Feats of Stregnth

Steve Tallent had a Festivus party at the Cornerstone in South Boston. This was not the first Festivus party he has thrown, nor will it likely be the last. My Festivus future, however, is very much in doubt.

Festivus at the Cornerstone is comprised mostly of revelry; its symbolic epicentre the Festivus pole around which the night's festivities revolve. At it's true core, however, is the airing of grievances.

Before I had finished my first drink, Steve came around to ask whether we were interested in airing grievances. Rick J, Mackin, Josh and Moose each respectfully declined. As Rick put it, "I don't have any grievances. Everything's great." I asked that Steve add me to his list. Apparently, at 10:30, the music was to stop, Steve would take his rightful place onstage as emcee, and we would each, one by one, be afforded the opportunity, with the assistance of a microphone, to expound upon the many wonderous flaws of this world as we perceived them, and in however much detail we saw fit.

Steve's introduction was a much lauded stand-up routine. No surprises here. His buddies followed suit, their sordid grievances drawing delirious laughter from the crowd seemingly without effort. Our cackle was doubled over despite not knowing any of the characters taking to the stage. These guys had certainly come prepared.

As I finished another beer, carelessly dropping the empty glass on the table, Moose leaned over to me and asked, "What are you going to say?"

"I don't really know," I responded, suddenly aware of the fact that I was likely in the hole or on deck.

"And next, we have my buddy, Seamus. Seamus...." Steve said as he gestured in my direction.

I took to the stage without hesitation, completely certain my "act" would work itself out.

As I took the microphone and looked out onto the crowd, all capacity for thought ceased. Autopilot.

"Yeah, I've got grievances," I asserted with an unfounded swagger. "I don't like black people!"

I waited for the flood of laughter to wash over me..... And waited..... And waited.

As I focused in on some of the individual faces in the crowd, I realized people weren't so much laughing as they were simply staring at me, mouths agape, in utter disbelief. I looked towards Kofi, a friend of mine who happens to be black. Surely this flash of comedic brilliance wasn't lost on the only black guy at the Festivus party at the bar in South Boston, right?

Wrong. Sorta. Kofi shrugged, as if to disavow my existence completely, but then smiled as if to say, "You're on your own, man. This is fantastic."

It was then that I got my flood. Not in laughs though. It was the sweat accumulating under my arms and on my forehead.

I started to tell the story detailed in "I'm a bad person". It took five minutes for me to get to the part where I cross the street with my dog. Suddenly I realized not only had I neglected to say anything funny while on stage for over five minutes, but the story I was telling didn't really qualify as a grievance. It was an anecdote.

"I can't do this..." I stammered, handing the microphone back to Steve and sauntering off the stage with my tail between my legs.

By the grace of god I had a fresh beer waiting for me as I slunk back into my chair. This served nicely as a prop that helped me pretend to be unphased by the steaming dump I left on stage in front of several friends and between 20 and 30 strangers. I tried to laugh off the taunts of my wife and my friends. By the end of that beer, in fact, with the help of those who followed, I was on the road to recovery.

All would soon be forgotten.

"Rick J!" Steve announced to the surprise of all of us. As Rick confidently strode up the stairs of the stage we wondered what was in store.

As Rick pointed at the DJ, there was suddenly an air of familiarity.

As he'd said before, Rick didn't have any grievances. "Everything's great", which is why it made perfect sense to us when the DJ put on "Welcome to the Jungle". As Rick channeled Axl Rose like only Rick can channel Axyl Rose, all was right with the world. Or so we thought.

As the song went on....... and on and on, we realized that everone else wasn't enjoying Rick's performance as much as we were. Eventually, a fellow reveler approached the stage with the Festivus pole, poking Rick with it while others behind him booed.

"Get off the stage!" someone hissed.

I couldn't have been happier. This was definitely worse than my performance. Everything in its right place, I smiled as I took a swig of my beer. "Seamus, you have to do something! They're gonna fight!" Moose interrupted.

Begrudgingly, I obliged, breaking up what may or may not have taken a turn for the worse had I been left alone to enjoy my redemption unfettered. (Rick and his would-be attacker actually shared a beer minutes later.)

Then, in what can only be described as a Festivus miracle, a stranger took to the stage. From the fact that Steve did not introduce him by name I assumed this man happened upon our sumptuous celebration and was now inspired by the Festivus spirit to participate.

He snatched the microphone from Steve.

"I have grievances! I'm Latina! I'm a fag! And I hate every single one of you!"

Lazy Sack

People love retrospective lists.

Best Jazz Albums of 2009

Best Music of the Decade According to AV Club

Top 25 Albums of 2009 According to AV Club

The Year in Film

Best 50 Albums of 2009- Pitchfork

Top 100 Tracks of 2009- Pitchfork

Worst Album Covers of 2009- Pitchfork

Carson Daly

My favorite Grizzly Bear song. (It sounds this good live and in person. Believe it or not. Seriously.



Sometimes you see a group of chicks and you think, "Dammit. Why'd I get married?" Or at least I do. Or did. Just this once. This joint makes me wanna dance.



If you're in a Trans Am, I'll make fun of you. Unless it's this Trans Am.

It's Beck and that girl from The Science of Sleep in one of the stranger videos I've ever seen.



Finally. A genie and a soldier from her majesty's imperial guard have formed a two piece indie-blues band. This is as awesome as it looks like it might be.

These guys are so fucking ivy league hipster it makes me sick. Almost as inexplicable, I really like them. This is a cool video too.



A new take on an old font, Times New Viking

Remember that U2 video for "Numb" where people rubbed their feet on Edge's face? Yeah, me neither.

Anybody out there?

The NFL gets turned on its head every week. It's something that I love that also bothers me. The Giants were surefire Superbowl contenders after 5 games. As recently as two weeks ago, there was no way they were going to the playoffs. They had a shot at first place on Sunday but they dropped it. Now they have an outside chance at the division and a solid shot at a wild card. I'm simultaneously pessimistic and optimistic about the Giants. This isn't an anomaly really. It's how I operate most seasons.

Eli played absolutely out of his mind on Sunday night. There were at least 4 balls dropped by Nicks and Smith in the first half. Manningham would have had two touchdowns if he kept his feet in bounds, or started his pattern closer to the hash if you put stock in Collinsworth's assessment (I think the fade becomes too obvoius if you lineup too tight. Manningham just needs to get his frigin' feet in.)

These are all just young wideouts who need to get used to the idea that the ball might be there on any given play. In college, quarterback's don't check down to their 3rd and 4th options very often, certainly not in the spread offense that everyone's running. Does that necessarily explain Nicks dropping a surefire touchdown pass where he had beaten his man by two or three yards? No, but I think it's applicable at least to a degree. More importantly, it's fixable. It's frustrating but it can change.

When Eli Manning is hot he's one of the best quarterback's in the league. There, I said it. Consistency has never been his strong suit, however. He's given to lapses of lackadaisical southern 'awe shucks' crap. We must consider also that he has been playing on plantar fascitis all year in his right foot, and that this has given way to a more serious, stress-related problem. But let's not think about it too much. We're striving for a balanced perspective.

NSFW..... but so hot

Rachel Bilson's Deleted Sex Scene from Rachel Bilson

A Life Examined

Kieran Magee's got his fingerprints all over this one. A lot of people have good ideas. Very few transform them into realities. Even if you don't pay for green certification (though you should), the qualification process is an exercise worth your time (takes about 10 minutes).

It's easy to think you're green- that you're doing things to diminish your carbon footprint- because you drive a hybrid or because you've enacted a two-pee pre-requisite on flushing the toilet but, if you're anything like me, complacency is a persistent enemy.

If you don't know Kieran, he's the guy who hits his head.

Jack D

You've led me astray, Jack! Not only does your penguin story date back to 2005, it was apparently confirmed as rumor by New England Aquarium officials around that time.

My Dear Readers,

I cannot in good conscience report that a child attending the New England Aquarium on a field trip managed to alude the watchful eye of teachers and chaperones in sneaking away from the group to dive into the penguin tank to catch and and later place inside his backpack a baby penguin.

When I first caught wind of this yarn, it made my day.


Regretfully yours,
Mgmt

Log It

Brian Kelly will be the next coach of the Notre Dame Fighting Irish football program.

Log it.

Log it.

Done.

I'm Hungary

Best anti-war song I've ever heard. End of story.

I'm a bad person

Know what I’m not going to miss? Watching Charlie Weis eat his boogers on national TV every weekend of October through November. Good riddance. I stuck by that bastard for way too long. Now that I’m finally jumping his sunken ship, it feels good to be able to say some of the things I’ve held back for so long. I wanted to see you succeed, Charlie. So badly. You’re an ornery guy from New Jersey, you went to ND, and never played a down of college football there. It had all the makings of an incredible story. Just one problem: You’re not a head coach.

All this Charlie Weis talk reminds me:

Last week I took my dog out for a walk. She’s a 12 lb dachshund. In front of my building there was a minivan double parked and two vehicles headed in opposite directions. A big fat man in his mid to late 50’s driving a Lincoln Continental yielded to the vehicle traveling in the opposite direction. Once the other car had passed, he continued to sit there, presumably perspiring and breathing heavily from the exertion of applying pressure to the brake. I assumed he was yielding to me and Ruby as well, like a nice fat man. As we stepped briskly into the street and began to cross, he raised his hands in the air, an angry gesture that was likely accompanied by a few choice expletives that I couldn’t hear because he hadn’t yet rolled the window down. When I raised my hands, mocking him for his failure to either proceed in a timely fashion or for his lack of patience, he quickly rolled his window down.

“Oh! Big man!!! And his little fuckin’ dog!!!” he screamed.

I stopped beside his car, looked down at my little fuckin’ dog and smiled at her as she gazed back at me in wonder.

“Big man! Big man and his little fuckin’ dog!!! You pussy. Why don’t you get a bigger dog, you pussy!”

Completely fed up, I stooped to his level. Not something I’m proud of, especially because fat old men driving Lincolns sometimes have ties to organized crime. “What are you? 300, 400 lbs? How long did it take you to get into that car and get your seatbelt on? 15, 20 minutes? Seriously? How long? You fat fuck. Where are you going anyway? To have a heart attack?”

At this point his volume reached new heights. “Look at that little dog. I’ll kick that little dog. You fucking pussy!”

My volume increased evermore, “Are you kidding me? You couldn’t kick this dog if I put her on a tee, you fat fuck. Fat guys like you don’t kick things; you walk around taking baby steps and breathing heavily.”

From the park behind me a man chimed in, “Come on guys! Calm down! Sir, just drive. Just drive!”

I turned to look. It was a man and his wife walking their two dogs in the park. By the time I turned my head back around the object of my ire was driving away. I was both furious and embarrassed. In a huff, I walked my dog into the park, deliberately by the couple. The wife wouldn’t look at me. She was probably afraid of and disgusted with me. I earnestly offered to the man, “I’m really sorry about that. I’m not proud of myself.”

He turned to me and said, “That’s ok. It happens to the best of us. I just didn’t want to see it escalate.”

“Regardless, I’m sorry about that. No one should have to see that.”

Funny little hate crime

Brockman's into some interesting shit. Since graduating from college he's done stints in Costa Rica, The Congo, and Argentina researching primates. At present he's in Wisconsin at his parents' house working on his graduate school applications, a full-time job unto itself. Needless to say, he doesn't get out much these days.

A couple months ago he seized an opportunity to eat and drink like a Roman at a cocktail party thrown by his parents in the house he grew up in. As one might expect, the guests and his parents had all deserted him by 11:00. A good buzz like this one too rare to be wasted on sleep, he sat outside staring off into the Wisconsin darkness, yearning for inspiration.

He heard revelry's call from somewhere off in the distance. In ominous darkness loomed boundless possibility. His wasn't the only party in the neighborhood on this night, just the tamest. Like minded citizens of the world perhaps? His heart raced. Having never before met his neighbors across the street, insulated all his life by rows upon rows of dense evergreen trees, he was determined to right this wrong there and then.

Naturally, before embarking on this trip into the unknown, he scurried back inside to retrieve his trusty head lamp. Naturally.

Some two hundred fifty yards later, two smokers standing alongside the neighbors' house noticed a light emerging from the darkness, shortly followed by a skinny, bearded man in his early to mid-twenties who was wearing..... a head lamp?

He introduced himself as "Isaac Brockman, from across the street." As the smokers brought him around back and introduced him to the rest of the party, everyone assumed Brockman was gay (after they were done staring at the head lamp in wonder, of course). As one of them astutely whispered to the other, "That's how fags shake hands... And that's how fags talk." Familiar with the notion that he might give off a gay vibe during introductions, Isaac has become well versed at sniffing out homophobia. And when he senses this sort of high school locker room vibe, he becomes deliberately gayer.

Having been handed a beer by his seemingly gracious hosts, he flitted about the room like Liberace at a Nascar race. "This will have to do," he thought to himself.

Suddenly, however, he was pulled down to the ground from behind. Instinctualy curling up into the fetal position and covering his face, faceless attackers punched and kicked him. "Fucking faggot!" they hissed.

Moments later his assailants were pulled off him by other party-goers. He was lifted to his feet by a man and a woman, presumably his progressive hosts. They apologized profusely, wiping the dirt and wet grass off his shirt and pants: "Oh my god, we're soooooo sorry that just happened!" Even under the influence as he was, their apologies seemed borne out of fear of legal repercussion than of shame that people they'd invited into their home were of the deplorable sort.

Isaac assured them, "Everything's fine! Happens all the time. Don't worry about it." This had never happened before.

They replaced the beer that had gone to waste during the attack.... He drank it, and then another, resolutely staring around the room at the people who were staring back at him while they spoke in hushed tones to each other.

He cracked a third beer before flipping the switch on his head lamp and venturing back out into the Wisconsin darkness towards the home he grew up in.

What's the password?

As a rule of thumb, people assume no one will ever know their password. As far as I can tell, at least four of them are incumbent upon modern American life: voicemail, email, fantasy football, and online banking. If you have a job in a cubicle, you might have between fifteen to twenty more. These can be difficult to track. That's a lot of passwords. Repetition can be critical, especially when 15 to 20 passwords expire every 90 days or so and require that you change them to new passwords that haven't been used before.

When I am having computer difficulty from within the friendly confines of my cubicle, I have to call our outsourced IT team in India. Last week, I was cursed with an error message for a password protected software. When I picked up the phone, as with past calls I've placed to my counterparts across the pond and sand, I anticipated a run-of-the-mill, painfully cumbersome, misguided but ultimately successful interaction. I was only part right.

Once remotely logged into my computer, he innocently asked in a thick Indian accent, "Ok, what's your username, sir?"

I deliberately but politely spelled it out. It wasn't until I muttered the last character, the number '0', that I realized the question that was sure to follow.

"And your password, sir?"

My head whirled around on its axis Exorcist style, only nervous and paranoid instead of a symptom of being possessed by the devil. Assistant to my right, co-worker to my left, boundless potential for passersby behind, I tried to stabilize the volume and cadence of my voice. I needed to get this done in one take. No repeats.

"D--I--C--K--C--H--E--E--S--E--2...."

"Excuse me sir, did you just spell 'dickcheese 2' Is your password 'dickcheese'?"

I can only assume by the incredulity in his voice that he was not only surprised that someone would use such a password in a professional environment, but that this same person had presumably already used 'dickcheese 1'.

Phenom

This guy drops a lot of F bombs. You've been warned.

Avett Bros

Last Sunday Moose and I saw the Avett Brothers at the House of Blues. I've been to a few shows recently - some really good ones - and this one I actually enjoyed the most. I was blown away. These guys are a mesmerizing mix of sentimentality and tongue in cheek narrative manifested through a raucous southern, blue grass, country, punk romp.

Maybe it's the Third World Maybe It's His First Time Around

Emmett's going to grad school in the UK for water engineering. Presumably to bring clean water to the third world upon completion of his studies. Or perhaps to make a bigger, better Brita filter. Regardless, he's promised a blog per day. At least someone's got something to say.

Emmett has a dry wit that often makes me feel inadequate. Read his blog so you can feel inadequate too.

Episode 7

Mr. Curcio neglected to mention to me that Episode 7 features The Waitress from It's Always Sunny in Philadelphia. This was brought to my attention by my sister. I can't believe I missed this.

2 for 2 in 2

Sadly, I'm too old for concerts on consecutive nights. At least I thought I was when I realized last Wednesday that Grizzly Bear was playing at the Orpheum on Thursday night, having
long ago committed to a Built to Spill show on Friday night. Just the same, the memory of watching Grizzly Bear's Cemetery Gates on Wednesday night fresh in my mind, the notion of missing this opportunity was too much to BEAR.

Going back about a year, I happened upon their video for "The Knife". Under the influence of controlled substances, my mind was sufficiently blown. I couldn't get my hands on Yellow House, the band's second studio album, fast enough. For a considerable time thereafter I struggled to put my finger on the reason or reasons I found Grizzly Bear so decidedly forgettable. So forget about them I did, until the release of their most recent effort, Veckatimest. When a friend brought the video for "Two Weeks" to my attention I was reeled back in, temporarily. Eventually, similarly to the album that preceded it, I had listened to Veckatimest over and over again without being blown away; never humming along to anything besides "Two Weeks". And yet I was confused by this, like I was somehow missing something.

The fog began to clear last Wednesday night while watching a live performance on my lap top: I actually have a beef with their production. The key to Grizzly Bear can be found in subtlety, and their production doesn't account for this. With the volume at reasonable levels I can't tell anything interesting is going on with their music. Or rather, I can tell, I just can't hear it. Turn the knob clockwise and suddenly my eardrums are bleeding. Cemetery Gates (which you can watch by clicking on its first mention above) solved this problem for me. Cemetery Gates solved it so well, in fact, that I ended up going to the concert by myself, save for three nips of Jameson. Easily the least hip person in attendance, I gleefully took my seat in the eleventh row, dead center, like the aging dork that I've become. Over the course of the next few hours, however, I came to realize I had also been hung up all this time on time signature changes that didn't jibe with my expectations. The often gentle instrumentation and pitch perfect singing of Grizzly Bear bestows a false anticipation of a pop sensibility that isn't there. These guys aren't for the meek, despite what their singing voices would have you believe.


Juxtaposed, I met Steve Tallent at my apartment at 7:00pm the following night for beers and Yankees. Some several hundred beers and a Yankee walk-off win later found four of us walking downstairs at the Middle East just before Built to Spill took their seminal brand of guitar centric indie rock to the stage. Not long after having heard Built to Spill for the first time, it became very apparent to me that I needed to see these guys live for the full experience. Well, no surprises. Dough Martsch (beard and hat) and Co. sound of Dinosaur Jr., Modest Mouse, and maybe a little Pavement. Or perhaps more accurately, Modest Mouse, Pavement, and Dinosaur Jr. sound a bit like Built to Spill. Emerging from the fertile (?) Boise, Idaho underground in 1993, I can't help but admire the way Built to Spill has made a living putting on shows like last Friday's; a very comfortable evening of writhing air guitar and sing along in the company of others who seemed to be enjoying the same.

Episode 7

Fan video. Guess who's listed in the credits. Me. That's right.

Mallen!

Congrats on a job well done. Mallen made a mocumentary about the SoCal surf scene. If you haven't seen it, you can see it here. The film was recently featured in the New York Surf Film Festival and written up here.

Dumber & Dumb

Preamble:
Marty’s a close friend of mine even though he works in the self-aggrandizing, self-important world of high finance. I exaggerate and I kid. I actually like everyone he’s felt compelled to introduce me to, but I’m trying to paint a picture for the purposes of what will assuredly be another mediocre story. But I digress, Marty’s mildly successful, works hard, and, in keeping with his peers, takes himself very seriously. Coincidentally, he works “on the same desk” as someone else named Seamus. Together, they are the mover and shaker’s mover and shaker, wheeling and dealing all over the eastern seaboard in expensive suits and Vineyard Vines ties.

Story:
Cell phone rings at 7:00am. I’m out of it. That’s an understatement. My eyes actually well up with tears when the highlights of Minnesota’s 12th inning victory over Detroit culminate in frenzied celebration. I’m clinically brain dead. I’m watching SportsCenter at almost no volume, so as not to awaken the slumbering dictator in the other room, while putting the finishing touches on a carefully crafted work ensemble. The phone’s ringing catches me off guard and by “catch me off guard” I mean I jumped a little and shrieked like a mouse.

“Hello?”

“Seamus, it’s Jennifer from New York.”

“Uh…. Uhhhh…… Hi Jennifer.” At this point, I’m beginning to think she’s someone from home office but have no real clue. Her name doesn’t ring familiar, and I can’t think of anything I have going on at work that would require a 7:30am cellular phone call from home office.

“Jennifer Toll. I know you’re traveling today, but I need to set up a conference call between you, Logan Stilton, Thadius Redclay, Tristrom Barstove III, and Terence Wilforke.”

I’m traveling today? Am I supposed to be traveling today? Shit! “Ok! Let’s do it. What do you need from me? Ready when you are.” Shit! Where the hell am I supposed to be going today?!”

Wait a second! Logan Stilt? That sounds familiar.

“Jennifer?”

“Seamus?”

“Jennifer, do you think I’m Seamus Parker?”

“You’re not Seamus Parker?”

“I’m Seamus O’Connell. Although you can’t tell right now over the phone, I’m actually much better looking than Seamus Parker. Did Marty put you up to this?”

“Mr. Martino gave me your number.”

“Mr. Martino is Martin. Don’t let him fool you. He’s an idiot.”

“Oh my god, I’m so sorry for the inconvenience!”

“Jennifer, I wouldn’t worry about it. I’m actually a little disappointed. I really wanted to be on that call. Sounds like a doozy. Tell Seamus, Logan Stilton, Thadius Redclay, Tristrom Barstove III, Terence Wilforke, and Mr. Martin that I said hello. We’ll really need their best heading into the heart of the 4th quarter here if this flagship international corporation is to remain afloat.”

“Will do.” She laughs uncomfortably because I sound serious, but also like I have no idea what I’m talking about.

"Click."

Moral of the Story: This is what I love about Marty: just when I think I’m rock bottom stupid on some random, rainy morning, he was actually even dumber, first.

Capitalist Commensalism

Symbiosis describes the close and often long-term relationships between species. Well, let's take one of the subsets of this idea and move it over to the business realm. All the way over, in fact, to hemorrhoid cream manufacturers, and smart phone manufacturers and their service providers. Way I see it, in fact, Preparation H owes Apple, Google, and Blackberry some serious coin. Or at least a back rub.

My sister, who is getting her PhD in evolutionary anthropology, will either be very impressed with this thought process or very disappointed. Either way, you just read this.

Old Friends

Episode 4

OLD FRIENDS: TRUCE (Episode 4) - watch more funny videos

Episode 5

Old Friends - Katie's Day (Episode 5) - watch more funny videos

Episdode 6

Old Friends - Love Story (Episode 6) - watch more funny videos

The Fun

SportsCenter anchors have been quoting "Got Some" while they ramble through baseball highlights lately. "Teixeira goes deep. Got some if you need it!" I love SportsCenter. It's been well-documented that I also love Pearl Jam. How come I don't know how to feel about SportsCenter anchors quoting Pearl Jam?

I really wish I hadn't seen Pitchfork's review of Backspacer before I had actually heard the album. Pitchfork is to the naysayers what I am to the yaysayers, so to speak... Now I feel like I have to maintain some sort of objectivity and integrity that I never had in the first place. It's a funny thing, listening to an album for the first time fully intent on writing a review, having already read [the first paragraph of] one. You can easily forget you're supposed to enjoy listening to music, lost in a fit of self-seriousness. This is supposed to be fun. Remember that.

Speaking of self-seriousness (segue!), Backspacer, PJ's ninth studio album, is undoubtedly its lightest in terms of sound and lyrical content. Coming in under 40 minutes, nowhere is the introspective weightiness of Ten or the dissident frustration of Riot Act or Pearl Jam. This album is less of a showcase for chops than anything else in PJ's catalogue. It won't blow anyone's mind who isn't already sold. It's not a masterpiece either, but it isn't trying to be. Backspacer is really fun to listen to, which is important. I forget that sometimes.

The album begins behind the power of a lilting bass line from Jeff Ament with a rock and roll energy that remains consistent until the appropriately titled "The End", save for "Just Breathe", track 5, which could have been included on the "Into the Wild Soundtrack". When Eddie croons "Stay with me, let's just breathe" about a minute in, the hair on the back of your neck will likely stand at attention. "Amongst the Waves" will make you want to get in the ocean. Triumphantly. On "Unthought Known", Boom Gasper's most prominent effort to date, when the opening chords chime by themselves just before Ed joins them in a whisper, I find myself eagerly anticipating the entrance of Boom's piano, because that means I'm that much closer to "Feel the sky blanket you With gems and rhinestones!!! See the path cut by the moon For you to walk on". In a departure from all of the material that has preceded it, this album is life-affirming, attesting to all its beauty and wonder. Like one of their shows.

When I started writing this review a few days ago, I expected to gently pan this album. In a strange way I wanted to. I wanted to prove to myself that I was capable of being objective about this band. Now, as I sit here listening to the album for maybe the 7th or 8th time, I can't help but laugh and shake my head while my it bobs back and forth and my left foot stomps. Who needs objectivity when you've got Pearl Jam? Not me.

Under Construction

I'm working on a review that at least two or three of you may have an interest in. Should be done by the end of the weekend.

In the meantime, no dopers:

Backspacer

Downloaded today, hopefully reviewed by the end of the weekend. Pearl Jam's 9th studio album is available exclusively at Target and downloadable on iTunes.

Thursdays at Augusta High School

Into the Mouths of Babes

Oh, The Temptation from Steve V on Vimeo.

Kicked to the Curb

This is worth your time.... If you like laughing. It's a bunch of clips from Curb Your Enthuiasm.

The Other Clip

My Kid Brother at My Wedding...

Log It (Take 2)

Steve Tallent, who used to have a refreshingly honest if not vastly misguided blog, has been so kind as to grant me permission to post his revisionist-- though still timely because a regular season down has not yet been played-- predictions for the upcoming season. I've known Steve for maybe three years or so. While his politics are a little Glenn Beck meets Peter Griffin, his sports knowledge is pretty much can't miss. You can take these picks to the bank. Except, naturally, the one where he has the Giants losing in the playoffs...

AFC East
New England 14-2
Miami-4-12
Buffalo 4-12
NY Jets 4-12

AFC North
Pitt 15-1
Balt 12-4
Cinci 8-8
Clev 3-13

AFC South
Indy 12-4
Tenn 10-6
Houston 9-7
Jax 6-10

AFC West
SD 13-3
KC 4-12
Oak 3-13
Denver 3-13

NFC East
NYG 12-4
Wash 10-6
Phily 9-7
Dallas 8-8

NFC North
GB 11-5
Minn 11-5
Chi 9-7
Det 2-14

NFC SOUTH
NO 12-4
Atl 11-5
Car 10-6
TB 2-14

NFC WEST
Ariz 10-6
Sea 9-7
SF 6-10
St.Louis 1-15

AFC Wild Card Round
Tenn beats SD
Indy beats Balt

NFC Wild Card Round
GB beats Atl
Ariz beats Minn

AFC Divisional Round
Pitt beats Tenn
NE beats Indy

NFC Divisional Round
NYG beats Ariz
GB beats NO

AFC Conference Finals
NE beats Pitt
GB beats NYG

Superbowl
NE beats GB

AWARDS
MVP-Michel Turner RB Atlanta
Offensive Player of the Year-Drew Brees QB New Orleans
Defensive player of the Year-Vince Wilfork DT New England
Coach of the Year-Mike McCarthy Green Bay
Offensive Rookie of the Year-Donald Brown RB Indy
Defensive Rookie of the Year-Brian Orakpo DE/OLB Washington

Odds and Ends
The Vikings will start 5-1 or even 6-0 and ESPN will be sucking Favre's old nuts, then Pittsburgh smokes them in week 7 and the wins start to dry up. They make the playoffs only to have Favre throw 4 picks in a first round loss. After the game Favre is indecisive about retiring.

NE & SD will not lose a division game during the regular season.

Pitt will run the table until week 12 when the lose a Sunday night game @ Baltimore. They won't lose again until the AFC Conference title game against NE.

St.Louis won't win a game until week 17 at home against SF.

I will finally hit the pick 5 down the Cornerstone.

The Cornerstone is the establishment in South Boston where Steve tends bar on Saturday nights. If you're ever in the area, it's another can't miss. Ask him if he updated his F5. Or just tell him you're interested in two things: Writing accounts and keeping them. It's that simple.

USA

4th? Come on, America. We shouldn't lose to China, Pakistan, and Saudi Arabia in ANYTHING. If this were an Olympic event (I've heard grumblings that the committe is considering it for 2012), we woulnd't even medal or get to stand on the podium!

Also, hang up your cell phone.

Community

I need to acquire some Dan Deacon. To be frank, I find some of his ultra-wanna-be-rogue-indie antics off-putting, but the score to this snippet -- which details his vegetable oil tour bus -- has convinced me beyond the shadow of a doubt that I need his music. Awesome tour bus too. And it is hilarious when he talks about it being too dirty for Canadian border control. Every time I hear something about Canada, I laugh, or at least furrow my brow and stare off into space.

If you've never heard the Avett Brothers.... even if you have for that matter, check this out.

As an aside, sometimes I find it annoying when a bands find sartorial themes an incumbent component of stardom. My beef I suppose includes facial hair, sunglasses, t-shirts, pants, etc. However, before I became too annoyed with The Avett's for this very reason, the fact that they're brothers occurred to me. Immediately I was reminded of the adorable way my younger brother incessantly "borrows" my jokes, mannerisms, and ideas. So I'll give them a pass. Plus, these guys are fantastic. If there is ever an excuse for slap-you-in-the-face similarities, it's with people who lived in the same uterus. They will actually be the first show Moose and I attend as a married couple. Boston House of Blues in October.



The Avetts' folk influences got me thinking about this next clip I first heard several months ago:



Churches are so often wasted on religious shit, Exhitibit A:



Exhibit B:



Exhibit C:

The Top 500 Tracks of the 2000s

Have you seen this list? I can’t stop sifting through it, reading the odd blurb. Obviously there is plenty on this list of 500 that I haven’t heard, let alone own, but I’ve grown so accustomed to thinking of bands and their music in terms of entire albums that I’m suddenly finding it really enjoyable just to find songs on this list that I didn’t know anyone liked besides me. Moreover, there are songs included on here that I find to be guilty pleasures. This is a refreshing, viscerally honest list compiled by the ultra-snobs at Pitchfork.

Never mind the somewhat arbitrary order they come in. I don’t think that’s the point. At least to me anyway.

My Football Universe Email Thread: Bottom to Top (Literally & Figuratively)

From: STallent
To: Seamus

Oh yeah! I forgot you have to actually go to class at ND.

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
From: Seamus
To: STallent

Yup. Combine that with the academic standards, and you’ve got a serious handicap.

Without the national exposure from playing on national TV every week, I don’t think they’re even relevant anymore. They’ve got to hold onto that forever.

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------

From: STallent
To: Seamus

Yup, football is the best thing in the world, by far. I think Weiss had really big recruiting years the last 2 so ND might be back. It must be tough: I know ND has all the history but if I'm one of the best football players in the country I'm not going to Indiana. Florida, Southern Cal; that's were I'd want to go get laid for 3 years

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------

From: Seamus
To: STallent

I’d like to think ND’s ducks are all in a row this year. Weis being a [chubby FUPA’d] New Jersey guy and alum with an interesting life story (never played a down after high school), I want his regime to work really badly, I just don’t know at this point. They showed flashes last year, but come on: their season culminated in a bowl game route of Hawaii. HAWAII. Sometimes I feel like I’m gioing to spend the entirety of my adult life waiting for ND to return to prominence.

Goddamn I love football. Moose hates it so much, because it’s only part of the year where I DEMAND the television for significant blocks of time consistently throughout the week.

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------

From: STallent
To: Seamus

Oh and Norte Dame will win a bunch of games against that schedule and get smoked in a BCS bowl.

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
From: Seamus
To: STallent

Eli just signed a huge contract? He must be fantastic!!!!!! Just kidding, I agree with your assessment. That's what keeps me up at night.... Only this isn't really any different from the last two years.

My optimism: Taking that 6’6” kid from Cal Poly looks like a great move. He’s supposed to be a really sharp kid too… which I think increases the likelihood he can be a valuable red zone target as a rookie. Look for Hixon will continue to develop. I don’t know about Manningham and this kid from UNC. UNC supposedly hasn’t had a great camp and Manningham hasn’t shown me anything since he lit up ND when he was at Michigan.

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------

From: STallent
To: Seamus

I like the Giants, I just don't know who Eli throws to now. I see teams putting 8 guys in the box to stuff the run and daring Eli to throw downfield to beat them.

Maroney (big year for him, put up or shut up time), Fred Taylor and Sammy Morris, and actually Kevin Faulk catching huge 3rd down passes.

But now the Giants lose the great Earth, Wind, and Fire moniker. Jacobs always seems to get hurt for a few weeks so it will be all Bradshaw for at least a time.

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------

From: Seamus
To: STallent

3 headed monster??? Maroney's a chump and Fred Taylor's got cataracts. I thought Maroney was going to be something special because he was NASTY at Minnesota. Who's the third?

Speaking of running games, I like that Ward left and Bradshaw's still around. I wonder if that was their plan all along, because I always lamented the fact that Bradshaw didn't get as many touches as Ward last year. But maybe that's why they got rid of Ward, knowing Bradshaw's body has less wear and tear.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

From: STallent
To: Seamus

I'm keeping this email for January review. The Pats have a 3 headed monster at running back now and Brady will be a top 5 MVP candidate.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
From: Seamus
To: STallent

You had me at “Log it”….. but you lost me at PHI beating NYG in the playoffs…. And then became laughable with NE winning the Superbowl.

Naturally, this has much to do with my own personal biases, and something to do with your's as well. You suffer from the same fatal flaw I do: If it’s remotely possible for me to pick/think/believe my team’s going to go on a championship run, I’m going to align my mouth and money with that possibility.

I like your regular season predictions though. I’m keeping this for review at the end of January.

Devil’s advocate: The Pats are pretty old and can’t run the football. Yeah, they added Fred Taylor who will probably be better than anybody else they’ve got, but he’s 120 years old and no longer a game changer. Plus, look for Brady to have a pedestrian season like Carson Palmer’s first one back after surgery.

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------

From: STallent
To: Seamus
Subject: Log it

Ok, I just went through the entire NFL schedule and the following is how it will turn out:

AFC EAST
NE 14-2
Buffalo 7-9
Miami 5-11
NY Jets 5-11

AFC NORTH
Pitt 14-2
Balt 10-6
Cinci 5-11
Clev 3-12

AFC SOUTH
Tenn 13-3
Indy 10-6
Hou 8-8
Jax 7-9

AFC WEST
SD 13-3
Oak 5-11
KC 4-12
Den 3-13

NFC EAST
NYG 11-5
Philly 10-6
Dallas 10-6
Wash 9-7

NFC NORTH
GB 12-4
Minn 9-7
Chi 9-7
Det 2-14

NFC SOUTH
Atl 11-5
NO 11-5
Car 10-6
TB 1-15

NFC WEST
Ariz 10-6
Sea 9-7
SF 5-12
St.Louis 1-15

AFC Wild Card Round
Indy beats SD
Tenn beats Balt

NFC Wild Card Round
Philly beats NYG
NO beat Ariz

AFC Divisional Round
NE beat Indy
Tenn beat Pitt

NFC Divisional Round
GB beats Philly
NO beats Atl

AFC Championship
NE beats Tenn
GB beats NO

Superbowl
NE beats GB

Bones to Pick

I finally figured out why this blog has sucked so bad for 5 or 6 months now: It’s because I don’t interact enough with misogynistic, totalitarian, ass-faces. I am no longer consistently confronted with eccentric, drooling, morons. Ever since having taken a new job, I’ve dealt almost exclusively with competent, thoughtful people operating in an overwhelmingly professional manner. And it's single-handedly destroying whatever creative impulse I once had. I need to get a part-time job with some idiots.

........................

Don’t get me wrong, I can’t stand Brett Favre. I used to love him. Then he retired, unretired, retired, unretired, looked like a complete wiener in a slew of Wrangler commercials… And now I hate him. But how in the hell did he play a decent portion of last season with a torn bicep and partially torn rotator cuff in his THROWING ARM AND SHOULDER?! Moreover, how highly must Minnesota regard Sage Rosenfels and Tavaris Jackson in order to sign a 39 year-old with 350,000 miles on his body with a PARTIALLY TORN ROTATOR CUFF? Not highly you say? Oh. I know Favre is tough as nails, but how do you make it through a 17 week NFL season as a quarterback with a PARTIALLY TORN ROTATOR CUFF? Anyone want to take my action today that Favre doesn’t finish the season on the field?

.........................

What's wrong with being stoned and topless like the Noxema girl and that tool from Grey's Anatomy? Before you gleefully watch footage like this, I hope you realize that every time footage of something this awesome is leaked to the press, it incrementally reduces the likelihood us regular people will be able to film our own sexual encounters moving forward. It is in this vein that the paparazzi impinging on "famous" people's right to privacy [film sexual encounters] will soon eclipse national health care as the most critical issue facing our great society. Quote me.

Last time you asked the love of your life or the flavor of the week if you could film the next time you got your biz on, what was his or her response? Did it include a reference to all the goddamn leaked porn footage all over the interweb that was never meant for mass consumption? If it didn't, it could have.

Tortoise- From a Rooftop

Given their propensity for abstraction in their music videos, to see these guys actually playing definitely adds a dimension. The fact that they so often switch instruments is pretty cool too. The dueling drums kinda kick it into high gear on "Swung from the Gutters", FYI.

"Gigantes"


"Prepare Your Coffin"

"Swung from the Gutters"

Pubic Transmutation

Ever since I started taking the bus to work, I’ve listened to music on my headphones with a religious fervor typically reserved for the religious. Save for the occasional run-in with a friend on the bus on my way home, this is a routine I haven’t deviated from. While I’ve grown familiar with a broad spectrum of characters that stand beside me at the bus stop each morning, all of us staring listlessly into space, as well as the number of strangers that sit across from me, or that I occasionally bump into while the bus negotiates turns once on board, I can safely say I’ve never heard any of them speak. I remain unfettered, however, in my primordial quest for understanding: to categorize these people based solely on looks and mannerisms.

TO BE CONTINUED....

Pucker up: Leeds on Ecstacy

Old Friends: Truce

OLD FRIENDS: TRUCE (Episode 4) - watch more funny videos

Some Day My Prince Will Come

My buddy Marty got married last weekend. While a detailed account would likely waiver back and forth between gushing bridesmaid (Moose) and sallow adolescent groomsman (me), suffice it to say this thing was fantastic and that a good time was had by all. I think this picture pretty much sums up the after party. And I think we all know how this one ends.

Happily ever after.

Actually, I just found a copy of the speech I gave at the rehearsal dinner. Thankfully, I suckled at the teat of a Grey Goose enough to loosen up and wing some of it. At least I'd like to think I did. I was so frigin' nervous.

A lot of people like lists. They make things easier to follow. Right? (awkwardly pause and wait for crowd to confirm whether they like lists.) Yeah, they do. For this reason, I'd like to start with one:

Martin's favorite things, in order:
1. Liz. Right? I mean, he is marrying her? He probably likes her....? (Wait for everyone to shower the two of them with applause. Encourage it.)
2. Family, especially his darling parents, Mike and Cathy. There they are. (Point at them and grin.) Look at them. Go on. Look. They're adorable. He likes his brothers sometimes too.
3. Martyball. And no that's not a football reference. Martyball is when you lay on a couch for an entire day watching TV and eating rubbish.
4. Complaining, about almost anything.
5. Eating out.
6. The Cape.
7. Noticing how stupid people are.
8. Starched, button-down shirts
9. The Boston Red Sox, who're in second place by the way (wait for boos).

Marty’s an anomaly. Always has been. Or at least has been since I've known him. When I first met Martin as a sophomore in college he was an apparently malnourished, shamelessly preppy hippy. At this point in his life, having already survived a heart attack, he’s managed to balloon to 230 lbs. Congratulations, Marty. (Wait for gleeful patronizing applause.)

At this point in his professional career, Marty’s an infamously successful schmoozer paradoxically incapable of schmoozing. If you’ve ever hung out with Marty, you know exactly what I’m talking about. “Yep.” “Nope.” “Fantastic.” This from a guy who majored in communication AND english! What takes most people an hour to explain, Marty can explain with a single grunt... which I suppose makes him the most efficient if not effective communicator of all time. “Gruuuuuunt.”

Confounding things even further, when the mood strikes him, he’s actually a fantastic storyteller. Never one to mince or waste words, he can bring an entire room to its knees with one of his stories. Like the time he pooped in his pants while he was waiting for the T. We've all heard that one, right?

Or one of his poignant one-liners that he'll bark in a tone that is quintessentially Marty. "It's not a choice, it's a lifestyle."

The aforementioned list and subsequent characterization may paint a less than favorable picture. You might be asking yourself, what the hell does Liz see in this guy? Why would this beautiful, articulate, and intelligent woman settle for this? Perhaps he treats her like gold? The truth of the matter is, it is oftentimes difficult for those close to Martin to know whether or not he cares.

Until last summer, my jury was still out. My mother had passed away July 19. I never really liked to talk about it. Still don't. Eventually, however, Marty and I found ourselves in his apartment after a night out on the town and probably a several hundred drinks. We sat there and cried on each other for at least an hour, but mostly Marty just told me between sobs how much he loved me, how much he cared about my family, and insisted that if I ever needed ANYTHING, anything, that I tap him. Neither of us are really given to sentimentality or overt gestures of emotion, so eventually we dried our eyes and calmed down like men, both suddenly uncomfortable with the levity and seriousness of what had just transpired. We undoubtedly loosened back up with another drink and an inappropriate joke.

In this vein, a week later, seated beside one another at a wedding, as we usually request, Martin put his hand on my shoulder and , gazing deep into my eyes, said in a solemn tone, "Seamus.... No matter where you are.... or what you're doing... Just know.... I am ALWAYS ashamed of you."

Now, of course Liz knows Martin loves her. She certainly doesn't need me to tell her..... But, just in case she does.....

Outside of his rigorous and demanding work schedule, Martin does what Martin wants, more so than anyone else I've ever met. Marty's personal life is 100% wish fulfillment. If he's eating dinner with his family, it's because that's precisely where he wants to be, what he wants to do, and who he wants to be doing it with. Consciously or not, he takes great pride in this.

He might not explain very well how he feels without the help of 200 adult beverages, but he does what he wants and what he loves with those he loves. So, if you pay a little attention, you can actually learn quite a bit.

I noticed he was big-league smitten with Liz when we were seniors in college, and he'd bail out on hijinks with the boys just to wait by the window for Liz's arrival on Fairfield Beach Road, cell phone in hand....

I knew he was in love when he continued to make similar choices well on into adulthood. While he chastises others for filling their social calendars in accordance with the plans of girlfriends/fiances/spouses, Marty stealthily leads the league in filling his calendar around the love of his life.

I'm not kidding.

"Grunt a bunch of times like Martin." Which means, I can't, I'm taking Liz out to dinner.

"Grunt a bunch of times like Martin." This means, I can't, I haven't seen Liz all weekend and she's on her way home.

"Grunt a bunch of times like Martin." You get the picture.

Liz is exactly where Marty wants to be.

Dumb & Dumber

If you haven't yet seen this, I implore you to watch these two nutbags roar down this mountain on their longboards. Thanks Rycree.

Adam Kimmel presents: Claremont HD from adam kimmel on Vimeo.

Chuck Norris can kill two stones with one bird

Chuck Norris has requested that Barack Obama furnish his birth certificate. What was already a stupid debate has just become a cartoon. When the Boogeyman goes to sleep every night, he checks his closet for Chuck Norris.

Epic: A Savage Journey

By Mike Mallen.

New Thom Yorke tune:



New PJ tune.

New Old Friends

Old Friends: Tennis (Episode 3) - watch more funny videos