Track by Track Thoughts on The Eels' "Electro-Shock Blues"

Sometime before the first of the year I want to post about all the things I've discovered this year (e.g. red onions, oatmeal, cigars) both positive and negative. On the top of the list, hands-down, will be the Eels. I have no idea how the Eels escaped my attention for so many years, but after stumbling on "I Can't Sleep" on the Shreck 2" soundtrack, I was hooked.

I'll address the Eels in more detail later, but tonight I want to focus exclusively on their (his? I mean, The Eels are more or less one guy's party, right?) 1998 masterpiece, Electro-Shock Blues. Allow me to recap the legend: Mark Everett, the driving force behind the Eels, lost his mother to cancer and his sister to suicide the year before the album was written and recorded. The album is a stark, raw document of Everett's experiences through that period, and I have to say, as someone who spent a couple months locked up as a teenager, because I was diagnosed as depressed, that this CD is the most accurate depiction I've ever heard of not only the desperation and hopelessness associated with psychiatric illness but also of the humor and resilence that can carry one through the darkness. Thank you, Mr. Everett, for a brilliant album.

I don't think this is the kind of CD to which you can listen, start to finish, very often. I also think the second half, the redemptive crawl out of the darkness, is more accessible than the first. Here's my track by track commentary on the CD. I don't mean to say these are definitive comments...I'm only trying to speak for what the songs mean to me.

1. Elizabeth on the Bathroom Floor

This track seems to concern the initial shock of Everett's sister's ("Elizabeth", I would assume) death. It's a slow, somnabulant track, with sort of an unreal feel to it, the way you might react, I suppose, to hearing about someone's suicide out of the blue.

2. Going to Your Funeral Part I

Tight and edgy, with a low, distinct bass line, this song chronicles E's train of thought as he drives to his sister's funeral...insular and painful to hear, almost.

3. Cancer for the Cure

Although this was the lead single, this song always feels a bit misplaced, if you ask me. I like it, but it rocks all over and I can't quite figure out where the song's context. I sometimes wonder if this was E's idea of a follow up to "Novacaine for the Soul".

4. My Descent into Madness

E sort of seems to let go in this CD...the "la la la" chorus leaves him untethered, kind of nuts, an idea reinforced by the strait jacket and mental hospital imagery.

5. 3 Speed

This is the first truly brilliant song on the disc. E, over a simple guitar/string riff, emerges from the haze for a moment or two and tries to make sense of the surroundings ("why won't you just tell me what's going on?") before articulating a desire for the simple and concrete.

6. Hospital Food

Kind of a jazz riff on the psychiatrict hospital experience. I don't know. I thought the food was pretty good. I can still taste the lasagna.

7. Electro-Shock Blues

The title track nails that lost, desperate feeling when you know you're nuts ("I am ok...I am ok...I'm not ok") with a clipped piano sample and not much else. Terrifying.

8. Efil's God

Apparently this song's backing track was created from the a previous song, "Dog's Life". This is where you first get the sense the album is going to turn away from hopelessness and start the ascent away from madness, if you will. E seems to give up in that hard to explain way when someone makes a conscious choice to accept their illness, condition, whatever, and live what what they've got.

9. Going to Your Funeral Part II

A simple, spare instrumental with strings and horns...actually quite optimistic and Coplandesque. This is where the second half of the disc really materializes.

10. Last Stop: This Town

This song is more important for its energy that its lyrics. Maybe I say that because I can't figure out exactly what the song is about other than picking up and moving on, or maybe someone returning home...like I said, I don't quite get it, but the music is infectious and the sense of possibility becomes palpable.

11. Baby Genius

Some tape loops and a quick, mumbled lyric about what seems to be forgiveness and acceptance ("Didn't we have some good times/After all is said and done?"). This seems to be a transitional tune between the bouncy feeling of track number ten and the acoustic brilliance of track number twelve.

12. Climbing Up To the Moon

Man, this song is great. This is where E asserts that he's not taking Elizabeth's path, if you will, but harnessing the energy to live his life in the face of death and depression. I'm surprised no one has covered this song, actually...sooner or later somebody will.

13. Ant Farm

I'm not sure if E's talking to a girl, his sister, or his mother in this song. I think it's his mom, because of track #14. If I'm right, this is him reconciling his feelings about his mother before she gets ready to die.

14. Dead of Winter

You can hear Dylan's influence on this one (E covers some Dylan in concert, I hear), but for the love of Christ, don't let that scare you away. It took me a while to get the feel of this track, but now it runs through my mind a lot. It almost reminds me of The Replacement's "Here Comes A Regular" in that it uses the isolation of winter as a box in which E can think (in this case, about his Mom's death, in the Replacement's case, about alcoholism). Spare and simple, E says goodbye to his mom. Heartbreaking.

15. The Medication's Wearing Off

This song plays like someone waking up in the morning. Between the acknowledgement that he'll have to feel the pain ("gonna hurt not a little/a lot") and control his own destiny ("Start to be what they want you to be/and you see yourself as they see you"), a sense of normalcy and closure, as much as possible, anyway, emerges.

16. P.S. You Rock My World

The album's closer is a declaration of E's desire to live without fear and baggage. You can't often be this direct ("Maybe it's time to live") without sounding trite, but the album's collective weight, and the track's inherent sincerity, make it possible here. This song is one of the best closers I have ever heard.

That's it for now...if you're one of my friends, reading tonight, shoot me an email and I'll send you a copy of the disc. Thanks for reading.

I Like School, But I'll Never Sign Up For Another Graduate Program Again

I spend a lot of time in school. For example:

* I have completed about 70% of a doctoral program's coursework, and I'm just getting my head around my (third) dissertation topic.

* I am the chairperson of an academic department at a small private university (If these first two points don't seem to make sense to you, it might help to know that I train teachers, where experience in the field is more valued, often, than advanced degrees. Plus, I work cheap).

* I have a Masters degree in educational administration.

* I have a Masters degree in Reading.

* I have an undergraduate degree in Secondary Education with an English focus.

* I was a reading specialist at a small elementary school for four years.

* I taught middle school communications for four years.

* I have been in graduate school for all but, I think, three of the my teaching career's twelve years.

* I was a teacher's aide in a school for autistic children through most of college.

So why do I keep going to school? What the hell is wrong with me? I'm not sure, but after much reflection, I've jotted down some reasons why I continue to sign up graduate programs like a junkie chasing down methadone.

1. I worked enough shitty manual labor jobs as a teenager to know that the worst college had to offer was better than the best fast food employment had to offer. When I had to pick a major, I went with English education because 1) I liked to read, 2) teaching didn't seem so hard, and 3) I at least kind of knew what teaching looked like, unlike engineering (still not sure what engineers do now that I hear they don't wear denim hats and drive trains) or something like architecture (I can't draw) or business (don't know the unwritten rules).

2) I get bored easily. Seriously. If I don't have my nose in a book, or have a class in mind, I get jumpy and distracted. This was esp. true when I was younger.

3) I like the social interaction inherent in most graduate classes. Virtually all of my best friends are associated with education in some way. Common struggles breed relationships.

4) I find the rules of education clear and easy to follow. Now, when I'm in a scenario where business etiquette is paramount, I'm in big trouble. My handshake is weak, I use the wrong fork, I don't know enough about the Red Sox, whatever. However, I can speak "teacher" with the best of them. Were education conversation tap-dancing, I'd be Fred Astaire. Were education conversation golf, I'd be that teenage girl from Haiwaii. You get the picture.

5) I don't like to look stupid, esp. at work. Graduate school has helped me at least appear well-informed.

When I was younger I took a perverse pride in making statements like "I will go to school for the rest of my life." I even had a loose plan in mind; finish the doctoral program, learn a language (maybe Spanish, but perhaps Greek or Latin too), study for the ministry, become sort of religious figure (but not a priest, because I'm not Christian). I'm ready to make a contradictory promise, however, and I don't mind making the promise public:

After I finish my dissertation and doctoral course work, I will never again enroll in a formal education program.

Now, I suppose I might take a class in watercolors or spinning, you know what I mean, but I'm done with the grad student thing. I've got six more months of coursework, and maybe a year and a half of the dissertation, but you know, I can already feel the weight of the world sliding off my shoulders as I near the end of my doctoral studies. I should clarify, by the way, that my comments are in no way a reflection on the quality of my educational experiences. My doctoral program kicks ass. However, rather than consider the doctoral program the whole of my path, go back to the years and years of structure and focus graduate programs have provided. Graduate school has been my marathon. I'm almost done.

I also like reading whatever the hell I want to read and resent graduate reading assignments (despite the fact, of course, I sometimes assign them). In fact, even though I'm still in the doctoral program, I pretty much read whatever the hell I want to read anyway. Take a look at number four above...I know graduate school enough to skim through almost reading assignment and appear, the next day, as well-read as anyone in my classes. Graduate school, my friends, is about learning how to appear hard-working when you really went to sleep the night before after a couple beers and "Desperate Housewives".

I also think it's time for me to give up the structure of graduate school and grow up. In fact, one of the administrative assistants at work told me, not long ago, that at age thirty-six I should probably stop complaining about wearing a suit to donor lunches and instead grow up. I suppose she had a point. Rather than relying on syllabi and course schedules to fill up my calendar, maybe I should figure out how I can best spend my time on this planet without classes on the docket. I'm thirty-six, man. I don't fit in the desks so well anymore, and I'm becoming one of those guys who starts to fall asleep and snore when the lectures grow a bit dull.

I don't think I'll ever stop loving school. I love the smell of the hallway at the end of summer, the possibility inherent on the first day of class, the relationships I've formed. But it's time, my friends, it's time. Once I'm Dr. Random, I'm done.

Is Drinking Alone Such a Bad Thing?

I like drinking alone. Now, I don't get wasted every night on Boone's Farm, so don't schedule an intervention, please. I get drunk on my own once a month, tops, but when the mood strikes (and I'm feeling the mood a-comin', I must admit), I like getting wasted sans company. In turn, dear people, please accept my apologia for solo intoxication:

1) I have been known, since my teenage years, for my supernatural sleeping ability. I believe I wrote about this ability in a previous post, but let me recap; I can fall asleep at parties, on the bus, in back seats, in garages, anywhere. My already prodigious sleeping gift is exacerbated by drug or alcohol use. Since I haven't smoked pot in about a decade (has it been that long?), the impact alcohol has on my sleepiness takes precedence. I'd rather get drunk at home, by myself, then out at some bar where I'll have to sleep in my car or risk crashing into some sideroad corn field.

2) My wife, a rather short Irish woman who once could drink me under the table, rarely touches alcohol. Maybe she got the habit out of her system back in her sorority days. I've seen pictures. Anyway, since she's not drinking, after the kids are asleep, I'll sometimes drink a few beers on my own.

3) I can do whatever I want when I'm drunk by myself without worrying about social niceties. I want to listen to Wilco's "Yankee Hotel Foxtrot" in the dark? So be it. Just don't wake the kids. I want to watch "The Blues Brothers" for the fiftieth time? Fine, just remember, if you fall asleep on the floor, come dawn a seven year old will be poking you with a Star Wars figure. I want to dance in the kitchen to the "Garden State" soundtrack, playing The Shins songs over and over again? Great, but turn off the lights so the neighbors can't see. You don't want to endure that mockery in the morning out by the garage.

4) When drinking alone I can drink as quickly or slowly as I like. I'm a "drink as fast as you can" guy for the first three or four, then I slow down over the last two or three before sleep (see number one) arrives. I don't need to worry about looking like a lush or alcohol prude because my alcohol colleagues (and like Chuck Klosterman has pointed out, we in the midwest approach drinking as if its a noble cause) are either ordering up more pitchers or sipping their glasses.

5) I can sit in my backyard and watch the stars without the pressure to put the experience into words.

6) I can drink whatever I want. In fact, I kind of feel like drinking tonight, but I have the wrong beer. I have some heavy local beer, when I really need some Rolling Rock. On another night I could use Mickeys or even Milwaukee's Best.

7) If I don't feel like drinking after a half a beer, I can stop and not worry about offending someone who came over for "a couple of beers".

8) I can have a couple beers after a night out at the bars.

Ok, I know I sound like a total alcoholic, but I want to restate that I get drunk maybe once a month at most. The most delicious, magical drunken nights are the impromptu ones, preferably on "what the hell" weeknights. Planned alcoholic experiences are disappointments about seventy-five percent of the time.

Ok, like I said, I think I have the wrong beer for the evening, but I'm going to check the fridge anyway. All this talk has made me thirsty.

Random Anthony Rates Kids TV Shows Part One

As I write on my laptop, my son, Nathaniel, is watching "Dora the Explorer". Some of you are probably ready to rip me a new one because my child is watching tv while I babble inanities onto my computer screen. Screw you. I have yet to read a definitive study that asserts, once and for all, that some television viewing ruins the life of children forever, and I know enough about research to refute anything you throw at me, so bring it on. In fact, I'm waiting for the study that analyzes the effect limiting television has on the big-ass heads of self-important parents who brag, at playgroups, about how little Emily and Jacob never watch tv and are perfectly happy building DNA models and writing poetry while everyone else watches Spongebob.

Now, I'm not saying that the television should be on at all hours. We have only one television in our house (a more effective parenting tool, in my eyes, than avoiding television alltogether), so whatever my kids are watching, I watch. I suppose I could go in the other room and read or talk on the phone, and sometimes I do, but I like hanging out with my kids, more or less, so if they're watching tv, I tend to watch with them. In turn, I have become somewhat of a kids tv authority. After a couple years getting up close and personal with NickJr., Cartoon Network, the Disney Channel, etc., I've jotted down my thoughts and ratings on some popular children's television shows. Before I start, here are three hard and fast kids tv rules:

1. Don't be afraid to go over the kids' heads. The parents are a target audience too.

2. Violence gets boring after a while, but humor is never dull.

3. Character is everything; plot is secondary.

Ok, onto the ratings/comments.

1. Mr. Rogers Neighborhood: The old standby fails to hold up over time. I tell you, tv must have sucked in the seventies. You can't tell me Mr. Rogers was ever watchable. My kids have never watched more than two minutes of this show, and thirty seconds into any episode I feel as if I have attention deficit disorder. Talk...faster! D

2. Kim Possible: I think my sons might have their first sexual experiences to Kim Possible or Totally Spies (more on them later). Kim Possible is the better of the two shows, because it's often funny (any show with a running gag on the villian forgetting the sidekick's name works for me), none of the characters are particularly stupid, and, despite the fact the main character is kind of a high school James Bond in female form, the series is still more realistic than the O.C. Extra points for the Mexican food. A-

3. Digimon/Pokemon/Any Variation of either of these: I don't know what the hell is going on in these shows, and I don't care to find out. I do, however, find the characters yelling out their attacks (e.g. "serpent tornado attack!") strangely hilarious, and often warn my children of my plans (e.g. "minivan grocery attack!") beforehand. If my kids actually understood these shows, I'd be disturbed. D+

4. Zaboomafoo: Chris and...the other one...Martin, I think, Kratt hang out with a talking lemur in Animal Junction. This show once featured an animal peeing on a piece of paper so Zaboo (the lemur) could learn that creatures communicate through scent. Most of the show is live action but still holds my kids' attention more often than not. The Kratt brothers are a bit dorky, but not "Wiggles" dorky, and I suppose they can't bust out with AK-47s or ass-shaking dancers on PBS. B+

5. The Wiggles: My kids hate this show. How come Jerry Falwell picks up on the Teletubbies but leaves the country unprotected from Captain Feathersword ? D-

6. Dora The Explorer: My youngest son is obsessed with Dora. He walks around the house screaming "Dora!" whenever he wants to watch television. His brothers will mock him forever for that habit, I'm afraid, but at least he obsesses over a watchable show. Dora's "swiper" bits are usually funny, and the little bugs who play the mariachi music are entertaining. I've learned more Spanish watching Dora than from any other source. B+

7. Totally Spies: Someone at Cartoon Network believes that borderline cartoon softcore porn is a good idea. Have you seen Sam, Alex, and Clover? They're hardly ever wearing anything but what looks like skintight lycra. The storylines wear thin after a while, but at least the writers don't seem to take themselves too seriously. I doubt Totally Spies will last more than a season or two. Where else could they take it? They're already repeating plotlines. B-

8. Teen Titans: Does this show count as kids television? Teen Titans exists on the scary borderline between tv aimed at seven year old boys and tv aimed at fat guys in their thirties who still collect comics. The last season, the "Raven" year, was intense and excellent until the last episode. I love the anime-esque colors as well. Hardly ever boring, but they need new episodes. Even I've seen most of the episodes at least twice. A-

9. Caillou: I hate f--king Caillou. This show could do more damage to children than the Texas Chainsaw Massacre or unfettered sugar consumption. Caillou is the most annoying goddamn character in the history of children's television. He's whiny, wimpy, and he neve shuts the hell up. His dad is worse. If he were my neighbor, I'd fire up a bag of horse shit on his front porch and hide in the bushes. PBS should be ashamed of themselves for dropping this horrendous bomb on the youth of America. F

10. Fairly Oddparents: The writers of this show understand rule number one (see above) better than anyone in the business. I don't think my kids get half the references in most episodes (for example the one where Timmy jumps in and out of classic books, including Huck Finn and Moby Dick), but they get enough of the humor to follow along. I suppose "The Simpsons" is a decent analogy, esp. since both shows feature a few key characters surrounded by a bevy of recurring secondary characters (I love the unshaven fairy cab driver), settings, and inside jokes (Timmy repeatedly tells his friends he gets his cool wish-booty from the internet). A

Ok, I've barely scratched the surface, and I've cataloged ten shows. Maybe I'll return to the topic in a few weeks. Good night.

Random Anthony Goes Cosmo

I teach a lot of single women. Now, I don't teach single women how to be single, or where to get guys, etc., but I do sometimes take part in conversations with single women about relationships. I can't help it. They show up in my office, they sit in my classes, they serve as my colleagues, so relational topics are bound to turn up sooner than later. I work in education, mind you, where about ninety percent of the student population, not to mention the faculty population, is female. Gentlemen, if you desire close proximity with eager members of the opposite sex, sign up for an elementary teacher education program.

Now, I want to make it clear, I'm married, etc., so I'm not trying to get in the pants of any of my students or colleagues. In fact, my unavailability seems to provide the safety necessary for girls to spill their guts in my office. Plus, I'm a good fifteen years older than the undergrads, old enough to be out of reach for all but the most creepy and codependent of the students, and I like to think I have pretty good psychosis radar. The student body is not my garden.

Even if I'm not getting lucky, I do get to hear the gory post-breakup aftermaths and swooning first date preludes, so I'm listing a few observations I've heard, overheard, argued, debated, or sat in awe and absorbed over my last four years in higher education. I wouldn't pretend that these observations are "law" or even particularly accurate. Perhaps the women in my life have been untruthful. I can't say that I'm entirely confident of the substance of the utterings, although I can't think of a reason someone would lie to me other than wanting to avoid looking like a slut. What the hell, I'm naieve, according to some, including myself.

* Apparently, looks don't count for nearly as much as I had assumed. As long as you're not gross and unsightly, you've still got a shot. Perhaps I'm not a very good judge of what women consider attractive in a male. I mean, some of the ladies in the programs profess an attraction to guys that dress like they shop at a Sears circa 1981. Now, I can spot the programs' Brad Pitts half a mile away, and they're usually drooled upon (and often very personable, I must admit), but rarely are they the women's professed primary target. Instead, the girls go for badly dressed loser guys. At least, after checking out my male students, I can feel pretty good about my horrible satorial habits. If I could go back and speak to my nineteen year old self, I'd slap him on the back and give him a boost of confidence. I am terrified to think that I could have gotten much more action than I, nineteen and unconfident, assumed. Stupid!

* The undergrads are better at flirting than the older women. The girls in my undergraduate sections are ruthless. Last semester I got to the point where I wanted to tell a group of girls, "Listen, you get ten minutes to hit on Kyle, Brett, and Kevin, then you have to pay attention for two hours". The girls tossed their hair over their shoulders as they sauntered past the boys' table. The girls dressed like Coco Chanel would be evaluating their outfits at the end of each class. The boys, of course, wore sweatpants, t-shirts, and baseball caps.

* One of the women I work with swears that single girls will not sit at the table of a good looking guy early in the semester. I don't know how to take this. Of course, I immediately thought back to my own undergraduate and graduate experiences. Did women sit by me? Did they not? Either way, how was I supposed to evaluate the results, even if my memory could be trusted? My undergraduate classrooms usually had desks, not tables. Does that count? Should I consider how close (or far) the desks were together? If my colleague's assertion is true I must have been Northeastern Illinois University's Antonio Banderas because I don't remember too many cute girls sitting near me. Was everything Morrissey ever taught me wrong? I can't get my head around this "pretty girls not sitting with the cute guys" concept. Ask me later.

* The friendships girls forge in education programs last longer and seem stronger than the relationships guys form in education programs. I swear, the girls who hook up (not romantically...I'm unaware of any lesbian love affairs emerging in my courses) stick together in that "someday you'll be my bridesmaid" way. And if you mess with one, you mess with the entire table, so be careful, my friend. Guys, on the other hand, nod politely to each other, maybe chat about the Brewers, but I don't hear of them hitting the bars after class for a couple of beers.

* The wussy intellectual guys seem to score with education major girls. You heard it here first. Nerdy guys date way out of their leagues in teacher education.

Ok, that's it for now. All my students are out on dates, in the bars, or hanging out in the library. Time to turn off the office light and go home.

Yay for Libraries

I counted my 2005 book list last week and discovered that of the twenty books I've read this year, I procured eighteen from the library. The two I purchased were 1) Fight Club, which no library in the interlibrary loan system owned. I'm not sure why a copy of Fight Club is so hard to come by in my county. The system has three copies of the film, two on DVD and one on VHS, but no copies of the novel. Maybe all the librarians figured someone else was going to pick up a copy, like boys who never ask out the pretty girl because they assume she already has a date. 2) No Country For Old Men by Cormac McCarthy. I'm a huge McCarthy fan. I checked the mailbox every day, after I got the Amazon "item shipped" e-mail, like a five year old waiting for a decoder ring. I also felt obligated to own that book, and I found the twelve person line for a library copy unacceptable.

So that leaves eighteen books for which I haven't paid but read in their entirety. You could probably split them in half by "available in hardcover only/available in paperback" categories. Separating out the very cheap (maybe seven, eight buck paperbacks) by the very expensive (maybe thirty buck hardcover), you could go with, say, eighteen dollars a book. Eighteen times eighteen is... I have saved enough money to buy eight tanks of gas because my local and federal government is willing to lend me books for free. How cool is that? Allow me to reflect on libraries a bit.

* I was not always a library adult. On the other hand, I was a consistent library middle and high schooler. My parents gave me permission, probably to get me the hell out of the house, to visit my local library on weeknights through middle and high school. I walked the half mile to the Chicago Public Library Roden branch, on Northwest Highway, a couple nights a week. The adult section of the library contained maybe four or five shelves, about ten feet long each, with a slightly longer stretch along the wall. Most of the books were way over my head and covered in dust. Twin spinning carousels carried what I remember as romance novels and self-help books. I sat near the window, if I could, and felt the cold through the glass as I read. I would stay until closing then half-run home under the starlit trees.

* I spent a lot of time in the libraries of the sundry and various institutions of higher learning cursed with the misfortune of my attendance. I commuted, except for one semester in central Illinois, so the library became a place where I could hang out between classes until I discovered the campus radio station. Even at ISU, where I lived for one long, lonely spring semester, I used the library as an acceptable location for my isolation. I mean, I looked less desperate, perhaps more romantic, and, at least, studious (which I was, honestly, since I had nothing else to do, since no one would talk with me) in a library cubicle than, say, at a lone table in a student union.

* My library use tapered off, save for academic responsibilities associated with graduate school, in my twenties. I lived in a neighborhood rife with used bookstores. Also, since I had my own apartment for the first time, I grew enamored with the visual of a shelf stacked with books, even if I hadn't read all of the displayed titles. I was more or less destitute, sure, but I could usually scrape together enough change for torn-up paperbacks and the occasional classic. Plus, I gave up the clean, cool libraries for the used bookstore's smell of decay. Since I had an apartment, and I didn't need to avoid my parents, I could read on my own couch without interruption from my naggy mother or tv obsessed dad.

At the same time I became a grad assistant for an insane Egyptian professor who sent me to the library about even twelve seconds to look up obscure articles on reading theory. I owe that man quite a bit because I grew, through his insanity, to love research. He also expected me to approach library research with the tenacity of a sex addict in Las Vegas. I mean, I took a perverse pride in my time in the musty academic stacks.

Music brought me back to the library. My friend Dan started burning discs he procured from his Illinois library, and on a lark, I logged onto the local library website and walked through the search function. I don't know if I was surprised, but the inter-library loan system had an absolute ton of interesting discs and hardly anyone seemed to be in line for most of them. I burned the latest from the Shins, Bright Eyes, Death Cab, etc., and went back in the catalog for about a hundred others. In fact, I think I personally am responsible for more copyright violations than a dorm room back in the napster days. I apologize, publicly, if I did anything illegal by copying library CDs. I'm fairly sure I did. I promise I never sold my copies, at least, so ask the judge to go easy on me.

My current library is decent. Now, it's not too huge, but the inter-library loan system covers most of the supply. I track down books or discs I want, I push a few buttons on my computer, and, a couple of days later, the materials show up behind the counter. Plus, the library has huge low shelf to ceiling windows across its south, east, and west walls. When the fall arrives, and I'm sitting in a corner, with a book, I'm not far removed from the kid at the Roden branch back in Chicago.

Now, I used to be one of those guys who had to own every book I read. I wrote in the margins and took pride in the length of my shelves. I'm not sure what happened to that guy. Maybe I grew up a few years, because I don't care all that much about people knowing what I read (although my later post about my reading this year will make that sound like bullshit). I can get books for free. And most of the time the ladies who work behind the counter are nice to me. So...in a phrase...yay libraries. I'm glad you're here, and I hope to grow old championing your services.

So What Have You Been Listening To Lately, Randomanthony?

Why, I’m so glad you asked.

I’ve resisted placing reviews, recommendations, etc. in this space because, frankly, I don’t want to argue. I’ve seen enough posting boards on which people will fight passionately about the proper way to water orchids or the meaning of Godzilla’s grimace or how much cooler one perverts version of Sue Storm’s leather bodysuit was than another’s. And I don’t care. I believe that ninety percent of the time the only people who give a rat’s ass about online altercations are the involved parties. In turn, I don’t want to start any little tiffs on my own. Ok? I’m writing about what’s been in my car CD player (still not an Ipod, I’m over thirty and backwards, sue me) because the music is taking up space in my brain I’d like freed up.

Ok, here we go:

Eels-Blinking Lights and Other Revelations: This is my favorite CD (actually, two CDS) of the last year or so. I find myself wondering how I managed to avoid discovering this guy’s (I forget his name…Mark something?) work for the past ten years, and I haven’t felt that way since I bought “Yankee Hotel Foxtrot” and felt like an idiot for growing up in Chicago and never stumbling upon either Wilco or Uncle Tupelo. I thought myself quite the hipster, too. Anyway, These two CDs feature some of the most hummable, personal songs you can get from a guy who sounds depressed and hopeful all at once. He probably could have released a one disc classic, rather than package both discs at once, but hey, when I can listen to a double album without getting all Tourettes on my car CD changer button, I can’t complain.

Bright Eyes-Digital Ash for a Digital Urn: Now, I hated that acoustic one (I’m Wide Awake, It’s Morning, I think it was called), but this disc is ok. I listen to the first five or six songs a lot. I suppose Mr. Oberst (he’s sooo cute!) should be warned about writing explicitly about college (referring to incompletes and skipping class) but then again, when you’re in your early twenties, you’re kind of stupid, so he can be forgiven. I get the feeling Mr. Oberst listened to a lot of “Ashes to Ashes” era Bowie and maybe some Tubeway Army when he was a teenager. He doesn’t embarrass those influences at all.

The Bangles-Greatest Hits: When my hippy brother and I shared a room, in our teens, we had, alas, only one turntable between us. I sure as hell wasn’t listening to Crosby, Still, and Nash (Die! Die!), and he wasn’t up for Black Flag. We compromised by playing three bands over and over again. We both liked The Ramones and Talking Heads. We also found common ground in The Bangles’ “All Over The Place”. I recently burned a copy of The Bangles “Greatest Hits” from my local library. The Bangles’ early material seems to hold up well.

My Dad is Dead- Shine(r): I was just in Chicago last weekend when I found out that MDID played their first live shows in something like eight years while I was in town. While I’m too lazy to show up at the Elbo Room at Midnight, my friend Sean, in honor of the show, played “Let’s Skip The Details” in his apartment while we got drunk. I forgot how good these guys were. When I returned home I dug around in my basement and found the “Shine(r)” disc. “Babe in the Woods” and “Nothing Special” are two great songs, and the rest of the CD is strong as well. I’d love to get “The Taller You Are, The Shorter You Get”, but I can’t find it on Ebay, Amazon, anywhere. I might try to download it directly from the MDID site.

The Streets-A Grand Don’t Come For Free: I wish more American white guys would listen to The Streets. I can’t guarantee this, because I don’t read music magazines, but I get the feeling that English rappers don’t care as much as American rappers about looking like you’re hard or nailing bitches. As much as I love Eminem, I’m afraid no white rapper will emerge for the next decade who didn’t live in a trailer park and beat his wife. It’s a shame, really, because this Streets guy put out a solid song cycle (almost a concept album, even) about losing a thousand dollars, hooking up with a girl, breaking up with a girl, and doing a lot of drugs. The relationship songs are great, esp. “Rope You In” and the one near the end where he tries to get back with his girlfriend but she blows him off. This record is as close to punk rock as I’ve heard white rap get.

Ok, that’s it for now. More soon.