It’s one more random than 10! To quote the immortal philosopher
Jim Anchower, I know it’s been a while since I rapped at ya. I was busy working on a secret project that I was unable to discuss: the largest dick joke in the history of the world! Unfortunately,
it fell into the Pacific before it reached its punchline. Oh well, at least I got paid up front and will have some free time again.
1) “Let It Be,” The Beatles. Tomorrow is the birthday of the loveliest Beatle-hater in the world,
The Lovely Becky. Here’s an amazing thing about TLB: she has absolutely no hang-ups about getting older. I cling to youth like
Sylvester Stallone’s friend's wife in the Alps, feeling that glove slipping off with every new set of candles I blow out, and she just whistles while she makes that annual wish. It’s infuriating the same way it’s infuriating when the cats lie in a beam of sunshine looking more content than Buddha with a bellyful of good karma. Meanwhile I worry about when I’ll have a heart attack because of my love of bacon or whether that ache in my shoulder is shoulder cancer. However, TLB always says it’s my fear of dying that will lead to me living a long time, so that I will have that much longer to think about.
2) “Lose Control,” Ash. This opens with a Tie Fighter sound, and we just let Libby watch some of the original
Star Wars movies. You would think she would gravitate toward the goddamned Ewoks (choke on a cute hairball, Lucas), but instead she was fascinated by Han Solo getting frozen in carbonite and then melted. That’s daddy’s little girl.
3) “Been There All the Time,” Dinosaur Jr. One of those go-to songs when I’m at the gym and need to get my admitted wimpy ass to stay on the elliptical at least as long as the 80-year-old retiree next to me. So few people just play the shit out of their guitars in indie rock these days. J Mascis looks like he could stop a Balrog in Moria with a shredding guitar solo.
4) “King of the Rodeo,” Kings of Leon. The hard rock Coldplay.
5) “These Days,” Foo Fighters. iTunes is in a particularly power chord mood today. I bought this on CD because I still like having physical albums whenever possible, even though the only time I ever actually play CDs is in my car. They literally get popped in the computer, ripped, and put back in the case, which means it's idiotic that I spend more money to buy stuff that I don't use yet takes up space in my house, but my nostalgia is stronger than my common sense. Anyway, the Foo Fighters recorded this album on analog tape, and the CD came with a little piece of the tape in the case. I see myself being sixty and walking into the
Pawn Stars store to pawn my “limited edition” copy of
Wasting Light with a piece of the recording tape, only to have old Chumlee tell me he’s got 500 of these in the back and they aren’t worth anything.
6) “Junco Partner,” The Clash. I was sick a couple weeks ago and took a rare sick day. Normally, that means a day in front of whatever video console I own, trying to save the princess or take the pretend Bears to the Super Bowl. But I was actually so sick that I didn’t feel like playing video games—the thought of putting a controller in my hand and having to figure out how to make a Potion of Kickassedness in
Skyrim felt too goddamned strenuous. So instead I parked on the couch and went on a DVR expedition, scrolling down past
30 Rock and
Cougar Town and the 8,000 kid shows we have recorded to get to things like documentaries that I add to the queue because it makes me feel smart, but which I never get around to watching because I play too many video games and Libby doesn’t give a fuck about George Harrison’s life, even as portrayed by Oscar-winning director Martin Scorsese (look, Libs, here’s where Clapton steals his wife!). Anyway, too weak for joystick gymnastics, I put on the Joe Strummer biography,
The Future Is Unwritten. Things I learned: 1) While the film convinced me more than ever that Joe Strummer was the real deal, it apparently took him several test personas before he settled on being the real deal. 2) Joe Strummer hated brushing his teeth more than my daughter. 3) If you want to make your audience feel culturally idiotic while watching your documentary, don’t bother to identify the people talking about the subject of your film. Sure, even a cretin such as myself recognizes Bono or Johnny Depp (strangely talking like Captain Jack Sparrow despite being in street clothes), but I have no idea who the other gray-haired, phlegm-ridden talking heads are because I spent too many sick days in front of a PlayStation. Despite that, it was an awesome documentary. Now I just need a 48-hour bug so I can watch the Harrison doc.
7) “While My Guitar Gently Weeps,” The Beatles. That is downright creepy. Stop freaking me out, iTunes. Also, linked to the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame jam of this where Prince completely rips the solo. He definitely had to cool off in the waters of Lake Minnetonka after that.
8) “Honolulu Blues,” Craig Finn. His solo debut is more Holy Ghost than Hold Steady. There is a lot of Jesus on this album, to the point where my first thought was, “Jesus Christ, that’s a lot of Jesus.” The good news (not to be confused with The Good News) is that it’s good Jesus—your buddy Jesus who enjoys healing the sick and who uses two McNuggets and a can of Mountain Dew to feed everyone at Coachella. Not the GOP Jesus who watches more porn than Ed Meese taking a sick day so he can tell you how very, very, very (
oh, God, so very) depraved it is.
9) “See a Little Light,” Bob Mould. I have my go-to good mood songs—the ones I pick out because I feel like air drumming or it’s Saturday and looking like a high probability of romantic wiggling (cue Loverboy or Whitesnake). This is one of those random good-time songs, one I rarely seek but am always so happy to hear. I feel so positive that I may just revise that five-year plan to “still alive and okay with that.”
10) “Teenage Girls,” Bad Sports. TLB and I talk fairly frequently about who we will marry when the other one dies. I profess that I will be unable to remarry because I will be stricken romantically impotent with grief. She is convinced that I will in fact run to the nearest age-inappropriate attractive female who has daddy issues. Not a bad call, mind you, but not in fitting with my character, because all a younger woman is going to do is remind me how much older I am than she is. If anything, I’m going the opposite direction and going older, both because I’ll feel better and she might be a widower with money, which means no more work and lots more times for documentary watching. Incidentally, Bad Sports
Kings of the Weekend is a great bit of Ramones garage punk. Worth seeking out.
11) “Message of Love,” Pretenders. Of course, my lovely wife has put up with this mental nonsense for quite a few birthdays now, and she seems no closer to ditching me for an young creative writing student with a cougar complex. That’s just one of many reasons I know I chose well.
Have a good weekend!
