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Fallible Gods

I’m not going to try and justify or apologize for the fact that I recently viewed the new Genesis documentary/concert film, When In Rome. I did it, and I am not sorry. (Nor am I sorry for riding my bike to the nearest Wal-Mart, which is in the suburbs, to purchase the DVD because Wal-Mart is the only U.S. retailer selling the DVD, and I kind of wanted to be able to say that I rode my bike to a Wal-Mart in the suburbs to buy the new Genesis DVD.)

I have a Masters of Fine Arts degree.

Whether you’re a fan of Genesis and/or Phil Collins or not, I think this short film is a nice little portrait of what happens when a handful of wildly successful musicians in their mid-fifties decide to undertake that dubious endeavor that is the reunion tour, and the developments, both positive and otherwise, that result from a fifteen-year hiatus and subsequent reconvening in lavish rehearsal halls tucked away in Lausanne and Helsinki with seven months to rehearse and a quadrillion-dollar production budget.

Through it all, the person who acquits himself surprisingly admirably is actually Phil Collins. There’s none of the supposed egotism or overweening ambition that has led to various PR issues over the span of his thirty years as a solo artist (and I stress the word “artist”); no mention of Tarzan, or any of the other occasionally middling pap he’s churned out during his solo career, or his insistence on collaborating with Eric Clapton, or Tarzan, or his three divorces, or Tarzan. Rather, he emerges as a talented but flawed musician in his autumn years—which was never how I’ve perceived him until a very specific moment in the documentary.

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When they kiss they spit white noise

The Hold Steady live @ the Orpheum Stage Door, Madison

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Happy cycling

On Saturday I participated in scAVENGER: The Great Northeast Bicycle Scavenger Hunt, a bike-based fundraiser. I’ll be the first to admit that while I own a bike and ride it occasionally, I’m far from hard-core. I’m a cyclist, not a Cyclist: My car lacks a “Start Seeing Bicycles” sticker (and I own a car, to begin with); I’ve never done a Critical Mass; I don’t holler at drivers when they cut me off in the bike lane (though I should probably start). When I arrived at Saturday’s event and saw all the intimidating gear heads, bike shop employees, and bike messengers congregating in Logan Park, I felt immediately out of my element. But Emily and Nathan, who cajoled me into joining their team, made me feel welcome. It’s good for me to try new things.

Our team, which we eventually named One Hundred Years Of Attitude, wasn’t the most aggressive, or disciplined, or tattooed, or dreadlocked, or well-equipped (my $60 Craigslist Schwinn felt woefully inadequate surrounded by all those Bianchis). But several of us have encyclopedic knowledge of the Northeast corner of town, and that helped quite a bit. We’re not sure exactly what garnered us the most points: identifying the five mystery church steeples, the 100-word short story we had to write based on two randomly selected songs on the Grumpy’s jukebox, or submitting the correct total of anthropomorphic sea creatures painted on the side of the U Otter Stop In.

Whatever it was, we surprised everyone (not least of all ourselves) by placing second. We all won t-shirts and stickers, and coffee, and water bottles, and bicycle hubs that I’ve been told are very high-end. We weren’t very popular by the time we left the parking lot of Spring Street Tavern, where the awards ceremony was being held. But we were magnanimous in our come-from-behind victory, and celebrated with a BBBBQ on the Freemans’ deck. (The extra B is for Bicycle; the other extra B is a typo.)

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Driving along in my future car

Trans Am at the Triple Rock

The sweatband: +50 pts
The polyester track pants: +50 pts
The shirtlessness: +100 pts
The chains: +200 pts
The Juno and the Korg: +200 pts (each)
The Rickenbacker: +500 pts
The RotoToms: +1000 pts
The chains: +100 pts
The drum solo(s!): +500 pts (each)
Sebastian Thomson intentionally misstating the names of openers Zombi and Psychic Paramount as “The Zombies” and “Psychedelic Pyramid”: +100 pts
Not playing “Motr”: -1000 pts
Playing “Futureworld” and FUCKING KILLING IT: +1000000000000 pts

My nine-word review of Black Snake Moan

I liked it, but it’s no White Possum Scream.

Captain Pajama Shark

Last night’s SNL: astonishingly solid.

Righteous indignation

So I just watched Bill Clinton go apeshit on Chris Wallace during Fox News Sunday, and while it’s certainly infuriating to consider the way the channel set it up, and the way Wallace delivers his smarmy, loaded question, Clinton’s impassioned and justifiably angry response is ten times more satisfying.

Take the time to watch it if you miss the days when we had articulate leaders.

Update: Hmm. Seems Fox has demanded that YouTube remove the “unauthorized” clips of this interview (i.e. the ones shown in their entirety). The only clips left are the heavily edited ones that expurgate much of Clinton’s response.

Huh. I wonder why they’d want to do that?

Good thing Google Video hasn’t caved to the Fox News Empire. It’s also much better quality:

Robots in disguise

The guys at work just pointed me to this bit of awesomeness:

It’s the teaser trailer for the MOTHERFUCKING 2007 TRANSFORMERS LIVE ACTION MOVIE.

I don’t care that it’s directed by Michael Bay, and will therefore most probably suck. This is a warning to whomever I’m dating in a year: I’m seeing that shit at midnight.

Well done, Esther!

So apparently my upstairs neighbor is in a Decemberists video.

She represents Korea, sitting to Colin Meloy’s left.

(This was also chosen as one of 100 Awesome Music Videos by Pitchfork. Guess how I plan on spending the next two hours of my day off.)

Now that’s funny.

Last night a small group of us convened at Andrew’s to watch the Aristocrats, which I’ve already seen, but could probably watch an infinite number of times, especially if Captain & Cokes are involved. Afterwards, the movie and the liquor definitely gave us an inflated sense of our own funniness, and we spent the next several hours pontificating on the nature of humor, trading bad jokes, and entering the first planning phase of our MFA comedy troupe. I even got some of it on video. Here’s Phillip launching his idea for a comedy troupe, and here’s me telling one of my favorite jokes (I didn’t come up with it, but I wish I had). Please try to disregard the tiny video quality and my unflattering hair-rendering.

Beverage (and other) recommendations

I hereby heartily recommend:

1. Organic milk. It’s a little more expensive, but it’s delicious. It’s richer and thicker, so you can get organic skim and it’ll have the rich taste of 2% without the extra fat. I got organic whole milk yesterday at Rainbow because it was all they had left, and had a glass of it last night, and went to bed feeling stoned.

2. As long as we’re talking beverages, let’s discuss apple juice. Goddamn, apple juice is delicious. It might be my favorite non-alcoholic beverage after milk, tea, coffee, and non-non-alcoholic beer. When’s the last time you had apple juice? Third grade, you say? Do yourself a favor: get a big jug of apple juice—the real stuff, not the low-carb or sugar-free shit; that shit’s Condé Nast—and relive your childhood innocence.

3. The last ninety seconds of “Centipede” by Ticonderoga. The whole song’s good, but the coda is the rich nougat center.

4. Spending one’s day off staying inside, wearing slippers, drinking coffee, watching “The Office” and reading the New Yorker. This one is basically 100% autobiographical, as you can probably tell.

5. Leaving your Indian leftovers in the car all night. Actually, I would not recommend this, unless you want your upholstery to smell like murgh vindaloo for the rest of winter. Man, am I in for it.

6. Devoting 1300 words to an album one doesn’t actually like all that much, when one’s reviews of music one actually does like are generally much shorter: strangely cathartic.

7. Wilde Roast Café in northeast Minneapolis. It’s literally a gay coffee house, which means the food and the coffee is good, and the ambience is really pleasant. There’s even a fireplace with comfy chairs beside it. And an adjoining bookstore that sells gay porn, if you’re into that sort of thing. Which I’m not. Not that there’s anything wrong with it.

8. If you’re bored and/or a masochist, try The Saltine Challenge. Katie and Ransom did it over the weekend, and their hilarious failures can be seen here.

Oh what a night.

Had a generally successful weekend. My last day of work went well; I parted amicably with all of my coworkers, even my bosses, and then got shellacked at a bar afterwards thanks to their $10 all-you-can-drink special and some novelty shots bought for me by my work friends. But I think I’m growing up; around ten p.m. I actually said aloud, “I can’t possibly drink anymore,” hugged everyone goodbye, and cabbed it home. Or at least, that’s how I remember it.

Saturday night we went to Innjoy for Kate’s going away party and requested several 80s songs. The DJ played all of them except Dino’s Ric Astley request, which he (the DJ) said he “might have on vinyl” but apparently wasn’t able to find. Also, they were showing this film on the TVs, which as far as we could tell is the black Karate Kid. To top it all off, Dino treated us to his singular rendition of “Oh What A Night”. Good times were had by all.

Now I’m unemployed and trying not to brag about it to my working friends. It feels pretty damn good, though, and today’s been very productive. All you working stiffs out there can just take comfort in the fact that my good cheer will steadily decline in direct proportion to my checking account balance.

Cross-section

Bonus track: Aden’s karaoke debut.

The Humpty Dance

“I once got busy in a Burger King bathroom.”

Ransom Briggs, November 2004