Tuesday, December 25, 2007
Monday, December 17, 2007
Best of 2007: Music
So, time flies, and now we find ourselves at the tail end of another year. Before we say goodbye to 2007 forever, we here at Destroy All Evidence want to take a moment to look back and remember all of the things we loved in 2007. Starting today and continuing every few days till the end of the year, we'll post a new top 5 list of our favorite things from 2007. It's like Oprah's Favorite Things, except, you know, you don't get anything for free. But you also don't have to fake-fawn over Her Majesty and pee your pants in front of the entire world, so I'm giving us the advantage. Enjoy Day 1's festivities: The best music of 2007.
5. “Black Tears” by Miss Derringer
I turned 22 on my birthday this year, and at first, I really didn’t feel happy or excited about it. What I did feel was indescribably old, older than I usually feel, which, trust me, is really saying something. I was thisclose to giving up the fight, throwing on a caftan and settling in for a “Golden Girls” marathon with a steaming hot cup of chamomile tea. And then…then I heard this song.
Ah, Miss Derringer. This song totally threw me for a loop when I first heard it. I was immediately launched back in time, to a moment when I was still goofy and awkward and anxious to grow up, when I thought that I had personally discovered every awesome thing about the ‘80s – John Hughes movies, Duran Duran, “Jem,” and, of course, mismatched Converse. Because on first listen, that’s what “Black Tears” sounds like: A really great ‘80s song, the best Blondie track that Blondie never recorded. It’s totally girly and completely badass and so sad in the most ridiculously fun way possible. But keep listening, and you realize there’s a lot of the ‘50s and ‘60s American music scene in there too. That just makes me love it even more. So thanks Miss Derringer, for reminding me that sharing a smile with your younger self is a sure fire fix for the old fogey blues.
4. “1234” by Feist
I’m just going to say it: I am not cool. Like, not at all. What’s more, I’ve genuinely given up trying. At this point, I am who I am, and there’s not a whole lot that can change that. I accept it, because for the most part, I honestly like who I’ve become. I love my family, I love my friends, the future is looking bright, and I’m finally (almost completely) comfortable in own skin. Also, I can really handle my liquor, and that makes me proud.
But I digress. Back to the “me not being cool” thing: One unfortunate side effect of this is that I’m usually really behind on what’s hip in music. If I had a nickel for every time I thought to myself, What are the happening cats listening to these days?, I would have somewhere in the realm of $14. Yeah, it’s that bad. Which is why it’s so surprising that I was actually in front of the trend when I discovered Feist, all by myself, way, WAY before Apple began using it for its Nano commercials and the Grey’s Anatomy people started kicking themselves for not snagging it first. A sparkling, jangly, fantastically indie jam that I could call my own – if that’s not end of the year list worthy, I can’t say I know what is.
3. "Shampoo" by Pete Yorn
I remember when I bought my first Pete Yorn album. I had read a little article in Seventeen about him, and, I’m embarrassed to admit, I made a beeline to the record store to buy his debut, musicforthemorningafter, not because I was really inspired by the article or anything he said in it, but because I thought he was cute. Granted, I was only 15 at the time. Not that that’s an excuse, but it does help explain the motive behind it. So I bought the album, gave the liner notes a thorough ogling, popped the CD in, and…wow. Just, wow. I was transfixed. I remember laying on my bed and listening to it front to back, totally in awe of what was going on there. I loved the whole sound of it, how sad and hopeful and searching it was, how it managed to sound old and new at the same time. I was hooked from the first minute of the first track.
Cut to now, 7 years, 3 albums and a dozen completely fantastic concert experiences later, and I’m as devoted to everything Pete Yorn as I was way back then (and, in case you were wondering, time has not diminished Pete's talent - or his looks...). Some artists just stick with you like that, and PY has certainly stuck with me. He released no new albums in 2007 (his latest, the frighteningly good Nightcrawler, was released in late 2006), but that doesn’t mean there weren't fresh Pete tunes floating around the Interweb this year. My favorite is this one, “Shampoo.” It’s perfectly representative of the best of what Pete Yorn brings to the table: Winsome, contemplative lyrics set to a melody so interesting and utterly enjoyable that you can’t help but listen to it again and again.
2. “West Coast” by Coconut Records
Let’s play Six Degrees of Separation, shall we? The Godfather to Coconut Records – GO!
The Godfather was directed by Francis Ford Coppola, whose sister, Talia Shire, married movie producer Jack Schwartzman and gave birth to one Jason Schwartzman, who is - ding ding ding! – the man behind Coconut Records! Huh, that was a short one. And it didn’t even include Kevin Bacon.
Anyway.
When I was talking about “Shampoo” earlier, I described it as “winsome” and “contemplative.” These are the exact same words I would use to sum up “West Coast,” but the songs themselves are so different that it’s hard to believe they’re sprung from the same place emotionally. I think the biggest difference is that while “Shampoo” keeps a crisp, brightly somber (let’s just pretend that’s not an oxymoron, okay?) pace, things are a little more unleashed on “West Coast,” a steady, laidback crescendo from the lonesome man-and-piano beginning to the full blown sing-a-long ending. If you aren’t picturing the diminutive Schwartzman in one of those awful choir robes, conducting a mass of singing funky white boys by the end of this song, there’s something seriously wrong with you. It’s nerdy, lovelorn perfection, and a totally worthy Best of 2007 runner up.
1. “The Thanks I Get” by Wilco
Imagine this: It’s a hot summer day. You’re driving down Pacific Coast Highway with the top down. Sunglasses. Salty air. The crunch of gravel beneath your tires. No place to be, nothing to do, not a care in the world. It’s just you and the road. And on the radio plays… something mellow. Something weathered. Something that fills your soul with the roots of rock and roll. You scan the airwaves, spinning from station to station, and then you hear it. And you smile, because you know you’ve found exactly what you were looking for: The sound that warms your heart, that takes you back to an easier time, that’ll carry you wherever you want to go. The song? Wilco’s “The Thanks I Get.”
Nothing I could say about this song could do it justice. Nothing I could say about this band would do them justice. Let’s just put it like this: For a rock band that’s found a modern way to appreciate the classics that came before while establishing themselves as a vital part of the musical landscape of today, always, ALWAYS choose Wilco. Always. Not Son Volt. Not Ryan Adams. Not My Morning Jacket. They’re good, but they’re not Wilco. I’m making this song my number one most favorite of the year for precisely that reason. There you have it: Wilco’s “The Thanks I Get” – Destroy All Evidence’s Best Song of 2007. Congratulations to you, Wilco. Congratulations to you.
Honorable Mentions (The Movie Soundtrack Remix)
• “Anyone Else But You” by the Moldy Peaches: Romantic love in a most realistic way, this gem from the Juno soundtrack will melt even the hardest hearts.
• “Avril 14th” by Aphex Twin: Rent Marie Antoinette and listen for this song. So apropos for the scene in which Antoine returns to Versailles from Le Petit Trianon. You feel the full weight of the expectation and duty thrust upon her, and the song gives you a pretty good idea of how she feels about it.
• “From Where I’m Standing” by Schuyler Fisk: This is from I’m Reed Fish. That movie sucked. This song doesn’t. Fun fact: Schuyler Fisk is Sissy Spacek's daughter. Speaking of daughters...
• “Daughter” by Loudon Wainwright III: Just when you start to lose faith in Judd Apatow (like when he shows you a baby crowning – that’s just gross), he whips out a montage of sweet scenes set to this song that makes you forget you ever questioned his judgment in the first place. Wainwright’s brilliant cover of Peter Blegvad’s ode to daughters is featured in Knocked Up.
• “Where Do You Go To, My Lovely?” by Peter Sarstedt: My friend Ez and I were recently discussing our favorite movies, and we crowned Wes Anderson one of the kings of music in film (also on the short list: Cameron Crowe, the Coen Brothers, and Quentin Tarantino). This song, from Anderson’s short, Hotel Chevalier, is a prime example of his brilliance when it comes to seamlessly weaving great music into the milieu of an already great film. It’s a thing of beauty.
• “Falling Slowly” by Glen Hansard and Marketa Irglova: Once was an unbelievably powerful movie, but that’s something we’ll get to later in our Best of 2007 retrospective. For now, I’ll just say what an amazing song this is. The line “You have suffered enough/And warred with yourself/It’s time that you won” is one of my favorites in any song ever. Plus, the harmony is absolutely gorgeous.
Next up in our Best of 2007 series: Books, premiering here on Thursday, December 17th. And be sure to check out the BFF blog, Bunker Complex, for Andrea's end of the year recap too.
5. “Black Tears” by Miss Derringer
I turned 22 on my birthday this year, and at first, I really didn’t feel happy or excited about it. What I did feel was indescribably old, older than I usually feel, which, trust me, is really saying something. I was thisclose to giving up the fight, throwing on a caftan and settling in for a “Golden Girls” marathon with a steaming hot cup of chamomile tea. And then…then I heard this song.
Ah, Miss Derringer. This song totally threw me for a loop when I first heard it. I was immediately launched back in time, to a moment when I was still goofy and awkward and anxious to grow up, when I thought that I had personally discovered every awesome thing about the ‘80s – John Hughes movies, Duran Duran, “Jem,” and, of course, mismatched Converse. Because on first listen, that’s what “Black Tears” sounds like: A really great ‘80s song, the best Blondie track that Blondie never recorded. It’s totally girly and completely badass and so sad in the most ridiculously fun way possible. But keep listening, and you realize there’s a lot of the ‘50s and ‘60s American music scene in there too. That just makes me love it even more. So thanks Miss Derringer, for reminding me that sharing a smile with your younger self is a sure fire fix for the old fogey blues.
4. “1234” by Feist
I’m just going to say it: I am not cool. Like, not at all. What’s more, I’ve genuinely given up trying. At this point, I am who I am, and there’s not a whole lot that can change that. I accept it, because for the most part, I honestly like who I’ve become. I love my family, I love my friends, the future is looking bright, and I’m finally (almost completely) comfortable in own skin. Also, I can really handle my liquor, and that makes me proud.
But I digress. Back to the “me not being cool” thing: One unfortunate side effect of this is that I’m usually really behind on what’s hip in music. If I had a nickel for every time I thought to myself, What are the happening cats listening to these days?, I would have somewhere in the realm of $14. Yeah, it’s that bad. Which is why it’s so surprising that I was actually in front of the trend when I discovered Feist, all by myself, way, WAY before Apple began using it for its Nano commercials and the Grey’s Anatomy people started kicking themselves for not snagging it first. A sparkling, jangly, fantastically indie jam that I could call my own – if that’s not end of the year list worthy, I can’t say I know what is.
3. "Shampoo" by Pete Yorn
I remember when I bought my first Pete Yorn album. I had read a little article in Seventeen about him, and, I’m embarrassed to admit, I made a beeline to the record store to buy his debut, musicforthemorningafter, not because I was really inspired by the article or anything he said in it, but because I thought he was cute. Granted, I was only 15 at the time. Not that that’s an excuse, but it does help explain the motive behind it. So I bought the album, gave the liner notes a thorough ogling, popped the CD in, and…wow. Just, wow. I was transfixed. I remember laying on my bed and listening to it front to back, totally in awe of what was going on there. I loved the whole sound of it, how sad and hopeful and searching it was, how it managed to sound old and new at the same time. I was hooked from the first minute of the first track.
Cut to now, 7 years, 3 albums and a dozen completely fantastic concert experiences later, and I’m as devoted to everything Pete Yorn as I was way back then (and, in case you were wondering, time has not diminished Pete's talent - or his looks...). Some artists just stick with you like that, and PY has certainly stuck with me. He released no new albums in 2007 (his latest, the frighteningly good Nightcrawler, was released in late 2006), but that doesn’t mean there weren't fresh Pete tunes floating around the Interweb this year. My favorite is this one, “Shampoo.” It’s perfectly representative of the best of what Pete Yorn brings to the table: Winsome, contemplative lyrics set to a melody so interesting and utterly enjoyable that you can’t help but listen to it again and again.
2. “West Coast” by Coconut Records
Let’s play Six Degrees of Separation, shall we? The Godfather to Coconut Records – GO!
The Godfather was directed by Francis Ford Coppola, whose sister, Talia Shire, married movie producer Jack Schwartzman and gave birth to one Jason Schwartzman, who is - ding ding ding! – the man behind Coconut Records! Huh, that was a short one. And it didn’t even include Kevin Bacon.
Anyway.
When I was talking about “Shampoo” earlier, I described it as “winsome” and “contemplative.” These are the exact same words I would use to sum up “West Coast,” but the songs themselves are so different that it’s hard to believe they’re sprung from the same place emotionally. I think the biggest difference is that while “Shampoo” keeps a crisp, brightly somber (let’s just pretend that’s not an oxymoron, okay?) pace, things are a little more unleashed on “West Coast,” a steady, laidback crescendo from the lonesome man-and-piano beginning to the full blown sing-a-long ending. If you aren’t picturing the diminutive Schwartzman in one of those awful choir robes, conducting a mass of singing funky white boys by the end of this song, there’s something seriously wrong with you. It’s nerdy, lovelorn perfection, and a totally worthy Best of 2007 runner up.
1. “The Thanks I Get” by Wilco
Imagine this: It’s a hot summer day. You’re driving down Pacific Coast Highway with the top down. Sunglasses. Salty air. The crunch of gravel beneath your tires. No place to be, nothing to do, not a care in the world. It’s just you and the road. And on the radio plays… something mellow. Something weathered. Something that fills your soul with the roots of rock and roll. You scan the airwaves, spinning from station to station, and then you hear it. And you smile, because you know you’ve found exactly what you were looking for: The sound that warms your heart, that takes you back to an easier time, that’ll carry you wherever you want to go. The song? Wilco’s “The Thanks I Get.”
Nothing I could say about this song could do it justice. Nothing I could say about this band would do them justice. Let’s just put it like this: For a rock band that’s found a modern way to appreciate the classics that came before while establishing themselves as a vital part of the musical landscape of today, always, ALWAYS choose Wilco. Always. Not Son Volt. Not Ryan Adams. Not My Morning Jacket. They’re good, but they’re not Wilco. I’m making this song my number one most favorite of the year for precisely that reason. There you have it: Wilco’s “The Thanks I Get” – Destroy All Evidence’s Best Song of 2007. Congratulations to you, Wilco. Congratulations to you.
Honorable Mentions (The Movie Soundtrack Remix)
• “Anyone Else But You” by the Moldy Peaches: Romantic love in a most realistic way, this gem from the Juno soundtrack will melt even the hardest hearts.
• “Avril 14th” by Aphex Twin: Rent Marie Antoinette and listen for this song. So apropos for the scene in which Antoine returns to Versailles from Le Petit Trianon. You feel the full weight of the expectation and duty thrust upon her, and the song gives you a pretty good idea of how she feels about it.
• “From Where I’m Standing” by Schuyler Fisk: This is from I’m Reed Fish. That movie sucked. This song doesn’t. Fun fact: Schuyler Fisk is Sissy Spacek's daughter. Speaking of daughters...
• “Daughter” by Loudon Wainwright III: Just when you start to lose faith in Judd Apatow (like when he shows you a baby crowning – that’s just gross), he whips out a montage of sweet scenes set to this song that makes you forget you ever questioned his judgment in the first place. Wainwright’s brilliant cover of Peter Blegvad’s ode to daughters is featured in Knocked Up.
• “Where Do You Go To, My Lovely?” by Peter Sarstedt: My friend Ez and I were recently discussing our favorite movies, and we crowned Wes Anderson one of the kings of music in film (also on the short list: Cameron Crowe, the Coen Brothers, and Quentin Tarantino). This song, from Anderson’s short, Hotel Chevalier, is a prime example of his brilliance when it comes to seamlessly weaving great music into the milieu of an already great film. It’s a thing of beauty.
• “Falling Slowly” by Glen Hansard and Marketa Irglova: Once was an unbelievably powerful movie, but that’s something we’ll get to later in our Best of 2007 retrospective. For now, I’ll just say what an amazing song this is. The line “You have suffered enough/And warred with yourself/It’s time that you won” is one of my favorites in any song ever. Plus, the harmony is absolutely gorgeous.
Next up in our Best of 2007 series: Books, premiering here on Thursday, December 17th. And be sure to check out the BFF blog, Bunker Complex, for Andrea's end of the year recap too.
Wednesday, November 7, 2007
The Road to Glory: Pumpkin Carving Party 2007
Tradition is something that’s very important to me. Unfortunately, carving out time to make traditions is often hard when you have a family as active as mine. There’s always a ton of things to do, which means we’re always busy, which means we’re always tired as a result of being busy doing the tons of things there are to do. So tradition is often tossed to the curb, not because it’s not valuable to everyone, but because we’re so beat by the effort it takes to make sure the mechanics of everyday life run smoothly that adding on anything else is daunting. For the most part, I am okay with this. I like to think that I’m a pretty “roll with the punches” kind of gal, and truthfully, I enjoy the chaos that comes with having a family like mine. But there are some things, some traditions that I can not and will not sacrifice no matter what, the most important of which is our annual Pumpkin Carving Party.
For as long as I can remember, my family has carved pumpkins for Halloween. Even when I was really little I was always way more psyched up for carving pumpkins than for getting to wear a costume or going trick-or-treating. It was always a huge production: Going to the pumpkin patch with my little red wagon in tow, looking over every pumpkin meticulously till I found just the right one, then going home and staring at my pick, waiting for inspiration (the perfect Jack O’Lantern face!) to hit me – wow. I get a buzz just thinking about it now. And all that excitement was nothing compared the actual carving. Scraping out the gooey insides was gross in the very best way, and getting to use an actual knife to give my pumpkin a funny/scary mug made me feel both creative and very, very grown up (though my parents were always close by, making sure the only thing getting carved was the pumpkin, not little fingers). I can remember my mom helping me put in candles and guiding my hand as I lit up my masterpiece. We’d go outside and set them all on our front porch, then step back and admire the bright, glowing faces shining back at our own.
As the years have gone on, we’ve modified our pumpkin carving tradition. We always have the same dinner on the night we carve (Sloppy Joe’s, tater tots and corn – a meal which would sound absolutely disgusting to us on any other night, but which we honestly look forward to when it’s paired with pumpkin carving), but in recent years we’ve added some gourmet elements to the meal, usually a snazzy dessert or cocktail for those of us old enough to imbibe. My grandparents have started participating in the past few years as well, and that’s something that gives me endless amounts of joy because my grandparents are awesome. But the biggest – and best – change has been that now, instead of carving just for fun, we’ve turned it into a competition, judged by our ten year old next door neighbor, Caitlin. This new aspect of the Pumpkin Carving Party makes me the happiest of all.
It’s widely known in our family (and on this blog) that I’m a total gamer, and that when there’s an opportunity to win anything, I’m all over it. All over it like a crazy person. In my wildest dreams, people would find this to be a cute, quirky part of my personality. In reality, I think it’s more something that people put up with. That would usually upset me, but not when I’m winning, because nothing – NOTHING – gets me down when I’m on top, and this insane need to be the best definitely extends to pumpkin carving. I would say that I’m a good loser, but I can’t really be sure about that, because for the last three years (that is, ever since we introduced the competition side of the Pumpkin Carving Party), I have been crowned the Pumpkin Carving Queen (Hehe! I’m not really keen on rubbing it in, but suck it, family! You’re all losers.). The first year I won, I went sort of cartoony on my pumpkin, turning out a cute, simple cat face. Last year, I brought home the gold with my Picasso inspired entry (that’s the best way to describe it; it had one triangular eye, one sunburst-looking eye, a wide open v-shaped mouth, and, strangely, all my hair and nail clippings from the last year). This year, like the Lakers before me, I achieved the three-peat with my classic but well executed design. Check it out:
That’s mine in the middle, flanked by a couple of underachieving also-rans. Notice the kind of commitment to excellence that’s a hallmark of my pumpkin carving style: The inside is spotless, with no leftover stringy innards or errant seeds, the uncomplicated design allows for a ton of light to come through, and each feature is back-cut, giving the face a clean, flawless look. Never underestimate the importance of good pumpkin carving technique, people. That attention to detail separates the men from the boys (or in my case, me from everyone else, though the shameless gloating might contribute to that separation as well.). And that’s why I’m the Pumpkin Carving Queen yet again. Congratulations to me. And to you, for having the honor of knowing me.
As an added bonus, here is a picture of my grandparents holding their adorable yet remarkably substandard entries. My grandma went freeform on us, and while she refused to name her inspiration, we think her pumpkin was a dead ringer for William Hung. My grandpa’s pumpkin…well, his design is the same one he’s been doing for exactly 50 years. Every year I try to impart some of my pumpkin carving wisdom, telling him to make the design bigger so it’s brighter and to spend more time cleaning it out, and every year he tells me his design is timeless and that the extra goop inside adds to the spookiness of it (and by “telling him” those things, I mean, of course, whispering them under my breath while secretly thinking, “One less fool to stomp all over in my quest for victory.”). To each his own, I guess.
I emailed this picture to my Aunt Lee after our party, and this was her response: “Hey, do those pumpkins look like them or what? Was this carving supposed to be a self portrait?” I love my aunt. I love Halloween. But most of all, I lovewinning making lasting memories with my family.
For as long as I can remember, my family has carved pumpkins for Halloween. Even when I was really little I was always way more psyched up for carving pumpkins than for getting to wear a costume or going trick-or-treating. It was always a huge production: Going to the pumpkin patch with my little red wagon in tow, looking over every pumpkin meticulously till I found just the right one, then going home and staring at my pick, waiting for inspiration (the perfect Jack O’Lantern face!) to hit me – wow. I get a buzz just thinking about it now. And all that excitement was nothing compared the actual carving. Scraping out the gooey insides was gross in the very best way, and getting to use an actual knife to give my pumpkin a funny/scary mug made me feel both creative and very, very grown up (though my parents were always close by, making sure the only thing getting carved was the pumpkin, not little fingers). I can remember my mom helping me put in candles and guiding my hand as I lit up my masterpiece. We’d go outside and set them all on our front porch, then step back and admire the bright, glowing faces shining back at our own.
As the years have gone on, we’ve modified our pumpkin carving tradition. We always have the same dinner on the night we carve (Sloppy Joe’s, tater tots and corn – a meal which would sound absolutely disgusting to us on any other night, but which we honestly look forward to when it’s paired with pumpkin carving), but in recent years we’ve added some gourmet elements to the meal, usually a snazzy dessert or cocktail for those of us old enough to imbibe. My grandparents have started participating in the past few years as well, and that’s something that gives me endless amounts of joy because my grandparents are awesome. But the biggest – and best – change has been that now, instead of carving just for fun, we’ve turned it into a competition, judged by our ten year old next door neighbor, Caitlin. This new aspect of the Pumpkin Carving Party makes me the happiest of all.
It’s widely known in our family (and on this blog) that I’m a total gamer, and that when there’s an opportunity to win anything, I’m all over it. All over it like a crazy person. In my wildest dreams, people would find this to be a cute, quirky part of my personality. In reality, I think it’s more something that people put up with. That would usually upset me, but not when I’m winning, because nothing – NOTHING – gets me down when I’m on top, and this insane need to be the best definitely extends to pumpkin carving. I would say that I’m a good loser, but I can’t really be sure about that, because for the last three years (that is, ever since we introduced the competition side of the Pumpkin Carving Party), I have been crowned the Pumpkin Carving Queen (Hehe! I’m not really keen on rubbing it in, but suck it, family! You’re all losers.). The first year I won, I went sort of cartoony on my pumpkin, turning out a cute, simple cat face. Last year, I brought home the gold with my Picasso inspired entry (that’s the best way to describe it; it had one triangular eye, one sunburst-looking eye, a wide open v-shaped mouth, and, strangely, all my hair and nail clippings from the last year). This year, like the Lakers before me, I achieved the three-peat with my classic but well executed design. Check it out:
That’s mine in the middle, flanked by a couple of underachieving also-rans. Notice the kind of commitment to excellence that’s a hallmark of my pumpkin carving style: The inside is spotless, with no leftover stringy innards or errant seeds, the uncomplicated design allows for a ton of light to come through, and each feature is back-cut, giving the face a clean, flawless look. Never underestimate the importance of good pumpkin carving technique, people. That attention to detail separates the men from the boys (or in my case, me from everyone else, though the shameless gloating might contribute to that separation as well.). And that’s why I’m the Pumpkin Carving Queen yet again. Congratulations to me. And to you, for having the honor of knowing me.
As an added bonus, here is a picture of my grandparents holding their adorable yet remarkably substandard entries. My grandma went freeform on us, and while she refused to name her inspiration, we think her pumpkin was a dead ringer for William Hung. My grandpa’s pumpkin…well, his design is the same one he’s been doing for exactly 50 years. Every year I try to impart some of my pumpkin carving wisdom, telling him to make the design bigger so it’s brighter and to spend more time cleaning it out, and every year he tells me his design is timeless and that the extra goop inside adds to the spookiness of it (and by “telling him” those things, I mean, of course, whispering them under my breath while secretly thinking, “One less fool to stomp all over in my quest for victory.”). To each his own, I guess.
I emailed this picture to my Aunt Lee after our party, and this was her response: “Hey, do those pumpkins look like them or what? Was this carving supposed to be a self portrait?” I love my aunt. I love Halloween. But most of all, I love
Tuesday, October 2, 2007
It's Like The Greeks vs. The Trojans All Over Again
I have tried to stay out of this discourse for as long as is humanly possible, but I know now that it would be the height of irresponsibility for me, holding the position that I do in this world, to withhold my influence any longer. I have decided that the time to speak is now, lest the situation become any direr as a result of my continued silence. Friends, esteemed colleagues, and Canadians who inexplicably subscribe to this blog, the time has come for me to jump headfirst into what future scholars will come to regard as the debate of the century. I am referring, of course, to “Kanye West vs. 50 Cent: Decision 2007”, and the consequences of the outcome now weigh heavily on my shoulders. I can only pray that I’m strong enough to see this conflict through to a peaceful and nonviolent end.
The question of which side to support was never an issue for me. I am a person who values loyalty above all else, and my feet have always been firmly planted on the side of 50. A hardworking man, committed to excellence and physical fitness, 50 has always piqued my interest. Without a doubt, his music is unfailingly fascinating, and he has proven himself to be a fascinating man as well. Born unto the rough streets of South Jamaica, Queens, 50 (nee Curtis Jackson) began selling drugs at the age of twelve. Twelve, ladies and gentlemen. This is nothing short of a tribute to Fiddy’s inherent, unrelenting, entrepreneurial spirit. Still, young Curtis dreamed of a better life for himself and, after a stint in prison for dealing (during which time he adopted the “50 Cent” moniker, which is metaphorical for “change” - man, that is so beautiful. It brings tears to my eyes.), he ended his career as a supplier to pursue a more suitable métier: Rapping.
But Fate did as she often does, and, on the brink of that life-altering decision, Fiddy was the victim of a drive by shooting, taking nine bullets in the arm, chest, hand, left cheek, hip, and both legs. By the grace of God, 50 survived the brutal attack. After spending 13 days in the hospital, followed by another six and a half months in recovery, 50 lives on as a testament to sheer willpower, dedication, and, again, physical fitness. He is a true manifestation of the American dream.
On the other side of this debate, we have Kanye “George Bush Hates Black People” West, who by all accounts lived a far more sheltered, pampered lifestyle than a young Curtis Jackson would ever have dared to dream of. Why should we root for you, Kanye, when the worst thing that happened to you in your formative years was that your parents got divorced? 50’s mom was straight up murdered, and he never even knew his father. You attended the frou frou American Academy of Art in Chicago during your high school years. Where was 50? In jail, getting his GED and trying to make a fresh start, that’s where. And while I would never seek to minimize anyone’s suffering, I feel compelled to point out that while 50 was off getting shot nine times (nine times!), the victim of savage, vicious thuggery, your only claim to physical pain was a broken jaw, a jaw that was broken in a car accident that only occurred because you fell asleep at the wheel. I doubt 50 even had a car! And where you selfishly exploited this bit of personal recklessness for your song “Through The Wire", 50 only briefly mentioned his plight in "In Da Club”, and I feel sure he did this as a courtesy to his fans, to let them know that even after the horrific shooting, he is fine – so fine that his swagger isn’t even marred by the slightest hint of limp. And even now, while you delight in Epicurean romps at various disgusting strip joints, 50 Cent toils away in his humble Manhattan office, taking multiple meetings a day – the consummate businessman. To choose between you two would be like choosing between a Cable Ace Award and an Oscar. I think you know which one you are, Kanye. And I think you know which one I’m choosing.
That being said, the reality of the situation is that the deck is currently stacked in the favor of Mr. West. However, in this epic struggle, I have my suspicions about who will come out the victor. While Kanye may currently be outselling 50 (and congratulations to him on that – his little tune, “Stronger”, is catchy in a way that only superbly processed and manipulated music can be), I feel that the man formerly known as Curtis Jackson will ultimately prevail. Kanye can carry on rapping about Kate Moss, calling himself “The Louis Vuitton Don,” railing against the “haters,” and wearing all the Lacoste polo shirts the world has to offer – I guess that's his "truth," and I hope that fulfills him. As for me, I will continue to delight in the man, the music, and, let's face it, the hero that is 50 Cent.
The question of which side to support was never an issue for me. I am a person who values loyalty above all else, and my feet have always been firmly planted on the side of 50. A hardworking man, committed to excellence and physical fitness, 50 has always piqued my interest. Without a doubt, his music is unfailingly fascinating, and he has proven himself to be a fascinating man as well. Born unto the rough streets of South Jamaica, Queens, 50 (nee Curtis Jackson) began selling drugs at the age of twelve. Twelve, ladies and gentlemen. This is nothing short of a tribute to Fiddy’s inherent, unrelenting, entrepreneurial spirit. Still, young Curtis dreamed of a better life for himself and, after a stint in prison for dealing (during which time he adopted the “50 Cent” moniker, which is metaphorical for “change” - man, that is so beautiful. It brings tears to my eyes.), he ended his career as a supplier to pursue a more suitable métier: Rapping.
But Fate did as she often does, and, on the brink of that life-altering decision, Fiddy was the victim of a drive by shooting, taking nine bullets in the arm, chest, hand, left cheek, hip, and both legs. By the grace of God, 50 survived the brutal attack. After spending 13 days in the hospital, followed by another six and a half months in recovery, 50 lives on as a testament to sheer willpower, dedication, and, again, physical fitness. He is a true manifestation of the American dream.
On the other side of this debate, we have Kanye “George Bush Hates Black People” West, who by all accounts lived a far more sheltered, pampered lifestyle than a young Curtis Jackson would ever have dared to dream of. Why should we root for you, Kanye, when the worst thing that happened to you in your formative years was that your parents got divorced? 50’s mom was straight up murdered, and he never even knew his father. You attended the frou frou American Academy of Art in Chicago during your high school years. Where was 50? In jail, getting his GED and trying to make a fresh start, that’s where. And while I would never seek to minimize anyone’s suffering, I feel compelled to point out that while 50 was off getting shot nine times (nine times!), the victim of savage, vicious thuggery, your only claim to physical pain was a broken jaw, a jaw that was broken in a car accident that only occurred because you fell asleep at the wheel. I doubt 50 even had a car! And where you selfishly exploited this bit of personal recklessness for your song “Through The Wire", 50 only briefly mentioned his plight in "In Da Club”, and I feel sure he did this as a courtesy to his fans, to let them know that even after the horrific shooting, he is fine – so fine that his swagger isn’t even marred by the slightest hint of limp. And even now, while you delight in Epicurean romps at various disgusting strip joints, 50 Cent toils away in his humble Manhattan office, taking multiple meetings a day – the consummate businessman. To choose between you two would be like choosing between a Cable Ace Award and an Oscar. I think you know which one you are, Kanye. And I think you know which one I’m choosing.
That being said, the reality of the situation is that the deck is currently stacked in the favor of Mr. West. However, in this epic struggle, I have my suspicions about who will come out the victor. While Kanye may currently be outselling 50 (and congratulations to him on that – his little tune, “Stronger”, is catchy in a way that only superbly processed and manipulated music can be), I feel that the man formerly known as Curtis Jackson will ultimately prevail. Kanye can carry on rapping about Kate Moss, calling himself “The Louis Vuitton Don,” railing against the “haters,” and wearing all the Lacoste polo shirts the world has to offer – I guess that's his "truth," and I hope that fulfills him. As for me, I will continue to delight in the man, the music, and, let's face it, the hero that is 50 Cent.
Thursday, September 13, 2007
I Heart NY, Part 2 (With Pictures!)
Let’s pick up where we left off, shall we? If you’ll remember, I was just being taxied into the city, and was starting to regain my lost optimism about my trip.
Once we got to our hotel, we hunkered down for a few hours of much needed sleep. We wanted to get an early start on our sightseeing, so we woke up at six the next morning (which is unthinkably early for me on any day, much less a vacation day. I don’t think I ever see the world properly till around…noon.). From what little pre-trip research we were able to do, we knew that we could pick up almost any subway line we needed from Grand Central Station, which just so happened to be about four blocks from our hotel. Grand Central Station is beautiful – when you walk in, you’re taken aback by the enormity of the marble concourse. It’s a seamless mix of bigness and delicacy, the latter coming in the form of several exquisite chandeliers and, of course, the famous painted ceiling, a loose depiction of an astrological map. What really struck me was the windows, these great arched portals with the most gorgeous light just streaming through them, and the huge American flag, which was hung just after September 11th. I think it’s easy to feel strangely reverent about New York, especially when you’re in a place like Grand Central Station. There’s something about it that feels important and necessary, and even in our rush to get out into the city, we spent a good fifteen minutes just absorbing our surroundings in the terminal.
From there, we really hit the ground running. We snagged a subway map (which quickly became our best friend) and headed down to Times Square, where we were all set to pick up one of those double decker bus tours. Now, I realize that this goes directly against our goal of living like true Manhattanites (Manhattonians?), but we had to find a way to get our bearings in the city, and for us, the best way to do that was to take a guided bus tour. We must have been on that bus for four solid hours, but we saw everything: the Fashion District, the Financial District, Wall Street, Greenwich Village, Soho, Chinatown, Little Italy, Chelsea, the Upper East Side, the Upper West Side, Central Park – everything. You name it, we saw it, all from the open-air upper level of a ridiculous-looking, gigantic double decker bus. It really helped us figure out where we wanted to go and what we wanted to do for the rest of our time in NYC, though. So thank you much, New York Sight Seeing Gray Line.
Once we completed our bus tour, we grabbed a quick bite and made our way down to Battery Park, where we were going to hop on a ferry to visit the Statue of Liberty and Ellis Island. It was a beautiful day, perfect for a ferry ride and an outdoor audio tour of Lady Liberty. I initially wasn't too excited for Ellis Island, but I'm so glad we did it, simply because there’s no way I could have fully appreciated what the Statue of Liberty meant for so many people had we not. Visiting Ellis Island was extremely moving because their audio tour had interviews with people who actually came into the U.S. through Ellis Island. So many of them described difficult journeys filled with illness, crowded quarters and unsanitary conditions (not to mention all the reasons they had to leave their native countries in the first place), but what was so moving to me was their reaction upon seeing Lady Liberty’s shining golden torch ablaze across the sharp blue sky – it’s like they knew they were finally safe, that their grueling voyage was over, that they were home at last. They were so grateful, so full of hope, and hearing their stories made me feel the same way. Love that.
Our day of exploring was tiring, but knowing that we had very limited time in Manhattan (we’d have to spend at least a few days in New Jersey and its surrounding areas for my brother’s tournament), we wanted to make the most of every moment, so we decided to push through the exhaustion and hop on the subway to Little Italy for dinner. I remember this part very vividly: Getting off the subway and not knowing which way to go, I smelled and heard and saw the twinkling lights of Little Italy all at once, and it was like an instant shot of warm, tingly happiness. I think we spent maybe half an hour walking up and down the blocks that comprise Little Italy, checking out all the restaurants. We finally sat down to eat at a little café with outdoor seating so we could take in the whole scene. There was a lot to see: the streets were crowded with tons of people, some visitors like us, some vendors, others residents of apartments located over the restaurants and shops, and, to my great surprise and delight, many, many genuine Italians. The vibe was so homey and welcoming, and colorful in the best possible way. I think it’s one of those places where anyone could feel like they really belonged, which is definitely a beautiful thing. After dinner, we strolled some more and picked up the most delicious cannoli in the world (Four words: Chocolate covered cannoli shell. Fifth word: Wow.), and headed back to the hotel, full and happy and nothing short of enamored with the city. It was the perfect way to end our perfect first day in New York.
I Heart NY, Part 3 (the finale) - coming soon to a blog near you!
Once we got to our hotel, we hunkered down for a few hours of much needed sleep. We wanted to get an early start on our sightseeing, so we woke up at six the next morning (which is unthinkably early for me on any day, much less a vacation day. I don’t think I ever see the world properly till around…noon.). From what little pre-trip research we were able to do, we knew that we could pick up almost any subway line we needed from Grand Central Station, which just so happened to be about four blocks from our hotel. Grand Central Station is beautiful – when you walk in, you’re taken aback by the enormity of the marble concourse. It’s a seamless mix of bigness and delicacy, the latter coming in the form of several exquisite chandeliers and, of course, the famous painted ceiling, a loose depiction of an astrological map. What really struck me was the windows, these great arched portals with the most gorgeous light just streaming through them, and the huge American flag, which was hung just after September 11th. I think it’s easy to feel strangely reverent about New York, especially when you’re in a place like Grand Central Station. There’s something about it that feels important and necessary, and even in our rush to get out into the city, we spent a good fifteen minutes just absorbing our surroundings in the terminal.
From there, we really hit the ground running. We snagged a subway map (which quickly became our best friend) and headed down to Times Square, where we were all set to pick up one of those double decker bus tours. Now, I realize that this goes directly against our goal of living like true Manhattanites (Manhattonians?), but we had to find a way to get our bearings in the city, and for us, the best way to do that was to take a guided bus tour. We must have been on that bus for four solid hours, but we saw everything: the Fashion District, the Financial District, Wall Street, Greenwich Village, Soho, Chinatown, Little Italy, Chelsea, the Upper East Side, the Upper West Side, Central Park – everything. You name it, we saw it, all from the open-air upper level of a ridiculous-looking, gigantic double decker bus. It really helped us figure out where we wanted to go and what we wanted to do for the rest of our time in NYC, though. So thank you much, New York Sight Seeing Gray Line.
Once we completed our bus tour, we grabbed a quick bite and made our way down to Battery Park, where we were going to hop on a ferry to visit the Statue of Liberty and Ellis Island. It was a beautiful day, perfect for a ferry ride and an outdoor audio tour of Lady Liberty. I initially wasn't too excited for Ellis Island, but I'm so glad we did it, simply because there’s no way I could have fully appreciated what the Statue of Liberty meant for so many people had we not. Visiting Ellis Island was extremely moving because their audio tour had interviews with people who actually came into the U.S. through Ellis Island. So many of them described difficult journeys filled with illness, crowded quarters and unsanitary conditions (not to mention all the reasons they had to leave their native countries in the first place), but what was so moving to me was their reaction upon seeing Lady Liberty’s shining golden torch ablaze across the sharp blue sky – it’s like they knew they were finally safe, that their grueling voyage was over, that they were home at last. They were so grateful, so full of hope, and hearing their stories made me feel the same way. Love that.
Our day of exploring was tiring, but knowing that we had very limited time in Manhattan (we’d have to spend at least a few days in New Jersey and its surrounding areas for my brother’s tournament), we wanted to make the most of every moment, so we decided to push through the exhaustion and hop on the subway to Little Italy for dinner. I remember this part very vividly: Getting off the subway and not knowing which way to go, I smelled and heard and saw the twinkling lights of Little Italy all at once, and it was like an instant shot of warm, tingly happiness. I think we spent maybe half an hour walking up and down the blocks that comprise Little Italy, checking out all the restaurants. We finally sat down to eat at a little café with outdoor seating so we could take in the whole scene. There was a lot to see: the streets were crowded with tons of people, some visitors like us, some vendors, others residents of apartments located over the restaurants and shops, and, to my great surprise and delight, many, many genuine Italians. The vibe was so homey and welcoming, and colorful in the best possible way. I think it’s one of those places where anyone could feel like they really belonged, which is definitely a beautiful thing. After dinner, we strolled some more and picked up the most delicious cannoli in the world (Four words: Chocolate covered cannoli shell. Fifth word: Wow.), and headed back to the hotel, full and happy and nothing short of enamored with the city. It was the perfect way to end our perfect first day in New York.
I Heart NY, Part 3 (the finale) - coming soon to a blog near you!
Wednesday, September 5, 2007
Why Andrea and I Are Friends
I know. I know, I know, I know. There's no "I Heart NY, Part 2" post today. It's not quite ready yet. In the meantime, I give you this little snippet from a recent iChat session. It's just one one of the many reasons why Andrea and I are best buds.
Preface: Andrea's parents are pressuring her to talk to some dude they want her to date. To say that she has lukewarm feelings for him would be...generous.
Andrea: My dad told me to say hi to him when he was sitting right there. It was like I was 8 years old.
Nicole: I still don't understand why you have to say anything to him at all.
Andrea: It's because of my parents. My dad wants me to "make myself available" to him.
Nicole: Ah, like a hooker.
Andrea: Yes. The red light is on.
Nicole: Poor Roxanne. :(
Andrea: I would woop Roxanne. I mean, she's like 50 years old now.
Nicole: I don't know. Hookers are notoriously brutal.
Andrea: But I have a shiv.
Andrea: It's home-made.
Nicole: ...from a spoon...
Nicole: ...from the prison mess hall.
Andrea: Yes. I swiped it during that stint I served for killing my pimp.
Nicole: Yeah, well, that bastard had it coming.
Andrea: Damn straight.
You see? That's just a beautiful thing.
Also, thank God Andrea and I found each other. Because really, who else would be friends with us? Yeah.
The Police - "Roxanne"
Preface: Andrea's parents are pressuring her to talk to some dude they want her to date. To say that she has lukewarm feelings for him would be...generous.
Andrea: My dad told me to say hi to him when he was sitting right there. It was like I was 8 years old.
Nicole: I still don't understand why you have to say anything to him at all.
Andrea: It's because of my parents. My dad wants me to "make myself available" to him.
Nicole: Ah, like a hooker.
Andrea: Yes. The red light is on.
Nicole: Poor Roxanne. :(
Andrea: I would woop Roxanne. I mean, she's like 50 years old now.
Nicole: I don't know. Hookers are notoriously brutal.
Andrea: But I have a shiv.
Andrea: It's home-made.
Nicole: ...from a spoon...
Nicole: ...from the prison mess hall.
Andrea: Yes. I swiped it during that stint I served for killing my pimp.
Nicole: Yeah, well, that bastard had it coming.
Andrea: Damn straight.
You see? That's just a beautiful thing.
Also, thank God Andrea and I found each other. Because really, who else would be friends with us? Yeah.
The Police - "Roxanne"
Tuesday, September 4, 2007
It's Funny...Because It's True
This makes me laugh:
I think I'd be in the "I would be writing right now, but...wait, do you hear that buzzing? No? Because I really hear like a loud, loud buzz happening. Ugh, I'm so tired. [At which point, I'd go watch some previously Tivo'd episodes of Tori and Dean: Inn Love and fall asleep on the couch.]" building. Because that's how I roll.
I Heart NY, Part 2 will be up tomorrow! Fo' realz.
I think I'd be in the "I would be writing right now, but...wait, do you hear that buzzing? No? Because I really hear like a loud, loud buzz happening. Ugh, I'm so tired. [At which point, I'd go watch some previously Tivo'd episodes of Tori and Dean: Inn Love and fall asleep on the couch.]" building. Because that's how I roll.
I Heart NY, Part 2 will be up tomorrow! Fo' realz.
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