dwink i owned a company and all i got was this stupid blog

Sunday in the Neighborhood

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I didn’t buy the other idol records either

The obsession with the results of American Idol is absolutely fascinating to me. If I were a sociologist I could write a damn thesis on the ways in which a completely meaningless election's impact on shared emotional response is an indicator of societal mores. Wow, people really care about this.

It's amusing that in practice, it's meaningless. Sure, one person gets a trophy and a record deal, but the others are probably already negotiating their deals. The exposure alone is enough to launch careers, and if that's the point of the show, then it succeeds brilliantly. The record companies essentially get free talent they can sign to deals to make more money. Genius.

And I can't believe that anyone is in the dark about this: no one hides that the show is a promotion vehicle. They proclaim it. Even the worst auditions get their 5 minutes - not only do we get the most popular singer, we get the most popular train wreck. Also brilliant.

So, folks, take a deep breath. Adam Lambert performed with KISS last night, and gave ol' Gene Simmons a run for his money. This kid will not fade into the night. How can you be all that shocked that the same country that RE-elected Dubya voted for the other kid?

Anyhow, enough of that. Do what you must, but don't cry for Adam, Argentina. The truth is he'll not be leaving you.

Plagued by Idiots

I worked with a guy who had that as his IM handle. I totally understand where he was coming from.

I'm punchy today. I think part of it is that I've been all serious for what seems like an eternity, and I just can't handle it any longer. Charging around with a juggernaut brow, as Elbow says, cramming commitments like cats in a sack. Too much! I must make light of the situation! 'course Becky would say that my juggernaut brow was just my carny genes at work. Ha! She married someone with carny genes! That'll show her!

I don't have many good stories to tell; all the best ones are classified. I'd have to kill you and such. But I am going to London in a few weeks -- going to give those Brits a taste of the Daver life. Or, more specifically, work a lot. The former sounds way better -- wonder if I can make that one of the deliverables for the trip: "tasting notes of The Daver Life". Or not.

I'm excited to go, though. Sometimes the best way to get stuff done is to just sit down face to face and hash through things. And I've never been to Europe, so maybe I can induce a jet-jag hallucination that I'm on vacation and be a hooligan at a Chelsea match or something.

Oh, wait. Season's done then. No hooliganism for me. Then again, that's probably for the best: I'm the least hooliganish person ever. I'd probably squeeze out an uninspired "Chelsea, uh, sucks and stuff!" before turning red-cheeked and hiding behind a security guard. Who would throw me out for being a pussy. "right-o, you're a bit of a wanker, then? Out you go!"

Okay, so no hoolies. Just work, maybe some pubs and museums and stuff. Hopefully it won't rain every day, and maybe, just maybe, I'll have some more interesting story to post here.

If not, I'll just be forced to make one up. And we wouldn't want that.

It’s the Rattlesnake I Fear

I miss the enthusiasm ( and spare time) I once had for absorbing new music. There was a time when I would seek out new music religiously, always checking out the underdog up-and-coming bands. I discovered my still-favorite bands then; now I just keep picking up the next records from the same groups and give a disdainful shrug to most of the new bands I hear.
 
I guess it's part of getting older.
 
But I remember discovering Morphine via BMG music service, ordering "yes" on a whim as a free CD. When it arrived and I put it in my stereo, and the opening sax blare of "Honey White" spewed from the speakers, something fundamental happened. I proceeded to osmose that record. I put it on mix tapes, I wandered around with "Whisper" going through my head on repeat, I sought out every new Morphine track I could find.
 
Same with nearly everything: I discovered Peking Turtle and absorbed their funk jazz sound. I knew every word of Public Enemy's Apocalypse '91 and Radiohead's Pablo Honey.
 
Now, I pick up a new record and dismiss it in just two or three listens. I mean, I've never lost the joy of absorbing a new record -- Elbow's The Seldom-Seen Kid is currently attached to my brain -- but those albums come fewer and further between. Now it's a new best record every 3-6 months, not 2-3 days.
 
So is it because I'm too set in my ways? Not enough free time to listen?or does new music just suck like my parents thought mine did?

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