Denny, The Fair and Balanced Whistler

The second installment in a, hopefully never ending, look into the mind of my ex-boss Denny.

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Denny was bored a lot. You could tell this from the ironed crease in his jeans. He had worked very hard, for numerous years, to permanently skirt all his responsibilities as head boss, so he could watch Fox News in his office all day. Even when talking to you, his eyes would wander to the television screen beaming all that "fair and balanced." The joke, around the office, was that he was paid handsomely to watch Fox News all day. That really wasn't a joke.

It's always a good idea to appear busy in the presence of your boss. Lingering, chatting, and mellowness are not qualities that will increase your salary. I always pick up the pace when passing my bosses' office, and I try to make sure I have some papers in hand along with a thoughtful pen behind my ear. Half to relay the message that I'm busy, which I generally am, and half so the window in which to stop me in my tracks, is small enough that he can't.

Whenever Denny was not traveling, boring whatever account he was visiting, he was bored at the office. Monday through Thursday (he never worked Fridays) he'd snoop around the office looking for items out of place, various sloppy scenes, and, in general, whatever offended him and didn't convey a tidy office image. He would notify the mail-room clerk that the kitchen was out of plastic spoons, ask his assistant to design a new fax cover sheet with the current season sport team's logo, and complain about the piles of Celine Dion foam core boards that he inexplicably tripped over, every time he left his office.

After jumping through his hoops for a while, it dawned on me that keeping his personal office path clear of any offending materials, combined with his apparent inability to stray from this path, would work to my advantage. Figuring out what the offending materials were, was easy. Figuring out his daily routine was also, very easy.

Unfortunately, if I was on my game, Denny would start to pick on the support staff. He would comment on how their plants were ugly and needed attention, or that they stacked their CDs in a sloppy manner. He would always be the one complaining that the paper towels were out, the water cooler needed attention, and the sugar bowl was empty.

If he was somehow appeased, and he had been there a few hours, he'd leave for the day. We'd often bet a few bucks at lunch on whether or not he would still be at the office, upon our return. When he returned the next day, for a second round of boredom, he'd have nothing else to bitch about and you'd find him wandering the halls whistling and swinging his arms like a school kid on an extended recess.

He would always whistle the same tune. At first I couldn't place it, but hearing it day after day, week after week, I finally realized (with great satisfaction) what the tune was; Denny was whistling "If I Only Had a Brain" from the Wizard of Oz. While certainly a catchy tune, it's also quite an unfortunate one to have perpetually stuck in your noggin'. Seeing it as my duty to inform, I quietly told the crew.

Soon, it wasn't enough to hear him whistling this tune, as he passed your open office door. As if he was the pied piper, I'd float toward the door and watch him and his melody wander away. Sharing a tuneful Denny moment, with another co-worker, was a highlight of anyone's day.

Denny knew the ax was coming down. He'd prepared by building a new house out of state and had been "secretly" sending his mail there for months. When he was eventually laid off, it took him a mere week before permanently occupying this new home. I'd like to think he's wandering his, most certainly too big of a house, having straightened all the wall hangings twice already today, and finding time to whistle his favorite tune.

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Other Dennytacular reads:
Denny's Birthday Gift From His Fat, Fat Wife

I Don't Want to Die in This Box

I've lived only 4 places in my entire 36 years of life. My first place of residence was the house my parents rented, right after they were married. I don't remember much about that place besides hiding un-chewable bits of dinner under my dad's lazy boy, getting in trouble for eating weeds in the backyard, and my infatuation with our next door neighbor babysitter. Her name was Kristen.

The next home kept me safe and warm from the age of 6 into my early twenties. Here I received stitches inside my nasal cavity from trying to retrieve Boba Fett's Slave One ship from a rather high shelf, secured my first ever kiss with Tara "Bug Eyes" Ryan, had to explain the ass dents in the hood of my dad's '84 Reliant, and frequently clean soap from between my teeth while silently staring at my similarly punished sister.

I moved out of that house, with a friend for a year, only to return to save all the dollars I could, for the little wedding that couldn't. Then I bought my condo. I've been there eight years now. It's hard to keep track of how long, for some reason, but the lady keeps my time line straight. She might not resemble an elephant in any outward appearance kind of way, but the brain on that one ... she doesn't forget.

I love the outdoors. With that said, I never go hiking or camping. I just like knowing it's out there. In my place, I forget that sometimes. It's unfortunate but, lacking a balcony, I'm unable to enjoy even a simple breeze. The complex is surround by lush greens, in non winter months, but there is nothing tackier than sitting in a lawn chair in plain sight of 30 of your neighbors. I know, I've seen it.

It's taken me 8 years to find a small handful of good eats: an amazing Thai place (2 miles away) a good diner for breakfast (4 miles away) and a good Phoo place (8 miles away.) For a foodie, like myself, the variety is just not sufficient.

There is the bitchy condo board lady who, for some reason, has taken a liking to me in a very talkative manner, people that curse and yell when one of my dog's paws touches the grass, and I'm surrounded by lots of old people. Sad, old people.

Last week, an older resident was lost in our 70 unit building. I could hear him knocking on, what turned out to be another old guy's door, repeatedly muttering "They locked me out." Opening my door, I recognized him and knew he was on the correct floor, but that his place was on the east side of the building. I politely pointed him in the right direction, amid his protests, in an attempt to save him any embarrassment.

What I'm saying is that I like food, and people that are generally a decade younger or older than myself, and I'd like to live around some of those people and eat some of that food. So, I've decided to move into the city. Well, I decided that years ago. I just haven't done anything about it yet.

Yet is such a dangerous and vague word. It allows you to ignore the details, and just go on with life as is. Yet allows you to believe there is always a better time to accomplish your goals: I'm waiting to see if I get laid off, before I move. I'm going to wait till the summer, because no one will purchase my place in the winter. And lately: Let's wait till after the wedding, we've too much on our plates, without thinking about how to arrange the furniture to engage potential buyers properly. And then it will be winter again.

Part of me not only wants to move, but move out of state. Ya know, go on an adventure, explore the world, etc. It would have to be somewhere exciting, someplace that doesn't resemble Dayton, Ohio. I'm thinking the coasts. Somewhere with views a plenty to make up for the last 8 years of longingly staring at the drapery.

Moving would require some work be done on the place. After working such long days, saving the world as I do with my designs for latin floor bin headers and $30 foam core mounted album cover blow ups, it's hard to come home and want to do anything but relax. Any realtor is going to tell me I have to replace the closet doors and repaint the molding.

There I go again, making another excuse.

This is Not a Real Post. If This Was a Real Post, It Would Read Much Better.

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I Went On Vacation and All I Got Was This Stupid, Fat Wallet

I'm not very well traveled. I've been to Mexico, twice. That was not only to the same city, but also the same resort. I've gone to Canada, twice as well. Once was a two week drive up through Windsor, Toronto, and Quebec which still provides me with warm memories. The second time was a quarrel filled, shared bathroom mess with a girlfriend, which almost ended my days, due to a runaway lawn chair on the highway. So, I was happy to add a trip to the west coast to this list.

I went with a friend, this last weekend, to visit one of our mutual friends. One of the things, us land locked citizens were looking forward to, was the sushi. So our host had made reservations at a semi-swanky place for Saturday.

My travel buddy and I ordered and shared the entire night. Everyone said we made for a nice looking couple. We ordered a large bottle of sake together and the chef's choice sashimi plate. When this $50 selection arrived, it consisted of 11 different selections, 2-4 pieces of each, all wonderful except the octopus, which is still just too chewy to be labeled good. Besides that, we ordered some geoduck sashimi, flounder sashimi, clam shooters, a veggie tempura roll, and something else that I forget the name of.

There was only one problem with the meal. I didn't pay for it.

I've had house guests before and I make up a very warm and welcoming blow up bed. I take my guests to my favorite haunts, or places that I think they would like. I show 'em a good time and I don't expect anything in return. When I'm fighting with them over breakfast, about whether or not they can spring for my ham omelet and hash-browns, I usually give in. Mostly because I do the same thing for my hosts, when traveling, to say thanks for the roof.

Let's see if you are good at math. Go back a few paragraphs, and add up what we ordered at our sushi dinner. Go ahead, I'll wait.

OK, if you answered "About a $100 each for both of you glutenous bipeds", then you are correct. We knew we were tasting a type of freshness that we could not come by in a suburb of Chicago, so we didn't hold back. Besides, we were on vacation. But knowing we had ordered so much, we were speechless when the bill came, already processed on our host's credit card.

My mother is the nicest woman ever. She's even nicer than your mom. Being brought up by the nicest woman alive, I naturally became a nice boy. But not even nice, more than nice. Accommodating to the point of self neglect.

I grew up making such an effort to not inconvenience people that, in my late teens and to this day, I've had to shed a lot of that niceness, in a very conscious manner.

I was 12 and it was hot outside; Something that was painfully obvious since I was on a 5 mile bike ride to a friend's house. Halfway through the trip, I cursed as I passed the grocery store because my wallet was barren of even a penny, and I could not afford a beverage.

I was a trim little kid, but the sweat was pouring out seemingly from everywhere and I was starting to get a headache, as the sun superheated my pre-teen brain. The trip was not an incredible distance, nor was the trail hilly (I was in the midwest, after all) but it was a true test of stamina, and also an indication of my heat index inexperience (hot=stay inside.)

I finally arrived and dragged my sweat covered, dehydrated, headache riddled body up the drive and into my friend's house. It must have been obvious that the trip had taken a toll, because my friend's mom immediately offered me a cup of Kool-aid. I graciously declined.

I look back at this instance often, when assessing situations of personal niceness. Because, well ... let's be honest, that isn't being nice. It's an attempt to keep from inconveniencing someone with my dreadfully demanding, Kool-aid needs.

So, I would have never ordered so much food, on my friend's tab. I had started the trip with a set amount of cash, and had spent very little of it at that point. In fact, I was planning on pushing all my chips across the table, at dinner, and paying for myself and my host. I know my date was thinking the same. All in the name of nice.

Financial revenge came to mind. I thought about littering their house with twenties, when we returned from dinner. Something inside me felt guilty. Here was a guy who was putting me up for four days, has two kids, recently moved, bought a new house, had to endure a pay cut, and was buying me one of the top 10 most expensive dinners I've ever enjoyed. Accepting this moment of generosity, went against everything I had learned as a child, everything my mother had instilled in me. So what was I to do?

Nothing. I've decided to do nothing. But I have reserved the right for random, excessive, retaliatory niceness in the future. Thanks for the fish.

Nobody Will Hire Me If They Read This

The guy who had my position in LA, left his post. The details are light, so the method and circumstances of the departure are fuzzy. No matter, I now have his work on my plate. With the staggering amount of work that is now coming my way, I'm going to ask for a raise.

Yearly merit raises were coming up, so I figured my best bet was to strike prior to them dolling out that giggle inducing raise (you have to laugh or you'll cry.)

Of course, days before I was to present my case, I was given my merit raise. I hadn't had a chance to prepare, and I didn't feel comfortable haggling at that moment. The decision had been made, and now it would even be hard to get an increase in the form of a warm hug, from the higher ups.

"With this increase, you are now my highest paid rep."

Can I argue after that? And can you take that as the truth? Should I have asked to see everyone's pay rate as proof? My plan had been obliterated, was fading away, drifting into the fluorescent lights, and waving goodbye sadly.

I've checked around and I could pull down a few more bills, at a different job, but that would more than likely require me to be at work on time.

I was never mistaken for prompt, but this was different; A continuously growing departure from my scheduled time and actual arrival. At first it was 10 minutes but, as the years went on without the slightest objection from any of my numerous managers, it became 30, 45, and then an hour.

I always take measures to make my arrival and departure, a mystery. I enter the office through a side door, and pass as few occupied offices as possible. Never my bosses'. I cling to the walls, to stay clear of the office manager's sight line and quietly approach common areas with a cautious ear.

My boss knows I'm not timely, but I'm pretty sure my efforts mask the consistency and extent of my tardiness. So after telling me the increase, my boss took that percentage, my current salary, and figured the actual increase in dollars. At that moment, I saw a faint glimmer of regret in my bosses' eyes. No, not regret. Hesitation, maybe. No, not that either. It was as if he had just figured out for the very first time, what I brought home, and decided that I wasn't worth it.

As if to solidify that last thought in my bosses' mind, I went on with my day and made one of the biggest, poorly timed, costliest blunders I've ever made.

I am an infamously bad speller. Something I have possibly only hidden from you because of my bestest of friends: Spell check. You may have met.

When I first started this job 13 years ago, I painted all the merchandising materials. The graphics room started with me, and it started without a computer. I miss those simple days, painting for a living. Now I produce materials for half the country, including the two most demanding cities: NYC and LA. Considering how busy I have been, a misspelling was inevitable.

This misspelling was in an artist's name and rendered useless 100+ limited edition lithographs, I had designed and printed. These lithos had required 4 visits this weekend to load fresh paper rolls into the large format printer, 5 hours to cut, and approximately 1000 dollars in paper. Let it also be known that it was 4:30pm, when the error came to my attention, and the lithos needed to be in Detroit the next day.

Speechless, startled, and white knuckled, I stumbled over to the lithos and began to scratch off an area in an attempt to merge the offending "I" and it's neighbor, the good "E". No good. I considered printing patches for the lithos, but that would look horrible. Then I remembered my old paints in the cabinet.

I shoved the garbage can out of the way and opened the rarely visited cabinet. All the colors were there, but were they still good? I shake the red, still liquid, good sign, the black, same thing. This may just work. The red won't open, so I cut the top off the plastic bottle and pour the decade old acrylic into a discarded, intern germ infested cup. I quickly mix two separate colors that match the litho and go to work.

Almost two hours later, I have repaired all of the lithos, and the result (while being of a different finish) is a miraculous response to the misspelling. I so surprised myself with this fix, that I decided to share.

So my question is this: Since I McGyvered the shit out of this problem, would you hire me?

It's Hard to Eat Eggs Benedict with Chopsticks

While out for sushi this weekend, my lady warmed up to her chopsticks. It's been a long time coming, but she finally handled her chopsticks without that look of frustration, sadness, bewilderment, and defeat simultaneously being broadcast by her knotted brow. Good thing too, because we are going to Japan soon, and those heartless bastards would heckle her in the streets.

We both enjoy Japanese cuisine. We've had trips to NYC, and know we are settling for an inferior product, in the landlocked state of Illinois. Can Tokyo be that much better than NYC? 35 million thin, short, people simultaneously just said "Yes."

All the travel books say there is no bad sushi in Japan, and a friend said he has even had amazing sushi from a 7-11.

The thought occurred that I might get tired of sushi, udon, etc on our trip. That's fine. I'll break that up with a good breakfast?

From what I read, Japanese breakfast is not what us westerners think of as breakfast. While that may not come as a surprise, since raw sea creatures are all the rage over there, it is a surprise that, what they eat for dinner, is also what they eat for breakfast.

The typical "breakfast box" consists of rice, smoked fish, and miso soup. Sometimes you'll get salad. From every post I've read, any attempt at securing a western style breakfast, by local businesses, induces a longing sadness and sudden weight loss in your wallet. Even Denny's disregards their heritage in Japan. Although going to a Denny's in Japan is sad, I can understand the quest for breakfast temporarily clouding your judgment. The idea that all those people will never know the beauty that is Moons Over My Hammy, is also sad.

I've never had the premo cable package (HBO, Showtime, Cinemax) for various reasons, but mostly because I'm worried about inexplicably losing countless hours to "Taxi Cab Confessions." And, if there is the occasional series I'd like to see, I just can't bring myself to sign up for one show. So, when the Sopranos started, I made arrangements with a friend to tape it.

A few of his friends were as cheap as me, so he came up with the idea to host a weekly pot luck / Sopranos dinner. Eight of us watched an entire season together. One night Italian, then Mexican, and one time ... wait for it ... breakfast.

There were scrambled eggs, fried eggs, bacon, sausage, omelets, hash browns, french toast, and pancakes. All made lovingly by friends, and delicious because of it. That was nearly 4 years ago, but the memory has never gone stale. It's going to be sad not having breakfast for 10 days, but as far as problems go, I'll take this one. When I get back, I'm definitely having a breakfast party.

So, congrats to the lady, and no pressure. Just don't relapse and embarrass me over there. If you do, I won't share any of my smuggled Coco Puffs.

Death's Coming Over for Dinner. What Should I Make?

Today I've spent the first, of several hours, designing a funeral program for a friend's sister. She hasn't passed yet but, in an attempt to prepare, they have asked that I begin the design.

I've been provided with a few mishandled photos, that require serious attention, to be remotely presentable.

That sounds like I'm complaining. I'm not. As I meticulously remove the scratches, hairs, and random mysterious artifacts from each scan, I am struck with the heaviness of the situation. Perhaps even a bit of guilt, staring at the smiling face in the photo, knowing she's unaware of these preparations.

The sister's liver is failing. The doctors have released her from the hospital, to live out her remaining days in the comfort of her home. Though it's her doing, through years of alcohol abuse, it doesn't make it any easier to see a sibling (someone that has only recently turned 40) slip away.

At first, the thought of the design proceeding the death, seemed inappropriate. However, it took only a few thoughtful moments to realize that, not only was this practical (because who wants to worry about this in the days preceding the actual funeral,) but it is also a means to deal, cope, and distract from the severity of the situation.

To say, we as a race, think about death a lot, is an understatement. We consider death when we pull out of our drive way, when we eat a greasy hamburger, walk across an icy parking lot, and when soberly inspecting our thinning / graying hair.

I'm going to die. There, I said it. Will it be:
a) In 1 year
b) In 20 years
c) In 60 Years
d) All of the above

The answer might as well be D, because I lapsed on the payments for my crystal ball.

Not going to give you one of those live for the day speeches. How could I possibly type something like that when, only last weekend, I wasted an entire Saturday parked in front of a "Beauty and the Geek" marathon. If I really thought life was precious, wouldn't I have taken that Saturday and at least done something productive, like finally beat that AFI song, in Guitar Hero, on hard?

I have both fond memories, and giant holes, stored in my gray matter concerning the first 36 years of me. I cherish every memory and gap equally. I have a few regrets: Specific moments where I let people down, was embarrassingly mean / thoughtless, or lost sight of taking care of myself.

One regret is the first Rebecca. A girl that I met in college. She was an amazing doodle artist, inspired soul, and a southern girl to boot. I was in one of my off phases with the ex-wife (then, only my ex-girlfriend,) when I met the first Rebecca. When things got serious, my brain melted with indecision, and I returned to my ex.

If I had controlled my elusive mental focus and stayed with first Rebecca, there is a chance I would have never married my ex and thus avoided the divorce all together. But there's the catch: If I didn't run back to my ex, get married, and divorced, I would have never fallen in love with Rebecca the last. Last not because she is the last one so far, but the last true love I will have, the only one I want, and the ultimate match for me and my remaining days. So this regret is really pointless. It all happened exactly like it should have.

No I'm not writing a self help book, nor have I ever suffered reading one. But being this happy, I can't imagine that anything I did, up until falling for the lady, was wrong. And I'm certainly not applying that ugly, ugly word regret to anything of the sort.

There is nothing you can do to avoid death. People try, by making themselves look younger, buying that o-so-cliche sports car, and dating people that are the same age as their offspring. None of that works. You're chasing the dragon, man. The fountain of youth. The pot of ... you get the point.

As a matter of fact, death is about the only thing you can't do a single thing about. Sure you can eat better and exercise but that's not a guarantee. No, nothing can stop it. So here's a thought: Stop worrying about it.

Easier said that done is a phrase I loathe. But, in this particular moment ... well, it fits so well, that I must.

Whatever you need to do to get there, do it. Study Buddhism or listen to "All We Are is Dust in the Wind" over and over, but do something. I don't have to tell you that, once you accept death as a card life deals on occasion, you'll be much happier. But in case I do need to tell you, I just did.

I have to get back to work on those photos. Yes I'm putting a lot of time into them, but it gives me comfort, to provide comfort to such a dear friend. And I hope, when I meet my (hopefully dramatic car chase induced) demise, that someone will do the same for me.

Memory Loss is the New Black

I enjoy going out to lunch, during the week. It's nice to get out, away from the unforgiving work flow, and catch up with friends. Apparently, I like going out to lunch so much, that I made plans with 4 different people for the same day.

Back in college, I used to paint a lot. I used oil based paints that require a strong solvent, to make them pliable. There were all sorts of natural options, to dilute the paint, like linseed oil and the sort. I chose turpentine.

Painting with turpentine, for hours on end, in my 10x10 foot room at my parents house, was a bad idea. I'm pretty sure the toxic air was pinching out the tiny life candles of, more than a few of, my precious brain cells.

My first car was a '79 Celica hatchback. I named it Henry. There was a hole in the floor board, directly behind the clutch. Perfect for resting my heel, but not so perfect when it rained. In the winter, the doors would occasionally freeze shut. Unlocking the hatch gained me access to the car, but crawling through the collection of empty food containers and various other sticky contents was, in hindsight, unfortunate garbage disposal on my part.

Beyond all this charm, it was also missing it's gas cap. Something I could have easily remedied, and a detail that did not go unnoticed, by the occasional passenger. Their window would always come down, in an attempt to diffuse the fumes. I didn't notice.

So when the calls confirming my 4 different lunch plans started to come in, I thought back to these two poor choices. There's no way to prove if, these avoidable circumstances, had contributed to my unfortunate habit of crowding my social plate.

Yes, I said habit.

This isn't the first time, and sadly, it won't be the last. If I'm lucky, I'll live as long as any white, slightly overweight, male should live. But knowing the state of my memory today, I'm troubled that, perhaps in 10 years, I'll happen upon a day with 6 lunches to attend.

I can't remember phone numbers either, and have been known to look up even my own. That said, I store everything. Every detail of my life has been stored and cataloged on a computer.

I can tell you when my friends were born, when someone died, dates of parties past, when certain albums came out, how much your child weighed upon birth, and your sister's finance's IM address.

I started my data collecting with my Sharp Wizard pocket organizer, in the early 90's. It had 64k worth of memory and was an important fixture in my daily life. Don't know how insignificant 64k is, by today's standards? To store just one of your favorite Steve Miller MP3s (let's assume it's "Fly Like an Eagle,") I'd need a total of 49 of the 64k Sharp Wizard personal organizers.

Having this mass of data has come in handy, more often than you'd think. People at work know to ask me when they can't find the number for Custom Freight, I'm one of the only ones that will remember your birthday, and I always know when craw fish are in season.

The price I pay for being a super organized data hound, is that I rely on the computer and I know very little, off the top of my head. If I was lost in some forest, days passing by with no sign of life, and then suddenly happened upon a working pay phone, I wouldn't even be able to call my girlfriend.

So is it the various fumes, or the computer that is to blame? More importantly, who have I chosen to grace with my presence at lunch today? Hopefully it's the one person reading this post.

I'll Prove My Love Today with Diamonds

"So, what did your boyfriend get you for valentine's day?"

Knowing this question will be asked of my lady, every year on Feb 15th, means I will begrudgingly find myself purchasing chocolates and a card for her. Not that she doesn't deserve it, well ... you know, Hallmark holiday and all.

Dinner? Whenever I've found myself out on valentine's day, I always feel like a 40 year old at a high school prom. Instead of dinner on valentine's day, how about we go out Friday for "There's Nothing in the Fridge Day?"

And yes, I'll get you a corsage and wear my tux.

How Do You Say "I'm Lazy" in Japanese?

Never mind, I'll just type it in English.

First, the good news: The lady and I have decided to go to Japan for our Honeymoon.

Right now we are in the planning stages, trying to figure out what to do. Tours? Not really interested, but that puts a lot of work on us to make sure we don't just get there and sit in our super expensive hotel room watching English films on TV, translated into Japanese, with English subtitles.

Now, the bad news: I'm taking a Japanese language class, and I can't seem to open the book.

I take the book with me everywhere, but I rarely open it. The flash cards have rough corners (as if from heavy use) but that's just from being shuffled around, as I remove them from my bag at night and replace them in the morning. My book and flash cards are within arms reach, as I type.

There are 4 different ways to greet people in Japanese, depending on the time of day and, on occasion, what you are doing after you part ways. During the first class, my instructor drew these different times of day on the chalk board, using the placement of the sun, to differentiate the subtle differences. She would adorably jump from drawing to drawing and point anxiously into the class, waiting for the proper response. Kind of like a torturous, one sided version of spin the bottle.

In the class there are two Lao girls, who can rattle off those crazy sounds with no problem ("I" sounds like "E" and "E" sounds like "Eh",) a guy married to a Japanese woman (traveling back and forth frequently,) a girl who has already taken two years of Japanese, and one other guy: My fellow stooge.

He, at least, is composed enough to reference his notes when questioned. I instantly forget everything. Right after being asked a question, I get the urge to stand up and say "I have to use the restroom."

Then I would quietly put on my coat, shoulder my bag, and never return to class.

I narrowly escaped failing German in high school. I can only rattle off a few simple phrases like "What time is it?" and "I don't speak German." Plus I can call your mother ugly and lazy.

A few years after high school, I ran into my German teacher. He admitted to me, that I received the (barely) passing grade, because my parents had showered him in chocolates.

Knowing that my fate had been decided by parental coco products, I still accepted the challenge of learning Japanese. But who is going to get my teacher chocolates this time?

Oyasuminasai.

I'm Getting My Tivo a Valentines Gift, Not My Girlfriend

I had convinced myself that the Oscars were last night. I suppose I was more excited about the Oscars than the Grammys, but excited isn't the right word I'd use for either award show. I was just confused.

Even when I called the lady, and she told me she was watching the Grammys, it didn't register. Even when she said she had Tivoed it, to catch the performance from Moris Day and the Time (a music group, not associated with a movie,) it didn't register. Even when I sat down at midnight to watch the Oscars, it still didn't register.

I work in the music industry and I could care less about the Grammys. I paused at the Feist performance and at the Amy Winehouse performance. I wasn't impressed by either. Neither seemed comfortable up there, performing or otherwise. Nobody feels comfortable at the Grammys. Nobody feels comfortable watching the Grammys either.

Between the growing apathy toward award shows, and the increasing hatred of the music industry, the Grammys are a sad, sorry show. A platform for the likes of Kanye West and his lack of gracious modesty.

Does anyone care? Do I? Have you stopped reading this post already? I wouldn't blame you, if you had.

That said, I'm not really excited about the Oscars either. Most of the movies I haven't seen. I just want the Cohen brothers to take home some naked golden statues. They deserve it.

Thanks to Tivo, for letting me get through the Grammys, a 4 hour program, in less than 30 minutes. I'll never get that half hour of my life back, but at least I had all that extra time to do ... well nothing.

This is My "I Want a Kid" Post

Can you parent with a sense of humor? Being a authority figure and a friend?

I think so?

---

Saturday was supposed to be dinner with another couple. Instead, their babysitter crapped out, so they arrived with their 2 year old in tow. I prepared myself for a night of annoyance. Just in case.

Not so worried about the kid being annoying, because who can blame the kid? I constantly judge the parenting, in an attempt to find my own parenting path (Even though I have nothing to test my parenting skills with, at the moment.)

Luckily the parents were mellow, easy going, loving, and everyone had a fun time because of it. Including the child, who couldn't have been happier or more pleasant, even when she had to apply herself to get attention from the parents, for what ever reason (Cough, cough ... Guitar Hero.)

Parenting is not easy, I know this. I've never pretended to think this. But there is a certain mellowness that it should be approached with.

I know this from being the go to babysitter, among my friends. I know this from having to quell quarrels over blocks, from accidentally trying to fit a 2 year old in an infant jumper, and cleaning gag inducing diaper mishaps, that I hope to never see the likes of again. I watch my niece and nephew overnight on a monthly basis. When they treat me like the substitute teacher, I rise to the occasion and deprogram them without fail.

Am I fooling myself when I think I can be both the go to fun-guy and the authority figure?

It's all a matter of meaning what you say, follow through, and talking to / treating the child as an equal. Something this world could use a little more of, in general.

I've been thinking about being a parent for a long time. Figuring out how I would like to raise my future child. Maybe I'll stick to my guns, and maybe I'll feed them a bowl of coco-puffs every night for dinner. Either way, I'll love that child. And maybe then I'll understand all the oddities that I witness in my child raising friends.

So after dinner, we all came back to our place for a little Guitar Hero. The parents had never played before, and were instantly hooked (it is more fun than it should be.) Jokes about child neglect and the two year old drinking out of the toilet bowl were flying around, as the parents enjoyed themselves.

The two year old was running around with our dog Aimee (an 8lb Miniature Pincher,) chasing her till she got bored. Then our dog would chase the girl, till she was bored.

At one point, the two year old's curiosity got the best of her, and she poked Aimee square in the poop hole.

The world didn't end, no one was crying, no one was in trouble, and suddenly my question had been answered.

They Lied

Received this hand stamp at the MGMT show last night.

I'll spare you the review (which is a review in itself) but wanted to share this photo.

Loving the random and unexpected humor.

A Few Sounds, That Tickled My Underside in '07

Lots of records here. I probably forgot more than a few.

Made sure to include lots-o-links so you can hear the music, which is certainly more important than reading what I have to say. Enjoy.

---

Thurston Moore
Trees Outside the Academy

Just got this, but it is bound to be a classic. Within the Tom, play-list of life, anyway. It's not as hard edged as the Sonic Youth you (and some of your parents) grew up with. Very in line with the last Sonic Youth record in it's noise devoid, catchy, melodic kind of way. Have not seen any plans to come through on tour but I'm sure he is busy debueing his label Estactic Peace. Where he is nurturing the likes of: Be Your Own Pet, Magik Markers, Awesome Colors, and Black Helicopter among others.

Not much to see on his Myspace page, so skip it.

---

Black Rebel Motorcycle Club
Baby 81

One of the best rock records I have heard in a long, long time. This band kinda bored me before. Good in doses, but this! There. Is. Not. A. Single. Bad. Track. On. This. Record.

The outakes of this album are out as well: America X: The Baby 81 Sessions. This is the first of three bands, that made the list, coming from the mothership that is Sony BMG.

Saw BRMC twice in '07 and they came through 3 (maybe 4) times. The performances mirrored my interest in their catalog; cold with the old stuff and on my feet with the new.

He Recommends: Every song on this album.

BRMC on Myspace

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Land of Talk
Applause, Cheer, Boo, Hiss

Did I say the record had to have come out in '07? No, and here is a perfect example. Out in late '06 and I still listen to this one weekly. Was also happy to have seen them twice in '07. First time was at Subterranean, a bar that has benefited immensely from the recent implementation of the city's clean air act, Then at Schubas.

Hailing from Montreal, the female lead is slightly spastic, crowd oblivious, and outgrowing her wardrobe. The music is dead on to the CD and energetic, sassy, and twinged with an 'I Give Up" attitude.

He Recommends: All my Friends, Magnetic Hill, Breakbaxxx, Seafoam

Land of Talk on Myspace

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Go! Team
Proof of Youth

They self describe their sound as a jump rope chanting, Sonic Youth guitar riff, car chase horn, Charlie Brown meets big band sound. It's fun, upbeat, fresh, inspired, loud at times, and mild at other (mild when the Japanese guitarist sings, not the lead rapping female). They also put on one of the most engaging shows I have seen in a a while, but your experience may vary.

When I tell people I like this band, their foreheads get all crinkled up. What's that called again? Oh yeah, confusion. I have not run into a single person that likes this band, but they have fans. I'm one of them.

They have an electronic press kit, that gets you inside the minds of these kids. I'd start here. If you aren't interested, after watching it, skip the record.

While finding the link for the press kit video, I saw this comment and thought I'd share:
"I basically only listen to Black Metal, but The Go! Team are one of the few non-metal bands I just can't get enough of. They are fucking brilliant!"

Not sure if that seals the deal for you, but I'd be hella curious if I ran across that quote. Anything that can make a death metal fan stray, worth a listen.

Maybe this isn't for everyone, but that's not going to keep me from trying to convince you to check it out.

He Recommends: Grip Like a Vice, Doing it Right, Fake ID

Go! Team on Myspace

---

Shout out Louds
Our Ill Wills

First listen, I disliked this. I was expecting more of the same from these Stockholm exports. Not one of those 'I Only Like the First Album' kinda people, so I tend to stick with records like this, knowing I'll change my mind.

I actually consider it a good sign, when I don't like an album on first listen. Of course I know if something is shit that I'd never like, but this is different. There is something in there, something speaking to my brain, on some level, it just needs to be translated for me.

It's usually that I need to wipe clean my gray matter from any preconceived notions. Somebody told me this sounds like this, or a magazine heralded this band as the next xyz.

In this case it was forgetting, or rather remembering that the second album is not always going to be the same as the first. It's going to be an extension, but it has to be bigger. They've been touring, a lot. They were able to quit their day jobs, when the first album came out. Now all the do is play.

That said, this is one of the largest leaps from any debut album I can think of. The other being Radiohead's jump from Pablo Honey to the Bends (one of my top albums of all time.)

This album is mature, and the fact that it reminds me of the Cure a bit, doesn't change the fact that this is their sound.

So check out the first one: Howl, Howl, Gaff, Gaff but make sure you listen to this one forgetting everything I've typed above. Wouldn't want you going in with any preconceived notions.

He Recommends: Hard Rain, Time Left for Love, Normandie, Impossible, You are Dreaming, Tonight I Have to Leave it

Shout out Louds on Myspace

---

Feist
The Reminder

An iPod commercial? Really. Yes, really. I doubt you've been overexposed to that commercial and I don't blame people for selling out early nowadays. That's how bands make money off of their records.

This isn't one of those records you want to exercise to. It's happy, in a mellow kind of way. And it's simple, in a very well thought out kind of way.

Her voice is constantly on the verge of cracking with an urgency and yet still mild. Don't ask to explain the contradiction. It's there, and it's what makes her voice beautiful.

He Recommends: 1,2,3,4, I Feel it All, So Sorry

Feist on Myspace

---

Josh Ritter
Historical Conquest

This is his 7th release?

Maybe I wouldn't have liked the older ones, as they were released, but now I want them all.

The sound of this album deserves mention. Who ever produced this (and yes I'm too lazy to look up who) deserves half the credit.

One of those albums that will take you by surprise. Even convert you. Whatever you need converting from.

Lyrically, this album is brilliant. Think an upbeat early Dylan. Think Leonard Cohen, and again upbeat.

He's from Idaho and the first words out his mouth are "Potato" just so he doesn't have to hear it from you. I saw / met him at the Park West last year. He is sweet, friendly, happy and none of it is an act.

Seeing him perform, you'd think it was his first time on stage. Not because he's nervous but because he-is-so-happy. It's unnerving, at first. Once you get used to it, and realize it's not an act, you start to wonder why every band you see isn't this happy. Shouldn't they all be? They're all living the life. Yet most brood around like their dog was just run over.

Josh is one of those people, that if you see him sad, you're sad. I know several people like that. A nearly constant source of happiness. Something you can look forward to.

Might I also mention that he has a good eye too. Whoever (again too lazy) designs his CDs, T-shirts, etc is amazing.

This is the second release from the mothership.

He Recommends: Empty Hearts, Real Long Distance, Wait for Love, Rumors, Open Doors, The Temptation of Adam (my favorite for it's lyrics), To the Dogs or Whoever, Right moves.

Hell, just buy it. It's that good.

Josh Ritter on Myspace

---

Dinosaur Jr.
Beyond

J Mascis is old, and his full gray long hair is proof. He's not revisiting this Dino Jr for the money or the good ole times. This record is just as good as any other from him and the boys.

Does it really stand up to the others? The answer is: Not Yet, but it will. It's just that we haven't lived with this one for 10 - 15 years.

If you want an honest rock record with heart, you can't go wrong here.

He Recommends: Pick Me Up, Were Not Alone, Almost Ready

Dinosaur Jr. on Myspace

---

Grinderman
Self Titled

Nick Cave is hit or miss for me. Wanted to hear this, when it first came out, but I just forgot about it. I just let it pass.

Then I saw him and the band on Letterman. I f'in loved it. It was raw, dirty, powerful, dark, noisy, and they all looked homeless in their thrift store suits.

It's this appearance that made me want to see them live. I checked, they had just been here, and at the Metro. A 1200 capacity venue with better than average sound. Shit.

Anyway, the album has some tunes you need to visit often to find the beauty, but some hit you right away. It's not rock, it's not old Nick. But it's just as guttural as his early Birthday Party tunes.

Oh, and his web site is a trip, if you can get it to work. Worth checking out.

He Recommends: Depth Charge Ethel, No Pussy Blues, Get It On

Grinderman on Myspace
Grinderman's Web Site

---

Bat for Lashes
Fur and Gold

Tori Amos, meets Joanna Newsom, meets ... you get it. This music has a vagina.

Saw these ladies twice in '07. The first was impressive, but the second time, while equally impressive musically, was tainted by princess fits from the lead.

I have to give credit to my lady, who went to see them with me once. When it comes to music, she is more of a guy than me. Anyway, after leaving the show, she said: "Well ... if you didn't have a vagina before the show, you certainly have one now."

These girls have a soft sound, can play the shit out of their instruments (the guitarist is amazing on anything she touches,) and impress even non-believers, like my lady.

Check out the video of "What's a girl to do?" It's a spooky ET meets Donnie Darko type of thing. Really cool. The song is excellent as well.

He Also Recommends: Sarah, and Tahiti

Bat for Lashes on Myspace

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Jarvis Cocker
Jarvis

First solo album from lead man of the nearly 3 decade old band Pulp.

Jarvis Cocker (whose initials match another famous person, he reminds us on occasion) is one witty bloke. Yeah, he's English.

His humor and whit are not the only reason this is one of the best albums this year. It's he music too.

Upbeat tunes and mellow numbers all score high.

Took a while for this to be available, here in the states. Not sure why. It took almost a year from when I saw the first video: Don't Let Him Waste Your Time. He plays a cab driver who sings the song to his fare while running over bikers, trees, getting flats ... I won't ruin it for you.

Besides a NYC and Bonnaroo gig last year, nothing planned for states.

Last I checked, his Myspace page had MP3s of him reading Halloween tales. Yep, still there. His Letterman performance is on there too.

He Recommends: Fat Children, Black Magic, and Don't Let Him Waste Your Time.

Jarvis Cocker does Halloween on Myspace

---

Amy Winehouse
Back to Black

Yes, I fell for this. Have you avoided it? I don't blame you. I initially did the same, till something compelled me to check it out.

I had heard "Rehab" and could take or leave it.

So what was it that made me check it out? Not sure, but I'm glad I did. It is a fantastic throw back to old Motown. Not a stylized record, but something that was building up inside her, from her surroundings (she was brought up and surrounded by musicians.)

Although she isn't responsible for the music, not having actually played it, she did pick it to back up her tense, tear jerking vocals / lyrics.

The Dap-Kings are from NY, and Amy would be nothing without them. Sure she has the voice, but the marriage is the miracle. Did I say miracle. I suppose I meant it, a little.

This time around I wasn't lazy, the producer is Mark Ronson and he is responsible for this record. He also put out an amazing record this year. It's a covers record and he does wonderful things with songs from The Smiths, The Jam, Radiohead and more.

So, if you can't stand "Rehab", give some of the others I suggest a listen. Then call me an idiot for liking her. I dare you.

He Recommends: He Can Only Hold Her, You Know I'm No Good, and Tears Dry On Their Own.

Amy Winehouse on Myspace
The Myspace page has some weird sound stuff going on. You might think it's a mistake, but I think it's an attempt by Universal at stopping anyone from borrowing music from the page. Those crazy bastards.

---

The View
Hats Off tot he Buskers

Poor little bastards can't get their visas to tour. Hanging out with Pete Doehtry and doing cocaine with Kate Moss all day, can do that to you. Well, only if you get caught, which they did.

This album is made by teenagers but you wouldn't know it. Similar to the Arctic Monkeys, these boys seem way too good for their own good.

Will they produce another good record? Not sure. The drug thing is a problem. This is the third from the mothership.

The kid has a warbly voice and all the tunes are catchy. This is high rotation.

He Recommends: Same Jeans, Face for the Radio, Dance into the Night, Street Heights

The View on Myspace

---

Arctic Monkeys
My Favorite Worst Nightmare

The first record is perfect. You've probably already heard of this band. But I'm not trying to be first.

I wanted more of the same. This had moments of the same, but was slightly different. I mean, where do you go from perfect?

Still, after applying my rule about not liking something on first listen (see above,) I gave it another shot. And another and another. Until I loved it.

No time had gone past, between the two releases. Sure they were separated by real time. But not Me time. The first record was still in serious heavy rotation, when the second came along. I had no time to yearn for growth from this band. I hadn't taken a breath.

They have matured. And how couldn't you when you are under 20 and making sounds like this?

I recently listened to a KCRW broadcast with these guys. It was good, not because of the interview, to be sure. Funny to hear that they had met Bowie (all time favorite,) backstage at one of their shows. Funny because they weren't impressed and made it a point to make sure the listeners knew they weren't fans.

He Recommends: Old Yellow Bricks, Fluorescent Adolescent, Brainstorm

Arctic Monkeys on Myspace

---

RTX
Western Exterminator

Second release from the female half of the disbanded Royal Trux.

This is a completely raw rock record and I can hear all sorts of bits from other songs in here. I fully suspect these songs were all inspired by a particular song each.

I hear Motley Crue, Slayer, Danzig, Kiss, Anthrax, Iron Butterfly, Ratt, it's all in there with a twist unlike anything I've heard before, not trying to be something else, just what it is.

The fact that I hear all that is weird because I read an interview with them about the influences. They named Bowie and ... well they didn't name anything that I was hearing.

Caught them at the Empty Bottle last year (and missing a second show at the end of this month, sad.) A little rough live, at first. After warming up, they were on, and I could start to feel the energy.

This is one of those bands (Pussy Galore, Royal Trux, Neil Michael Hagerty, and RTX) that always push themselves and I'm up for the ride. I love everything they put out, and grow with them. Sometimes to the point, where the old stuff loses it's luster.

He Recommends: Dude Love, Black Bananas

RTX on Myspace

Denny's Birthday Gift From His Fat, Fat Wife

My boss, rather everyone's boss here at Sony BMG, was a casualty of the layoffs last week.

He was not a great boss, and not a hard worker.

He did provide us all with some fantastic stories. Stories that I don't want to forget. Stories that, when read, will make you laugh and cringe.

These stories might remind you of the Office on NBC. If you haven't seen the Office, you're not missing much. Maybe I say that because I don't need the Office. I have my own ridiculous / obscene office stories. Maybe, with the absence of this source, I'll have to start watching.

I'll be relaying stories about my ex-boss on a regular basis, as I remember them, but only one at a time. No need to rush the brilliance that is / was Denny.

Here is a jem, one of the most recent, and one of the best. I had the thought to start in the middle. Promise the best story later. But they are all good.

---

Denny has a skinny wife. So skinny we secretly call her Skeletor. I was never good at keeping secrets.

She's nice enough, but controlled by Denny. He watches what she eats, makes her exercise, and let's everyone know that he's the man by yelling at her, over the phone, in the middle of meetings.

So it was Denny's birthday. It was before the last two layoffs, so the lunch room was packed (10 people) and most of us were playing Uno. The gamers were sitting at a different table, having a different conversation when he interrupted. He wanted to tell us about one of his birthday gifts. Who knows, maybe it was his only birthday gift. I hadn't gotten him anything.

He spoke to the entire lunch room and proceeded to tell us all about this gift. He also wanted to make sure that we all knew he had not asked for it. That his wife had done it all on her own. He also wanted all of us to know, before the reveal, that it was one of the best gifts he has ever received from her.

His wife had joined a gym, to get back in shape for him, as a birthday gift.

Getting yourself a gift, as a gift for someone else, is lame. That's like me telling the lady that I got myself a subscription to Newsweek so I could be up to date, on current events, and thus be a better conversationalist over dinner, for her benefit.

Let's break this down, in an attempt to (forgive me) get inside Denny's head.

First, his wife is not fat, she is really trim. Second, he thinks this is a great gift. I think it takes a certain kind of ugly to think this way. Another type of ugly to want to share this with people.

Levels of Wrong:
1) Thinking this way is horrible
2) Sharing it with even one person is disgusting
3) Sharing it with a group of your peers is embarrassing
4) Interrupting all lunchtime conversation (at work) and sharing it with 10 of your underlings (mixed company) is just plain startling

How is this acceptable conversation, in the work place or otherwise?

People let out little laughs, dropped their jaws, and gave each other sly amused / outraged looks. What do you say to your boss? The guy who decides how good or bad your raise will be? I'll tell you: Nothing.

One of the best gifts he's ever received.

Oprah and I

So I watched Oprah this morning.

Little voice inside my head: "You don't have to post it. Just hit delete. No one will know!"

The show was about being organized and clutter free. Two things I find very important. Not because I want to, my brain requires those two qualities of me at all times. So I am a sucker for any show that promises to clean up that dirty, dirty home.

I feel better when I see the transformation. I feel happy for the family whose home has been reclaimed. And I secretly wonder what their house looks like today, months after the miracle. Has it remained immaculate? Perhaps they have made more improvements. What an exciting thought.

Probably not surprising: I keep my place very organized. Not so clean, but very organized. I've noticed recently that the place looks almost exactly the same with or with out guests over.

Television programs of this nature make me anxious. I need to see the end. I need to see the resolution. It's not enough to have my place just right. I've found myself organizing my parents refrigerator, their cabinets, and grimacing at the table full of papers and mail. Shows like this scratch an itch. With that said, I was very late for work.

Oprah starts at 9am and so do I.

As long as I get my fix.

I'm Glad I made $17.50 Yesterday to Cover My Parking Ticket

As the panels of jurors were called throughout the morning, I continued to size up the crowd, wondering who I would have to serve with.

I wasn't worried about being stuck in a room with a republican or a mormon, it was the incessant yappers, abundantly littered around the room, that I was worried about. I can still hear a pair of them yapping, a full day later, and it hurts my heart, just a little.

I was ridiculously worried about being on time as well. I arrived, in the general area of the courthouse, 1 and a half hours early. So I went to breakfast and got a parking ticket.

All around the court house were posted signs about the "One Day Served" policy, which (as simple as it sounds) means that if you serve one day, you have served your duty. Completely opposite of the one day policy, were signs warnings about the possibility that jury duty could last months or even a year.

I'm not part of a team, at work. I am the team. One month off? A year? And at $17.50 a day, I'd be taking a pretty hefty salary cut.

So I wished for a day of reading my book, until I was dismissed. I got it. Now I'm back at work wishing for a day of reading.

Job Woes or How I Learned to Stop Worrying and Love the Constant Threat of Layoffs

It happened again last week just as it's happened every year for the last 13. I didn't have to worry about layoffs when I worked at Rosatti's pizza.

Actually, it's happened every year except one. That was the year they announced the super merger of Sony and BMG. Which, as you've probably guessed, didn't relive any tensions or fears about layoffs.

I'm starting to think I'm not one of the lucky ones.

This music industry thing is in the shitter. Do I have the answers to save it? No. Well, I have some ideas, but who would listen to a graphic designer (in a fly over state) about future business models?

Let me first draw a distinction between me and the evil (perceived or real) that is the music industry. I love music. 13 years ago (Today! It's actually 13 years exactly today!) I was baffled with excitement. You mean I get to work with music, and design things all day. Cool. Wait a second ... I get paid too?

I listen to music all day, search for new stuff regularly and go to shows several times a month. Not because I have to, but as a super obsessed hyper-hobby with an insatiable appetite music fan. Does this buy me membership into the "I'm one of the cool ones" academy? Am I guilty by association?

Indulge me through this excerpt from Clerks:

Randal: So they build another Death Star, right?
Dante: Yeah.
Randal: Now the first one they built was completed and fully operational before the Rebels destroyed it.
Dante: Luke blew it up. Give credit where it's due.
Randal:And the second one was still being built when they blew it up.
Dante: Compliments of Lando Calrissian.
Randal: Something just never sat right with me the second time they destroyed it. I could never put my finger on it-something just wasn't right.
Dante: And you figured it out?
Randal: Well, the thing is, the first Death Star was manned by the Imperial army-storm troopers, dignitaries- the only people onboard were Imperials.
Dante: Basically.
Randal: So when they blew it up, no prob. Evil is punished.
Dante: And the second time around...?
Randal: The second time around, it wasn't even finished yet. They were still under construction.
Dante: So?
Randal: A construction job of that magnitude would require a helluva lot more manpower than the Imperial army had to offer. I'll bet there were independent contractors working on that thing: plumbers, aluminum siders, roofers.
Dante: Not just Imperials, is what you're getting at.
Randal: Exactly. In order to get it built quickly and quietly they'd hire anybody who could do the job. Do you think the average storm trooper knows how to install a toilet main? All they know is killing and white uniforms.
Dante: All right, so even if independent contractors are working on the Death Star, why are you uneasy with its destruction?
Randal: All those innocent contractors hired to do a job were killed- casualties of a war they had nothing to do with. (notices Dante's confusion) All right, look-you're a roofer, and some juicy government contract comes your way; you got the wife and kids and the two-story in suburbia-this is a government contract, which means all sorts of benefits. All of a sudden these left-wing militants blast you with lasers and wipe out everyone within a three-mile radius. You didn't ask for that. You have no personal politics. You're just trying to scrape out a living.
(The Blue-Collar Man (Thomas Burke) joins them.)
Blue-Collar Man: Excuse me. I don't mean to interrupt, but what were you talking about?
Randal: The ending of Return of the Jedi.
Dante: My friend is trying to convince me that any contractors working on the uncompleted Death Star were innocent victims when the space station was destroyed by the rebels.
Blue-Collar Man: Well, I'm a contractor myself. I'm a roofer... (digs into pocket and produces business card) Dunn and Reddy Home Improvements. And speaking as a roofer, I can say that a roofer's personal politics come heavily into play when choosing jobs.
Randal: Like when?
Blue-Collar Man: Three months ago I was offered a job up in the hills. A beautiful house with tons of property. It was a simple reshingling job, but I was told that if it was finished within a day, my price would be doubled. Then I realized whose house it was.
Dante: Whose house was it?
Blue-Collar Man: Dominick Bambino's.
Randal: "Babyface" Bambino? The gangster?
Blue-Collar Man: The same. The money was right, but the risk was too big. I knew who he was, and based on that, I passed the job on to a friend of mine.
Dante: Based on personal politics.
Blue-Collar Man: Right. And that week, the Foresci family put a hit on Babyface's house. My friend was shot and killed. He wasn't even finished shingling.
Randal: No way!
Blue-Collar Man: (paying for coffee) I'm alive because I knew there were risks involved taking on that particular client. My friend wasn't so lucky. (pauses to reflect) You know, any contractor willing to work on that Death Star knew the risks. If they were killed, it was their own fault. A roofer listens to this... (taps his heart) not his wallet.

I knew the risks of working for the man, going in. What are the risks? Well, for one, I knew I didn't like all the music we were putting out. As a matter of fact there are very few of our releases that I lovingly place into my CD player.

Our main goal as a company is to separate kids from their allowance. The same kids that choose to steal music now. Ha!

So I knew the risks. But are we the most evil company out there? No. Our business isn't killing anybody. Did we lose track of what this business is about. Yes. 100% yes.

We don't sell beef jerky. And while there is nothing wrong with the sweetest of all road-trip snacks, we sell something more important, in the scheme of things. Every song / album / artist you like is dear to you. You like it because you can relate, because the lyrics hit you like a bolt of that bright white stuff from the sky, because the beat makes you set down your drink and boogey. Yes I said boogey.

Music produces such an emotional feeling, that charging for it (and ripping someone off for it, ie one good song a release, special editions, I could go on for years ...) is a very bad / sad thing.

I remember Aha's "Take on Me" vividly. It was a pretty cool video, for it's time. Second, it's kind of a sappy, yet up-beat, song that someone could easily self apply as a love song. I'm not sure I ever took those lyrics and said: "Yeah, that's me and what's her name." But I remember seeing that video, in a movie theater, while I was on my first date ever.

Her name was Jenny. Or maybe that was her best friend's name, whom I also liked. Regardless, I can picture her face, that video, and holding her hand. There was never a second date, but the moment remains. And it's marked by a song.

So I might not have liked most of the tunes we produced, but I was still enjoying myself; I was surrounded by people who also loved their jobs. These same people who have slowly been discarded, over the years, and replaced with nothing. The work remains, the body doesn't. I still work with some cool people, but there are not many left.

As low-level peons, we can't make the big changes. Sometimes we are even stifled when we try to make the small ones. It's not going to matter when someone picks your name from a hat and hands you that pink slip.

The decision makers are driving and killing this company. None of them have iPods, none of them are under 30, and none of them want any trouble. They just want to retire, their ginormous paycheck intact till the end.

Music companies, over the last 20 years, have lost site of what our product is. We sell an emotionally charged product that, once absorbed, becomes a priceless emotional part of people and can not be taken away. By losing site of what our responsibility was, we lost control of our business, and our future. If this company remained just about the music, I think the guys steering the boat would have realized what to do, when the downloading came.

In general, people hate the music industry. We have had a bad rap for a long time. We charge too much, we pay radio stations to bludgeon listeners with the same song (over and over) and now we sue people for embracing technology. A technology that the big guys barely understand. I think it's fairly obvious what we think about our customers, we just want to snake every dollar we can out of their wallets.

Are we doing enough to change? No. Should I have my job? Probably not. Do I want it? Yes, but not how it is now. I don't like working like a dog AND having to worry about being laid off.

It's going to change, whether we like it or not. No matter what we try to do. All the FYE's will go under, and the Best Buy's and Borders or the world will stop devoting valuable floor space to antiquated technology.

What to do? I've heard this plenty of places: give people what they want. And no, it's not a Ringle. What they want is iTunes with no DRM and cheaper (yes I said cheaper) prices. What they want is a subscription service. What they want is an ad based FREE service.

Give it to them. Give them every choice they could possibly want. Give them options, not restrictions.

Lastly, it's time to abandon the brick and mortar, instead of tip toeing around them, in an attempt to spare their feelings. What do they care if we create an online portal with all our music with cheaper prices than that physcial CD in their store? They are shrinking space for music in their stores, and have been sending out muffled smoke signals about removing CDs completely, for years now.

I could go on, but just having this out there makes it better. For me, at least.

February 5th, the first day of the rest of your life

The greatest blog ever written starts today. Too bad this is not that blog.

Why write a blog? Now? Well, not being the first, and certainly not being the last, I have the distinct privilege of being right in the middle. Ya know, neither black or white, just kinda gray. And I'm fine with that.

I'll be looking to do several things:
1) Learn to spell - I am an imfomosouley bad speller type of person. Sure I've got spell check, like the rest of you. But, what I mean to do is correct some 10 odd years of being ignored or ignoring English class. Damn you Mr. Haskins. Why didn't you challenge me?

2) Find an outlet for my designs - Not only do I want to feature my work, I want feedback. Give it to me straight and you get a cookie. I choose the cookie though, so beware.

3) Catalog what the f is going with my life - Yeah that's pretty vague and normal / everyday. I want to write so just let me. I don't tell you that your collection of miniature guitar pins is stupid, so afford me the same courtesy.

You're going to hear about the last 4 years, when my life restarted and the impressive (to me) year that 2008 should be.

There. That's the intro. No fuss, just fat.