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cycling / music / Tuesday / video — Comments Off
28
Jan 25

The Thunder Song

I’m going to share this video and one or two from the encore and that’ll be it. So you like Guster and enjoy these, or you won’t have to deal with it for another day or two.

This one has acting and a song. It’s a musical! It’s bad acting, possibly deliberately so. It’s a comically, deliberately bad song. It’s possible that it is a deliberately bad musical.

Maybe this is the sort of comedy that requires familiarity with the subject matter to land. Maybe it works on it’s own, I dunno. But the Thunder God, Brian Rosenworcel, chews up the scenery every chance he gets, so trust me, it’s funny.

And if you think that this video being at the top of the post says something about the day, you’re correct! I spent the whole thing reading the first assignments of the semester. Nine down, 67 to go!

Doesn’t seem like so much when I say it like that, he thought, foolishly.

I did have my first ride in the better part of a week. I’ve been fighting a mild case of the sinuses since last Wednesday night. I’ve had much more annoying experiences with it in the past. This, even at it’s most frustrating with the late night coughing and the ragged sleeping, wasn’t all that bad. I have a lifetime of experience in this area, and I am familiar with the pattern. Yesterday, bowing to the onslaught of those little vitamin C supplements and regular doses of antihistamines and the liberal use of cough drops, my sinuses gave up. By Thursday or Friday this will all be forgotten. This evening, for the first time, it didn’t feel like the worst idea to hang my head over handlebars for an hour or so.

Which let me see the lighthouse.

Also, one of the problems of my sinuses are a bit of fatigue. Between that and poor sleep, who wants to ride a bike? I suppose I could have, but, I mean, who wants to ride a bike in their basement when they’re 33 percent sick?

Anyway, 22 miles, one big climb. I thought about doing more, but I was happy to be done. And tomorrow maybe I’ll try again.

Monday / music / photo / Rowan / video — Comments Off
27
Jan 25

Luke is Joe, until he finally gets to play himself

I’m not going to upload the whole Guster concert we saw Friday night, but there are maybe two or three other little bits I want to highlight. This was the beginning of their second version of the “We Also Have Eras Tour.” We saw them on the first leg of this tour, last march in Baltimore. We also saw them last May in a live radio concert. Obviously we were going to see them again. We’ve now seen the boys from Tufts three times in the last 10 months. I can’t wait to see them again.

This one takes a little context. Which I guess is perfect and confusing since the silly conceit of this tour is they are acting (to critical acclaim) their life story. So, context. Guster started, in 1991, as a three piece, guitarists Ryan Miller and Adam Gardner and percussionist Brian Rosenworcel, the Thunder God. In 2003 Joe Pisapia, a multi-instrumentalist, songwriter and producer joined the band. He stayed in the group, and added a lot, until he left to play in k.d. lang’s band in 2010. So, at this point in the concert, they’re in that period. But Pisapia isn’t there. The part of Joe Pisapia is played by Luke Reynolds, who joined the band when Pisapia departed. When he first comes on stage in this show, he’s holding a giant picture of Pisapia over his face. He wears a name tag that says “Joe” on it during that part of the show. It’s dorky and tongue-in-cheek and great. Everyone is in on the joke.

So this is Reynolds, with the banjo, playing as Pisapia. He and Miller are pretending to re-enact the creation of one of their most popular numbers and, because of the magic of show business, it comes together for us here fully formed. This is “Jesus on the Radio,” which is always referenced on March 16th, since March 16th figures into the song.

Only, there’s a lot going on here in this particular performance. Reynolds is obviously losing his voice. It’s January. Miller knows it. The sound person knows it. Most people in the crowd probably didn’t catch this, but I heard it: Miller picks up some of the slack and the booth made some quick adjustments to their mic levels. And then when Gardner joins in, they change the layering in the chorus. This is all done on the fly.

Let’s check in on the cats, who have entered another noir era for this week’s installment of the site’s most popular feature.

Phoebe was catching a nice little nap in the 1 o’clock hour.

Same spot, a few days later, and almost down to the minute, I found Poseidon doing the same thing.

So, clearly, I’m the one with the routine.

(Bonus point for you if you see Phoebe in the background.)

In class today I demonstrated that the students don’t want me lecturing all semester. I did this by … lecturing for a full class session. Today we talked about globalization, and the history of cities, and a little about how each helps the other. And this will get us started down our path for the semester. A path that, I hope, they’ll lead the way on, conversationally.

The class was great today. A third or more of them were chipper and chiming right in. A few others sprinkled in some ideas, as well. Next week, we start talking about media and culture. And then we’re off to the races, examining various kinds of media from different places around the world.

I hope it all works out half as well as I’ve imagined it. In the the imagined version, a few students who took the class as a pure elective tell me they’ve been so inspired that they’ve changed their major. Others say they’ve had a vote and decided I am the Cool Professor. They’ll tell me this class was gas. That I left no crumbs. I will accept the gesture, but politely decline the gift they’ve all chipped in for. And, besides, being the Cool Professor is a great honor. It’ll go on my vita, I tell them. Right at the top, in fact. Instead, of a gift, just tell all of your friends about the class. And they do. And, eventually, it becomes so popular that they have to move it into one of those giant auditorium settings. Each semester it grows, becomes more intriguing, and more innovative. And then one day, a former student from this class comes back, now a cross-cultural pioneer in some as yet unrealized medium, and they guest lecture in the course. They say it started for them, right here. And they feel so indebted that they still want to give me that gift. By then, my career is winding down and I’ve become so popular that accepting a gift doesn’t seem problematic anymore. I figure maybe they’re going to give me a new prototype of their newest technological innovation. Or make a sizable donation to the university in my name, and my name goes on a building somewhere. But, then, my former student and now friend and global media pioneer says, No, the alumnus says. In 2025 we bought you a granola bar. And I’ve held onto it since then. Here it is, your 20-year-old thank you.

So, yeah, if it works out half as well as that, I’d be pleased.

After class I completed the impossible and Herculean task of putting office hours on the office door.

And then I went to the UPS store. Now there’s a tale …

I walked in because I had to return some poster frames I bought. I had to return the poster frames because I bought the wrong size poster frames. I need 24 x 32 and I bought 18 x 24. Not an original story.

I walked into the UPS store bracing myself for a line, because some part of my brain just thought it’d be like the USPS. But let me tell you, there was no one in the UPS store. When I opened the door the bell rang or the ding donged or whatever, and one of the guys came out of the back.

What can I do for you, boss?

This is now the second person that’s called me boss in the last 72 hours.

“I need to return this box and I’m sure you can tell me what to do from there.”

He has by then picked up his scanner, punched three buttons he hits dozens of times a day and scans the code I have shown him on my phone. His printer spits out a label faster than the sound from the scanner dies in the room. Seriously, you could still hear an “ep” and he had the thing in his hand.

OK, he said.

“It still has the label on the — ”

I’ll cover it with this one. Have a great day, boss.

And that was that.

So then I went to a gas station. Now there’s a tale! I’m going to save that one for another day.

adventures / memories / music / photo / video — Comments Off
24
Jan 25

We saw The We Also Have Eras show

After a day of email and committee meetings and the like, we went across the river for an evening of frivolity.

We met up with my two-godsisters-in-law (just go with it) and one of their husbands for dinner. We found ourselves in a nice Italian steakhouse themed place with the sort of ambient lighting that suggests a fine establishment. The music suggests you are an extra in a brat pack movie. The waiter suggested a high end experience. The big screen beside our table played … Fight Club … for some reason.

Because just before the appetizers get put on the table, you want that scene about stealing medical waste to make soap.

After the dinner-and-a-movie, we went down the street to see a rock ‘n’ roll show. Guster was in town, kicking off the second leg of their “We Also Have Eras” tour. We saw them on the first leg of this tour, last march in Baltimore. Obviously we were going to see them again. We also saw them last May. We’ve seen the boys from Tufts three times in the last 10 months. I can’t wait to see them again.

One of the best things about the “We Also Have Eras” tour is the comically bad acting. (They’re playing at making a stage production of the life of the band. It’s amusing, and awkwardly so. Also, they play up the awkward for more amusement.) But they’re also playing stuff that they’d semi-retired. Released in 1998, this was Guster’s first radio hit, breaking into the Billboard Modern Rock chart and introducing us to their second album. The fabled 99X in Atlanta (which is BACK!?) (apparently it is BACK!) was a big part of their early success. The late Sean Demery was the music director and afternoon drive jock and I tuned in everyday, via RealPlayer, and discovered all kinds of new acts. Between what Demery was doing in Atlanta and what Dave Rossi and Scott Register was doing in Birmingham and what music was doing everywhere, it was a great time to be looking for new stuff.

I digress, but they, and this, were a big part of the soundtrack of 1998.

I was glad to see some people remembered to bring ping pong balls.

There was a banner, just off to the right, that someone laid over the mezzanine railing. It figures into 2003’s “Come Down Stairs and Say Hello,” though the lyric is obviously mangled for the moment.

I didn’t see it, but someone said when they actually played that song (because it is a show about eras) the person with the sign dropped in the correct lyrics, Be calm, be brave, it’ll be OK.

And here we are after the show. Shivering in the air for another dose of neon. It was 19 degrees.

We’ll see them again in March. Four shows in just 367 days!

music / photo / Re-Listening / Thursday / video — Comments Off
23
Jan 25

Re-Listening: Not sure if rhythm or all the vocalists

The front of our house faces to the northwest.

Excuse me, I have started typing and a cat has interrupted.

Thirty-four minutes later I am reminded why I sometimes struggle to get things done. And he only moved after I had a little coughing fit, because I am getting a sinus-head-cold-thing.

But after 20 minutes, he started snoring, which is always kind of cute.

Anyway, the front door faces to the northwest. If you’re standing on the porch, the driveway is to your right. We have something of an oversized driveway. It seems that, at least for a time, the previous owners had an RV. So there’s a spot for that. It’d be great for additional parking, if we knew that many people. We don’t. What it is, right now, is extra cement to shovel. Or slip and fall on. (I’m fine.) Or ignore. And that’s what we’ve learned to do. After the first snow here I paid attention to the tire tracks and saw the part that isn’t important for getting into or out of the driveway and garage. And I’m not shoveling that part.

It’s on the northeast side, almost east-northeast. And this is how it looks four days after the snow and in constant subfreezing temperatures.

Which is also the answer I found earlier today when I asked myself, Why haven’t I been outside in a while?

It’s stupidly cold. And I have a temperature rule. That’s why.

We’ll hit the low 40s to start next week, though.

We haven’t visiting the Re-Listening project lately, which means I’m behind again, which means we’ll rush through some more records. The purpose of the Re-Listening project is that I am playing all of my old CDs in the car, in the order in which I acquired them. It’s a lot of fun and a lot of nostalgia. And a lot of good music. I figured I could pad the site out and write about it here, and so that’s what I’ve been irregularly doing. And boy, has it been irregular. I don’t think we’ve done a CD since November. Then, I was listening to music I picked up in 2006 or 2007.

I’ve started a new CD book now, however. And I think I’ve done this out of order. It doesn’t matter. But it matters to me. Which means it matters not at all.

The year, then, is 2001 or so. Or maybe 1998. Anyway, it doesn’t matter. I guess I have to re-frame the whole project. I’m re-listening to the CDs mostly in the order in which I acquired them, more or less.

I’m sure I had this on a cassette, originally, since it came out in 1992 and the first time I heard this song on the radio, or MTV or wherever it was, I knew this was something I had to hear more of.

Which was pretty odd for a kid being steeped in everything Seattle exported.

But these guys from Chicago put out a big sound full of rock, soul, and rhythm and blues. And it was fantastic. It still is.

So imagine my surprise the first time the tape got to the third song. My utter delight, looking at the faux wood grained stereo, those big hip high speakers with the black foam covers, when these sounds came out of it. Every sound is perfect.

But the real treat in the record, then as now, is the sheer variety. The styles, the singers, the vibes, all of it. Every tack is a story all it’s own.

Also, the vocals. All these people have these hugely powerful voices. It’s also been a great singalong. And I do always wonder, when it does float to the top this way or that, how it disappears for big chunks of time.

A song I was just singing while washing the dishes.

Sonia Dada toured at least a few continents, released four more studio albums and a live album before they broke up in 2005. Not bad for a bunch of guys that started singing in the subway. Sadly, I don’t have any of their other records, but they’ve been added to the list.

The next time we get back to the Re-Listening project, which won’t take two months, we’ll hear from a pair of north Georgia boys.

cycling / Monday / video — Comments Off
20
Jan 25

No one saw that

We stayed indoors all weekend, because it was cold all weekend. That bitter, real winter sort of cold. It snowed Sunday evening, beginning a little later than expected and ended right on time. The cats were very much interested in the snow this time and I said, fine. Let me put on a jacket and some shoes.

They were not impressed with it for very long.

Ours are strictly indoor cats. Occasionally, one of them will time a door right and run outside, only to hide under a nearby bush. The other doesn’t try to sneak out a lot, but when she does, she’s off like a shot. So they know, basically, the front porch and one corner of the back of the house. Poseidon went that way, his favorite way around the back, and didn’t even make it to his rose bushes. Phoebe went the opposite way, to the right. I don’t know if either of them have ever gone that way. And you could see that she wanted to go back inside. The door should be over here, somewhere. But I think, all of it being unfamiliar and ridiculously cold besides, she lost track of where the door was. So I stopped recording and took her in. Poe was happy to see the door open, too.

These professional cuddlers and cover stealers are no match for mother nature.

When the snow ended the expert indicated we should go out and shovel, because it was the wet kind of snow and it would otherwise be trouble tomorrow. So there we were, 8 p.m. last night, hoping the neighbor’s little boy wasn’t already asleep so we wouldn’t disturb him with the “shhhhh shhhhhk shhhh shhhhhhk” sounds of winter.

But the driveway got cleared. Once again, enough to shovel, not enough to try the snowblower, which is doing it’s job of keeping real snowfalls far, far away from our driveway.

Today, the Canada geese flew over. I caught the tale end of the flock.

After which, I noticed there was a patch of snow right there on the road at the foot of our drive. Wouldn’t want anyone to have a problem with that as they passed by. So I set out to take care of that. Parka, because it’s cold. Hat, because same. Sunglasses, because of the reflective snow. Boots, because I have them. And three-quarters of the way down the drive I slipped on the ice. The shovel went to the left and back. My glasses went to the right and back, after scratching my nose and eyebrow. My body went back, and so did my head, right on the cement. Ker-ploof. Because my head no longer makes kerthunk noises.

So I was sprawled on the driveway for about six seconds, and then I said aloud, “Get up.” I rolled to my right, on a knee, and sat like that for a few moments to make sure I was ready and prepared. To stand up. On the ice. The micron-thin layer of which I’d just fallen on. The part that my lovely bride shoveled last night.

My part of the driveway was perfectly fine, by the way. And so was I. Once I got up I had to carefully navigate retrieving the shovel and glasses, but eventually I had them both in hand. At the street, I saw the snow was a hard-packed layer thinner than your favorite frosting on your favorite treat. It wasn’t going anywhere. And neither was my headache.

I kid. I’m fine. I’ll feel this tomorrow. But I was fine enough to have a 32-mile bike ride this evening. I did a course which just lapped me around one big hill over and over. Ten laps. I grew to hate that hill. It started with a sprint, and then a slight ramp, before nice little incline, which flatted out, turned left, and then gave you the real thing. And before you got into the downhill you were going back up again. Finally, you floated into the decent, to the left, and then the right, and the right, and the right some more. And then that sprint again.

Ten times.

On my last lap, though, I set three PRs. One for the lap itself. One for the climb, by just one-tenth of a second. And then I trimmed down the sprint by three seconds to end the thing.

If you think doing anything in laps is tedious, try it on a video game, in your basement, in the dead of winter.