Morning Coffee

So I'm by myself in my girlfriend's apartment, drinking coffee, reading the Atlantic. No matter how much I tell myself that I love the hustle and noise, the sounds of my neighborhood, the liveliness of the city, there's nothing nearly as peaceful to the mind as a quiet neighborhood early in the morning on a weekend. Part of it is being alone, part of it is that the people who live here are still fast asleep. Their children are in the living room watching cartoons and the only sounds I can hear besides my hand on the keyboard is the "pop" of a tennis ball awkwardly hitting a racket, and a few songbirds chirping as they chase each other from tree to tree. Maybe it's just the ability to concentrate more than I usually get a chance to. I guess it's connected to all those studies about light and noise pollution. The ways in which the end of night time and the end of tranquility has disrupted our circadian rhythms. Or something like that.
I know it's impossible to have it all three ways- to have the suburbs when I want memories of being a kid playing in the streets on base, the country when I want to be alone with my thoughts, the city when I absolutely crave the excitement. A guy can dream just a bit though.

Blogging Howlin Wolf: The Definitive Collection

I have been meaning to do this for some time, right after I did the live-blogging for Sketches of Spain. But alas, I just couldn't get another one out of me. Without further ado, here's my live-blogging of the incomparable Chester Arthur Burnett or as he's better known Howlin' Wolf

Moanin' at Midnight
The opening is famous- Wolf does his best impression of throat singing. The song is downright scary, but accessible enough to reach #10 on the charts. Simple lyrics but his voice is clearly the star. An auspcious start to an excellent career.

How Many More Years
Your standard jump blues really, both in subject matter (woman doggin him out, he's about to leave) and in style. Surprising that it was the biggest hit he had in his career, because he's had much better songs. Not to belittle it any, Wolf is great on the harmonica, but his singing on this song is just average, with none of the passion that he'd exhibit on later works. Sounds more like a rock and roll precursor than blues really. As a plus though, a pre wife-beating Ike Turner appears on the song.

Evil-
A song about another man sleepin with your woman, while you're out travelin, workin hard for her. Subject matter thoroughly covered by the blues I know, but it's still so well done. Willie Dixon sings lead on this song and he absolutely steals the show, at least in my opinion. Wolf's relegated to the chorus- which he also does very well on. He really stomps his feet into the "e" in evil, until it's twisted and mangled, like it went through a paper shredder on the way out his mouth. The piano is probably the most distinctive- this song has a more Willie Dixon-style to it even though it was written by Wolf- in the sense that it's sounds more like a pop blues song than some of Wolf's other more unique work.

Forty-Four
"I wore my fourty-four so long, it's made my shoulder sore." Changes up the subject matter slightly, about a man with a gun who has a bad case of wanderlust- a woman has to make an appearance (it wouldn't be the blues if it wasn't) but she's inconsequential to the ending. Instead, he pawns his gun for some money, hopefully to start a new life.
But what this song is actually about is the rhythm section, which really shows its muscles after hiding in the background the previous three three tracks. It all starts with the beautiful piano entrance about 18 seconds in, and then they add some bass and rolling drums to the concoction. Willie Dixon, for all his faults (and we'll get to those in a minute) really could play the bass, it really is the force behind this song. Well, him and Wolf's powerful voice, which is the first time he completely put its versatility on display since "Moanin at Midnight." It's impossible not to hear the southern gospel influences in his voice, it'd sit right along nicely on a Mahalia Jackson tune. And that right there, is the central contradiction of the blues. He's singing about a gun making his shoulder sore with the voice of a choir member (on second thought, maybe it's not such a contradiction).

Smokestack Lightnin
Probably the most famous song of his career, or at the very least the most famous song of his career that he wrote for himself. It wasn't his biggest hit (that was How Many More Years), but it did peak at #8, and in all honestly, it completely blows away that song (it's always good when a song is both an excellent track and becomes a hit, what happened to those days?). The subject matters is, what else, a do-wrong woman, but he doesn't come right out and say it, you're not really sure what smokestack lightnin is. The songwriting is sparse, a third of the words are just Wolf moanin', but I don't think he'd ever put more passion into anything he's done. It's at once dreary and sad, utterly distinctive, the verses aren't really verses, it's more like just a stream of accusatory questions between tormented moans. Like Bobby Womack, he's able to convey strength at the same time he conveys vulnerability. My favorite line is towards the end where he says- "Whoa, who been here baby since I, I been gone, a little bitty boy? Girl be on."
The rhythm section is really cooks again and it's a team effort, the underlying riff would be gorgeous if it wasn't so spooky, particularly the bending guitar that always hits a twinge in me everytime I hear it.
I agree with what Wolf said, he can sing his own shit better than he could Willie Dixon's. Only four more songs on the album were written by him after this. The rest of them are by Willie Dixon- who was much more of a pop-blues writer. I think Wolf's appeal was that, although he was smooth for a 6'6'' 300 pound man, he was naturally rough and intimidating. And he was at his best when he had a chance to experiment and wasn't trying to appeal to his pop sensibilities. At he was successful at it.
As a final aside, the last two songs were the reason that I had such a hard time completing this damn thing, I wanted to hear them over and over again.

I Asked For Water
Another hit for Wolf (#8), but a big drop from the last two songs, which struck the right balance between experimental and accessibility. The musicians, after two Hall of Fame performances, decide to take a break. They're sparse to the point of barely being there. The vocal performance is similarly understated. Not a bad song by any means, but you can't really follow Smokestack Lightnin.

Who's Been Talkin
Tha man is the master of the harmonica. This song is very unique, I can tell why it wasn't a hit, but it has a very interesting lineup, with the tenor sax and piano sounding particularly interesting. The underlying riff by the tenor sax weaves through the breaks and really makes this song. I like how, for the most part, Wolf eschews hooks and instead allows the musicians to be the ones to burrow into your head.

Sitting on Top of the World
A slightly different take on the whole "my woman left me" theme. It may be tongue in cheek, but he seems to relish the freedom from not having to bring his lady with him. Hop on a freight train if he wants, work as hard as he wants and can keep all the cash in his own pocket. The songwriting just okay- but by this time Hubert Sumlin, who Wolf had brought with him from Chicago and who had been with the band from jump, had really come into his own. From this point on, his sliding guitar would be the star musician on just about every track. I like to imagine that Wolf was just a little bored with this song after Who's Been Talkin's originality.

Howlin For My Darlin
And we officially depart from the Wolf-written section into section where Dixon handles the songwriting duties. I don't know exactly why they stopped Wolf from writing his own songs; four of the eight songs above were top 10 hits. Perhaps some of his latest experimentations had fallen flat and blues was moving away from his style. Maybe they thought Dixon had more adaptability. Or maybe Leonard Chess (head of Chess Records) wanted to keep everything in-house and have first dibs to all the rights to the songs. Dixon was handling most of the songwriting duties for all the other Chess artists, and if they were paying the man primarily to write, then damn it he'd write for everyone. It's easy to see where my loyalties lie.
The change from Wolf to Dixon can be immediately felt on this song. First, the title is kind of corny not to subtly playing on Wolf's stage name. There are more bright and shiny horns, the better for the ladies to dance to. And he loses all of his spookiness. Even the subject matter itself has changed- in this song, he is raving about how good his woman is. Who wants a blues artist to do that?

Wang Dang Doodle
The ultimate blues standard, but Wolf had it first. Sadly, he did not do it best. It's known that Wolf hated this song and in his autobiography, Dixon said that he hated this song too. It's a rollicking urban party song, which was something new for Wolf, but he just can't really catch a hold of it. Personally, I like Koko Taylor and Little Walter's versions much better.
On the other hand. Hubert Sumlin is teamed up with Freddy King (the baby of the three blues kings) and they both really go to town. I think it's great that the guitars have fun on this song, but a passionless, flavorless, Wang Dang Doodle is not what I want to hear- he just doesn't have the screeching in his repotoire that's required to make this song great.

Back Door Man
The first time I heard this song I didn't think it was anything special, but I've grown to like it a lot. Wolf's on the prowl in this song, visiting all the wives of the neighborhood men in the night, and retreating to his lair during the day. Reminds me a lot of Clarence Carter's "Back Door Santa." The best part of the song is Dixon's dragging bass, which meets up with Wolf while he sings "I am/ a back door man." It's the intermingling of the bass and guitar that make this song really work though, and Wolf really finds his voice in that combo, around the middle of the song. At times, it sounds almost James Brown-ish, a terse three syllables making up the line in the verse. At times it's almost like improvisation.

Spoonful
Rhythm section sounds like a rehash of Smokestack Lightnin, and it's a bit like 100% recycled paper. No matter what the environmentalist tell you, it's just not as good as the original thing. Freddy King, by this time having taken over chief guitar duties, has another excellent performance. Why did they have Dixon writing the songs again?
Since I don't have much of anything else to say about this song, I guess I'll talk a little bit about Howlin' Wolf's life.
His story starts out like most other bluesman who made their way to Chicago by way of Memphis in the 1930's. Born in Mississippi in 1910, he grew up very poor on a farm near White Station. His mother kicked him out before he was a teenager for being lazy. Then he went to go live with an uncle who treated him even worse, before finally settling in with his father when he was 13. He first moved to Memphis in 1948 after a stint in the army and spent his days performing, being a radio station DJ, and sellling farm equipment. He was discovered in 1951 by Sam Phillips of Sun Records (the same man who discovered Elvis).
I don't know what the perceptions were about Chester Arthur Burnett, but he certainly was no dummy. In fact, he was a something of a rareity among bluesmen. He lived frugally, saving his money rather than spending it on drink, flasy cars, and loose women. Before he even got to Chicago, he'd already saved enough working in Memphis to have a nice nest egg in his pocket and a nice car to drive up in. He couldn't read or write until well into his 40's, but he worked hard, got his GED, and later studied accounting to further his business career.
Most importantly, he married one of those pretty, bougie, southside of Chicago girls. She came from an educated family, was the primary manager of all his finances, and was the one who encouraged him to continue his business studies. (there ain't nothing like a good woman to do that for you). He was so financially successful, that he not only paid his musicians one of the best salaries in the business, but he also paid for their health insurance. That's pretty awesome.

Shake For Me
Up tempo stuff. I do have to give it to Dixon, he does know how to write a popular song. The other good thing about him writing the songs is that Howlin' Wolf got more of a change to play the guitar. Not sure who had the solo on this song but it's enjoyable and Sam Lay puts down a nice backing for the three guitar attack to play over. This is where Dixon is at his best, an ultimiately inconsequential ditty of a song, but very nicely performed.

Red Rooster
Another song that became blues standard. To be honest, I like Sam Cooke's version better, even though he puts a lot of soft sheen onto the song. I guess it's just because I heard Cooke's version first. Not that Wolf's is bad or anything, it's got some downhome feel to it adding a certain heft to the song.

I Ain't Superstitous
Very interesting song, mostly the guitar work again. I miss how great the rhythm sections use to be; but if there's one area that Dixon's songs get the edge it's here. Teamin' with Sumlin, Wolf sure is something. The lyrics touch on an unsuperstitous man who has all kinds of bad luck. Not a woman to be found in this song.

Goin Down Slow
Dixon is a sly motherfucker, the two times he appears on vocals he really takes over. This song he isn't singing, but his spoken word is hilarious "I did not say I was a millionaire, but i said i have spent more money than a millionaire.... and women? well googly moogly) This is some straight classic blues, more great guitar play. At around the 3 minute mark the bending guitar really stands out.

Three Hundred Pounds of Joy
Another interesting uptempo, lots of horns and Buddy Guy (Buddy Guy!) on bass. It's not so much a blues number, more of that 60's poppy R&B stuff. Sounds like something you'd imagine Bobby Bland singing with these kind of lyrics and arrangement.

Built For Comfort
More poppy stuff. I don't mind the silliness too much (I'm built for comfort not built for speed); but the truth is that Howlin' Wolf is long past his prime at this point. I'm still listening, but quite honestly it's starting to bore me at this point.

Killing Floor
Burnett's last hurrah. This final song was written by Wolf, he was finally released from the Dixon cage and he goes back towards the darkness. Not his best stuff, but as we draw to a close, it's nice to hear him going back to his roots. Overall, the first half of the album stacks up to any blues artist in history. The second half is not nearly as good in my opinion, and suffice to say it coincides with when they took the pen out of his hand. Hubert Sumlin's guitar work helps to make up for a lot of it, as does Dixon's penchant for fun- but Wolf knew himself, knew what he was best at. It would have been something if he could have written for himself his entire career and not just half of it.

Diner Dash

So, after 6 and a half months, I finally got around to returning the copy of Jane Eyre that I checked out from the Jackson Heights Branch of the Queens Library. It was supposed to be for a book club that never really got off the ground. Just have a hard time doing classics. Didn't stick around to see how much I owed on the book, although it has to be a lot of money. Hopefully they didn't report it to a credit rating agency, I heard libraries do that nowadays.

Got a little hungry after I was done, hadn't eaten all day. There was a diner just a short walk away from the library that I'd notice when I got off the train. When I walked in, I immediately felt like I passed through a time portal, straight to the 70's, like that soon to be canceled show, Life On Mars. Or more accurately, it was straight out of Taxi Driver or a Woody Allen movie (Annie Hall or Manhattan). They had those swivel chairs that are attached to the front of the bar, stained glass chandeliers covering those dusty yellow globe lights, wood paneling. Smooth jazz versions of Donny Hathaway and Roberta Flack oozed through the speakers. Gray-haired men were reading the New York Daily News, eating lukewarm soup and drinking egg cremes, talking to the waitress about the mayor or the Yankees or the new administration. They were there long enough to have breakfast and lunch and they would always forget to wipe the food out of their beards. And the whole place was dim even as the sun poured in to the large front windows; not to the point where you couldn't see, it was like the entire world had been turned just a little bit more gritty, like life was in technicolor. I'd had one of those moments before, feeling like I'd gone back in time as soon as I stepped inside a place. My uncle (by marriage) has never been able to escape the 70's, I guess it must have been a good time for him. Everything in his house is dim, he still has a floor model TV, the light bulbs burn that dull brownish yellow, the type of yellow that lightbulbs burn after non-stop cigarette smoked has caked the glass. This isn't the vibrant, bell-bottoms, Brady Bunch 70's. No, this is some kind of blaxploitation film, dark enough to be The Mack, not quite cool enough to be SuperFly, a little too dirty for Shaft.

I've always been more than a little intrigued by New York in the 70's, particularly the New York of the mid-to-late 70's. It's like San Francisco in the mid-to-late 60's, something about that time and place goes a long way towards explaining the character of our country. It's the New York which actually earned its reputation as a dangerous city (sorry New Yorkers, but contrary to what you believe, you do not live in the roughest city in the country, not by a long shot). It became the ultimate symbol for a more general national malaise and the ultimate failure of the urban experiment. New York from that era was John Travolta in Saturday Night Fever, the Son of Sam, the Bronx Zoo (the Yankees team not the place where animals live)- the city that Ford refused to bail out, the breeding ground for punk, hip-hop, and disco, all the sheen of Studio 54, all the sexuality of the Mineshaft, all the trashiness of a Rupert Murdoch tabloid, weighted down by the bloat of its bureaucracy. Birthed by disillusionment which flowered in to the kind of unrepentant hedonism that conservatives could point to as the moment when our country ceased to be a great nation- that hooker doing blow off a gay man dressed like an angel and proceeding to get fucked by three celebrities in the dirty batthroom of a discoteque on 54th Street. Yeah, that was when our country officially went off the track and Reagan officially won his election. A child of the 90's wonders what it would have been like to live in that world, but I'm glad to be able to study it from afar.
_________________________________________________________
The waitress took me and the Hispanic couple behind me to our respective places, me by myself near the kitchen, them towards the back where the tables were separated and there was a few more people scattered about. I'd already known what I wanted since I walked in, a nice juicy cheeseburger as a way to celebrate the end of Lent- but I let the waitress give me the menu anyway, mostly to see what kind of desserts they had. I started filling out the questions on the placemat, it had all of the presidents pictures and dates in office, and you were supposed to name as many presidents as you could. Using only the pictures, I got 27 out of 42, with the pictures and dates I got 40 out of 42. I forgot James Polk and William McKinley. Guess that makes me a nerd. What dawned on me as I was filling out the placemat though, was how many really mediocre presidents we had. Guys who were just not up to the challenge- after James Polk, there was a series of Presidents who were simply not up to the task of being President- Zachary Taylor, Franklin Pierce, James Buchanan. More often than not these men were chosen for their ability to be molded by party bosses, and they proved unfailingly up to the task. I guess there's something to be said for Congress having more control over our affairs and maybe that's how the Framers intended it to be, but man were these guys weak.

The burger, fries, lemonade, cheesecake, and coffee was delicious, left the waitress a 33% tip for her excellent service. Walked around Jackson Heights for a little bit, before the rain started. It was good just to be out on my day off- when the temperature dropped I got on the 7 train back home so I could lay down and watch some baseball.

What Happened? Observations from Seattle vs. Minnesota on Opening Day

Baseball's Opening day is love, pure love, and I mean that from the bottom of my blood filled heart. Because I have a job now and can afford such frivolous things, I decided to purchase MLB TV online for the entire 2009 baseball season. I've met plenty of people who've called themselves lazy; but let me just say this. Give me an opportunity to watch any baseball game I choose and I can show you how lazy a man really can be.

One of my favorite blogs is The Hardball Times and one of my favorite features of THT is Craig Calcaterra's throughly entertaining ShysterBall. During the baseball season, he writes these little blurbs about every major league game by either watching them or (more often) combing through the boxscores and digging out interesting tidbits. It's called "And That Happened" and it's probably the second or third thing I check on my computer when I get to work (after my work email and maybe Andrew Sullivan, naturally). I don't want to bite the man's style, but I too have decided to write little tidbits about baseball games throughout the season. Except, because I have the incomparable MLB TV, I will only write about games that I've actually watched. It will be heavily skewed towards the Brew Crew and Phillies because those are my favorite teams and West Coast starts because I get home from work relatively late, but I will try and be as even handed as possible. One last thing, no Mets and Yankees coverage because I live in New York.

Without further ado, here's some of my notes from opening day.

Seattle vs. Minnesota

Top of the 1st:
Liriano's slider is really working early. I know he'll probably never return to the form he showed during his rookie season, when he was inspiring, but he'll still become a legitimate ace. Not quite Santana though.

I've watched a little bit of the Twins, for some reason I can't quite understand, I've always had a soft spot for them. Even though they are the only baseball team to make me cry (I can still hear Jack Buck's call on Kirby Puckett's home run- "into deep left center, and we'll see you tomorrow night).

Man.. Nick Punto has a weak arm- not David Eckstein weak, but certainly towards the bottom of all shortstops, he might need to lie down after that throw.

I'm glad Mike Sweeney has a job, I thought he'd retire. I know I would if my manager told the press I needed to start pounding tequila instead of milk and cookies.

Damn, Hernandez twists his ankle a bit. He's young, so he'll play it off.

Bottom 1st:

Sometimes I forget that Felix Hernandez is only 22. He's been the anointed one for so long, that I think of him as a grizzled veteran. I also forget that he's actually gotten better every year- playing for the crappy Mariners keeps his win total low though.

Denard Span at the plate, he looks a little nervous, like he wants to hold on to his position for dear life. I don't blame him.

My god Endy Chavez is fast. Everybody remembers the catch for the Mets in 2006, so for the rest of his life he'll always be thought of as a great defender. And damn is it the truth, he didn't catch the foul ball he was chasing after, but he really never should have come close and he did.

Hernandez still has some trouble putting people away. And he still starts off the game throwing too much gas- but man are they some scorchers. 95, 95, 96, he has the best fastball in all of the bigs. Or at least the most consistently fast.

I know he's actually a really nice guy and all, but for some reason, Justin Morneau seems like he'd play the asshole bully in some high school movie.

Top 2nd:

Beltre knocks a baggy double the other way, I always expected more from him. I mean, 2004 has to be up there with Norm Cash in 1961 and Ken Caminiti in 1998, as far as flukish seasons, right?

Griffey's playing against lefties, seriously. His swing is still sweetest I've seen, but it's dangerously long. He shouldn't have (or want) any piece of Liriano. But he gets the productive out and Jose Lopez hits the sac fly to drive Beltre home, In other news, Span is a good defender. We got some gold glovers in left field tonight.

I like Liriano's motion although it frightens me a little bit. I wish he followed through more, it always seems like he's stopping abruptly.

Bottom 2nd:

Hernandez isn't showing any effects from the ankle in the first. Gets Redmond on a nice breaking ball

Bottom 3rd:

I know he's dead and we shouldn't speak ill of the dead, but Carl Pohlad was crotchety old miser. The best thing I can say about him is that he let his baseball people do the baseball work. Glad he wasn't really a fan or he might have fucked things up.

Beltre can certainly play some Defense, his arm is fantastic, strong and effortless throws after making the backhanded grab.

87 mph breaking ball followed by a 96 mph fastball, Cuddyer had no chance. I love pitchers who work backwards because I like strikeouts that end with a hitter getting thoroughly outgunned by the heat.

Top 4th:

Liriano's getting a lot of groundball outs. Bodes well for his season.

Bottom 4th:

I know I've said this already, but Hernandez really does have a pretty breaking ball. It's weird to describe it that way, it's biting and thrown in the high 80's, so it ain't your classic 12-to-6er, but it's still a joy to watch when it's on.

Beltre with another nice play, although this one has plenty of luck to go along with the skill. He lost the ball in the lights after it took a big hop, but he just reached up while looking down and snared it in his glove before throwing out the runner.

Top 5th:

HOME RUN GRIFFEY! OFF LIRIANO! Sorry I doubted you man. That pretty swing can still generate power, especially against a hanging slider. I just want to let you know that I had your shoe in the mid 90's. Even though it was ugly as sin. And I played your video game, even though it was completely unresponsive.

The homer seems to have taken something out of Liriano, the Mariners are starting to time him better.

Bottom 5th:

Man, Redmond aced that fastball, timed it really well.

Trouble for Hernandez, bases loaded and no outs. How's he gonna get out of this.

I like Span's patience, for some reason he's impressed me. Aaron Gleeman talked about him a bit, but I didn't know he'd be a player like he is.

Be careful with Cuddyer- bloop single. I think Hernandez is gonna be that type of pitcher, guys are just gonna stick the head of the bat out in front of the plate and use the speed of the pitch to drive it between the infielders and outfielders.

Morneau grounds into a double play to end the threat.

Top 6th:

Span has some serious range, him, Beltre, and Chavez have been the defensive stars of the game. He hesistated a bit on the Betancourt fly ball but still had enough speed to track it down.

Home run Gutierrez; it's crazy that Gomez almost caught that ball though. Good defenders are a joy to watch.

Top 9th:

The damn MLB TV messed up for two and a half innings. Missed the end of the line for Hernandez, but he pitched an absolute gem. Reminds me of that game he pitched against Boston in the first series of season last year, where had the no-hitter going. He never pitched that well again for the season, but it was that game that made me a fan of his.

Bottom 9th:

And as Jack Bucks says.. that's a winner, for the Mariners.

Other notes:

Detroit at Toronto

Watched Doc Holliday pitch. He's so efficient and quick, that sinker really is frustrating to hitters. He got nailed in his final inning so it looks like he was ineffective. But he wasn't, he was flat out dominate for most of his start. I like starters going a lot of innings as much as the next guy, but Cito really should have pulled him, the game was no longer in doubt.

Until the wheels fell off, Curtis Granderson's homer was the only damage against the Doctor (and boy did he hurt that one, hit it into the second deck). To me, Granderson is like a better version of Doug Glanville. Both very intelligent, thin Black outfielders, who can fly. Glanville, as you may know, graduated from University of Pennsylvania with an engineering degree and writes guest columns for the New York Times. Granderson has/had a very insightful blog on ESPN. The biggest difference between them is that Granderson has much more power, and is a legitimate All-Star. But I really like both of them.

Till next time.

Something Quick

A TO Z ABOUT ME

A
Age: 22
Annoyance: somebody coming in to a room when I'm trying to be alone

B
Beer: as Ben Franklin said, it's proof that God loves us and wants us to be happy., some of my favorites include Newcastle, Sam Adams, Leinenekugels, and Fat Tire.
Birthday: September 2
Been In Love: and currently am, love you baby
Been on Stage: four times, i've played Little Boy Blue's Cow in kindergarten, the boy who got nothing for Christmas in first grade, Arthur in "The Happy Journey from Trenton to Camden" in fifth grade, and
Best Friends: my brother, my roommate, and my girlfriend
Best Feeling: waking up on a sunny day
Blind/Deaf: i'm probably closer to being deaf

C
Candy: jolly ranchers and reese's peanut butter cups
Color: blue and brown
Chocolate/Vanilla: for ice cream, vanilla. for anything else, chocolate. when i was little i use to feel bad that i liked vanilla ice cream better, i thought it meant that i secretly hated myself.
Chinese/Mexican: chinese food is more consistent, but mexican has the better upside
Cake/Pie: red velvet, german chocolate, or yellow cake
Continent to Visit: i want to visit africa.
Cheese: provolone on sandwiches, gouda to eat by itself

D
Day or Night: day
Dancing in the Rain: is pretty lame

E
Eyes: are incredibly sexy, especially big eyes
Everyone's Got to:
Ever Failed a Class: nope

F
First Thoughts Waking Up: oh please give me five more minutes

G
Greatest Fear: dying young
Goals: to have a family and die happy.
Gum: winterfresh or big red

H
Hair color: black
Height: 5'5''
Holiday: christmas i guess... i really like giving gifts
How You Want To Die: in a bed surrounded by loved ones... barring that, instantly

I
Ice Cream: chunky monkey
Instrument: bass guitar and the violin

J
Jewelry: nothing
Job: current job- public finance analyst; dream job- mayor of a big city, if money and prestige did not matter: i'd be a high school or community college history teacher and stock groceries during the summer.

K
Kids: three or four, but i guess it's up to the lady.
Kickboxing or Karate: kickboxing, almost exclusively because of jean claude van damme's terrible 80's movie.
Keep a Journal: my blog is my, journal, although it's not that personal.

L
Love: is incredible and incredibly hard
Letter: A or K
Laughed So Hard You Cried: maybe my eyes might water a bit.

M
Milk: skim, my mom started buying it when i was like 6
Movie: can't really choose just one, have to go with a top 5. City of God, The Godfather, Memento, Y Tu Mama Tambien, My Cousin Vinny (for nostalgic purposes)
McD's/BK: McDonalds fires, burger king burgers, but wendy's got them beat on both.

N
Number: 7 and 31 (the opposite of 13 so it must be lucky)

O
One Wish: infinite wishes, naturally.

P
Pepsi/Coke: depends on my mood really.
Perfect Pizza: deep dish Giordano's
Piercings: none and never wil

Q
Quail: reminds me of Quailman from Doug

R
Reason To Cry: death of a loved one.
Reality T.V: eh
Radio Station: my pandora
Roll Tongue in Circle: um... yes.
Ring Size: i have absolutely no idea.

S
Song: right today? "Psychotic Girl" by the Black Keys and "Ever Lovin' Man" by the Dirtbombs

Shoe Size: 10 or 10.5
Salad Dressing: balsamic vinagrette or country ass ranch dressing
Sushi: rainbow
In the Shower: nivea for men
Strawberries/Blueberries: strawberries... blueberries, except in very rare cases are always disappointing. everytime i eat one it always reminds me why there's never any blueberry flavored candy.

T
Tattoos: none
Time For Bed: between 12 and 2
Thunderstorms: are nice when you're inside next to a window

U
Unpredictable: i'm pretty steady

V
Vacation Spot: i haven't gone on many vacations so i'm not sure

W
Weakness: a woman crying, femininity in general.
Which Friends Act Most Like You: my brother, we have the same mannerisms
Worst Feeling: having the flu
Wanted To Be a Model: nope
Worst Weather: cold rain, it's far worse than snow.

X
X-Rays: i think i've had a few

Y
Year It Is Now: 2009
Yellow: is the color of my favorite shirt when i was 15 or 16

Z
Zoo: pretty cool when it's free.

"Chicken Fried Steak Don't Come With Peas" and Why I Love Eastbound & Down

I'm not sure how long ago this was, but one day my family was watching Comedy Central, one of those shows where a bunch of random comics come on, tell one funny joke and six bad ones, then leave the stage. I think it was called Friday Night Comics (or maybe I'm thinking of ESPN's Friday Night Fights). Anyway, this skinny unassuming white guy came on the stage and was pretty much like all the rest of the comics. Towards the end of his set though, he starts an amusuing rant about the ways that Black comics imitate white people.
Comic: Everytime a Black comic tries to imitate white people he always talks like this (does white "nerd" voice ala Dave Chappelle in, say, the Nutty Professor).
Family: **smattering of laughter**
Comic: But really, white people don't talk like that. White people talk like this (with just the right mixture of country and southern). "Chicken fried steak don't come with peas."
Family: **non-stop laughter** because we know people who are like that.

The comic was right though. I think Black comics have an acute case of "Stuff White People Like"-syndrome, something a lot of people suffer from. When Black comics make fun of white people it's actually a specific set of white people, the coastal, liberal, NPR-types, who, for better or worse, have become the white archetype. Now it's different when they make fun of southerners; they'll appropriately use a southern accent. But I would be willing to bet more white people talk about chicken fried steak and peas.

Fot a long time I've been fascinated by white history, and more specifically, the history of the white underclass. I'm not talking about Italian and Jewish immigrants to northern cities during the turn of the century though, I'm talking about the some of the old Scots-Irish immigrants from the South, the people in Appalachia who still spoke Elizabeathan English. The people in many ways were used by the Southern Aristocrats and the Northern bankers to further their various agendas. The people, who today, at least outwardly, are the most "proud" of their country. I don't know if this makes me just as bad as the white liberals who fetishize "foreign" cultures. I just think that it's integral to an understanding of American history. And not some overwrought slobjob like James Webb's book, something real that doesn't focus on them in the periphery, as simply pawns in a game, or as the primary antagonist in the story of Black people, but also not something that gushes over them as the "salt of the earth," or the "real Americans."
I know there are whiteness studies programs but they're pretty much the antithesis of what I'm talking about. See, I'm not looking for explanations of the privileges of white people (and there are plenty) or the historical wrongs visited on minorities by white people (and there are a bunch)- what I'm interested in is mindset so to speak, and that's something that's a little harder to find. There are plenty of classes that try to explain the reasons behind some of the "pathological" behavior of Black people. There aren't too many that touch on the "pathological" behaviors of other groups of people. Most of the time it's chalked up to just being poor, unlike with Black people, where it's being poor and something else. A lot of it has to do with Black being synonymous with poverty, one would guess. A lot of it also has to do with the same problems that Black comics have when imitating white people. In academia, as in American society, white is like the video game default setting and to a degree, academic, liberal whites are the starting point for the default. But, there are specifics to white "underclass" culture that don't come simply from being poor and I would love to see how these particular features came about.

Part of my fascination comes from the impetus to try and engage with people who on the surface I have very little in common with, without immediately dismissing what they have to say (if they come at me with the appropriate demeanor, not on some Rush Limbaugh shit). Whether or not the grievances of cultural conservatives (who by and large are representative of this group) are based in logic, they are real grievances, and acting like they're not is a recipe for disaster in the end. In my experience, when you study history and gain an understanding of where someone is coming from then they're more likely to approach to you with respect.

Finally, all of this reminds me of one of the reasons I love Eastbound and Down (besides the hilarity and the wonderful acting and writing). In the very first episode, Kenny Powers (the main character) after hitting rock bottom, only has two posessions to his name, a truck with floodlights and a jet ski. And man does he love that jet ski, won't give it up for anything in the world, even when he needs the money. The way they portrayed it was just perfect, I know people like that, country boys who can't give up their one item of luxury. Jet ski : country white man :: rims : urban Black man, as I always say.

Come Get To This

Another excellent Marvin song. Everyone knows that the man was an absolute monster. The past few days at work, I've pretty much only played him, hopefully the people around me like his music just as much as I do.

Yes I know all the Soul Train appearances are lipsynched, but I just love looking at the people more than anything (and I generally prefer album cuts to actual live singing). And I just love the title of this song. I'm a sucker for good titles, and I love people who have the ability to sum up exactly what I'm getting into, in just four or five words. Intellectually speaking, I suppose it's a little bit shallow. It's like judging a book by its cover, and I'm afraid I do that much more often than one would care to admit. (After giving it some consideration though, I've come to the conclusion that I'm not as deep as I want to appear. I love snappy titles, I love certain types of style even if they lack any semblance of substance 50's Rat Pack style slang, Spike from Cowboy Bebop, pseudo-indie pop culture references, and in many moods I'll take a good single over an album.)
Anyway, "Come Get To This" is like a perfectly aggressive come on- plenty of confidence to spare, but smooth enough, if said correctly, to not make it seem like a command. Now, obviously Marvin could sing the white pages and have it sound sensual, so in the hands of a lesser singer it might have fallen flat. Thankfully, in this video we don't have to find out.

I use to have this box set of funk & soul rarities from the 60's and 70's. The music was great, it had everything from Wilson Pickett and Aretha Franklin to Little Sister (Sly Stone's girl group) and Eddie Palmieri's Harlem River Drive. But what I really loved about it was the booklet that came with it. Just the pictures of the artists, the unmistakable 70's style and hair. It was all sepia-toned, so I couldn't see the outrageous colors, but it certainly did make me want to be young during those years. I have a friend who I use to share music with sometimes. She had the same reaction that I did when looking at the photos, a sense of joy upon gazing at the people of our parents generation. We were both history majors and anything that puts modern history into a better context is something we'd enjoy. But it was a bit more than that too, and I think it can be summed up in something she said while we were looking through the booklet- "Man, I love Black people from the 70's."
I certainly know the feeling, which is why I pick the Soul Train videos as much as I can.
When I look at those old episodes the first thing I notice.. well, the first thing I notice is that everyone is so damn skinny. And from the looks of things, it's mostly because of all the dancing they did. People really did dance back then, males included. I can't dance, but one of the bad things about the machismo of hip-hop infiltrating pretty much all of popular Black music, I think, is that it's pretty much unacceptable for Black men to dance like that anymore, it takes a little bit of bravier because something you try might not be "cool." It's fine for men to do, say performance dance, Americans in general love to watch dance crews, but no man could ever get away with dancing at the club the way some of these guys danced on Soul Train. Kat Williams talked about how Black people, particularly Black men, always have to be cool and can't enjoy themselves fully. It's generalizing of course, but I kind of agree.
But after the collective anorexia and dancing (and clothes), what I notice the most is a sense of the collective attitude, you can kind of feel it bursting through as Marvin's singing. It's feels like a cloud of joy has kind of just been released By almost any legitimate measure, the life of the average Black person is far better today than it was in the 1970's. Crime is down, drug addiction is down, educational achievements levels are up, as are economic ones. But what I think we don't have, or at least did not have until very recently, was that pure sense of joy about the prospects for the future. I wasn't alive back them (of course) and my impressions may be wrong, but from what I've seen, there was so much pent up hope about the progress of Black people. I mean, some of the culminating events of the Civil Rights movement were less than a decade old, and the progress that had been made was pretty stark, it must have been a wonderful experience to witness firsthand. I don't think you can fault anyone for thinking that the progress would go unimpeded, that the only direction there was to go was up. In hindsight we now know that the progress, under the economic and cultural conditions of the 70's was unsustainable. The sagging economy of the 70's, devastated by high inflation, low growth, and government largesse, begat the Reagan 80's, and with it came cuts in social spending and a more general laissez-faire attitude when it came to the underclass. To strain an analogy a bit, it may be comparable in a sense to how people felt about the space program. In elementary school, some of the social studies books we use to use were pretty old, and one in particular talked about all of the future plans that NASA had in store, the most prominent being a manned mission to Mars, sometime around 2000. Again, the progress the United States made in the 60's was enough to be optimistic about what was in store for the future of our space program. But of course it wasn't to be- it was unsustainable and in many ways a waste of spending. I guess that's what many people felt about government spending on inner cities too (although we never really got control of the budget during the Reagan years either- the money just went to a different constituency). Of course the educational and economic stagnation of Black people during the 1980's is a lot more consequential for our current situation than an unfulfilled mission to Mars. People talk about Japan's lost decade of the 1990's the 2010's becoming a lost decade for our country, well, with a few caveats, the 1980's was a lost decade for Black people and were now only starting to make up for it.

But the point is that, what I see, when I watch those Soul Train videos is the exuberant feeling that comes along with visions of an extraordinarily bright future. I'm pretty sure it's just my wishes reading too much into something, but that's how I'd like to see it, so that's how I will.

Winter Hiatus

More than once I've thought about whether or not I have ADD, or perhaps ADHD. I'm not really sure what they call it now. I guess what I mean is that everytime I keep a journal or a blog there is always a period of time where I just cannot write. And it's not like a few weeks either, it's more like several months. January, February, March, three whole months where I can barely eek out a paragraph let alone something of substance. Part of it is certainly my general personality; I love starting projects much more than I like continuing or finishing them. It's the reason that I'm a generalist, the reason why I'm so disorganized. I'm just not nearly as interested in the day-to-day upkeep of things and so I intend to ignore them.
Part of it is also work, which has been much busier since around mid-February. I use to have time in the day to write about things I read or things I wanted to talk about. The projects were considerably more spaced out, and most of the work I did was completely of my own initiative, which meant I could get it done on my own timetable. Now, I'm always working on a project and when there is downtime, it's not really downtime because I could always be working on something else. I'm not a quick writer, as much as I don't like to admit it I'm sometimes a perfectionist. Not so much in the grammar and spelling department as anyone who has ever read something I've written before, but rather in trying to arrange my thoughts in the most logical manner possible. Now, it rarely works, but it does explain why I have a hard time getting things out at times. There are at least 20 half finished posts, just languishing with thoughts interrupted in mid-sentence, never to be unleashed to the greater viewing public, all three of them. But hopefully, as spring appears and warm weather spreads over the greater New York area, I'll get back to writing. Lord knows it'll feel good.