Mileage

I know I'm putting mileage on my running shoes. When you coach 6 months of the year and run anywhere between 25-50 miles per week during that stretch, you know the shoes are taking a beating. Of course, I never really pay attention to just how much wear and tear I'm putting on my shoes. Well, I got a new pair this weekend for the upcoming season, and was amazed when I compared the treads on the new to the "treads" on the old pair...Here's what a pair of running shoes looks like before I get to them, and what they look like after a couple thousand miles on my feet. If you look, you'll see just how deep and thick the new treads are compared to the old pair...

Happy Trails

After a Saturday spent throwing a frisbee around and laying out in the sun, it's time to get ready for Miller and Avidor's joint going away party at Circa. Chaz, Gavroche and myself pre-party at the apartment before heading up. When we get there, it's the typical Circa environment that I've grown accustomed to over the last few visits. The party is upstairs, so you say the name to the security guard and head up where we've managed to turn the area into a middle/high school reunion.

You've got PatS, Chaz, Gavroche, Miller, JennieJ, Child, Boyarsk, Malia, hell, Richard Haskins even makes an appearance. Glass shows up from her new Marina digs a few blocks away, along with her now famous due to ESPN Magazine friend Laura. The bar service upstairs is horrendously slow, but at least the process of getting in and out of both the bar and the upstairs area is relatively painless, so it's not hard to jump around a bit. The DJ is living in a mash-up reality of his own world, not once to my memory playing a song that was just one song.

In advance of Miller's trip to China, this was a good celebration, though we all know why he's really going, and I don't think it's to teach English. There's another humorous moment in the evening before we leave and head to Mel's for that tuna melt/vanilla malt combo. Not a whole lot of movement or anything unusual on this evening, but that's what you need for a send-off. Bon Voyage to these two, and to this weekend.

It's Not His Bag

Friday night comes on with a savage vengeance. After Hessica pulls the lame bail move (although, let’s be fair, she did go hard on Thursday), I head up to the city to meet with Topher. It’s been some time since we threw down and I’m happy to see when I arrive that he’s already in rare form following happy hour. We’re met at his place by English Stew, Jarles and Tarah. After several games of Wii bowling (far less strenuous while drunk than real bowling), we head to Bus Stop where the drinks are always…potent.

As an aside here, there are few places I like better in the Marina than Bus Stop. The bartenders work quickly and the drinks will put you on your ass. In fact, following our launching pad drinks and the first drink at the Stop, Topher has to pack it in and go home to talk on the phone for an hour before passing out. As soon as the drinks are finished, the evening starts to get out of hand.

We leave the Stop for City Tavern where the drinks are cheap cause Chris is working the bar. English Stew gets his first mind eraser and slowly morphs himself into Austin Powers. Our party finds its way outside to smoke and Stew finds a s shoe on the ground which he promptly starts telling people in the street, “It’s not my shoe!” Jarles stops making out on the sidewalk for a minute in order for Stew to get a purse. With this in hand, he goes running across the street telling a couple walking by, “It’s not my bag, it’s just not my bag!” People begin to become frightened.



At this point, movement will no longer be possible without some sort of food. Over to Pizza Orgasmica where Chaz and I go through close to three pieces each. When I head to Nini’s the next morning, I don’t make it through breakfast without Katie’s signature sunrise mimosa to break the fall.

I Got Hustled (Ley's Birthday)

Before I start telling you how I got hustled, I'd like to say welcome to the 200th post of the Cellar Door!

Last night it's time to head out to the Mission to celebrate Ley's birthday. She's picked a 10 o'clock start time at a Senegalese restaurant at Mission and 19th. But our night starts earlier than that. At about 9, with Hessica telling me she's not really sure she feels like going out, I tell her there's only one way to fix that...the rodka. So we each have a drink while getting ready, and once I'm showered and dressed, I'm feeling pretty good. When I tell Hessica that we're going to need to stick around for the end of a basketball game, she decides to make another drink. As she's heading to the kitchen, I realize that I can TiVo the end of the basketball game, so I tell her not to pour the drink, but the vodka is already in the mug. I ask her, "what are you going to do with that?" to which she responds, "take it as a shot?" I think this sounds like an excellent idea and dance around the dining room as she attempts to finish what she's poured. As the elevator takes us downstairs, I get the feeling she's faded.

We get up shortly after 10 and after getting drinks at the bar, meet up with the birthday party that includes Brie, Cristal, Ley and Van, McButter and Za and about 15 or so others. The highlight of dinner comes when, at the end, as everyone is getting up to leave, Hessica attempts to make it easy for someone to get past her between the bench they've been sitting on and the table. She keeps scooting down to make room, and unknowingly and rather drunkenly scoots herself right off the bench and onto the floor. Amazingly, she manages not to spill more than a drop or two of her drink as she does this.

From the restaurant we head over to the Lex where a smallish Thursday night crowd gives our group room to spread out. On the walk over, I pull out a j and start it around and one of the girls in the group says, "you must be the infamous _____." I get a good laugh out of that one. Inside it's drinks and pool. Two of the guys in our group, physics majors, duel for a bit and the winner joins Van against Hessica and myself in a horrendously bad doubles game. But, all four of us are pretty equally bad, so it's not too much of a concern. About midway through the game, an interesting character comes through the door. She's tough, rugged around the edges, wearing a black head cover, not unlike Omar's. She's got cornrowed braids coming down her back which are contrasting nicely with the all white zoot suit she's wearing. She looks mean.

She sits down next to the table as we're playing and starts giving Hessica little hints and tricks. For a moment, as I'm lining up to take a shot that I'm going to hammer into the corner pocket, she says lightly, "easy, easy." I don't make the shot, but I can tell from the shot I get off that had I nailed it like I was planning on, there was no way it was going into the pocket. We finish up the game, which appears very painful for her to have to watch. As we're back to sipping our drinks, relinquishing the pool table to others, she starts to lobby people for a game. When she gets to me, I say sure I'll play, I mean, I haven't gotten my pool fix in for the evening, so why stop?. It's only after she's gotten the balls out and I've started racking that she comes up and asks me what we're going to play for. Hustled! I think pool etiquette should dictate that you mention you want to play for stakes BEFORE you start racking on an innocent victim. But hey, I'm in it now so I agree to a 5 dollar bet on the game. She nods gruffly at this, glad she's getting something, upset she's not getting more.

After she cleans two balls off the break, I get a chance to shoot, make a shot and have her remind me that I need to call the shots. I do this for the rest of the game. Things look dire as I'm several balls down until I hit a streak of three very nice shots in a row (including one where I use the cue ball to hit one of my balls to put my ball closer to the whole in...that was a nice shot). I pull to within one down and shoot myself in the foot by being unable to put my ball away...I know as I miss it it'll be the last shot I get. Sure enough, she puts it away and I hand over the money. It was my first time playing for cash, and it made the game so much more exciting...even though I got hustled, I don't think I've had more fun losing.

Up next: Weekend debauchery including the going away party for Miller. Cheers!

A Weekend at Vampire's

{for music related articles, see Evolving Music}

Considering the next band pretty much got its start in the blogosphere, I'm a little late to the party on this one. But I don't think tardiness has ever stopped me from enjoying myself. And besides...good music can always use publicity. "Blog Bands" as they're known, groups that achieve status and reputation through the postings and writings of people who have heard them, are steadily on the rise. Even for the groups that get out to tour, have word of mouth and sign a deal, cyberspace writings, tags and search engine results are becoming more and more important to up and coming ensembles. Our friend Scott Reitherman and his group Throw Me the Statue provides a good example of how a few well placed authors and blog articles can help influence the rise of a smaller local group. I'll also mention that the rise of this next group, in addition to their styles of music, breadth of their album, resemblance to some excellent groups of the past and ability to mix these things together make them perfect fodder for this blog. In 2007, Vampire Weekend started making some noise with a single or two. Coming out of New York (having all met at Columbia), this foursome (Ezra Koenig - guitar/vocals, Rostam Batmanglij - keyboard, Chris Tomson - drums, and Chris Baio - bass guitar) eventually signed a record contract and on January 29th put out their debut eponymous album. And I'm going to tell y'all something...it's hot.

Most readers here will know my long standing opinion of pop and radio music. So when I say that this group's 11 track, 34 minute pop inflected album is an achievement, some might think I'm joking. But this group becomes the next in a long line of musicians who have been able to take completely different musical styles and weave them into a cohesive tapestry that can absorb a listener. They also have a knack for emulating the 80s wave of Paul Simon's Graceland album, some of the Talking Heads' tracks and Peter Gabriel in bringing seemingly incongruous world music into the mix and making it downright fun to listen to, regardless of musical preferences. The album is so diverse in its sound, yet tied to the simpler and shorter blueprints of pop music that I can imagine any listener finding moments of happiness in all the songs, even if the style of one is more enjoyable to them than others. Furthermore, the simple yet poetic lyrics are easy to listen to, sing along with and understand. The group dubs themselves as artists of numerous genres that they've mixed and matched, including "Upper West Side Soweto."

The album kicks off with "Mansard Roof," an up tempo song leaning towards the indie rock spectrum of things. On first listen, one finds a graceful, short and moving song. On repeated listening, the less noticeable instrumentation becomes more prominent and provides a hint of just what's in store on the rest of the album: a group of intelligent and accomplished musicians bringing numerous genre sensibilities to all of their songs. On "Oxford Comma," a simple and out front drum beat backs an almost 50s sounding simple organ-like melody with a simple lead vocal track that ascends to moments of joyous falsetto. The guitar solo is simple and happy, never becoming too enamored with itself or too complex to enjoy. On "A-Punk," the group takes on punk sounds reminiscent of the Ramones and Sex Pistols, yet again infuses it with a more manageable and less abrasive pop flavor. The end result is a mash-up that I've decided to call island punk. To continue reading this review, go here.

Doritos and Music?

{for full post, see Evolving Music)

We all know how much Super Bowl advertising costs. It's annually the highest priced commercial time, commanding millions of dollars for 30 second spots. Not only do large audiences watch the Super Bowl, but companies know that they're not just getting the standard football viewers they would normally get for ad time during a football game, they're getting everyone at a Super Bowl party. Usually the airtime is filled with humorous beer commercials and commercials for websites.

In the changing music industry we so often like to talk about, the methods of promotion and sales have grown wildly beyond what we ever might have expected. Long relegated to the internet and radio, I was very surprised to see numerous music related ads during the game, and in multiple cases from a completely unexpected company. In Super Bowls past, it wouldn't be uncommon to see a chip commercial. But what about a chip commercial that is actually trying to sell music? Doritos, apparently making a run at getting into the music industry and entertainment industry by "taking snacking to a whole new level (anyone else find this slightly ridiculous?) had two ads that I saw, sneakily co-funded I'm sure by Apple. I have to comment on this one more time because of just how funny it sounds to me...Doritos wants to "Take snacking to a higher level with entertainment, gadgets, and promotions designed to enhance your DORITOS(R)-eating experience." I wasn't aware that my snacking needed any higher level other than snacking. Of course, Doritos is entitled to whatever kind of mix and match they want. Article continues here.

Around the World, and the City

After a Friday night that seemed almost endless over at Gavroche's house, I was unsure of my ability to rally come Saturday. But, having already purchased my ticket to Around the World in 80 Beers, I knew there wasn't an option involved. As usual, in moments where I debate rallying vs. packing it in, the choice to search for a second wind always pays dividends.

I meet Damie and Mo' right before 4 for Around the World. For those that haven't heard of it, it's an event where they bring in 80 beers from around the world and you have two hours to taste as many as you can. It cost 20 bucks, it's all the beer you can drink and free appetizers (which when you're slamming beers in a two hour period in the middle of the afternoon become crucial.) We show up at O'Neill's in Ghiradelli Square pretty much right at the starting time and get our glasses and a scorecard. The bar is split up in multiple tasting areas with 4-5 beers at each. At each spot, you point out the beer you want to try and get a taster that ranged anywhere from 4-8 oz. At one point we figure out that one of the tasting areas is right outside the kitchen door and by standing there we can poach every appetizer tray as it comes out of the kitchen. I'm not sure how the other Around the Worlders feel about this, but I also don't take the time to ask...I'm intent on getting my 20 bucks worth.

In a two hour period, including eating and time to step outside for a j, I get to 23 of the 80 beers. For a great site where you can see all the bottles and read what people who seem pretty professional in their beer tasting have to say, you can check out the Beer Advocate. Pretty impressive site. Not only do they have pictures and reviews of almost every beer imaginable, but they have reviews by their staff and readers, so you can get a real nice composite idea of what kind of beer you're dealing with. Here's the list of my tastes along with country of origin:
- Xingu Black Beer (Brazil)
- Stone Pale (USA)
- Flying Horse Royal Lager (India)
- Hofbrau Munchen Hefe Weizen (Germany)
- Moylan's Hopsickle (USA)
- EKU 28 (Germany)
- Mad River Jamaica Red (USA)
- Tusker (Kenya)
- Bavik Premium Pilsner (Belgium)
- Franziskaner Hefe Weisse (Germany)
- Spaten Lager (Germany)
- Dinkelacker CD Pils (Germany)
- Marin Blueberry (USA)
- Paulaner Oktoberfest (Germany)
- Meteor Pils (France)
- Spaten Oktoberfest - Maerzen (Germany)
- Tetley's English (England)
- Asahi Super Dry (Japan)
- Spaten Pils (Germany)
- Stiegl Goldbrau Premium (Austria)
- Franziskaner Weissbier (Germany)
- Grimbergen Dubbel (Belgium)
- Mad River Steelhead Double IPA (USA)

Looking back now, I had no idea I kept picking up German beers. Or maybe they just make a lot. As for good and bad, my favorite beer of the evening was the Mad River Jamaica Red. I'm a big fan of Red Stripe and this one was a slightly sweeter red. It was smooth, refreshing and tasty. I definitely didn't like the EKU 28 and the Hopsickle. Both of them were bitter to my palette, and left an aftertaste I wasn't pleased with. For anyone looking for a good can and easy drinking beer, the Tetley's went down quite nicely. I also wasn't a huge fan of the Mad River IPA.

At 6 we're gone from the bar. I make it home, drop my car off and head back to the city with Alaska DDing for me. We meet up with one of her friends at O'Reilly's in North Beach then hit up Tony Niks, which was a very cool retro place. Felt like I could have lowered a fedora over my eyes and slid into a back booth while sipping an old fashioned. After that we headed to Circa to meet up with Topher and ChengJ. Gotta say that the two times I've been in this place, Saturday and the night we played superman, I enjoy it. At first it seems a little big and clubbish, but really, there's no cover, I haven't encountered a line to get in, and the crowd is a good size and all pretty happy with life. Really my only basic requirements when I go out are a short or non-existent wait in line, no cover, the lack of a dress code (or at least not a prohibition of my tennis shoes), and a fun crowd. Drink strength is always a plus as well, but I don't feel like much of any place is cool or different enough to pay money just for the right to be there.

As we leave, Alaska's friend gets in the cab with Topher and ChengJ and we head off to find the car. Of course, having been drunk when we walked several blocks to the bar, I'm lost. And we leave going in a different direction. After about 15 minutes of walking aimlessly, I'm ready to admit I don't know where the car is parked. I start to get worried. I mean, it's a rental car, we played the drinking version of blindfolding me, spinning me in a circle and then telling me to find my way, and the driver is from Alaska. I start worrying that I'll never get out of the city. Genius idea when she calls a cab, has him drive us back to the bar, and then backtracks using her superior sober sensibility. I reward this finding of the car by giving directions to Mel's where I tackle a tuna melt and vanilla malt.

At 4 am when I crash, I'd like to think I'll just sleep for the next 24 hours. But that isn't the case when it's time to start playing beirut at 1pm to get ready for the Super Bowl.

Juicy Movies of January (26)

A few sick days and a run of some new movies in the cinema brought out a good month for the films. If you haven't seen There Will Be Blood yet, I definitely recommend you make a trip. Two rewatchings of Primer did the trick (I'm finally close to understanding the movie), and for some reason I keep catching the last 20 minutes of Waiting (arguably the least funny part). Also got some good re-watches of childhood classics in (Great Balls of Fire, Robin Hood: Prince of Thieves).

Special performance of the month award goes to Morgan Freeman as a Muslim in Robin Hood. Who knew deadpan humor in a foreign accent could be so funny? Oh, that's right, Sacha Baron Cohen.

2: Labyrinth
3: The Simpsons, Primer
4: West Side Story, No Country for Old Men
5: There Will Be Blood
7: Bridge on the River Kwai
8: Fire
9: I Am Legend
11: Three Kings
15: Waiting..., Boyz in the Hood
21: The Simpsons
22: In the Heat of the Night
23: Batman Begins, Magnolia, The Departed
24: Zoolander, Great Balls of Fire, The Stand Pt. 1
25: Mission Impossible 3, Commando, Gangs of New York
27: The Patriot, Robin Hood: Prince of Thieves
30: Earth

Solid Clot

The stagnation in my soul has turned to coagulated gold,
glimmering in the depths like promises left
unkept,
waiting to be found and mined,
thrust forth into the light,
weighed and scaled for values untold and not yet in my sight.

And I feel a strain -
a burden with this pain,
of these riches not yet fulfilled, a balance not yet billed
and hopes of better yesterdays killed,
slaughtered and bleeding out on this moment's doorstep,
a footnote obituary of the past posted in tomorrow's newspaper,
with no reader and no circulation,
just an inflated feeling in a deflated nation,
a movie on repeat while we run around from station to station.

And the golden sludge pumping through my blood leaves me
breathless,
Simultaneously weighed down and free,
waiting for the moment where stagnation turns to inspiration,
and inspiration fuels motivation
and the motivation leaves me pouring my golden coagulation out on the sidewalk in a stream
thinking,
"This is what it's like to be me."

"Let's go to your house and drink."

After a restful Friday where I finished the recuperation I had started on Tuesday for my illness, I walk out of Nini's at 1:30 on a Saturday to have Glace say the above-mentioned words. At first, I think she's joking. I mean, who in their right mind starts drinking immediately after Nini's on a Saturday afternoon? But somehow, she manages to get us all interested and Chaz, Hessica, Glace, Daw and Stu head over to the apartment to start drinking. This continues until about 6 o'clock when Hessica and I move on to the city.

By the time we're heading there, we're both pretty faded, so we park and take BART up. Upon arrival, we head to McButter's house where Za, recently returned from her battles with India, rests in slumber to combat the jet lag. We continue drinking. At around 8 or so, the house awakens and we start to get ready to head out. Maurod shows up to drive us and of course two minutes into the ride he goes, "So where's the j.oint man?" We kill it on our way out to Lucky 13. Over there we find the birthday crowd where Jacks' girlfriend is celebrating her big 21st, which is excellent because it should stop the rash of reclusive behavior Jacks has been on in the past months.

Hessica has gone into spin mode, and regularly leans against me to stop herself from falling off the bar stool. We combine this activity with pouring out drinks from the Rockstar can we've mixed with vodka and snuck into the bar in Hessica's purse. This saves money. Now faded, we climb into the photo booth there. Za's tired at this point and tells me that she and McButter are probably going to head out soon. When I look at the clock and see it's only 10:30 I become irate and give her shit, but respectfully wait outside while the two of them hop a cab and Margaret heads out to Rebel Girl (which for some reason makes me want to sing "Rebel Yell" by Billy Joel in my head for the rest of the night.

Maurod grabs us and takes us out to meet E, Sa and Mel on Broadway. Hessica, once again in her patented and highly amusing "too drunk to talk" mode sits at the bar and alternates drinks with water. We close the bar down like this and all think that an after party is a great idea. Upon getting in the car, Hessica is dozing in the front seat, Sa is passed out in the back and I'm yelling at E to hurry up and drive. Little do I know that I should be telling him to take us home at this point. When we get to the after hours, it's close to 3, and as we're in line to go in, Sa realizes she doesn't have her ID on her. I go back to the car to search for it with her, with no luck. The lag in getting in has made Hessica realize she doesn't want to go in at all, and as we're deciding to leave, Sa sneaks by the doorman and disappears inside. This proposes a problem because a) E is our driver, b) Hessica wants to leave, c) half our party is now inside and d) the half of the party inside is who the car belongs to.

After spending twenty minutes trying to get them to come outside, we finally get the keys to them and get a graceful ride from one of the other members of our party who, lucky for us, is going back to Millbrae. We finally get there right around 4, Hessica passes out immediately, and I spend thirty minutes trying to teach E how to make a Costco english muffin breakfast sandwich while simultaneously hazing him on Bushmills. At 5, his ride, done with the after hours, picks him up. I contemplate intentionally falling asleep on the couch before thinking the better of that plan and going to bed. I start Sunday with another trip to Nini's, after which Glace thankfully does not request an afternoon of drinking.

Insomniac Music Lover

(as always, complete music related posts can be found at Evolving Music)

I was congested recently, thinking about my next post. Often, they're lined up in a nice little row of topics I'd like to attack. Then sometimes, the row goes empty leaving nothing but empty spaces like fragments of a song cut off when a car window rolls up. I was going crazy last night bouncing around on a series of ideas surrounding my recent watching of Great Balls of Fire with Dennis Quaid and Winona Ryder. The movie, while a heavily dramatized and condensed stab at a true story (even though co-written by Myra), had me in knots thinking about Billboard Top 100s (which by the way is topped by Flo-Rida (give him creative credit here people, he's a rapper from Florida) featuring T-Pain right now) and charts. The whole movie makes this rockstar life look so simple in terms of printing the record, getting some money, heading out on the road, climbing the charts and then getting some more money. But the simplicity of the era, the build of distribution and the uproar over lyrics as lewdly suggestive as "there's a whole lotta shakin' goin' on," is a far cry from today where songs are available before the album comes out and radio airplay is far more often than not sexually suggestive if not down right graphic. I invite the non-timid reader to take a look and see what it really means to "superman dat ho."

In an attempt at some research for a post about historical Billboard Charts, I came across some very interesting data, but nothing that really felt substantially tied to something I actually wanted to write about. For instance, the number one song for 1997 was Elton John's "Candle in the Wind", which was a remake of his own original to Marilyn Monroe, re-released for Princess Di's death. So the sympathy, worldwide, sold the record in bunches. At number 3 on the chart to end that year? For coincidence or eerie destiny you have Puff Daddy's/P-Diddy's/Sean Combs/Whatever he wants to call himself next's tribute to Biggie, "I'll Be Missing You." Not only are they both posthumous tribute songs, but they're both remakes. At least in Elton's case, he used his own material...Puffy had to borrow Sting's. Either the prevailing thought was that we were quite mournful and gobbling up tribute songs like they were lunch meat, or we just liked songs that reminded us of our past. Or neither. The charts are kinda fickle like that.

In stark contrast, the 1957 year end chart, right around the time ole Jerry Lee was getting ready to run in my '80s nostalgia movie of the day, is filled with love and romance songs, often by the boy flavor du jour. Elvis' "All Shook Up," two songs with "love" in their title, rounded out with a "Little Darlin" and Jimmy Dorsey's big band throw back, "So Rare." So were the folks then more in love and romantic than we are now? Or are they less obsessed with death and tribute songs? Or are these all fictional connections of a paranoid sociological mind at work? Maybe a combination of the ten?

Of course, I couldn't stop there. I had to compare the top album sales from those years...1997: Spice Girls, No Doubt (Tragic Kingdom), Celine Dion (Falling Into You), the Space Jam Soundtrack and Jewel (Pieces of You). In 1957, you have 4 of the top 5 as Soundtracks...musicals in three of those cases no less! Oklahoma, My Fair Lady and The King and I. What a bunch of soundtrack and musical obsessed bunch of folks those were! Or maybe the folks of '97 were just obsessed with female singers, or melancholy material (after all, the Jewel cd is pretty sparse and sad and Tragic Kingdom is pretty much all about breaking up.) But while these are all interesting observations, again, they're not substantive in any way other than some mild curiosity about trends or trivial data collection about Billboard.

And so the debate over what's to come next (not to mention a pack of oreos and Mission Impossible 3) leaves me tossing and turning and bolting out of bed at 3 am to realize that in all this worry about posts and targets and complaints and opinions and mixing and matching and topics topics topics, there's no way I'm ever going to write another post! What am I gonna do, spend the next 6 months pouring through all the historical trends Billboard allows me, Excel spreadsheeting it and trying to draw conclusions for the perfect blog post? I'm gonna say no to that right now.

And that's when it hit me...remember the music, and the music lovers? So now, at around 4 am having written feverishly for an hour on a mixture of action movie adrenaline, the unclotting of a writer's block, and the type of free-wheeling, free-association game that this type of post allows my mind, I get to the point I started out to arrive at in the first place...I love music! Forget writing about it. I heard once from someone, somewhere, "Talking about music is like dancing about architecture." Not to say that I don't love writing about it too, but I LOVE listening to it, and maybe in all this writing and hypothesizing on methods of distribution and the state of the industry, we might sometimes forget the commodity that we're actually talking about. So let's not forget the music, shall we? I invite all of you who who have made it this far through my late night ramblings to comment or email me with their five answers to the following questions (and don't be surprised if we have the start of the new topic germinating right here before our very eyes):

(For the five questions, see the Evolving Music blog)

Hey! I Own That Ringtone!

(for the entirety of this post, see the Evolving Music blog)

Digital Rights Management and the relating issues have been big topics recently in both music news and the world of MixMatchers. As a large portion of our group is involved with creating music, the questions as to who owns it and how it can be controlled are always at the top of the conversational trash heap. It's a sticky situation which I touched on a bit in my previous post "Record Execs: Stupid or Just Plain Greedy?", and constantly up for debate. It's also the subject of quite a bit of mud throwing in the higher levels of the music industry as executives try to pass the buck as to who wants DRM, how they want it and where it came from. Furthermore, some of the bigger companies are starting to roll back their DRM in an effort to make more content cross-compatible with multiple hardware solutions (Apple DRM will only play on iTunes and iPod). Steve Jobs has expressed his opinion, and despite having helped create one of the most profitable and highly controlled DRM markets with iTunes and FairPlay, he advocates an end to DRM for music. I find the amusing point here that Jobs probably said one thing about DRM when he was trying to get label executives to let him sell music on iTunes, but has a much more pro-consumer point of view in his open letter.

Unlike a large majority of my peers, I don't have a problem paying for my music. In my mind, the .99 cents we pay per track now is a much better deal than the 16-18 we used to pay for CDs. Think about it...on an 18 dollar CD, there might be 12 tracks. Of those, you might only like two. But you don't know that until you buy the entire thing. Now, you just buy those two tracks, $1.98, and you're on your way. Furthermore, when you really think about it...if you pay 1 dollar for a song and listen to it 4 times (which you know you'll do if you're buying it), that's .25 cents per listen, right around juke box prices (for those that remember those). Keep listening and the math'll eventually drop you to fractions of a penny per listen. Not a bad deal in my mind. I've noticed that the price and ability to preview tracks before buying them has made me a much more intelligent buyer, and I almost never look through my library and think, "I shouldn't have bought that." I can't say the same for some of the CDs in my collection.

Still, so many of this Generation Y grew up with the full force of Napster, LimeWire and others running the show, and still can't get used to the idea that maybe musicians deserve to have their music bought. While I won't name any names here, one of the worst culprits of this idea of stolen music is not only a great friend of mine, but also a musician and aspiring attorney. You would think that if ever there was to be someone who would respect the legal rights and compensation of musicians it would be a fellow musician with a legal background, but not the case. Regardless of how much I pay for my music, he has no problem taking it from me for free, and in the end, I believe he feels an inward sense of smug satisfaction that he's getting away with something, all the while failing to see where that would leave him if his musical career ever got off the ground.

Where the DRM conversation get really interesting is when you match it with the topic of ringtones. Now that phones are mp3 players too, and Apple's iPhone is running the game in terms of what a hybrid hardware solution has the potential to be, the ringtones of beeps and blips from our Nokia phones has been replaced with full 2-30 second clips of songs. Just when everyone thought the copyrights were locked up for music, you have to now examine them in the context of clips for ringers.
(article continues here)

Beware the Brothers Grimm

There’s something to be said for great wingmen. Actually, there’s quite a bit to be said for great wingmen. Over the course of my life, I’ve been blessed with wingpeople who can step out, maintain an appropriate level of party insanity, and hang in for the long haul. And when I say wing people, I’m not talking necessarily about the frat boy/Coors light commercial definition of wingman. I’m not in it for someone to help throw women at me. I’m talking about partners in crime, people to which you can hold yourself accountable in the bar, people who are going to go to war with you and the bottle and not back down until you close a place down. DPro, Topher, ChengJ, Hessica, Paaat, Gavroche and Chaz. These are all people that I know I can trust in any setting to step up and get the job done. And now, with E and our endless similarities (other than, of course, me being a small white kid and him being a huge Filipino), there’s been a new emergence of wingman status which from henceforth shall be known as the Brothers Grimm.

I step out Friday night without much of a plan other than the idea that with no work on Saturday, I’m going to finally get a Friday night where I can go all out. I start by dropping a musically laden pod off in the city before heading over to Topher and ChengJ’s where they’re enjoying some liars dice and a website that tracks down your location through your cell phone (phonetrace.org). Crazy big brother world going on out there. By the time I’ve gotten there and they’re getting ready to leave, it’s already late. We head down the street to Mauna Loa, but just looking at the inside of the bar gives me second thoughts and I stay on the sidewalk.

I hit the cab, loving the fact that I can listen to music and text without having both cell phone and iPod in my pockets, and head to Broadway to meet up with E at the I. E’s not there yet, but the bouncer knows me now, lets me in, and I spend my time waiting chatting it up with Dagmar at the bar and fending myself off from unwanted advances. It’s odd how quickly this bar, which I would never have gone into before, has become a bit of a second family. It’s E’s equivalent of City Tavern, only it took less time for the bouncer and bartender to know my name and they make drinks to get drunk.

The night is pretty much what I was hoping for in the way of good drinks, good people and low stress. After dropping off a sack on my way out of town, I make it home at about 3.

Saturday night, E’s got the agenda with two birthday parties on tap. We make our way to Redwood City (I like how Irish Genius calls it Deadwood Shitty) and get to Mel’s party, an affair being held in their condo’s social room. There, the inebriated birthday girl is dancing and offering the reward of 26 spanks to the person who best answers a quiz about her. Having met her two weeks ago, I think I answer none of the questions right, although for some reason most involve questions relating to dancing and/or stripping. We’re there for the cameo before we head to grab Coach to make the second birthday.

If the first birthday reminded me of a high school party with chips, dip, pool, quiz and a clubhouse setting, the second party is the complete and exact opposite. I get out on the Peninsula, and I definitely make my rounds in the city, but how many of you have ever headed out to Brisbane for a party? We get to the 7 Mile Club and boy is it a scene. It’s a birthday party for one of the bartenders, and the place is packed with a fresher diversity than I’ve seen in a city bar in a while.

It’s some hipsters, some bikers, some frat kids and some others, all getting rowdy together. The DJ is on fire, playing some really old school tracks that everyone in the place can agree on. The birthday girl (surprisingly not that different in inebriation or dance proclivity from the previous birthday girl) spends some time dancing on the bar, blowing out birthday candles and making me smile with a great t-shirt that says, “It’s my birthday bitch.” And right she is. Outside, the bar is very j friendly and I kill one or two before it’s time to go. Unfortunately, one of the guys with us can’t swim as well, and about 10 minutes into the car ride he looks green. And not a good green. I see him say something about pulling over before he starts covering his mouth, and then he starts to drip. I’m yelling at E to pull over, but we’re right behind a cop and it can’t be done. He continues dripping from his hands, E pulls over and the guy basically pops on the sidewalk. He’s mumbling apologies, I’m just trying to keep him as far away from me as possible. After that lovely show, E drops me off at my place and the weekend comes to a close.

Sunday evening, just to make things interesting, Z, Hessica and myself hit Behan's. Always a lovely and interesting time, Behan's on Sunday nights...A guy walks up to me out of the blue and asks me if I'm a part of Hell's Angels or any other gang, and if I was talking shit. I'm more than a bit confused. I find out later that Z and Hessica WERE talking shit about this guy...luckily I didn't know that at the time so my surprise at his question looked real. But c'mon....who would really ask me, seriously, if I was a gang member?

10 Things to Think About on a Friday

It's Friday folks, which means that the infamous "10 Things to Think About" is back with a brand new edition for 2008. Welcome, one and all!

1) Is Bush in denial, or does he really think he's made a positive impact on the world?
2) Who brings more joy into your life: Bill Cosby or Bill Clinton?
3) Who would you trust more to coach your kid's little league team: Bill Belichick or Barry Bonds?
4) Just where was Bobby Fischer hiding? Wherever it was, he can rest in peace now...
5) Is a border fence really going to stop illegal immigration?
6) How far would you go to taunt a tiger?
7) For President: Ron Paul, Mitt Romney or Warren Jeffs? I'll give you a clue...they all have at least 1 thing in common.
8) When do you plan to get more faded? Tonight or tomorrow night?
9) Would you rather be a Gummi Bear or a Smurf?
10) If you were told that this was the last Friday the world would ever see, how would you spend it?

Happy weekend everyone!

Do You Really Need an Idol?

(for the full text of this post, see Evolving Music)

Millions of Americans tune in weekly to American Idol. Millions will tonight for its premier. I'm still trying to figure out why.

I know, I know. The TV line-up is thin right now. Unless you're watching the stellar 5th season of The Wire, indulging your senses in the L Word or devouring the new and improved American Gladiators, life on TV during the writers' strike is hard. And while Fox may want you to believe it, buy into it, and worship them for it, American Idol is not the solution to your problems. They thought we'd forget that we aren't getting 24. For years now, Fox has taken the show from over the pond and fed it to you with a sense of smug satisfaction. I mean, think about it...millions of Americans audition, meaning that the job of casting is never difficult (unless you consider that three people actually have to sit there and listen to millions of Americans who think they can sing), it doesn't take any writers, so that cost and hassle is eliminated, and millions of Americans not only tune in, but actually call and text in to vote. People...they're laughing all the way to the bank! And now, with the writer's strike, they're anticipating running up the viewer count because there is nothing else on. I give you fair warning here, gentle readers...if you really like Idol, or you're not interested in a prolonged rant against it, this isn't the post for you. For all the rest of you...read on!

There are numerous reasons not to waste your time on this show. Of course, enjoying wasting your time isn't one of these reasons. But the reasons, when it comes down to it, need to be split up and addressed differently to both music lovers and people who don't really care about music. First we'll tackle the people who don't really care about music...to continue reading, click here.

Monday Mayhem

If you haven't been out to the Skylark on Monday night, get it done. Nowhere in San Francisco, and possibly the country will you find a place that feels more like Amsterdam. Gavroche, Hessica and myself head up there for their Reggaeton/Dancehall night. They've managed to take over this place on Mondays and smoking is allowed in the bar.

Not much to report here other than the fact that Skylark on Mondays should be home for any partaker of greenery, and we were sitting two feet from a huge brawl that started between two girls. Everyone's sitting there, minding their own business, we're passing a j around, and all of a sudden these two girls start going at it. Hair pulling, face slamming, head locking, these girls are going nuts on each other. Finally, after they've slammed each other around quite a bit, and one girl has come close to having her earring ripped out, people manage to get in between them and break it up.

I wondered why I was having trouble this morning...then I realized it was because walking in a straight line was providing a serious challenge. Bring it on, Tuesday!

Keep It Moving

After the first true weekend of the new year got rained out last week, my hope was to be able to get out this week and kick off 2008 properly. With a night of different groups and locations, I got just that.

Gavroche’s 9pm ride to the city turned into 10pm, which was alright with me as I was finishing up the Warriors game. Once in the city, the club Gavroche and Justice were supposed to go to was packed, so they joined me at Topher’s in the Marina. Here, Gies, Boyle, Cam, his girlfriend (fight on fellow Trojan!) and JK were assembled. A few shots by their group and we were out the door, fighting over whether we were going to Bus Stop, Notté or some other place. We decide on Notté, even though Gies’s gf and her friends are leaving to go to another bar at the time we’re arriving. At this point, Gavroche and Justice have left to head to their SOMA party at 111 Minna.

Once inside Notté, I feel like a sardine that has been packed away in oil, only to wonder why I’m there, and not feeling too great about the prospect. It’s near impossible to get a drink (1 bar, severely understaffed with 2 bartenders), you can’t move anywhere except the back room, which is not near the bar, and the smug, self-righteous air of people who are better than you saturates the place. I last about ten minutes waiting for Gies to succeed at drink orders before I need to leave. I tell Topher I’m on my way out, and it makes me at ease and glad when he tells me, “I figured you would be.” (At ease because he gets where I’m coming from, glad because there’s no fight about staying...he understands my need to keep it moving.) I had never been to this bar before, and realize now that I haven’t missed much.

I’m out in the street in two minutes (much easier to leave a packed/crummy bar than it is to get in, people always figure there must be a reason it’s so crowded and want to go in, making the out route much simpler), and in a cab the minute my feet hit pavement. It’s off to see part of my new family, meeting E at the I. There, Sa (close to in name, but not to be confused with Za) and some others are pouring back the strong drinks mixed by Dagmar, and the mood is festive, if not a little rowdy. If ever there was a more perfect intermediary stop than meeting with E in North Beach between the Marina and the SOMA/Mission/Downtown jump, I have yet to find it. When I creep around the corner and stand a little down from 15 Romolo to hit the first j of the evening, police conveniently walk past the street. Luckily, Sa is smoking a cig, I see them in time to place it behind my back, but its existence is no secret as I hear one of the officers say, “Jesus that smells strong,” as they go past. They do not return.

In the next hour, I say my adieus to E and Sa, find a new cab and head to Swig. While the music and the crowd are certainly a step up from Notté, the claustrophobic element of the bar and dance floor fail to be an improvement. Here, I meet up with Brie, her girlfriend Montana and McButter. Drinking and dancing continue for about a half hour or so before it’s time for greener pastures and we start out for Bourbon and Branch to meet up with some other folks.

For a full description of Bourbon and Branch, see the Friday Finales post. We get there to have them tell us that last call has already happened and we can come in but can’t drink. I challenge that theory by getting McButter and myself up to the bar quick and ordering. We’re in luck. We pass the time here, finishing drinks, involving ourselves in inconsequential conversations and checking out the library books on the shelves that surround the bar. At around 2, the bartenders hear someone in the bathroom breaking glasses, roust him out of there and then move the party to the door. After four bars, three distinct groups of friends and numerous drinks later, I call it a night at McButter’s where she passes out and I watch Sportscenter until around 3:30 or so when Gavroche picks me up to return me home. A great start to the 2008 party season.

Saturday, after Nini’s, football and relaxation, I pass out in front of the Patriots game, wake up at 1030, and still manage to make an evening out of it at Gavroche’s parents’ place where Jarles, Hessica, Justice, Gavroche and myself drink and hang out until about 3. Welcome, 2008, feel free to make yourself at home! Also, if you'd like a taste of what 2008 is saving for you in the music section, take a look at Evolving Music and see if you're up for the task of beta tester!

When You Really Need a Drink

Thanks to the AP for this one...my question is...if you're Police Chief, shouldn't you be able to either a) confiscate beer from minors, or b) buy the police department some of its own? You gotta love people in the fly-over states. Or any state where the police chief is trying to get loaded on duty.

WILSON, Kansas (AP) -- A small-town police chief was fired this week after he was convicted of stealing beer from the fire department's refrigerator.

The Wilson City Council on Monday fired Chief Brian Hill, effective January 25. He has the option of a hearing within the next two weeks.

Hill was arrested August 1 after a surveillance tape showed him taking the beer. He was convicted of misdemeanor theft December 26 and given probation.

He had been suspended without pay pending an appeal of the conviction.

Authorities did not disclose how much beer was stolen, or why it was in the fire department. A warrant put the value of the beer at less than $1,000.

The two departments share a building, and the door separating the offices usually was unlocked, officials said.

Songs of the Streets

(for the entirety of this article, see Evolving Music)

If you erased the entirety of television history; if you took everything ever broadcast and pretended that it had never existed, you would be at the beginning of understanding just how badly The Wire puts the term "television show" to shame. It's beyond a television show. The Wire is a piece of visual fiction, a novel told in sixty minute chunks on celluloid. It creates a community of characters that you care about, because you know they exist somewhere. It creates a tapestry of an environment that is seems as tangible as the office you work in or the house you sleep in, because it doesn't seem like fiction. And how do you get such a well-written, detail-oriented, rich in texture tapestry that captivates minds, spurs imagination and thoughts of what kind of prison we've created for ourselves in our society? You mix and match of course!

You take a former cop/school teacher and match him with a journalist/writer. You take cops, dealers, politicians, union workers, middle school students and dope fiends and mix them together. And of course, you mix vibrant visuals with amazing audio and music made to match. Part of what helps contribute to the atmosphere of the show is the music. Article continues here.

When the Mix Doesn't Match

(For the full text of this blog, please see Evolving Music)

We talk a lot over here about the ability and productivity of mixing and matching. It seems that every combination of two or more things is sacrosanct in this neck of the woods. Therefore, the thought for today is what happens when mixing and matching goes wrong? Now there’s two types of wrong mixmatch: the kind where the match is just a little off and some people might like it, others may not, and the kind where the match is so off that almost no one in their right mind could possibly conceive of liking it.

Case in point…I like eating hot sauce on cheddar cheese. Now that’s a slightly odd pairing, but I’m basically certain that there are a lot of people out there who either enjoy it or would enjoy it if they were to think of trying it. It might be a little weird, but a lot of people could enjoy it given the chance. But what about dunking oreos in orange juice? I’ve never seen anyone do that, it sounds disgusting, and I don’t know anyone who would even try it. Another example…my aunt likes to chew ice that she’s put salt on. I always considered this out of the ordinary, but I can imagine hundreds of thousands of people the world over enjoying it. But I’ve never seen anyone that enjoys the taste of Snapple Peach Iced Tea after they have brushed their teeth. That’s a mix that just doesn’t match. Or, as they like to say in my office, “That dog don’t hunt.”

So how does this relate to music? Well my pet rant today is what happens when good bands mix themselves with horrendous band names. There’s not a whole lot, if you’re an artist in the music business, that you can control. You can control the music that you make to start out with, but you can’t really control if you get discovered or not. Once discovered, it’s very possible you lose control over the music to some extent. You can control the gigs you play but not the crowds they bring in. The band can control who’s in it, but can’t control what the people involved actually want to do.

But there is one thing that every band has absolute control over because it exists long before the gigs and the labels and the fans…the name. Every band chooses their own name, and they have to do it before they even play a gig. And whether we like it or not, a lot of people (especially those of the American Idol fan club ideology) can and do judge a book by its cover. I mean, millions of people every year tune in and think that because some nobody from one of the fly-over states can sing cover songs, they deserve to have their own musical career. But that’s a rant for another post. But one of the first things, if not the first thing, that anyone hears about a band is their name. And once a band has become popular, usually in large part due to word of mouth, the name is near impossible to change with the same force of the original output.

So why then do good bands mix good music with bad band names? It’s an almost surefire way to make sure you’re either never discovered or taken as a joke. Some band names are catchy, but if the music doesn’t back it up, once that catch begins to fade, the name becomes sticky, a wad of gum holding the shoe sole of the band’s future to the pavement of its past. There are several types of naming sub genres I’ve identified for this little rant, and I’m going to examine them from glorious top to ignominious bottom: the popular/easy/immortal name, the easy to shorten name, the cumbersome name and the impossible name.

Article continues at Evolving Music.

New Year, New Couple

Some people have weddings. Other people have events. And some weddings turn into events. Such was the case on New Year's Eve when 2008 was about to arrive, a wedding was planned, and the event happened to be taking place at the San Francisco Zoo just a week after they shut down following the Tiger attack. (editors note: If you taunt a tiger, and crawl over a fence and into its pen and throw stuff at it, you probably deserve to be attacked)

So it was at about 7 pm when we boarded a bus that would take us to the zoo. Coach and EdeJ had been wedded shortly before in Bgame, and following the attacks, the Police Commissioner, head of the zoo and Mayor of the city all conference called to decide that the show had to go on. Held at the great hall, the wedding, and by extension New Year's, was fantastic.

When most people wondered who would have their wedding on New Year's, I wondered who wouldn't want to have their already festive occasion bolstered by one of the biggest party nights of the year. When most people wondered why I would even want to go to a wedding on New Year's, I wondered what could be better than a) not having to decide on plans with 40 different friends all wanting to do 40 different things, b) not having to shell out $150+ for dinner/drinks/hotel room if necessary, c) having free, sober transportation home and d) free food and drinks. Sounds like a win/win situation to me.

When we got up there, Hessica and I attacked the appetizers, and the bar. And this was no skimpy bar...with Don Julio and Cazadores on tap for everyone, the shot taking commenced immediately. Dinner at the Star Wars character themed tables (I sat at Qui-Gon Jinn) quickly turned into drinking contests (at least at my table) that involved trips to the bar with one shot at the bar and another to bring back to the table. Some of you a reading this right now and laughing at the idea that I would be taking shots of anything, but there are numerous witnesses...I shot Don Julio straight throughout the evening.

As midnight came closer, the party, most definitively a wedding reception, morphed slowly into a New Year's celebration as they brought out NYE party favors/hats, etc. Champagne was somewhere, but I was still shooting tequila so I didn't really pay attention. At this point, the bartender knows how I want my shots (with the lime in them if I'm going to the table, and the lime handed to me if I'm shooting at the bar). When it's time to call all single guys to the dance floor to catch the garter, I'm trashed and stand far in the back to avoid being in the scuffle. When I see Coach turn around before throwing the garter, he looks all over, makes eye contact with me and starts to throw. I'm too faded to realize that the punk is intentionally throwing it directly at me. Avoiding catching it becomes impossible as it lands in my hand. I walk around for the rest of the evening with the garter around my sleeve. This seems like a good idea.

When the bus finally comes, we get on. I have no memory of this mind you. The first thing I remember after leaving the zoo is the opening my eyes as the bus stops in Bgame and realizing that I'm going to throw up. This pisses me off as it could have been avoided had I not closed my eyes on the bus to begin with. In an angry rage, I run behind the hotel and spend five minutes making sure my feet don't get dirty. I come back to the front and manage to take some very nice post-evening pictures. People are trying to make sure I'm ok, but I'm more mad that I threw up than anything else. Hessica calls the cab, which says 20 minutes to get there. I tell her we're close enough to walk. Little do I realize that rather than at the Hyatt, near the Broadway overpass, where I think we are, we're like a mile further down. About halfway through the walk, Hessica accuses me of taking us the wrong direction. I tell her we're fine, almost there. She gets angry and crosses the street to ignore me. I spend five minutes walking and yelling across the street at her to come back to my side.

At home, we watch a Wire before passing out. I wake up, on the couch, at 9 am, hammered, and spend the next hour and a half stumbling around my apartment and showering, trying to sober up. By about 12 I'm hung over, and by 2 I'm into the SC beat down of Illinois and feeling pretty good about life.

So that's how I rang in the New Year. Debauchery devilish deeds with Don Julio. Even the Chronicle was there with a write up of the wedding and several pictures, three of which had either myself or Hessica in the background. Congratulations to the newlyweds (snowboarding somewhere in Canada right now), and welcome to 2008!

December's Delicious Delights (34)

I was determined to end my calendar movie year with a bang, and the goal was to best every other month of 2007. With a previous best of 21 movies, I crushed it with 34 in December. Of course, this was aided by the fact that I had numerous days off and some movie downtime over the holidays. Fantastic. Even an old guilty pleasure like Dirty Dancing fit in nicely, while Water provided an amazing look at India from one of Deepa Mehta's trilogy. Looking forward to a great 2008, I salute the final movie month of 2007.

3: Bender's Big Score
4: Kill Bill, Vol. 1
8: Shall We Dance
9: A Scanner Darkly, Kill Bill Vol. 2
11: Live Free or Die Hard
12: The Devil Came on Horseback
13: Oldboy
14: Lock, Stock and 2 Smoking Barrels, State and Main
16: Thomas Crown Affair ('99)
17: Zero Effect, Water, Broken Flowers
18: High Noon, Reservoir Dogs
19: The Incredibles
20: Gattaca, Out of Sight
22: The Goonies, Bender's Big Score, Payback
23: Blade Runner: Final Cut
24: Mixed Nuts, Everyone Says I Love You
25: Amelie
26: Clerks, Knocked Up
27: The Departed
28: Mallrats
29: Clerks 2
30: Dirty Dancing, Beerfest

Correction: Gavroche graciously gave me one pertinent piece of information I had been missing...Ratatouille. We picked this one up off On Demand one evening and I missed putting it in my calendar. Not sure when we watched it, but it was excellent.