Buffetted Economy

Warren makes a case for an easing crisis. And repents for being caught too late at the ball.

See the CNN Money video here

Raise your hand if you think he's making sense.

Nerd is such a limiting label...

...for Ken Jennings. And I suppose, by virtue of this post, I'm outing myself as a nerd as well. But one of my favorite blogs to read is Ken's. We have similar tastes in music and film, and he is always witty. We've all seen "Thankful Thursday" posts, right? How about trying one of Ken's "Wordplay Wednesdays" or other random mind games! His (probably oversized) brain is constantly turning over trivia, categorizing things in bizzare ways. For example, I'm linking you to two sets of lists. If you are neither bookish, nor a music enthusiast, these probably won't be very interesting. But I really enjoyed both.

The best American novels set in each of the fifty states:
Part One
Part Two

The best musical artist/group formed in each of the fifty states:
Part One
Part Two

True Love

Valentines Day is protected. It is the one day where, in the name of LOVE, you can get away with shameless amounts of cheesiness. And that's okay, because love often is cheesy. It can't help but be, since we're so unused to expressing it. It's a good day to be a bystander in a grocery store. You may find yourself standing awkwardly in a line of men with sideburns and goatees, closely examining bows, shaped chocolate boxes, looking and feeling lost. But today Joe Plicka will save us. He will show us why love, true love, hides in unlikely places, like the poopy pants of a little girl in the middle of nowhere. Joe is my friend. I reprint his poem here without his permission, and hopefully that is okay.

True Love

Somewhere in northern Nevada,
maybe eastern Oregon, where
nothing has a name—travelers
make up their own and the few that stay on
would rather forget—where the sky ends,
prairie dogs dance with truck tires and
the scrubland rolls away like an ocean swell,
that’s where I figured it out—

We were pointed toward Winnemucca when
that new daughter of ours pooped up her back.
I came out of the greasy roadhouse with a giant
Coke.
She was lying on the trunk, naked, crooked
limbs
scratching the air like an upturned beetle
while you cleaned and dressed her.
She was your daughter then, and I remembered
the time, cradled in blood water,
piecing her together like a ball of tin foil.
And I was your son, knowing you
only from the outside,
and from books.
I saw you striding across paintings
and through silver screens. Mother.
Goddess. Grant me
my only sin: to have wanted you for myself.

I knew then that I am an empty man,
my body a cage,
organs hanging from strings like a lurid mobile.
When I saw you that day, somewhere,
a string broke; things started to sway
dangerously until they were all tangled up.
A marionette
left in a box and shaken up. Here a liver
wrapped around a spleen, hanging under a lung
beating against a kidney—and
I couldn’t do anything but
drive on, just holding myself
together, breathing like a man in a body cast
with you
swirling around me and in me, teasing me with
utter annihilation.

Slumdog Millionaire

Saw it.  Liked it.

DFW

Since the old days of studying literature at the University I've read as much as I could, and at an unfortunately slow pace. In a down year I'll take in about 15 books. In an up year I can get in 25, and that's about as good as I can do with my schedule. In that time I feel like I've done my most important reading. I am a slave to fiction, which I would love to change someday (and have tried to occasionally), but I cannot seem to break free of its chains. Despite the meager sample there have been a small handful of authors that have really blown me away. One of those authors is David Foster Wallace. I had never heard of him until September of last year when news of his suicide made headlines, and I began linking to articles that left me wanting more. I recently finished Girl With Curious Hair, a compilation of short stories that for me were mostly hit (Little Expressionless Animals) with a little miss (the title story). The man is a phenom and a genius.

Secretly I would like to write as well. But I am plagued by demons that haunt me away from it (which is a euphemism for me being too lazy to commit). In one of his stories, "Westward the Course of Empire Takes Its Way", the narrator sums up in so many lovely words what it really means to be a writer of stories:

"...occasionally a writer will encounter a story that is his, yet is not his. I mean, by the way, a writer of stories, not one of these intelligences that analyze society and culture, but the sort of ignorant and acquisitive being who moons after magical tales. Such a creature knows very little: how to tie a shoelace, when to go to the store for bread, and the exact stab of a story that belongs to him, and to him only. How to unfurl a Trojan, where on the stall door to carve BEWARE OF LIMBO DANCERS, how to give the teacher what she wants, and the raw coppery smell of a scenario over which he's meant to exercise, not suffer, authority. And yet occasionally the tale is already authoritatively gutted, publicly there, brightly killed, done by another. Or else menacingly alive, self-sufficient, organic, sounding the distant groan of growth, trading chemicals briskly with the air, but still outside the creature who desires to take it inside and make a little miracle."

Reading him has given me a bit more energy to pursue the stab that is exactly mine.

*Caveat: He is not a writer I would take home to Mom. I cannot in good faith recommend him to all readers of my blog, especially if you might be thin skinned, or somewhat easily offended.

Here We Go Magic

As you may know, I love to hear Luke Temple. It's been a while since he came out with Snowbeast, and I've been craving some more. So after poking around this evening, I've discovered that he's coming out with an album on Feb. 24th under the moniker "Here We Go Magic". Here is a cut that won't be on the record:

Lovin's for Fools

In anticipation for next week's release of Bon Iver's Blood Bank, a 4 song EP that I've already heard (and it is good), I was combing through YouTube live footage and found this beauty, a cover called "Lovin's for Fools", performed with the original artist Sarah Siskind.

Best Albums of 2008

In the life cycles of such things as the Economy, the career of Bruce Willis, and Merry-Go-Rounds  there are many peaks and valleys.  I would categorize this year in music as a valley.  I wasn't blown away by too many records, but then again it could be that I'm not looking very hard anymore.  Music continues to be one of my pet obsessions.  I had a conversation with Christy last December about possibly weaning myself a bit from my addiction, which I think I accomplished to some extent this year.  I bought maybe half of what I did in the few years previous.  But despite that Debbie Downer of an intro, here are a few of the bright spots for me from this past year in music:

_________________________________________________________________________________

10. Bowerbirds: Hymns for a Dark Horse
I heard about these guys while reading the blog of John Darnielle, of Mountain Goats fame (a band I'm only so so on). It grew slowly on me, and the more I listened the more these melodies kept getting stuck in my head, which can sometimes drive you bananas, but in this case I liked it. 

9. The Tallest Man On Earth: Shallow Grave

I feel so ashamed to be putting this record on my list, but I just can't help it.  I generally abhor knockoffs and ripoffs.  And with one listen to The Tallest Man on Earth you'll practically be rolling your eyes at a person who must certainly think he's Bob Dylan.  But I'm going to tell you a dirty little secret here, I don't even like Bob Dylan all that much.  There you go.  So why am I putting this record on my list then?  Because these songs are so really very good.   Thats it. Knockoff be damned.  

8. Thao and the Get Down Stay Down: We Brave Bee Stings and All

I first became aware of Thao Nguyen after hearing her Daytrotter Session. Daytrotter is quite possibly the greatest music site on the planet. But I digress. There is something loosey goosey about her delivery that makes it all feel so fluid and natural.

7. The Walkmen: You and Me

A quintessential New York band.  The grittiness and the urgency.  A band that screams.  A band with members who have helplessly pretentious names like "Jonathan Fire*Eater".  A band that will always be better live than not live.  But also a band that recorded one of the best tracks I heard all year "In the New Year".  

6. Throw Me the Statue: Moonbeams

I don't know much about this band, truthfully, except that I stumbled across their debut album, released by Secretly Canadian, and was super impressed by the simple folk pop and easy melodies. Other great songs are "Written in Heart Signs Faintly" and "Conquering Kids".

5. Chad Van Gaalen: Soft Airplane

Chad is Canadian (I love our neighbors to the north). He has that fragile sort of voice, not unlike Daniel Johnston, and to futher the comparison he also does painting/illustrations. I think he finds a good mix between the straightforward songwriter vibe I dig so much and the bumps, beeps, and noises. They combine to make a delicious product.

4. Fleet Foxes: Fleet Foxes

These fellas got a lot of press this year, and for pretty good reason. In a lot of ways it feels like an album that could have been released in the 60's: nice harmonies, plenty of reverb, and beardy faces (Oh what I would give for just a little stubble even!). "Oliver James", "Meadowlark", and "He Doesn't Know Why" have been dominating my playlists for months.

3. Colby Stead: So It Goes

Colby is one of my closest personal friends and is one of the most bright and talented people I know.  His art is sincere and honest, without contrivance or the putting on of airs.  He is joined by the beautiful Amy Robinson and Steven Gertsch on this record, which Christy, Gus, and I played into the ground--a place where most things go when dead, yet where here sprouts only new life.  Have I killed the metaphor yet?  I'm beginning to lose faith in karma, because Colby is not yet selling out theaters across the country, which by all rights he should be.  Please go to his site.  Download some music, and donate to an artist who is giving everything for his expression.  

Listen to "Breathe"

2. Okkervil River: The Stand Ins

Will Sheff and company have become one of my favorite bands over the last few years. He's an amazing lyricist. The Stand Ins is an extention of last years The Stage Names. As a marketing ploy surrounding the album's release Will advertised via YouTube that he had asked musical friends to perform tracks from the new album, as "stand ins" for Okkervil River, and these performances would be released on YouTube. I really liked A.C. Newman's "Lost Coastlines" and Bon Iver's "Blue Tulip".

1. Bon Iver: For Emma, Forever Ago

It may come as no secret to readers of this blog that I was somewhat obsessed with this album this year. I listened to it...a lot.  There was some sort of immediate emotional connection with these songs. Technically it was self released last year, but Jagjaguwar picked it up for widespread release around February. I adore every track on this album, and there aren't a lot of records I can say that about. There is much romanticism around how the album came about, and even after dozens of listens it doesn't get old for me. One of my favorite albums of all time.

Today She Is...

another year older! Hopefully she doesn't get too mad that I display her like this.



A poem entitled "For Dorothy", which today will be for Christy, by Marvin Bell:

You are not beautiful, exactly.
You are beautiful, inexactly.
You let a weed grow by the mulberry
and a mulberry grow by the house.
So close, in the personal quiet
of a windy night, it brushes the wall
and sweeps away the day till we sleep.

A child said it, and it seemed true:
"Things that are lost are all equal."
But it isn't true. If I lost you,
the air wouldn't move, nor the tree grow.
Someone would pull the weed, my flower.
The quiet wouldn't be yours. If I lost you,
I'd have to ask the grass to let me sleep.

Shadows Of My Kin

Take away the bloody streets
Take away the howl
Put into each vacant place a sound

Voiceless babies in the breech
Voiceless parents pray
Rising up in the muted throat to say

My home is getting cold, my clothes are wearing thin
Outside the window I see shadows of my kin

Take away the vampire dreams
Take away the moon
Nightfall brings a haunting to my room

Spirits burning in the back
Fleshy eyes on fire
Come with me and I'll wash you in a mile

This state is a long wait, it's a broke gate for you
This state is a long wait, I will be finding you