TwoBusy: But I digress

January 16, 2009

But I digress

1. Thanks to Mark for the heads-up that our good friends at Ashmont Records are putting just about everything related to the sad and wonderful world of the Pernice Brothers on sale — click here for details. If you've never actually checked any of my many previous links to the works of Joe Pernice - either solo or as a part of the Scud Mountain Boys, Chappaquiddick Skyline and, finally, the much-acclaimed Pernice Brothers - this is the perfect opportunity to get started. He's easily one of the best singer-songwriter types around today, and the winner of the much-coveted award for "The Most Exquisitely Sad Song in the Whole World." Want a taste? Of course you do:

Now go get yourself some Pernice. It's super-cheap, and I promise: you won't regret it.

2. In a move that will no doubt anger some, I got a new computer. Not a move I wanted to make - by any stretch of the imagination - but a necessary evil. My once-vibrant, 5yr-old iMac had been reduced to a twisted, limping shadow of its former self, and my recent attempts to upgrade it to an OS that didn't go obsolete about 2 years ago was met by an apparent iMeltdown, followed by several hours on the phone talking to the Apple help desk, and then finally a visit to one of my local Apple Genius Bars... whereupon they opened my baby up and discovered that her logic board was on the verge of frying. Now, I'm no computer scientist, but from what I understand that's a "bad" thing. As in, "you might as well take it out back and shoot it" bad.

So. Given the choice between a $600+ fix (that still might only be a temporary resolution) or throwing myself into debt - albeit tax-deductable debt (one of the many joys of being unemployed a freelance seal-clubbing professional: this becomes a business expense!) - we chose to leap headlong into a bright, beautiful, wonderful new world of apple-flavored servitude. Who knows: maybe I'll even pay it off someday.

All that being said... 24" is a hell of a lot of beautiful screen.

3. Yesterday TheWife got to go through her second corporate layoff experience since she took her new job back in July. Fortunately, she's still employed (thank god)... but to say that we're feeling a bit unsettled right now would be a supreme understatement. Plus, it's clear that her employer is on somewhat uncertain ground these days — witness this e-mail she sent me from work just after 7am yesterday:

To: TwoBusy

From: TheWife

Subject: My glamorous life as a VP

Our cutbacks mean we have no real copier in the office anymore.

Hence: I had to truck it over to Fedex Kinkos in freezing weather to make copies at 6:30 in the morning. Good times.

Wish me luck today! With all the firings!

In a not-unrelated story... TheWife is job hunting again. We've got dueling Monster profiles and everything. It's quite romantic, really.

(slamming head against desk)

4. Oh! I almost forgot to mention: we're continuing to see more and more horrible movies. I don't know how this is even possible, but we've been on a remarkable streak for months now... I think our Netflix fail rate is somewhere close to 70%. With that in mind, I implore you to avoid like the plague the following:

Hancock - You know what the best part of this movie was? When it fucking ended.
The Foot Fist Way - Rolling Stone said it was hilarious, and I - like a complete tool - believed them. Thanks, Peter Travers. You suck.
Step Brothers - I met with a headhunter in early December, and somehow our conversation turned to this movie... and she spent a full ten minutes describing scenes from the movie that she claimed were so funny that she was left gasping for breath with tears streaming down her face. So, we rented and watched it. Lesson learned: don't trust headhunters. (And by the way: how long has it been since Will Ferrell did something that didn't suck like a lamprey? I mean, I'll grant you that Blades of Glory had a couple of funny moments, but really... since Anchorman in 2004, he's released nothing but a steady stream of steaming piles of something unsavory. At what point do we lose faith? I say: right here, right now. I'm taking a stand.)
Tropic Thunder - Clearly, I'm in the minority here. But in all honesty, I can say two things about this movie: 1) I don't think I laughed once after the director exploded. That was funny. The rest of it? Not so much. 2) Not to get too sensitive or PC, but I had real problems with the repeated, repugnant "retard" jokes. Look, I'm not reacting in knee-jerk fashion by any stretch of the imagination — but when a film repeatedly has long, painful stretches where the funny is supposed to be found by belittling people with intellectual disabilities... well, that's a problem for me. And it's not that I don't get that, to an extent, the entire "Simple Jack" thing is supposed to be a comment on actors and award-winning performances rather than on the subject of those films. But there's no mistaking the grotesquery of "Simple Jack"... and while that's meant to be comedic, I found it grossly offensive. (As I did the sequence with Matthew McConaughey talking about adopting a kid while looking at a photo of himself and his Down Syndrome son, and saying "At least you still have a choice. I'm stuck with mine.") Not funny, and not even remotely cool.

5. Finally, on a much more enjoyable note, I'll share that I had lunch with my friends and ex-colleagues Koko and Swoosh yesterday. Why do you care? Well, first off, clearly because you're aware that I'm desperately in need of opportunities to socialize with people outside of my family. And I thank you for your concern. But more pertinently, you care because Koko - who was celebrating his first day off crutches since he broke his heel the night after we saw Sigur Ros in September - shared a great story.

About a month ago, he was getting dressed in the morning in preparation for a big meeting with a potential seal-clubbing client — so unlike most days, when he looks like a vagrant, he was wearing a full-on suit and tie. At this stage in his long healing process, he'd moved beyond a hard cast and was now wearing some kind of velcro-secured soft cast over his whole lower leg... designed to hold his foot/ankle in place, I guess. So on this morning, unlike most days, he had to get himself all clean and spiffy before securing the soft cast in place over his suit. What he failed to realize, however, is that as he sat and leaned over to slip on the soft cast and then seal it up... his tie got caught in the velcro.

Which means that when he tried to stand up, his tie instantly tightened around his neck like a noose — and instead of rising to a standing position, he ended up literally flipping himself ass over teakettle across the floor of his apartment. And it was there, lying on the floor in the fetal position, sucking air into his lungs as he frantically loosened his tie, that he realized that he just came thisclose to qualifying for the Darwin Awards.

(I miss my stupid friends.)

04:35 PM | Permalink

Comments

Now go get yourself some Pernice. It's super-cheap, and I promise: you won't regret it.

All that being said... 24" is a hell of a lot of beautiful screen.

In a not-unrelated story... TheWife is job hunting again. We've got dueling Monster profiles and everything. It's quite romantic, really.

(slamming head against desk)

Hancock - You know what the best part of this movie was? When it fucking ended.
The Foot Fist Way - Rolling Stone said it was hilarious, and I - like a complete tool - believed them. Thanks, Peter Travers. You suck.
Step Brothers - I met with a headhunter in early December, and somehow our conversation turned to this movie... and she spent a full ten minutes describing scenes from the movie that she claimed were so funny that she was left gasping for breath with tears streaming down her face. So, we rented and watched it. Lesson learned: don't trust headhunters. (And by the way: how long has it been since Will Ferrell did something that didn't suck like a lamprey? I mean, I'll grant you that Blades of Glory had a couple of funny moments, but really... since Anchorman in 2004, he's released nothing but a steady stream of steaming piles of something unsavory. At what point do we lose faith? I say: right here, right now. I'm taking a stand.)
Tropic Thunder - Clearly, I'm in the minority here. But in all honesty, I can say two things about this movie: 1) I don't think I laughed once after the director exploded. That was funny. The rest of it? Not so much. 2) Not to get too sensitive or PC, but I had real problems with the repeated, repugnant "retard" jokes. Look, I'm not reacting in knee-jerk fashion by any stretch of the imagination — but when a film repeatedly has long, painful stretches where the funny is supposed to be found by belittling people with intellectual disabilities... well, that's a problem for me. And it's not that I don't get that, to an extent, the entire "Simple Jack" thing is supposed to be a comment on actors and award-winning performances rather than on the subject of those films. But there's no mistaking the grotesquery of "Simple Jack"... and while that's meant to be comedic, I found it grossly offensive. (As I did the sequence with Matthew McConaughey talking about adopting a kid while looking at a photo of himself and his Down Syndrome son, and saying "At least you still have a choice. I'm stuck with mine.") Not funny, and not even remotely cool.

(I miss my stupid friends.)

Do You Hear What I Hear?

A Winged Victory for the Sullen: A Winged Victory for the Sullen
My 2011 album of the year. Achingly gorgeous neo-classical compositions designed to leave you on the verge of tears. I've been listening to it almost non-stop for months; you should do the same.
Hammock: Longest Year EP
There are few things more frustrating than trying to describe the gorgeous, evocative and profoundly atmospheric post-rock music of Hammock without A) resorting to clichés that, while not necessarily inaccurate, do little to accurately describe the listening experience; or B) having the musical vocabulary to adequately describe just what it is about these lengthy, largely wordless compositions that hypnotizes and moves me so profoundly. So I'll just say: imagine a film. No words; just images. Flashing, semi-grainy images of someone from your past — impossibly beautiful, vibrant and full of life. Someone lost to you forever. Imagine that feeling, of love and impossible longing and desperate, hopeless desire to recapture that moment and make it last forever. Now hunt down the title track to this EP, close your eyes, and listen. And you will know: this is the music for that feeling.
Peter Gabriel: New Blood
Man, what a disappointment this turned out to be. I've been a fan of Peter Gabriel's for more than 20 years, and while his post-Passion albums have been uneven at best... I was thrilled when I heard that he was re-recording some of his best songs with an orchestra. I grabbed it on the day it was released, tossed it in my trusty CD player, and... um... didn't love it. So I listened to it again. And again. And again. And now, after four full listens, I've concluded: this isn't music I can love. I mean, some of the songs work pretty well (generally the quieter ones — San Jacinto, Mercy Street and Wallflower are fairly lovely), but as a whole the album comes off as more of a compositional exercise than an attempt to create songs of real and lasting beauty. It's a crime, really, because the great strengths of Gabriel's music have always been rooted in his ability to marry thoughtful lyrics to passionate vocals and complex, deeply-emotional music that supports the first two elements. But here? The lyrics and vocals (and PG is, admittedly, still in very fine voice) are subordinated to overly-busy arrangements that rob the music of the very things that make it so extraordinary. It's a disappointing discovery, and to be completely honest the best thing about this album is the fact that it's forced me to go back to the original executions and appreciate, with a freshened perspective, just how wonderful they are.
Low: C'mon
A tremendous and much-appreciated return to form for this legendary Duluth, MN slowcore trio, and a welcome reminder of why they are both one of the very best and most interesting bands in the world. From the gorgeous, chilly-yet-warm harmonies of married folk Mimi Parker and Alan Sparhawk to the impeccable sense of atmosphere and dynamics that have always defined their finest work as a heady blend of atmosphere, melancholy and quiet beauty... it's all here. Look: just give a listen to "Especially Me" or "Try To Sleep" and tell me you're not charmed, moved and completely hooked. I defy you.
The Cure: Disintegration (Deluxe Edition) (3CD)
Why spring for the 3-CD deluxe edition, even if this is one of the greatest albums ever recorded? Three reasons: 1) Because the original album has been remastered, and now sounds better than ever — the bass is now audible, and the songs now offer a crystalline clarity that bring the aching beauty of Plainsong and Closedown to new levels. 2) The 2nd disc, which offers demos of most of Disintegration's songs, offer a fascinating glimpse into Smith's creative process. 3) The 3rd disc is a live album, and its version of Pictures of You is, simply, astonishing. One note: even better than springing for this? Is having @MrLady do it for you. I highly recommend that approach.

Reading is Fundamental

Daryl Gregory: Raising Stony Mayhall
Man, Daryl Gregory is an interesting writer. This is a zombie novel, but it's utterly unlike any other zombie novel I've read (and let's be clear: from The Angels Are The Reapers to World War Z and Breathers, there's a wiiiide range of very good ones out there). Why? Because our title character is a part of the Living Dead community — and he's as rich and fully realized a character as you'll ever come across: an individual loved by his family, first hidden from and then feared by the world, and desperately curious to explore and understand his nature. What, exactly, is he? How is it possible that he was born dead, is and has always been composed of unliving tissue... and yet still grew up? Gregory couples this greatly realized characterization with a compelling plot that follows Stony from his "childhood" on an Iowa farm to a growing Living Dead underground community to prison and revolution and beyond — and the result is a truly compelling read that blends some fascinating questions with a sense of fun and engagement that never wavers. This is a worthy follow-up to Gregory's "The Devil's Alphabet," and while neither of these two novels quite matches the dizzying heights he reached with his stunning debut, "Pandemonium," it's still a terrific read that deserves your attention.
Dennis Lehane: Moonlight Mile
When an author returns to a series years after abandoning it, it's frequently a journey fraught with peril. All too often, they seem to lose their handle on the characters and unique tone that made their earlier work so fun and successful, and you finish the book kind of wishing they'd never gone down this road. Having said that, I was grateful to discover that Dennis Lehane's return to Patrick Kenzie and Angie Gennaro in "Moonlight Mile" is an energetic and very successful reintroduction of the deeply sardonic (and funny) dialogue and dark & twisty plotting that made his early novels such an incredible pleasure. It's been more than a decade since Lehane left them behind to move on to "Mystic River" (still one of the best things I've ever read)... and when we rejoin Patrick and Angie, we discover that a decade has passed in their lives, as well. They've grown older (and possibly a little wiser), just another couple in Boston doing their best to make ends meet — when suddenly they find themselves launched into a search for Amanda McCready, a 16yo girl who a dozen years previously was the missing girl at the heart of Lehane's wonderful "Gone Baby Gone" (as well as Ben Affleck's outstanding film adaptation of the same). What happens from that point forward is nothing if not tremendously satisfying, and while as a novel this may not reach quite the same dizzying heights of some of Lehane's other work... it's an absolute, uncompromising pleasure and a welcome reminder of why we fell in love with his writing and these characters in the first place. Great, great stuff.
Emma Donoghue: Room
Yeah. It's every bit as good as you've heard. And every bit as lovely, heartbreaking and tragic, too. The idea is brilliant: Jack is five years old, and has lived his entire life in Room. With his Ma. And with occasional, after-dark visits from Old Nick — who, Jack doesn't realize, is the man who years ago kidnapped and imprisoned a then-19yo girl in Room. As far as Jack is aware, he, Ma and Old Nick are the only real people in the universe. Everything else - what he sees on TV and what little he can view through the tiny skylight at the top of room - is make-believe. I could say more to describe what happens, but really... there's no way I'm going to give anything away. I'll just say, instead, that Donoghue does an impossibly masterful job of creating an entirely believable 5-year old boy who might have been born and raised in such an environment — and who might react to the things he experiences in the way that Jack ultimately does. Every piece of this story has the ring of absolute truth, and that (more than anything else) is what helps to define it as one of the most haunting things I've read in a long, long time. Highly, highly recommended.
Greg Olear: Fathermucker: A Novel
I wanted to like this. I really, really wanted to like this. The concept sounded terrific: a SAHD in an upper-middle class enclave in upstate NY is told, during the course of a playdate, that there is suspicion his wife is having an affair. The idea is pure gold — a setting and a cast of characters impossibly ripe for comedy, plus an opportunity to add some emotional depth via the very troubling idea of a beloved wife (in an imperfect marriage) who may be quietly shattering our protagonist's heart. Unfortunately... the execution fell far short of my expectations. Let me be clear: Olear can write — he knows how to craft language and put together an interesting story. And he certainly does a credible job of recreating the vast wilderness of SAHM/D life in the 'burbs. But in terms of really delivering on either the comedic or tragic implications of the story... it fails. Problem 1: it's not funny. At all. And the fact that Olear clearly has the ideas and chops to deliver on a strong comic premise - and yet, consistently, fails to do so - became an ongoing source of frustration for me as I went through the book. I'll put it this way: a full-length comic novel that makes you smile and/or laugh a grand total of once? Is not a very successful comic novel. Problem 2: it offers multiple opportunities to broaden into really emotionally resonant territory, both as a function of exploring the wife's possible infidelity and in exploring the emotional impact of having a child on the autism spectrum (Asperger's, in this case) on a marriage. And yet, every time it starts moving in that direction... Olear instead veers into a machine-gun spatter of pages-long paragraphs listing people who attended a playdate and how they interact with and/or screw around with each other (or some other, similar tactic). It's as if he's hoping that if he dances realrealrealfast, no one will notice that he's not ready or willing to write with anything approaching real emotion. All of which leads me to this conclusion: I've read far, far worse books this year... but none that made me feel more frustrated or actively angry for not being better. (Disclosure: I was sent this book by the very kind people at Fathermucker's publishing house, whose name I can't think of right now. Thanks and sorry — I really wanted to enjoy this a lot more than I did.)
Warren Fahy: Fragment
Remember back when Michael Crichton was cranking out blockbuster-movie-plots-disguised-as-novels and every review was pretty much the same? The details varied from book to book, but almost without exception you'd read a review and learn that he'd put together a book with a propulsive plot, a bunch of surprises and thrills, lots of technical and/or scientific detail to show off all the research he did, and little doubt that the characters and dialogue were anything more than paper-thin. Well, Crichton is gone — but with Fragment, Warren Fahy makes a solid attempt to recreate the Crichton model... for better and for worse. The novel is basically built around the same initial concept as King Kong: a tiny, remote island out in the middle of nowhere in the South Pacific is discovered — and is quickly found to be inhabited by all kinds of fascinating monsters. Boatloads of energetic scenes of people getting shredded by the aforementioned monsters inevitably ensues. Fahy's Crichton-esque take is to cast this island and its bizarre inhabitants as an ultraviolent evolutionary offshoot, where billions of years of isolation have resulted in the creation of all kinds of horrifying and efficiently bloodthirsty inhabitants, including (most memorably) the spiger, which basically looks like a 15-foot long hybrid of a spider and a tiger (it even has orange stripes). Sounds promising, right? Until you realize that Fahy has failed to back up this premise with things like "believable characters" or "dialogue" or "depth." Which leaves us with a passable beach or airplane read... and not much more.