September 29, 2005
My Show Is On
Thank you to everyone involved in getting Veronica Mars onto my TV screen last night. I haven't been this excited by anything on TV since . . . the season finale, back in May. Rob Thomas, I am thoroughly pwn3d. Continuity, shout-outs, important characters in real jeopardy, great use of music, a dash of meta, and a shocking ending. It was all there. I'm writing this, or at least starting it, 16 hours after the show aired; I taped the episode and watched it again after it was over, and I'm still getting chills just thinking about everything.
Highlights: Charisma Carpenter makes her first appearance. Me: "I have never envied Jason Dohring more." Fast forward to the promo for next week. "Clearly I spoke too soon." I now also believe that Neptune's highest-turnover job is "journalism teacher".
Shout-outs: "Why can't you be like other girls and talk on the phone and paint your nails?" is a clear TWoP shout-out. Just look at the icon on the VM main page. "'Dirty' with one 'r' or two?" I am claiming as a shout-out to the VM4.
Meta: "Where'd your dad find her?" "She was a Laker girl. My dad has good seats." Charisma Carpenter really was a San Diego Chargers cheerleader, as Buffy fans no doubt recall, so this is meta-by-association. "My sister is in negotiations with the networks to sell her version of The Aaron Echolls Story. The sticking point seems to be she's insisting on playing herself; the producers want Tara Reid." Last season, Trina Echolls was played by Alyson Hannigan. Producer Joel Silver had been trying to get them to use Tara Reid, but the negotiations with her people didn't go through.
Continuity: Veronica, Keith, Wallace, Logan, Weevil, Felix, the rest of the PCH motorcycle gang, Deputy Leo, VP Clemmons, Duncan, Lilly, Meg, Dick Casablancas, and Cassidy "Beaver" Casablancas all appeared, and Sheriff Lamb showed up in the promo. Aaron, Trina, Alicia, Lianne, Jake, Celeste, and Lynn were all mentioned, even though they didn't appear. That's 20+ characters to remember from last year, and those are just off the top of my head. Take that, The O.C., where all of 10 people survived the summer and only three are important. Wallace's spirit boxes get another mention, as does rival school Pan High.
The Ratings: So far, the ratings news has been mixed. It was the most-watched episode of VM ever, by over 600,000 viewers, doing a 4 share and drawing 3.15 million people while going up against Lost. It beat One Tree Hill on the WB, its real competition, it improved over last week's placeholder, a bonus second hour of America's Next Top Model, and drew in the young female audience that UPN is looking for. However, it still only retained 60% of the ANTM viewing audience and One Tree Hill was a repeat. I don't know how big an audience UPN wants to see to keep this show on the air; they might not know themselves until they see what kind of DVD market there is for this show. Personally, I'd imagine that 3.5 million viewers a week would keep VM secure. Even if it didn't bring home any Emmys, it still gets UPN some serious critical attention, it's up against Lost, and it represents a 37% rise from last year's PEAK audience. The season premiere was already a 24% bump from that peak. Most importantly, it has to give UPN a solid win in that timeslot over Related, a new single-camera comedy on the WB. It looks pretty awful, but VM lost to One Tree Hill every week last year, so quality is no indication of popularity.
September 28, 2005
Are the Music Supervisors Just Not Trying Anymore?
I think we might be running out of songs that you can play on TV. In the season premier, House became the latest TV show to trot out poor dead Jeff Buckley's version of "Hallelujah", joining The West Wing's third season finale and The O.C.'s first season finale, among others, in featuring this song during a wordless montage to close the episode. Then Crossing Jordan used Beck's "The Golden Age" on Sunday, just like Alias did FOUR YEARS AGO. Come on people, be a little more creative. This is far worse than VH1 leaning on "All For Swinging You Around" like a musical crutch for bumper music on every episode ever of "Awesomely Bad [Videos/Hair/Navel-Gazing]" . At least someone on staff had to know who the New Pornographers are. I'm also informed that Grey's Anatomy poached "Feels So Free" by Ivy in their Season 2 premiere (also on Sunday), used to great effect by Veronica Mars last year. And just last night, House did some more recycling, using Damien Rice's "Delicate" to close the episode, the same song used on Lost when Hurley's CD player ran out of batteries last season.
In related news, the soundtrack to Veronica Mars came out yesterday and the season premiere is tonight. I highly recommend watching it, or at least watching Lost and taping VM.
Our First "That Guy"
A contributor sends the following photo and caption:
I saw this guy on the bus to the United Center when I went to see U2. I think his shirt was from the same tour (the Vertigo tour). All I know is, I didn't want to be that guy.
Nor would we ever want you to be him, Ryan. And that's why we present our first Brief Guide To Not Being That Guy.
A Brief Guide to Not Being That Guy Who Wears the Band's T-Shirt to that Band's Concert
Sir, we already know you're a fan. After all, you're here, right? You do not get bonus points for having seen them earlier on this tour. And we're not going to be impressed that you were there for the tour from three years ago either. Way to keep the faith, chief. Three whole years. Next time, try wearing a different shirt.
September 27, 2005
Weekend Wrap-Up
Congratulations, Dave and Emily. Some disorganized thoughts from Saturday, not all of them mine:
September 20, 2005
November 6, 1999
It's 5:30AM. The alarm is blaring and my hand is frantically searching out the snooze button, since there's no godly reason to wake my roommate this early on a Saturday. I flick the slide on the alarm clock to the "OFF" position and flump out of bed. Better stay on my feet or else I'll be back to sleep in seconds. I'm grateful for the scrap of area rug we decided to purchase.I roll open the dresser and grab the khaki shorts, navy blue shirt, and other essentials. I snatch my towel and sandals and walk across the hall to the showers.
There's nobody else there, of course. They're all still sleeping off last night's excesses. I'm pretty sure my roommate didn't get in before 3:00. Me? I'm kind of regretting staying up till 12:30. We were watching movies across the street in Sara and Sarah's dorm room. Should've left earlier. Maybe then I wouldn't be having so much trouble staying awake in here.
Shoes. Can't forget the shoes. Stupid black shoes in the stupid black closet. This is not helpful. Can't turn on a light, don't want to wake the roommate. I'm sharing a 12 x 13 box, the smallest space I've ever lived in, with some guy I didn't meet until move-in. It's going OK, but it's weird living with some random for eight months. Finally! Found the shoes. Oh, it was cold last night. Better dig out the track pants, those'll be good for the walk. A jacket, too, with a hoodie underneath. Check the garment bag. The plume fell out of its tube again, but everything else is alright.
Frost is on the ground now. It gets colder every weekend. Now we're grateful for the heavy uniforms. There's nobody on the roads yet, but that'll change soon enough. It's starting to get a little less dark in the east.
I walk over the footbridge that spans Washtenaw and enter the Diag. The bums are still piled in the middle, huddled for warmth in front of the Grad Library. At least one of them won't make it through the season.
I'm across State Street, heading past South Quad to cross Packard. There's a girl who's clearly doing the Walk of Shame; she looks unsure of her decision last night. College is awesome.
The sun has officially risen by the time I cross Packard, and I think my uniform weighs about 50 lbs. I didn't realize until now that it was actually chain mail. Cross Street is full of last night's detritus. Shoes hang on the power lines; Solo cups litter the pavement. A crushed box used to contain a case of Busch. I walk in the center of the road to avoid it all. It's not like anyone ever drives down this street.
I think those are a couple of euphs walking down Division. The flags are already out by the Boxing Building on Elbel Field. Nice to see a few other signs of civilization. I actually have to wait for a car at Hoover.
I dump my uniform . . . I mean, I hang my uniform off of my locker and retrieve the trumpet from inside. It's game day, so I pull the hat and its plume out of the garment bag, along with the yuba strap that keeps it on my head. Kelly walks in, holding a cup of coffee, as I purchase a blueberry bagel. I tell her I'll meet her out by the bleachers, just like usual. She looks as tired as I feel.
There are a few other trumpets already behind the bleachers. Music major Nick is already warming up, looking like an unusual circus strong man. He's the only guy I know who can play the bagpipes. Sarah and Sara aren't here yet, but they'll show up soon. Kelly's heading up Division from Revelli Hall. I'm trying to finish my bagel and learn the last few bits of today's show. I'm not in it or anything, but we'll all be playing through it during warm-ups. I make a mental note to get the polish during our break today. My parents want me to walk all the way to Pioneer High School during our hour-long break, but they're lunatics.
Kelly plops her case down beside me as greetings are exchanged. "Smell that? [sniff]?" "It's game day." The words are delivered in a faux-intense too-loud whisper which still reveals how much we've been looking forward to today. Small talk, mostly band-related, is passed. The relative states of our gloves are excoriated, but with a sense of resignation. Gloves get dirty no matter how careful you are, especially on the reserve field. At least we've had the foresight to buy extra gloves this week. We try to memorize the last bars of this week's show, even if we won't be marching in it. Sara and Sarah arrive shortly before the whistle sounds, calling us all to the practice field for warm-ups.
Numbers One and Two are fine, but Six is the best warm-up tune. We play it as the sun peeks up over the treetops, blinding us to whatever Dr. Tapia wants us to do, so we play based on instinct and whatever hand gestures we manage to catch. The piece is almost Zarathustrian, but less Germanic. It's a series of long, loud whole notes, designed to help us with our tuning. Once, when I had an exam that conflicted with band practice, I was walking over the Washtenaw footbridge and I could hear the band doing this on Elbel Field, miles away. That was sweet.
We skip most of the pregame music, but pause to work on "Varsity" and the national anthem. The University's Director of Bands, the completely cool H. Robert Reynolds, is there to practice the anthem with us. Gregg gives us the long whistle command and horns fly up to ready position. H.Bob cues the drum roll, then signals the rest of the band to start in on the anthem itself. I know most of it, but have to fake some parts. It wasn't high on my list of priorities this week, given the other music I needed to know for Thursday's auditions.
We run through the show music, and I'm holding my own. This week's halftime is espionage-themed. It consists of the themes from The Avengers and the Bond films, followed by "Soul Bossa Nova" from Austin Powers, and finishing up with the theme for the movie itself. To my left, just past Kelly, Max is being his usual charming self. By which I mean he's displaying his usual misanthropy and grumping through rehearsal. Even if she's only five foot four, Kelly shields me from most of Max's ire. She's from Jersey; she can give and take with the best of them.
After Temptation and -- because you can't have one without the other -- Hawaiian War Chant, reserves are dismissed to the softball diamond while the people who've made block this week stretch out. Scott from the grad staff has his clipboard of fun, doling out jobs for the game. Kelly's going to hold one of the ladders during halftime, so I'll be watching her horn for that segment. I get to slack today.
The sun's warming everything up, finally. Sara and Kelly and I and a few other trumpet reserves hang out, sharing a bottle of polish. We've got about an hour left to kill while the block practices. The conversation meanders back to high school, like it does a lot of the time. Sara went to school in El Monte, a tough town in a far-inland part of LA County near Chino. It's a far cry from Grosse Pointe North, my old stomping grounds. But they had a pretty decent-sized marching band and a great drumline. I trot out my oh-we-didn't-have-a-marching-band-because-people-used-to-throw-coins-at-the-old-one story again. Kelly was the drum major at her high school. Their marching band consisted of nine people, including her. They had the same fight song as Northwestern, today's opponent. GPN's song was the same as the University of South Carolina. Sara doesn't know if El Monte's song is the same as any big university. But she was in the Rose Bowl parade, so we're all jealous.
We can hear them wrapping up pregame as our conversation winds down. After a big "C'mere!!!" over the loudspeaker, the band collapses in near the base of the tower, surrounding Dr. Tapia. Whispers of "Smell that? It's game day," pass through the band. He tells us to be in the hall for visualization at 11:00, one hour from now, and reminds us to make sure everything on our uniform is clean. He asks for any other announcements and spots Lucy, our section leader. She rises to her feet and booms "FIRE UP, IT'S SATURDAAAAAAAAAYYYYY!!!!!!!" to thunderous cheers. We sing "The Victors" and break for lunch.
I hurry back to my locker in Revelli and stow my hat and trumpet. It's now 10:00 and the Dollar Dogs stand by the railroad tracks has just opened for business. I get my customary dog and a Coke and retire to the steps. I'd get a pair of dogs, because I know I'll be hungry by the third quarter, but it's just too much food with the uniform and the marching. I camp out on the stone steps. Sarah's the first to catch up with me. Sam shows up too. Kelly's aunt and uncle live nearby, so she went home for her lunch. Caitlin and Sara went to the little cafe between the bike shop and the radio supply store. They both end up on the steps at the same time, right when I'm finishing off my hot dog.
I like getting into uniform early, when there aren't so many people around, so I head inside with 25 minutes before visualization. Bob and Other Sara are already at their lockers, just a few rows down from me. Ken's across the hall at his locker, having just rolled in on his skates. First I attach the spats to my shoes. Then the bibbers go on. Shove the Bo-style "M" ballcap into a secure location in between the bibbers and my shirt. After some maneuvering to let Kelly in, the jacket goes on with the shield buttoned over it. The strangulation collar is a bit of work, but I get it on. I give the trumpet the once-over with a polishing cloth and break out a new pair of gloves.
The percussion step show is going into high gear outside as I enter the rehearsal hall and find my seat. Hat goes under the seat, horn on the lap. People fill up the space and the excitement builds. Finally, it's time for visualization. Tapia walks us through a perfect performance. Pregame is flawless. We sing selections from halftime. Mentally, we parade back to the hall.
Now it's time for the real thing. Outside of Revelli, we line up in full ranks for inspection. As a reserve, I'm back in Rank W. As a freshman with limited experience, I'm hidden on the inside of the rank. For the moment, I'm rather pleased with this arrangement. It hides my incompetence well. Gregg is progressing with his inspection. "RANK...H!" he calls. I've got a while to go before he makes it to us. Rank H passes with his approval, and he moves on to the next set. Eventually he makes it back to the reserves. I'm in my best attention position, trying not to make eye contact as his gaze passes me by. "Rank W . . . move forward!" We close with Rank V, as Rank X gets the treatment.
Inspection is finished without anyone's pride severely injured, and it's time to get moving. The drumline strikes up the cadence and we respond with our chants as we move into the street. We dazzle onlookers with our array of punches, kicks, chants, and instrument drills, all perfectly synchronized. Our parade moves into the parking lot next to the stadium and we halt to play "The Victors" for some tailgaters. We stop again at the steps of the stadium, this time to play "The Victors" and "Let's Go Blue".
The reserves are dismissed, and I'm flying wildly down the tunnel into Michigan Stadium. It's exhilarating. Sometimes we get there when the team is already in the tunnel, mandating a more sedate pace, but not today. My feet barely touch the ground as I head down the incline. I always end up doing that drum major strut near the bottom, bringing myself to a halt before proceeding along out of the tunnel and along the sideline in a more dignified manner. I still jump up and give high-fives to a few kids in the seats by the tunnel.
Kelly, Sara, and Sarah are already up in our seats. It's really turned into a beautiful day. The sky is blue, with wispy cirrus clouds overhead. It's warm enough that I'm soaked from our parade, but I'm cooling off fast in the 50-degree air. Some guy tries to cut through our section, but Kelly's right there to cut him off. She must have been a natural drum major. The old security guy in the yellow jacket is there to back her up, and the annoyed guy heads back up the steps.
Northwestern didn't bring their band today, so we don't have very long to wait before pregame begins. People cheer as our team leaves the field and a few people boo when Northwestern leaves. We're still talking and making observations, but we're also looking for the first sign that the rest of the band is loaded in the tunnel, waiting to go. There. You can barely see the flags and the top of Gregg's plume. Now it's Carl's turn.
"Ladies and gentlemen, preeesenting the twooo hundred and thirty-five member...Michigan Marching Band. Baaaand, take...the field!"
The snares snap into the cadence for entries as a cheer rises from the crowd and people begin to clap to the rhythm. They're supposed to be at 210 beats per minute, but there's no way they're going that slow. The flags stream out as the wind hits them and the band floods out of the tunnel. I've got my eye on the ranks of trumpets, their knees hitting the 110-degree angle before jabbing into the ground again. They cross the front hash, and a pair of gloved hands, the left one holding a silver trumpet straight out, form a Y. Two steps later, the next pair shoot up. The rank blooms as it heads toward the press box sideline.
Everyone's out on the field now, going full-out. It's the most physically-demanding thing I've ever seen a band do. In series, the gloved fists flash downward, back to the attention position, rippling down the rank. The snares give the rhythm cue that this will be the last set of entries. The fold-out begins. As the drums crash one last time, feet stop, horns flash upward to ready position, and the M is completed.
No one gets time to breathe, though, as the "M Fanfare" begins. Gregg struts downfield, and everyone knows the backbend is coming. Today, he removes his hat as people cheer. He leans farther and farther back, touching his head to the grass as the song reaches its climax and the crowd erupts. The stationary band goes on the march again, as "M Fanfare" leads right into the opening drumbeats of "The Victors". The M folds back into straight lines, and the ranks march downfield into the north endzone as Gregg perfectly executes the goalpost toss of his mace. In the endzone, The M folds back out and the band heads upfield as it reaches the trio. People clap, sing, and punch the air.
The band hits the breakstrain and practically stops as it transitions into high step. High step has been known to kill lesser mortals, and it's especially tough after you've gone running up and down a football field while playing an instrument. But we've been training, so it goes off without a hitch. Back into the trio again and back into traditional step, the band hits the south endzone. They play a song no one cares about, aka the Northwestern fight song, and get back into sweep lines for "Varsity".
Nobody knows all the words to "Varsity". Only about half the people in the band have any clue. I am a nerd, so I know the words to the part we play for pregame. The band hits midfield, folds back out into the M and closes. Now's the time to take a breath, finally. I know that everyone down there is just dying. They play "Let's Go Blue", and then H.Bob ascends the ladder to lead the band through the anthem. They march off the field at the press box sideline as they play "The Victors" again, ending with two sets of entries.
There's a little downtime as the band hurries back around to our seats, getting ready for the team to rush through the tunnel. Whatever group is handling the duties this week has finally succeeded in putting up the "GO BLUE: MCLUB SUPPORTS YOU" banner in the middle of the field. We're still loading the last few people into the stands when the team appears at the edge of the tunnel, so some people end up playing "The Victors" from the aisles and on the steps, but that rush is still there.
The water bottles are quickly distributed to people coming back from pregame, and they need it. The call for hats goes out, and the band hats fly off, replaced by a sea of Bo-style caps. It's good to get those plastic shakos off your head. Sara, Kelly, and I are in the last row of trumpets. Sarah's in the first row of horns, right behind us. We're all near the 15-yard line, waiting for kickoff. The snares and basses kick up a drumroll, as we wave our trumpets in lazy circles. Hayden Epstein boots a nice one, and the game is underway.
I'm still getting used to the cheers we do whenever there's a lot of time between downs. The "raise the roof" one with one hand is easy, and I like the drum cadence for it. There are a few cheers that change, at least a little bit, if you do it three times. With that one, if you hit number three you start pogoing. Some of them also require you to alternate your actions with the people next to you, which can get interesting in the middle of rows.
The defense gets it in gear and finally stops the Wildcats near midfield. We reward them by playing "Temptation", one of my favorites. After another exchange of punts, Brady gets the offense humming. David Terrell, the source of much merriment to our section of the band, hauls in a touchdown. We had broken up into sections for rehearsal one day, and we decided to start telling stories. One guy's friend lived on the same hall as David Terrell last year. Late at night, he was walking past Terrell's door. From inside the room, a booming voice demanded, "WHO'S GOT THE BOMB-ASS DICK?!" "You do, David!" his female companion replied. "WHO'S GOT THE BOMB-ASS DICK?!" "You do, David!" B.A.D. was our new codeword.
Crap. We missed the extra point. We're still up 6-0. Bob hops up on the first-row bleachers, holding a single finger aloft for the count-off. The rest of the trumpets respond with the same. We take a deep breath and chant "ABUSHKA!" as we yank our hands down. I have no idea where that comes from, but it's a tradition. We'll get three more TDs -- and convert those extra points -- to build a 27-0 lead going into halftime. Anthony Thomas takes the last one in on a one-yard run. The people in block for halftime are already filing out, getting into position for the show. I take Kelly's trumpet from her as she heads over to the ladder crew.
The band glides onto the field from both sidelines; the only sound in the air is the light drum cadence. When the formation is set, the whistles set the tempo and the low brass fanfare kicks off the theme from The Avengers as Carl speaks of John Stead and Emma Peal. I'd never heard it before we started this show, but it rocks. The James Bond theme follows, as is required in this sort of thing. In a change of directions, the band launches into "Soul Bossa Nova", perfect for a marching band. The Austin Powers thing is a bit old, but it works when you've got people who can actually do the marching part from the first movie. The flags follow Gregg as he traditional-steps around the field, finishing in a pile around him. The show finishes off with the theme from "Austin Powers" and the audience applauds. The band marches off to the strains of "The Victors", which is a good song.
Michigan takes the ball on its own 35 to start the second half, and I'm a little surprised to see Tom Brady still in the game. Not for long. On the first play from scrimmage, Anthony Thomas takes the ball 26 yards downfield. Tight end Bennie Joppru takes the 11-yard touchdown pass and Epstein boots the extra point to make it a 34-0 ballgame. The 65-yard drive took 1:52 off the clock. Bob jumps up on the first-row bleachers for the fifth time today, and we go through a full round of abushkas.
Apples are distributed, passed hand-to-hand from the aisles of each row. Water bottles make the rounds again. We get quiet for the only time during the game. It's tough to play "Let's Go Blue" with an apple in your hand, but that won't stop us from trying. The cardboard box comes around, collecting all of the apple cores.
Northwestern finally makes it on the scoreboard with a 37-yard field goal, making the score 34-3 with 4:06 left in the third quarter. They won't score again. Drew Henson makes it into the game. Elaina, my friend from high school, claims to know him, but she seems to know everybody in the state of Michigan. At the end of the third quarter we play "Respect", which is a lot of fun. And the 'Cats had better respect us now.
The game devolves into a scrimmage with tackling and Lloyd Carr starts rotating in the third-string seniors. I'm happy to see them getting their shot. Backup kicker Brandon Kornblue, a fifth-year senior, ends the scoring with his first career field goal, a 26-yard shot with 0:33 left in the fourth quarter. After playing "The Victors" again, we turn our shakos backward and wait for time to run out as we play "The Victors Waltz".
We file out for the postgame concert on the field. The grass got pretty ripped up today, but it's not hard to find our marks. We do the full version of "The Victors" and proceed to selections from the halftime show, "The Avengers" and the "Austin Powers" theme. We finish it off with T&W. After "Temptation", Dr. Tapia vacates the ladder so that H.Bob can do "Hawaiian War Chant". He also leads "The Yellow & Blue", which moves into the mandatory reprise of the trio from "The Victors". The hardy souls who've stayed for all of this applaud. We begin the laborious process of lining up in half ranks to parade out of the stadium.
We get just about everyone in place back in the reserves when the front of the band starts moving out. People who are out of place are yanked to fill spots. We go down to quarter ranks to fit through the tunnel. Our rank hits the tunnel just in time for the "raise the roof" part of the cadence and we go nuts, bounding all over the tunnel, crashing into people, walls, whatever, reforming our ranks just in time to hit the mouth of the tunnel.
The parade back to Revelli is an altogether looser affair than the one to the stadium. Individual sections have added moves to the cadence. We've got ones called "The Flying Camel", "Toga", and "Greet the Crowd". That's where we break ranks and go shake hands with people. "How ya doin'? How ya doin'? How ya doin'?" It's a lot of fun, especially after a win.
We wind our way back to the steps in front of Revelli Hall and hold our Saturday meeting. Dry cleaning turn-in is tomorrow if you want your uniform smelling nice for the OSU game, or if you're traveling to Penn State. Be ready to work on Monday. We end with our usual series of chants and a final rendition of "The Victors" before breaking for the lockers.
My parents are slow, and I have to wait for them if we're going to do dinner tonight, so I'm not in any hurry. Just get the uniform off. I'm dripping in sweat despite the outside temperature. I should turn my uniform in for dry cleaning tomorrow, if I wake up in time. I wonder what Chris is up to. Kelly says goodbye for the rest of the weekend. I'll see Sara and Sarah for movie night tomorrow. We'll all be together again on Monday.
September 19, 2005
Shut up, Emmys
Charles Rogers Injury Watch
369 Days Since Our Last Accident
38 Days Back In Operation
The Emmys were on last night and I didn't watch beyond some idle channel-flipping while Crossing Jordan was on break (PS - SHUT UP, Jerry O'Connell). I was in the car for the one segment that I actually wanted to see. Kristen Bell, of Veronica Mars sang the theme to Fame as part of a lame "Emmy Idol" segment, but the girl has talent, so I'd be happy to sit through it. The reason I refused to sit through the Emmys yet again was because of the slate of nominees. It's not as bad as the Grammys (haven't watched any of that in about five years), but good shows get ignored in favor of popular ones (especially popular ones that will be ending their runs) and talented actors are ignored in favor of famous ones. It's criminal that, between Battlestar Galactica and Veronica Mars, they couldn't cobble together a single nomination outside of a technical nod for BSG. It's obvious to me that the Emmy voters didn't watch a single frame of VM, or Kristen would have won for Lead Actress. She's spectacular. She's asked to do so much and does it all with aplomb. Instead the Emmy went to Patricia Arquette, in the overrated Medium, providing NBC's only win in a major category.
Felicity Huffman, at least, got a long-overdue Emmy. She should have won for her work in the first season of Sports Night. But you have to wait until you get on a ratings champ or critically-lauded Big Network show before anyone will pay attention to you. And S. Epatha Merkerson has rocked on Law & Order for so long that I'm happy to see her pick up an award. But there are a lot of people out there who didn't get the recognition they should have. I'm not saying that Brad Garrett doesn't do good work, but Peter Boyle is better. And I guess the Academy really likes scenery-chewing; that has to be why they chucked another pair of statuettes to James Spader and William Shatner. I mean, the hell? Boston Legal sucks on toast. If you need a Big Performance, go with Hugh Laurie from House. And there is NO WAY that Shatner's work is better than John Spencer on West Wing. He's been saddled with some hideous scripts in the past two years, but he's done tremendous things with sub-par material.
This also dredges up post-Emmy annoyance from previous years. Amber Tamblyn deserved an Emmy for the first season of Joan of Arcadia. Instead, an embarrassed-looking Alison Janney took home the award for her work in the particularly-dreadful fifth season of West Wing. Maybe they should change the name of the award to "Lead Actress In An NBC Dramatic Series" or "Token Emmy For An NBC Drama". Somehow neither Janel Moloney nor Stockard Channing has ever won an Emmy for her work on West Wing. Victor Garber has never tasted victory for his spectacular work on Alias. You just can't get a print representation to do justice to his line delivery of "I don't sell aircraft parts. I've never sold aircraft parts." It's not quite hissed, it's not barked, it conveys supreme exasperation, and delivers the underlying message of "If you don't want to die, we have to get out of here right now, so we're going to finish this conversation later".
I can almost forgive the Grammys for being so safe and terrible. Music is so balkanized; it's hard to cobble together an awards show where everyone will at least have heard of the nominees. But the people behind the Emmys have a much easier job. There isn't a whole lot of original cable/network programming out there, so you should be able to stumble upon a decent show or two. If you can't be bothered to do that yourself, there are legions of TV critics out there just begging to tell you what to watch. Even if you don't agree with all their picks, they'll steer you towards shows that are worth your attention.
September 18, 2005
The Black Knight Always Triumphs
Best. Halftime. Ever. The Michigan Marching Band really outdid themselves yesterday for the Eastern Michigan game. I don't think I've ever seen the MMB do a humorous halftime show, and this one really connected. They performed a tribute for the 30th anniversary of the release of Monty Python and the Holy Grail, and it was like they wrote a halftime show for me and my friends from high school.
The band scattered onto the field in the shape of a foot and began playing Sousa's "Liberty Bell March". At the end, the foot moved down, finished off with a raspberry over the PA system. And now for something completely different.
Arthur, King of the Wolverines was commanded to go on a quest for the Holy Big Ten Grail. With him were three other nights: Sir Badger the Blitzed, Sir Sparty the Green, and Sir Brutus the Nut. They rode about -- Arthur followed by someone dressed as Patsy -- as the band played the theme from MP&THG. At the end, it was announced that "Sir Badger could not complete the quest, for he partook too much of Milwaukee's Best". One of the band's gators came out, arrayed as the cart for the dead, to take Sir Badger away.
At the Bridge of Death, the old man allowed those who'd won a Big Ten championship in the last 15 years to pass, so Brutus and Arthur made it to the other side. Sir Sparty correctly answered the questions regarding his name and quest, but couldn't find a suitable reply to the last question: "How do you blow a 17-point lead in the last 6 minutes of the fourth-quarter to you biggest rival?" He was cast into the Gorge of Eternal Peril.
Brutus and Arthur carried on, beset by the Black Knight (as formed by the entire band). Paul Bunyan's axe quickly dealt with this menace, performing impromptu amputations all over the field as the band played "The Lumberjack Song".
The final challenge was from the Killer Bunny, lurking near a script Ohio. Despite the warnings of Tim the Enchanter, Brutus couldn't resist the lure of an undotted "i" and strutted towards it. No sooner had he assumed his place than the rabbit was upon him, and Brutus was finished. Arthur slew the rabbit and captured the grail. The other knights returned as the band played "Always Look on the Bright Side of Life".
I haven't seen the band do anything like that in all my years of Michigan football games. It was perfect. I love it when they pander to the students. I think I see more and more of them showing up early for pregame and staying for halftime. I know that we're going to do serious shows for Michigan State and OSU, and I approve of that. Those shows aren't directed at our audience, they're directed at the opposing bands. It's like, "Top that." But it's more fun when the audience gets into what you're doing.
September 16, 2005
Cable ratings spiked at 9:00PM . . .
Thoughts from last night:
September 15, 2005
In the Not-Too-Distant Future
Am I the only one who hears the Green Day lyric
It says home is where your heart is
but what a shame
Cause everyone's heart
doesn't beat the same
from "Jesus of Suburbia" and thinks it could be replaced with
He did a good job
cleaning up the place
But his bosses didn't like him
so they shot him into space
Just me? OK.
I just finished reading about Mike's adventures on the West Coast, and I took a look at his list of "Signs Your Free Hotel Magazine Might Be Front For Scientology". The third item is particularly intriguing, the "L. Ron Hubbard Life Exhibition". You can learn more about L. Ron's "fictional and non-fictional accomplishments" (No word on which category Xenu falls into), and how he's developed cures for "drug addiction, war, insanity and literacy". Good thing he can cure us of the deadly plague of literacy. It just goes against the laws of the universe for people to be able to read books.
Speaking of Mike, he's asserted that "Jack & Bobby" was the most conservative show of last season, due in part to Christine Lahti's crazy liberal mom who does everything wrong. In that same way, could we say that Tom Cruise is the best argument against Scientology? The man has so clearly lost his mind. The mere mention of Scientology either sets him off on a defensive tantrum or causes him to wax rhapsodical on its joys. He's like Dr. Scratchensniff in the Animaniacs episode where he bitterly defends professional wrestling against Yakko, Wakko, and Dot's allegations of fakery. I can't see this as effective promotion.
September 14, 2005
One Year On
Congratulations to Charles Rogers for making it one full calendar year without a season-ending injury. Perhaps the millions the Lions have shelled out for you won't go completely to waste this time.
I watched Bones last night, and I'm getting that same annoying vibe I got from Tru Calling, like it's a blurry facsimile of a good show. And I didn't even get it from the entire show, it's just that some scenes were very good with strong performances and others were just Un!Comfortable with David Boreanaz going all "Angel on Buffy's first few episodes", like he's Mr. Dark-and-Intriguing, withholding information and lording it over the new girl. The science vs. intuition "conflict" is being pushed WAY too hard, like we've never heard of such a thing before. You know, with a male FBI agent who plays his hunches and his female partner who happens to be a forensic pathologist/anthropologist and for whom he may/may not have a bit of a thing. Hey, Fox, WE GET IT. THEY ARE SOOOOO MULDER AND SCULLY OMG 4EVA!!!111!ones!
But the framework of the show is solid, and you can't muck up the CSI/Without A Trace/House combo too badly unless the writers are spectacularly lazy. Medical and forensic dramas have the advantage of being able to pick weird and rare things to give their victims, things that the general viewing audience will have more trouble piecing together, so I shouldn't spend half the episode screaming "IT WAS THE TEACHER! HE THREW HER IN THE POOL!" Tru Calling hamstrung itself with easily-unraveled mysteries and a plot device that was inherently tiresome. Bones doesn't have to worry about that, but it shouldn't lean so heavily on its holographic projector macguffin. It's at least given some more thought to its characters' personal lives than CSI: Miami, as well as creating a less annoying male lead. The show has potential; I'll keep watching for a few more episodes before giving myself wholly to snark.
September 13, 2005
Forward Down the Field
I've been invited to become a correspondent for Honolulu Black and Blue after Craig & Co. re-printed this entry. I appreciate the opportunity to act like I know what I'm talking about, but I'm having trouble coming up with my next offering. The Lions won, so the rending of garments will have to wait a week, and it's really all I have.
I'd write about the Jason Hanson injury, but i don't have any follow-up on that. He pulled a hamstring; he might not be able to go on Sunday. As for the game itself, the defense stood up and made a huge impact, while the offense played well enough to get it done. Detroit was aided by a seeming epidemic of passes that were dropped or were just out of reach, if Dan Miller is to be believed. Charles Rogers remains on the active roster with a full complement of intact collarbones. Oh, I can write about Marcus Pollard. In him, the Lions have seemingly found a tight end who can catch passes, unlike certain others who came to us with the same promises [cough]Bill Schroeder[/cough]. Still, it's just one game. Plenty of time for the bloom to come off that rose before the season is out.
Really, the game was just the sort of NFC North pillow fight we'll be seeing all year. The Bears are terrible (Rex Grossman is injured again, Kyle Orton is a frightened ferret out there), the Packers aren't exactly the team they used to be, the Lions are almost exactly the team they used to be, and the Vikings are looking like chronic underachievers. According to certain national media outlets, the Vikings are a Super Bowl-caliber team. During an off-season in which Randy Moss escaped to Oakland, Onterrio Smith whizzinated the season away, and Mike Tice got busted for scalping Super Bowl tickets, the Vikings made some moves to improve their defense. A defense that then gave up 24 points to the Tampa Bay Buccaneers in the Metrodome. 7-9 really might be enough to win the division this year.
See, that's a paragraph to build a piece on. There's good material to be had in there, especially my Vikings stuff. Which is funnier? "Whizzinated the season away" or "Original-Whizzinated the season away" or "Original-Whizzinatored(TM)"? I like the rhythm of the paragraph, but I'm going to have to break it up to generate a more complete product. At least I've found my voice -- the voice of despair, like any true Lions fan.
September 12, 2005
I Am So Old
Last night I went to the Green Day concert at the Palace of Auburn Hills with my sister and her friends. Whatever strategy they were employing to get people searched and inside the venue was spectacularly inefficient. I joined a line that had spilled out the doors, across the street and past a half-dozen cars in the parking lot. I'd already spent a good 20 minutes getting from the freeway exit to the parking lot, so I was less than thrilled to spend another 20 minutes in line. The line really confirmed what I'd sensed while I was in the parking lot. Everyone there was either five years younger or ten years older than me. It was all high school kids and younger parents. I didn't think that this was really the best concert to haul your six-year-old to, but I don't make the rules.
My aunt had extra suite tickets, so I decided to head up there and hang out during the opening act. I enjoyed the competent rock stylings of Jimmy Eat World in comfort, though solo. All the other attendees were delayed due to a lack of foresight. I shall adopt the Barker/Wallace Opening Act Grading Scale for my experience.
Banter was minimal, but they demanded crowd participation (solicitation of clapping/pogoing, had the crowd shout "GREEN DAY!" during their thank you, thus the dinged #2). The hit ("The Middle") was played, plus the follow-up that stiffed, and the one from the new album that I think I've heard somewhere before. They announced the band name a couple of times, but weren't pushy, limited themselves to one plug for the new record, and solos were limited to what was actually on the album. The material itself was decent, but I don't find myself compelled to buy a CD. Bonus points for leaving the stage right when their half-hour was up.
Overall grade: B or a strong B-
During Jimmy Eat World's set, my aunt, cousins, sister, and her friends all filtered in. The Palace had provided us a schedule, allowing us to plan our migration from the suite to the lower bowl. During the intermission, a guy in a pink bunny costume entertained the crowd by being drunk on stage. Others seemed to find this more entertaining than I did.
Depending on the venue, you really get a different caliber of intermission music. The smaller the venue, the more obscure the music. Just like on the main stage. This time, I recognized every song they played. This included, I kid you not, "YMCA". "YMCA". At an alleged punk rock show. And you could say, "Oh, they're just being ironic," if not for the fact that they also played Gin Blossoms and Goo Goo Dolls (variant B, the mid-tempo rocker). When I went to the Lewis Black show at Meadowbrook, we recognized a crazy version of "Tangled Up In Blue" and "Caring Is Creepy" by The Shins. At the Majestic Theater (for Neko Case), I didn't really recognize anything at all.
Green Day took the stage promptly at 8:10, just as promised on the schedule. This impressed me. They immediately launched into "American Idiot", to raucous response. Moshing and crowd surfing quickly followed. On "Jesus of Suburbia", Billy Joe Armstrong began bending the crowd to his will, demanding fist pumps, arm waving, shouts of "HEY!", etc. He also did the Steven Paige thing of playing off one side of the arena against the other, seeing who could cheer louder on cue. It was pretty annoying at the time (and he did this in several song), but it got people loosened up, which helped the rest of the show.
I love "Holiday" live, starting out with the shriek, "This song isn't anti-America, it's anti-WAAAAAARRRRRRRRRRRR!!!!" The song has great shout-along parts, a call-and-response, a break in the middle that encourages vamping and antic poses, and big, fat, thudding riffs. They played this one to the hilt. Mike Dirnt and Tre Cool vamped like crazy during the section before the shouted bridge and Billy Joe wrestled a spotlight onto the edge of the catwalk stage extension, shining the light over everyone in the crowd. During the bridge, much spontaneous fist-pumping ensued. "St. Jimmy" raised things to a fever pitch. The band tore through it at lightning speed and things were getting seriously crazy. Some guys began slam-dancing, careening wildly down on the floor. Girls learned valuable lessons: Never crowd-surf in flip flops or a strapless top.
Things calmed down as they took on "Are We The Waiting", and it largely ended the "American Idiot" portion of the show. I'm not an expert on old-school Green Day, but I know most of the big ones. They played "Longview" and one other one from that era before they did a segment where they picked people out of the audience to play their song. Unlike BNL, they selected people who really knew how to play and just handed over their instruments. Generic guy (short hair, white t-shirt, ivory cargo pants) got to play drums, and he was pretty decent. A big dude in a Niners jersey and a beard claimed 13 years' experience on bass, so up he went. A big 16-year-old girl was given the guitar part, but apparently just wanted the chance to kiss Billy Joe Armstrong and was relegated to the crowd. A guy somewhere between late high school and college seemingly also wanted the chance to kiss Billy Joe Armstrong, but he actually knew how to play guitar, so he was allowed to stay. They jammed together and, sensing their only opportunity ever to do this, they bassist and guitarist headed out on the catwalk to act like rock gods, having the best time ever since guitars were invented. Guitar guy got to keep his. Drummer guy got to keep his sticks and do a flying stage dive (he was caught). Don't know what happened to bass guy.
At this point, the order becomes hazy in my head. They played "Brain Stew", I'm sure, without the Godzilla roars. Somehow I still know all the words to "Basket Case", despite barely acknowledging the existence of the radio until I was well into high school. They played several more cuts from early albums, plus "Letterbomb", "Wake Me Up When September Ends" (dedicated to all the heroes of September 11, 2001), and I think they might have done either "Extraordinary Girl" or "She's A Rebel". They ended the show with a big, awesome version of "Minority", everybody singing along, "I wanna be the minority / I don't need your authority / Down with the Moral Majority / 'Cause I wanna be the minority". Not epic poetry, but more than adequate for an arena-sized punk rock show. In accordance with the dictates of rock and roll, they left the stage before performing the encore, "Boulevard of Broken Dreams", followed by "Good Riddance (Time of Your Life)".
I'm just not a fan of "Good Riddance". It leaves me unimpressed. Since I had begun listening to commercial radio when that song came out, it was inescapable for a whole year. I think my high school's class of '98 used it for their song, just like at EVERY OTHER HIGH SCHOOL IN AMERICA.
A voice-straining "We Are The Champions" closed the show, as confetti rained down. I felt like I was at Live 8 - Berlin. Or at least watching it. Then I realized that the VJs would've been talking over the performance if I was watching it on MTV.
Green Day played a good rock show. It was the first one I've ever been to where pyrotechnics were employed. I'm happy to report that the curtains were definitely non-flammable. And their white phosphorus / magnesium suppliers must be raking it in. They played the big hits, they were deeply committed to the performance, and they wanted it to be a participatory experience for the audience. On the downside, they milked the audience for applause way too often. I found myself saying, "OK, Billy Joe, you're going to the well a little too often here." But it brought the crowd into the show and helped eliminate some of the distance inherent in a cavernous arena. I really wish they'd switched the end of the show around. I'd argue for "We Are The Champions" before the encore break, followed by "Good Riddance", "Blvd.", and then "Minority" to close the show. "Minority" really struck a chord with the audience in a way that the slower "WATC" couldn't duplicate. It's a terrific sing-along, and it ends the show with people pogoing in the aisles. But it's no use to quibble here. Any rock show that leaves your arm sore in the morning due to excessive fist-pumping is one that I want to be a part of. Oh, and I should have bought the American Idiot polo shirt to wear to work. It would've been awesome, even though its very existence is confusing.
What Is The League Trying To Say?
I have nowhere else to go with this next item, so I'm taking it here.
Practical Strategies for Writing a Thesis or Dissertation
DATE: Friday, September 23
TIME: 9:00 am - 1:30 pm
LOCATION: Michigan League, Hussey Room
Hee. The Michigan League has a "Hussey Room". A building that was constructed as a place for the co-eds to gather (since they were barred from going to the Union) has a place named the "Hussey Room". I find this amusing.
September 9, 2005
Don't get assimilated, Kirsten!
Dear Josh Schwartz,
Two seasons ago you created a smart, funny show about a kid from the wrong side of the tracks and his new family. Then there was Oliver, and things took a turn. When the Season 1 DVD came out and I listened to the interview where you claimed that the show depended on its triangles, I knew you had lost sight of the larger themes of family and trust that the show had handled so deftly in the first dozen episodes. Absurd obstacles were dropped in front of the protagonists when simpler ones were already percolating beneath the surface. A parade of interlopers began. Marissa became a lesbian for about three seconds.
I don't see where any of these plotlines were needed when the characters already had some serious issues that have yet to be given more than cursory attention. Ryan's continued failure to trust anyone and Seth's self-involvement would have been enough to put in front of their relationships, especially when coupled with Marissa's nascent alcoholism and blind hatred of her mother. Summer could have more-acutely felt her isolation from her former friends. What, was the water polo crowd going to suddenly accept Seth? I find that unlikely.
I see the point of those who complain that the show is anemically peopled, but I hate it even more when you see people brought on who you know will be gone in five episodes. I'd rather see recurring characters who, you know, recur. Instead of moving to Pittsburgh or Chicago. For an example, see Veronica Mars. This rant feels oddly familiar. I think I wrote it last year.
There are still some things going for this show. It's back to status quo ante Oliver. Theresa's baby is still out there. Julie Cooper is still Julie Cooper. And you know how to use music like nobody's business. It can't be a good sign, overall, when I say to myself, "I like it better when nobody talks on this show," but it is a tribute to your music supervisor. "Blue Light", by Bloc Party, from the night-time montage at the end of last night's episode is still in my ears.
I still want to see what happens next. I'll tune in for a couple more episodes, at least.
Charles Rogers Injury Watch
359 Days Since Our Last Accident
28 Days Back In Operation
September 8, 2005
In Which I Come Upon an Ingenious Plan
This plan owes its genesis to several sources, chief among them Tomato Nation, and the conversations between Sars and either Regina or Couch Baron, in which That Guy makes frequent appearances. My idea is a website where visitors may submit various examples of That Guy, hopefully with an accompanying picture. We'd have That Guy Who's Standing On The Corner Yelling Into His Cell Phone and That Guy Who Lives In A Black T-Shirt And Jeans and That Guy Who ALWAYS Asks Questions The Professor Already Answered and all sorts of That Guys for the readers' consideration. We could provide a helpful Guide To Not Being "That Guy" for every example.
September 7, 2005
No. Just, no.
Charles Rogers Injury Watch
358 Days Since Our Last Accident
27 Days Back In Operation
After listening to Twin Cinema again, I think that "The Jessica Numbers" would be a good band name. Actually, the whole disc is packed with potential band/album names. "Dressed In Cobras", "The Bleeding Heart Show", "The Fables" (debut album: These Are The Fables), "Star Bodies", "Streets of Fire", and "Stacked Crooked" would all work.
A List of People With Whom I Don't Think I Can Get Along:
Obviously, this list is incomplete. And note that it isn't "People I Hate" or "People Who Are Worthless", it's a list of people with whom I couldn't co-exist for any length of time before threats of violence were made. Tom Cruise isn't a bad actor (See: Magnolia), but I'd say something flippant about Scientology and he'd bash my head in with an old copy of Dianetics.
September 6, 2005
Random Acts of Hopelessness
Charles Rogers Injury Watch
357 Days Since Our Last Accident
26 Days Back In Operation
The paint's peeling off the streets again
And I'll drive and close my eyes in Michigan
And I feel nothing, not brave
It's a hard day for breathing again.
Rilo Kiley are pretty amazing. I picked up The Execution of All Things in Borders on Saturday. I didn't get much of a chance to listen then or on Sunday, but I must have listened to it three or four times yesterday, straight through. The album has many charms to recommend it. It may be too twee in places for some listeners, but it works as a whole.
The album comes at its sincerity sideways on a lot of tracks. The basic music is pop/rock so clean you could eat off of it, but grafted onto that substrate are the lyrics, Jenny Lewis's vocals, and various production tweaks that work to illuminate the album. For instance, the album opens with a drum machine and a repeated minor guitar line in "The Good That Won't Come Out". The voice track comes in shortly thereafter, cloaked in production effects (like it's been sung through a lousy telephone), and a slide guitar joins in. Xylophone is added almost imperceptibly, and the track has its elements for the majority of its length. The lyrics are about personal barriers, maintaining distance, and not being the person you want to be, and the vocal effects complement the lyrics, while the slide guitar gives the song emotional weight. Instead of getting loud for the chorus, with the bass and real drums kicking in, everything is pulled back, except for the vocals. Not until 3:40 into the 4:31 song is everything turned loose. Bass, drums, bells come in heavily enough to create distortion and the tiny world of the song is stretched to arena-sized dimensions as the song flips to a major key.
Sometimes I imagine what a music video for a song would look like. For this one, I imagine a small bedroom in an apartment. Everything is white, sort of like the opening scene from "Garden State", but smaller and more hemmed-in. Start with a close-up on a sleeping Jenny Lewis. She opens her eyes in time to start singing the lyrics while lying on her side. At the chorus, or right around then, a wide shot reveals her bandmates in corners of the room before cutting back to her. Intercutting shots of the band playing, she gets up and gets ready to leave as more color creeps in. By the end, she leaves the apartment building and is on the street, saturated with color.
People have put Rilo Kiley in the gap between rock and alt-country, but I don't hear it. They've appropriated country elements in some songs, but they haven't set out to write that sort of music. A slide guitar does not country music make, unless you're a weird indie rock purist who'd call Wilco's Summerteeth alt-country.
For now, I don't really know where to go with this entry or what I want to say next. Just that I really like this record. I don't know that it's An Important Album, but there's a lot of meat to it without making it too weighty. I think I'll go listen to it again.
Warning: Unpopular opinions ahead
A few weeks ago I bought the self-titled Velvet Underground album and Nirvana's In Utero, and I have to say that Steve Albini pisses me off. A lot. Parts of In Utero are entirely unlistenable. It's an album full of bludgeoning and screaming. It's not even noise-rock in places, it's just noise. And I can take harsh, abrasive music. I love Sleater-Kinney's work, for instance. But I can't take atonal vocals and pure feedback and pounding drums. Nirvana wanted to make an album that would shed some of their fanbase and Steve Albini wanted to make his masterpiece, according to his self-aggrandizing version of a punk aesthetic. You can't trust a guy who was in a band called "The Rapemen". Despite this, songs like "All Apologies" and "Heart-Shaped Box" made it through. Unfortunately, so did stuff like [ ]. I don't need to and I don't want to listen to that. So stop enshrining In Utero like it's the best Nirvana album ever. It isn't, at least not for my money. Nirvana's genius lay in marrying the sludge of the Melvins with Cheap Trick's hooks. They had a sense of melody in even their hardest previous work. Here, they lost the thread.
And the Velvet Underground isn't the be all and end all of bands, at least not from what I've heard. It's certainly really different from everything else that was going on in 1966, but I don't hear the sonic revolution. "Sunday Morning" wouldn't be a shock to the radio and, apart from the subject matter, "I'm Waiting for the Man" could be by the Stones. Yeah, "Venus In Furs" is daring and the subject matter might have been unfathomable in 1966, but it doesn't mean I'd want to listen to it or that anyone should copy it. And there are too many songs that drag on forever. "All Tomorrow's Parties", "Heroin", and "European Son" all clock in at 6:00 or longer. Maybe I'm not hearing it like I'm supposed to. Maybe too many bands have been influenced by the Velvets and have poisoned my ears so that I don't hear the revelation of the original. But I just don't hear it. I have to say that I do love the original "Sweet Jane" off of Loaded, so maybe it's a matter of listening to their later material. And it isn't that I hate them, it's just that I don't think I want to listen to The Velvet Underground & Nico more than my Neko Case albums.
September 1, 2005
Sweet September
Charles Rogers Injury Watch
351 Days Since Our Last Accident
20 Days Back In Operation
Here's to the end of August, 2005. August, you sucked. You found room for four big international air disasters, the death of 1,000 Iraqis in a single incident, and a hurricane that devastated parts of four states. Needless to say, you won't be missed. Go away and never come back.
Defamer's "Hollywood Privacy Watch" usually makes for some fun reading. On Neve Campbell: "I don’t know if going to free yoga in runyon [canyon] makes her a woman of the people or just frugal." Also, she's "very, very bendy." An Arrested Development nugget: "I saw the incredibly cute and well adjusted George Michael (Michael Sera) from Arrested Development politely enjoying the pop nuggets from The New Pornographers’ in-store at Tower on Sunset."
It seems fitting to have someone from AD into the New Pornographers. Speaking of which, the new album is pretty sweet. Thanks to Dave, I got a preview before it hit shelves. Way to go, record stores of London, ON.
Two more days until Michigan football. I am so psyched. I will be sunburnt. 3:30 games suck. I don't want to get to the tailgate at 9:00 and sit around for six hours. And the sun will be in my eyes for a lot of the game. But I'll be at a Michigan game. And Craig said he'll be stopping by. So things aren't going to be completely boring before kick-off. My favorite time is before most people get there. My brother and I have time to stretch out and throw the football around . . . badly. But we like it. It's more difficult when your football can literally get up in someone's grill.
The outcome of the game may actually be in doubt. Northern Illinois is usually one of the better MAC teams and I have no trouble believing that they're the best D-I football program in the state of Illinois. But I already know what my favorite part of the day will be. The pause at the end of the tunnel when people get a glimpse of the drum major. You can hear the recognition. Then Carl Grapentine will intone, "Ladies and gentlemen, preeesenting the 235-member MICHIGAN MARCHING BAND. Baaaaaaaand . . . take . . . the field!", followed by the crash of the snares and the thump of the bass drum. And it really is the best sound in the world.
