(And I’m currently accepting 30th b-day beer money via the “Make a Donation” button on the right.)
At any rate, I’m off to agent/friend Joel’s wedding in wine country this weekend, but wanted to give you some songs to give a lil’ listen to.
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Six Songs
“Prison Sex” Tool
Looking back on it, I simply can’t believe that in 1999-2000, my sophomore and junior years of college, I stood on stages in various bars in Boston, pretending to be a bad ass and playing this song (on bass) with my college band. I mean, the song is called “Prison Sex” and is about exactly what you think it’s about (as evinced by the poetry of “I have found some kind of temporary sanity in this/Shit, blood and cum on my hands”). In college, I liked Elvis Costello and W.H. Auden and wanted to be a history professor, yet I rocked a hooded sweatshirt on stage, trying my best to look menacing, while playing this and other songs that I not only didn’t even like, but for the most part made me cry.
Don’t get me wrong – it was a total fucking blast. But when I think about these times now, they are so foreign to me that saying “Remember when I was in that band in college and we played that really hard rock music?” is almost as strange as reminiscing “Remember that time when I was married to a dude for three years?” I mean, it was messed up.
“Fistful of Love” Antony and the Johnsons
When I’m bored, I like to think of possible scenarios involving me performing musically that would kill my father. For years, the leader has been if I were to reprise Tim Curry’s Dr. Frank N. Furter role from “Rocky Horror Picture” show; I am 90% certain that my father would collapse before the second verse of “Sweet Transvestite” even started. Also, for those of you have heard Rockapella’s version of the Gummi Bears Theme Song, I don’t have to tell you that if I were to perform as the lead singer of this song, this would not only cause my father to take his own life, but possibly the lives of his own parents, as he descended from them and I descended from him.
But I have to say that, in terms of “real” songs, affecting Antony’s pattern of speech/singing and eccentricities just might do the job for dear old dad. Don’t get me wrong; I’d really have to vamp it up. But if he didn’t have at least a mild stroke, I’d be surprised.
(To be honest, the funny thing is that my dad is a very, very tolerant person, practically qualified to be a Board Member of the Non-Straight-Irish-Catholic People Alliance, especially by neighborhood standards. Still – and even though he was a big Bowie fan as a young man – I wouldn’t even show him “Rocky Horror,” just to be on the safe side.)
“German Love” Starfucker
Don’t be scared; it’s cool. Pretty, foot-tappy song that I actually played with the windows open while cleaning the apartment before realizing that my neighbors might not think the phrase “German love/I will give it to you” is as awesome as I do.
“Challengers” The New Pornographers
Ppppppuuuuurrrrdddddyyyyyy. Immediate add to the “Let’s Make Out or Something” playlist, and I’m still deciding if it should be included on “Sad as Fuck” (there are several songs that are on both, for reasons we should not get into now). Love the “Whatever the mess you are/You’re mine, ok?” line. I mean, who doesn’t want to help fix a mess? This is pretty much the only reason why I think I get laid. Well, that and the cherished combo of an extremely emotionally-distant father and about $34 worth of Jagermeister.
(As much as I like that line, there is a limit. We’ve all had that female friend who likes the “mess” a little too much. I feel like in just the past few months I’ve had a number of conversations with my female friends that go:
Female Friend: “…Well, Michael got in a little trouble this weekend.”
Me: “Oh yeah? What happened?”
FF: “It’s a long story, but, more or less, he got drunk and probably killed a cop.”
Me: “Wait – ‘probably killed a cop?’”
FF: “Yeah. I mean, the cop or whatever is definitely dead, but he may just have been a security guard or something.”
Me: “Wow.”
FF: “Yeah, he’s so spontaneous, I love him.”)
“I Don’t Believe You’ve Met My Baby” Jerry Douglas (Featuring Alison Krauss)
If there was a draft in which men everywhere had to pick a wife based only on her singing voice, Alison Krauss would go #1. Hands down. And when she walked up on this stage to shake the commissioner’s hand, this would be the song that was played. Hearing her voice, hearing this song, makes me think that love really does exist and is not just some social construct invented by (who else?) the Jews to keep everyone from raping each other.
(Wait, what?)
(PS – for the record, I love the Jews. Love ‘em, love ‘em, love ‘em. For three or so years, I dated Jewish women almost exclusively and it was wonderful.)
(And no, I’m not just saying this because I maintain careers in business, television and publishing. So there.)
“Tessallate” Tokyo Police Club
Off the top of my head, the only band names I hate more are Vampire Weekend, I Love You But I’ve Chosen Darkness, Death Cab for Cutie and The Ladybug Transistor (I’d have to look at my iTunes to compile a more thorough list), but I won’t hold that against them for this one. Another pretty one – they’ve all been kinda slow since “Prison Sex” – that makes me feel nostalgic for something I can’t place. Sometimes under that blanket of non-specific nostalgia is a nice place to be.
[Have a good weekend.]
